TheHumanComedyScenesfromParisianLife

PartVII

By

HonoreDeBalzac

COUSINBETTY

Oneday,about themiddleofJuly1838,oneof thecarriages, then latelyintroduced toParis cabstands, andknownasMilords,wasdrivingdown theRuedel’Universite,conveyingastoutmanofmiddleheightintheuniformofacaptainoftheNationalGuard.

AmongthePariscrowd,whoaresupposedtobesoclever,therearesomemenwhofancythemselvesinfinitelymoreattractiveinuniformthanintheirordinary clothes, andwho attribute towomen so depraved a taste that theybelieve they will be favorably impressed by the aspect of a busby and ofmilitaryaccoutrements.

Thecountenanceof thisCaptainof theSecondCompanybeamedwith aself-satisfactionthataddedsplendortohisruddyandsomewhatchubbyface.Thehaloofglorythatafortunemadeinbusinessgivestoaretiredtradesmansatonhisbrow,andstampedhimasoneoftheelectofParis—atleastaretireddeputy-mayorofhisquarterofthetown.AndyoumaybesurethattheribbonoftheLegionofHonorwasnotmissingfromhisbreast,gallantlypaddedalaPrussienne.Proudlyseatedinonecornerofthemilord,thissplendidpersonlethis gaze wander over the passers-by, who, in Paris, often thus meet aningratiatingsmilemeantforsweeteyesthatareabsent.

The vehicle stopped in the part of the street between the Rue deBellechasse and the Rue de Bourgogne, at the door of a large, newly-buildhouse, standing on part of the court-yard of an ancient mansion that had agarden. The old house remained in its original state, beyond the courtyardcurtailedbyhalfitsextent.

Only from the way in which the officer accepted the assistance of thecoachmantohelphimout,itwasplainthathewaspastfifty.Therearecertainmovements so undisguisedly heavy that they are as tell-tale as a register ofbirth.Thecaptainputonhislemon-coloredright-handglove,and,withoutanyquestion to thegatekeeper,wentup theoutersteps to thegroundof thenewhousewithalookthatproclaimed,“Sheismine!”

The concierges of Paris have sharp eyes; they do not stop visitors whowearanorder,haveablueuniform,andwalkponderously;inshort,theyknowarichmanwhentheyseehim.

This ground floor was entirely occupied by Monsieur le Baron Hulotd’Ervy,CommissaryGeneralundertheRepublic,retiredarmycontractor,andatthepresenttimeattheheadofoneofthemostimportantdepartmentsoftheWarOffice,CouncillorofState,officeroftheLegionofHonor,andsoforth.

ThisBaronHulothadtakenthenameofd’Ervy—theplaceofhisbirth—todistinguish him from his brother, the famousGeneralHulot, Colonel of theGrenadiersoftheImperialGuard,createdbytheEmperorComtedeForzheimafterthecampaignof1809.TheCount,theelderbrother,beingresponsibleforhis junior, had, with paternal care, placed him in the commissariat, where,thanks to the services of the two brothers, the Baron deserved and wonNapoleon’sgoodgraces.After 1807,BaronHulotwasCommissaryGeneralforthearmyinSpain.

Havingrungthebell,thecitizen-captainmadestrenuouseffortstopullhiscoatintoplace,forithadruckedupasmuchatthebackasinfront,pushedoutofshapebytheworkingofapiriformstomach.Beingadmittedassoonastheservantinliverysawhim,theimportantandimposingpersonagefollowedtheman,whoopenedthedoorofthedrawing-room,announcing:

“MonsieurCrevel.”

Onhearingthename,singularlyappropriatetothefigureofthemanwhoboreit,atall,fairwoman,evidentlyyoung-lookingforherage,roseasifshehadreceivedanelectricshock.

“Hortense,my darling, go into the gardenwith your Cousin Betty,” shesaid hastily to her daughter, who was working at some embroidery at hermother’sside.

After curtseyingprettily to the captain,MademoiselleHortensewent outbyaglassdoor,takingwithherawithered-lookingspinster,wholookedolderthantheBaroness,thoughshewasfiveyearsyounger.

“They are settling your marriage,” said Cousin Betty in the girl’s ear,without seeming at all offended at the way in which the Baroness haddismissedthem,countingheralmostaszero.

The cousin’s dress might, at need, have explained this free-and-easydemeanor.Theoldmaidworeamerinogownofadarkplumcolor,ofwhichthecutand trimmingdated from theyearof theRestoration;a littleworkedcollar,worth perhaps three francs; and a common straw hatwith blue satinribbonsedgedwithstrawplait,suchastheold-clothesbuyerswearatmarket.Onlookingdownatherkidshoes,made,itwasevident,bytheveriestcobbler,astrangerwouldhavehesitatedtorecognizeCousinBettyasamemberofthefamily, for she looked exactly like a journeywoman sempstress.But shedidnotleavetheroomwithoutbestowingalittlefriendlynodonMonsieurCrevel,towhichthatgentlemanrespondedbyalookofmutualunderstanding.

“Youarecomingtousto-morrow,Ihope,MademoiselleFischer?”saidhe.

“Youhavenocompany?”askedCousinBetty.

“Mychildrenandyourself,nooneelse,”repliedthevisitor.

“Verywell,”repliedshe;“dependonme.”

“AndhereamI,madame,atyourorders,”saidthecitizen-captain,bowingagaintoMadameHulot.

HegavesuchalookatMadameHulotasTartuffecastsatElmire—whenaprovincial actor plays the part and thinks it necessary to emphasize itsmeaning—atPoitiers,oratCoutances.

“Ifyouwillcomeintothisroomwithme,weshallbemoreconvenientlyplaced for talking business thanwe are in this room,” saidMadameHulot,goingtoanadjoiningroom,which,astheapartmentwasarranged,servedasacardroom.

It was divided by a slight partition from a boudoir looking out on thegarden, andMadameHulot left her visitor to himself for aminute, for shethoughtitwisetoshutthewindowandthedooroftheboudoir,sothatnooneshould get in and listen. She even took the precaution of shutting the glassdoorofthedrawing-room,smilingonherdaughterandhercousin,whomshesawseatedinanoldsummer-houseattheendofthegarden.Asshecamebacksheleftthecardroomdooropen,soastohearifanyoneshouldopenthatofthedrawing-roomtocomein.

Asshecameandwent,theBaroness,seenbynobody,allowedherfacetobetrayallherthoughts,andanyonewhocouldhaveseenherwouldhavebeenshockedtoseeheragitation.Butwhenshefinallycamebackfromtheglassdoorof thedrawing-room,assheenteredthecardroom,herfacewashiddenbehind the impenetrable reservewhich everywoman, even themost candid,seemstohaveathercommand.

During all these preparations—odd, to say the least—the NationalGuardsmanstudiedthefurnitureoftheroominwhichhefoundhimself.Ashenotedthesilkcurtains,oncered,nowfadedtodullpurplebythesunshine,andfrayedinthepleatsbylongwear;thecarpet,fromwhichthehueshadfaded;thediscoloredgildingofthefurniture;andthesilkseats,discoloredinpatches,andwearingintostrips—expressionsofscorn,satisfaction,andhopedawnedin successionwithout disguise on his stupid tradesman’s face.He looked athimself in theglassoveranoldclockof theEmpire,andwascontemplatingthegeneraleffect,whentherustleofhersilkskirtannouncedtheBaroness.Heatoncestruckatattitude.

Afterdroppingon toasofa,whichhadbeenaveryhandsomeone in theyear 1809, the Baroness, pointing to an armchair with the arms ending inbronze sphinxes’ heads, while the paint was peeling from the wood, whichshowedthroughinmanyplaces,signedtoCreveltobeseated.

“Alltheprecautionsyouaretaking,madame,wouldseemfullofpromisetoa——”

“Toalover,”saidshe,interruptinghim.

“Thewordistoofeeble,”saidhe,placinghisrighthandonhisheart,androllinghis eyes in awaywhich almost alwaysmakes awoman laughwhenshe,incoldblood,seessuchalook.“Alover!Alover?Sayamanbewitched——”

“Listen,Monsieur Crevel,” said the Baroness, too anxious to be able tolaugh,“youarefifty—tenyearsyoungerthanMonsieurHulot,Iknow;butatmy age a woman’s follies ought to be justified by beauty, youth, fame,superiormerit—someoneofthesplendidqualitieswhichcandazzleustothepoint ofmaking us forget all else—even at our age. Though youmay havefiftythousandfrancsayear,youragecounterbalancesyourfortune;thusyouhavenothingwhateverofwhatawomanlooksfor——”

“But love!” said the officer, rising and coming forward. “Such love as——”

“No,monsieur,suchobstinacy!”saidtheBaroness,interruptinghimtoputanendtohisabsurdity.

“Yes,obstinacy,”saidhe,“andlove;butsomethingstrongerstill—aclaim——”

“Aclaim!”criedMadameHulot,risingsublimewithscorn,defiance,andindignation.“But,”shewenton,“thiswillbringustonoissues;Ididnotaskyoutocomeheretodiscussthematterwhichledtoyourbanishmentinspiteoftheconnectionbetweenourfamilies——”

“Ihadfanciedso.”

“What!still?”criedshe.“Doyounotsee,monsieur,bytheentireeaseandfreedom with which I can speak of lovers and love, of everything leastcreditable to awoman, that I am perfectly secure inmy own virtue? I fearnothing—noteven toshutmyself inalonewithyou. Is that theconductofaweakwoman?YouknowfullwellwhyIbeggedyoutocome.”

“No,madame,” repliedCrevel,withanassumptionofgreatcoldness.Hepurseduphislips,andagainstruckanattitude.

“Well, I will be brief, to shorten our common discomfort,” said theBaroness,lookingatCrevel.

Crevelmadean ironicalbow, inwhichamanwhoknew the racewouldhaverecognizedthegracesofabagman.

“Oursonmarriedyourdaughter——”

“Andifitweretodoagain——”saidCrevel.

“It would not be done at all, I suspect,” said the baroness hastily.“However, youhavenothing to complainof.My son is not onlyoneof theleadingpleadersofParis,but for the lastyearhehas sat asDeputy, andhismaidenspeechwasbrilliantenoughtoleadustosupposethaterelonghewillbe in office. Victorin has twice been called upon to report on importantmeasures;andhemightevennow,ifhechose,bemadeAttorney-General inthe Court of Appeal. So, if you mean to say that your son-in-law has nofortune——”

“Worsethanthat,madame,ason-in-lawwhomIamobligedtomaintain,”replied Crevel. “Of the five hundred thousand francs that formed mydaughter’s marriage portion, two hundred thousand have vanished—Godknowshow!—inpayingtheyounggentleman’sdebts,infurnishinghishousesplendaciously—ahousecostingfivehundredthousandfrancs,andbringinginscarcelyfifteenthousand,sinceheoccupiesthelargerpartofit,whileheowestwo hundred and sixty thousand francs of the purchase-money. The rent hegets barely pays the interest on the debt. I have had to give my daughtertwentythousandfrancsthisyeartohelphertomakebothendsmeet.Andthenmyson-in-law,whowasmakingthirtythousandfrancsayearattheAssizes,Iamtold,isgoingtothrowthatupfortheChamber——”

“This,again,MonsieurCrevel,isbesidethemark;wearewanderingfromthepoint.Still,todisposeofitfinally,itmaybesaidthatifmysongetsintooffice,ifhehasyoumadeanofficeroftheLegionofHonorandcouncillorofthemunicipality of Paris, you, as a retired perfumer,will not havemuch tocomplainof——”

“Ah!thereweareagain,madame!Yes,Iamatradesman,ashopkeeper,aretaildealerinalmond-paste,eau-de-Portugal,andhair-oil,andwasonlytoomuchhonoredwhenmyonlydaughterwasmarriedtothesonofMonsieurleBaronHulotd’Ervy—mydaughterwillbeaBaroness!ThisisRegency,LouisXV., (Eil-de-boeuf—quite tip-top!—very good.) I love Celestine as a manloveshisonlychild—sowellindeed,that,topreserveherfromhavingeitherbrotherorsister,Iresignedmyselftoalltheprivationsofawidower—inParis,andintheprimeoflife,madame.Butyoumustunderstandthat,inspiteofthisextravagantaffectionformydaughter,Idonotintendtoreducemyfortuneforthe sake of your son,whose expenses are notwholly accounted for—inmyeyes,asanoldmanofbusiness.”

“Monsieur,youmayatthisdayseeintheMinistryofCommerceMonsieurPopinot,formerlyadruggistintheRuedesLombards——”

“And a friend ofmine,madame,” said the ex-perfumer. “For I, CelestinCrevel, foreman once to old Cesar Birotteau, brought up the said Cesar

Birotteau’sstock;andhewasPopinot’sfather-in-law.Why,thatveryPopinotwasnomorethanashopmanintheestablishment,andheisthefirsttoremindmeofit;forheisnotproud,todohimjustice,tomeninagoodpositionwithanincomeofsixtythousandfrancsinthefunds.”

“Wellthen,monsieur,thenotionsyouterm‘Regency’arequiteoutofdateatatimewhenamanistakenathispersonalworth;andthatiswhatyoudidwhenyoumarriedyourdaughtertomyson.”

“Butyoudonotknowhowthemarriagewasbroughtabout!”criedCrevel.“Oh,thatcursedbachelorlife!Butformymisconduct,myCelestinemightatthisdaybeVicomtessePopinot!”

“Oncemorehavedonewithrecriminationsoveraccomplishedfacts,”saidtheBaronessanxiously.“LetusratherdiscussthecomplaintsIhavefoundonyour strangebehavior.MydaughterHortensehadachanceofmarrying; thematch depended entirely on you; I believed you felt some sentiments ofgenerosity;I thoughtyouwoulddojustice toawomanwhohasneverhadathought in her heart for any man but her husband, that you would haveunderstood how necessary it is for her not to receive a man who maycompromiseher,andthatforthehonorofthefamilywithwhichyouarealliedyouwouldhavebeeneagertopromoteHortense’ssettlementwithMonsieurleConseillerLebas.—Anditisyou,monsieur,youhavehinderedthemarriage.”

“Madame,”saidtheex-perfumer,“Iactedthepartofanhonestman.IwasaskedwhetherthetwohundredthousandfrancstobesettledonMademoiselleHortensewouldbeforthcoming.Irepliedexactlyinthesewords:‘Iwouldnotanswerforit.Myson-in-law,towhomtheHulotshadpromisedthesamesum,was in debt; and I believe that if Monsieur Hulot d’Ervy were to die to-morrow,hiswidowwouldhavenothingtoliveon.’—There,fairlady.”

“And would you have said as much, monsieur,” asked Madame Hulot,lookingCrevelsteadilyintheface,“ifIhadbeenfalsetomyduty?”

“Ishouldnotbeinapositiontosayit,dearestAdeline,”criedthissingularadorer, interrupting theBaroness, “for youwould have found the amount inmypocket-book.”

Andaddingactiontoword,thefatguardsmankneltdownononekneeandkissed Madame Hulot’s hand, seeing that his speech had filled her withspeechlesshorror,whichhetookforhesitancy.

“What,buymydaughter’sfortuneatthecostof——?Rise,monsieur—orIringthebell.”

Crevel rose with great difficulty. This fact made him so furious that heagain struck his favorite attitude.Mostmen have some habitual position by

which they fancy that they show to the best advantage the good pointsbestowedonthembynature.ThisattitudeinCrevelconsistedincrossinghisarmslikeNapoleon,hisheadshowingthree-quartersface,andhiseyesfixedonthehorizon,asthepainterhasshowntheEmperorinhisportrait.

“To be faithful,” he began,withwell-acted indignation, “so faithful to aliber——”

“Toahusbandwho isworthyof such fidelity,”MadameHulotput in, tohinderCrevelfromsayingawordshedidnotchoosetohear.

“Come,madame; youwrote to bidmehere, you ask the reasons formyconduct,youdrivemetoextremitieswithyourimperialairs,yourscorn,andyourcontempt!Anyonemight thinkIwasaNegro.ButIrepeat it,andyoumaybelieveme,Ihavearightto—tomakelovetoyou,for——Butno;Iloveyouwellenoughtoholdmytongue.”

“Youmayspeak,monsieur.InafewdaysIshallbeeight-and-forty;Iamnoprude;Icanhearwhateveryoucansay.”

“Thenwillyougivemeyourwordofhonorasanhonestwoman—foryouare,alasforme!anhonestwoman—nevertomentionmynameortosaythatitwasIwhobetrayedthesecret?”

“Ifthatistheconditiononwhichyouspeak,Iwillswearnevertotellanyone from whom I heard the horrors you propose to tell me, not even myhusband.”

“Ishouldthinknotindeed,foronlyyouandheareconcerned.”

MadameHulotturnedpale.

“Oh, if you still really love Hulot, it will distress you. Shall I say nomore?”

“Speak,monsieur;forbyyouraccountyouwishtojustifyinmyeyestheextraordinarydeclarationsyouhavechosentomakeme,andyourpersistencyin tormenting awoman ofmy age,whose onlywish is to see her daughtermarried,andthen—todieinpeace——”

“Yousee;youareunhappy.”

“I,monsieur?”

“Yes,beautiful,noblecreature!”criedCrevel.“Youhaveindeedbeentoowretched!”

“Monsieur,besilentandgo—orspeaktomeasyouought.”

“Doyouknow,madame,howMasterHulotandIfirstmadeacquaintance?—Atourmistresses’,madame.”

“Oh,monsieur!”

“Yes, madame, at our mistresses’,” Crevel repeated in a melodramatictone,andleavinghispositiontowavehisrighthand.

“Well, and what then?” said the Baroness coolly, to Crevel’s greatamazement.

Suchmeanseducerscannotunderstandagreatsoul.

“I, awidower fiveyears since,”Crevelbegan, in the toneofamanwhohasastorytotell,“andnotwishingtomarryagainforthesakeofthedaughterI adore, not choosing either to cultivate any such connection in my ownestablishment,thoughIhadatthetimeaveryprettylady-accountant.Isetup,‘on her own account,’ as they say, a little sempstress of fifteen—really amiracleofbeauty,withwhomIfelldesperatelyinlove.Andinfact,madame,I asked an aunt of my own, mymother’s sister, whom I sent for from thecountry,tolivewiththesweetcreatureandkeepaneyeonher,thatshemightbehave as well as might be in this rather—what shall I say—shady?—no,delicateposition.

“The child, whose talent for music was striking, had masters, she waseducated—Ihadtogivehersomethingtodo.Besides,Iwishedtobeatonceherfather,herbenefactor,and—well,outwithit—herlover;tokilltwobirdswith one stone, a good action and a sweetheart. For five years I was veryhappy.Thegirlhadoneof thosevoices thatmake thefortuneofa theatre; IcanonlydescribeherbysayingthatsheisaDuprezinpetticoats.Itcostmetwothousandfrancsayearonly tocultivateher talentasasinger.Shemadememusic-mad;Itookaboxattheoperaforherandformydaughter,andwenttherealternateeveningswithCelestineorJosepha.”

“What,thefamoussinger?”

“Yes, madame,” said Crevel with pride, “the famous Josepha oweseverythingtome.—Atlast,in1834,whenthechildwastwenty,believingthatI had attached her to me for ever, and being very weak where she wasconcerned,IthoughtIwouldgiveheralittleamusement,andIintroducedhertoaprettylittleactress,JennyCadine,whoselifehadbeensomewhatlikeherown.Thisactressalsoowedeverythingtoaprotectorwhohadbroughtherupinleading-strings.ThatprotectorwasBaronHulot.”

“I know that,” said the Baroness, in a calm voice without the leastagitation.

“Blessme!” criedCrevel,more andmore astounded. “Well!But do youknowthatyourmonsterofahusbandtookJennyCadineinhandattheageofthirteen?”

“Whatthen?”saidtheBaroness.

“As Jenny Cadine and Josepha were both aged twenty when they firstmet,”theex-tradesmanwenton,“theBaronhadbeenplayingthepartofLouisXV.toMademoiselledeRomanseversince1826,andyouweretwelveyearsyoungerthen——”

“Ihadmyreasons,monsieur,forleavingMonsieurHulothisliberty.”

“Thatfalsehood,madame,willsurelybeenoughtowipeouteverysinyouhave ever committed, and to open to you the gates of Paradise,” repliedCrevel, with a knowing air that brought the color to the Baroness’ cheeks.“Sublimeandadoredwoman,tellthattothosewhowillbelieveit,butnottooldCrevel,whohas,Imaytellyou,feastedtoooftenasoneoffourwithyourrascallyhusbandnottoknowwhatyourhighmeritsare!Manyatimehasheblamedhimselfwhenhalftipsyashehasexpatiatedonyourperfections.Oh,Iknowyouwell!—Alibertinemighthesitatebetweenyouandagirloftwenty.Idonothesitate——”

“Monsieur!”

“Well,Isaynomore.Butyoumustknow,saintlyandnoblewoman,thatahusband under certain circumstances will tell things about his wife to hismistressthatwillmightilyamuseher.”

Tears of shame hanging to Madame Hulot’s long lashes checked theNationalGuardsman.Hestoppedshort,andforgothisattitude.

“Toproceed,”saidhe.“Webecameintimate,theBaronandI,throughthetwohussies.TheBaron, likeallbadlots, isverypleasant,a thoroughlyjollygoodfellow.Yes,hetookmyfancy, theoldrascal.Hecouldbesofunny!—Well, enough of those reminiscences. We got to be like brothers. Thescoundrel—quite Regency in his notions—tried indeed to deprave mealtogether, preached Saint-Simonism as to women, and all sorts of lordlyideas;but,yousee,Iwasfondenoughofmygirltohavemarriedher,onlyIwasafraidofhavingchildren.

“Thenbetweentwoolddaddies,suchfriendsas—aswewere,whatmorenaturalthanthatweshouldthinkofourchildrenmarryingeachother?—Threemonths after his sonhadmarriedmyCelestine,Hulot—Idon’t knowhow Ican utter the wretch’s name! he has cheated us both, madame—well, thevillain did me out of my little Josepha. The scoundrel knew that he wassupplantedintheheartofJennyCadinebyayounglawyerandbyanartist—onlytwoofthem!—forthegirlhadmoreandmoreofahowlingsuccess,andhestolemysweetlittlegirl,aperfectdarling—butyoumusthaveseenheratthe opera; he got her an engagement there. Your husband is not so wellbehaved as I am. I am ruled as straight as a sheet of music-paper. He had

droppedagooddealofmoneyonJennyCadine,whomusthavecosthimnearon thirty thousand francs a year.Well, I canonly tell you that he is ruininghimselfoutrightforJosepha.

“Josepha,madame,isaJewess.HernameisMirah,theanagramofHiram,an Israelite mark that stamps her, for she was a foundling picked up inGermany,andtheinquiriesIhavemadeprovethatsheistheillegitimatechildof a rich Jewbanker.The life of the theatre, and, above all, the teachingofJennyCadine,MadameSchontz,Malaga,andCarabine,astothewaytotreatanoldman,havedeveloped,inthechildwhomIhadkeptinarespectableandnot too expensive way of life, all the native Hebrew instinct for gold andjewels—forthegoldencalf.

“Sothisfamoussinger,hungeringforplunder,nowwantstoberich,veryrich.Shetriedher‘prenticehandonBaronHulot,andsoonpluckedhimbare—pluckedhim,ay,andsingedhimtotheskin.Themiserableman,aftertryingto vie with one of the Kellers and with the Marquis d’Esgrignon, bothperfectlymadaboutJosepha,tosaynothingofunknownworshipers,isabouttoseehercarriedoffbythatveryrichDuke,whoissuchapatronofthearts.Oh, what is his name?—a dwarf.—Ah, the Duc d’Herouville. This finegentleman insists on having Josepha for his very own, and all that set aretalkingaboutit;theBaronknowsnothingofitasyet;foritisthesameintheThirteenthArrondissementasineveryother:thelover,likethehusband,islasttogetthenews.

“Now,doyouunderstandmyclaim?Yourhusband,dearlady,hasrobbedme of my joy in life, the only happiness I have known since I became awidower. Yes, if I had not been so unlucky as to come across that old rip,Josephawouldstillbemine;forI,youknow,shouldneverhaveplacedheronthestage.Shewouldhavelivedobscure,wellconducted,andmine.Oh!ifyoucouldbuthaveseenhereightyearsago,slightandwiry,withthegoldenskinofanAndalusian,astheysay,blackhairasshinyassatin,aneyethatflashedlightningunderlongbrownlashes,thestyleofaduchessineverymovement,themodestyofadependent,decentgrace,andtheprettywaysofawildfawn.Andby thatHulot’s doing all this charmandpurity has beendegraded to aman-trap, a money-box for five-franc pieces! The girl is the Queen ofTrollops;andnowadaysshehumbugseveryone—shewhoknewnothing,noteventhatword.”

Atthisstagetheretiredperfumerwipedhiseyes,whichwerefulloftears.The sincerity of his grief touchedMadameHulot, and roused her from themeditationintowhichshehadsunk.

“Tellme,madame,isamanoffifty-twolikelytofindsuchanotherjewel?At my age love costs thirty thousand francs a year. It is through your

husband’sexperiencethatIknowtheprice,andIloveCelestinetootrulytobeherruin.WhenIsawyou,atthefirsteveningpartyyougaveinourhonor,IwonderedhowthatscoundrelHulotcouldkeepaJennyCadine—youhadthemannerofanEmpress.Youdonotlookthirty,”hewenton.“Tome,madame,youlookyoung,andyouarebeautiful.Onmywordofhonor,thateveningIwasstrucktotheheart.Isaidtomyself,‘IfIhadnotJosepha,sinceoldHulotneglects his wife, she would fit me like a glove.’ Forgive me—it is areminiscence ofmy old business.The perfumerwill crop up now and then,andthatiswhatkeepsmefromstandingtobeelecteddeputy.

“And then,when Iwas so abominablydeceivedby theBaron, for reallybetween old rips like us our friend’s mistress should be sacred, I swore Iwould have hiswife. It is but justice.TheBaron could say nothing;we arecertain of impunity.You showedme the door like amangy dog at the firstwordsIutteredastothestateofmyfeelings;youonlymademypassion—myobstinacy,ifyouwill—twiceasstrong,andyoushallbemine.”

“Indeed;how?”

“Idonotknow;but itwillcometopass.Yousee,madame,an idiotofaperfumer—retired from business—who has but one idea in his head, isstrongerthanacleverfellowwhohasathousand.Iamsmittenwithyou,andyou are themeans ofmy revenge; it is like being in love twice over. I amspeaking toyouquite frankly,asamanwhoknowswhathemeans. I speakcoldlytoyou,justasyoudotome,whenyousay,‘Ineverwillbeyours,’Infact,astheysay,Iplaythegamewiththecardsonthetable.Yes,youshallbemine,soonerorlater;ifyouwerefifty,youshouldstillbemymistress.Anditwillbe;forIexpectanythingfromyourhusband!”

MadameHulot looked at this vulgar intriguerwith such a fixed stare ofterror,thathethoughtshehadgonemad,andhestopped.

“Youinsistedonit,youheapedmewithscorn,youdefiedme—andIhavespoken,”saidhe,feelingthathemustjustifytheferocityofhislastwords.

“Oh,mydaughter,mydaughter,”moaned theBaroness in avoice like adyingwoman’s.

“Oh! I have forgotten all else,” Crevel went on. “The day when I wasrobbedofJosephaIwaslikeatigressrobbedofhercubs;inshort,asyouseemenow.—Yourdaughter?Yes,Iregardherasthemeansofwinningyou.Yes,Iputaspoke inhermarriage—andyouwillnotgethermarriedwithoutmyhelp!HandsomeasMademoiselleHortenseis,sheneedsafortune——”

“Alas!yes,”saidtheBaroness,wipinghereyes.

“Well,justaskyourhusbandfortenthousandfrancs,”saidCrevel,striking

his attitude oncemore. He waited aminute, like an actor who hasmade apoint.

“If he had the money, he would give it to the woman who will takeJosepha’splace,”hewenton,emphasizinghistones.“Doesamaneverpullupontheroadhehastaken?Inthefirstplace,heistoosweetonwomen.Thereisahappymediuminallthings,asourKinghastoldus.Andthenhisvanityisimplicated!He isahandsomeman!—Hewouldbringyouall to ruin forhispleasure; in fact, you are already on the highroad to the workhouse. Why,look,never since I set foot inyourhousehaveyoubeenable todoupyourdrawing-room furniture. ‘Hard up’ is the word shouted by every slit in thestuff.Wherewillyoufindason-in-lawwhowouldnotturnhisbackinhorroroftheill-concealedevidenceofthemostcruelmiserythereis—thatofpeopleindecentsociety?Ihavekeptshop,andIknow.ThereisnoeyesoquickasthatoftheParistradesmantodetectrealwealthfromitssham.—Youhavenomoney,” he said, in a lower voice. “It is written everywhere, even on yourman-servant’scoat.

“Wouldyoulikemetodiscloseanymorehideousmysteriesthatarekeptfromyou?”

“Monsieur,” criedMadame Hulot, whose handkerchief was wet throughwithhertears,“enough,enough!”

“My son-in-law, I tell you, gives his father money, and this is what Iparticularly wanted to come to when I began by speaking of your son’sexpenses.ButIkeepaneyeonmydaughter’sinterests,beeasy.”

“Oh, if I could but see my daughter married, and die!” cried the poorwoman,quitelosingherhead.

“Well,then,thisistheway,”saidtheex-perfumer.

Madame Hulot looked at Crevel with a hopeful expression, which socompletelychangedhercountenance,thatthisaloneoughttohavetouchedtheman’sfeelingsandhaveledhimtoabandonhismonstrousschemes.

“Youwill still be handsome ten years hence,” Crevel went on, with hisarmsfolded;“bekind tome,andMademoiselleHulotwillmarry.Hulothasgivenmetheright,asIhaveexplainedtoyou,toputthemattercrudely,andhewillnotbeangry.InthreeyearsIhavesavedtheinterestonmycapital,formydissipationshavebeenrestricted.Ihavethreehundredthousandfrancsinthebankoverandabovemyinvestedfortune—theyareyours——”

“Go,”saidMadameHulot.“Go,monsieur,andneverletmeseeyouagain.But for the necessity in which you placed me to learn the secret of yourcowardlyconductwithregardtothematchIhadplannedforHortense—yes,

cowardly!”she repeated, inanswer toagesture fromCrevel.“Howcanyouloadapoorgirl,apretty,innocentcreature,withsuchaweightofenmity?Butforthenecessitythatgoadedmeasamother,youwouldneverhavespokentome again, never again have comewithinmy doors. Thirty-two years of anhonorable and loyal life shall not be swept away by a blow fromMonsieurCrevel——”

“The retired perfumer, successor to Cesar Birotteau at the Queen of theRoses,RueSaint-Honore,”addedCrevel, inmocking tones.“Deputy-mayor,captain in the National Guard, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor—exactlywhatmypredecessorwas!”

“Monsieur,” said the Baroness, “if, after twenty years of constancy,MonsieurHulotistiredofhiswife,thatisnobody’sconcernbutmine.Asyousee, he has kept his infidelity a mystery, for I did not know that he hadsucceededyouintheaffectionsofMademoiselleJosepha——”

“Oh,ithascosthimaprettypenny,madame.Hissinging-birdhascosthimmorethanahundredthousandfrancsinthesetwoyears.Ah,ha!youhavenotseentheendofit!”

“Havedonewithallthis,MonsieurCrevel.Iwillnot,foryoursake,foregothehappinessamotherknowswhocanembraceherchildrenwithoutasinglepang of remorse in her heart, who sees herself respected and loved by herfamily;andIwillgiveupmysoultoGodunspotted——”

“Amen!”exclaimedCrevel,withthediabolicalragethatembittersthefaceofthesepretenderswhentheyfailforthesecondtimeinsuchanattempt.“Youdonotyetknowthelatterendofpoverty—shame,disgrace.—Ihavetriedtowarn you; Iwould have saved you, you and your daughter.Well, youmuststudythemodernparableoftheProdigalFatherfromAtoZ.Yourtearsandyourpridemovemedeeply,”saidCrevel,seatinghimself,“foritisfrightfultoseethewomanonelovesweeping.AllIcanpromiseyou,dearAdeline,istodonothingagainstyourinterestsoryourhusband’s.Onlyneversendtomeforinformation.Thatisall.”

“Whatistobedone?”criedMadameHulot.

UptonowtheBaronesshadbravelyfacedthethreefoldtormentwhichthisexplanation inflictedonher; forshewaswoundedasawoman,asamother,and as a wife. In fact, so long as her son’s father-in-law was insolent andoffensive, she had found the strength in her resistance to the aggressivetradesman;butthesortofgood-natureheshowed,inspiteofhisexasperationas amortified adorer and as a humiliatedNationalGuardsman, broke downhernerve,strungtothepointofsnapping.Shewrungherhands,meltedintotears,andwasinastateofsuchhelplessdejection,thatsheallowedCrevelto

kneelatherfeet,kissingherhands.

“GoodGod!whatwillbecomeofus!”shewenton,wipingawayhertears.“Canamothersitstillandseeherchildpineawaybeforehereyes?Whatistobe the fate of that splendid creature, as strong in her pure life under hermother’s care as she is by every gift of nature? There are days when shewandersroundthegarden,outofspiritswithoutknowingwhy;Ifindherwithtearsinhereyes——”

“Sheisone-and-twenty,”saidCrevel.

“Must Iplaceher inaconvent?”asked theBaroness.“But in suchcasesreligion is impotent tosubduenature,and themostpiously trainedgirls losetheirhead!—Getup,pray,monsieur;doyounotunderstandthateverythingisfinalbetweenus? thatI lookuponyouwithhorror? thatyouhavecrushedamother’slasthopes——”

“ButifIweretorestorethem,”askedhe.

Madame Hulot looked at Crevel with a frenzied expression that reallytouchedhim.Buthedrovepitybacktothedepthsofhisheart;shehadsaid,“Ilookuponyouwithhorror.”

Virtueisalwaysalittletoorigid;itoverlookstheshadesandinstinctsbyhelpofwhichweareabletotackwheninafalseposition.

“So handsome a girl asMademoiselleHortense does not find a husbandnowadays if she is penniless,” Crevel remarked, resuming his starchiestmanner. “Yourdaughter isoneof thosebeautieswho rather alarm intendinghusbands;likeathoroughbredhorse,whichistooexpensivetokeepuptofinda ready purchaser. If you go outwalkingwith such awoman on your arm,everyonewillturntolookatyou,andfollowandcovethisneighbor’swife.Suchsuccess isa sourceofmuchuneasiness tomenwhodonotwant tobekilling lovers; for, after all, noman kills more than one. In the position inwhich you find yourself there are just three ways of getting your daughtermarried:Eitherbymyhelp—andyouwillhavenoneof it!That isone.—Orby finding some oldman of sixty, very rich, childless, and anxious to havechildren;thatisdifficult,stillsuchmenaretobemetwith.ManyoldmentakeupwithaJosepha,aJennyCadine,whyshouldnotonebefoundwhoisreadytomakeafoolofhimselfunderlegalformalities?IfitwerenotforCelestineandourtwograndchildren,IwouldmarryHortensemyself.Thatistwo.—Thelastwayistheeasiest——”

MadameHulotraisedherhead,andlookeduneasilyattheex-perfumer.

“Paris is a town whither every man of energy—and they sprout likesaplingsonFrenchsoil—comestomeethiskind;talentswarmsherewithout

hearthorhome,andenergyequaltoanything,eventomakingafortune.Well,theseyoungsters—yourhumbleservantwassuchaoneinhistime,andhowmanyhehasknown!WhathadduTilletorPopinottwentyyearssince?Theywere both pottering round in Daddy Birotteau’s shop, with not a penny ofcapital but their determination to get on, which, in my opinion, is the bestcapital a man can have. Money may be eaten through, but you don’t eatthroughyourdetermination.Why,whathadI?Thewilltogeton,andplentyofpluck.AtthisdayduTilletisamatchforthegreatestfolks;littlePopinot,therichestdruggistoftheRuedesLombards,becameadeputy,nowheisinoffice.—Well,oneofthesefreelances,aswesayonthestockmarket,ofthepen, or of thebrush, is theonlyman inPariswhowouldmarry a pennilessbeauty,fortheyhavecourageenoughforanything.MonsieurPopinotmarriedMademoiselle Birotteau without asking for a farthing. Those men aremadmen,tobesure!Theytrustinloveastheytrustingoodluckandbrains!—Find amanof energywhowill fall in lovewith your daughter, and hewillmarrywithoutathoughtofmoney.YoumustconfessthatbywayofanenemyIamnotungenerous,forthisadviceisagainstmyowninterests.”

“Oh,MonsieurCrevel,ifyouwouldindeedbemyfriendandgiveupyourridiculousnotions——”

“Ridiculous?Madame,donotrunyourselfdown.Lookatyourself—Iloveyou, andyouwill come to bemine.Thedaywill comewhen I shall say toHulot,‘YoutookJosepha,Ihavetakenyourwife!’

“Itistheoldlawoftit-for-tat!AndIwillperseveretillIhaveattainedmyend, unless you should become extremelyugly.—I shall succeed; and Iwilltell you why,” he went on, resuming his attitude, and looking at MadameHulot.“Youwillnotmeetwithsuchanoldman,orsuchayounglover,”hesaidafterapause,“becauseyouloveyourdaughtertoowelltohandheroverto themanoeuvresofanold libertine,andbecauseyou—theBaronneHulot,sisterof theoldLieutenant-Generalwhocommanded theveteranGrenadiersoftheOldGuard—willnotcondescendtotakeamanofspiritwhereveryoumayfindhim;forhemightbeamerecraftsman,asmanyamillionaireofto-daywastenyearsago,aworkingartisan,ortheforemanofafactory.

“And then,whenyou see thegirl, urgedbyher twentyyears, capableofdishonoringyouall, youwill say toyourself, ‘Itwill bebetter that I shouldfall! IfMonsieurCrevelwill but keepmy secret, Iwill earnmy daughter’sportion—two hundred thousand francs for ten years’ attachment to that oldgloveseller—oldCrevel!’—Idisgust younodoubt, andwhat I am saying ishorribly immoral,you think?But ifyouhappened tohavebeenbittenbyanoverwhelming passion, you would find a thousand arguments in favor ofyielding—aswomendowhentheyareinlove.—Yes,andHortense’sinterestswillsuggesttoyourfeelingssuchtermsofsurrenderingyourconscience——”

“Hortensehasstillanuncle.”

“What!OldFischer?Heiswindinguphisconcerns,andthatagainistheBaron’sfault;hisrakeisdraggedovereverytillwithinhisreach.”

“ComteHulot——”

“Oh,madame,yourhusbandhasalreadymadethinairoftheoldGeneral’ssavings.Hespenttheminfurnishinghissinger’srooms.—Now,come;amItogowithoutahope?”

“Good-bye,monsieur.Amaneasilygetsoverapassionforawomanofmyage, and you will fall back on Christian principles. God takes care of thewretched——”

TheBaronessrosetoobligethecaptaintoretreat,anddrovehimbackintothedrawing-room.

“OughtthebeautifulMadameHulottobelivingamidsuchsqualor?”saidhe, and he pointed to an old lamp, a chandelier bereft of its gilding, thethreadbarecarpet,theveryragsofwealthwhichmadethelargeroom,withitsred,white,andgold,looklikeacorpseofImperialfestivities.

“Monsieur,virtueshinesonitall.Ihavenowishtooweahandsomeabodetohavingmadeofthebeautyyouarepleasedtoascribetomeaman-trapandamoney-boxforfive-francpieces!”

Thecaptainbithis lipsashe recognized thewordshehadused tovilifyJosepha’savarice.

“And for whom are you so magnanimous?” said he. By this time thebaronesshadgother rejectedadmirer as far as thedoor.—“Fora libertine!”saidhe,withaloftygrimaceofvirtueandsuperiorwealth.

“Ifyouareright,myconstancyhassomemerit,monsieur.Thatisall.”

After bowing to the officer as a woman bows to dismiss an importunevisitor,sheturnedawaytooquicklytoseehimoncemorefoldhisarms.Sheunlocked the doors she had closed, and did not see the threatening gesturewhichwasCrevel’spartinggreeting.Shewalkedwith aproud,defiant step,likeamartyrtotheColiseum,butherstrengthwasexhausted;shesankonthesofainherblueroom,asifshewerereadytofaint,andsattherewithhereyesfixedon the tumble-downsummer-house,whereherdaughterwasgossipingwithCousinBetty.

FromthefirstdaysofhermarriedlifetothepresenttimetheBaronesshadloved her husband, as Josephine in the end had loved Napoleon, with anadmiring, maternal, and cowardly devotion. Though ignorant of the detailsgiven her byCrevel, she knew that for twenty years pastBaronHulot been

anythingratherthanafaithfulhusband;butshehadsealedhereyeswithlead,she hadwept in silence, and noword of reproach had ever escaped her. Inreturn for this angelic sweetness, shehadwonherhusband’svenerationandsomethingapproachingtoworshipfromallwhowereabouther.

A wife’s affection for her husband and the respect she pays him areinfectious in a family.Hortensebelievedher father tobeaperfectmodelofconjugal affection; as to their son, brought up to admire the Baron, whomeverybodyregardedasoneofthegiantswhosoeffectuallybackedNapoleon,he knew that he owed his advancement to his father’s name, position, andcredit;andbesides,theimpressionsofchildhoodexertanenduringinfluence.Hestillwasafraidofhisfather;andifhehadsuspectedthemisdeedsrevealedbyCrevel,ashewastoomuchoverawedbyhimtofindfault,hewouldhavefoundexcusesinthevieweverymantakesofsuchmatters.

It now will be necessary to give the reasons for the extraordinary self-devotionofagoodandbeautifulwoman;andthis,inafewwords,isherpasthistory.

Threebrothers,simplelaboringmen,namedFischer,andlivinginavillagesituatedonthefurthestfrontierofLorraine,werecompelledbytheRepublicanconscriptiontosetoutwiththeso-calledarmyoftheRhine.

In1799thesecondbrother,Andre,awidower,andMadameHulot’sfather,lefthisdaughtertothecareofhiselderbrother,PierreFischer,disabledfromservicebyawoundreceivedin1797,andmadeasmallprivateventureinthemilitary transport service, anopeningheowed to the favorofHulotd’Ervy,whowashighinthecommissariat.ByaveryobviouschanceHulot,comingtoStrasbourg, saw theFischer family.Adeline’s fatherandhisyoungerbrotherwereatthattimecontractorsforforageintheprovinceofAlsace.

Adeline, then sixteen years of age,might be comparedwith the famousMadame du Barry, like her, a daughter of Lorraine. She was one of thoseperfect and striking beauties—awoman likeMadame Tallien, finishedwithpeculiar care by Nature, who bestows on them all her choicest gifts—distinction, dignity, grace, refinement, elegance, flesh of a superior texture,and a complexion mingled in the unknown laboratory where good luckpresides. These beautiful creatures all have something in common: BiancaCapella, whose portrait is one of Bronzino’s masterpieces; Jean Goujon’sVenus, painted from the famousDianedePoitiers;SignoraOlympia,whosepictureadornstheDoriagallery;Ninon,MadameduBarry,MadameTallien,MademoiselleGeorges,MadameRecamier.—allthesewomenwhopreservedtheir beauty in spite of years, of passion, and of their life of excess andpleasure, have in figure, frame, and in the character of their beauty certainstrikingresemblances,enoughtomakeonebelievethatthereisintheoceanof

generations an Aphrodisian current whence every such Venus is born, alldaughtersofthesamesaltwave.

Adeline Fischer, one of the loveliest of this race of goddesses, had thesplendid type, the flowing lines, the exquisite texture of a woman born aqueen.ThefairhairthatourmotherEvereceivedfromthehandofGod,theformofanEmpress,anairofgrandeur,andanaugustlineofprofile,withherruralmodesty,madeeverymanpauseindelightasshepassed,likeamateursinfrontofaRaphael;inshort,havingonceseenher,theCommissariatofficermade Mademoiselle Adeline Fischer his wife as quickly as the law wouldpermit,tothegreatastonishmentoftheFischers,whohadallbeenbroughtupinthefearoftheirbetters.

Theeldest,asoldierof1792,severelywoundedintheattackonthelinesatWissembourg, adored the EmperorNapoleon and everything that had to dowiththeGrandeArmee.AndreandJohannspokewithrespectofCommissaryHulot,theEmperor’sprotege,towhomindeedtheyowedtheirprosperity;forHulot d’Ervy, finding them intelligent and honest, had taken them from thearmy provision wagons to place them in charge of a government contractneeding despatch. The brothers Fischer had done further service during thecampaignof1804.At thepeaceHulothadsecuredfor themthecontract forforagefromAlsace,notknowingthathewouldpresentlybesenttoStrasbourgtoprepareforthecampaignof1806.

This marriage was like an Assumption to the young peasant girl. ThebeautifulAdelinewas translated at once from themire of her village to theparadise of the Imperial Court; for the contractor, one of the mostconscientiousandhard-workingoftheCommissariatstaff,wasmadeaBaron,obtainedaplacenear theEmperor, andwas attached to the ImperialGuard.The handsome rustic bravely set towork to educate herself for love of herhusband,forshewassimplycrazyabouthim;and,indeed,theCommissariatofficewasasamanaperfectmatchforAdelineasawoman.Hewasoneofthepickedcorpsoffinemen.Tall,well-built,fair,withbeautifulblueeyesfullofirresistiblefireandlife,hiselegantappearancemadehimremarkablebytheside of d’Orsay, Forbin,Ouvrard; in short, in the battalion of finemen thatsurrounded theEmperor.Aconquering “buck,” andholding the ideasof theDirectoirewith regard towomen, his career of gallantrywas interrupted forsomelongtimebyhisconjugalaffection.

ToAdeline theBaronwas from the first a sort of godwho could do nowrong. To him she owed everything: fortune—she had a carriage, a finehouse,everyluxuryoftheday;happiness—hewasdevotedtoherinthefaceof theworld;a title,forshewasaBaroness;fame,forshewasspokenofasthe beautiful Madame Hulot—and in Paris! Finally, she had the honor ofrefusing the Emperor’s advances, for Napoleon made her a present of a

diamondnecklace,andalwaysrememberedher,askingnowandagain,“Andis thebeautifulMadameHulotstillamodelofvirtue?”in the toneofamanwhomighthavetakenhisrevengeononewhoshouldhavetriumphedwherehehadfailed.

Soitneedsnogreatintuitiontodiscernwhatwerethemotivesinasimple,guileless,andnoblesoulfor thefanaticismofMadameHulot’s love.Havingfully persuaded herself that her husband could do her no wrong, shemadeherselfinthedepthsofherheartthehumble,abject,andblindfoldslaveofthemanwhohadmadeher.Itmustbenoted,too, thatshewasgiftedwithgreatgoodsense—thegoodsenseofthepeople,whichmadehereducationsound.Insocietyshespokelittle,andneverspokeevilofanyone;shedidnottrytoshine;she thoughtoutmany things, listenedwell,and formedherselfon themodelofthebest-conductedwomenofgoodbirth.

In 1815 Hulot followed the lead of the Prince de Wissembourg, hisintimatefriend,andbecameoneoftheofficerswhoorganizedtheimprovisedtroops whose rout brought the Napoleonic cycle to a close atWaterloo. In1816 theBaronwasoneof themenbesthatedby theFeltre administration,andwasnotreinstatedintheCommissariattill1823,whenhewasneededfortheSpanishwar.In1830hetookofficeasthefourthwheelofthecoach,atthetimeof the levies, a sort of conscriptionmadebyLouisPhilippeon theoldNapoleonic soldiery. From the time when the younger branch ascended thethrone,havingtakenanactivepartinbringingthatabout,hewasregardedasan indispensable authority at the War Office. He had already won hisMarshal’s baton, and theKing could do nomore for himunless bymakinghimministerorapeerofFrance.

From1818till1823,havingnoofficialoccupation,BaronHulothadgoneon active service to womankind. Madame Hulot dated her Hector’s firstinfidelities from the grand finale of the Empire. Thus, for twelve years theBaronesshadfilledthepartinherhouseholdofprimadonnaassoluta,withouta rival.She still couldboastof theold-fashioned, inveterateaffectionwhichhusbandsfeelforwiveswhoareresignedtobegentleandvirtuoushelpmates;she knew that if she had a rival, that rivalwould not subsist for two hoursunderawordofreprooffromherself;butsheshuthereyes,shestoppedherears,shewouldknownothingofherhusband’sproceedingsoutsidehishome.Inshort,shetreatedherHectorasamothertreatsaspoiltchild.

Three years before the conversation reported above, Hortense, at theTheatredesVarietes,hadrecognizedherfatherinalowertierstage-boxwithJennyCadine,andhadexclaimed:

“Thereispapa!”

“You are mistaken, my darling; he is at the Marshal’s,” the Baroness

replied.

ShetoohadseenJennyCadine;butinsteadoffeelingapangwhenshesawhowprettyshewas,shesaidtoherself,“ThatrascalHectormustthinkhimselfverylucky.”

Shesufferednevertheless;shegaveherselfupinsecrettoragesoftorment;but as soon as she sawHector, she always remembered her twelve years ofperfecthappiness,andcouldnotfinditinhertoutterawordofcomplaint.ShewouldhavebeengladiftheBaronwouldhavetakenherintohisconfidence;butsheneverdaredtolethimseethatsheknewofhiskickingoverthetraces,outofrespectforherhusband.Suchanexcessofdelicacyisnevermetwithbutinthosegrandcreatures,daughtersofthesoil,whoseinstinctitistotakeblowswithouteverreturningthem;thebloodoftheearlymartyrsstilllivesintheir veins. Well-born women, their husbands’ equals, feel the impulse toannoy them, tomark thepointsof their tolerance, likepointsatbilliards,bysomestingingword,partlyinthespiritofdiabolicalmalice,andtosecuretheupperhandortherightofturningthetables.

The Baroness had an ardent admirer in her brother-in-law, Lieutenant-General Hulot, the venerable Colonel of the Grenadiers of the ImperialInfantry Guard, who was to have a Marshal’s baton in his old age. Thisveteran,afterhavingservedfrom1830to1834asCommandantofthemilitarydivision, including the departments of Brittany, the scene of his exploits in1799and1800,hadcometosettleinParisnearhisbrother,forwhomhehadafatherlyaffection.

Thisoldsoldier’sheartwasinsympathywithhissister-in-law;headmiredherasthenoblestandsaintliestofhersex.Hehadnevermarried,becausehehopedtofindasecondAdeline,thoughhehadvainlysoughtforherthroughtwenty campaigns in asmany lands.Tomaintainher place in the esteemofthis blameless and spotless old republican—of whom Napoleon had said,“ThatbraveoldHulot is themostobstinate republican,buthewillneverbefalsetome”—Adelinewouldhaveenduredgriefsevengreaterthanthosethathadjustcomeuponher.Buttheoldsoldier,seventy-twoyearsofage,batteredby thirty campaigns, andwounded for the twenty-seventh time atWaterloo,was Adeline’s admirer, and not a “protector.” The poor old Count, amongotherinfirmities,couldonlyhearthroughaspeakingtrumpet.

So long as Baron Hulot d’Ervy was a fine man, his flirtations did notdamagehisfortune;butwhenamanisfifty,theGracesclaimpayment.Atthatagelovebecomesvice;insensatevanitiescomeintoplay.Thus,ataboutthattime,Adelinesawthatherhusbandwasincrediblyparticularabouthisdress;hedyedhishairandwhiskers,andworeabeltandstays.Hewasdeterminedto remainhandsomeatanycost.Thiscareofhisperson,aweaknesshehad

oncemercilesslymockedat,wascarriedoutintheminutestdetails.

AtlastAdelineperceivedthatthePactoluspouredoutbeforetheBaron’smistresses had its source in her pocket. In eight years he had dissipated aconsiderableamountofmoney;andsoeffectually,that,onhisson’smarriagetwoyearspreviously,theBaronhadbeencompelledtoexplaintohiswifethathispayconstitutedtheirwholeincome.

“Whatshallwecometo?”askedAdeline.

“Bequiteeasy,”said theofficial,“Iwill leave thewholeofmysalary inyourhands,andIwillmakeafortuneforHortense,andsomesavingsforthefuture,inbusiness.”

Thewife’sdeepbeliefinherhusband’spowerandsuperiortalents,inhiscapabilitiesandcharacter,had,infact,forthemomentallayedheranxiety.

WhattheBaroness’reflectionsandtearswereafterCrevel’sdeparturemaynowbeclearlyimagined.Thepoorwomanhadfortwoyearspastknownthatshewasatthebottomofapit,butshehadfanciedherselfaloneinit.Howherson’smarriagehadbeenfinallyarrangedshehadnotknown;shehadknownnothingofHector’sconnectionwiththegraspingJewess;and,aboveall,shehopedthatnooneintheworldknewanythingofhertroubles.Now,ifCrevelwentaboutsoreadytotalkoftheBaron’sexcesses,Hector’sreputationwouldsuffer. She could see, under the angry ex-perfumer’s coarse harangue, theodious gossip behind the scenes which led to her son’s marriage. Tworeprobatehussieshadbeenthepriestessesofthisunionplannedatsomeorgyamidthedegradingfamiliaritiesoftwotipsyoldsinners.

“AndhasheforgottenHortense!”shewondered.

“Buthe seesher everyday;willhe try to findher ahusbandamonghisgood-for-nothingsluts?”

Atthismomentitwasthemotherthatspokeratherthanthewife,forshesaw Hortense laughing with her Cousin Betty—the reckless laughter ofheedless youth; and she knew that such hysterical laughter was quite asdistressingasymptomasthetearfulreverieofsolitarywalksinthegarden.

Hortensewas likehermother,withgoldenhair thatwavednaturally,andwasamazinglylongandthick.Herskinhadthelustreofmother-of-pearl.Shewasvisibly the offspringof a truemarriage, of a pure andnoble love in itsprime. There was a passionate vitality in her countenance, a brilliancy offeature, a full fount of youth, a fresh vigor and abundance of health,whichradiatedfromherwithelectricflashes.Hortenseinvitedtheeye.

When her eye, of deep ultramarine blue, liquid with the moisture ofinnocentyouth,restedonapasser-by,hewasinvoluntarilythrilled.Nordida

singlefrecklemarherskin,suchasthosewithwhichmanyawhiteandgoldenmaidpays toll forhermilkywhiteness.Tall, roundwithoutbeingfat,withaslender dignity as noble as her mother’s, she really deserved the name ofgoddess,ofwhicholdauthorsweresolavish.Infact,thosewhosawHortenseinthestreetcouldhardlyrestraintheexclamation,“Whatabeautifulgirl!”

Shewassogenuinelyinnocent,thatshecouldsaytohermother:

“What do theymean,mamma, by callingme a beautiful girlwhen I amwithyou?ArenotyoumuchhandsomerthanIam?”

And, in point of fact, at seven-and-forty the Baroness might have beenpreferredtoherdaughterbyamateursofsunsetbeauty;forshehadnotyetlostanyof her charms, byoneof those phenomenawhich are especially rare inParis, where Ninon was regarded as scandalous, simply because she thusseemed to enjoy such an unfair advantage over the plainer women of theseventeenthcentury.

Thinking of her daughter brought her back to the father; she saw himsinkingbydegrees,dayafterday,downtothesocialmire,andevendismissedsomedayfromhisappointment.Theideaofheridol’sfall,withavaguevisionof thedisastersprophesiedbyCrevel,was sucha terror to thepoorwoman,thatshebecameraptinthecontemplationlikeanecstatic.

Cousin Betty, from time to time, as she chatted with Hortense, lookedround to see when they might return to the drawing-room; but her youngcousinwaspeltingherwithquestions,andatthemomentwhentheBaronessopenedtheglassdoorshedidnothappentobelooking.

LisbethFischer,thoughthedaughteroftheeldestofthethreebrothers,wasfiveyearsyoungerthanMadameHulot;shewasfarfrombeingashandsomeashercousin,andhadbeendesperatelyjealousofAdeline.Jealousywasthefundamental passion of this character, marked by eccentricities—a wordinvented by the English to describe the craziness not of the asylum, but ofrespectablehouseholds.AnativeoftheVosges,apeasantinthefullestsenseoftheword,lean,brown,withshiningblackhairandthickeyebrowsjoiningin a tuft,with long, strong arms, thick feet, and somemoles on her narrowsimianface—suchisabriefdescriptionoftheelderlyvirgin.

Thefamily, livingallunderoneroof,hadsacrificed thecommon-lookinggirltothebeauty,thebitterfruittothesplendidflower.Lisbethworkedinthefields, while her cousin was indulged; and one day, when they were alonetogether,shehadtriedtodestroyAdeline’snose,atrulyGreeknose,whichtheoldmothersadmired.Thoughshewasbeatenfor thismisdeed,shepersistedneverthelessintearingthefavorite’sgownsandcrumplinghercollars.

AtthetimeofAdeline’swonderfulmarriage,Lisbethhadbowedtofate,as

Napoleon’sbrothersandsistersbowedbefore thesplendorof the throneandtheforceofauthority.

Adeline,whowas extremely sweet and kind, remembered Lisbethwhenshefoundherself inParis,and invitedher there in1809, intending to rescueherfrompovertybyfindingherahusband.Butseeingthatitwasimpossibletomarrythegirloutofhand,withherblackeyesandsootybrows,unable,too,toreadorwrite,theBaronbeganbyapprenticinghertoabusiness;heplacedherasalearnerwiththeembroidererstotheImperialCourt, thewell-knownPonsBrothers.

Lisbeth, calledBetty for short, having learned to embroider in gold andsilver, and possessing all the energy of amountain race, had determinationenoughtolearntoread,write,andkeepaccounts;forhercousintheBaronhadpointedoutthenecessityfortheseaccomplishmentsifshehopedtosetupinbusinessasanembroiderer.

Shewasbentonmakingafortune;intwoyearsshewasanothercreature.In 1811 the peasant woman had become a very presentable, skilled, andintelligentforewoman.

Herdepartment,thatofgoldandsilverlace-work,asitiscalled,includedepaulettes,sword-knots,aiguillettes; inshort, the immensemassofglitteringornaments that sparkled on the rich uniforms of the French army and civilofficials. The Emperor, a true Italian in his love of dress, had overlaid thecoats of all his servants with silver and gold, and the Empire included ahundred and thirty-threeDepartments. These ornaments, usually supplied totailorswhoweresolventandwealthypaymasters,wereaverysecurebranchoftrade.

JustwhenCousinBetty,thebesthandinthehouseofPonsBrothers,whereshe was forewoman of the embroidery department, might have set up inbusinessonherownaccount,theEmpirecollapsed.Theolive-branchofpeaceheldoutbytheBourbonsdidnotreassureLisbeth;shefearedadiminutionofthis branch of trade, since henceforth there were to be but eighty-sixDepartmentstoplunder, insteadofahundredandthirty-three, tosaynothingoftheimmensereductionofthearmy.Utterlyscaredbytheupsanddownsofindustry, she refused theBaron’soffersofhelp, andhe thought shemustbemad. She confirmed this opinion by quarreling with Monsieur Rivet, whobought the business of PonsBrothers, andwithwhom theBaronwished toplaceherinpartnership;shewouldbenomorethanaworkwoman.ThustheFischerfamilyhadrelapsedintotheprecariousmediocrityfromwhichBaronHulothadraisedit.

The three brothers Fischer, who had been ruined by the abdication atFontainebleau, in despair joined the irregular troops in 1815. The eldest,

Lisbeth’s father, was killed. Adeline’s father, sentenced to death by court-martial, fled toGermany, anddied atTreves in 1820. Johann, theyoungest,cametoParis,apetitionertothequeenofthefamily,whowassaidtodineoffgoldandsilverplate,andnevertobeseenatapartybutwithdiamondsinherhairasbigashazel-nuts,giventoherbytheEmperor.

JohannFischer,thenagedforty-three,obtainedfromBaronHulotacapitaloftenthousandfrancswithwhichtostartasmallbusinessasforage-dealeratVersailles,underthepatronageoftheWarOffice,throughtheinfluenceofthefriendsstillinoffice,ofthelateCommissary-General.

These family catastrophes, Baron Hulot’s dismissal, and the knowledgethathewasamerecipherinthatimmensestirofmenandinterestsandthingswhichmakesParisatonceaparadiseandahell,quitequelledLisbethFischer.Shegaveupall ideaof rivalryandcomparisonwithhercousinafter feelinghergreatsuperiority;butenvystilllurkedinherheart,likeaplague-germthatmayhatchanddevastateacityifthefatalbaleofwoolisopenedinwhichitisconcealed.

Nowandagain,indeed,shesaidtoherself:

“AdelineandIare thesamefleshandblood,ourfatherswerebrothers—andsheisinamansion,whileIaminagarret.”

But everyNewYearLisbethhadpresents from theBaronandBaroness;theBaron,whowasalwaysgoodtoher,paidforherfirewoodinthewinter;old General Hulot had her to dinner once a week; and there was always acoverlaidforherathercousin’stable.Theylaughedathernodoubt,buttheyneverwereashamed toownher. Inshort, theyhadmadeher independent inParis,whereshelivedasshepleased.

The old maid had, in fact, a terror of any kind of tie. Her cousin hadoffered her a room in her own house—Lisbeth suspected the halter ofdomestic servitude; several times the Baron had found a solution of thedifficultproblemofhermarriage;butthoughtemptedinthefirstinstance,shewould presently decline, fearing lest she should be scorned for herwant ofeducation,hergeneralignorance,andherpoverty;finally,whentheBaronesssuggested that she should live with their uncle Johann, and keep house forhim,insteadoftheupperservant,whomustcosthimdear,Lisbethrepliedthatthatwastheverylastwaysheshouldthinkofmarrying.

Lisbeth Fischer had the sort of strangeness in her ideas which is oftennoticeableincharactersthathavedevelopedlate,insavages,whothinkmuchand speak little. Her peasant’s wit had acquired a good deal of Parisianasperity from hearing the talk ofworkshops andmixingwithworkmen andworkwomen.She,whose character had amarked resemblance to that of the

Corsicans,worked uponwithout fruition by the instincts of a strong nature,wouldhavelikedtobetheprotectressofaweakman;but,asaresultoflivinginthecapital,thecapitalhadalteredhersuperficially.Parisianpolishbecamerustonthiscoarselytemperedsoul.Giftedwithacunningwhichhadbecomeunfathomable,asitalwaysdoesinthosewhosecelibacyisgenuine,withtheoriginality and sharpness with which she clothed her ideas, in any otherposition shewould have been formidable. Full of spite, shewas capable ofbringingdiscordintothemostunitedfamily.

In early days, when she indulged in certain secret hopes which sheconfidedtonone,shetooktowearingstays,anddressinginthefashion,andsoshoneinsplendorforashorttime,thattheBaronthoughthermarriageable.Lisbeth at that stagewas thepiquantebrunette of old-fashionednovels.Herpiercing glance, her olive skin, her reed-like figure,might invite a half-paymajor; but she was satisfied, she would say laughing, with her ownadmiration.

And,indeed,shefoundherlifepleasantenoughwhenshehadfreeditfrompractical anxieties, for shedinedout everyeveningafterworkinghard fromsunrise.Thusshehadonlyherrentandhermiddaymeal toprovidefor;shehadmostofherclothesgivenher,andavarietyofveryacceptablestores,suchascoffee,sugar,wine,andsoforth.

In1837,afterlivingfortwenty-sevenyears,halfmaintainedbytheHulotsand her Uncle Fischer, Cousin Betty, resigned to being nobody, allowedherself to be treated so. She herself refused to appear at any grand dinners,preferringthefamilyparty,wheresheheldherownandwassparedallslightstoherpride.

Wherever shewent—atGeneralHulot’s, atCrevel’s, at the house of theyoung Hulots, or at Rivet’s (Pons’ successor, with whom she made up herquarrel, and who made much of her), and at the Baroness’ table—she wastreated as one of the family; in fact, she managed to make friends of theservants bymaking theman occasional small present, and always gossipingwith them for a few minutes before going into the drawing-room. Thisfamiliarity, by which she uncompromisingly put herself on their level,conciliatedtheirservilegood-nature,whichisindispensabletoaparasite.“Sheisagood,steadywoman,”waseverybody’sverdict.

Her willingness to oblige, which knew no bounds when it was notdemandedofher,was indeed, likeherassumedbluntness,anecessityofherposition.Shehadat lengthunderstoodwhather lifemustbe,seeingthatshewasateverybody’smercy;andneedingtopleaseeverybody,shewouldlaughwith young people, who liked her for a sort of wheedling flattery whichalways wins them; guessing and taking part with their fancies, she would

makeherselftheirspokeswoman,andtheythoughtheradelightfulconfidante,sinceshehadnorighttofindfaultwiththem.

Herabsolutesecrecyalsowonhertheconfidenceoftheirseniors;for,likeNinon,shehadcertainmanlyqualities.Asarule,ourconfidenceisgiventothose below rather than above us.We employ our inferiors rather than ourbetters in secret transactions, and they thus become the recipients of ourinmost thoughts, and look on at our meditations; Richelieu thought he hadachievedsuccesswhenhewasadmittedtotheCouncil.Thispennilesswomanwas supposed to be so dependent on every one about her, that she seemeddoomedtoperfectsilence.SheherselfcalledherselftheFamilyConfessional.

TheBaronessonly,rememberingherill-usageinchildhoodbythecousinwho, though younger, was stronger than herself, never wholly trusted her.Besides, out of sheer modesty, she would never have told her domesticsorrowstoanyonebutGod.

It may here be well to add that the Baron’s house preserved all itsmagnificence in the eyes of Lisbeth Fischer, who was not struck, as theparvenuperfumerhadbeen,withthepenurystampedontheshabbychairs,thedirtyhangings,andtherippedsilk.Thefurniturewelivewithisinsomesortlikeourownperson; seeingourselveseveryday,weend, like theBaron,bythinkingourselvesbutlittlealtered,andstillyouthful,whenothersseethatourheadiscoveredwithchinchilla,ourforeheadscarredwithcircumflexaccents,our stomach assuming the rotundity of a pumpkin. So these rooms, alwaysblazing inBetty’s eyeswith theBengal fireof Imperial victory,were toherperenniallysplendid.

Astimewenton,Lisbethhadcontractedsomeratherstrangeold-maidishhabits. For instance, instead of following the fashions, she expected thefashiontoacceptherwaysandyieldtoheralwaysout-of-datenotions.WhentheBaronessgaveheraprettynewbonnet,oragowninthefashionoftheday,Bettyremadeitcompletelyathome,andspoiltitbyproducingadressofthestyleoftheEmpireorofheroldLorrainecostume.Athirty-francbonnetcameoutarag,andthegownadisgrace.Onthispoint,Lisbethwasasobstinateasamule; she would please no one but herself and believed herself charming;whereas thisassimilativeprocess—harmonious,nodoubt, in so faras that itstampedherforanoldmaidfromheadtofoot—madehersoridiculous,that,withthebestwillintheworld,noonecouldadmitheronanysmartoccasion.

This refractory, capricious, and independent spirit, and the inexplicablewildshynessofthewomanforwhomtheBaronhadfourtimesfoundamatch—anemployeinhisoffice,aretiredmajor,anarmycontractor,andahalf-paycaptain—whileshehad refusedanarmy lacemaker,whohadsincemadehisfortune,hadwonherthenameoftheNannyGoat,whichtheBarongaveher

injest.Butthisnicknameonlymetthepeculiaritiesthatlayonthesurface,theeccentricitieswhich each of us displays to his neighbors in social life. Thiswoman,who, ifcloselystudied,wouldhaveshownthemostsavagetraitsofthe peasant class, was still the girl who had clawed her cousin’s nose, andwho,ifshehadnotbeentrainedtoreason,wouldperhapshavekilledherinafitofjealousy.

Itwasonlyherknowledgeofthelawsandoftheworldthatenabledhertocontrol the swift instinct with which country folk, like wild men, reduceimpulse to action. In this alone, perhaps, lies the difference betweennaturaland civilized man. The savage has only impulse; the civilized man hasimpulses and ideas.And in the savage thebrain retains, aswemay say,butfewimpressions,itiswhollyatthemercyofthefeelingthatrushesinuponit;while in the civilizedman, ideas sink into theheart and change it; hehas athousandinterestsandmanyfeelings,wherethesavagehasbutoneatatime.Thisisthecauseofthetransientascendencyofachildoveritsparents,whichceasesassoonas it issatisfied; in themanwho isstillonewithnature, thiscontrastisconstant.CousinBetty,asavageofLorraine,somewhattreacheroustoo,wasofthisclassofnatures,whicharecommoneramongthelowerordersthan is supposed, accounting for the conduct of the populace duringrevolutions.

At thetimewhenthisDramaopens, ifCousinBettywouldhaveallowedherself to bedressed likeother people; if, like thewomenofParis, shehadbeen accustomed to wear each fashion in its turn, she would have beenpresentableandacceptable,but shepreserved thestiffnessofa stick.Nowawomandevoidofall thegraces, inParissimplydoesnotexist.The finebuthardeyes,theseverefeatures,theCalabrianfixityofcomplexionwhichmadeLisbethlikeafigurebyGiotto,andofwhichatrueParisianwouldhavetakenadvantage, above all, her strange way of dressing, gave her such anextraordinary appearance that she sometimes looked like one of thosemonkeysinpetticoatstakenaboutbylittleSavoyards.Asshewaswellknownin the houses connected by familywhich she frequented, and restricted hersocialeffortstothatlittlecircle,asshelikedherownhome,hersingularitiesnolongerastonishedanybody;andoutofdoorstheywerelostintheimmensestirofParisstreet-life,whereonlyprettywomenareeverlookedat.

Hortense’slaughterwasatthismomentcausedbyavictorywonoverherCousinLisbeth’sperversity;shehad justwrungfromheranavowalshehadbeenhopingforthesethreeyearspast.Howeversecretiveanoldmaidmaybe,thereisonesentimentwhichwillalwaysavailtomakeherbreakherfastfromwords,andthatishervanity.Forthelastthreeyears,Hortense,havingbecomevery inquisitive on such matters, had pestered her cousin with questions,which, however, bore the stamp of perfect innocence. She wanted to know

whyhercousinhadnevermarried.Hortense,whoknewofthefiveoffersthatshehadrefused,hadconstructedherlittleromance;shesupposedthatLisbethhadhadapassionateattachment,andawarofbanterwastheresult.Hortensewouldtalkof“Weyounggirls!”whenspeakingofherselfandhercousin.

CousinBettyhadonseveraloccasionsansweredinthesametone—“Andwho says I have not a lover?” So Cousin Betty’s lover, real or fictitious,becameasubjectofmildjesting.Atlast,aftertwoyearsofthispettywarfare,thelasttimeLisbethhadcometothehouseHortense’sfirstquestionhadbeen:

“Andhowisyourlover?”

“Prettywell,thankyou,”wastheanswer.“Heisratherailing,pooryoungman.”

“Hehasdelicatehealth?”askedtheBaroness,laughing.

“Ishouldthinkso!Heisfair.Asootythinglikemecanlovenonebutafairmanwithacolorlikethemoon.”

“Butwhoishe?Whatdoeshedo?”askedHortense.“Isheaprince?”

“Aprinceofartisans,asIamqueenof thebobbin.Isapoorwomanlikemelikelytofindaloverinamanwithafinehouseandmoneyinthefunds,orinadukeoftherealm,orsomePrinceCharmingoutofafairytale?”

“Oh,Ishouldsomuchliketoseehim!”criedHortense,smiling.

“ToseewhatamancanbelikewhocanlovetheNannyGoat?”retortedLisbeth.

“Hemustbesomemonsterofanoldclerk,withagoat’sbeard!”Hortensesaidtohermother.

“Well,then,youarequitemistaken,mademoiselle.”

“Then you mean that you really have a lover?” Hortense exclaimed intriumph.

“Assureasyouhavenot!”retortedLisbeth,nettled.

“But if you have a lover, why don’t youmarry him, Lisbeth?” said theBaroness, shaking her head at her daughter. “We have been hearing rumorsabouthim these threeyears.Youhavehad time to studyhim; and if hehasbeen faithful so long, you should not persist in a delaywhichmust be harduponhim.Afterall,itisamatterofconscience;andifheisyoung,itistimetotakeabrevetofdignity.”

Cousin Betty had fixed her gaze on Adeline, and seeing that she wasjesting,shereplied:

“It would be marrying hunger and thirst; he is a workman, I am aworkwoman.Ifwehadchildren,theywouldbeworkmen.—No,no;weloveeachotherspiritually;itislessexpensive.”

“Whydoyoukeephiminhiding?”Hortenseasked.

“Hewearsaroundjacket,”repliedtheoldmaid,laughing.

“Youtrulylovehim?”theBaronessinquired.

“Ibelieveyou!Ilovehimforhisownsake,thedearcherub.Forfouryearshishomehasbeeninmyheart.”

“Well,then,ifyoulovehimforhimself,”saidtheBaronessgravely,“andifhe reallyexists,youare treatinghimcriminally.Youdonotknowhow tolovetruly.”

“Weallknowthatfromourbirth,”saidLisbeth.

“No,therearewomenwholoveandyetareselfish,andthatisyourcase.”

CousinBetty’sheadfell,andherglancewouldhavemadeanyoneshiverwhohadseenit;buthereyeswereonherreelofthread.

“Ifyouwouldintroduceyourso-calledlovertous,Hectormightfindhimemployment,orputhiminapositiontomakemoney.”

“Thatisoutofthequestion,”saidCousinBetty.

“Andwhy?”

“HeisasortofPole—arefugee——”

“A conspirator?” criedHortense. “What luck for you!—Has he had anyadventures?”

“He has fought for Poland.Hewas a professor in the schoolwhere thestudents began the rebellion; and as he had been placed there by theGrandDukeConstantine,hehasnohopeofmercy——”

“Aprofessorofwhat?”

“Offinearts.”

“AndhecametoPariswhentherebellionwasquelled?”

“In1833.HecamethroughGermanyonfoot.”

“Pooryoungman!Andhowoldishe?”

“He was just four-and-twenty when the insurrection broke out—he istwenty-ninenow.”

“Fifteenyearsyourjunior,”saidtheBaroness.

“Andwhatdoesheliveon?”askedHortense.

“Histalent.”

“Oh,hegiveslessons?”

“No,”saidCousinBetty;“hegetsthem,andhardonestoo!”

“AndhisChristianname—isitaprettyname?”

“Wenceslas.”

“What a wonderful imagination you old maids have!” exclaimed theBaroness.“Tohearyoutalk,Lisbeth,onemightreallybelieveyou.”

“You see, mamma, he is a Pole, and so accustomed to the knout thatLisbethremindshimofthejoysofhisnativeland.”

Theyallthreelaughed,andHortensesangWenceslas!idoledemoname!insteadofOMathilde.

Thenforafewminutestherewasatruce.

“Thesechildren,”saidCousinBetty,lookingatHortenseasshewentuptoher,“fancythatnoonebutthemselvescanhavelovers.”

“Listen,”Hortense replied, findingherself alonewithher cousin, “ifyouprovetomethatWenceslasisnotapureinvention,Iwillgiveyoumyyellowcashmereshawl.”

“HeisaCount.”

“EveryPoleisaCount!”

“ButheisnotaPole;hecomesfromLiva—Litha——”

“Lithuania?”

“No.”

“Livonia?”

“Yes,that’sit!”

“Butwhatishisname?”

“Iwonderifyouarecapableofkeepingasecret.”

“CousinBetty,Iwillbeasmute!——”

“Asafish?”

“Asafish.”

“Byyourlifeeternal?”

“Bymylifeeternal!”

“No,byyourhappinessinthisworld?”

“Yes.”

“Well,then,hisnameisWenceslasSteinbock.”

“OneofCharlesXII.‘sGeneralswasnamedSteinbock.”

“Hewashisgrand-uncle.HisownfathersettledinLivoniaafterthedeathoftheKingofSweden;buthelostallhisfortuneduringthecampaignof1812,anddied,leavingthepoorboyattheageofeightwithoutapenny.TheGrandDukeConstantine,forthehonorofthenameofSteinbock,tookhimunderhisprotectionandsenthimtoschool.”

“Iwill not breakmyword,”Hortense replied; “prove his existence, andyoushallhavetheyellowshawl.Thecolorismostbecomingtodarkskins.”

“Andyouwillkeepmysecret?”

“Andtellyoumine.”

“Well,then,thenexttimeIcomeyoushallhavetheproof.”

“Buttheproofwillbethelover,”saidHortense.

Cousin Betty, who, since her first arrival in Paris, had been bitten by amaniaforshawls,wasbewitchedbytheideaofowningtheyellowcashmeregiven to his wife by the Baron in 1808, and handed down frommother todaughter after themanner of some families in 1830. The shawl had been agooddealworn ten years ago; but the costly object, nowalways kept in itssandal-wood box, seemed to the oldmaid ever new, like the drawing-roomfurniture.SoshebroughtinherhandbagapresentfortheBaroness’birthday,bywhichsheproposedtoprovetheexistenceofherromanticlover.

Thispresentwasasilverseal formedof three little figuresback toback,wreathed with foliage, and supporting the Globe. They represented Faith,Hope, andCharity; their feet rested onmonsters rending each other, amongthem the symbolical serpent. In 1846, now that such immense strides havebeen made in the art of which Benvenuto Cellini was the master, byMademoiselle de Fauveau, Wagner, Jeanest, Froment-Meurice, and wood-carvers likeLienard, this littlemasterpiecewouldamazenobody;butat thattimeagirlwhounderstoodthesilversmith’sartstoodastonishedassheheldthesealwhichLisbethputintoherhands,saying:

“There!whatdoyouthinkofthat?”

Indesign,attitude,anddraperythefigureswereoftheschoolofRaphael;buttheexecutionwasinthestyleoftheFlorentinemetalworkers—theschool

created by Donatello, Brunelleschi, Ghiberti, Benvenuto Cellini, John ofBologna, and others. The French masters of the Renaissance had neverinventedmorestrangelytwiningmonstersthanthesethatsymbolizedtheevilpassions. The palms, ferns, reeds, and foliage that wreathed the Virtuesshowed a style, a taste, a handling that might have driven a practisedcraftsman to despair; a scroll floated above the three figures; and on itssurface,betweentheheads,wereaW,achamois,andthewordfecit.

“Whocarvedthis?”askedHortense.

“Well,justmylover,”repliedLisbeth.“Therearetenmonths’workinit;Icouldearnmoreatmakingsword-knots.—HetoldmethatSteinbockmeansarockgoat,achamois,inGerman.Andheintendstomarkallhisworkinthatway.—Ah,ha!Ishallhavetheshawl.”

“Whatfor?”

“DoyousupposeIcouldbuysuchathing,ororderit?Impossible!Well,then,itmusthavebeengiventome.Andwhowouldmakemesuchapresent?Alover!”

Hortense,withanartfulnessthatwouldhavefrightenedLisbethFischerifshehaddetectedit,tookcarenottoexpressallheradmiration,thoughshewasfullofthedelightwhicheverysoulthatisopentoasenseofbeautymustfeelonseeingafaultlesspieceofwork—perfectandunexpected.

“Onmyword,”saidshe,“itisverypretty.”

“Yes, it is pretty,” said her cousin; “but I like an orange-colored shawlbetter.—Well, child, my lover spends his time in doing such work as that.SincehecametoParishehasturnedoutthreeorfourlittletriflesinthatstyle,andthatisthefruitoffouryears’studyandtoil.Hehasservedasapprenticetofounders,metal-casters,andgoldsmiths.—Therehehaspaidaway thousandsandhundredsoffrancs.Andmygentlemantellsmethatinafewmonthsnowhewillbefamousandrich——”

“Thenyouoftenseehim?”

“Blessme,doyouthinkitisallafable?Itoldyoutruthinjest.”

“Andheisinlovewithyou?”askedHortenseeagerly.

“He adoresme,” replied Lisbeth very seriously. “You see, child, he hadneverseenanywomenbutthewashedout,palethingstheyallareinthenorth,anda slender,brown,youthful thing likemewarmedhisheart.—But,mum;youpromised,youknow!”

“And he will fare like the five others,” said the girl ironically, as shelookedattheseal.

“Sixothers,miss.IleftoneinLorraine,who,tothisday,wouldfetchthemoondownforme.”

“Thisonedoesbetterthanthat,”saidHortense;“hehasbroughtdownthesun.”

“Wherecanthatbeturnedintomoney?”askedhercousin.“It takeswidelandstobenefitbythesunshine.”

Thesewitticisms,firedinquickretort,andleadingtothesortofgiddyplaythatmaybeimagined,hadgivencauseforthelaughterwhichhadaddedtotheBaroness’ troublesbymakinghercompareherdaughter’sfuture lotwith thepresent,whenshewasfreetoindulgethelight-heartednessofyouth.

“But togiveyouagemwhichcosthimsixmonthsofwork,hemustbeundersomegreatobligationstoyou?”saidHortense,inwhomthesilversealhadsuggestedveryseriousreflections.

“Oh,youwanttoknowtoomuchatonce!”saidhercousin.“But,listen,Iwillletyouintoalittleplot.”

“Isyourloverinittoo?”

“Oh,ho!youwantsomuchtoseehim!But,asyoumaysuppose,anoldmaidlikeCousinBetty,whohadmanagedtokeepaloverforfiveyears,keepshim well hidden.—Now, just let me alone. You see, I have neither cat norcanary,neitherdognoraparrot,andtheoldNannyGoatwantedsomethingtopetandtease—soItreatedmyselftoaPolishCount.”

“Hasheamoustache?”

“As long as that,” said Lisbeth, holding up her shuttle filled with goldthread. She always took her lace-workwith her, andworked till dinnerwasserved.

“If you ask toomanyquestions, youwill be told nothing,” shewent on.“You are but two-and-twenty, and you chatter more than I do though I amforty-two—nottosayforty-three.”

“Iamlistening;Iamawoodenimage,”saidHortense.

“Myloverhasfinishedabronzegrouptenincheshigh,”Lisbethwenton.“ItrepresentsSamsonslayingalion,andhehaskeptitburiedtillitissorustythat youmight believe it to be asold asSamsonhimself.This finepiece isshownattheshopofoneoftheoldcuriositysellersonthePlaceduCarrousel,nearmylodgings.Now,yourfatherknowsMonsieurPopinot,theMinisterofCommerce and Agriculture, and the Comte de Rastignac, and if he wouldmentionthegrouptothemasafineantiquehehadseenbychance!Itseemsthatsuch things take thefancyofyourgrandfolks,whodon’tcaresomuch

about gold lace, and thatmyman’s fortunewould bemade if one of themwouldbuyorevenlookatthewretchedpieceofmetal.Thepoorfellowissurethat itmightbemistakenforoldwork,and that the rubbish isworthagreatdealofmoney.Andthen,ifoneoftheministersshouldpurchasethegroup,hewouldgotopayhisrespects,andprovethathewasthemaker,andbealmostcarried in triumph!Oh!hebelieveshehasreachedthepinnacle;pooryoungman,andheisasproudastwonewly-madeCounts.”

“MichaelAngelooveragain;but,foralover,hehaskepthisheadonhisshoulders!”saidHortense.“Andhowmuchdoeshewantforit?”

“Fifteenhundredfrancs.Thedealerwillnotletitgoforless,sincehemusttakehiscommission.”

“PapaisintheKing’shouseholdjustnow,”saidHortense.“HeseesthosetwoministerseverydayattheChamber,andhewilldothething—Iundertakethat.Youwillbearichwoman,MadamelaComtessedeSteinbock.”

“No,theboyistoolazy;forwholeweekshesitstwiddlingwithbitsofredwax,andnothingcomesofit.Why,hespendsallhisdaysattheLouvreandtheLibrary,lookingatprintsandsketchingthings.Heisanidler!”

Thecousinschattedandgiggled;Hortenselaughingaforcedlaugh,forshewasinvadedbyakindoflovewhicheverygirlhasgonethrough—theloveoftheunknown,loveinitsvaguestform,wheneverythoughtisaccretedroundsomeformwhichissuggestedbyachanceword,astheefflorescenceofhoar-frostgathersaboutastrawthatthewindhasblownagainstthewindow-sill.

Forthepast tenmonthsshehadmadearealityofhercousin’simaginaryromance,believing,likehermother,thatLisbethwouldnevermarry;andnow,withinaweek,thisvisionarybeinghadbecomeComteWenceslasSteinbock,thedreamhadacertificateofbirth,thewraithhadsolidifiedintoayoungmanof thirty. The seal she held in her hand—a sort of Annunciation in whichgeniusshonelikeanimmanentlight—hadthepowersofatalisman.Hortensefeltsuchasurgeofhappiness,thatshealmostdoubtedwhetherthetaleweretrue;therewasafermentinherblood,andshelaughedwildlytodeceivehercousin.

“ButIthinkthedrawing-roomdoorisopen,”saidLisbeth;“letusgoandseeifMonsieurCrevelisgone.”

“Mammahasbeenverymuchoutofspiritsthesetwodays.Isupposethemarriageunderdiscussionhascometonothing!”

“Oh,itmaycomeonagain.Heis—Imaytellyousomuch—aCouncillorof theSupremeCourt.Howwouldyou like tobeMadame laPresidente? IfMonsieurCrevelhasafingerinit,hewilltellmeaboutitifIaskhim.Ishall

knowbyto-morrowifthereisanyhope.”

“Leave the sealwithme,” saidHortense; “Iwill not show it—mamma’sbirthdayisnotforamonthyet;Iwillgiveittoyouthatmorning.”

“No,no.Giveitbacktome;itmusthaveacase.”

“ButIwillletpapaseeit,thathemayknowwhatheistalkingabouttotheministers,formeninauthoritymustbecarefulwhattheysay,”urgedthegirl.

“Well,donotshowittoyourmother—thatisallIask;forifshebelievedIhadalover,shewouldmakegameofme.”

“Ipromise.”

The cousins reached the drawing-room just as theBaroness turned faint.Herdaughter’scryofalarmrecalledher toherself.Lisbethwentoff tofetchsomesalts.Whenshecameback,shefoundthemotheranddaughterineachother’sarms,theBaronesssoothingherdaughter’sfears,andsaying:

“Itwasnothing;alittlenervousattack.—Thereisyourfather,”sheadded,recognizingtheBaron’swayofringingthebell.“Saynotawordtohim.”

Adelineroseandwenttomeetherhusband,intendingtotakehimintothegardenandtalktohimtilldinnershouldbeservedofthedifficultiesabouttheproposedmatch,gettinghim to come to somedecisionas to the future, andtryingtohintatsomewarningadvice.

Baron Hector Hulot came in, in a dress at once lawyer-like andNapoleonic,forImperialmen—menwhohadbeenattachedtotheEmperor—wereeasilydistinguishablebytheirmilitarydeportment,theirbluecoatswithgiltbuttons,buttoned to thechin, theirblack silk stock, andanauthoritativedemeanor acquired from a habit of command in circumstances requiringdespoticrapidity.Therewasnothingof theoldmanin theBaron, itmustbeadmitted;hissightwasstillsogood,thathecouldreadwithoutspectacles;hishandsomeovalface,framedinwhiskersthatwereindeedtooblack,showedabrilliant complexion, ruddy with the veins that characterize a sanguinetemperament;andhisstomach,kept inorderbyabelt,hadnotexceededthelimits of “the majestic,” as Brillat-Savarin says. A fine aristocratic air andgreataffabilityservedtoconcealthelibertinewithwhomCrevelhadhadsuchhightimes.Hewasoneofthosemenwhoseeyesalwayslightupatthesightofaprettywoman,evenofsuchasmerelypassby,nevertobeseenagain.

“Haveyoubeen speaking,mydear?” askedAdeline, seeinghimwith ananxiousbrow.

“No,”repliedHector,“butIamwornoutwithhearingothersspeakfortwohourswithoutcomingtoavote.Theycarryonawarofwords,inwhichtheirspeechesarelikeacavalrychargewhichhasnoeffectontheenemy.Talkhas

taken theplaceofaction,whichgoesverymuchagainst thegrainwithmenwhoareaccustomedtomarchingorders,asIsaidtotheMarshalwhenI lefthim.However, Ihaveenoughofbeingboredon theministers’bench;here Imayplay.—Howdo, laChevre!—Goodmorning, littlekid,”andhe tookhisdaughterroundtheneck,kissedher,andmadehersitonhisknee,restingherheadonhisshoulder,thathemightfeelhersoftgoldenhairagainsthischeek.

“Heistiredandworried,”saidhiswifetoherself.“Ishallonlyworryhimmore.—Iwillwait.—Areyougoing tobeathome thisevening?” sheaskedhim.

“No,children.AfterdinnerImustgoout.IfithadnotbeenthedaywhenLisbethandthechildrenandmybrothercometodinner,youwouldnothaveseenmeatall.”

TheBaronesstookupthenewspaper,lookeddownthelistoftheatres,andlaiditdownagainwhenshehadseenthatRobertleDiablewastobegivenattheOpera. Josepha,who had left the ItalianOpera sixmonths since for theFrenchOpera,wastotakethepartofAlice.

This little pantomime did not escape the Baron,who looked hard at hiswife.Adelinecastdownhereyesandwentout into thegarden;herhusbandfollowedher.

“Come,whatisit,Adeline?”saidhe,puttinghisarmroundherwaistandpressinghertohisside.“DonotyouknowthatIloveyoumorethan——”

“MorethanJennyCadineorJosepha!”saidshe,boldlyinterruptinghim.

“Whoput that intoyourhead?”exclaimed theBaron, releasinghiswife,andstartingbackasteportwo.

“Igotananonymousletter,whichIburntatonce,inwhichIwastold,mydear, that the reasonHortense’smarriagewasbrokenoffwas thepovertyofourcircumstances.Yourwife,mydearHector,wouldneverhavesaidaword;sheknewofyourconnectionwithJennyCadine,anddidsheevercomplain?—ButasthemotherofHortense,Iamboundtospeakthetruth.”

Hulot,afterashortsilence,whichwasterribletohiswife,whoseheartbeatloudenoughtobeheard,openedhisarms,claspedhertohisheart,kissedherforehead,andsaidwiththevehemenceofenthusiasm:

“Adeline,youareanangel,andIamawretch——”

“No, no,” cried the Baroness, hastily laying her hand upon his lips tohinderhimfromspeakingevilofhimself.

“Yes, for I havenot at thismoment a sou togive toHortense, and I ammost unhappy.But since you open your heart tome, Imay pour into it the

troublethat iscrushingme.—YourUncleFischeris indifficulties,andit isIwho dragged him there, for he has accepted bills for me to the amount oftwenty-five thousand francs! And all for a woman who deceives me, wholaughsatmebehindmyback,andcallsmeanolddyedTom.Itisfrightful!Avicewhichcostsmemorethanitwouldtomaintainafamily!—AndIcannotresist!—I would promise you here and now never to see that abominableJewessagain;butifshewrotemetwolines,Ishouldgotoher,aswemarchedintofireundertheEmperor.”

“Donotbesodistressed,”criedthepoorwomanindespair,butforgettingher daughter as she saw the tears in her husband’s eyes. “There are mydiamonds;whateverhappens,savemyuncle.”

“Your diamonds are worth scarcely twenty thousand francs nowadays.ThatwouldnotbeenoughforoldFischer,sokeepthemforHortense;IwillseetheMarshalto-morrow.”

“Mypoordear!”saidtheBaroness,takingherHector’shandsandkissingthem.

Thiswasall thescoldinghegot.Adelinesacrificedher jewels, thefathermade themapresent toHortense, she regarded thisasasublimeaction,andshewashelpless.

“He is the master; he could take everything, and he leaves me mydiamonds;heisdivine!”

Thiswasthecurrentofherthoughts;andindeedthewifehadgainedmorebyhersweetnessthananotherperhapscouldhaveachievedbyafitofangryjealousy.

The moralist cannot deny that, as a rule, well-bred though very wickedmenare farmoreattractiveand lovable thanvirtuousmen;havingcrimes toatone for, they crave indulgence by anticipation, by being lenient to theshortcomings of those who judge them, and they are thought most kind.Thoughtherearenodoubtsomecharmingpeopleamongthevirtuous,Virtueconsidersitselffairenough,unadorned,tobeatnopainstoplease;andthenallreally virtuous persons, for the hypocrites do not count, have some slightdoubtsastotheirposition;theybelievethattheyarecheatedinthebargainoflifeonthewhole,andtheyindulgeinacidcommentsafterthefashionofthosewhothinkthemselvesunappreciated.

HencetheBaron,whoaccusedhimselfofruininghisfamily,displayedallhischarmofwitandhismostseductivegracesforthebenefitofhiswife,forhischildren,andhisCousinLisbeth.

Then, when his son arrived with Celestine, Crevel’s daughter, who was

nursingtheinfantHulot,hewasdelightfultohisdaughter-in-law,loadingherwithcompliments—a treat towhichCelestine’svanitywas littleaccustomedfor nomoneyed bridemore commonplace ormore utterly insignificantwaseverseen.Thegrandfathertookthebabyfromher,kissedit,declareditwasabeautyandadarling;hespoketoitinbabylanguage,prophesiedthatitwouldgrow tobe taller thanhimself, insinuated compliments for his son’s benefit,andrestoredthechildtotheNormandynursewhohadchargeofit.Celestine,onherpart,gavetheBaronessa look,asmuchas tosay,“Whatadelightfulman!”andshenaturallytookherfather-in-law’spartagainstherfather.

Afterthusplayingthecharmingfather-in-lawandtheindulgentgrandpapa,the Baron took his son into the garden, and laid before him a variety ofobservations full of good sense as to the attitude to be taken up by theChamber on a certain ticklish questionwhich had thatmorning comeunderdiscussion.Theyounglawyerwasstruckwithadmirationforthedepthofhisfather’s insight, touched by his cordiality, and especially by the deferentialtonewhichseemedtoplacethetwomenonafootingofequality.

MonsieurHulot juniorwas in every respect theyoungFrenchman, ashehas been moulded by the Revolution of 1830; his mind infatuated withpolitics,respectfulofhisownhopes,andconcealingthemunderanaffectationof gravity, very envious of successful men, making sententiousness do thedutyofwittyrejoinders—thegemsoftheFrenchlanguage—withahighsenseofimportance,andmistakingarrogancefordignity.

Suchmenarewalkingcoffins, eachcontainingaFrenchmanof thepast;nowandagain theFrenchmanwakesupandkicksagainsthisEnglish-madecasing;butambitionstifleshim,andhesubmitstobesmothered.Thecoffinisalwayscoveredwithblackcloth.

“Ah,hereismybrother!”saidBaronHulot,goingtomeettheCountatthedrawing-roomdoor.

HavinggreetedtheprobablesuccessorofthelateMarshalMontcornet,heledhimforwardbythearmwitheveryshowofaffectionandrespect.

The older man, a member of the Chamber of Peers, but excused fromattendanceonaccountofhisdeafness,hadahandsomehead,chilledbyage,butwithenoughgrayhairstilltobemarkedinacirclebythepressureofhishat.Hewas short, square, and shrunken,but carriedhishaleold agewith afree-and-easyair;andashewasfullofexcessiveactivity,whichhadnownopurpose, he divided his time between reading and taking exercise. In adrawing-roomhedevotedhisattentiontowaitingonthewishesoftheladies.

“Youareverymerryhere,”saidhe,seeingthattheBaronshedaspiritofanimationonthelittlefamilygathering.“AndyetHortenseisnotmarried,”he

added,noticingatraceofmelancholyonhissister-in-law’scountenance.

“That will come all in good time,” Lisbeth shouted in his ear in aformidablevoice.

“Sothereyouare,youwretchedseedlingthatcouldneverblossom,”saidhe,laughing.

The hero of Forzheim rather liked Cousin Betty, for there were certainpoints of resemblance between them. A man of the ranks, without anyeducation,hiscouragehadbeenthesolemainspringofhismilitarypromotion,and sound sensehad taken theplaceof brilliancy.Of thehighest honor andclean-handed,hewasendinganoblelifeinfullcontentmentinthecentreofhis family, which claimed all his affections, and without a suspicion of hisbrother’s still undiscovered misconduct. No one enjoyed more than he thepleasing sight of this family party, where there never was the smallestdisagreement,forthebrothersandsisterswereallequallyattached,Celestinehavingbeenatonceacceptedasoneofthefamily.ButtheworthylittleCountwonderednowandthenwhyMonsieurCrevelneverjoinedtheparty.“Papaisin the country,”Celestine shouted, and itwas explained to him that the ex-perfumerwasawayfromhome.

This perfect union of all her familymadeMadameHulot say to herself,“This,afterall,isthebestkindofhappiness,andwhocandepriveusofit?”

TheGeneral, on seeing his favoriteAdeline the object of her husband’sattentions,laughedsomuchaboutitthattheBaron,fearingtoseemridiculous,transferredhisgallantries tohisdaughter-in-law,whoat thesefamilydinnerswasalwaystheobjectofhisflatteryandkindcare,forhehopedtowinCrevelbackthroughher,andmakehimforegohisresentment.

Anyone seeing thisdomestic scenewouldhave found it hard tobelievethat the father was at his wits’ end, themother in despair, the son anxiousbeyondwordsas tohis father’s future fate,and thedaughteron thepointofrobbinghercousinofherlover.

Atseveno’clocktheBaron,seeinghisbrother,hisson,theBaroness,andHortenseallengagedatwhist,wentoff toapplaudhismistressat theOpera,takingwithhimLisbethFischer,wholivedintheRueduDoyenne,andwhoalwaysmadeanexcuseofthesolitudeofthatdesertedquartertotakeherselfoff as soon as dinner was over. Parisianswill all admit that the oldmaid’sprudencewasbutrational.

Theexistenceof themazeofhousesunder thewingof theoldLouvre isoneofthoseprotestsagainstobviousgoodsensewhichFrenchmenlove,thatEuropemayreassureitselfastothequantumofbrainstheyareknowntohave,andnotbetoomuchalarmed.Perhapswithoutknowingit, thisrevealssome

profoundpoliticalidea.

ItwillsurelynotbeaworkofsupererogationtodescribethispartofParisasitisevennow,whenwecouldhardlyexpectitssurvival;andourgrandsons,whowillnodoubtseetheLouvrefinished,mayrefusetobelievethatsucharelicofbarbarismshouldhavesurvivedforsix-and-thirtyyearsintheheartofParis and in the face of the palace where three dynasties of kings havereceived,duringthosethirty-sixyears,theeliteofFranceandofEurope.

BetweenthelittlegateleadingtotheBridgeoftheCarrouselandtheRueduMusee,everyonehavingcometoParis,were itbut forafewdays,musthave seen a dozen of houses with a decayed frontage where the dejectedownershaveattemptednorepairs,theremainsofanoldblockofbuildingsofwhich the destructionwas begun at the timewhenNapoleon determined tocompletetheLouvre.Thisstreet,andtheblindalleyknownastheImpasseduDoyenne,aretheonlypassagesintothisgloomyandforsakenblock,inhabitedperhaps by ghosts, for there never is anybody to be seen. The pavement ismuchbelowthefootwayoftheRueduMusee,onalevelwiththatoftheRueFroidmanteau.Thus, half sunkenby the raisingof the soil, thesehouses arealso wrapped in the perpetual shadow cast by the lofty buildings of theLouvre,darkenedonthatsidebythenorthernblast.Darkness,silence,anicychill,andthecavernousdepthofthesoilcombinetomakethesehousesakindofcrypt,tombsoftheliving.Aswedriveinahackneycabpastthisdead-alivespot,andchancetolookdownthelittleRueduDoyenne,ashudderfreezesthesoul,andwewonderwhocanliethere,andwhatthingsmaybedonethereatnight,atanhourwhenthealleyisacut-throatpit,andthevicesofParisrunriot thereunder thecloakofnight.Thisquestion,frightful in itself,becomesappalling when we note that these dwelling-houses are shut in on the sidetowardstheRuedeRichelieubymarshyground,byaseaoftumbledpaving-stonesbetween themand theTuileries,by littlegarden-plotsandsuspicious-lookinghovelsonthesideofthegreatgalleries,andbyadesertofbuilding-stoneandold rubbishon theside towards theoldLouvre.Henri III. andhisfavorites in search of their trunk-hose, andMarguerite’s lovers in search oftheirheads,mustdancesarabandsbymoonlightinthiswildernessoverlookedby the roof of a chapel still standing there as if to prove that the Catholicreligion—sodeeplyrootedinFrance—survivesallelse.

ForfortyyearsnowhastheLouvrebeencryingoutbyeverygapinthesedamagedwalls,byeveryyawningwindow,“Ridmeof thesewartsuponmyface!”Thiscutthroatlanehasnodoubtbeenregardedasuseful,andhasbeenthoughtnecessaryassymbolizingintheheartofParistheintimateconnectionbetweenpovertyandthesplendorthatischaracteristicofthequeenofcities.And indeed these chill ruins, among which the Legitimist newspapercontracted the disease it is dying of—the abominable hovels of theRue du

Musee,andthehoardingappropriatedbytheshopstallsthatflourishthere—will perhaps live longer and more prosperously than three successivedynasties.

In 1823 the low rents in these already condemned houses had temptedLisbethFischertosettlethere,notwithstandingthenecessityimposeduponherbythestateoftheneighborhoodtogethomebeforenightfall.Thisnecessity,however,wasinaccordancewiththecountryhabitssheretained,ofrisingandgoing to bed with the sun, an arrangement which saves country folkconsiderable sums in lights and fuel. She lived in one of the houseswhich,sincethedemolitionofthefamousHotelCambaceres,commandaviewofthesquare.

JustasBaronHulotsethiswife’scousindownat thedoorof thishouse,saying, “Good-night, Cousin,” an elegant-looking woman, young, small,slender, pretty, beautifully dressed, and redolent of some delicate perfume,passed between the wall and the carriage to go in. This lady, without anypremeditation,glancedupattheBaronmerelytoseethelodger’scousin,andthe libertine at once felt the swift impression which all Parisians know onmeetingaprettywoman,realizing,asentomologistshaveit, theirdesiderata;so hewaited to put on one of his gloveswith judicious deliberation beforegettingintothecarriageagain,togivehimselfanexcuseforallowinghiseyeto follow the young woman, whose skirts were pleasingly set out bysomethingelsethantheseodiousanddelusivecrinolinebustles.

“That,”saidhetohimself,“isanicelittlepersonwhosehappinessIshouldliketoprovidefor,asshewouldcertainlysecuremine.”

Whentheunknownfairhadgoneintothehallatthefootofthestairsgoingup to the front rooms, she glanced at the gate out of the corner of her eyewithout precisely looking round, and she could see theBaron riveted to thespotinadmiration,consumedbycuriosityanddesire.ThisistoeveryParisianwomanasortofflowerwhichshesmellsatwithdelight,ifshemeetsitonherway.Nay,certainwomen,thoughfaithfultotheirduties,pretty,andvirtuous,comehomemuchputoutiftheyhavefailedtocullsuchaposyinthecourseoftheirwalk.

Theladyranupstairs,andinamomentawindowonthesecondfloorwasthrown open, and she appeared at it, but accompanied by a man whosebaldheadandsomewhatscowlinglooksannouncedhimasherhusband.

“Iftheyaren’tsharpandingenious,thecunningjades!”thoughttheBaron.“Shedoes that to showmewhere she lives.But this isgetting ratherwarm,especiallyforthispartofParis.Wemustmindwhatweareat.”

As he got into the milord, he looked up, and the lady and the husband

hastily vanished, as though the Baron’s face had affected them like themythologicalheadofMedusa.

“It would seem that they know me,” thought the Baron. “That wouldaccountforeverything.”

As thecarriagewentup theRueduMusee,he leanedforward tosee theladyagain,andinfactshewasagainatthewindow.Ashamedofbeingcaughtgazingatthehoodunderwhichheradmirerwassitting,theunknownstartedbackatonce.

“Nannyshalltellmewhoitis,”saidtheBarontohimself.

The sight of theGovernment official had, aswill be seen,made a deepimpressiononthiscouple.

“Why, it isBaronHulot, the chief of thedepartment towhichmyofficebelongs!”exclaimedthehusbandasheleftthewindow.

“Well, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor at the back of thecourtyard,wholiveswiththatyoungman,ishiscousin.Isitnotoddthatweshouldneverhaveknownthattillto-day,andnowfinditoutbychance?”

“MademoiselleFischer livingwithayoungman?” repeated thehusband.“Thatisporter’sgossip;donotspeaksolightlyofthecousinofaCouncillorofStatewhocanblowhotandcoldintheofficeashepleases.Now,cometodinner;Ihavebeenwaitingforyousincefouro’clock.”

Pretty—very pretty—Madame Marneffe, the natural daughter of ComteMontcornet,oneofNapoleon’smostfamousofficers,had,onthestrengthofamarriage portion of twenty thousand francs, found a husband in an inferiorofficial at the War Office. Through the interest of the famous lieutenant-general—made marshal of France six months before his death—this quill-driverhadrisentounhoped-fordignityashead-clerkofhisoffice;butjustashe was to be promoted to be deputy-chief, the marshal’s death had cut offMarneffe’sambitionsandhiswife’sattheroot.Theverysmallsalaryenjoyedby SieurMarneffe had compelled the couple to economize in thematter ofrent; for in his hands Mademoiselle Valerie Fortin’s fortune had alreadymelted away—partly in paying his debts, and partly in the purchase ofnecessariesforfurnishingahouse,butchieflyingratifyingtherequirementsofaprettyyoungwife,accustomedinhermother’shousetoluxuriesshedidnotchoose to dispensewith. The situation of theRue duDoyenne,within easydistanceoftheWarOffice,andthegaypartofParis,smiledonMonsieurandMadameMarneffe,andforthelastfouryearstheyhaddweltunderthesameroofasLisbethFischer.

MonsieurJean-Paul-StanislasMarneffewasoneof theclassofemployes

whoescape sheerbrutishnessby thekindofpower that comesofdepravity.Thesmall,leancreature,withthinhairandastarvedbeard,anunwholesomepasty face, worn rather than wrinkled, with red-lidded eyes harnessed withspectacles,shufflinginhisgait,andyetmeanerinhisappearance,realizedthetypeofmanthatanyonewouldconceiveofaslikelytobeplacedinthedockforanoffenceagainstdecency.

The rooms inhabited by this couple had the illusory appearanceof shamluxuryseeninmanyParishomes,andtypicalofacertainclassofhousehold.In the drawing-room, the furniture covered with shabby cotton velvet, theplaster statuettes pretending to be Florentine bronze, the clumsy castchandeliermerelylacquered,withcheapglasssaucers,thecarpet,whosesmallcostwasaccountedfor inadvancinglifebythequalityofcottonusedin themanufacture,nowvisibletothenakedeye,—everything,downtothecurtains,which plainly showed that worsted damask has not three years of prime,proclaimedpovertyasloudlyasabeggarinragsatachurchdoor.

Thedining-room,badlykeptbyasingleservant,hadthesickeningaspectofacountryinn;everythinglookedgreasyandunclean.

Monsieur’s room, very like a schoolboy’s, furnished with the bed andfittings remaining from his bachelor days, as shabby and worn as he was,dustedperhaps once aweek—that horrible roomwhere everythingwas in alitter, with old socks hanging over the horsehair-seated chairs, the patternoutlinedindust,wasthatofamantowhomhomeisamatterofindifference,wholivesoutofdoors,gamblingincafesorelsewhere.

Madame’s room was an exception to the squalid slovenliness thatdisgraced the living rooms,where the curtainswereyellowwith smoke anddust,andwherethechild,evidentlylefttohimself,litteredeveryspotwithhistoys.Valerie’sroomanddressing-roomweresituatedinthepartofthehousewhich,ononesideofthecourtyard,joinedthefronthalf,lookingoutonthestreet, to the wing forming the inner side of the court backing against theadjoiningproperty.Handsomelyhungwith chintz, furnishedwith rosewood,and thickly carpeted, they proclaimed themselves as belonging to a prettywoman—and indeed suggested thekeptmistress.Aclock in the fashionablestyle stood on the velvet-covered mantelpiece. There was a nicely fittedcabinet,and theChinese flower-standswerehandsomely filled.Thebed, thetoilet-table, the wardrobe with its mirror, the little sofa, and all the lady’sfrippery bore the stamp of fashion or caprice. Though everythingwas quitethird-rate as to elegance or quality, and nothing was absolutely newer thanthreeyearsold,adandywouldhavehadnofaulttofindbutthatthetasteofallthis luxury was commonplace. Art, and the distinction that comes of thechoiceofthingsthattasteassimilates,wasentirelywanting.Adoctorofsocialscience would have detected a lover in two or three specimens of costly

trumpery,whichcouldonlyhavecometherethroughthatdemi-god—alwaysabsent,butalwayspresentiftheladyismarried.

Thedinner,fourhoursbehindtime,towhichthehusband,wife,andchildsatdown,betrayedthefinancialstraitsinwhichthehouseholdfounditself,forthetableisthesurestthermometerforgaugingtheincomeofaParisianfamily.Vegetablesoupmadewiththewaterharicotbeanshadbeenboiledin,apieceof stewed veal and potatoes sodden with water by way of gravy, a dish ofharicot beans, and cheap cherries, served and eaten in cracked plates anddishes,withthedull-lookinganddull-soundingforksofGermansilver—wasthis a banquetworthy of this pretty youngwoman? TheBaronwould havewept could he have seen it.Thedingydecanters could not disguise the vilehueofwineboughtbythepintatthenearestwineshop.Thetable-napkinshadseenaweek’suse. In short, everythingbetrayedundignifiedpenury,and theequalindifferenceofthehusbandandwifetothedecenciesofhome.Themostsuperficialobserveronseeingthemwouldhavesaidthatthesetwobeingshadcometothestagewhenthenecessityoflivinghadpreparedthemforanykindofdishonorthatmightbringlucktothem.Valerie’sfirstwordstoherhusbandwillexplain thedelay thathadpostponed thedinnerby thenotdisinteresteddevotionofthecook.

“Samanonwillonlytakeyourbillsatfiftypercent,andinsistsonalienonyoursalaryassecurity.”

So poverty, still unconfessed in the house of the superior official, andhidden under a stipend of twenty-four thousand francs, irrespective ofpresents,hadreacheditsloweststageinthatoftheclerk.

“Youhavecaughtonwiththechief,”saidtheman,lookingathiswife.

“Iratherthinkso,”repliedshe,understandingthefullmeaningofhisslangexpression.

“Whatistobecomeofus?”Marneffewenton.“Thelandlordwillbedownonusto-morrow.Andtothinkofyourfatherdyingwithoutmakingawill!Onmyhonor,thosemenoftheEmpireallthinkthemselvesasimmortalastheirEmperor.”

“Poorfather!”saidshe.“Iwashisonlychild,andhewasveryfondofme.TheCountessprobablyburnedthewill.Howcouldheforgetmewhenheusedtogiveusasmuchasthreeorfourthousand-francnotesatonce,fromtimetotime?”

“Weowefourquarters’rent,fifteenhundredfrancs.Isthefurnitureworthsomuch?Thatisthequestion,asShakespearesays.”

“Now, good-bye, ducky!” said Valerie, who had only eaten a few

mouthfulsof theveal,fromwhichthemaidhadextractedall thegravyforabravesoldierjusthomefromAlgiers.“Greatevilsdemandheroicremedies.”

“Valerie,whereareyouoffto?”criedMarneffe,standingbetweenhiswifeandthedoor.

“Iamgoingtoseethelandlord,”shereplied,arrangingherringletsunderhersmartbonnet.“Youhadbettertrytomakefriendswiththatoldmaid,ifshereallyisyourchief’scousin.”

The ignorance in which the dwellers under one roof can exist as to thesocialpositionof theirfellow-lodgers isapermanentfactwhich,asmuchasanyother, showswhat the rushofParis life is.Still, it is easily conceivablethataclerkwhogoesearlyeverymorningtohisoffice,comeshomeonlytodinner,andspendseveryeveningout,andawomanswallowedupinaroundof pleasures, should know nothing of an oldmaid living on the third floorbeyondthecourtyardofthehousetheydwellin,especiallywhenshelivesasMademoiselleFischerdid.

Upinthemorningbeforeanyoneelse,Lisbethwentouttobuyherbread,milk,andlivecharcoal,neverspeakingtoanyone,andshewenttobedwiththesun;sheneverhadaletteroravisitor,norchattedwithherneighbors.Herewasoneofthoseanonymous,entomologicalexistencessuchasaretobemetwith in many large tenements where, at the end of four years, youunexpectedlylearnthatuponthefourthfloorthereisanoldmanlodgingwhoknew Voltaire, Pilatre de Rozier, Beaujon, Marcel, Mole, Sophie Arnould,Franklin, and Robespierre.What Monsieur andMadameMarneffe had justsaid concerning Lisbeth Fischer they had come to know, in consequence,partly,ofthelonelinessoftheneighborhood,andofthealliance,towhichtheirnecessitieshad led,between themand thedoorkeepers,whosegoodwillwastooimportanttothemnottohavebeencarefullyencouraged.

Now, the old maid’s pride, silence, and reserve had engendered in theporterandhiswifetheexaggeratedrespectandcoldcivilitywhichbetraytheunconfessedannoyanceofan inferior.Also, theporter thoughthimself inallessentialstheequalofanylodgerwhoserentwasnomorethantwohundredand fifty francs.CousinBetty’s confidences toHortensewere true; and it isevident that the porter’swifemight be very likely to slanderMademoiselleFischerinherintimategossipwiththeMarneffes,whileonlyintendingtotelltales.

When Lisbeth had taken her candle from the hands of worthyMadameOlivier theportress,she lookedup toseewhether thewindowsof thegarretoverherownroomswerelightedup.Atthathour,eveninJuly,itwassodarkwithinthecourtyardthattheoldmaidcouldnotgettobedwithoutalight.

“Oh,youmaybequiteeasy,MonsieurSteinbockisinhisroom.Hehasnotbeenouteven,”saidMadameOlivier,withmeaning.

Lisbeth made no reply. She was still a peasant, in so far that she wasindifferent to the gossip of persons unconnectedwith her. Just as a peasantsees nothing beyond his village, she cared for nobody’s opinion outside thelittlecircle inwhichshe lived.Sosheboldlywentup,not toherownroom,buttothegarret;andthisiswhy.Atdessertshehadfilledherbagwithfruitandsweetsforherlover,andshewenttogivethemtohim,exactlyasanoldladybringshomeabiscuitforherdog.

ShefoundtheheroofHortense’sdreamsworkingby the lightofasmalllamp,ofwhich the lightwas intensifiedby theuseofabottleofwaterasalens—a pale young man, seated at a workman’s bench covered with amodeler’stools,wax,chisels,rough-hewnstone,andbronzecastings;heworeablouse,andhadinhishandalittlegroupinredwax,whichhegazedatlikeapoetabsorbedinhislabors.

“Here, Wenceslas, see what I have brought you,” said she, laying herhandkerchiefonacornerofthetable;thenshecarefullytookthesweetmeatsandfruitoutofherbag.

“Youareverykind,mademoiselle,”repliedtheexileinmelancholytones.

“Itwilldoyougood,poorboy.Yougetfeverishbyworkingsohard;youwerenotborntosucharoughlife.”

WenceslasSteinbocklookedatherwithabewilderedair.

“Eat—come,eat,”saidshesharply,“insteadoflookingatmeasyoudoatoneofyourimageswhenyouaresatisfiedwithit.”

Onbeingthussmackedwithwords, theyoungmanseemedlesspuzzled,for this, indeed,was the femaleMentorwhose tendermoodswere always asurprisetohim,somuchmoreaccustomedwashetobescolded.

Though Steinbock was nine-and-twenty, like many fair men, he lookedfiveorsixyearsyounger;andseeinghisyouth,thoughitsfreshnesshadfadedunderthefatigueandstressoflifeinexile,bythesideofthatdry,hardface,itseemedasthoughNaturehadblunderedinthedistributionofsex.Heroseandthrew himself into a deep chair of Louis XV. pattern, covered with yellowUtrechtvelvet,asiftoresthimself.Theoldmaidtookagreengageandofferedittohim.

“Thankyou,”saidhe,takingtheplum.

“Areyoutired?”saidshe,givinghimanother.

“Iamnottiredwithwork,buttiredoflife,”saidhe.

“What absurd notions you have!” she exclaimed with some annoyance.“Haveyounothadagoodgeniustokeepaneyeonyou?”shesaid,offeringhimthesweetmeats,andwatchinghimwithpleasureasheatethemall.“Yousee,Ithoughtofyouwhendiningwithmycousin.”

“Iknow,”saidhe,withalookatLisbeththatwasatonceaffectionateandplaintive,“butforyouIshould longsincehaveceased to live.But,mydearlady,artistsrequirerelaxation——”

“Ah!therewecometothepoint!”criedshe,interruptinghim,herhandsonherhips, andher flashingeyes fixedonhim.“Youwant togowastingyourhealthinthevileresortsofParis,likesomanyartisans,whoendbydyingintheworkhouse.No,no,makeafortune,andthen,whenyouhavemoneyinthefunds,youmayamuseyourself,child; thenyouwillhaveenough topayforthedoctorandforyourpleasure,libertinethatyouare.”

WenceslasSteinbock,onreceivingthisbroadside,withanaccompanimentof looks that pierced him like a magnetic flame, bent his head. The mostmalignantslandereronseeingthisscenewouldatoncehaveunderstoodthatthehintsthrownoutbytheOlivierswerefalse.Everythinginthiscouple,theirtone, manner, and way of looking at each other, proved the purity of theirprivate live. The old maid showed the affection of rough but very genuinematernal feeling; theyoungman submitted, as a respectful sonyields to thetyrannyofamother.Thestrangeallianceseemedtobetheoutcomeofastrongwillactingconstantlyonaweakcharacter,onthefluidnaturepeculiartotheSlavs,which,while itdoesnothinder themfromshowingheroiccourage inbattle, gives them an amazing incoherency of conduct, a moral softness ofwhichphysiologistsoughttotrytodetectthecauses,sincephysiologistsaretopoliticallifewhatentomologistsaretoagriculture.

“ButifIdiebeforeIamrich?”saidWenceslasdolefully.

“Die!”criedshe.“Oh,Iwillnot letyoudie. Ihave lifeenoughforboth,andIwouldhavemybloodinjectedintoyourveinsifnecessary.”

TearsrosetoSteinbock’seyesasheheardhervehementandartlessspeech.

“Donotbeunhappy,mylittleWenceslas,”saidLisbethwithfeeling.“MycousinHortensethoughtyoursealquitepretty,Iamsure;andIwillmanagetosellyourbronzegroup,youwillsee;youwillhavepaidmeoff,youwillbeabletodoasyouplease,youwillsoonbefree.Come,smilealittle!”

“Icanneverrepayyou,mademoiselle,”saidtheexile.

“And why not?” asked the peasant woman, taking the Livonian’s partagainstherself.

“Becauseyounotonlyfedme,lodgedme,caredformeinmypoverty,but

youalsogavemestrength.YouhavemademewhatIam;youhaveoftenbeenstern,youhavemademeveryunhappy——”

“I?”saidtheoldmaid.“Areyougoingtopouroutallyournonsenseoncemoreaboutpoetryandthearts,andtocrackyourfingersandstretchyourarmswhileyouspoutabouttheideal,andbeauty,andallyournorthernmadness?—Beauty is not to compare with solid pudding—and what am I!—You haveideas inyourbrain?What is theuseof them? I toohave ideas.What is thegoodofallthefinethingsyoumayhaveinyoursoulifyoucanmakenouseofthem?Thosewhohaveideasdonotgetsofarasthosewhohavenone,iftheydon’tknowwhichwaytogo.

“Insteadofthinkingoveryourideasyoumustwork.—Now,whathaveyoudonewhileIwasout?”

“Whatdidyourprettycousinsay?”

“Who toldyou shewaspretty?” askedLisbeth sharply, in a tonehollowwithtiger-likejealousy.

“Why,youdid.”

“That was only to see your face. Do you want to go trotting afterpetticoats?Youwhoaresofondofwomen,well,maketheminbronze.Letusseeacastofyourdesires,foryouwillhavetodowithouttheladiesforsomelittle timeyet, and certainlywithoutmy cousin,mygood fellow.She is notgameforyourbag;thatyoungladywantsamanwithsixtythousandfrancsayear—andhasfoundhim!

“Why, your bed is notmade!” she exclaimed, looking into the adjoiningroom.“Poordearboy,Iquiteforgotyou!”

Thesturdywomanpulledoffhergloves,hercapeandbonnet,andremadethe artist’s little camp bed as briskly as any housemaid. This mixture ofabruptness, of roughness even,with real kindness, perhaps accounts for theascendency Lisbeth had acquired over the man whom she regarded as herpersonal property. Is not our attachment to life based on its alternations ofgoodandevil?

IftheLivonianhadhappenedtomeetMadameMarneffeinsteadofLisbethFischer,hewouldhavefoundaprotectresswhosecomplaisancemusthaveledhimintosomeboggyordiscreditablepath,wherehewouldhavebeenlost.Hewouldcertainlyneverhaveworked,northeartisthavebeenhatchedout.Thus,whilehedeplored theoldmaid’sgraspingavarice,his reasonbidhimpreferher iron hand to the life of idleness and peril led by many of his fellow-countrymen.

Thiswastheincidentthathadgivenrisetothecoalitionoffemaleenergy

andmasculine feebleness—a contrast in union said not to be uncommon inPoland.

In1833MademoiselleFischer,whosometimesworkedintothenightwhenbusinesswasgood,ataboutoneo’clockonemorningperceivedastrongsmellofcarbonicacidgas,andheardthegroansofadyingman.Thefumesandthegaspingcamefromagarretoverthetworoomsformingherdwelling,andshesupposed thatayoungmanwhohadbut latelycometo lodge in thisattic—which had been vacant for three years—was committing suicide. She ranupstairs,brokeinthedoorbyapushwithherpeasantstrength,andfoundthelodgerwrithingonacamp-bedintheconvulsionsofdeath.Sheextinguishedthe brazier; the door was open, the air rushed in, and the exile was saved.Then,whenLisbethhadputhimtobedlikeapatient,andhewasasleep,shecoulddetectthemotivesofhissuicideinthedestitutionoftherooms,wherethere was nothing whatever but a wretched table, the camp-bed, and twochairs.

Onthetablelayadocument,whichsheread:

“IamCountWenceslasSteinbock,bornatPrelia,inLivonia.

“Nooneistobeaccusedofmydeath;myreasonsforkillingmyselfare,inthewordsofKosciusko,FinisPolonioe!

“Thegrand-nephewofavaliantGeneralunderCharlesXII.couldnotbeg.Myweakly constitution forbidsmy takingmilitary service, and I yesterdaysawthelastofthehundredthalerswhichIhadbroughtwithmefromDresdentoParis. I have left twenty-five francs in thedrawerof this table topay therentIowetothelandlord.

“My parents being dead, my death will affect nobody. I desire that mycountrymenwill not blame the FrenchGovernment. I have never registeredmyself as a refugee, and I have asked for nothing; I havemet none ofmyfellow-exiles;nooneinParisknowsofmyexistence.

“I am dying in Christian beliefs. May God forgive the last of theSteinbocks!

“WENCESLAS.”

MademoiselleFischer,deeplytouchedbythedyingman’shonesty,openedthedrawerandfoundthefivefive-francpiecestopayhisrent.

“Pooryoungman!”criedshe.“Andwithnooneintheworldtocareabouthim!”

She went downstairs to fetch her work, and sat stitching in the garret,watchingovertheLivoniangentleman.

Whenhe awokehis astonishmentmaybe imaginedon finding awomansittingbyhisbed; itwas like theprolongationofadream.As she sat there,coveringaiguilletteswithgoldthread,theoldmaidhadresolvedtotakechargeofthepooryouthwhomsheadmiredashelaysleeping.

Assoonas theyoungCountwasfullyawake,Lisbethtalkedtogivehimcourage, and questioned him to find out how he might make a living.Wenceslas, after telling his story, added that he owed his position to hisacknowledged talent for the fine arts. He had always had a preference forsculpture;thenecessarytimeforstudyhad,however,seemedtohimtoolongforamanwithoutmoney;andatthismomenthewasfartooweaktodoanyhardmanual labororundertakean importantwork insculpture.All thiswasGreektoLisbethFischer.SherepliedtotheunhappymanthatParisofferedsomanyopeningsthatanymanwithwillandcouragemightfindalivingthere.Amanofspiritneedneverperishifhehadacertainstockofendurance.

“I am but a poor girl myself, a peasant, and I have managed to makemyself independent,” said she in conclusion. “If youwillwork in earnest, Ihavesavedalittlemoney,andIwilllendyou,monthbymonth,enoughtoliveupon;buttolivefrugally,andnottoplayducksanddrakeswithorsquanderinthestreets.YoucandineinParisfortwenty-fivesousaday,andIwillgetyouyourbreakfastwithmineeveryday.Iwillfurnishyourroomsandpayforsuchteaching as you may think necessary. You shall give me formalacknowledgmentforthemoneyImaylayoutforyou,andwhenyouarerichyoushallrepaymeall.Butifyoudonotwork,Ishallnotregardmyselfasinanywaypledgedtoyou,andIshallleaveyoutoyourfate.”

“Ah!”cried thepoor fellow, still smarting from thebitternessofhis firststrugglewithdeath,“exilesfromeverylandmaywellstretchouttheirhandstoFrance,as the souls inPurgatorydo toParadise. Inwhatothercountry issuchhelptobefound,andgenerousheartseveninsuchagarretasthis?Youwillbeeverything tome,mybelovedbenefactress; I amyour slave!Bemysweetheart,”headded,withoneofthecaressinggesturesfamiliartothePoles,forwhichtheyareunjustlyaccusedofservility.

“Oh,no;Iamtoojealous,Ishouldmakeyouunhappy;butIwillgladlybeasortofcomrade,”repliedLisbeth.

“Ah, if only you knew how I longed for some fellow-creature, even atyrant,whowouldhavesomethingtosaytomewhenIwasstrugglinginthevast solitude of Paris!” exclaimedWenceslas. “I regretted Siberia,whither Ishouldbesentby theEmperor if Iwenthome.—BemyProvidence!—Iwillwork;IwillbeabettermanthanIam,thoughIamnotsuchabadfellow!”

“WillyoudowhateverIbidyou?”sheasked.

“Yes.”

“Well,then,Iwilladoptyouasmychild,”saidshelightly.“HereIamwithasonrisenfromthegrave.Come!wewillbeginatonce.Iwillgooutandgetwhat I want; you can dress, and come down to breakfast with me when Iknockontheceilingwiththebroomstick.”

That day, Mademoiselle Fischer made some inquiries, at the houses towhichshecarriedherworkhome,astothebusinessofasculptor.Bydintofmany questions she ended by hearing of the studio kept by Florent andChanor, a house that made a special business of casting and finishingdecorative bronzes and handsome silver plate. Thither she went withSteinbock,recommendinghimasanapprenticeinsculpture,anideathatwasregardedastooeccentric.Theirbusinesswastocopytheworksofthegreatestartists,buttheydidnotteachthecraft.Theoldmaid’spersistentobstinacysofarsucceededthatSteinbockwastakenontodesignornament.Heverysoonlearnedtomodelornament,andinventednovelties;hehadagiftforit.

Fivemonthsafterhewasoutofhisapprenticeshipasafinisher,hemadeacquaintance with Stidmann, the famous head of Florent’s studios. WithintwentymonthsWenceslaswasaheadofhismaster;butinthirtymonthstheoldmaid’s savings of sixteen years had melted entirely. Two thousand fivehundredfrancs ingold!—asumwithwhichshehad intendedtopurchaseanannuity; and what was there to show for it? A Pole’s receipt! And at thismomentLisbethwasworkingashardasinheryoungdaystosupplytheneedsofherLivonian.

When she found herself the possessor of a piece of paper instead of hergold louis, she lost her head, andwent to consultMonsieur Rivet, who forfifteen years had been his clever head-worker’s friend and counselor. Onhearingherstory,MonsieurandMadameRivetscoldedLisbeth,toldhershewas crazy, abused all refugees whose plots for reconstructing their nationcompromisedtheprosperityofthecountryandthemaintenanceofpeace;andtheyurgedLisbethtofindwhatintradeiscalledsecurity.

“The only hold you have over this fellow is on his liberty,” observedMonsieurRivet.

MonsieurAchilleRivetwasassessorattheTribunalofCommerce.

“Imprisonmentisnojokeforaforeigner,”saidhe.“AFrenchmanremainsfive years in prison and comes out, free of his debts to be sure, for he isthenceforthboundonlybyhisconscience,andthatnevertroubleshim;butaforeignernevercomesout.—Givemeyourpromissorynote;mybookkeeperwilltakeitup;hewillgetitprotested;youwillbothbeprosecutedandbothbecondemnedto imprisonment indefaultofpayment; then,wheneverything is

indueform,youmustsignadeclaration.Bydoingthisyourinterestwillbeaccumulating,andyouwillhaveapistolalwaysprimedtofireatyourPole!”

Theoldmaidallowedtheselegalstepstobetaken,tellingherprotegenottobeuneasy,astheproceedingsweremerelytoaffordaguaranteetoamoney-lenderwhoagreedtoadvancethemcertainsums.ThissubterfugewasduetotheinventivegeniusofMonsieurRivet.Theguilelessartist,blindlytrustingtohisbenefactress,lightedhispipewiththestampedpaper,forhesmokedasallmendowhohavesorrowsorenergiesthatneedsoothing.

One fine dayMonsieur Rivet showedMademoiselle Fischer a schedule,andsaidtoher:

“Here you have Wenceslas Steinbock bound hand and foot, and soeffectually,thatwithintwenty-fourhoursyoucanhavehimsnuginClichyfortherestofhisdays.”

Thisworthyandhonest judgeat theChamberofCommerceexperiencedthat day the satisfaction that must come of having done a malignant goodaction. Beneficence has so many aspects in Paris that this contradictoryexpressionreallyrepresentsoneofthem.TheLivonianbeingfairlyentangledinthetoilsofcommercialprocedure,thepointwastoobtainpayment;fortheillustrious tradesman looked onWenceslas as a swindler. Feeling, sincerity,poetry,wereinhiseyesmerefollyinbusinessmatters.

SoRivetwentofftosee,inbehalfofthatpoorMademoiselleFischer,who,as he said, had been “done” by the Pole, the richmanufacturers for whomSteinbock had worked. It happened that Stidmann—who, with the help ofthesedistinguishedmastersofthegoldsmiths’art,wasraisingFrenchworktotheperfectionithasnowreached,allowingittoholditsownagainstFlorenceandtheRenaissance—StidmannwasinChanor’sprivateroomwhenthearmylace manufacturer called to make inquiries as to “One Steinbock, a Polishrefugee.”

“Whomdoyoucall‘OneSteinbock’?DoyoumeanayoungLivonianwhowas a pupil ofmine?” criedStidmann ironically. “Imay tell you,monsieur,that he is a verygreat artist. It is saidofme that I believemyself tobe theDevil.Well,thatpoorfellowdoesnotknowthatheiscapableofbecomingagod.”

“Indeed,”saidRivet,wellpleased.Andthenheadded,“Thoughyoutakearathercavalier tonewithamanwhohas thehonor tobeanAssessoron theTribunalofCommerceoftheDepartmentoftheSeine.”

“Yourpardon,Consul!”saidStidmann,withamilitarysalute.

“Iamdelighted,” theAssessorwenton,“tohearwhatyousay.Theman

maymakemoneythen?”

“Certainly,”saidChanor;“buthemustwork.Hewouldhaveatidysumbynowifhehadstayedwithus.Whatistobedone?Artistshaveahorrorofnotbeingfree.”

“Theyhaveapropersenseoftheirvalueanddignity,”repliedStidmann.“Ido not blameWenceslas for walking alone, trying to make a name, and tobecomeagreatman;hehada right todoso!Buthewasagreat loss tomewhenheleft.”

“That, you see,” exclaimedRivet, “iswhat all young students aim at assoonastheyarehatchedoutoftheschool-egg.Beginbysavingmoney,Isay,andseekgloryafterwards.”

“Itspoilsyourtouchtobepickingupcoin,”saidStidmann.“ItisGlory’sbusinesstobringuswealth.”

“And,afterall,”saidChanortoRivet,“youcannottetherthem.”

“Theywouldeatthehalter,”repliedStidmann.

“Allthesegentlemenhaveasmuchcapriceastalent,”saidChanor,lookingatStidmann.“Theyspendnoendofmoney;theykeeptheirgirls,theythrowcoinoutofwindow,and then theyhaveno time towork.Theyneglect theirorders;wehavetoemployworkmenwhoareveryinferior,butwhogrowrich;andthentheycomplainofthehardtimes,while,iftheywerebutsteady,theymighthavepilesofgold.”

“You old Lumignon,” said Stidmann, “you remind me of the publisherbeforetheRevolutionwhosaid—‘IfonlyIcouldkeepMontesquieu,Voltaire,and Rousseau very poor in my backshed, and lock up their breeches in acupboard, what a lot of nice little books they would write to make myfortune.’—Ifworksofartcouldbehammeredoutlikenails,workmenwouldmakethem.—Givemeathousandfrancs,anddon’ttalknonsense.”

Worthy Monsieur Rivet went home, delighted for poor MademoiselleFischer,whodinedwithhimeveryMonday,andwhomhefoundwaitingforhim.

“Ifyoucanonlymakehimwork,”saidhe,“youwillhavemoreluckthanwisdom;youwillberepaid,interest,capital,andcosts.ThisPolehastalent,hecanmakealiving;butlockuphistrousersandhisshoes,donotlethimgototheChaumiereortheparishofNotre-DamedeLorette,keephiminleading-strings.Ifyoudonottakesuchprecautions,yourartistwilltaketoloafing,andifyouonlyknewwhattheseartistsmeanbyloafing!Shocking!Why,Ihavejustheardthattheywillspendathousand-francnoteinaday!”

This episode had a fatal influence on the home-life of Wenceslas and

Lisbeth. The benefactress flavored the exile’s breadwith thewormwood ofreproof, now that she sawhermoney in danger, and often believed it to belost.Fromakindmothershebecameastepmother;shetookthepoorboytotask,shenaggedhim,scoldedhimforworkingtooslowly,andblamedhimforhaving chosen so difficult a profession. She could not believe that thosemodelsinredwax—littlefiguresandsketchesforornamentalwork—couldbeofanyvalue.Beforelong,vexedwithherselfforherseverity,shewouldtrytoeffacethetearsbyhercareandattention.

Thenthepooryoungman,aftergroaningtothinkthathewasdependentonthisshrewandunderthethumbofapeasantoftheVosges,wasbewitchedbyhercoaxingwaysandbyamaternalaffectionthatattacheditselfsolelytothephysicalandmaterialsideoflife.Hewaslikeawomanwhoforgivesaweekofill-usageforthesakeofakissandabriefreconciliation.

ThusMademoiselleFischerobtainedcompletepoweroverhismind.Theloveofdominionthatlayasagermintheoldmaid’sheartdevelopedrapidly.She could now satisfy her pride and her craving for action; had she not acreaturebelongingtoher,tobeschooled,scolded,flattered,andmadehappy,withoutanyfearofa rival?Thus thegoodandbadsidesofhernaturealikefoundplay.Ifshesometimesvictimizedthepoorartist,shehad,ontheotherhand,delicate impulses like thegraceofwild flowers; itwasa joy toher toprovide for all his wants; she would have given her life for him, andWenceslas knew it. Like every noble soul, the poor fellow forgot the badpoints,thedefectsofthewomanwhohadtoldhimthestoryofherlifeasanexcuseforherroughways,andherememberedonlythebenefitsshehaddonehim.

Oneday,exasperatedwithWenceslasforhavinggoneoutwalkinginsteadofsittingatwork,shemadeagreatscene.

“Youbelongtome,”saidshe.“Ifyouwereanhonestman,youwouldtrytorepaymethemoneyyouoweassoonaspossible.”

The gentleman, in whose veins the blood of the Steinbocks was fired,turnedpale.

“Blessme,”shewenton,“wesoonshallhavenothing to liveonbut thethirtysousIearn—apoorwork-woman!”

Thetwopennilesscreatures,workedupbytheirownwarofwords,grewvehement;andforthefirsttimetheunhappyartistreproachedhisbenefactressforhavingrescuedhimfromdeathonlytomakehimleadthelifeofagalleyslave,worsethanthebottomlessvoid,whereatleast,saidhe,hewouldhavefoundrest.Andhetalkedofflight.

“Flight!”criedLisbeth.“Ah,MonsieurRivetwasright.”

And she clearly explained to the Pole that within twenty-four hours hemightbeclappedintoprisonfortherestofhisdays.Itwasacrushingblow.Steinbocksankintodeepmelancholyandtotalsilence.

In the course of the following night, Lisbeth hearing overhead somepreparations for suicide,wentup toherpensioner’s room,andgavehim thescheduleandaformalrelease.

“Here,dearchild,forgiveme,”shesaidwithtearsinhereyes.“Behappy;leave me! I am too cruel to you; only tell me that you will sometimesremember thepoorgirlwhohasenabledyou tomakea living.—WhatcanIsay? You are the cause of my ill-humor. I might die; where would you bewithoutme? That is the reason ofmy being impatient to see you do somesalablework. I do notwantmymoneyback formyself, I assure you! I amonly frightened at your idleness, which you call meditation; at your ideas,whichtakeupsomanyhourswhenyousitgazingatthesky;Iwantyoutogetintohabitsofindustry.”

Allthiswassaidwithanemphasis,alook,andtearsthatmovedthehigh-mindedartist;heclaspedhisbenefactresstohisheartandkissedherforehead.

“Keepthesepieces,”saidhewithasortofcheerfulness.“WhyshouldyousendmetoClichy?AmInotaprisonerhereoutofgratitude?”

This episode of their secret domestic life had occurred six monthspreviously,andhadledtoSteinbock’sproducingthreefinishedworks:thesealinHortense’s possession, the group he had placedwith the curiosity dealer,andabeautifulclocktowhichhewasputtingthelasttouches,screwinginthelastrivets.

ThisclockrepresentedthetwelveHours,charminglypersonifiedbytwelvefemale figures whirling round in so mad and swift a dance that three littleLovesperchedonapileoffruitandflowerscouldnotstoponeofthem;onlythe torn skirts ofMidnight remained in thehandof themost daring cherub.The group stood on an admirably treated base, ornamented with grotesquebeasts.Thehoursweretoldbyamonstrousmouththatopenedtoyawn,andeach Hour bore some ingeniously appropriate symbol characteristic of thevariousoccupationsoftheday.

ItisnoweasytounderstandtheextraordinaryattachmentofMademoiselleFischerforherLivonian;shewantedhimtobehappy,andshesawhimpining,fadingaway inhisattic.Thecausesof thiswretchedstateofaffairsmaybeeasily imagined.Thepeasantwomanwatched thissonof theNorthwith theaffectionofamother,withthejealousyofawife,andthespiritofadragon;henceshemanagedtoputeverykindoffollyordissipationoutofhispowerby leaving him destitute of money. She longed to keep her victim and

companion for herself alone, well conducted perforce, and she had noconceptionof thecrueltyof this senselesswish, since she, forherownpart,wasaccustomed toeveryprivation.She lovedSteinbockwell enoughnot tomarryhim,andtoomuchtogivehimuptoanyotherwoman;shecouldnotresignherselftobenomorethanamothertohim,thoughshesawthatshewasmadtothinkofplayingtheotherpart.

Thesecontradictions,thisferociousjealousy,andthejoyofhavingamantoherself,allagitatedheroldmaid’sheartbeyondmeasure.Reallyinloveasshehadbeenforfouryears,shecherishedthefoolishhopeofprolongingthisimpossibleandaimlesswayoflifeinwhichherpersistencewouldonlybetheruinofthemanshethoughtofasherchild.Thiscontestbetweenherinstinctsandherreasonmadeherunjustandtyrannical.Shewreakedontheyoungmanher vengeance for her own lot in being neither young, rich, nor handsome;then, after each fit of rage, recognizing herself wrong, she stooped tounlimitedhumility,infinitetenderness.Shenevercouldsacrificetoheridoltillshehadassertedherpowerbyblowsoftheaxe.Infact,itwastheconverseofShakespeare’sTempest—CalibanrulingArielandProspero.

Astothepooryouthhimself,high-minded,meditative,andinclinedtobelazy,thedesertthathisprotectressmadeinhissoulmightbeseeninhiseyes,asinthoseofacagedlion.ThepenalservitudeforcedonhimbyLisbethdidnotfulfil thecravingsofhisheart.Hiswearinessbecameaphysicalmalady,and hewas dyingwithout daring to ask, or knowingwhere to procure, theprice of some little necessary dissipation. On some days of special energy,when a feeling of utter ill-luck added to his exasperation, hewould look atLisbethasathirstytraveleronasandyshoremustlookatthebittersea-water.

These harsh fruits of indigence, and this isolation in themidst of Paris,Lisbethrelishedwithdelight.Andbesides,sheforesawthat thefirstpassionwould robherofher slave.Sometimessheevenblamedherselfbecauseherown tyranny and reproaches had compelled the poetic youth to become sogreat an artist of delicate work, and she had thus given him the means ofcastingheroff.

Onthedayafter,thesethreelives,sodifferentlybutsoutterlywretched—that of amother in despair, that of theMarneffe household, and that of theunhappyexile—werealltobeinfluencedbyHortense’sguilelesspassion,andbythestrangeoutcomeoftheBaron’slucklesspassionforJosepha.

Just as Hulot was going into the opera-house, he was stopped by thedarkened appearanceof thebuilding andof theRue lePeletier,where therewerenogendarmes, no lights, no theatre-servants, nobarrier to regulate thecrowd.Helookedupattheannouncement-board,andbeheldastripofwhitepaper,onwhichwasprintedthesolemnnotice:

“CLOSEDONACCOUNTOFILLNESS.”

Herushedoff toJosepha’slodgingsintheRueChauchat;for, likeall thesingers,shelivedcloseathand.

“Whom do you want, sir?” asked the porter, to the Baron’s greatastonishment.

“Haveyouforgottenme?”saidHulot,muchpuzzled.

“Onthecontrary,sir,itisbecauseIhavethehonortorememberyouthatIaskyou,Whereareyougoing?”

AmortalchillfellupontheBaron.

“Whathashappened?”heasked.

“If you go up toMademoiselleMirah’s rooms,Monsieur le Baron, youwill find Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout there—and Monsieur Bixiou,MonsieurLeondeLora,MonsieurLousteau,MonsieurdeVernisset,MonsieurStidmann;andladiessmellingofpatchouli—holdingahousewarming.”

“Then,where—whereis——?”

“MademoiselleMirah?—Idon’tknowthatIoughttotellyou.”

TheBaronslippedtwofive-francpiecesintotheporter’shand.

“Well,sheisnowintheRuedelaVillel’Eveque,inafinehouse,giventoher,theysay,bytheDucd’Herouville,”repliedthemaninawhisper.

Having ascertained the number of the house, Monsieur Hulot called amilord and drove to one of those prettymodern houses with double doors,whereeverything,fromthegaslightattheentrance,proclaimsluxury.

TheBaron,inhisblueclothcoat,whiteneckcloth,nankeentrousers,patentleather boots, and stiffly starched shirt-frill, was supposed to be a guest,thoughalatearrival,bythejanitorof thisnewEden.Hisalacrityofmannerandquickstepjustifiedthisopinion.

Theporter rangabell, anda footmanappeared in thehall.Thisman, asnewasthehouse,admittedthevisitor,whosaidtohiminanimperioustone,andwithalordlygesture:

“TakeinthiscardtoMademoiselleJosepha.”

Thevictimmechanicallylookedroundtheroominwhichhefoundhimself—an anteroom full of choice flowers and of furniture that must have costtwentythousandfrancs.Theservant,onhisreturn,beggedmonsieurtowaitinthedrawing-roomtillthecompanycametotheircoffee.

Though the Baron had been familiar with Imperial luxury, which was

undoubtedlyprodigious,whileitsproductions,thoughnotdurableinkind,hadnevertheless cost enormous sums, he stood dazzled, dumfounded, in thisdrawing-roomwiththreewindowslookingoutonagardenlikefairyland,oneofthosegardensthatarecreatedinamonthwithamadesoilandtransplantedshrubs,whilethegrassseemsasifitmustbemadetogrowbysomechemicalprocess.Headmirednotonly thedecoration, thegilding, thecarving, in themostexpensivePompadourstyle,asitiscalled,andthemagnificentbrocades,allofwhichanyenriched tradesmancouldhaveprocured formoney;buthealsonotedsuchtreasuresasonlyprincescanselectandfind,canpayforandgiveaway; twopicturesbyGreuze, twobyWatteau, twoheadsbyVandyck,twolandscapesbyRuysdael,andtwobyleGuaspre,aRembrandt,aHolbein,aMurillo,andaTitian,twopaintings,byTeniers,andapairbyMetzu,aVanHuysum, and anAbrahamMignon—in short, two hundred thousand francs’worthofpicturessuperblyframed.Thegildingwasworthalmostasmuchasthepaintings.

“Ah,ha!Nowyouunderstand,mygoodman?”saidJosepha.

Shehadstoleninontiptoethroughanoiselessdoor,overPersiancarpets,and came upon her adorer, standing lost in amazement—in the stupidamazementwhenaman’searstinglesoloudlythathehearsnothingbutthatfatalknell.

Thewords“mygoodman,”spokentoanofficialofsuchhighimportance,so perfectly exemplified the audacity with which these creatures pourcontempt on the loftiest, that the Baronwas nailed to the spot. Josepha, inwhiteandyellow,wassobeautifullydressedforthebanquet,thatamidallthislavishmagnificenceshestillshonelikeararejewel.

“Isn’tthisreallyfine?”saidshe.“TheDukehasspentallthemoneyonitthat he got out of floating a company, of which the shares all sold at apremium.Heisnofool,ismylittleDuke.Thereisnothinglikeamanwhohasbeenagrandeeinhis timefor turningcoals intogold.Justbeforedinner thenotarybroughtmethetitle-deedstosignandthebillsreceipted!—Theyarealla first-class set in there—d’Esgrignon, Rastignac, Maxime, Lenoncourt,Verneuil, Laginski, Rochefide, la Palferine, and from among the bankersNucingenandduTillet,withAntonia,Malaga,Carabine,andlaSchontz;andtheyallfeelforyoudeeply.—Yes,oldboy,andtheyhopeyouwilljointhem,butonconditionthatyouforthwithdrinkuptotwobottlesfullofHungarianwine, Champagne, or Cape, just to bring you up to their mark.—My dearfellow,weareallsomuchonhere, that itwasnecessarytoclose theOpera.Themanagerisasdrunkasacornet-a-piston;heishiccupingalready.”

“Oh,Josepha!——”criedtheBaron.

“Now,cananythingbemoreabsurdthanexplanations?”shebrokeinwith

a smile. “Look here; can you stand six hundred thousand francswhich thishouse and furniture cost? Can you give me a bond to the tune of thirtythousandfrancsayear,whichiswhattheDukehasjustgivenmeinapacketofcommonsugaredalmondsfromthegrocer’s?—aprettynotionthat——”

“What an atrocity!” cried Hulot, who in his fury would have given hiswife’s diamonds to stand in the Duc d’Herouville’s shoes for twenty-fourhours.

“Atrocity ismy trade,” said she. “So that is howyou take it?Well,whydon’tyoufloatacompany?Goodnessme!mypoordyedTom,yououghttobegratefultome;Ihavethrownyouoverjustwhenyouwouldhavespentonmeyourwidow’sfortune,yourdaughter’sportion.—What,tears!TheEmpireisathingofthepast—IhailthecomingEmpire!”

Shestruckatragicattitude,andexclaimed:

“TheycallyouHulot!Nay,Iknowyounot—”

Andshewentintotheotherroom.

Through thedoor, left ajar, therecame, likea lightning-flash, a streakoflightwithanaccompanimentofthecrescendooftheorgyandthefragranceofabanquetofthechoicestdescription.

The singer peeped through the partly open door, and seeing Hulottransfixedas ifhehadbeenabronzeimage,shecameonestepforwardintotheroom.

“Monsieur,”saidshe,“IhavehandedovertherubbishintheRueChauchattoBixiou’slittleHeloiseBrisetout.Ifyouwishtoclaimyourcottonnightcap,yourbootjack,yourbelt,andyourwaxdye,Ihavestipulatedfortheirreturn.”

ThisinsolentbantermadetheBaronleavetheroomasprecipitatelyasLotdepartedfromGomorrah,buthedidnotlookbacklikeMrs.Lot.

Hulotwenthome,stridingalonginafury,andtalkingtohimself;hefoundhisfamilystillplayingthegameofwhistattwosousapoint,atwhichheleftthem. On seeing her husband return, poor Adeline imagined somethingdreadful,somedishonor;shegavehercardstoHortense,andledHectorawayinto thevery roomwhere,only fivehourssince,Crevelhad foretoldher theutmostdisgraceofpoverty.

“Whatisthematter?”shesaid,terrified.

“Oh, forgive me—but let me tell you all these horrors.” And for tenminuteshepouredouthiswrath.

“But, my dear,” said the unhappy woman, with heroic courage, “thesecreaturesdonotknowwhatlovemeans—suchpureanddevotedloveasyou

deserve.Howcouldyou,soclear-sightedasyouare,dreamofcompetingwithmillions?”

“DearestAdeline!”criedtheBaron,claspinghertohisheart.

TheBaroness’wordshadshedbalmonthebleedingwoundstohisvanity.

“Tobesure,takeawaytheDucd’Herouville’sfortune,andshecouldnothesitatebetweenus!”saidtheBaron.

“Mydear,” saidAdelinewitha final effort, “ifyoupositivelymusthavemistresses,why do you not seek them, likeCrevel, amongwomenwho arelessextravagant,andofaclassthatcanforatimebecontentwithlittle?Weshould all gainby that arrangement.—Iunderstandyourneed—but I donotunderstandthatvanity——”

“Oh,whatakindandperfectwifeyouare!”criedhe.“Iamanoldlunatic,Idonotdeservetohavesuchawife!”

“IamsimplytheJosephineofmyNapoleon,”shereplied,withatouchofmelancholy.

“Josephinewasnot tocomparewithyou!” saidhe. “Come; Iwillplayagameofwhistwithmy brother and the children. Imust trymy hand at thebusiness of a family man; I must get Hortense a husband, and bury thelibertine.”

HisfranknesssogreatlytouchedpoorAdeline,thatshesaid:

“Thecreaturehasno taste toprefer anyman in theworld tomyHector.Oh, Iwouldnotgiveyouupforall thegoldonearth.Howcananywomanthrowyouoverwhoissohappyastobelovedbyyou?”

ThelookwithwhichtheBaronrewardedhiswife’sfanaticismconfirmedher in her opinion that gentleness and docility were a woman’s strongestweapons.

Butinthisshewasmistaken.Thenoblestsentiments,carriedtoanexcess,can produce mischief as great as do the worst vices. Bonaparte was madeEmperorforhavingfiredonthepeople,atastone’sthrowfromthespotwhereLouisXVI.losthisthroneandhisheadbecausehewouldnotallowacertainMonsieurSaucetobehurt.

Onthefollowingmorning,Hortense,whohadsleptwiththesealunderherpillow,soastohaveitclosetoherallnight,dressedveryearly,andsenttobegherfathertojoinherinthegardenassoonasheshouldbedown.

By about half-past nine, the father, acceding to his daughter’s petition,gaveherhisarmforawalk,andtheywentalongthequaysbythePontRoyaltothePlaceduCarrousel.

“Let us look into the shopwindows, papa,” saidHortense, as theywentthroughthelittlegatetocrossthewidesquare.

“What—here?”saidherfather,laughingather.

“Wearesupposedtohavecometoseethepictures,andoverthere”—andshepointedto thestalls infrontof thehousesatarightangle to theRueduDoyenne—“look!therearedealersincuriositiesandpictures——”

“Yourcousinlivesthere.”

“Iknowit,butshemustnotseeus.”

“And what do you want to do?” said the Baron, who, finding himselfwithin thirty yards of Madame Marneffe’s windows, suddenly rememberedher.

Hortensehaddraggedher father in frontofoneof theshopsforming theangleofablockofhousesbuiltalongthefrontoftheOldLouvre,andfacingthe Hotel de Nantes. She went into this shop; her father stood outside,absorbed ingazingat thewindowsof thepretty little lady,who, theeveningbefore,hadleftherimagestampedontheoldbeau’sheart,asiftoalleviatethewoundhewassosoontoreceive;andhecouldnothelpputtinghiswife’ssageadviceintopractice.

“I will fall back on a simple little citizen’s wife,” said he to himself,recallingMadameMarneffe’s adorable graces. “Such a woman as that willsoonmakemeforgetthatgraspingJosepha.”

Now,thiswaswhatwashappeningatthesamemomentoutsideandinsidethecuriosityshop.

Ashefixedhiseyesonthewindowsofhisnewbelle,theBaronsawthehusband,who,whilebrushinghiscoatwithhisownhands,wasapparentlyonthelookout,expectingtoseesomeoneonthesquare.Fearinglestheshouldbeseen,andsubsequentlyrecognized,theamorousBaronturnedhisbackontheRueduDoyenne,orratherstoodatthree-quarters’face,asitwere,soastobeabletoglanceroundfromtimetotime.ThismanoeuvrebroughthimfacetofacewithMadameMarneffe,who,comingupfromthequay,wasdoublingthepromontoryofhousestogohome.

Valeriewasevidentlystartledasshemet theBaron’sastonishedeye,andsherespondedwithaprudishdroppingofhereyelids.

“Aprettywoman,”exclaimedhe,“forwhomamanwoulddomanyfoolishthings.”

“Indeed,monsieur?”saidshe,turningsuddenly,likeawomanwhohasjustcome to some vehement decision, “you are Monsieur le Baron Hulot, I

believe?”

TheBaron,moreandmorebewildered,bowedassent.

“Then,aschancehastwicemadeoureyesmeet,andIamsofortunateastohaveinterestedorpuzzledyou,Imaytellyouthat,insteadofdoinganythingfoolish,yououghttodojustice.—Myhusband’sfaterestswithyou.”

“Andhowmaythatbe?”askedthegallantBaron.

“He is employed in your department in theWarOffice, underMonsieurLebrun,inMonsieurCoquet’sroom,”saidshewithasmile.

“Iamquitedisposed,Madame—Madame——?”

“MadameMarneffe.”

“Dear littleMadameMarneffe, to do injustice for your sake.—I have acousin living in your house; Iwill go to see her one day soon—as soon aspossible;bringyourpetitiontomeinherrooms.”

“Pardonmy boldness,Monsieur leBaron; youmust understand that if Idaretoaddressyouthus,itisbecauseIhavenofriendtoprotectme——”

“Ah,ha!”

“Monsieur,youmisunderstandme,”saidshe,loweringhereyelids.

Hulotfeltasifthesunhaddisappeared.

“Iamatmywits’end,butIamanhonestwoman!”shewenton.“Aboutsixmonthsagomyonlyprotectordied,MarshalMontcornet—”

“Ah!Youarehisdaughter?”

“Yes,monsieur;butheneveracknowledgedme.”

“Thatwasthathemightleaveyoupartofhisfortune.”

“Heleftmenothing;hemadenowill.”

“Indeed!Poorlittlewoman!TheMarshaldiedsuddenlyofapoplexy.But,come, madame, hope for the best. The State must do something for thedaughterofoneoftheChevalierBayardsoftheEmpire.”

MadameMarneffebowedgracefullyandwentoff,asproudofhersuccessastheBaronwasofhis.

“Wherethedevilhasshebeensoearly?”thoughthewatchingtheflowofher skirts, towhich she contrived to impart a somewhat exaggerated grace.“Shelookstootiredtohavejustcomefromabath,andherhusbandiswaitingforher.Itisstrange,andpuzzlesmealtogether.”

MadameMarneffehavingvanishedwithin, theBaronwonderedwhathis

daughter was doing in the shop. As he went in, still staring at MadameMarneffe’s windows, he ran against a young man with a pale brow andsparkling gray eyes, wearing a summer coat of black merino, coarse drilltrousers,andtanshoes,withgaiters,rushingawayheadlong;hesawhimruntothehouseintheRueduDoyenne,intowhichhewent.

Hortense, on going into the shop, had at once recognized the famousgroup,conspicuouslyplacedonatableinthemiddleandinfrontofthedoor.Even without the circumstances to which she owed her knowledge of thismasterpiece, itwouldprobablyhavestruckherby thepeculiarpowerwhichwemustcall thebrio—thego—ofgreatworks;and thegirlherselfmight inItalyhavebeentakenasamodelforthepersonificationofBrio.

Noteveryworkbyamanofgeniushasinthesamedegreethatbrilliancy,that glorywhich is at once patent even to themost ignoble beholder. Thus,certainpicturesbyRaphael,suchasthefamousTransfiguration,theMadonnadi Foligno, and the frescoes of the Stanze in the Vatican, do not at firstcaptivate our admiration, as do the Violin-player in the Sciarra Palace, theportraitsoftheDoriafamily,andtheVisionofEzekielinthePittiGallery,theChristbearingHisCross in theBorghesecollection,and theMarriageof theVirgin in theBreraatMilan.TheSaint John theBaptistof theTribuna,andSaintLukepaintingtheVirgin’sportraitintheAccademiaatRome,havenotthecharmofthePortraitofLeoX.,andoftheVirginatDresden.

And yet they are all of equal merit. Nay, more. The Stanze, theTransfiguration, thepanels,and the threeeaselpictures in theVaticanare inthehighestdegreeperfectandsublime.Buttheydemandastressofattention,even from the most accomplished beholder, and serious study, to be fullyunderstood;whiletheViolin-player,theMarriageoftheVirgin,andtheVisionofEzekielgostraighttotheheartthroughtheportalofsight,andmaketheirhomethere.Itisapleasuretoreceivethemthuswithoutaneffort;ifitisnotthe highest phase of art, it is the happiest. This fact proves that, in thebegetting of works of art, there is as much chance in the character of theoffspringasthereisinafamilyofchildren;thatsomewillbehappilygraced,born beautiful, and costing theirmothers little suffering, creatures onwhomeverythingsmiles,andwithwhomeverythingsucceeds;inshort,genius,likelove,hasitsfairerblossoms.

This brio, an Italian word which the French have begun to use, ischaracteristicofyouthfulwork. It is thefruitofan impetusandfireofearlytalent—animpetuswhichismetwithagainlaterinsomehappyhours;butthisparticularbrionolongercomesfromtheartist’sheart;insteadofhisflingingitintohiswork as a volcano flingsup its fires, it comes tohim fromoutside,inspiredbycircumstances,bylove,orrivalry,oftenbyhatred,andmoreoftenstillbytheimperiousneedofglorytobelivedupto.

ThisgroupbyWenceslaswastohislaterworkswhattheMarriageoftheVirgin is to thegreatmassofRaphael’s, thefirststepofagiftedartist takenwith the inimitablegrace, theeagerness,anddelightfuloverflowingnessofachild, whose strength is concealed under the pink-and-white flesh full ofdimpleswhichseemtoechotoamother’slaughter.PrinceEugeneissaidtohavepaidfourhundredthousandfrancsforthispicture,whichwouldbeworthamillion toanynation thatownednopicturebyRaphael,butnoonewouldgivethatsumforthefinestofthefrescoes,thoughtheirvalueisfargreaterasworksofart.

Hortenserestrainedheradmiration,forshereflectedontheamountofhergirlishsavings;sheassumedanairofindifference,andsaidtothedealer:

“Whatisthepriceofthat?”

“Fifteenhundredfrancs,”repliedtheman,sendingaglanceofintelligencetoayoungmanseatedonastoolinthecorner.

TheyoungmanhimselfgazedinastupefactionatMonsieurHulot’slivingmasterpiece.Hortense, forewarned, atonce identifiedhimas theartist, fromthecolorthatflushedafacepalewithendurance;shesawthesparklightedupinhisgrayeyesbyherquestion;shelookedonthethin,drawnfeatures,likethose of a monk consumed by asceticism; she loved the red, well-formedmouth,thedelicatechin,andthePole’ssilkychestnuthair.

“Ifitweretwelvehundred,”saidshe,“Iwouldbegyoutosendittome.”

“It is antique,mademoiselle,” the dealer remarked, thinking, like all hisfraternity, that, havinguttered this neplus ultra of bric-a-brac, therewasnomoretobesaid.

“Excuseme,monsieur,”sherepliedveryquietly,“itwasmadethisyear;Icameexpresslytobegyou,ifmypriceisaccepted,tosendtheartisttoseeus,asitmightbepossibletoprocurehimsomeimportantcommissions.”

“Andifheistohavethetwelvehundredfrancs,whatamItoget?Iamthedealer,”saidtheman,withcandidgood-humor.

“Tobesure!”repliedthegirl,withaslightcurlofdisdain.

“Oh!mademoiselle, take it; Iwillmake termswith thedealer,”cried theLivonian,besidehimself.

Fascinated by Hortense’s wonderful beauty and the love of art shedisplayed,headded:

“Iam thesculptorof thegroup,and for tendays Ihavecomehere threetimesadaytoseeifanybodywouldrecognizeitsmeritandbargainforit.Youaremyfirstadmirer—takeit!”

“Come, then, monsieur, with the dealer, an hour hence.—Here is myfather’scard,”repliedHortense.

Then, seeing theshopkeepergo intoaback room towrap thegroup inapieceoflinenrag,sheaddedinalowvoice,tothegreatastonishmentoftheartist,whothoughthemustbedreaming:

“For the benefit of your future prospects, Monsieur Wenceslas, do notmention the name of the purchaser toMademoiselle Fischer, for she is ourcousin.”

Theword cousindazzled the artist’smind;hehad aglimpseofParadisewhence this daughter of Eve had come to him. He had dreamed of thebeautifulgirlofwhomLisbethhadtoldhim,asHortensehaddreamedofhercousin’slover;and,asshehadenteredtheshop—

“Ah!”thoughthe,“ifshecouldbutbelikethis!”

Thelookthatpassedbetweentheloversmaybeimagined;itwasaflame,forvirtuouslovershavenohypocrisies.

“Well,whatthedeuceareyoudoinghere?”herfatheraskedher.

“IhavebeenspendingtwelvehundredfrancsthatIhadsaved.Come.”Andshetookherfather’sarm.

“Twelvehundredfrancs?”herepeated.

“Tobeexact,thirteenhundred;youwilllendmetheoddhundred?”

“Andonwhat,insuchaplace,couldyouspendsomuch?”

“Ah!thatisthequestion!”repliedthehappygirl.“IfIhavegotahusband,heisnotdearatthemoney.”

“Ahusband!Inthatshop,mychild?”

“Listen,dearlittlefather;wouldyouforbidmymarryingagreatartist?”

“No,mydear.Agreatartistinthesedaysisaprincewithoutatitle—hehasgloryandfortune,thetwochiefsocialadvantages—nexttovirtue,”headded,inasmugtone.

“Oh,ofcourse!”saidHortense.“Andwhatdoyouthinkofsculpture?”

“Itisverypoorbusiness,”repliedHulot,shakinghishead.“Itneedshighpatronageaswellasgreattalent,forGovernmentistheonlypurchaser.Itisanartwithnodemandnowadays,where there arenoprincelyhouses, nogreatfortunes,noentailedmansions,nohereditaryestates.Onlysmallpicturesandsmall figurescan findaplace; theartsareendangeredby thisneedof smallthings.”

“Butifagreatartistcouldfindademand?”saidHortense.

“Thatindeedwouldsolvetheproblem.”

“Orhadsomeonetobackhim?”

“Thatwouldbeevenbetter.”

“Ifhewereofnoblebirth?”

“Pooh!”

“ACount.”

“Andasculptor?”

“Hehasnomoney.”

“And so he counts on that of Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot?” said theBaronironically,withaninquisitoriallookintohisdaughter’seyes.

“Thisgreatartist,aCountandasculptor,has justseenyourdaughterforthefirsttimeinhislife,andforthespaceoffiveminutes,MonsieurleBaron,”Hortensecalmlyreplied.“Yesterday,youmustknow,dear little father,whileyouwereattheChamber,mammahadafaintingfit.This,whichsheascribedto a nervous attack, was the result of some worry that had to do with thefailureofmymarriage,forshetoldmethattogetridofme—-”

“Sheistoofondofyoutohaveusedanexpression——”

“Sounparliamentary!”Hortenseputinwithalaugh.“No,shedidnotusethosewords;butIknowthatagirloldenoughtomarryandwhodoesnotfindahusbandisaheavycrossforrespectableparents tobear.—Well,shethinksthatifamanofenergyandtalentcouldbefound,whowouldbesatisfiedwiththirtythousandfrancsformymarriageportion,wemightallbehappy.Infact,shethoughtitadvisabletopreparemeforthemodestyofmyfuturelot,andtohinderme from indulging in too ferviddreams.—Whichevidentlymeant anendtotheintendedmarriage,andnosettlementsforme!”

“Yourmotherisaverygoodwoman,noble,admirable!”repliedthefather,deeplyhumiliated,thoughnotsorrytohearthisconfession.

“Shetoldmeyesterdaythatshehadyourpermissiontosellherdiamondsso as to giveme something tomarry on; but I should like her to keep herjewels, and to find a husband myself. I think I have found the man, thepossiblehusband,answeringtomamma’sprospectus——”

“There?—inthePlaceduCarrousel?—andinonemorning?”

“Oh,papa,themischiefliesdeeper!”saidshearchly.

“Well,come,mychild,tellthewholestorytoyourgoodoldfather,”said

hepersuasively,andconcealinghisuneasiness.

Under promise of absolute secrecy, Hortense repeated the upshot of hervariousconversationswithherCousinBetty.Then,whentheygothome,sheshowedthemuch-talked-of-sealtoherfatherinevidenceofthesagacityofherviews.Thefather,inthedepthofhisheart,wonderedattheskillandacumenofgirlswhoactoninstinct,discerningthesimplicityoftheschemewhichheridealized love had suggested in the course of a single night to his guilelessdaughter.

“YouwillseethemasterpieceIhavejustbought;itistobebroughthome,andthatdearWenceslasistocomewiththedealer.—Themanwhomadethatgroupoughttomakeafortune;onlyuseyourinfluencetogethimanorderforastatue,androomsattheInstitut——”

“Howyourunon!”criedherfather.“Why,ifyouhadyourownway,youwouldbemanandwifewithinthelegalperiod—inelevendays——”

“Mustwewaitsolong?”saidshe,laughing.“ButIfellinlovewithhiminfiveminutes,asyoufellinlovewithmammaatfirstsight.Andhelovesmeasif we had known each other for two years. Yes,” she said in reply to herfather’s look,“I read tenvolumesof love inhiseyes.Andwillnotyouandmammaaccepthimasmyhusbandwhenyouseethatheisamanofgenius?Sculpture is the greatest of the Arts,” she cried, clapping her hands andjumping.“Iwilltellyoueverything——”

“What,istheremoretocome?”askedherfather,smiling.

Thechild’scompleteandeffervescentinnocencehadrestoredherfather’speaceofmind.

“A confession of the first importance,” said she. “I loved him withoutknowinghim;and,forthelasthour,sinceseeinghim,Iamcrazyabouthim.”

“A little too crazy!” said the Baron, whowas enjoying the sight of thisguilelesspassion.

“Donotpunishmeforconfidinginyou,”repliedshe.“Itissodelightfultosaytomyfather’sheart,‘Ilovehim!Iamsohappyinlovinghim!’—YouwillseemyWenceslas!Hisbrowissosad.Thesunofgeniusshines inhisgrayeyes—and what an air he has!What do you think of Livonia? Is it a finecountry?—TheideaofCousinBetty’smarryingthatyoungfellow!Shemightbehismother.Itwouldbemurder!Iamquitejealousofallshehaseverdoneforhim.ButIdon’tthinkmymarriagewillpleaseher.”

“See,mydarling,wemusthidenothingfromyourmother.”

“Ishouldhavetoshowhertheseal,andIpromisednot tobetrayCousinLisbeth,whoisafraid,shesays,ofmamma’slaughingather,”saidHortense.

“Youhavescruplesabouttheseal,andnoneaboutrobbingyourcousinofherlover.”

“Ipromisedabouttheseal—Imadenopromiseaboutthesculptor.”

This adventure, patriarchal in its simplicity, came admirably a propos totheunconfessedpovertyofthefamily;theBaron,whilepraisinghisdaughterfor her candor, explained to her that she must now leave matters to thediscretionofherparents.

“You understand, my child, that it is not your part to ascertain whetheryourcousin’sloverisaCount,ifhehasallhispapersproperlycertified,andifhis conduct is a guarantee for his respectability.—As for your cousin, sherefused five offers when she was twenty years younger; that will prove noobstacle,Iundertaketosay.”

“Listentome,papa;ifyoureallywishtoseememarried,neversayawordto Lisbeth about it till just before the contract is signed. I have beencatechizing her about this business for the last six months! Well, there issomethingaboutherquiteinexplicable——”

“What?”saidherfather,puzzled.

“Well,shelooksevilwhenIsaytoomuch,eveninjoke,aboutherlover.Make inquiries, but leaveme to rowmyownboat.Myconfidenceought toreassureyou.”

“TheLord said, ‘Suffer little children to comeuntoMe.’Youareoneofthosewhohavecomebackagain,”repliedtheBaronwithatouchofirony.

After breakfast the dealerwas announced, and the artistwith his group.Thesuddenflushthatreddenedherdaughter’sfaceatoncemadetheBaronesssuspiciousandthenwatchful,andthegirl’sconfusionandthelightinhereyessoonbetrayedthemysterysobadlyguardedinhersimpleheart.

CountSteinbock,dressedinblack,strucktheBaronasaverygentlemanlyyoungman.

“Wouldyouundertakeabronzestatue?”heasked,asheheldupthegroup.

Afteradmiringitontrust,hepasseditontohiswife,whoknewnothingaboutsculpture.

“Itisbeautiful,isn’tit,mamma?”saidHortenseinhermother’ear.

“Astatue!Monsieur, it is lessdifficult toexecuteastatuethantomakeaclocklikethis,whichmyfriendherehasbeenkindenoughtobring,”saidtheartistinreply.

Thedealerwasplacingonthedining-roomsideboardthewaxmodelofthe

twelveHoursthattheLovesweretryingtodelay.

“Leavetheclockwithme,”saidtheBaron,astoundedatthebeautyofthesketch. “I should like to show it to the Ministers of the Interior and ofCommerce.”

“Whoistheyoungmaninwhomyoutakesomuchinterest?”theBaronessaskedherdaughter.

“An artist who could afford to execute this model could get a hundredthousand francs for it,” said the curiosity-dealer, putting on a knowing andmysterious look as he saw that the artist and the girl were interchangingglances. “Hewouldonlyneed to sell twentycopiesat eight thousand francseach—forthematerialswouldcostaboutathousandcrownsforeachexample.Butifeachcopywerenumberedandthemoulddestroyed,itwouldcertainlybepossibletomeetwithtwentyamateursonlytoogladtopossessareplicaofsuchawork.”

“Ahundredthousandfrancs!”criedSteinbock,lookingfromthedealertoHortense,theBaron,andtheBaroness.

“Yes, a hundred thousand francs,” repeated the dealer. “If I were richenough, I would buy it of you myself for twenty thousand francs; for bydestroying the mould it would become a valuable property. But one of theprinces ought to pay thirty or forty thousand francs for such a work toornament his drawing-room.Noman has ever succeeded inmaking a clocksatisfactoryaliketothevulgarandtotheconnoisseur,andthisone,sir,solvesthedifficulty.”

“This is foryourself,monsieur,” saidHortense,giving sixgoldpieces tothedealer.

“Neverbreathawordofthisvisittoanyoneliving,”saidtheartisttohisfriend,atthedoor.“Ifyoushouldbeaskedwherewesoldthegroup,mentiontheDucd’Herouville,thefamouscollectorintheRuedeVarenne.”

Thedealernoddedassent.

“Andyourname?”saidHulottotheartistwhenhecameback.

“CountSteinbock.”

“Haveyouthepapersthatproveyouridentity?”

“Yes, Monsieur le Baron. They are in Russian and in German, but notlegalized.”

“Doyoufeelequaltoundertakingastatueninefeethigh?”

“Yes,monsieur.”

“Well, then, if the persons whom I shall consult are satisfied with yourwork,IcansecureyouthecommissionforthestatueofMarshalMontcornet,whichistobeerectedonhismonumentatPere-Lachaise.TheMinisterofWarandtheoldofficersoftheImperialGuardhavesubscribedasumlargeenoughtoenableustoselectourartist.”

“Oh, monsieur, it will make my fortune!” exclaimed Steinbock,overpoweredbysomuchhappinessatonce.

“Beeasy,” replied theBarongraciously.“If the twoministers towhomIpropose to showyourgroupand this sketch inwaxaredelightedwith thesetwopieces,yourprospectsofafortunearegood.”

Hortensehuggedherfather’sarmsotightlyastohurthim.

“Bringme your papers, and say nothing of your hopes to anybody, noteventoouroldCousinBetty.”

“Lisbeth?” saidMadameHulot, at last understanding the end of all this,thoughunabletoguessthemeans.

“IcouldgiveproofofmyskillbymakingabustoftheBaroness,”addedWenceslas.

The artist, struckbyMadameHulot’s beauty,was comparing themotheranddaughter.

“Indeed, monsieur, life may smile upon you,” said the Baron, quitecharmedbyCountSteinbock’srefinedandelegantmanner.“Youwillfindoutthat in Paris noman is clever for nothing, and that persevering toil alwaysfindsitsrewardhere.”

Hortense,withablush,heldouttotheyoungmanaprettyAlgerinepursecontainingsixtygoldpieces.Theartist,withsomethingstillofagentleman’spride,respondedwithamountingcoloreasyenoughtointerpret.

“This, perhaps, is the first money your works have brought you?” saidAdeline.

“Yes,madame—myworksofart.Itisnotthefirst-fruitsofmylabor,forIhavebeenaworkman.”

“Well,wemusthopemydaughter’smoneywillbringyougoodluck,”saidshe.

“Andtakeitwithoutscruple,”addedtheBaron,seeingthatWenceslasheldthepurseinhishandinsteadofpocketingit.“Thesumwillberepaidbysomerichman,aprinceperhaps,whowillofferitwithinteresttopossesssofineawork.”

“Oh, I want it too much myself, papa, to give it up to anybody in theworld,evenaroyalprince!”

“Icanmakeafarprettierthingthanthatforyou,mademoiselle.”

“But it would not be this one,” replied she; and then, as if ashamed ofhavingsaidtoomuch,sheranoutintothegarden.

“ThenIshallbreakthemouldandthemodelassoonasIgohome,”saidSteinbock.

“Fetchme your papers, and youwill hear ofme before long, if you areequaltowhatIexpectofyou,monsieur.”

Theartistonthiscouldbuttakeleave.AfterbowingtoMadameHulotandHortense,whocameinfromthegardenonpurpose,hewentofftowalkintheTuileries, not bearing—not daring—to return to his attic, where his tyrantwouldpelthimwithquestionsandwringhissecretfromhim.

Hortense’sadorerconceivedofgroupsandstatuesbythehundred;hefeltstrongenoughtohewthemarblehimself,likeCanova,whowasalsoafeebleman,andnearlydiedofit.HewastransfiguredbyHortense,whowastohiminspirationmadevisible.

“Nowthen,”saidtheBaronesstoherdaughter,“whatdoesallthismean?”

“Well,dearmamma,youhavejustseenCousinLisbeth’slover,whonow,Ihope, ismine. But shut your eyes, know nothing. GoodHeavens! I was tokeepitallfromyou,andIcannothelptellingyoueverything——”

“Good-bye, children!” said the Baron, kissing his wife and daughter; “Ishallperhapsgo tocallon theNanny,andfromher Ishallhearagreatdealaboutouryoungman.”

“Papa,becautious!”saidHortense.

“Oh! little girl!” cried the Baroness when Hortense had poured out herpoem,ofwhich themorning’s adventurewas the last canto, “dear littlegirl,Artlessnesswillalwaysbetheartfulestpussonearth!”

Genuinepassionshaveanunerringinstinct.Setagreedymanbeforeadishoffruitandhewillmakenomistake,buttakethechoicestevenwithoutseeingit. In the sameway, if you allow a girlwho iswell brought up to choose ahusbandforherself,ifsheisinapositiontomeetthemanofherheart,rarelywillsheblunder.Theactofnatureinsuchcasesisknownasloveatfirstsight;andinlove,firstsightispracticallysecondsight.

TheBaroness’ satisfaction, thoughdisguisedundermaternal dignity,wasas great as her daughter’s; for, of the three ways of marrying Hortense ofwhichCrevelhad spoken, thebest, as sheopined,was about tobe realized.

AndsheregardedthislittledramaasananswerbyProvidencetoherferventprayers.

MademoiselleFischer’sgalleyslave,obligedatlasttogohome,thoughthemighthidehisjoyasaloverunderhisgleeasanartistrejoicingoverhisfirstsuccess.

“Victory!mygroupissoldtotheDucd’Herouville,whoisgoingtogivemesomecommissions,”criedhe,throwingthetwelvehundredfrancsingoldonthetablebeforetheoldmaid.

Hehad,asmaybesupposedconcealedHortense’spurse;itlaynexttohisheart.

“Andaverygoodthingtoo,”saidLisbeth.“Iwasworkingmyselftodeath.Yousee,child,moneycomesinslowlyinthebusinessyouhavetakenup,forthisisthefirstyouhaveearned,andyouhavebeengrindingatitfornearonfiveyearsnow.ThatmoneybarelyrepaysmeforwhatyouhavecostmesinceItookyourpromissorynote;thatisallIhavegotbymysavings.Butbesureofonething,”shesaid,aftercountingthegold,“thismoneywillallbespentonyou.Thereisenoughtheretokeepusgoingforayear.Inayearyoumaynowbeabletopayyourdebtandhaveasnuglittlesumofyourown,ifyougooninthesameway.”

Wenceslas, finding his trick successful, expatiated on the Ducd’Herouville.

“I will fit you out in a black suit, and get you some new linen,” saidLisbeth,“foryoumustappearpresentablybeforeyourpatrons;andthenyoumusthavealargerandbetterapartmentthanyourhorriblegarret,andfurnishit property.—You look so bright, you are not like the same creature,” sheadded,gazingatWenceslas.

“Butmyworkispronouncedamasterpiece.”

“Well,somuchthebetter!Dosomemore,”saidthearidcreature,whowasnothingbutpractical,andincapableofunderstandingthejoyoftriumphorofbeautyinArt.“Troubleyourheadnofurtheraboutwhatyouhavesold;makesomethingelse to sell.Youhave spent twohundred francs inmoney, to saynothingof your time andyour labor, on that devil of aSamson.Your clockwillcostyoumorethantwothousandfrancstoexecute.Itellyouwhat,ifyouwilllistentome,youwillfinishthetwolittleboyscrowningthelittlegirlwithcornflowers; thatwouldjustsuit theParisians.—IwillgoroundtoMonsieurGraffthetailorbeforegoingtoMonsieurCrevel.—Goupnowandleavemetodress.”

NextdaytheBaron,perfectlycrazyaboutMadameMarneffe,wenttosee

CousinBetty,whowasconsiderablyamazedonopeningthedoortoseewhoher visitor was, for he had never called on her before. She at once said toherself, “Can it be that Hortense wants my lover?”—for she had heard theeveningbefore,atMonsieurCrevel’s,thatthemarriagewiththeCouncilloroftheSupremeCourtwasbrokenoff.

“What,Cousin!youhere?Thisisthefirsttimeyouhaveeverbeentoseeme,anditiscertainlynotforloveofmyfineeyesthatyouhavecomenow.”

“Fineeyesis thetruth,”saidtheBaron;“youhaveasfineeyesasIhaveeverseen——”

“Come,whatareyouherefor?Ireallyamashamedtoreceiveyouinsuchakennel.”

TheouterroomofthetwoinhabitedbyLisbethservedherassitting-room,dining-room,kitchen,andworkroom.The furniturewas suchasbeseemedawell-to-doartisan—walnut-woodchairswithstrawseats,asmallwalnut-wooddiningtable,aworktable,somecoloredprintsinblackwoodenframes,shortmuslin curtains to the windows, the floor well polished and shining withcleanliness,notaspeckofdustanywhere,butallcoldanddingy,likeapicturebyTerburg in every particular, even to the gray tone given by awall paperonceblueandnowfadedtogray.Astothebedroom,nohumanbeinghadeverpenetrateditssecrets.

TheBarontookitallinataglance,sawthesign-manualofcommonnesson every detail, from the cast-iron stove to the household utensils, and hisgorgeroseashesaid tohimself,“Andthis isvirtue!—WhatamIherefor?”saidhealoud.“Youarefartoocunningnottoguess,andIhadbettertellyouplainly,”criedhe,sittingdownandlookingoutacross thecourtyard throughanopeninghemadeinthepuckeredcurtain.“Thereisaveryprettywomaninthehouse——”

“MadameMarneffe!NowIunderstand!”sheexclaimed,seeingitall.“ButJosepha?”

“Alas, Cousin, Josepha is no more. I was turned out of doors like adiscardedfootman.”

“And you would like...?” said Lisbeth, looking at the Baron with thedignityofaprudeonherguardaquarterofanhourtoosoon.

“AsMadameMarneffeisverymuchthelady,andthewifeofanemploye,youcanmeetherwithoutcompromisingyourself,”theBaronwenton,“andIshouldliketoseeyouneighborly.Oh!youneednotbealarmed;shewillhavethegreatestconsiderationforthecousinofherhusband’schief.”

At this moment the rustle of a gown was heard on the stairs and the

footstep of a woman wearing the thinnest boots. The sound ceased on thelanding.Therewasatapatthedoor,andMadameMarneffecamein.

“Prayexcuseme,mademoiselle,forthusintrudinguponyou,butIfailedtofindyouyesterdaywhen Icame tocall;wearenearneighbors;and if IhadknownthatyouwererelatedtoMonsieur leBaron,Ishouldlongsincehavecravedyourkindinterestwithhim.Isawhimcomein,soItookthelibertyofcomingacross;formyhusband,MonsieurleBaron,spoketomeofareportontheofficeclerkswhichistobelaidbeforetheministerto-morrow.”

Sheseemedquiteagitatedandnervous—butshehadonlyrunupstairs.

“Youhavenoneedtoplaythepetitioner,fairlady,”repliedtheBaron.“ItisIwhoshouldaskthefavorofseeingyou.”

“Verywell,ifmademoiselleallowsit,praycome!”saidMadameMarneffe.

“Yes—go,Cousin,Iwilljoinyou,”saidLisbethjudiciously.

The Parisienne had so confidently counted on the chief’s visit andintelligence, that not only had she dressed herself for so important aninterview—shehaddressedherroom.Early in thedayithadbeenfurnishedwithflowerspurchasedoncredit.Marneffehadhelpedhiswifetopolishthefurniture, down to the smallest objects, washing, brushing, and dustingeverything. Valerie wished to be found in an atmosphere of sweetness, toattract the chief and to please him enough to have a right to be cruel; totantalizehimasachildwould,withall the tricksof fashionable tactics.ShehadgaugedHulot.GiveaPariswomanatbayfour-and-twentyhours,andshewilloverthrowaministry.

Theman of the Empire, accustomed to theways to the Empire,was nodoubt quite ignorant of theways ofmodern love-making, of the scruples invogueandthevariousstylesofconversationinventedsince1830,whichledtothepoorweakwomanbeingregardedasthevictimofherlover’sdesires—aSisterofCharitysalvingawound,anangelsacrificingherself.

Thismodernartof loveusesavastamountofevangelicalphrases in theserviceoftheDevil.Passionismartyrdom.BothpartiesaspiretotheIdeal,totheInfinite;loveistomakethemsomuchbetter.Allthesefinewordsarebutapretextforputtingincreasedardorintothepracticalsideofit,morefrenzyinto a fall than of old. This hypocrisy, a characteristic of the times, is agangreneingallantry.Theloversarebothangels,andtheybehave,iftheycan,liketwodevils.

Lovehadnotimeforsuchsubtleanalysisbetweentwocampaigns,andin1809 its successes were as rapid as those of the Empire. So, under theRestoration, the handsome Baron, a lady’s man once more, had begun by

consoling some old friends now fallen from the political firmament, likeextinguished stars, and then, as hegrewold,was capturedby JennyCadineandJosepha.

MadameMarneffehadplacedherbatteriesafterduestudyoftheBaron’spast life, which her husband had narrated in much detail, after picking upsomeinformationintheoffices.Thecomedyofmodernsentimentmighthavethe charmof novelty to theBaron;Valerie hadmadeuphermind as to herscheme; andwemay say the trial of her power that shemade thismorninganswered her highest expectations. Thanks to her manoeuvres, sentimental,high-flown, and romantic, Valerie, without committing herself to anypromises, obtained for her husband the appointment as deputy head of theofficeandtheCrossoftheLegionofHonor.

Thecampaignwasnotcarriedoutwithout littledinnersat theRocherdeCancale,partiestotheplay,andgiftsintheformoflace,scarves,gowns,andjewelry.TheapartmentintheRueduDoyennewasnotsatisfactory;theBaronproposedtofurnishanothermagnificentlyinacharmingnewhouseintheRueVanneau.

MonsieurMarneffegotafortnight’sleave,tobetakenamonthhenceforurgent private affairs in the country, and a present in money; he promisedhimselfthathewouldspendbothinalittletowninSwitzerland,studyingthefairsex.

While Monsieur Hulot thus devoted himself to the lady he was“protecting,” he did not forget the young artist. Comte Popinot,Minister ofCommerce,wasapatronofArt;hepaidtwothousandfrancsforacopyoftheSamsononconditionthat themouldshouldbebroken,andthat thereshouldbenoSamsonbuthisandMademoiselleHulot’s.ThegroupwasadmiredbyaPrince, to whom the model sketch for the clock was also shown, and whoordered it; but that again was to be unique, and he offered thirty thousandfrancsforit.

Artistswhowere consulted, andamong themStidmann,wereofopinionthatthemanwhohadsketchedthosetwomodelswascapableofachievingastatue.TheMarshalPrincedeWissembourg,MinisterofWar,andPresidentoftheCommitteeforthesubscriptionstothemonumentofMarshalMontcornet,calledameeting,atwhichitwasdecidedthattheexecutionoftheworkshouldbeplacedinSteinbock’shands.TheComtedeRastignac,atthattimeUnder-secretary of State,wished to possess awork by the artist,whose glorywaswaxing amid the acclamations of his rivals. Steinbock sold to him thecharminggroupof two little boys crowning a little girl, andhepromised tosecure for the sculptor a studioattached to theGovernmentmarble-quarries,situated,asalltheworldknows,atLeGros-Caillou.

This was a success, such success as is won in Paris, that is to say,stupendous success, that crushes those whose shoulders and loins are notstrong enough to bear it—as, be it said, not unfrequently is the case.CountWenceslas Steinbock was written about in all the newspapers and reviewswithouthishavingtheleastsuspicionofit,anymorethanhadMademoiselleFischer.Everyday,assoonasLisbethhadgoneouttodinner,Wenceslaswentto theBaroness’ and spent an hour or two there, excepting on the eveningswhenLisbethdinedwiththeHulots.

Thisstateofthingslastedforseveraldays.

TheBaron,assuredofCountSteinbock’stitlesandposition;theBaroness,pleasedwithhis character andhabits;Hortense,proudofherpermitted loveandofhersuitor’sfame,noneof themhesitatedtospeakofthemarriage; inshort, theartistwasin theseventhheaven,whenanindiscretiononMadameMarneffe’spartspoiltall.

Andthiswashow.

Lisbeth,whomtheBaronwishedtoseeintimatewithMadameMarneffe,thatshemightkeepaneyeonthecouple,hadalreadydinedwithValerie;andshe,onherpart,anxioustohaveanearintheHulothouse,mademuchoftheoldmaid. It occurred toValerie to inviteMademoiselle Fischer to a house-warminginthenewapartmentsshewasabouttomoveinto.Lisbeth,gladtohavefoundanotherhousetodinein,andbewitchedbyMadameMarneffe,hadtakenagreatfancytoValerie.Ofall thepersonsshehadmadeacquaintancewith,noonehadtakensomuchpainstopleaseher.Infact,MadameMarneffe,full of attentions for Mademoiselle Fischer, found herself in the positiontowards Lisbeth that Lisbeth held towards the Baroness, Monsieur Rivet,Crevel,andtheotherswhoinvitedhertodinner.

TheMarneffeshadexcitedLisbeth’scompassionbyallowinghertoseetheextreme poverty of the house, while varnishing it as usual with the fairestcolors; their friendswereunderobligations to themandungrateful; theyhadhad much illness; Madame Fortin, her mother, had never known of theirdistress, and had died believing herself wealthy to the end, thanks to theirsuperhumanefforts—andsoforth.

“Poorpeople!”saidshetoherCousinHulot,“youarerighttodowhatyoucan for them; they are so brave and so kind! They can hardly live on thethousandcrownshegetsasdeputy-headof theoffice, for theyhavegot intodebt since Marshal Montcornet’s death. It is barbarity on the part of theGovernmenttosupposethataclerkwithawifeandfamilycanliveinParisontwothousandfourhundredfrancsayear.”

Andso,withinaveryshorttime,ayoungwomanwhoaffectedregardfor

her,whotoldhereverything,andconsultedher,whoflatteredher,andseemedready to yield to her guidance, had become dearer to the eccentric CousinLisbeththanallherrelations.

The Baron, on his part, admiring in Madame Marneffe such propriety,education,andbreedingasneitherJennyCadinenorJosepha,noranyfriendoftheirshadtoshow,hadfalleninlovewithherinamonth,developingasenilepassion, a senselesspassion,whichhad an appearanceof reason. In fact, hefoundhereneitherthebanter,northeorgies,northerecklessexpenditure,northedepravity,northescornofsocialdecencies,northeinsolentindependencewhichhadbroughthimtogriefalikewiththeactressandthesinger.Hewasspared,too,therapacityofthecourtesan,likeuntothethirstofdrysand.

MadameMarneffe,ofwhomhehadmadea friendandconfidante,madethegreatestdifficultiesoveracceptinganygiftfromhim.

“Appointments, official presents, anything you can extract from theGovernment; but do not begin by insulting a woman whom you profess tolove,” said Valerie. “If you do, I shall cease to believe you—and I like tobelieveyou,”sheadded,withaglancelikeSaintTheresaleeringatheaven.

Every time hemade her a present therewas a fortress to be stormed, aconscience tobeover-persuaded.ThehaplessBaron laiddeep stratagems toofferhersome trifle—costly,nevertheless—proudofhavingat lastmetwithvirtue and the realization of his dreams. In this primitive household, as heassured himself, he was the god as much as in his own. And MonsieurMarneffeseemedatathousandleaguesfromsuspectingthattheJupiterofhisofficeintendedtodescendonhiswifeinashowerofgold;hewashisaugustchief’shumblestslave.

MadameMarneffe, twenty-threeyearsofage,apureandbashfulmiddle-classwife,ablossomhiddenintheRueduDoyenne,couldknownothingofthedepravityanddemoralizingharlotrywhichtheBaroncouldnolongerthinkofwithout disgust, for hehadnever known the charmof recalcitrant virtue,andthecoyValeriemadehimenjoyittotheutmost—allalongtheline,asthesayinggoes.

Thequestionhavingcome to thispointbetweenHectorandValerie, it isnotastonishing thatValerie shouldhaveheard fromHector the secretof theintendedmarriagebetween thegreat sculptorSteinbockandHortenseHulot.Between a lover on his promotion and a lady who hesitates long beforebecominghismistress, therearecontests,utteredorunexpressed, inwhichaword often betrays a thought; as, in fencing, the foils fly as briskly as theswords in duel. Then a prudent man follows the example of Monsieur deTurenne. Thus the Baron had hinted at the greater freedom his daughter’smarriagewouldallowhim,inreplytothetenderValerie,whomorethanonce

hadexclaimed:

“I cannot imagine how a woman can go wrong for a man who is notwhollyhers.”

And a thousand times already the Baron had declared that for five-and-twentyyearsallhadbeenatanendbetweenMadameHulotandhimself.

“And they say she is so handsome!” repliedMadameMarneffe. “Iwantproof.”

“Youshallhaveit,”saidtheBaron,madehappybythisdemand,bywhichhisValeriecommittedherself.

Hectorhadthenbeencompelledtorevealhisplans,alreadybeingcarriedintoeffectintheRueVanneau,toprovetoValeriethatheintendedtodevotetoher thathalfofhis lifewhichbelonged tohis lawfulwife, supposing thatdayandnightequallydividetheexistenceofcivilizedhumanity.Hespokeofdecentlydesertinghiswife,leavinghertoherselfassoonasHortenseshouldbemarried.TheBaronesswouldthenspendallhertimewithHortenseortheyoungHulotcouple;hewassureofhersubmission.

“And then, my angel, my true life, my real home will be in the RueVanneau.”

“Blessme, how you dispose ofme!” saidMadameMarneffe. “Andmyhusband——”

“Thatrag!”

“Tobesure,ascomparedwithyousoheis!”saidshewithalaugh.

MadameMarneffe,havingheardSteinbock’shistory,wasfranticallyeagerto see theyoungCount;perhaps shewished tohavesome trifleofhisworkwhiletheystilllivedunderthesameroof.Thiscuriositysoseriouslyannoyedthe Baron that Valerie swore to him that she would never even look atWenceslas. But though she obtained, as the reward of her surrender of thiswish, a little tea-service of old Sevres pate tendre, she kept herwish at thebottomofherheart,asifwrittenontablets.

So one day when she had begged “my Cousin Betty” to come to takecoffeewithherinherroom,sheopenedonthesubjectofherlover,toknowhowshemightseehimwithoutrisk.

“Mydear child,” said she, for they called eachmydear, “whyhaveyouneverintroducedyourlovertome?Doyouknowthatwithinashorttimehehasbecomefamous?”

“Hefamous?”

“Heistheonesubjectofconversation.”

“Pooh!”criedLisbeth.

“Heisgoingtoexecutethestatueofmyfather,andIcouldbeofgreatusetohimandhelphimtosucceedinthework;forMadameMontcornetcannotlendhim,asIcan,aminiaturebySain,abeautifulthingdonein1809,beforetheWagramCampaign,andgiven tomypoormother—Montcornetwhenhewasyoungandhandsome.”

Sain and Augustin between them held the sceptre of miniature paintingundertheEmpire.

“Heisgoingtomakeastatue,mydear,didyousay?”

“Nine feethigh—by theordersof theMinisterofWar.Why,wherehaveyoudropped from that I should tell you thenews?Why, theGovernment isgoing to give Count Steinbock rooms and a studio at Le Gros-Caillou, thedepot formarble;yourPolewillbemade theDirector, I shouldnotwonder,withtwothousandfrancsayearandaringonhisfinger.”

“How do you know all this when I have heard nothing about it?” saidLisbethatlast,shakingoffheramazement.

“Now, my dear little Cousin Betty,” said Madame Marneffe, in aninsinuating voice, “are you capable of devoted friendship, put to any test?Shallwehenceforthbesisters?Willyouswear tomenever tohaveasecretfrommeanymorethanIfromyou—toactasmyspy,asIwillbeyours?—Aboveall,willyoupledgeyourselfnevertobetraymeeithertomyhusbandortoMonsieurHulot,andneverrevealthatitwasIwhotoldyou——?”

MadameMarneffebrokeoffinthisspurringharangue;Lisbethfrightenedher.Thepeasant-woman’s facewas terrible;herpiercingblackeyeshad theglareofthetiger’s;herfacewaslikethatweascribetoapythoness;shesetherteeth to keep them from chattering, and her whole frame quiveredconvulsively.Shehadpushedherclenchedfingersunderhercaptoclutchherhairandsupportherhead,whichfelttooheavy;shewasonfire.Thesmokeoftheflamethatscorchedherseemedtoemanatefromherwrinklesasfromthecrevassesrentbyavolcaniceruption.Itwasastartlingspectacle.

“Well,whydoyoustop?”sheaskedinahollowvoice.“IwillbealltoyouthatIhavebeentohim.—Oh,Iwouldhavegivenhimmylife-blood!”

“Youlovedhimthen?”

“Likeachildofmyown!”

“Well,then,”saidMadameMarneffe,withabreathofrelief,“ifyouonlylovehiminthatway,youwillbeveryhappy—foryouwishhimtobehappy?”

Lisbethrepliedbyanodashastyasamadwoman’s.

“HeistomarryyourCousinHortenseinamonth’stime.”

“Hortense!” shrieked the oldmaid, striking her forehead, and starting toherfeet.

“Well, but then you were really in love with this young man?” askedValerie.

“Mydear,weareboundforlifeanddeath,youandI,”saidMademoiselleFischer.“Yes,ifyouhaveanyloveaffairs,tometheyaresacred.Yourviceswillbevirtuesinmyeyes.—ForIshallneedyourvices!”

“Thendidyoulivewithhim?”askedValerie.

“No;Imeanttobeamothertohim.”

“I give it up. I cannot understand,” said Valerie. “In that case you areneitherbetrayednorcheated,andyouought tobeveryhappy to seehimsowellmarried;heisnowfairlyafloat.And,atanyrate,yourdayisover.OurartistgoestoMadameHulot’severyeveningassoonasyougoouttodinner.”

“Adeline!”mutteredLisbeth. “Oh,Adeline,you shallpay for this! IwillmakeyouuglierthanIam.”

“Youareaspaleasdeath!”exclaimedValerie.“Thereissomethingwrong?—Oh,whata fool I am!Themotheranddaughtermusthave suspected thatyouwouldraisesomeobstaclesinthewayofthisaffairsincetheyhavekeptitfromyou,” saidMadameMarneffe. “But if youdidnot livewith theyoungman,mydear, all this is a greater puzzle tome thanmyhusband’s feelings——”

“Ah,youdon’tknow,”saidLisbeth;“youhavenoideaofalltheirtricks.Itisthelastblowthatkills.AndhowmanysuchblowshaveIhadtobruisemysoul!Youdon’tknowthatfromthetimewhenIcouldfirstfeel,IhavebeenvictimizedforAdeline.Iwasbeaten,andshewaspetted;Iwasdressedlikeascullion,andshehadclotheslikealady’s;Iduginthegardenandcleanedthevegetables, and she—she never lifted a finger for anything but tomake upsome finery!—She married the Baron, she came to shine at the Emperor’sCourt, while I stayed in our village till 1809, waiting for four years for asuitable match; they brought me away, to be sure, but only to make me awork-woman, and to offer me clerks or captains like coalheavers for ahusband! I havehad their leavings for twenty-sixyears!—Andnow like thestoryintheOldTestament,thepoorrelationhasoneewe-lambwhichisallherjoy, and the rich man who has flocks covets the ewe-lamb and steals it—without warning, without asking. Adeline has meanly robbed me of myhappiness!—Adeline!Adeline!Iwillseeyouinthemire,andsunklowerthan

myself!—AndHortense—Ilovedher,andshehascheatedme.TheBaron.—No,itisimpossible.Tellmeagainwhatisreallytrueofallthis.”

“Becalm,mydearchild.”

“Valerie, my darling, I will be calm,” said the strange creature, sittingdownagain.“Onethingonlycanrestoremetoreason;givemeproofs.”

“YourCousinHortensehastheSamsongroup—hereisalithographfromitpublished ina review.Shepaid for itoutofherpocket-money, and it is theBaronwho,tobenefithisfutureson-in-law,ispushinghim,gettingeverythingforhim.”

“Water!—water!”saidLisbeth,afterglancingattheprint,belowwhichsheread,“AgroupbelongingtoMademoiselleHulotd’Ervy.”“Water!myheadisburning,Iamgoingmad!”

Madame Marneffe fetched some water. Lisbeth took off her cap,unfastenedherblackhair,andplungedherheadintothebasinhernewfriendheld for her. She dipped her forehead into it several times, and checked theincipient inflammation.After thisdoucheshecompletely recoveredher self-command.

“Notaword,”saidshetoMadameMarneffeasshewipedherface—“notaword of all this.—You see, I am quite calm; everything is forgotten. I amthinkingofsomethingverydifferent.”

“She will be in Charenton to-morrow, that is very certain,” thoughtMadameMarneffe,lookingattheoldmaid.

“What is to be done?” Lisbeth went on. “You see, my angel, there isnothingforitbuttoholdmytongue,bowmyhead,anddrifttothegrave,asallwaterrunstotheriver.WhatcouldItrytodo?Ishouldliketogrindthemall—Adeline,herdaughter,and theBaron—all todust!Butwhatcanapoorrelationdoagainstarichfamily?Itwouldbethestoryoftheearthenpotandtheironpot.”

“Yes;youareright,”saidValerie.“Youcanonlypullasmuchhayasyoucantoyoursideofthemanger.ThatisalltheupshotoflifeinParis.”

“Besides,”saidLisbeth,“Ishallsoondie,Icantellyou,ifIlosethatboytowhomIfanciedIcouldalwaysbeamother,andwithwhomIcountedonlivingallmydays——”

Thereweretearsinhereyes,andshepaused.Suchemotioninthiswomanmadeofsulphurandflame,madeValerieshudder.

“Well,atanyrate,Ihavefoundyou,”saidLisbeth,takingValerie’shand,“that issomeconsolation in thisdreadful trouble.—Weshallbe truefriends;

andwhyshouldweeverpart?Ishallnevercrossyourtrack.Noonewilleverbe in lovewithme!—Thosewhowouldhavemarriedme,wouldonlyhavedone it to secure my Cousin Hulot’s interest.With energy enough to scaleParadise,tohavetodevoteittoprocuringbreadandwater,afewrags,andagarret!—Thatismartyrdom,mydear,andIhavewitheredunderit.”

She broke off suddenly, and shot a black flash intoMadameMarneffe’sblue eyes, a glance that pierced the pretty woman’s soul, as the point of adaggermighthavepiercedherheart.

“Andwhat is theuseof talking?”sheexclaimed in reproof toherself. “Inever said somuch before, believeme! The tableswill be turned yet!” sheaddedafterapause.“Asyousowiselysay,letussharpenourteeth,andpulldownallthehaywecanget.”

“Youareverywise,”saidMadameMarneffe,whohadbeenfrightenedbythisscene,andhadnoremembranceofhavingutteredthismaxim.“Iamsureyouareright,mydearchild.Lifeisnotsolongafterall,andwemustmakethebestof it,andmakeuseofotherstocontributetoourenjoyment.EvenIhave learned that,youngas Iam. Iwasbroughtupa spoiltchild,myfathermarried ambitiously, and almost forgot me, after making me his idol andbringingmeuplikeaqueen’sdaughter!Mypoormother,whofilledmyheadwithsplendidvisions,diedofgriefatseeingmemarriedtoanofficeclerkwithtwelve hundred francs a year, at nine-and-thirty an aged and hardenedlibertine,ascorruptasthehulks,lookingonme,asotherslookedonyou,asameans of fortune!—Well, in that wretched man, I have found the best ofhusbands.He prefers the squalid sluts he picks up at the street corners, andleavesme free.Thoughhekeepsallhis salary tohimself,heneverasksmewhereIgetmoneytoliveon——”

And she in her turn stopped short, as a woman does who feels herselfcarriedawaybythetorrentofherconfessions;struck,too,byLisbeth’seagerattention, she thoughtwell tomake sureofLisbethbefore revealingher lastsecrets.

“Yousee,dearchild,howentire ismyconfidence inyou!”shepresentlyadded,towhichLisbethrepliedbyamostcomfortingnod.

Anoathmaybetakenbyalookandanodmoresolemnlythaninacourtofjustice.

“Ikeepupeveryappearanceofrespectability,”Valeriewenton,layingherhandonLisbeth’sasiftoacceptherpledge.“Iamamarriedwoman,andmyownmistress, tosuchadegree, that in themorning,whenMarneffesetsoutfortheoffice, ifhetakesit intohisheadtosaygood-byeandfindsmydoorlocked,hegoesoffwithoutaword.Hecares lessforhisboythanIcarefor

oneofthemarblechildrenthatplayatthefeetofoneoftheriver-godsintheTuileries.IfIdonotcomehometodinner,hedinesquitecontentedlywiththemaid,forthemaidisdevotedtomonsieur;andhegoesouteveryeveningafterdinner,anddoesnotcome in till twelveoroneo’clock.Unfortunately, forayearpast,Ihavehadnoladies’maid,whichisasmuchastosaythatIamawidow!

“I have had one passion, once have been happy—a richBrazilian—whowentawayayearago—myonlylapse!—Hewentawaytosellhisestates,torealizehisland,andcomebacktoliveinFrance.WhatwillhefindleftofhisValerie? A dunghill.Well! it is his fault and not mine; why does he delaycomingsolong?Perhapshehasbeenwrecked—likemyvirtue.”

“Good-bye, my dear,” said Lisbeth abruptly; “we are friends for ever. Iloveyou,Iesteemyou,Iamwhollyyours!Mycousinistormentingmetogoandliveinthehouseyouaremovingto,intheRueVanneau;butIwouldnotgo,forIsawatoncethereasonsforthisfreshpieceofkindness——”

“Yes; you would have kept an eye on me, I know!” said MadameMarneffe.

“That was, no doubt, themotive of his generosity,” replied Lisbeth. “InParis, most beneficence is a speculation, as most acts of ingratitude arerevenge!Toapoorrelationyoubehaveasyoudotoratstowhomyouofferabit of bacon.Now, Iwill accept theBaron’soffer, for this househasgrownintolerable to me. You and I have wit enough to hold our tongues abouteverything that would damage us, and tell all that needs telling. So, noblabbing—andwearefriends.”

“Through thick and thin!” criedMadameMarneffe, delighted to have asheep-dog,aconfidante,asortofrespectableaunt.“Listentome;theBaronisdoingagreatdealintheRueVanneau——”

“Ibelieveyou!”interruptedLisbeth.“Hehasspentthirtythousandfrancs!Wherehegotthemoney,IamsureIdon’tknow,forJosephathesingerbledhimdry.—Oh!youare in luck,” shewenton. “TheBaronwould steal for awomanwhoheldhisheartintwolittlewhitesatinhandslikeyours!”

“Well,then,”saidMadameMarneffe,withtheliberalityofsuchcreatures,which ismere recklessness, “lookhere,mydearchild; takeaway fromhereeverything that may serve your turn in your new quarters—that chest ofdrawers,thatwardrobeandmirror,thecarpet,thecurtains——”

Lisbeth’s eyes dilatedwith excessive joy; shewas incredulous of such agift.

“Youaredoingmoreformeinabreaththanmyrichrelationshavedonein

thirty years!” she exclaimed. “They have never even asked themselveswhether I had any furniture at all. On his first visit, a few weeks ago, theBaronmade a richman’s face on seeing how poor Iwas.—Thank you,mydear;andIwillgiveyouyourmoney’sworth,youwillseehowbyandby.”

ValeriewentoutonthelandingwithherCousinBetty,andthetwowomenembraced.

“Pouh! How she stinks of hard work!” said the pretty little woman toherselfwhenshewasalone.“Ishallnotembraceyouoften,mydearcousin!Atthesametime,Imust looksharp.Shemustbeskilfullymanaged,forshecanbeofuse,andhelpmetomakemyfortune.”

LikethetrueCreoleofParis,MadameMarneffeabhorredtrouble;shehadthecalmindifferenceofacat,whichneverjumpsorrunsbutwhenurgedbynecessity. To her, life must be all pleasure; and the pleasure withoutdifficulties.Shelovedflowers,providedtheywerebrought toher.Shecouldnotimaginegoingtotheplaybuttoagoodbox,atherowncommand,andinacarriage to take her there. Valerie inherited these courtesan tastes from hermother, onwhomGeneralMontcornet had lavished luxurywhen hewas inParis, andwho for twentyyearshad seenall theworldather feet;whohadbeen wasteful and prodigal, squandering her all in the luxurious living ofwhichtheprogrammehasbeenlostsincethefallofNapoleon.

The grandees of the Empire were a match in their follies for the greatnoblesofthelastcentury.UndertheRestorationthenobilitycannotforgetthatit has been beaten and robbed, and so,with two or three exceptions, it hasbecomethrifty,prudent,andstay-at-home,inshort,bourgeoisandpenurious.Sincethen,1830hascrownedtheworkof1793.InFrance,henceforth,therewill be great names, but no great houses, unless there should be politicalchanges which we can hardly foresee. Everything takes the stamp ofindividuality.Thewisestinvestinannuities.Familyprideisdestroyed.

ThebitterpressureofpovertywhichhadstungValerietothequickonthedaywhen,touseMarneffe’sexpression,shehad“caughton”withHulot,hadbroughttheyoungwomantotheconclusionthatshewouldmakeafortunebymeansofhergoodlooks.So,forsomedays,shehadbeenfeelingtheneedofhavingafriendabouthertotaketheplaceofamother—adevotedfriend,towhomsuch thingsmaybe toldasmustbehidden fromawaiting-maid, andwhocouldact,comeandgo,andthinkforher,abeastofburdenresignedtoanunequalshareoflife.Now,she,quiteaskeenlyasLisbeth,hadunderstoodtheBaron’smotivesforfosteringtheintimacybetweenhiscousinandherself.

Prompted by the formidable perspicacity of the Parisian half-breed,whospendsherdaysstretchedonasofa,turningthelanternofherdetectivespiritontheobscurestdepthsofsouls,sentiments,andintrigues,shehaddecidedon

making an ally of the spy. This supremely rash step was, perhapspremeditated;shehaddiscernedthetruenatureofthisardentcreature,burningwith wasted passion, and meant to attach her to herself. Thus, theirconversationwaslikethestoneatravelercastsintoanabysstodemonstrateitsdepth. And Madame Marneffe had been terrified to find this old maid acombinationofIagoandRichardIII.,sofeebleassheseemed,sohumble,andsolittletobefeared.

For that instant,LisbethFischerhadbeenherrealself; thatCorsicanandsavagetemperament,burstingtheslenderbondsthathelditunder,hadsprunguptoitsterribleheight,asthebranchofatreefliesupfromthehandofachildthathasbentitdowntogatherthegreenfruit.

To those who study the social world, it must always be a matter ofastonishmenttoseethefulness,theperfection,andtherapiditywithwhichanideadevelopsinavirginnature.

Virginity, like every other monstrosity, has its special richness, itsabsorbing greatness. Life,whose forces are always economized, assumes inthe virgin creature an incalculable power of resistance and endurance. Thebrainisreinforcedinthesum-totalofitsreservedenergy.Whenreallychastenaturesneedtocallontheresourcesofbodyorsoul,andarerequiredtoactorto think, they have muscles of steel, or intuitive knowledge in theirintelligence—diabolicalstrength,ortheblackmagicoftheWill.

FromthispointofviewtheVirginMary,evenifweregardheronlyasasymbol,issupremelygreataboveeveryothertype,whetherHindoo,Egyptian,orGreek.Virginity,themotherofgreatthings,magnaparensrerum,holdsinher fair white hands the keys of the upper worlds. In short, that grand andterrible exception deserves all the honors decreed to her by the CatholicChurch.

Thus, in one moment, Lisbeth Fischer had become the Mohican whosesnares none can escape, whose dissimulation is inscrutable, whose swiftdecisiveness is the outcome of the incredible perfection of every organ ofsense.ShewasHatredandRevenge,asimplacableastheyareinItaly,Spain,andtheEast.Thesetwofeelings,theobverseoffriendshipandlovecarriedtotheutmost,areknownonlyinlandsscorchedbythesun.ButLisbethwasalsoadaughterofLorraine,bentondeceit.

Sheacceptedthisdetailofherpartagainstherwill;shebeganbymakingacuriousattempt,duetoherignorance.Shefancied,aschildrendo,thatbeingimprisoned meant the same thing as solitary confinement. But this is thesuperlativedegreeofimprisonment,andthatsuperlativeistheprivilegeoftheCriminalBench.

As soon as she leftMadameMarneffe, Lisbeth hurried off toMonsieurRivet,andfoundhiminhisoffice.

“Well,mydearMonsieurRivet,”shebegan,whenshehadboltedthedoorof the room.“Youwerequite right.ThosePoles!Theyare lowvillains—allalike,menwhoknowneitherlawnorfidelity.”

“Andwhowant tosetEuropeonfire,”said thepeaceableRivet,“toruineverytradeandeverytraderforthesakeofacountrythatisallbog-land,theysay,andfullofhorribleJews,tosaynothingoftheCossacksandthepeasants—asortofwildbeastsclassedbymistakewithhumanbeings.YourPolesdonot understand the times we live in; we are no longer barbarians. War iscomingtoanend,mydearmademoiselle;itwentoutwiththeMonarchy.Thisistheageoftriumphforcommerce,andindustry,andmiddle-classprudence,suchaswerethemakingofHolland.

“Yes,”hewentonwithanimation,“weliveinaperiodwhennationsmustobtainalltheyneedbythelegalextensionoftheirlibertiesandbythepacificactionofConstitutional Institutions; that iswhat thePolesdonot see, and Ihope——

“Youwere saying,my dear?—” he added, interrupting himselfwhen hesaw from his work-woman’s face that high politics were beyond hercomprehension.

“Here is the schedule,” said Lisbeth. “If I don’t want to lose my threethousandtwohundredandtenfrancs,Imustclapthisrogueintoprison.”

“Didn’tItellyouso?”criedtheoracleoftheSaint-Denisquarter.

TheRivets,successortoPonsBrothers,hadkepttheirshopstillintheRuedesMauvaises-Paroles,intheancientHotelLangeais,builtbythatillustriousfamilyatthetimewhenthenobilitystillgatheredroundtheLouvre.

“Yes,andIblessedyouonmywayhere,”repliedLisbeth.

“If he suspects nothing, he can be safe in prison by eight o’clock in themorning,”saidRivet,consultingthealmanactoascertainthehourofsunrise;“butnot till thedayafter to-morrow, forhecannotbe imprisoned tillhehashad notice that he is to be arrested by writ, with the option of payment orimprisonment.Andso——”

“Whatanidioticlaw!”exclaimedLisbeth.“Ofcoursethedebtorescapes.”

“Hehasevery right todo so,” said theAssessor, smiling. “So this is theway——”

“Astothat,”saidLisbeth,interruptinghim,“Iwilltakethepaperandhandit to him, saying that I have been obliged to raise themoney, and that the

lenderinsistsonthisformality.Iknowmygentleman.Hewillnotevenlookatthepaper;hewilllighthispipewithit.”

“Not a bad idea, not bad,Mademoiselle Fischer!Well,make yourmindeasy;thejobshallbedone.—Butstopaminute;toputyourmaninprisonisnot the only point to be considered; you onlywant to indulge in that legalluxuryinordertogetyourmoney.Whoistopayyou?”

“Thosewhogivehimmoney.”

“Tobe sure; I forgot that theMinister ofWar had commissionedhim toerect amonument to one of our late customers.Ah! the house has suppliedmany an uniform toGeneralMontcornet; he soon blackened themwith thesmokeofcannon.Abraveman,hewas!andhepaidonthenail.”

AmarshalofFrancemayhavesavedtheEmperororhiscountry;“Hepaidonthenail”willalwaysbethehighestpraisehecanhavefromatradesman.

“Very well. And on Saturday, Monsieur Rivet, you shall have the flattassels.—Bytheway,IammovingfromtheRueduDoyenne;IamgoingtoliveintheRueVanneau.”

“Youareveryright.Icouldnotbeartoseeyouinthatholewhich,inspiteofmyaversiontotheOpposition,Imustsayisadisgrace;Irepeatit,yes!isadisgrace to the Louvre and the Place du Carrousel. I am devoted to Louis-Philippe,heismyidol;heistheaugustandexactrepresentativeoftheclassonwhomhefoundedhisdynasty,andIcanneverforgetwhathedidfor thetrimming-makersbyrestoringtheNationalGuard——”

“WhenIhearyouspeakso,MonsieurRivet,Icannothelpwonderingwhyyouarenotmadeadeputy.”

“They are afraid of my attachment to the dynasty,” replied Rivet. “Mypolitical enemies are theKing’s. He has a noble character! They are a finefamily; in short,” saidhe, returning to thecharge,“he isour ideal:morality,economy, everything. But the completion of the Louvre is one of theconditionsonwhichwegavehimthecrown,andthecivillist,which,Iadmit,hadnolimitssettoit,leavestheheartofParisinamostmelancholystate.—ItisbecauseIamsostronglyinfavorofthemiddlecoursethatIshouldliketoseethemiddleofParisinabettercondition.Yourpartofthetownispositivelyterrifying.Youwouldhavebeenmurderedthereonefineday.—AndsoyourMonsieurCrevelhasbeenmadeMajorofhisdivision!Hewillcometous,Ihope,forhisbigepaulette.”

“Iamdiningwithhimto-night,andwillsendhimtoyou.”

Lisbeth believed that she had secured her Livonian to herself by cuttinghimoff fromall communicationwith theouterworld. Ifhecouldno longer

work,theartistwouldbeforgottenascompletelyasamanburiedinacellar,whereshealonewouldgotoseehim.Thusshehadtwohappydays,forshehopedtodealamortalblowattheBaronessandherdaughter.

TogotoCrevel’shouse,intheRuedesSaussayes,shecrossedthePontduCarrousel, went along the Quai Voltaire, the Quai d’Orsay, the RueBellechasse,Ruedel’Universite,thePontdelaConcorde,andtheAvenuedeMarigny.Thisillogicalroutewastracedbythelogicofpassion,alwaysthefoeofthelegs.

CousinBetty,aslongasshefollowedthelineofthequays,keptwatchontheoppositeshoreoftheSeine,walkingveryslowly.Shehadguessedrightly.Shehad leftWenceslas dressing; she at onceunderstood that, as soon asheshouldbe ridofher, the loverwouldgooff to theBaroness’by theshortestroad.And,infact,asshewanderedalongbytheparapetoftheQuaiVoltaire,in fancy suppressing the river and walking along the opposite bank, sherecognizedtheartistashecameoutoftheTuileriestocrossthePontRoyal.She there cameupwith the faithless one, and could followhimunseen, forlovers rarely lookbehind them.She escortedhimas far asMadameHulot’shouse,wherehewentinlikeanaccustomedvisitor.

This crowning proof, confirming Madame Marneffe’s revelations, putLisbethquitebesideherself.

She arrived at the newly promoted Major’s door in the state of mentalirritationwhichpromptsmentocommitmurder,andfoundMonsieurCrevelsenior in his drawing-room awaiting his children, Monsieur and MadameHulotjunior.

But Celestin Crevel was so unconscious and so perfect a type of theParisian parvenu, thatwe can scarcely venture so unceremoniously into thepresence of Cesar Birotteau’s successor. Celestin Crevel was a world inhimself;andhe,evenmore thanRivet,deserves thehonorsof thepalettebyreasonofhisimportanceinthisdomesticdrama.

Haveyoueverobservedhowinchildhood,orattheearlystagesofsociallife,wecreateamodelforourownimitation,withourownhandsasitwere,andoftenwithoutknowingit?Thebanker’sclerk,forinstance,asheentershismaster’s drawing-room, dreams of possessing such another. If he makes afortune, itwillnotbe the luxuryof theday, twentyyears later, thatyouwillfindinhishouse,buttheold-fashionedsplendorthatfascinatedhimofyore.Itis impossible to tell how many absurdities are due to this retrospectivejealousy;andinthesamewayweknownothingofthefolliesduetothecovertrivalrythaturgesmentocopythetypetheyhavesetthemselves,andexhausttheirpowersinshiningwithareflectedlight,likethemoon.

Crevelwasdeputymayorbecausehispredecessorhadbeen;hewasMajorbecausehe covetedCesarBirotteau’s epaulettes. In the sameway, struckbythemarvelswroughtbyGrindot the architect, at the timewhenFortunehadcarriedhismaster to the topof thewheel,Crevelhad“never lookedatbothsidesofacrown-piece,”tousehisownlanguage,whenhewantedto“doup”hisrooms;hehadgonewithhispurseopenandhiseyesshuttoGrindot,whobythistimewasquiteforgotten.Itisimpossibletoguesshowlonganextinctreputationmaysurvive,supportedbysuchstaleadmiration.

So Grindot, for the thousandth time had displayed his white-and-golddrawing-room paneled with crimson damask. The furniture, of rosewood,clumsilycarved,assuchwork isdonefor the trade,had in thecountrybeenthesourceofjustprideinParisworkmanshipontheoccasionofanindustrialexhibition.Thecandelabra,thefire-dogs,thefender,thechandelier,theclock,wereallinthemostunmeaningstyleofscroll-work;theroundtable,afixturein themiddleof the room,wasamosaicof fragmentsof Italianandantiquemarbles, brought from Rome, where these dissected maps are made ofmineralogicalspecimens—foralltheworldliketailors’patterns—anobjectofperennial admiration to Crevel’s citizen friends. The portraits of the latelamentedMadameCrevel,ofCrevelhimself,ofhisdaughterandhisson-in-law,hungonthewalls,twoandtwo;theyweretheworkofPierreGrassou,thefavored painter of the bourgeoisie, to whom Crevel owed his ridiculousByronic attitude. The frames, costing a thousand francs each,were quite inharmonywith this coffee-housemagnificence,whichwould havemade anytrueartistshrughisshoulders.

Money never yet missed the smallest opportunity of being stupid. WeshouldhaveinParistenVenicesifourretiredmerchantshadhadtheinstinctforfinethingscharacteristicof theItalians.EveninourowndayaMilanesemerchantcouldleavefivehundredthousandfrancstotheDuomo,toregildthecolossal statue of the Virgin that crowns the edifice. Canova, in his will,desired his brother to build a church costing four million francs, and thatbrother adds something on his own account.Would a citizen of Paris—andtheyall,likeRivet,lovetheirParisintheirheart—everdreamofbuildingthespires that are lacking to the towers ofNotre-Dame?And only think of thesumsthatreverttotheStateinpropertyforwhichnoheirsarefound.

AlltheimprovementsofParismighthavebeencompletedwiththemoneyspent on stucco castings, giltmouldings, and sham sculpture during the lastfifteenyearsbyindividualsoftheCrevelstamp.

Beyond this drawing-roomwas a splendid boudoir furnishedwith tablesandcabinetsinimitationofBoulle.

The bedroom, smart with chintz, also opened out of the drawing-room.

Mahogany in all its glory infested the dining-room, and Swiss views,gorgeously framed, graced the panels. Crevel, who hoped to travel inSwitzerland, had set his heart on possessing the scenery in painting till thetimeshouldcomewhenhemightseeitinreality.

So,aswillhavebeenseen,Crevel, theMayor’sdeputy,of theLegionofHonor and of the National Guard, had faithfully reproduced all themagnificence, even as to furniture, of his luckless predecessor. Under theRestoration,whereonehadsunk,thisother,quiteoverlooked,hadcometothetop—notbyanystrangestrokeoffortune,butbytheforceofcircumstance.Inrevolutions, as in storms at sea, solid treasure goes to the bottom, and lighttrifles are floated to the surface. Cesar Birotteau, a Royalist, in favor andenvied, had been made the mark of bourgeois hostility, while bourgeoisietriumphantfounditsincarnationinCrevel.

This apartment, at a rent of a thousand crowns, crammed with all thevulgarmagnificencethatmoneycanbuy,occupiedthefirstfloorofafineoldhousebetweenacourtyardandagarden.Everythingwasasspick-and-spanasthebeetlesinanentomologicalcase,forCrevellivedverylittleathome.

This gorgeous residence was the ambitious citizen’s legal domicile. Hisestablishmentconsistedofawoman-cookandavalet;hehiredtwoextramen,and had a dinner sent in by Chevet, whenever he gave a banquet to hispoliticalfriends,tomenhewantedtodazzleortoafamilyparty.

TheseatofCrevel’srealdomesticity,formerlyintheRueNotre-DamedeLorette,withMademoiselleHeloiseBrisetout,hadlatelybeentransferred,aswe have seen, to the Rue Chauchat. Everymorning the retiredmerchant—every ex-tradesman is a retired merchant—spent two hours in the Rue desSaussayestoattendtobusiness,andgavetherestofhistimetoMademoiselleZaire,whichannoyedZaireverymuch.Orosmanes-Crevelhadafixedbargainwith Mademoiselle Heloise; she owed him five hundred francs worth ofenjoyment everymonth, andno“billsdelivered.”Hepaid separately forhisdinnerandallextras.Thisagreement,withcertainbonuses,forhemadeheragoodmanypresents,seemedcheaptotheex-attacheofthegreatsinger;andhewouldsaytowidowerswhowerefondoftheirdaughters,thatitpaidbettertojobyour horses than to have a stable of your own.At the same time, if thereader remembers the speech made to the Baron by the porter at the RueChauchat,Creveldidnotescapethecoachmanandthegroom.

Crevel,asmaybeseen,hadturnedhispassionateaffectionforhisdaughterto the advantage of his self-indulgence.The immoral aspect of the situationwasjustifiedbythehighestmorality.Andthentheex-perfumerderivedfromthis style of living—it was the inevitable, a free-and-easy life, Regence,Pompadour,MarechaldeRichelieu,whatnot—acertainveneerofsuperiority.

Crevelsetupforbeingamanofbroadviews,afinegentlemanwithanairandgrace, a liberalmanwithnothingnarrow inhis ideas—andall for the smallsumofabouttwelvetofifteenhundredfrancsamonth.Thiswastheresultnotofhypocriticalpolicy,butofmiddle-classvanity,thoughitcametothesameintheend.

On the Bourse Crevel was regarded as a man superior to his time, andespeciallyasamanofpleasure,abonvivant.InthisparticularCrevelflatteredhimself that he had overtopped his worthy friend Birotteau by a hundredcubits.

“Andisityou?”criedCrevel,flyingintoarageashesawLisbethentertheroom,“whohaveplottedthismarriagebetweenMademoiselleHulotandyouryoungCount,whomyouhavebeenbringingupbyhandforher?”

“Youdon’tseembestpleasedatit?”saidLisbeth,fixingapiercingeyeonCrevel.“Whatinterestcanyouhaveinhinderingmycousin’smarriage?Foritwasyou,Iamtold,whohinderedhermarryingMonsieurLebas’son.”

“Youareagoodsoulandtobetrusted,”saidCrevel.“Well,then,doyousupposethatIwilleverforgiveMonsieurHulotforthecrimeofhavingrobbedmeofJosepha—especiallywhenheturnedadecentgirl,whomIshouldhavemarried inmyoldage, intoagood-for-nothingslut,amountebank,anoperasinger!—No,no.Never!”

“Heisaverygoodfellow,too,isMonsieurHulot,”saidCousinBetty.

“Amiable, very amiable—too amiable,” replied Crevel. “I wish him noharm;butIdowishtohavemyrevenge,andIwillhaveit.Itismyoneidea.”

“AndisthatdesirethereasonwhyyounolongervisitMadameHulot?”

“Possibly.”

“Ah, ha! then you were courting my fair cousin?” said Lisbeth, with asmile.“Ithoughtasmuch.”

“Andshetreatedmelikeadog!—worse,likeafootman;nay,Imightsaylikeapoliticalprisoner.—But Iwill succeedyet,” saidhe, strikinghisbrowwithhisclenchedfist.

“Poor man! It would be dreadful to catch his wife deceiving him afterbeingpackedoffbyhismistress.”

“Josepha?”criedCrevel.“HasJosephathrownhimover,packedhimoff,turnedhimoutneckandcrop?Bravo,Josepha,youhaveavengedme!Iwillsend you a pair of pearls to hang in your ears,my ex-sweetheart!—I knewnothing of it; for after I had seen you, on the day after that when the fairAdelinehadshownmethedoor,IwentbacktovisittheLebas,atCorbeil,and

have but just come back. Heloise played the very devil to get me into thecountry,andIhavefoundoutthepurposeofhergame;shewantedmeoutofthe way while she gave a house-warming in the Rue Chauchat, with someartists,andplayers,andwriters.—She tookme in!But Ican forgiveher, forHeloise amusesme. She is a Dejazet under a bushel.What a character thehussyis!ThereisthenoteIfoundlastevening:

“‘DEAROLDCHAP,—IhavepitchedmytentintheRueChauchat.Ihavetakentheprecautionofgettingafewfriendstocleanupthepaint.Alliswell.Comewhenyouplease,monsieur;HagarawaitsherAbraham.’

“Heloise will have some news for me, for she has her bohemia at herfingers’end.”

“ButMonsieurHulottookthedisasterverycalmly,”saidLisbeth.

“Impossible!”criedCrevel,stoppinginaparadeasregularastheswingofapendulum.

“Monsieur Hulot is not as young as he was,” Lisbeth remarkedsignificantly.

“Iknowthat,”saidCrevel,“butinonepointwearealike:Hulotcannotdowithoutanattachment.Heiscapableofgoingbacktohiswife.Itwouldbeanovelty for him, but an end to my vengeance. You smile, MademoiselleFischer—ah!perhapsyouknowsomething?”

“I am smiling at your notions,” replied Lisbeth. “Yes,my cousin is stillhandsomeenoughtoinspireapassion.IshouldcertainlyfallinlovewithherifIwereaman.”

“Cutandcomeagain!”exclaimedCrevel.“Youarelaughingatme.—TheBaronhasalreadyfoundconsolation?”

Lisbethbowedaffirmatively.

“He is a luckyman if he can find a second Josephawithin twenty-fourhours!” saidCrevel. “But I am not altogether surprised, for he toldme oneevening at supper that when he was a young man he always had threemistresses on hand that hemight not be left high and dry—the one hewasgivingover, theone inpossession, and theonehewascourting for a futureemergency.Hehadsomesmartlittlework-womaninreserve,nodoubt—inhisfish-pond—hisParc-aux-cerfs!HeisveryLouisXV.,ismygentleman.Heisin luck tobe sohandsome!—However,he is ageing;his face shows it.—Hehastakenupwithsomelittlemilliner?”

“Dearme,no,”repliedLisbeth.

“Oh!”criedCrevel,“whatwouldInotdotohinderhimfromhangingup

hishat!IcouldnotwinbackJosepha;womenofthatkindnevercomebacktotheir first love.—Besides, it is truly said, such a return is not love.—But,CousinBetty,Iwouldpaydownfiftythousandfrancs—thatistosay,Iwouldspend it—to rob thatgreatgood-looking fellowofhismistress,and to showhimthataMajorwithaportlystomachandabrainmadetobecomeMayorofParis,thoughheisagrandfather,isnottohavehismistresstickledawaybyapoacherwithoutturningthetables.”

“My position,” said Lisbeth, “compels me to hear everything and knownothing.Youmaytalktomewithoutfear;Ineverrepeatawordofwhatanyonemaychoosetotellme.HowcanyousupposeIshouldeverbreakthatruleofconduct?Noonewouldevertrustmeagain.”

“Iknow,”saidCrevel;“youare thevery jewelofoldmaids.Still,come,thereareexceptions.Lookhere,thefamilyhaveneversettledanallowanceonyou?”

“ButIhavemypride,”saidLisbeth.“Idonotchoosetobeanexpensetoanybody.”

“Ifyouwillbuthelpme tomy revenge,” the tradesmanwenton,“Iwillsinktenthousandfrancsinanannuityforyou.Tellme,myfaircousin,tellmewhohassteppedintoJosepha’sshoes,andyouwillhavemoneytopayyourrent,yourlittlebreakfastinthemorning,thegoodcoffeeyoulovesowell—youmight allow yourself pureMocha, heh!And a very good thing is pureMocha!”

“I do not care somuch for the ten thousand francs in an annuity,whichwould bringme nearly five hundred francs a year, as for absolute secrecy,”saidLisbeth.“For,yousee,mydearMonsieurCrevel,theBaronisverygoodtome;heistopaymyrent——”

“Oh yes, long may that last! I advise you to trust him,” cried Crevel.“Wherewillhefindthemoney?”

“Ah,thatIdon’tknow.Atthesametime,heisspendingmorethanthirtythousandfrancsontheroomsheisfurnishingforthislittlelady.”

“Alady!What,awomaninsociety;therascal,whatluckhehas!Heistheonlyfavorite!”

“Amarriedwoman,andquitethelady,”Lisbethaffirmed.

“Really and truly?” criedCrevel, openingwide eyes flashingwith envy,quiteasmuchasatthemagicwordsquitethelady.

“Yes,really,”saidLisbeth.“Clever,amusician,three-and-twenty,apretty,innocent face, a dazzlingwhite skin, teeth like a puppy’s, eyes like stars, abeautifulforehead—andtinyfeet,Ineversawthelike,theyarenotwiderthan

herstay-busk.”

“Andears?”askedCrevel,keenlyalivetothiscatalogueofcharms.

“Earsforamodel,”shereplied.

“Andsmallhands?”

“I tell you, in few words, a gem of a woman—and high-minded, andmodest, and refined!Abeautiful soul, an angel—andwith everydistinction,forherfatherwasaMarshalofFrance——”

“A Marshal of France!” shrieked Crevel, positively bounding withexcitement.“GoodHeavens!bytheHolyPiper!ByallthejoysinParadise!—Therascal!—Ibegyourpardon,Cousin,Iamgoingcrazy!—IthinkIwouldgiveahundredthousandfrancs——”

“I dare say you would, and, I tell you, she is a respectable woman—awomanofvirtue.TheBaronhasforkedouthandsomely.”

“Hehasnotasou,Itellyou.”

“Thereisahusbandhehaspushed——”

“Wheredidhepushhim?”askedCrevel,withabitterlaugh.

“Heispromotedtobesecondinhisoffice—thishusbandwhowilloblige,nodoubt;—andhisnameisdownfortheCrossoftheLegionofHonor.”

“TheGovernment ought to be judicious and respect thosewho have theCrossbynotflingingitbroadcast,”saidCrevel,withthelookofanaggrievedpolitician.“Butwhatisthereabouttheman—thatoldbulldogofaBaron?”hewenton.“ItseemstomethatIamquiteamatchforhim,”andhestruckanattitudeashelookedathimselfintheglass.“Heloisehastoldmemanyatime,atmomentswhenawomanspeaksthetruth,thatIwaswonderful.”

“Oh,” saidLisbeth, “women likebigmen; they are almost alwaysgood-natured; and if Ihad todecidebetweenyouand theBaron, I shouldchooseyou.MonsieurHulotisamusing,handsome,andhasafigure;butyou,youaresubstantial, and then—you see—you look an even greater scamp than hedoes.”

“Itisincrediblehowallwomen,evenpiouswomen,taketomenwhohavethataboutthem!”exclaimedCrevel,puttinghisarmroundLisbeth’swaist,hewassojubilant.

“Thedifficultydoesnotliethere,”saidBetty.“Youmustseethatawomanwho is getting somany advantages will not be unfaithful to her patron fornothing;anditwouldcostyoumorethanahundredoddthousandfrancs,forour little friend can look forward to seeing her husband at the head of his

officewithin two years’ time.—It is poverty that is dragging the poor littleangelintothatpit.”

Crevelwasstridingupanddownthedrawing-roominastateoffrenzy.

“Hemustbeuncommonlyfondofthewoman?”heinquiredafterapause,whilehisdesires,thusgoadedbyLisbeth,rosetoasortofmadness.

“Youmayjudgeforyourself,”repliedLisbeth.“Idon’tbelievehehashadthat of her,” said she, snapping her thumbnail against one of her enormouswhite teeth, “and he has given her ten thousand francs’ worth of presentsalready.”

“Whatagoodjokeitwouldbe!”criedCrevel,“ifIgottothewinningpostfirst!”

“Goodheavens!It is toobadofmetobe tellingyouall this tittle-tattle,”saidLisbeth,withanairofcompunction.

“No.—Imeantoputyourrelationstotheblush.To-morrowIshallinvestinyournamesuchasuminfive-per-centsaswillgiveyousixhundredfrancsa year; but then you must tell me everything—his Dulcinea’s name andresidence.Toyou Iwillmakea cleanbreast of it.—Ineverhavehada realladyforamistress,anditistheheightofmyambition.Mahomet’shourisarenothing in comparison with what I fancy a woman of fashion must be. Inshort,itismydream,mymania,andtosuchapoint,thatIdeclaretoyoutheBaronessHulottomewillneverbefifty,”saidhe,unconsciouslyplagiarizingoneofthegreatestwitsofthelastcentury.“Iassureyou,mygoodLisbeth,Iampreparedtosacrificeahundred,twohundred—Hush!Herearetheyoungpeople,Iseethemcrossingthecourtyard.Ishallneverhavelearnedanythingthroughyou,Igiveyoumywordofhonor;forIdonotwantyoutolosetheBaron’s confidence, quite the contrary. He must be amazingly fond of thiswoman—thatoldboy.”

“He is crazy abouther,” saidLisbeth. “Hecouldnot find forty thousandfrancs tomarryhis daughter off, but hehas got them somehow for his newpassion.”

“Anddoyouthinkthatsheloveshim?”

“Athisage!”saidtheoldmaid.

“Oh,whatanowlIam!”criedCrevel,“whenImyselfallowedHeloisetokeep her artist exactly asHenri IX. allowedGabrielle herBellegrade.Alas!old age, old age!—Good-morning, Celestine.How do,my jewel!—And thebrat?Ah!herehecomes;onmyhonor,heisbeginningtobelikeme!—Good-day, Hulot—quite well? We shall soon be having another wedding in thefamily.”

Celestineandherhusband,asahinttotheirfather,glancedattheoldmaid,whoaudaciouslyasked,inreplytoCrevel:

“Indeed—whose?”

Crevelputonanairofreservewhichwasmeanttoconveythathewouldmakeupforherindiscretions.

“ThatofHortense,”hereplied;“but it isnotyetquitesettled.Ihavejustcome from theLebas’, and theywere talkingofMademoisellePopinot as asuitablematchfortheirson,theyoungcouncillor,forhewouldliketogetthepresidencyofaprovincialcourt.—Now,cometodinner.”

Byseveno’clockLisbethhad returnedhome inanomnibus, forshewaseager to seeWenceslas, whose dupe she had been for three weeks, and towhom she was carrying a basket filled with fruit by the hands of Crevelhimself,whoseattentionsweredoubledtowardshisCousinBetty.

Sheflewuptotheatticatapacethattookherbreathaway,andfoundtheartist finishing the ornamentation of a box to be presented to the adoredHortense.Theframeworkofthelidrepresentedhydrangeas—inFrenchcalledHortensias—amongwhichlittleLoveswereplaying.Thepoorlover,toenablehimtopayforthematerialsofthebox,ofwhichthepanelswereofmalachite,had designed two candlesticks for Florent and Chanor, and sold them thecopyright—twoadmirablepiecesofwork.

“You have beenworking too hard these last few days,my dear fellow,”said Lisbeth,wiping the perspiration from his brow, and giving him a kiss.“Such laborious diligence is really dangerous in the month of August.Seriously,youmayinjureyourhealth.Look,herearesomepeachesandplumsfrom Monsieur Crevel.—Now, do not worry yourself so much; I haveborrowedtwothousandfrancs,and,shortofsomedisaster,wecanrepaythemwhen you sell your clock. At the same time, the lender seems to mesuspicious,forhehasjustsentinthisdocument.”

She laid the writ under the model sketch of the statue of GeneralMontcornet.

“For whom are you making this pretty thing?” said she, taking up themodelspraysofhydrangeainredwaxwhichWenceslashadlaiddownwhileeatingthefruit.

“Forajeweler.”

“Forwhatjeweler?”

“Idonotknow.Stidmannaskedmetomakesomethingoutofthem,asheisverybusy.”

“Butthese,”shesaidinadeepvoice,“areHortensias.Howisit thatyouhavenevermadeanythinginwaxforme?Isitsodifficult todesignapin,alittlebox—whatnot,asakeepsake?”andsheshotafearfulglanceattheartist,whoseeyeswerehappilylowered.“Andyetyousayyouloveme?”

“Canyoudoubtit,mademoiselle?”

“That is indeed an ardentmademoiselle!—Why, you have beenmyonlythought since I foundyoudying—just there.When I savedyou,youvowedyouweremine,Imeantoholdyoutothatpledge;butImadeavowtomyself!Isaidtomyself,‘Sincetheboysaysheismine,Imeantomakehimrichandhappy!’Well,andIcanmakeyourfortune.”

“How?”saidthehaplessartist,attheheightofjoy,andtooartlesstodreamofasnare.

“Why,thus,”saidshe.

Lisbeth could not deprive herself of the savage pleasure of gazing atWenceslas,wholookedupatherwithfilialaffection,theexpressionreallyofhisloveforHortense,whichdeludedtheoldmaid.Seeinginaman’seyes,forthefirsttimeinherlife,theblazingtorchofpassion,shefancieditwasforherthatitwaslighted.

“MonsieurCrevelwillbackustotheextentofahundredthousandfrancstostartinbusiness,if,ashesays,youwillmarryme.Hehasqueerideas,hastheworthyman.—Well,whatdoyousaytoit?”sheadded.

Theartist,aspaleasthedead,lookedathisbenefactresswithalustrelesseye,whichplainlyspokehisthoughts.Hestoodstupefiedandopen-mouthed.

“IneverbeforewassodistinctlytoldthatIamhideous,”saidshe,withabitterlaugh.

“Mademoiselle,” said Steinbock, “my benefactress can never be ugly inmy eyes; I have the greatest affection for you. But I am not yet thirty, and——”

“I am forty-three,” said Lisbeth. “My cousin Adeline is forty-eight, andmenarestillmadlyinlovewithher;butthensheishandsome—sheis!”

“Fifteenyearsbetweenus,mademoiselle!Howcouldwegetontogether!Forbothour sakes I thinkwe shouldbewise to think it over.Mygratitudeshallbefullyequaltoyourgreatkindness.—Andyourmoneyshallberepaidinafewdays.”

“My money!” cried she. “You treat me as if I were nothing but anunfeelingusurer.”

“Forgiveme,”saidWenceslas,“butyouremindmeofitsooften.—Well,it

isyouwhohavemademe;donotcrushme.”

“Youmeantoberidofme,Icansee,”saidshe,shakingherhead.“Whohas endowed you with this strength of ingratitude—you who are a man ofpapier-mache?Haveyouceasedtotrustme—yourgoodgenius?—me,whenIhave spent somany nightsworking for you—when I have given you everyfranc I have saved in my lifetime—when for four years I have shared mybreadwithyou,thebreadofahard-workedwoman,andgivenyouallIhad,tomyverycourage.”

“Mademoiselle—nomore, nomore!” he cried, kneeling before her withupliftedhands.“Saynotanotherword!InthreedaysIwilltellyou,youshallknowall.—Letme,letmebehappy,”andhekissedherhands.“Ilove—andIamloved.”

“Well,well,mychild,behappy,”shesaid,liftinghimup.Andshekissedhisforeheadandhairwiththeeagernessthatamancondemnedtodeathmustfeelashelivesthroughthelastmorning.

“Ah!youareofallcreaturesthenoblestandbest!YouareamatchforthewomanIlove,”saidthepoorartist.

“Iloveyouwellenoughtotrembleforyourfuturefate,”saidshegloomily.“Judas hanged himself—the ungrateful always come to a bad end!You aredesertingme,andyouwillneveragaindoanygoodwork.Considerwhether,without beingmarried—for I know I amanoldmaid, and I donotwant tosmother theblossomofyouryouth, yourpoetry, asyou call it, inmyarms,that are like vine-stocks—butwhether,without beingmarried,we could notget on together? Listen; I have the commercial spirit; I could save you afortune in the courseof tenyears’work, forEconomy ismyname!—while,with a young wife, who would be sheer Expenditure, you would squandereverything;youwouldworkonlytoindulgeher.Buthappinesscreatesnothingbutmemories.EvenI,whenIamthinkingofyou,sitforhourswithmyhandsinmylap——

“Come,Wenceslas, staywithme.—Look here, I understand all about it;you shall have your mistresses; pretty ones too, like that little Marneffewomanwhowants to see you, andwhowill give you happiness you couldneverfindwithme.Then,whenIhavesavedyouthirtythousandfrancsayearinthefunds——”

“Mademoiselle,youareanangel,andIshallneverforgetthishour,”saidWenceslas,wipingawayhistears.

“That is how I like to see you,my child,” said she, gazing at himwithrapture.

VanityissostrongapowerinusallthatLisbethbelievedinhertriumph.ShehadconcededsomuchwhenofferinghimMadameMarneffe.Itwasthecrowning emotion of her life; for the first time she felt the full tide of joyrising inher heart.Togo through such an experience again shewouldhavesoldhersoultotheDevil.

“I am engaged to bemarried,” Steinbock replied, “and I love a womanwithwhomnoothercancompeteorcompare.—Butyouare,andalwayswillbe,tomethemotherIhavelost.”

Thewordsfell likeanavalancheofsnowonaburningcrater.Lisbethsatdown. She gazed with despondent eyes on the youth before her, on hisaristocratic beauty—the artist’s brow, the splendid hair, everything thatappealed to her suppressed feminine instincts, and tiny tears moistened hereyes for an instant and immediately dried up. She looked like one of thosemeagrestatueswhichthesculptorsoftheMiddleAgescarvedonmonuments.

“Icannotcurseyou,”saidshe,suddenlyrising.“You—youarebutaboy.Godpreserveyou!”

Shewentdownstairsandshutherselfintoherownroom.

“Sheisinlovewithme,poorcreature!”saidWenceslastohimself.“Andhowferventlyeloquent!Sheiscrazy.”

Thislasteffortonthepartofanaridandnarrownaturetokeepholdonanembodimentofbeautyandpoetrywas,intruth,soviolentthatitcanonlybecompared to the frenzied vehemence of a shipwrecked creaturemaking thelaststruggletoreachshore.

On the next day but one, at half-past four in the morning, when CountSteinbockwassunkinthedeepestsleep,heheardaknockatthedoorofhisattic; he rose to open it, and saw twomen in shabby clothing, and a third,whosedressproclaimedhimabailiffdownonhisluck.

“YouareMonsieurWenceslas,CountSteinbock?”saidthisman.

“Yes,monsieur.”

“MynameisGrasset,sir,successortoLouchard,sheriff’sofficer——”

“Whatthen?”

“Youareunderarrest,sir.Youmustcomewithustoprison—toClichy.—Pleasetogetdressed.—Wehavedonethecivil,asyousee;Ihavebroughtnopolice,andthereisahackneycabbelow.”

“Youaresafelynabbed,yousee,”saidoneofthebailiffs;“andwelooktoyoutobeliberal.”

Steinbockdressedandwentdownstairs,amanholdingeacharm;whenhewasinthecab,thedriverstartedwithoutorders,asknowingwherehewastogo,andwithinhalfanhourtheunhappyforeignerfoundhimselfsafelyunderboltandbarwithoutevenaremonstrance,soutterlyamazedwashe.

Atteno’clockhewassentfortotheprison-office,wherehefoundLisbeth,who,intears,gavehimsomemoneytofeedhimselfadequatelyandtopayforaroomlargeenoughtoworkin.

“Mydearboy,”saidshe,“neversayawordofyourarresttoanybody,donotwritetoalivingsoul;itwouldruinyouforlife;wemusthidethisblotonyourcharacter. Iwill soonhaveyouout. Iwill collect themoney—bequiteeasy.Writedownwhatyouwantforyourwork.Youshallsoonbefree,orIwilldieforit.”

“Oh,Ishalloweyoumylifeasecondtime!”criedhe,“forIshouldlosemorethanmylifeifIwerethoughtabadfellow.”

Lisbethwentoffingreatglee;shehoped,bykeepingherartistunderlockandkey, to put a stop to hismarriageby announcing that hewas amarriedman,pardonedbytheeffortsofhiswife,andgoneofftoRussia.

To carry out this plan, at about three o’clock shewent to the Baroness,thoughitwasnotthedaywhenshewasduetodinewithher;butshewishedtoenjoytheanguishwhichHortensemustendureatthehourwhenWenceslaswasinthehabitofmakinghisappearance.

“Have you come to dinner?” asked the Baroness, concealing herdisappointment.

“Well,yes.”

“That’swell,”repliedHortense.“Iwillgoandtellthemtobepunctual,foryoudonotliketobekeptwaiting.”

Hortense nodded reassuringly to hermother, for she intended to tell theman-servant to send away Monsieur Steinbock if he should call; the man,however,happenedtobeout,soHortensewasobligedtogiveherorderstothemaid, and thegirlwentupstairs to fetchherneedleworkand sit in theante-room.

“Andaboutmylover?”saidCousinBettytoHortense,whenthegirlcameback.“Youneveraskabouthimnow?”

“Tobe sure,what ishedoing?” saidHortense. “Hehasbecome famous.You ought to be very happy,” she added in an undertone to Lisbeth.“EverybodyistalkingofMonsieurWenceslasSteinbock.”

“A great deal too much,” replied she in her clear tones. “Monsieur is

departing.—If it were only a matter of charming him so far as to defy theattractionsofParis,Iknowmypower;buttheysaythatinordertosecuretheservicesofsuchanartist,theEmperorNicholshaspardonedhim——”

“Nonsense!”saidtheBaroness.

“Whendidyouhearthat?”askedHortense,whofeltasifherhearthadthecramp.

“Well,”saidthevillainousLisbeth,“apersontowhomheisboundbythemostsacredties—hiswife—wroteyesterdaytotellhimso.Hewantstobeoff.Oh,hewillbeagreatfooltogiveupFrancetogotoRussia!—”

Hortenselookedathermother,butherheadsankononeside;theBaronesswasonly just in time to support her daughter,whodropped fainting, and aswhiteasherlacekerchief.

“Lisbeth!youhavekilledmychild!”criedtheBaroness.“Youwereborntobeourcurse!”

“Blessme!what fault ofmine is this, Adeline?” replied Lisbeth, as sherosewith amenacing aspect, of which the Baroness, in her alarm, took nonotice.

“Iwaswrong,”saidAdeline,supportingthegirl.“Ring.”

At this instant the door opened, thewomen both looked round, and sawWenceslas Steinbock, who had been admitted by the cook in the maid’sabsence.

“Hortense!”criedtheartist,withonespringto thegroupofwomen.Andhe kissed his betrothed before her mother’s eyes, on the forehead, and soreverently,thattheBaronesscouldnotbeangry.Itwasabetterrestorativethanany smelling salts.Hortenseopenedher eyes, sawWenceslas, andher colorcameback.Inafewminutesshehadquiterecovered.

“So this was your secret?” said Lisbeth, smiling at Wenceslas, andaffectingtoguessthefactsfromhertwocousins’confusion.

“Buthowdidyousteal awaymy lover?” said she, leadingHortense intothegarden.

Hortenseartlesslytoldtheromanceofherlove.Herfatherandmother,shesaid, being convinced that Lisbeth would never marry, had authorized theCount’s visits.OnlyHortense, like a full-blownAgnes, attributed to chanceher purchase of the group and the introduction of the artist, who, by heraccount,hadinsistedonknowingthenameofhisfirstpurchaser.

PresentlySteinbockcameouttojointhecousins,andthankedtheoldmaideffusivelyforhispromptrelease.LisbethrepliedJesuiticallythatthecreditor

havinggivenveryvaguepromises,shehadnothopedtobeabletogethimoutbeforethemorrow,andthatthepersonwhohadlentherthemoney,ashamed,perhaps,ofsuchmeanconduct,hadbeenbeforehandwithher.Theoldmaidappeared to be perfectly content, and congratulated Wenceslas on hishappiness.

“Youbadboy!”saidshe,beforeHortenseandhermother,“ifyouhadonlytoldme theeveningbefore last thatyou lovedmycousinHortense,and thatshelovedyou,youwouldhavesparedmemanytears.Ithoughtthatyouweredesertingyourold friend,yourgoverness;while,on thecontrary,youare tobecomemycousin;henceforth,youwillbeconnectedwithme,remotely,itistrue,butbytiesthatamplyjustifythefeelingsIhaveforyou.”AndshekissedWenceslasontheforehead.

HortensethrewherselfintoLisbeth’sarmsandmeltedintotears.

“Iowemyhappinesstoyou,”saidshe,“andIwillneverforgetit.”

“CousinBetty,”saidtheBaroness,embracingLisbethinherexcitementatseeingmatterssohappilysettled,“theBaronandIoweyouadebtofgratitude,andwewillpayit.Comeandtalkthingsoverwithme,”sheadded,leadingheraway.

SoLisbeth,toallappearances,wasplayingthepartofagoodangeltothewholefamily;shewasadoredbyCrevelandHulot,byAdelineandHortense.

“Wewishyoutogiveupworking,”said theBaroness.“Ifyouearnfortysous a day, Sundays excepted, that makes six hundred francs a year.Well,then,howmuchhaveyousaved?”

“Fourthousandfivehundredfrancs.”

“PoorBetty!”saidhercousin.

Sheraisedhereyestoheaven,sodeeplywasshemovedatthethoughtofall the labor and privation such a sum must represent accumulated duringthirtyyears.

Lisbeth,misunderstanding themeaningof theexclamation, took it as theironicalpityof thesuccessfulwoman,andherhatredwasstrengthenedbyalargeinfusionofvenomattheverymomentwhenhercousinhadcastoffherlastshredofdistrustofthetyrantofherchildhood.

“Wewilladdtenthousandfivehundredfrancstothatsum,”saidAdeline,“andputitintrustsothatyoushalldrawtheinterestforlifewithreversiontoHortense.Thus,youwillhavesixhundredfrancsayear.”

Lisbeth feigned the utmost satisfaction. When she went in, herhandkerchieftohereyes,wipingawaytearsofjoy,Hortensetoldherofallthe

favorsbeingshoweredonWenceslas,belovedofthefamily.

Sowhen theBaron came home, he found his family all present; for theBaroness had formally accepted Wenceslas by the title of Son, and theweddingwasfixed,ifherhusbandshouldapprove,foradayafortnighthence.Themomenthecameintothedrawing-room,Hulotwasrushedatbyhiswifeand daughter,who ran tomeet him,Adeline to speak to him privately, andHortensetokisshim.

“Youhavegone toofar inpledgingme to this,madame,”said theBaronsternly. “You are notmarried yet,” he addedwith a look at Steinbock,whoturnedpale.

“Hehasheardofmyimprisonment,”saidthelucklessartisttohimself.

“Come,children,”saidhe,leadinghisdaughterandtheyoungmanintothegarden;theyallsatdownonthemoss-eatenseatinthesummer-house.

“Monsieur le Comte, do you love my daughter as well as I loved hermother?”heasked.

“More,monsieur,”saidthesculptor.

“Hermotherwasapeasant’sdaughter,andhadnotafarthingofherown.”

“OnlygivemeMademoiselleHortensejustassheis,withoutatrousseaueven——”

“SoIshouldthink!”saidtheBaron,smiling.“HortenseisthedaughteroftheBaronHulotd’Ervy,CouncillorofState,highupintheWarOffice,GrandCommanderof theLegionofHonor,and thebrother toCountHulot,whosegloryisimmortal,andwhowillerelongbeMarshalofFrance!And—shehasamarriageportion.

“Itistrue,”saidtheimpassionedartist.“Imustseemveryambitious.ButifmydearHortensewerealaborer’sdaughter,Iwouldmarryher——”

“That is just what I wanted to know,” replied the Baron. “Run away,Hortense,andleavemetotalkbusinesswithMonsieurleComte.—Hereallylovesyou,yousee!”

“Oh,papa,Iwassureyouwereonlyinjest,”saidthehappygirl.

“MydearSteinbock,”saidtheBaron,withelaborategraceofdictionandthemostperfectmanners,assoonasheandtheartistwerealone,“Ipromisedmysonafortuneoftwohundredthousandfrancs,ofwhichthepoorboyhasneverhadasou;andheneverwillgetanyof it.Mydaughter’s fortunewillalsobetwohundredthousandfrancs,forwhichyouwillgiveareceipt——”

“Yes,MonsieurleBaron.”

“Yougotoofast,”saidHulot.“Havethegoodnesstohearmeout.Icannotexpect froma son-in-law suchdevotion as I look for frommy son.My sonknewexactlyallIcouldandwoulddoforhisfuturepromotion:hewillbeaMinister,andwilleasilymakegoodhistwohundredthousandfrancs.Butwithyou, young man, matters are different. I shall give you a bond for sixtythousand francs in State funds at five per cent, in your wife’s name. Thisincome will be diminished by a small charge in the form of an annuity toLisbeth;butshewillnotlivelong;sheisconsumptive,Iknow.Tellnoone;itisasecret;letthepoorsouldieinpeace.—Mydaughterwillhaveatrousseauworth twenty thousand francs; hermotherwill give her six thousand francsworthofdiamonds.

“Monsieur,youoverpowerme!”saidSteinbock,quitebewildered.

“Astotheremaininghundredandtwentythousandfrancs——”

“Say no more, monsieur,” said Wenceslas. “I ask only for my belovedHortense——”

“Willyoulistentome,effervescentyouth!—Astotheremaininghundredandtwentythousandfrancs,Ihavenotgotthem;butyouwillhavethem—”

“Monsieur?”

“You will get them from the Government, in payment for commissionswhichIwillsecureforyou,Ipledgeyoumywordofhonor.Youaretohaveastudio,yousee,attheGovernmentdepot.Exhibitafewfinestatues,andIwillgetyoureceivedattheInstitute.Thehighestpersonageshavearegardformybrotherandforme,andIhope tosucceed insecuringforyouacommissionfor sculpture atVersailles up to a quarter of thewhole sum.Youwill haveordersfromtheCityofParisandfromtheChamberofPeers;inshort,mydearfellow,youwillhavesomanythatyouwillbeobligedtogetassistants.InthatwayIshallpayoffmydebttoyou.Youmustsaywhetherthiswayofgivingaportionwillsuityou;whetheryouareequaltoit.”

“I am equal to making a fortune for my wife single-handed if all elsefailed!”criedtheartist-nobleman.

“That iswhat I admire!”cried theBaron. “High-mindedyouth that fearsnothing.Come,”headded,claspinghandswiththeyoungsculptortoconcludethebargain,“youhavemyconsent.WewillsignthecontractonSundaynext,andtheweddingshallbeonthefollowingSaturday,mywife’sfete-day.”

“Itisallright,”saidtheBaronesstoherdaughter,whostoodgluedtothewindow.“Yoursuitorandyourfatherareembracingeachother.”

On going home in the evening, Wenceslas found the solution of themystery of his release. The porter handed him a thick sealed packet,

containing the schedule of his debts, with a signed receipt affixed at thebottomofthewrit,andaccompaniedbythisletter:—

“MY DEAR WENCESLAS,—I went to fetch you at ten o’clock thismorningtointroduceyoutoaRoyalHighnesswhowishestoseeyou.ThereIlearnedthat thedunshadhadyouconveyedtoacertainlittledomain—chieftown,ClichyCastle.

“SooffIwenttoLeondeLora,andtoldhim,forajoke,thatyoucouldnotleave your country quarters for lack of four thousand francs, and that youwouldspoilyourfutureprospectsifyoudidnotmakeyourbowtoyourroyalpatron.Happily,Bridauwasthere—amanofgenius,whohasknownwhatitistobepoor,andhasheardyourstory.Myboy,betweenthemtheyhavefoundthe money, and I went off to pay the Turk who committed treason againstgeniusbyputtingyouinquod.AsIhadtobeattheTuileriesatnoon,Icouldnotwaittoseeyousniffingtheouterair.Iknowyoutobeagentleman,andIansweredforyoutomytwofriends—butlookthemupto-morrow.

“Leon andBridau do notwant your cash; theywill ask you to do themeachagroup—andtheyareright.Atleast,sothinksthemanwhowisheshecouldsignhimselfyourrival,butisonlyyourfaithfulally,

“STIDMANN.

“P. S.—I told the Prince you were away, and would not return till to-morrow,sohesaid,‘Verygood—to-morrow.’”

CountWenceslaswent to bed in sheets of purple,without a rose-leaf towrinkle them, that Favor canmake for us—Favor, the halting divinitywhomovesmoreslowlyformenofgeniusthaneitherJusticeorFortune,becauseJove has not chosen to bandage her eyes. Hence, lightly deceived by thedisplayofimpostors,andattractedbytheirfripperyandtrumpets,shespendsthe time in seeing them and themoney in paying themwhich she ought todevotetoseekingoutmenofmeritinthenookswheretheyhide.

It will now be necessary to explain howMonsieur le Baron Hulot hadcontrived tocountuphisexpenditureonHortense’sweddingportion,andatthe same time to defray the frightful cost of the charming rooms whereMadame Marneffe was to make her home. His financial scheme bore thatstamp of talent which leads prodigals and men in love into the quagmireswhere so many disasters await them. Nothing can demonstrate morecompletelythestrangecapacitycommunicatedbyvice,towhichweowethestrokesofskillwhichambitiousorvoluptuousmencanoccasionallyachieve—or,inshort,anyoftheDevil’spupils.

Onthedaybefore,oldJohannFischer,unabletopaythirtythousandfrancsdrawn for on him by his nephew, had found himself under the necessity of

stoppingpaymentunlesstheBaroncouldremitthesum.

Thisancientworthy,withthewhitehairsofseventyyears,hadsuchblindconfidenceinHulot—who,totheoldBonapartist,wasanemanationfromtheNapoleonicsun—thathewascalmlypacinghisanteroomwiththebankclerk,in the littleground-floor apartment thathe rented for eighthundred francs ayearastheheadquartersofhisextensivedealingsincornandforage.

“Margueriteisgonetofetchthemoneyfromcloseby,”saidhe.

Theofficial,inhisgrayuniformbraidedwithsilver,wassoconvincedoftheoldAlsatian’shonesty, thathewasprepared to leave the thirty thousandfrancs’ worth of bills in his hands; but the old man would not let him go,observingthattheclockhadnotyetstruckeight.Acabdrewup,theoldmanrushed into the street, and held out his hand to the Baron with sublimeconfidence—Hulothandedhimoutthirtythousand-francnotes.

“Goonthreedoorsfurther,andIwilltellyouwhy,”saidFischer.

“Here,youngman,”hesaid,returningtocountoutthemoneytothebankemissary,whomhethensawtothedoor.

Whentheclerkwasoutofsight,Fischercalledbackthecabcontaininghisaugustnephew,Napoleon’srighthand,andsaid,asheledhimintothehouse:

“YoudonotwantthemtoknowattheBankofFrancethatyoupaidmethethirty thousand francs, after endorsing the bills?—Itwas bad enough to seethemsignedbysuchamanasyou!—”

“Come to the bottom of your little garden, Father Fischer,” said theimportantman.“Youarehearty?”hewenton,sittingdownunderavinearborandscanningtheoldmanfromheadtofoot,asadealerinhumanfleshscansasubstitutefortheconscription.

“Ay,heartyenoughfora tontine,”saidtheleanlittleoldman;hissinewswerewiry,andhiseyebright.

“Doesheatdisagreewithyou?”

“Quitethecontrary.”

“WhatdoyousaytoAfrica?”

“A very nice country!—The French went there with the little Corporal”(Napoleon).

“Togetusalloutofthepresentscrape,youmustgotoAlgiers,”saidtheBaron.

“Andhowaboutmybusiness?”

“AnofficialintheWarOffice,whohastoretire,andhasnotenoughtoliveonwithhispension,willbuyyourbusiness.”

“AndwhatamItodoinAlgiers?”

“Supply the Commissariat with victuals, corn, and forage; I have yourcommissionreadyfilledinandsigned.Youcancollectsuppliesinthecountryatseventypercentbelowthepricesatwhichyoucancreditus.”

“Howshallwegetthem?”

“Oh,by raids,by taxes inkind,and theKhaliphat.—Thecountry is littleknown, though we settled there eight years ago; Algeria produces vastquantitiesofcornandforage.WhenthisproducebelongstoArabs,wetakeitfromthemundervariouspretences;whenitbelongstous,theArabstrytogetitbackagain.Thereisagreatdealoffightingoverthecorn,andnooneeverknowsexactlyhowmuch eachpartyhas stolen from theother.There is nottimeintheopenfieldtomeasurethecornaswedointheParismarket,orthehayas it issold in theRued’Enfer.TheArabchiefs, likeourSpahis,preferhardcash,andselltheplunderataverylowprice.TheCommissariatneedsafixedquantityandmusthaveit.Itwinksatexorbitantpricescalculatedonthedifficultyofprocuringfood,andthedangerstowhicheveryformoftransportisexposed.ThatisAlgiersfromthearmycontractor’spointofview.

“It is a muddle tempered by the ink-bottle, like every incipientgovernment.We shall not seeourway through it for another tenyears—wewhohavetodothegoverning;butprivateenterprisehassharpeyes.—SoIamsendingyouthere tomakeafortune;Igiveyouthe job,asNapoleonputanimpoverishedMarshal at the head of a kingdomwhere smugglingmight besecretlyencouraged.

“I am ruined, my dear Fischer; I must have a hundred thousand francswithinayear.”

“IseenoharmingettingitoutoftheBedouins,”saidtheAlsatiancalmly.“ItwasalwaysdoneundertheEmpire——”

“Themanwhowantstobuyyourbusinesswillbeherethismorning,andpayyoutenthousandfrancsdown,”theBaronwenton.“Thatwillbeenough,Isuppose,totakeyoutoAfrica?”

Theoldmannoddedassent.

“As to capital out there, be quite easy. Iwill draw the remainder of themoneydueifIfinditnecessary.”

“AllIhaveisyours—myveryblood,”saidoldFischer.

“Oh, do not be uneasy,” said Hulot, fancying that his uncle saw more

clearlythanwasthefact.“Astoourexcisedealings,yourcharacterwillnotbeimpugned. Everything depends on the authority at your back; now Imyselfappointedtheauthoritiesoutthere;Iamsureofthem.This,UncleFischer,isadead secret between us. I know you well, and I have spoken out withoutconcealmentorcircumlocution.”

“Itshallbedone,”saidtheoldman.“Anditwillgoon——?”

“For two years,Youwill havemade a hundred thousand francs of yourowntolivehappyonintheVosges.”

“Iwilldoasyouwish;myhonorisyours,”saidthelittleoldmanquietly.

“That is thesortofmanI like.—However,youmustnotgotillyouhaveseenyourgrand-niecehappilymarried.SheistobeaCountess.”

ButeventaxesandraidsandthemoneypaidbytheWarOfficeclerkforFischer’s business couldnot forthwithprovide sixty thousand francs to giveHortense, to say nothing of her trousseau, which was to cost about fivethousand, and the forty thousand spent—or to be spent—on MadameMarneffe.

Where, then had the Baron found the thirty thousand francs he had justproduced?Thiswasthehistory.

AfewdayspreviouslyHulothadinsuredhislifeforthesumofahundredandfifty thousandfrancs,for threeyears, in twoseparatecompanies.Armedwiththepolicies,ofwhichhepaidthepremium,hehadspokenasfollowstotheBarondeNucingen, a peer of theChamber, inwhose carriagehe foundhimselfafterasitting,drivinghome,infact,todinewithhim:—

“Baron,Iwantseventythousandfrancs,andIapplytoyou.Youmustfindsomeonetolendhisname,towhomIwillmakeovertherighttodrawmypayfor three years; it amounts to twenty-five thousand francs a year—that is,seventy-fivethousandfrancs.—Youwillsay,‘Butyoumaydie’”—thebankersignifiedhisassent—“Here, then, isapolicyof insurance forahundredandfiftythousandfrancs,whichIwilldepositwithyoutillyouhavedrawnuptheeightythousandfrancs,”saidHulot,producingthedocumentformhispocket.

“Butifyoushouldloseyourplace?”saidthemillionaireBaron,laughing.

TheotherBaron—notamillionaire—lookedgrave.

“Be quite easy; I only raised the question to show you that I was notdevoid ofmerit in handing you the sum.Are you so short of cash? for theBankwilltakeyoursignature.”

“Mydaughteristobemarried,”saidBaronHulot,“andIhavenofortune—like every one elsewho remains in office in these thankless times,when

fivehundredordinarymenseatedonbencheswillneverrewardthemenwhodevotethemselvestotheserviceashandsomelyastheEmperordid.”

“Well,well;butyouhadJosephaonyourhands!”repliedNucingen,“andthat accounts for everything. Between ourselves, the Duc d’Herouville hasdoneyouaverygood turnby removing that leech fromsuckingyourpursedry.‘Ihaveknownwhatthatis,andcanpityyourcase,’”hequoted.“Takeafriend’sadvice:Shutupshop,oryouwillbedonefor.”

Thisdirtybusinesswascarriedout in thenameofoneVauvinet,a smallmoney-lender;oneofthosejobberswhostandforwardtoscreengreatbankinghouses, like thelittlefish that issaid toattendtheshark.Thisstock-jobber’sapprenticewassoanxioustogainthepatronageofMonsieurleBaronHulot,that he promised the great man to negotiate bills of exchange for thirtythousandfrancsateightydays,andpledgedhimselftorenewthemfourtimes,andneverpassthemoutofhishands.

Fischer’ssuccessorwastopayfortythousandfrancsforthehouseandthebusiness,withthepromisethatheshouldsupplyforagetoadepartmentclosetoParis.

Thiswasthedesperatemazeofaffairsintowhichamanwhohadhithertobeenabsolutelyhonestwasledbyhispassions—oneofthebestadministrativeofficials under Napoleon—peculation to pay the money-lenders, andborrowing of the money-lenders to gratify his passions and provide for hisdaughter.AlltheeffortsofthiselaborateprodigalityweredirectedatmakingadisplaybeforeMadameMarneffe,andtoplayingJupiter to thismiddle-classDanae.Amancouldnot expendmore activity, intelligence, andpresenceofmind in the honest acquisition of a fortune than the Baron displayed inshovinghisheadintoawasp’snest:Hedidallthebusinessofhisdepartment,he hurried on the upholsterers, he talked to the workmen, he kept a sharplookout on the smallest details of the house in the Rue Vanneau. Whollydevoted to Madame Marneffe, he nevertheless attended the sittings of theChambers; hewas everywhere at once, and neither his family nor anybodyelsediscoveredwherehisthoughtswere.

Adeline, quite amazed to hear that her uncle was rescued, and to see ahandsome sum figure in the marriage-contract, was not altogether easy, inspite of her joy at seeing her daughter married under such creditablecircumstances. But, on the day before the wedding, fixed by the Baron tocoincide with Madame Marneffe’s removal to her new apartment, Hectorallayedhiswife’sastonishmentbythisministerialcommunication:—

“Now,Adeline,ourgirlismarried;allouranxietiesonthesubjectareatanend.The time is come forus to retire from theworld: I shall not remain inofficemore than three years longer—only the time necessary to securemy

pension. Why, henceforth, should we be at any unnecessary expense? Ourapartmentcostsussix thousandfrancsayear inrent,wehavefourservants,weeatthirtythousandfrancs’worthoffoodinayear.Ifyouwantmetopayoff my bills—for I have pledged my salary for the sums I needed to giveHortenseherlittlemoney,andpayoffyouruncle——”

“Youdid very right!” said she, interrupting her husband, and kissing hishands.

ThisexplanationrelievedAdelineofallherfears.

“Ishallhavetoasksomelittlesacrificesofyou,”hewenton,disengaginghishandsandkissinghiswife’sbrow.“IhavefoundintheRuePlumetaverygood flat on the first floor, handsome, splendidly paneled, at only fifteenhundredfrancsayear,whereyouwouldonlyneedonewomantowaitonyou,andIcouldbequitecontentwithaboy.”

“Yes,mydear.”

“If we keep house in a quiet way, keeping up a proper appearance ofcourse,weshouldnotspendmorethansixthousandfrancsayear,exceptingmyprivateaccount,whichIwillprovidefor.”

Thegenerous-heartedwomanthrewherarmsroundherhusband’sneckinherjoy.

“How happy I shall be, beginning again to show you how truly I loveyou!”sheexclaimed.“Andwhatacapitalmanageryouare!”

“Wewillhave thechildren todinewithusonceaweek. I,asyouknow,rarelydineathome.Youcanverywelldine twiceaweekwithVictorinandtwice a week with Hortense. And, as I believe, I may succeed in makingmattersupcompletelybetweenCrevelandus;wecandineonceaweekwithhim.Thesefivedinnersandourownathomewillfilluptheweekallbutoneday,supposingthatwemayoccasionallybeinvitedtodineelsewhere.”

“Ishallsaveagreatdealforyou,”saidAdeline.

“Oh!”hecried,“youarethepearlofwomen!”

“Mykind,divineHector,Ishallblessyouwithmylatestbreath,”saidshe,“foryouhavedonewellformydearHortense.”

ThiswasthebeginningoftheendofthebeautifulMadameHulot’shome;and, itmaybe added, of her being totallyneglected, asHulot had solemnlypromisedMadameMarneffe.

Crevel,theimportantandburly,beinginvitedasamatterofcoursetotheparty given for the signing of themarriage-contract, behaved as though thescenewithwhichthisdramaopenedhadnevertakenplace,asthoughhehad

no grievance against the Baron. Celestin Crevel was quite amiable; he wasperhapsrathertoomuchtheex-perfumer,butasaMajorhewasbeginningtoacquiremajesticdignity.Hetalkedofdancingatthewedding.

“Fairlady,”saidhepolitelytotheBaroness,“peoplelikeusknowhowtoforget. Do not banishme from your home; honorme, pray, by gracingmyhousewithyourpresencenowandthentomeetyourchildren.Bequiteeasy;Iwill never say anything of what lies buried at the bottom of my heart. Ibehaved,indeed,likeanidiot,forIshouldlosetoomuchbycuttingmyselfofffromseeingyou.”

“Monsieur,anhonestwomanhasnoears forsuchspeechesas thoseyourefer to. If you keep your word, you need not doubt that it will give mepleasure to see the end of a coolness which must always be painful in afamily.”

“Well, you sulky old fellow,” said Hulot, dragging Crevel out into thegarden,“youavoidmeeverywhere,eveninmyownhouse.Aretwoadmirersof the fair sex to quarrel for ever over a petticoat?Come; this is really tooplebeian!”

“I,monsieur,amnotsuchafinemanasyouare,andmysmallattractionshindermefromrepairingmylossessoeasilyasyoucan——”

“Sarcastic!”saidtheBaron.

“Ironyisallowablefromthevanquishedtotheconquerer.”

Theconversation,beguninthisstrain,endedinacompletereconciliation;stillCrevelmaintainedhisrighttotakehisrevenge.

Madame Marneffe particularly wished to be invited to MademoiselleHulot’swedding.Toenablehimtoreceivehisfuturemistressinhisdrawing-room, the great official was obliged to invite all the clerks of his divisiondowntothedeputyhead-clerks inclusive.Thusagrandballwasanecessity.TheBaroness,asaprudenthousewife,calculatedthataneveningpartywouldcost less than a dinner, and allow of a larger number of invitations; soHortense’sweddingwasmuchtalkedabout.

MarshalPrinceWissembourgandtheBarondeNucingensignedinbehalfof the bride, the Comtes de Rastignac and Popinot in behalf of Steinbock.Then, as the highest nobility among the Polish emigrants had been civil toCount Steinbock since he had become famous, the artist thought himselfbound to invite them. The State Council, and theWar Office to which theBaronbelonged,andthearmy,anxioustodohonortotheComtedeForzheim,were all represented by their magnates. There were nearly two hundredindispensableinvitations.Hownatural,then,thatlittleMadameMarneffewas

bentonfiguringinallhergloryamidsuchanassembly.TheBaronesshad,amonthsince,soldherdiamondstosetupherdaughter’shouse,whilekeepingthefinestforthetrousseau.Thesalerealizedfifteenthousandfrancs,ofwhichfive thousandwere sunk inHortense’s clothes.Andwhatwas ten thousandfrancsforthefurnitureoftheyoungfolks’apartment,consideringthedemandsofmodernluxury?However,youngMonsieurandMadameHulot,oldCrevel,andtheComtedeForzheimmadeveryhandsomepresents,fortheoldsoldierhadsetasideasumfor thepurchaseofplate.Thanks to thesecontributions,evenanexactingParisianwouldhavebeenpleasedwiththeroomstheyoungcouplehadtakenintheRueSaint-Dominique,neartheInvalides.Everythingseemedinharmonywiththeirlove,pure,honest,andsincere.

At last the great day dawned—for itwas to be a great day not only forWenceslasandHortense,butforoldHulottoo.MadameMarneffewastogivea house-warming in her new apartment the day after becoming Hulot’smistressentitre,andafterthemarriageofthelovers.

Whobuthasonceinhislifebeenaguestatawedding-ball?Everyreadercan refer to his reminiscences, and will probably smile as he calls up theimagesofall that company in theirSunday-best facesaswell as their finestfrippery.

Ifanysocialeventcanprovetheinfluenceofenvironment,isitnotthis?Infact, theSunday-bestmoodofsomereactssoeffectuallyon the rest that themenwho aremost accustomed towearing full dress look just like those towhom the party is a high festival, unique in their life.And think too of theserious old men to whom such things are so completely a matter ofindifference, that they are wearing their everyday black coats; the long-marriedmen,whosefacesbetraytheirsadexperienceofthelifetheyoungpairarebutjustenteringon;andthelighterelements,presentascarbonic-acidgasisinchampagne;andtheenviousgirls, thewomenabsorbedinwonderingiftheir dress is a success, the poor relations whose parsimonious “get-up”contrastswith thatof theofficials inuniform;and thegreedyones, thinkingonlyofthesupper;andthegamblers,thinkingonlyofcards.

There are some of every sort, rich and poor, envious and envied,philosophersanddreamers,allgroupedlike theplants inaflower-bedroundtherare,choiceblossom,thebride.Awedding-ballisanepitomeoftheworld.

AttheliveliestmomentoftheeveningCrevelledtheBaronaside,andsaidinawhisper,withthemostnaturalmannerpossible:

“ByJove!that’saprettywoman—thelittleladyinpinkwhohasopenedarackingfireonyoufromhereyes.”

“Which?”

“Thewifeofthatclerkyouarepromoting,heavenknowshow!—MadameMarneffe.”

“Whatdoyouknowaboutit?”

“Listen,Hulot; Iwill try to forgiveyou the illyouhavedoneme ifonlyyouwillintroducemetoher—IwilltakeyoutoHeloise.Everybodyisaskingwhoisthatcharmingcreature.Areyousurethatitwillstrikenoonehowandwhyherhusband’sappointmentgot itself signed?—Youhappy rascal, she isworth awholeoffice.—Iwould serve inher officeonly toogladly.—Come,cinna,letusbefriends.”

“Betterfriendsthanever,”saidtheBarontotheperfumer,“andIpromiseyou I will be a good fellow.Within amonth you shall dinewith that littleangel.—Foritisanangelthistime,oldboy.AndIadviseyou,likeme,tohavedonewiththedevils.”

Cousin Betty, who had moved to the Rue Vanneau, into a nice littleapartmentonthethirdfloor,lefttheballatteno’clock,butcamebacktoseewithherowneyesthetwobondsbearingtwelvehundredfrancsinterest;oneofthemwasthepropertyoftheCountessSteinbock,theotherwasinthenameofMadameHulot.

It is thus intelligible thatMonsieur Crevel should have spoken toHulotabout Madame Marneffe, as knowing what was a secret to the rest of theworld; for, as Monsieur Marneffe was away, no one but Lisbeth Fischer,besidestheBaronandValerie,wasinitiatedintothemystery.

TheBaronhadmadeablunderingivingMadameMarneffeadressfartoomagnificentfor thewifeofasubordinateofficial;otherwomenwere jealousalikeofherbeautyandofhergown.Therewasmuchwhisperingbehindfans,for the poverty of theMarneffeswas known to every one in the office; thehusbandhadbeenpetitioningforhelpattheverymomentwhentheBaronhadbeensosmittenwithmadame.Also,HectorcouldnotconcealhisexultationatseeingValerie’ssuccess;andshe,severelyproper,verylady-like,andgreatlyenvied,wastheobjectofthatstrictexaminationwhichwomensogreatlyfearwhentheyappearforthefirsttimeinanewcircleofsociety.

Afterseeinghiswifeintoacarriagewithhisdaughterandhisson-in-law,Hulotmanagedtoescapeunperceived,leavinghissonandCelestinetodothehonorsofthehouse.HegotintoMadameMarneffe’scarriagetoseeherhome,buthefoundhersilentandpensive,almostmelancholy.

“My happiness makes you very sad, Valerie,” said he, putting his armroundheranddrawinghertohim.

“Canyouwonder,mydear,”saidshe,“thatahaplesswomanshouldbea

little depressed at the thought of her first fall from virtue, even when herhusband’satrocitieshavesetherfree?DoyousupposethatIhavenosoul,nobeliefs,noreligion?Yourgleethiseveninghasbeenreallytoobarefaced;youhave paraded me odiously. Really, a schoolboy would have been less of acoxcomb.Andthe ladieshavedissectedmewith theirside-glancesand theirsatirical remarks. Every woman has some care for her reputation, and youhavewreckedmine.

“Oh,Iamyoursandnomistake!AndIhavenotanexcuseleftbutthatofbeing faithful to you.—Monster that you are!” she added, laughing, andallowinghimtokissher,“youknewverywellwhatyouweredoing!MadameCoquet,ourchiefclerk’swife,cametositdownbyme,andadmiredmylace.‘Englishpoint!’saidshe.‘Wasitveryexpensive,madame?’—‘Idonotknow.Thislacewasmymother’s.Iamnotrichenoughtobuythelike,’saidI.”

MadameMarneffe,inshort,hadsobewitchedtheoldbeau,thathereallybelieved she was sinning for the first time for his sake, and that he hadinspiredsuchapassionashadledhertothisbreachofduty.ShetoldhimthatthewretchMarneffehadneglectedheraftertheyhadbeenthreedaysmarried,andfor themostodiousreasons.Since thenshehad livedas innocentlyasagirl;marriagehadseemedtohersohorrible.Thiswasthecauseofherpresentmelancholy.

“Ifloveshouldprovetobelikemarriage——”saidsheintears.

These insinuating lies, with which almost every woman in Valerie’spredicamentisready,gavetheBarondistantvisionsoftherosesoftheseventhheaven.AndsoValeriecoquettedwithherlover,whiletheartistandHortensewereimpatientlyawaitingthemomentwhentheBaronessshouldhavegiventhegirlherlastkissandblessing.

AtseveninthemorningtheBaron,perfectlyhappy—forhisValeriewasatonce themostguilelessofgirlsand themostconsummateofdemons—wentbacktoreleasehissonandCelestinefromtheirduties.Allthedancers,forthemostpartstrangers,hadtakenpossessionoftheterritory,astheydoateverywedding-ball,andwerekeepinguptheendlessfiguresofthecotillions,whilethegamblerswere still crowding round thebouillotte tables, andoldCrevelhadwonsixthousandfrancs.

Themorningpapers, carried round the town, contained thisparagraph intheParisarticle:—

“Themarriagewascelebratedthismorning,attheChurchofSaint-Thomasd’Aquin,betweenMonsieur leComteSteinbockandMademoiselleHortenseHulot,daughterofBaronHulotd’Ervy,CouncillorofState,andaDirectoratthe War Office; niece of the famous General Comte de Forzheim. The

ceremony attracted a large gathering. There were present some of themostdistinguishedartistsof theday:LeondeLora,JosephBridau,Stidmann,andBixiou; themagnates of theWarOffice, of theCouncil of State, andmanymembersofthetwoChambers;alsothemostdistinguishedofthePolishexileslivinginParis:CountsPaz,Laginski,andothers.

“Monsieur leComteWenceslasSteinbock is grandnephew to the famousgeneralwho servedunderCharlesXII.,KingofSweden.TheyoungCount,havingtakenpartinthePolishrebellion,foundarefugeinFrance,wherehiswell-earnedfameasasculptorhasprocuredhimapatentofnaturalization.”

Andso, inspiteof theBaron’scruel lackofmoney,nothingwas lackingthatpublicopinioncouldrequire,noteventhetrumpetingof thenewspapersoverhisdaughter’smarriage,whichwassolemnizedinthesameway,ineveryparticular, as his son’s had been to Mademoiselle Crevel. This displaymoderated the reports current as to theBaron’s financial position,while thefortune assigned to his daughter explained the need for having borrowedmoney.

Hereendswhatis,inaway,theintroductiontothisstory.Itistothedramathat follows that the premise is to a syllogism, what the prologue is to aclassicaltragedy.

In Paris, when a woman determines tomake a business, a trade, of herbeauty,itdoesnotfollowthatshewillmakeafortune.Lovelycreaturesmaybefoundthere,andfullofwit,whoareinwretchedcircumstances,endinginmiserya lifebegun inpleasure.And this iswhy. It isnot enoughmerely toaccepttheshamefullifeofacourtesanwithaviewtoearningitsprofits,andatthesametimetobearthesimplegarbofarespectablemiddle-classwife.Vicedoesnottriumphsoeasily;itresemblesgeniusinsofarthattheybothneedaconcurrence of favorable conditions to develop the coalition of fortune andgifts. Eliminate the strange prologue of the Revolution, and the Emperorwouldneverhaveexisted;hewouldhavebeennomorethanasecondeditionof Fabert. Venal beauty, if it finds no amateurs, no celebrity, no cross ofdishonorearnedbysquanderingmen’sfortunes,isCorreggioinahay-loft,isgeniusstarvinginagarret.Lais, inParis,mustfirstandforemostfindarichmanmadenoughtopayherprice.Shemustkeepupaveryelegantstyle,forthisishershop-sign;shemustbesufficientlywellbredtoflatterthevanityofherlovers;shemusthavethebrilliantwitofaSophieArnould,whichdivertstheapathyofrichmen;finally,shemustarousethepassionsof libertinesbyappearingtobemistresstoonemanonlywhoisenviedbytherest.

These conditions, which a woman of that class calls being in luck, aredifficulttocombineinParis,althoughitisacityofmillionaires,ofidlers,ofused-upandcapriciousmen.

Providencehas,nodoubt,vouchsafedprotectiontoclerksandmiddle-classcitizens, forwhomobstaclesof thiskindareat leastdouble in thesphere inwhichtheymove.At thesametime, thereareenoughMadameMarneffes inParis to allow of our taking Valerie to figure as a type in this picture ofmanners. Some of these women yield to the double pressure of a genuinepassion and of hard necessity, like Madame Colleville, who was for longattachedtooneofthefamousoratorsoftheleft,Kellerthebanker.Othersarespurred by vanity, like Madame de la Baudraye, who remained almostrespectable in spite of her elopement with Lousteau. Some, again, are ledastraybytheloveoffineclothes,andsomebytheimpossibilityofkeepingahousegoingonobviouslytoonarrowmeans.Thestinginessof theState—orofParliament—leadstomanydisastersandtomuchcorruption.

At the presentmoment the laboring classes are the fashionable object ofcompassion; they are being murdered—it is said—by the manufacturingcapitalist; but the Government is a hundred times harder than the meanesttradesman,itcarriesitseconomyinthearticleofsalariestoabsolutefolly.Ifyouworkharder,themerchantwillpayyoumoreinproportion;butwhatdoestheStatedoforitscrowdofobscureanddevotedtoilers?

Inamarriedwomanitisaninexcusablecrimewhenshewandersfromthepathofhonor;still, therearedegreeseven insuchacase.Somewomen, farfrom being depraved, conceal their fall and remain to all appearances quiterespectable,likethosetwojustreferredto,whileothersaddtotheirfaultthedisgrace of speculation. ThusMadameMarneffe is, as it were, the type ofthoseambitiousmarriedcourtesanswho from the first acceptdepravitywithall its consequences, and determine to make a fortune while taking theirpleasure,perfectlyunscrupulousastothemeans.ButalmostalwaysawomanlikeMadameMarneffehasahusbandwhoisherconfederateandaccomplice.TheseMachiavellisinpetticoatsarethemostdangerousofthesisterhood;ofeveryevilclassofParisianwoman,theyaretheworst.

A mere courtesan—a Josepha, a Malaga, a Madame Schontz, a JennyCadine—carriesinherfrankdishonorawarningsignalasconspicuousastheredlampofahouseofill-fameortheflaringlightsofagamblinghell.Amanknowsthattheylighthimtohisruin.

But mealy-mouthed propriety, the semblance of virtue, the hypocriticalwaysofamarriedwomanwhoneverallowsanythingtobeseenbutthevulgarneedsofthehousehold,andaffectstorefuseeverykindofextravagance,leadsto silent ruin,dumbdisaster,which is all themore startlingbecause, thoughcondoned,itremainsunaccountedfor.It is theignoblebillofdailyexpensesandnotgaydissipationthatdevoursthelargestfortune.Thefatherofafamilyruins himself ingloriously, and the great consolation of gratified vanity iswantinginhismisery.

This little sermon will go like a javelin to the heart of many a home.MadameMarneffesaretobeseenineverysphereofsociallife,evenatCourt;forValerieisamelancholyfact,modeledfromthelifeinthesmallestdetails.And, alas! the portrait will not cure any man of the folly of loving thesesweetly-smilingangels,withpensivelooksandcandidfaces,whoseheartisacash-box.

AboutthreeyearsafterHortense’smarriage,in1841,BaronHulotd’Ervywassupposedtohavesownhiswildoats,tohave“putuphishorses,”toquotetheexpressionusedbyLouisXV.‘sheadsurgeon,andyetMadameMarneffewascostinghim twice asmuchas Josephahadever costhim.Still,Valerie,though always nicely dressed, affected the simplicity of a subordinateofficial’swife; she kept her luxury for her dressing-gowns, her homewear.She thus sacrificed her Parisian vanity to her dear Hector. At the theatre,however, she always appeared in a pretty bonnet and a dress of extremeelegance;andtheBarontookherinacarriagetoaprivatebox.

Her rooms, thewholeof the second floorof amodernhouse in theRueVanneau,betweenafore-courtandagarden,wasredolentofrespectability.Allitsluxurywasingoodchintzhangingsandhandsomeconvenientfurniture.

Herbedroom,indeed,wastheexception,andrichwithsuchprofusionasJenny Cadine or Madame Schontz might have displayed. There were lacecurtains, cashmere hangings, brocade portieres, a set of chimney ornamentsmodeled by Stidmann, a glass cabinet filled with dainty nicknacks. Hulotcould not bear to see hisValerie in a bower of inferiormagnificence to thedunghill of gold and pearls owned by a Josepha. The drawing-room wasfurnishedwith reddamask, and thedining-roomhadcarvedoakpanels.ButtheBaron,carriedawaybyhiswishtohaveeverythinginkeeping,hadattheend of six months, added solid luxury to mere fashion, and had given herhandsomeportableproperty,as,forinstance,aserviceofplatethatwastocostmorethantwenty-fourthousandfrancs.

MadameMarneffe’shousehadinacoupleofyearsachievedareputationfor being a very pleasant one.Gamblingwent on there.Valerie herselfwassoonspokenofasanagreeableandwittywoman.Toaccountforherchangeofstyle,arumorwassetgoingofanimmenselegacybequeathedtoherbyher“naturalfather,”MarshalMontcornet,andleftintrust.

Withaneyetothefuture,Valeriehadaddedreligioustosocialhypocrisy.PunctualattheSundayservices,sheenjoyedall thehonorsduetothepious.She carried the bag for the offertory, she was a member of a charitableassociation,presentedbreadforthesacrament,anddidsomegoodamongthepoor,allatHector’sexpense.Thuseverythingaboutthehousewasextremelyseemly. And a great many persons maintained that her friendship with the

Baronwasentirely innocent, supporting theviewby thegentleman’smatureage, and ascribing to himaPlatonic liking forMadameMarneffe’s pleasantwit, charming manners, and conversation—such a liking as that of the latelamentedLouisXVIII.forawell-turnednote.

The Baron always withdrewwith the other company at aboutmidnight,andcamebackaquarterofanhourlater.

Thesecretofthissecrecywasasfollows.Thelodge-keepersofthehousewereaMonsieurandMadameOlivier,who,undertheBaron’spatronage,hadbeenpromoted from theirhumble andnotvery lucrativepost in theRueduDoyenne to the highly-paid and handsome one in the Rue Vanneau. Now,Madame Olivier, formerly a needlewoman in the household of Charles X.,whohadfallenintheworldwiththelegitimatebranch,hadthreechildren.Theeldest,anunder-clerkinanotary’soffice,wasobjectofhisparents’adoration.ThisBenjamin,forsixyearsindangerofbeingdrawnforthearmy,wasonthepoint of being interrupted in his legal career, when Madame Marneffecontrived tohavehimdeclaredexempt foroneof those littlemalformationswhichtheExaminingBoardcanalwaysdiscernwhenrequestedinawhisperbysomepowerintheministry.SoOlivier,formerlyahuntsmantotheKing,andhiswifewouldhavecrucifiedtheLordagainfortheBaronorforMadameMarneffe.

Whatcouldtheworldhavetosay?Itknewnothingoftheformerepisodeof the Brazilian, Monsieur Montes de Montejanos—it could say nothing.Besides, the world is very indulgent to the mistress of a house whereamusementistobefound.

And then to all her charmsValerie added thehighly-prized advantageofbeinganoccultpower.ClaudeVignon,nowsecretarytoMarshalthePrincedeWissembourg,anddreamingofpromotiontotheCouncilofStateasaMasterof Appeals, was constantly seen in her rooms, to which came also someDeputies—good fellowsandgamblers.MadameMarneffehadgother circletogether with prudent deliberation; only men whose opinions and habitsagreed foregathered there,menwhose interest itwas tohold togetherand toproclaim themanymeritsof the ladyof thehouse.Scandal is the trueHolyAllianceinParis.Takethatasanaxiom.Interestsinvariablyfallasunderintheend;viciousnaturescanalwaysagree.

WithinthreemonthsofsettlingintheRueVanneau,MadameMarneffehadentertained Monsieur Crevel, who by that time was Mayor of hisarrondissementandOfficerof theLegionofHonor.Crevelhadhesitated;hewouldhavetogiveupthefamousuniformoftheNationalGuardinwhichhestrutted at the Tuileries, believing himself quite as much a soldier as theEmperor himself; but ambition, urged by Madame Marneffe, had proved

stronger thanvanity.ThenMonsieur leMairehadconsideredhisconnectionwithMademoiselleHeloiseBrisetoutasquite incompatiblewithhispoliticalposition.

Indeed, longbeforehisaccession to thecivicchairof theMayoralty,hisgallantintimacieshadbeenwrappedinthedeepestmystery.But,asthereadermayhaveguessed,Crevelhadsoonpurchasedtherightoftakinghisrevenge,as often as circumstances allowed, for havingbeenbereft of Josepha, at thecostofabondbearingsix thousandfrancsof interest in thenameofValerieFortin, wife of Sieur Marneffe, for her sole and separate use. Valerie,inheriting perhaps from hermother the special acumen of the keptwoman,readthecharacterofhergrotesqueadorerataglance.Thephrase“Ineverhadaladyforamistress,”spokenbyCreveltoLisbeth,andrepeatedbyLisbethtoherdearValerie,hadbeenhandsomelydiscountedinthebargainbywhichshegother six thousand francsayear in fivepercents.Andsince then shehadnever allowed her prestige to grow less in the eyes of Cesar Birotteau’serewhilebagman.

CrevelhimselfhadmarriedformoneythedaughterofamilleroflaBrie,an only child indeed, whose inheritance constituted three-quarters of hisfortune;forwhenretail-dealersgrowrich,itisgenerallynotsomuchbytradeasthroughsomealliancebetweentheshopandruralthrift.Alargeproportionof the farmers, corn-factors, dairy-keepers, and market-gardeners in theneighborhood of Paris, dreamof the glories of the desk for their daughters,and lookupon a shopkeeper, a jeweler, or amoney-changer as a son-in-lawaftertheirownheart,inpreferencetoanotaryoranattorney,whosesuperiorsocialpositionisagroundofsuspicion;theyareafraidofbeingscornedinthefuturebythesecitizenbigwigs.

Madame Crevel, ugly, vulgar, and silly, had given her husband nopleasures but those of paternity; she died young. Her libertine husband,fettered at the beginning of his commercial career by the necessity forworking, and held in thrall bywant ofmoney, had led the life of Tantalus.Thrown in—ashephrased it—with themost elegantwomen inParis, he letthemout of the shopwith servile homage,while admiring their grace, theirway ofwearing the fashions, and all the nameless charms ofwhat is calledbreeding.Torisetothelevelofoneofthesefairiesofthedrawing-roomwasadesireformedinhisyouth,butburiedinthedepthsofhisheart.ThustowinthefavorsofMadameMarneffewastohimnotmerelytherealizationofhischimera, but, as has been shown, a point of pride, of vanity, of self-satisfaction. His ambition grew with success; his brain was turned withelation; andwhen themind is captivated, theheart feelsmorekeenly, everygratificationisdoubled.

Also,itmustbesaidthatMadameMarneffeofferedtoCrevelarefinement

ofpleasureofwhichhehadno idea;neither JosephanorHeloisehad lovedhim;andMadameMarneffe thought itnecessary todeceivehim thoroughly,forthisman,shesaw,wouldproveaninexhaustibletill.Thedeceptionsofavenalpassionaremoredelightful than the real thing.True love ismixedupwith birdlike squabbles, in which the disputants wound each other to thequick;butaquarrelwithoutanimus is,on thecontrary,apieceof flattery tothedupe’sconceit.

The rare interviewsgranted toCrevel kept his passion atwhite heat.HewasconstantlyblockedbyValerie’svirtuousseverity;sheactedremorse,andwonderedwhatherfathermustbethinkingofherintheparadiseofthebrave.Againandagainhehadtocontendwithasortofcoldness,whichthecunningslutmadehimbelievehehadovercomebyseemingtosurrendertotheman’scrazypassion;and then, as if ashamed, sheentrenchedherselfoncemore inher pride of respectability and airs of virtue, just like an Englishwoman,neithermorenorless;andshealwayscrushedherCrevelundertheweightofherdignity—forCrevelhad,inthefirstinstance,swallowedherpretensionstovirtue.

In short,Valerie had special veins of affectionswhichmade her equallyindispensabletoCrevelandtotheBaron.Beforetheworldshedisplayedtheattractive combination of modest and pensive innocence, of irreproachablepropriety, with a bright humor enhanced by the suppleness, the grace andsoftnessoftheCreole;butinatete-a-teteshewouldoutdoanycourtesan;shewasaudacious,amusing,andfulloforiginalinventiveness.Suchacontrastisirresistible to aman of theCrevel type; he is flattered by believing himselfsoleauthorofthecomedy,thinkingit isperformedforhisbenefitalone,andhelaughsattheexquisitehypocrisywhileadmiringthehypocrite.

ValeriehadtakenentirepossessionofBaronHulot;shehadpersuadedhimto grow old by one of those subtle touches of flattery which reveal thediabolical wit of women like her. In all evergreen constitutions a momentarriveswhenthetruthsuddenlycomesout,asinabesiegedtownwhichputsagood faceonaffairs as longaspossible.Valerie, foreseeing theapproachingcollapseoftheoldbeauoftheEmpire,determinedtoforestallit.

“Whygiveyourself somuchbother,mydearoldveteran?” said sheoneday, six months after their doubly adulterous union. “Do you want to beflirting?Tobeunfaithfultome?Iassureyou,Ishouldlikeyoubetterwithoutyour make-up. Oblige me by giving up all your artificial charms. Do yousupposethatitisfortwosous’worthofpolishonyourbootsthatIloveyou?For your india-rubber belt, your strait-waistcoat, and your false hair? Andthen,theolderyoulook,thelessneedIfearseeingmyHulotcarriedoffbyarival.”

AndHulot,trustingtoMadameMarneffe’sheavenlyfriendshipasmuchastoherlove,intending,too,toendhisdayswithher,hadtakenthisconfidentialhint,andceasedtodyehiswhiskersandhair.Afterthistouchingdeclarationfrom his Valerie, handsome Hector made his appearance one morningperfectlywhite.MadameMarneffe could assurehim that shehad ahundredtimesdetectedthewhitelineofthegrowthofthehair.

“Andwhitehairsuitsyourfacetoperfection,”saidshe;“itsoftensit.Youlookathousandtimesbetter,quitecharming.”

The Baron, once started on this path of reform, gave up his leatherwaistcoat and stays; he threw off all his bracing. His stomach fell andincreased in size. The oak became a tower, and the heaviness of hismovements was all the more alarming because the Baron grew immenselyolderbyplayingthepartofLouisXII.Hiseyebrowswerestillblack,andleftaghostlyreminiscenceofHandsomeHulot,assometimesonthewallofsomefeudalbuildingafainttraceofsculptureremainstoshowwhatthecastlewasinthedaysof itsglory.Thisdiscordantdetailmadehiseyes,stillbrightandyouthful, all themore remarkable inhis tanned face, because it had so longbeenruddywiththefloridhuesofaRubens;andnowacertaindiscolorationandthedeeptensionofthewrinklesbetrayedtheeffortsofapassionatoddswithnaturaldecay.Hulotwasnowoneofthosestalwartruinsinwhichvirileforceassertsitselfbytuftsofhairintheearsandnostrilsandonthefingers,asmossgrowsonthealmosteternalmonumentsoftheRomanEmpire.

HowhadValeriecontrivedtokeepCrevelandHulotsidebyside,eachtiedtoanapron-string,whenthevindictiveMayoronlylongedtotriumphopenlyoverHulot?Withoutimmediatelygivingananswertothisquestion,whichthecourse of the storywill supply, itmay be said that Lisbeth andValerie hadcontrivedapowerfulpieceofmachinerywhichtendedtothisresult.Marneffe,as he saw his wife improved in beauty by the setting in which she wasenthroned, like the sunat the centreof the sidereal system, appeared, in theeyesoftheworld,tohavefalleninlovewithheragainhimself;hewasquitecrazyabouther.Now,thoughhisjealousymadehimsomewhatofamarplot,itgaveenhancedvaluetoValerie’sfavors.Marneffemeanwhileshowedablindconfidenceinhischief,whichdegeneratedintoridiculouscomplaisance.TheonlypersonwhomhereallywouldnotstandwasCrevel.

Marneffe,wreckedbythedebaucheryofgreatcities,describedbyRomanauthors, though modern decency has no name for it, was as hideous as ananatomicalfigureinwax.Butthisdiseaseonfeet,clothedingoodbroadcloth,encased his lathlike legs in elegant trousers. The hollow chest was scentedwithfinelinen,andmuskdisguisedtheodorsofrottenhumanity.Thishideousspecimenofdecayingvice,trottinginredheels—forValeriedressedthemanas beseemed his income, his cross, and his appointment—horrified Crevel,

whocouldnotmeetthecolorlesseyesoftheGovernmentclerk.Marneffewasan incubus to theMayor.And themean rascal, aware of the strange powerconferredonhimbyLisbethandhiswife,wasamusedbyit;heplayedonitasonan instrument; andcardsbeing the last resourceofamindascompletelyplayedoutasthebody,hepluckedCrevelagainandagain,theMayorthinkinghimselfboundtosubserviencytotheworthyofficialwhomhewascheating.

Seeing Crevel a mere child in the hands of that hideous and atrociousmummy,ofwhoseuttervilenesstheMayorknewnothing;andseeinghim,yetmore,anobjectofdeepcontempttoValerie,whomadegameofCrevelasofsomemountebank,theBaronapparentlythoughthimsoimpossibleasarivalthatheconstantlyinvitedhimtodinner.

Valerie, protected by two lovers on guard, and by a jealous husband,attractedeveryeye,andexcitedeverydesireinthecirclesheshoneupon.Andthus, while keeping up appearances, she had, in the course of three years,achievedthemostdifficultconditionsofthesuccessacourtesanmostcaresforandmost rarely attains, evenwith the help of audacity and the glitter of anexistenceinthelightofthesun.Valerie’sbeauty,formerlyburiedinthemudof the Rue du Doyenne, now, like a well-cut diamond exquisitely set byChanor, was worth more than its real value—it could break hearts. ClaudeVignonadoredValerieinsecret.

This retrospective explanation, quite necessary after the lapse of threeyears,showsValerie’sbalance-sheet.Nowforthatofherpartner,Lisbeth.

Lisbeth Fischer filled the place in theMarneffe household of a relationwhocombinesthefunctionsofaladycompanionandahousekeeper;butshesufferedfromnoneof thehumiliationswhich,for themostpart,weighuponthe women who are so unhappy as to be obliged to fill these ambiguoussituations.LisbethandValerieofferedthetouchingspectacleofoneof thosefriendshipsbetweenwomen,socordialandso improbable, thatmen,alwaystoo keen-tongued in Paris, forthwith slander them. The contrast betweenLisbeth’s dry masculine nature and Valerie’s creole prettiness encouragedcalumny. And Madame Marneffe had unconsciously given weight to thescandal by the care she took of her friend, with matrimonial views, whichwere,aswillbeseen,tocompleteLisbeth’srevenge.

An immense change had taken place in Cousin Betty; andValerie, whowantedtosmartenher,hadturnedit tothebestaccount.Thestrangewomanhadsubmittedtostays,andlacedtightly,sheusedbandolinetokeepherhairsmooth,worehergownsasthedressmakersentthemhome,neatlittleboots,andgraysilkstockings,allofwhichwereincludedinValerie’sbills,andpaidforbythegentlemaninpossession.Thusfurbishedup,andwearingtheyellowcashmereshawl,Lisbethwouldhavebeenunrecognizablebyanyonewhohad

notseenherforthreeyears.

Thisotherdiamond—ablackdiamond, the rarestofall—cutbyaskilledhand,andsetasbestbecameher,wasappreciatedatherfullvaluebycertainambitiousclerks.Anyoneseeingherforthefirsttimemighthaveshudderedinvoluntarily at the look of poetic wildness which the clever Valerie hadsucceededinbringingoutby theartsofdress in thisBleedingNun,framingthe ascetic olive face in thick bands of hair as black as the fiery eyes, andmakingthemostoftherigid,slimfigure.Lisbeth,likeaVirginbyCranachorVan Eyck, or a Byzantine Madonna stepped out of its frame, had all thestiffness, theprecisionof thosemysteriousfigures, themoremoderncousinsof Isis and her sister goddesses sheathed in marble folds by Egyptiansculptors.Itwasgranite,basalt,porphyry,withlifeandmovement.

Saved from want for the rest of her life, Lisbeth was most amiable;wherevershedinedshebroughtmerriment.AndtheBaronpaidtherentofherlittle apartment, furnished, as we know, with the leavings of her friendValerie’sformerboudoirandbedroom.

“Ibegan,”shewouldsay,“asahungrynannygoat,andIamendingasalionne.”

ShestillworkedforMonsieurRivetat themoreelaboratekindsofgold-trimming,merely,asshesaid,nottolosehertime.Atthesametime,shewas,asweshallsee,veryfullofbusiness;butitisinherentinthenatureofcountry-folksnevertogiveupbread-winning;inthistheyareliketheJews.

Everymorning,veryearly,CousinBettywentofftomarketwiththecook.ItwaspartofLisbeth’sschemethatthehouse-book,whichwasruiningBaronHulot,wastoenrichherdearValerie—asitdidindeed.

Isthereahousewifewho,since1838,hasnotsufferedfromtheevileffectsofSocialistdoctrinesdiffusedamongthelowerclassesbyincendiarywriters?Ineveryhouseholdtheplagueofservantsisnowadaystheworstoffinancialafflictions. With very few exceptions, who ought to be rewarded with theMontyonprize,thecook,maleorfemale,isadomesticrobber,athieftakingwages,andperfectlybarefaced,withtheGovernmentforafence,developingthetendencytodishonesty,whichisalmostauthorizedinthecookbythetime-honoredjestastothe“handleofthebasket.”Thewomenwhoformerlypickeduptheirfortysoustobuyalotteryticketnowtakefiftyfrancstoputintothesavingsbank.And the smugPuritanswhoamuse themselves inFrancewithphilanthropic experiments fancy that they are making the common peoplemoral!

Between themarket and themaster’s table the servants have their secrettoll,andthemunicipalityofParisislesssharpincollectingthecity-duesthan

theservantsareintakingtheirsoneverysinglething.Tosaynothingoffiftyper cent charged on every form of food, they demand large New Year’spremiums from the tradesmen.The best class of dealers tremble before thisoccultpower,andsubsidizeitwithoutaword—coachmakers,jewelers,tailors,andall.Ifanyattemptismadetointerferewiththem,theservantsreplywithimpudent retorts, or revenge themselves by the costly blunders of assumedclumsiness; and in these days they inquire into their master’s character as,formerly, the master inquired into theirs. This mischief is now really at itsheight,andthelaw-courtsarebeginningtotakecognizanceofit;butinvain,foritcannotberemediedbutbyalawwhichshallcompeldomesticservants,likelaborers,tohaveapass-bookasaguaranteeofconduct.Thentheevilwillvanishas ifbymagic. If every servantwereobliged to showhispass-book,andifmasterswererequiredtostateinitthecauseofhisdismissal,thiswouldcertainlyproveapowerfulchecktotheevil.

Themenwhoaregivingtheirattentionstothepoliticsofthedayknownottowhatlengthsthedepravityofthelowerclasseshasgone.Statisticsaresilentas to the startling number of working men of twenty who marry cooks ofbetweenfortyandfiftyenrichedbyrobbery.Weshuddertothinkoftheresultofsuchunionsfromthethreepointsofviewofincreasingcrime,degeneracyoftherace,andmiserablehouseholds.

As to themere financialmischief that results from domestic peculation,that too is immense from a political point of view.Life beingmade to costdouble, any superfluity becomes impossible in most households. Nowsuperfluitymeanshalfthetradeoftheworld,asitishalftheeleganceoflife.Booksandflowersaretomanypersonsasnecessaryasbread.

Lisbeth, well aware of this dreadful scourge of Parisian households,determinedtomanageValerie’s,promisinghereveryassistanceintheterriblescenewhenthetwowomenhadsworntobelikesisters.SoshehadbroughtfromthedepthsoftheVosgesahumblerelationonhermother’sside,averypiousandhonest soul,whohadbeencook to theBishopofNancy.Fearing,however,herinexperienceofParisways,andyetmoretheevilcounselwhichwrecks such fragile virtue, at first Lisbeth always went to market withMathurine, and tried to teach her what to buy. To know the real prices ofthings and command the salesman’s respect; to purchase unnecessarydelicacies,suchasfish,onlywhentheywerecheap;tobewellinformedastothepricecurrentofgroceriesandprovisions,soastobuywhenpricesarelowin anticipation of a rise,—all this housekeeping skill is in Paris essential todomestic economy. As Mathurine got good wages and many presents, sheliked the housewell enough to be glad to drive goodbargains.Andby thistimeLisbethhadmadeherquiteamatchforherself,sufficientlyexperiencedandtrustworthytobesenttomarketalone,unlessValeriewasgivingadinner

—which, in fact,was not unfrequently the case.And thiswas how it cameabout.

TheBaronhadatfirstobservedthestrictestdecorum;buthispassionforMadameMarneffehaderelongbecomesovehement,sogreedy,thathewouldneverquither ifhecouldhelp it.At firsthedined there four timesaweek;thenhethoughtitdelightful todinewithhereveryday.Sixmonthsafterhisdaughter’smarriagehewaspayingher two thousand francs amonth forhisboard.MadameMarneffeinvitedanyoneherdearBaronwishedtoentertain.Thedinnerwas always arranged for six; he couldbring in threeunexpectedguests.Lisbeth’seconomyenabledher tosolve theextraordinaryproblemofkeepingupthetableinthebeststyleforathousandfrancsamonth,givingtheotherthousandtoMadameMarneffe.Valerie’sdressbeingchieflypaidforbyCrevelandtheBaron,thetwowomensavedanotherthousandfrancsamonthonthis.

And so this pure and innocent beinghad already accumulated ahundredand fifty thousand francs in savings. She had capitalized her income andmonthlybonus,andswelledtheamountbyenormousinterest,duetoCrevel’sliberality inallowinghis “littleDuchess” to investhermoney inpartnershipwithhiminhis financialoperations.Crevelhad taughtValerie theslangandtheprocedureofthemoneymarket,and,likeeveryParisianwoman,shehadsoon outstripped her master. Lisbeth, who never spent a sou of her twelvehundredfrancs,whoserentanddressweregiventoher,andwhoneverputherhandinherpocket,hadlikewiseasmallcapitaloffiveorsixthousandfrancs,ofwhichCreveltookfatherlycare.

Atthesametime,twosuchloverswereaheavyburthenonValerie.Onthedaywhenthisdramareopens,Valerie,spurredbyoneofthoseincidentswhichhavetheeffectinlifethattheringingofabellhasininducingaswarmofbeestosettle,wentuptoLisbeth’sroomstogivevent tooneof thosecomfortinglamentations—a sort of cigarette blown off from the tongue—by whichwomenalleviatetheminormiseriesoflife.

“Oh,Lisbeth,my love, twohoursofCrevel thismorning! It is crushing!HowIwishIcouldsendyouinmyplace!”

“That,unluckily,isimpossible,”saidLisbeth,smiling.“Ishalldieamaid.”

“Twooldmenlovers!Really,Iamashamedsometimes!Ifmypoormothercouldseeme.”

“YouaremistakingmeforCrevel!”saidLisbeth.

“Tellme,mylittleBetty,doyounotdespiseme?”

“Oh! if I hadbut beenpretty,what adventures Iwould havehad!” cried

Lisbeth.“Thatisyourjustification.”

“But you would have acted only at the dictates of your heart,” saidMadameMarneffe,withasigh.

“Pooh! Marneffe is a dead man they have forgotten to bury,” repliedLisbeth. “The Baron is as good as your husband; Crevel is your adorer; itseemstomethatyouarequiteinorder—likeeveryothermarriedwoman.”

“No,itisnotthat,dear,adorablething;thatisnotwheretheshoepinches;youdonotchoosetounderstand.”

“Yes,Ido,”saidLisbeth.“Theunexpressedfactor ispartofmyrevenge;whatcanIdo?Iamworkingitout.”

“IloveWenceslassothatIampositivelygrowingthin,andIcanneverseehim,”saidValerie,throwingupherarms.“Hulotaskshimtodinner,andmyartistdeclines.Hedoesnotknowthat I idolizehim, thewretch!What ishiswifeafterall?Fineflesh!Yes,sheishandsome,butI—Iknowmyself—Iamworse!”

“Bequiteeasy,mychild,hewillcome,”saidLisbeth,inthetoneofanursetoanimpatientchild.“Heshall.”

“Butwhen?”

“Thisweekperhaps.”

“Givemeakiss.”

Asmaybeseen, these twowomenwerebutone.EverythingValeriedid,evenhermostrecklessactions,herpleasures,herlittlesulks,weredecidedonafterseriousdeliberationbetweenthem.

Lisbeth,strangelyexcitedbythisharlotexistence,advisedValerieoneverystep,andpursuedhercourseofrevengewithpitilesslogic.ShereallyadoredValerie;shehadtakenhertobeherchild,herfriend,herlove;shefoundherdocile,asCreolesare,yieldingfromvoluptuousindolence;shechatteredwithher morning after morning with more pleasure than with Wenceslas; theycouldlaughtogetheroverthemischieftheyplotted,andoverthefollyofmen,andcountuptheswellinginterestontheirrespectivesavings.

Indeed, in thisnewenterpriseandnewaffection,Lisbethhad foundfoodfor her activity that was far more satisfying than her insane passion forWenceslas.Thejoysofgratifiedhatredarethefiercestandstrongesttheheartcan know. Love is the gold, hatred the iron of themine of feeling that liesburied inus.And then,Valeriewas, toLisbeth,Beauty in all its glory—thebeauty she worshiped, as we worship what we have not, beauty far moreplastic toherhandthan thatofWenceslas,whohadalwaysbeencold toher

anddistant.

At the end of nearly three years, Lisbethwas beginning to perceive theprogress of theundergroundmineonwhich shewas expendingher life andconcentrating hermind.Lisbeth planned,MadameMarneffe acted.MadameMarneffewastheaxe,Lisbethwasthehandthewieldedit,andthathandwasrapidlydemolishingthefamilywhichwaseverydaymoreodioustoher;forwecanhatemoreandmore,justas,whenwelove,welovebettereveryday.

Loveandhatredarefeelingsthatfeedonthemselves;butofthetwo,hatredhasthelongervitality.Loveisrestrictedwithinlimitsofpower;itderivesitsenergiesfromlifeandfromlavishness.Hatredislikedeath,likeavarice;itis,sotospeak,anactiveabstraction,abovebeingsandthings.

Lisbeth,embarkedontheexistencethatwasnaturaltoher,expendedinitall her faculties; governing, like the Jesuits, by occult influences. Theregenerationofherpersonwasequallycomplete;herfacewasradiant.LisbethdreamedofbecomingMadamelaMarechaleHulot.

This little scene, inwhich the two friendshadbluntlyuttered their ideaswithout any circumlocution in expressing them, took place immediately onLisbeth’s return frommarket,whither she hadbeen to procure thematerialsfor an elegant dinner. Marneffe, who hoped to get Coquet’s place, was toentertainhimandthevirtuousMadameCoquet,andValeriehopedtopersuadeHulot,thatveryevening,toconsiderthehead-clerk’sresignation.

LisbethdressedtogototheBaroness,withwhomshewastodine.

“Youwillcomebackintimetomaketeaforus,myBetty?”saidValerie.

“Ihopeso.”

“Youhopeso—why?HaveyoucometosleepingwithAdelinetodrinkhertearswhilesheisasleep?”

“If only I could!” said Lisbeth, laughing. “I would not refuse. She isexpiatingherhappiness—andIamglad,forIrememberouryoungdays.Itismyturnnow.Shewillbeinthemire,andIshallbeComtessedeForzheim!”

LisbethsetoutfortheRuePlumet,whereshenowwentastothetheatre—toindulgeheremotions.

The residence Hulot had found for his wife consisted of a large, bareentrance-room, a drawing-room, and a bed and dressing-room. The dining-room was next the drawing-room on one side. Two servants’ rooms and akitchen on the third floor completed the accommodation, which was notunworthyofaCouncillorofState,highupintheWarOffice.Thehouse,thecourt-yard,andthestairswereextremelyhandsome.

The Baroness, who had to furnish her drawing-room, bed-room, anddining-roomwiththerelicsofhersplendor,hadbroughtawaythebestoftheremains from thehouse in theRuede l’Universite. Indeed, thepoorwomanwasattached to thesemutewitnessesofherhappier life; toher theyhadanalmostconsolingeloquence.Inmemoryshesawherflowers,asinthecarpetsshecouldtracepatternshardlyvisiblenowtoothereyes.

Ongoingintothespaciousanteroom,wheretwelvechairs,abarometer,alargestove,andlong,whitecottoncurtains,borderedwithred,suggestedthedreadful waiting-room of a Government office, the visitor felt oppressed,conscious at once of the isolation in which the mistress lived. Grief, likepleasure,infectstheatmosphere.Afirstglanceintoanyhomeisenoughtotellyouwhetherloveordespairreignsthere.

Adeline would be found sitting in an immense bedroom with beautifulfurniturebyJacobDesmalters,ofmahoganyfinishedintheEmpirestylewithormolu,whichlooksevenlessinvitingthanthebrass-workofLouisXVI.!ItgaveoneashivertoseethislonelywomansittingonaRomanchair,awork-table with sphinxes before her, colorless, affecting false cheerfulness, butpreserving her imperial air, as she had preserved the blue velvet gown shealways wore in the house. Her proud spirit sustained her strength andpreservedherbeauty.

TheBaroness,bytheendofherfirstyearofbanishmenttothisapartment,hadgaugedeverydepthofmisfortune.

“Still, even here my Hector has made my life much handsomer than itshouldbeforamerepeasant,”saidshetoherself.“Hechoosesthatitshouldbeso;hiswillbedone!IamBaronessHulot,thesister-in-lawofaMarshalofFrance.Ihavedonenothingwrong;mytwochildrenaresettledinlife;Icanwait for death, wrapped in the spotless veil of an immaculate wife and thecrapeofdepartedhappiness.”

A portrait of Hulot, in the uniform of a Commissary General of theImperialGuard, painted in 1810byRobertLefebvre, hung above thework-table, and when visitors were announced, Adeline threw into a drawer anImitation of Jesus Christ, her habitual study. This blamelessMagdalen thusheardtheVoiceoftheSpiritinherdesert.

“Mariette, my child,” said Lisbeth to the woman who opened the door,“howismydearAdelineto-day?”

“Oh,shelooksprettywell,mademoiselle;butbetweenyouandme,ifshegoes on in thisway, shewill kill herself,” saidMariette in awhisper. “Youreallyoughttopersuadehertolivebetter.Now,yesterdaymadametoldmetogivehertwosous’worthofmilkandarollforonesou;togetheraherringfor

dinnerandabitofcoldveal;shehadapoundcookedtolasthertheweek—ofcourse, for the dayswhen she dines at home and alone. Shewill not spendmore than ten sous a day for her food. It is unreasonable. If I were to sayanythingaboutittoMonsieurleMarechal,hemightquarrelwithMonsieurleBaronand leavehimnothing,whereasyou,whoaresokindandclever,canmanagethings——”

“ButwhydoyounotapplytomycousintheBaron?”saidLisbeth.

“Oh,dearmademoiselle,hehasnotbeenhereforthreeweeksormore;infact,not sincewe lasthad thepleasureof seeingyou!Besides,madamehasforbiddenme,underthreatofdismissal,evertoaskthemasterformoney.Butasforgrief!—oh,poorlady,shehasbeenveryunhappy.Itisthefirsttimethatmonsieurhasneglectedherforsolong.Everytimethebellrangsherushedtothewindow—butforthelastfivedaysshehassatstillinherchair.Shereads.Whenever she goes out to seeMadame laComtesse, she says, ‘Mariette, ifmonsieurcomesin,’saysshe,‘tellhimIamathome,andsendtheporter tofetchme;heshallbewellpaidforhistrouble.’”

“Poorsoul!”saidLisbeth;“itgoestomyheart.IspeakofhertotheBaroneveryday.WhatcanIdo?‘Yes,’sayshe,‘Betty,youareright;Iamawretch.Mywife isanangel,andIamamonster! Iwillgo to-morrow——’AndhestayswithMadameMarneffe.Thatwoman is ruining him, and heworshipsher;helivesonlyinhersight.—IdowhatIcan; ifIwerenot there,andifIhadnotMathurinetodependupon,hewouldspendtwiceasmuchashedoes;andashehashardlyanymoneyintheworld,hewouldhaveblownhisbrainsoutbythistime.And,Itellyou,Mariette,Adelinewoulddieofherhusband’sdeath,Iamperfectlycertain.Atanyrate,Ipulltomakebothendsmeet,andpreventmycousinfromthrowingtoomuchmoneyintothefire.”

“Yes,thatiswhatmadamesays,poorsoul!Sheknowshowmuchsheowesyou,”repliedMariette.“Shesaidshehadjudgedyouunjustlyformanyyears——”

“Indeed!”saidLisbeth.“Anddidshesayanythingelse?”

“No,mademoiselle.Ifyouwishtopleaseher,talktoheraboutMonsieurleBaron;sheenviesyouyourhappinessinseeinghimeveryday.”

“Isshealone?”

“Ibegpardon,no; theMarshal iswithher.Hecomeseveryday,andshealwaystellshimshesawmonsieurinthemorning,butthathecomesinverylateatnight.”

“Andisthereagooddinnerto-day?”

Mariette hesitated; she could notmeet Lisbeth’s eye. The drawing-room

door opened, andMarshalHulot rushed out in such haste that he bowed toLisbethwithoutlookingather,anddroppedapaper.Lisbethpickeditupandranafterhimdownstairs,foritwasvaintohailadeafman;butshemanagednottoovertaketheMarshal,andasshecameupagainshefurtivelyreadthefollowinglineswritteninpencil:—

“MYDEARBROTHER,—Myhusbandhasgivenme themoney formyquarter’s expenses; butmydaughterHortensewas in such need of it, that Ilentherthewholesum,whichwasscarcelyenoughtosetherstraight.Couldyou lendmea fewhundred francs?For I cannot askHector formore; if heweretoblameme,Icouldnotbearit.”

“Myword!”thoughtLisbeth,“shemustbeinextremitiestobendherpridetosuchadegree!”

Lisbethwentin.ShesawtearsinAdeline’seyes,andthrewherarmsroundherneck.

“Adeline,mydearest,Iknowall,”criedCousinBetty.“Here,theMarshaldropped this paper—he was in such a state of mind, and running like agreyhound.—HasthatdreadfulHectorgivenyounomoneysince——?”

“He gives it me quite regularly,” replied the Baroness, “but Hortenseneededit,and—”

“And you had not enough to pay for dinner to-night,” said Lisbeth,interruptingher.“NowIunderstandwhyMariettelookedsoconfusedwhenIsaid something about the soup.You really are childish,Adeline; come, takemysavings.”

“Thank you, my kind cousin,” said Adeline, wiping away a tear. “Thislittle difficulty is only temporary, and I have provided for the future. Myexpenseshenceforthwillbenomorethantwothousandfourhundredfrancsayear,rentinclusive,andIshallhavethemoney.—Aboveall,Betty,notawordtoHector.Ishewell?”

“AsstrongasthePontNeuf,andasgayasalark;hethinksofnothingbuthischarmerValerie.”

MadameHulot lookedout at a tall silver-fir in front of thewindow, andLisbethcouldnotseehercousin’seyestoreadtheirexpression.

“Didyoumentionthatitwasthedaywhenwealldinetogetherhere?”

“Yes.But,dearme!MadameMarneffeisgivingagranddinner;shehopestogetMonsieurCoquet to resign,and that isof the first importance.—Now,Adeline, listen to me. You know that I am fiercely proud as to myindependence. Your husband, my dear, will certainly bring you to ruin. Ifancied I couldbeofuse toyouall by livingnear thiswoman,but she is a

creatureofunfathomabledepravity,andshewillmakeyourhusbandpromisethingswhichwill bring you all to disgrace.” Adelinewrithed like a personstabbedtotheheart.“MydearAdeline,IamsureofwhatIsay.Ifeelitismydutytoenlightenyou.—Well,letusthinkofthefuture.TheMarshalisanoldman,buthewill lasta long timeyet—hedrawsgoodpay;whenhedieshiswidowwould have a pension of six thousand francs. On such an income Iwouldundertaketomaintainyouall.Useyourinfluenceoverthegoodmantogethimtomarryme.It isnotforthesakeofbeingMadamelaMarechale;IvaluesuchnonsenseatnomorethanIvalueMadameMarneffe’sconscience;butyouwillallhavebread.IseethatHortensemustbewantingit,sinceyougiveheryours.”

TheMarshalnowcamein;hehadmadesuchhaste,thathewasmoppinghisforeheadwithhisbandana.

“IhavegivenMariettetwothousandfrancs,”hewhisperedtohissister-in-law.

Adelinecoloredtotherootsofherhair.Twotearshungonthefringesofthestilllonglashes,andshesilentlypressedtheoldman’shand;hisbeamingfaceexpressedthegleeofafavoredlover.

“I intended to spend themoney in a present for you,Adeline,” said he.“Insteadof repayingme, youmust choose for yourself the thingyouwouldlikebest.”

HetookLisbeth’shand,whichsheheldouttohim,andsobewilderedwashebyhissatisfaction,thathekissedit.

“Thatlookspromising,”saidAdelinetoLisbeth,smilingsofarasshewasabletosmile.

TheyoungerHulotandhiswifenowcamein.

“Ismybrothercomingtodinner?”askedtheMarshalsharply.

Adelinetookupapencilandwrotethesewordsonascrapofpaper:

“Iexpecthim;hepromisedthismorningthathewouldbehere;but ifheshould not come, it would be because the Marshal kept him. He isoverwhelmedwithbusiness.”

Andshehandedhim thepaper.Shehad invented thiswayofconversingwithMarshalHulot,andkeptalittlecollectionofpaperscrapsandapencilathandonthework-table.

“Iknow,”saidtheMarshal,“heisworkedveryhardoverthebusinessinAlgiers.”

Atthismoment,HortenseandWenceslasarrived,andtheBaroness,asshe

sawallherfamilyabouther,gavetheMarshalasignificantglanceunderstoodbynonebutLisbeth.

Happinesshadgreatlyimprovedtheartist,whowasadoredbyhiswifeandflattered by theworld.His face had become almost round, and his gracefulfigure did justice to the advantageswhich blood gives tomen of birth.Hisearlyfame,hisimportantposition,thedelusiveeulogiesthattheworldshedsonartistsas lightlyaswesay,“Howd’yedo?”ordiscuss theweather,gavehimthathighsenseofmeritwhichdegeneratesintosheerfatuitywhentalentwanes.TheCrossoftheLegionofHonorwasthecrowningstampofthegreatmanhebelievedhimselftobe.

Afterthreeyearsofmarriedlife,Hortensewastoherhusbandwhatadogis to itsmaster; shewatchedhiseverymovementwitha look that seemedaconstant inquiry, her eyeswere always on him, like those of amiser on histreasure;heradmiringabnegationwasquitepathetic.Inhermightbeseenhermother’s spirit and teaching. Her beauty, as great as ever, was poeticallytouchedbythegentleshadowofconcealedmelancholy.

OnseeingHortensecomein, it struckLisbeth thatsome long-suppressedcomplaintwasabouttobreakthroughthethinveilofreticence.Lisbeth,fromthefirstdaysofthehoneymoon,hadbeensurethatthiscouplehadtoosmallanincomeforsogreatapassion.

Hortense, as she embraced her mother, exchanged with her a fewwhispered phrases, heart to heart, of which the mystery was betrayed toLisbethbycertainshakesofthehead.

“Adeline, likeme,mustworkforherliving,”thoughtCousinBetty.“Sheshallbemadetotellmewhatshewilldo!Thoseprettyfingerswillknowatlast,likemine,whatitistoworkbecausetheymust.”

At six o’clock the family party went in to dinner. A place was laid forHector.

“Leaveitso,”saidtheBaronesstoMariette,“monsieursometimescomesinlate.”

“Oh, my father will certainly come,” said Victorin to his mother. “HepromisedmehewouldwhenwepartedattheChamber.”

Lisbeth, like a spider in the middle of its net, gloated over all thesecountenances. Having known Victorin and Hortense from their birth, theirfacesweretoherlikepanesofglass,throughwhichshecouldreadtheiryoungsouls.Now,fromcertainstolenlooksdirectedbyVictorinonhismother,shesawthatsomedisasterwashangingoverAdelinewhichVictorinhesitatedtoreveal.Thefamousyounglawyerhadsomecovertanxiety.Hisdeepreverence

forhismotherwasevidentintheregretwithwhichhegazedather.

Hortensewasevidentlyabsorbedinherownwoes;forafortnightpast,asLisbeth knew, she had been suffering the first uneasiness which want ofmoneybringstohonestsouls,andtoyoungwivesonwhomlifehashithertosmiled,andwhoconcealtheiralarms.AlsoLisbethhadimmediatelyguessedthathermotherhadgivenhernomoney.Adeline’sdelicacyhadbroughthersolowastousethefallaciousexcusesthatnecessitysuggeststoborrowers.

Hortense’s absence of mind, with her brother’s and the Baroness’ deepdejection,madethedinneramelancholymeal,especiallywiththeaddedchillof theMarshal’sutterdeafness.Threepersonsgavea little life to the scene:Lisbeth, Celestine, and Wenceslas. Hortense’s affection had developed theartist’s natural liveliness as a Pole, the somewhat swaggering vivacity andnoisyhighspiritsthatcharacterizetheseFrenchmenoftheNorth.Hisframeofmindandtheexpressionofhisfaceshowedplainlythathebelievedinhimself,and that poor Hortense, faithful to her mother’s training, kept all domesticdifficultiestoherself.

“Youmustbe content, at any rate,” saidLisbeth toheryoungcousin, astheyrosefromtable,“sinceyourmotherhashelpedyouwithhermoney.”

“Mamma!”repliedHortenseinastonishment.“Oh,poormamma!Itisformethatshewouldliketomakemoney.Youdonotknow,Lisbeth,butIhaveahorriblesuspicionthatsheworksforitinsecret.”

They were crossing the large, dark drawing-room where there were nocandles, all following Mariette, who was carrying the lamp into Adeline’sbedroom.At this instant Victorin just touched Lisbeth andHortense on thearm.The twowomen, understanding the hint, leftWenceslas,Celestine, theMarshal, and the Baroness to go on together, and remained standing in awindow-bay.

“Whatisit,Victorin?”saidLisbeth.“Somedisastercausedbyyourfather,Idarewager.”

“Yes,alas!”repliedVictorin.“Amoney-lendernamedVauvinethasbillsofmyfather’stotheamountofsixtythousandfrancs,andwantstoprosecute.Itried to speak of thematter tomy father at theChamber, but hewould notunderstandme;healmostavoidedme.Hadwebettertellmymother?”

“No,no,” saidLisbeth,“shehas toomany troubles; itwouldbeadeath-blow;youmustspareher.Youhavenoideahowlowshehasfallen.Butforyouruncle,youwouldhavefoundnodinnerherethisevening.”

“Dear Heaven! Victorin, what wretches we are!” said Hortense to herbrother. “We ought to have guessedwhatLisbeth has told us.My dinner is

chokingme!”

Hortensecouldsaynomore;shecoveredhermouthwithherhandkerchieftosmotherasob,andmeltedintotears.

“ItoldthefellowVauvinettocallonmeto-morrow,”repliedVictorin,“butwill he be satisfied bymy guarantee on amortgage? I doubt it. Thosemeninsistonreadymoneytosweatothersonusuriousterms.”

“Letusselloutofthefunds!”saidLisbethtoHortense.

“What goodwould that do?” repliedVictorin. “Itwould bring fifteen orsixteenthousandfrancs,andwewantsixtythousand.”

“Dearcousin!”criedHortense,embracingLisbethwiththeenthusiasmofguilelessness.

“No, Lisbeth, keep your little fortune,” said Victorin, pressing the oldmaid’shand.“Ishallseeto-morrowwhatthismanwouldbeupto.Withmywife’sconsent,Icanatleasthinderorpostponetheprosecution—foritwouldreally be frightful to seemy father’s honor impugned.Whatwould theWarMinistersay?Myfather’ssalary,whichhepledgedforthreeyears,willnotbereleasedbeforethemonthofDecember,sowecannotofferthatasaguarantee.ThisVauvinethas renewed thebillseleven times;soyoumay imaginewhatmyfathermustpayininterest.Wemustclosethispit.”

“IfonlyMadameMarneffewouldthrowhimover!”saidHortensebitterly.

“Heaven forbid!”exclaimedVictorin. “Hewould takeup someoneelse;andwithher,atanyrate,theworstoutlayisover.”

Whatachangeinchildrenformerlysorespectful,andkeptsolongbytheirmotherinblindworshipoftheirfather!Theyknewhimnowforwhathewas.

“But forme,” saidLisbeth, “your father’s ruinwould bemore completethanitis.”

“Comeintomamma,”saidHortense;“sheisverysharp,andwillsuspectsomething;asourkindLisbethsays, letuskeepeverythingfromher—letusbecheerful.”

“Victorin,”saidLisbeth,“youhavenonotionofwhatyourfatherwillbebrought tobyhispassionforwomen.Try tosecuresomefuture resourcebygettingtheMarshal tomarryme.Saysomethingabout it thisevening;Iwillleaveearlyonpurpose.”

Victorinwentintothebedroom.

“And you, poor little thing!” said Lisbeth in an undertone to Hortense,“whatcanyoudo?”

“Come todinnerwithus to-morrow, andwewill talk it over,” answeredHortense.“Idonotknowwhichwaytoturn;youknowhowhardlifeis,andyouwilladviseme.”

WhilethewholefamilywithoneconsenttriedtopersuadetheMarshaltomarry,andwhileLisbethwasmakingherwayhometotheRueVanneau,oneofthoseincidentsoccurredwhich,insuchwomenasMadameMarneffe,areastimulustovicebycompellingthemtoexerttheirenergyandeveryresourceof depravity. One fact, at any rate, must however be acknowledged: life inParisistoofullforviciouspersonstodowronginstinctivelyandunprovoked;viceisonlyaweaponofdefenceagainstaggressors—thatisall.

MadameMarneffe’s drawing-roomwas full of her faithful admirers, andshe had just started thewhist-tables,when the footman, a pensioned soldierrecruitedbytheBaron,announced:

“MonsieurleBaronMontesdeMontejanos.”

Valerie’sheartjumped,butshehurriedtothedoor,exclaiming:

“Mycousin!”andasshemettheBrazilian,shewhispered:

“Youaremyrelation—orall isatanendbetweenus!—Andsoyouwerenotwrecked,Henri?”shewentonaudibly,assheledhimtothefire.“Iheardyouwerelost,andhavemournedforyouthesethreeyears.”

“Howareyou,mygoodfellow?”saidMarneffe,offeringhishand to thestranger,whoseget-upwasindeedthatofaBrazilianandamillionaire.

MonsieurleBaronHenriMontesdeMontejanos,towhomtheclimateoftheequatorhadgiventhecolorandstatureweexpecttoseeinOthelloonthestage,hadanalarming lookofgloom,but itwasamerelypictorial illusion;for,sweetandaffectionatebynature,hewaspredestinedtobethevictimthatastrongmanoftenistoaweakwoman.Thescornexpressedinhiscountenance,the muscular strength of his stalwart frame, all his physical powers wereshown only to his fellow-men; a form of flatterywhichwomen appreciate,nay,whichso intoxicates them, thateverymanwithhismistressonhisarmassumes a matador swagger that provokes a smile. Very well set up, in aclosely fitting blue coat with solid gold buttons, in black trousers, spotlesspatenteveningboots,andglovesofafashionablehue,theonlyBraziliantouchintheBaron’scostumewasalargediamond,worthaboutahundredthousandfrancs,whichblazedlikeastaronahandsomebluesilkcravat,tuckedintoawhitewaistcoat in such away as to show corners of a fabulously fine shirtfront.

Hisbrow,bossylikethatofasatyr,asignoftenacityinhispassions,wascrownedbythickjet-blackhairlikeavirginforest,andunderitflashedapair

ofhazel eyes, sowild lookingas to suggest thatbeforehisbirthhismothermusthavebeenscaredbyajaguar.

ThisfinespecimenofthePortugueseraceinBraziltookhisstandwithhisback to the fire, in an attitude that showed familiarity with Paris manners;holdinghishatinonehand,hiselbowrestingonthevelvet-coveredshelf,hebent overMadameMarneffe, talking to her in an undertone, and troublinghimselfverylittleaboutthedreadfulpeoplewho,inhisopinion,weresoverymuchintheway.

This fashion of taking the stage, with the Brazilian’s attitude andexpression, gave, alike to Crevel and to the baron, an identical shock ofcuriosityandanxiety.Bothwerestruckbythesameimpressionandthesamesurmise.Andthemanoeuvresuggestedineachbytheirverygenuinepassionwassocomicalinitssimultaneousresults,thatitmadeeverybodysmilewhowassharpenoughtoreaditsmeaning.Crevel,atradesmanandshopkeepertothebackbone,thoughamayorofParis,unluckily,wasalittleslowertomovethanhisrivalpartner,andthisenabledtheBarontoreadataglanceCrevel’sinvoluntaryself-betrayal.Thiswasafresharrowtorankleintheveryamorousoldman’sheart,andheresolvedtohaveanexplanationfromValerie.

“Thisevening,”saidCreveltohimselftoo,ashesortedhishand,“ImustknowwhereIstand.”

“Youhaveaheart!”criedMarneffe.“Youhavejustrevoked.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Crevel, trying to withdraw his card.—“ThisBaronseemstomeverymuchintheway,”hewenton,thinkingtohimself.“IfValeriecarriesonwithmyBaron,wellandgood—itisameanstomyrevenge,andIcangetridofhimifIchoose;butasforthiscousin!—HeisoneBarontoo many; I do not mean to be made a fool of. I will know how they arerelated.”

Thatevening,byoneofthosestrokesofluckwhichcometoprettywomen,Valeriewascharminglydressed.Herwhitebosomgleamedunderalacetuckerofrustywhite,whichshowedoffthesatintextureofherbeautifulshoulders—forParisianwomen,Heavenknowshow,havesomewayofpreserving theirfinefleshandremainingslender.Sheworeablackvelvetgownthatlookedasifitmightatanymomentslipoffhershoulders,andherhairwasdressedwithlaceanddroopingflowers.Herarms,notfatbutdimpled,weregracedbydeepruffles to her sleeves. Shewas like a luscious fruit coquettishly served in ahandsomedish,andmakingtheknife-bladelongtobecuttingit.

“Valerie,”theBrazilianwassayinginherear,“Ihavecomebackfaithfulto you.Myuncle is dead; I am twice as rich as Iwaswhen Iwent away. ImeantoliveanddieinParis,foryouandwithyou.”

“Lower,Henri,Iimploreyou——”

“Pooh!Imeantospeaktoyouthisevening,evenifIshouldhavetopitchallthesecreaturesoutofwindow,especiallyasIhavelosttwodaysinlookingforyou.Ishallstaytillthelast.—Ican,Isuppose?”

Valeriesmiledatheradoptedcousin,andsaid:

“Rememberthatyouarethesonofmymother’ssister,whomarriedyourfatherduringJunot’scampaigninPortugal.”

“What,I,MontesdeMontejanos,greatgrandsonofaconquererofBrazil!Tellalie?”

“Hush,lower,orweshallnevermeetagain.”

“Pray,why?”

“Marneffe, likealldyingwretches,whoalways takeup some lastwhim,hasarevivedpassionforme——”

“Thatcur?”saidtheBrazilian,whoknewhisMarneffe;“Iwillsettlehim!”

“Whatviolence!”

“And where did you get all this splendor?” the Brazilian went on, juststruckbythemagnificenceoftheapartment.

Shebegantolaugh.

“Henri!whatbadtaste!”saidshe.

Shehadfelttwoburningflashesofjealousywhichhadmovedhersofarastomakeherlookatthetwosoulsinpurgatory.Crevel,playingagainstBaronHulot and Monsieur Coquet, had Marneffe for his partner. The game waseven, becauseCrevel and theBaronwere equally absent-minded, andmadeblunder after blunder. Thus, in one instant, the oldmen both confessed thepassionwhichValerie had persuaded them to keep secret for the past threeyears;butshetoohadfailedtohidethejoyinhereyesatseeingthemanwhohadfirsttaughtherhearttobeat,theobjectofherfirstlove.Therightsofsuchhappy mortals survive as long as the woman lives over whom they haveacquiredthem.

With these threepassionsather side—onesupportedby the insolenceofwealth, the second by the claims of possession, and the third by youth,strength,fortune,andpriority—MadameMarneffepreservedhercoolnessandpresenceofmind,likeGeneralBonapartewhen,atthesiegeofMantua,hehadtofighttwoarmies,andatthesametimemaintaintheblockade.

Jealousy, distorting Hulot’s face, made him look as terrible as the lateMarshalMontcornetleadingacavalrychargeagainstaRussiansquare.Being

suchahandsomeman,hehadneverknownanygroundforjealousy,anymorethanMurat knewwhat it was to be afraid. He had always felt sure that heshouldtriumph.HisrebuffbyJosepha,thefirsthehadevermet,heascribedtoherloveofmoney;“hewasconqueredbymillions,andnotbyachangeling,”hewouldsaywhenspeakingoftheDucd’Herouville.Andnow,inoneinstant,thepoisonanddeliriumthatthemadpassionshedsinafloodhadrushedtohisheart. He kept turning from the whist-table towards the fireplace with anaction a la Mirabeau; and as he laid down his cards to cast a challengingglance at theBrazilian andValerie, the rest of the company felt the sort ofalarmmingledwithcuriositythatiscausedbyevidentviolencereadytobreakoutatanymoment.TheshamcousinstaredatHulotashemighthavelookedatsomebigChinamandarin.

Thisstateofthingscouldnotlast;itwasboundtoendinsometremendousoutbreak.MarneffewasasmuchafraidofHulotasCrevelwasofMarneffe,forhewasanxiousnottodieamereclerk.Menmarkedfordeathbelieveinlifeasgalley-slavesbelieveinliberty;thismanwasbentonbeingafirst-classclerkatanycost.ThoroughlyfrightenedbythepantomimeoftheBaronandCrevel,herose,saidafewwordsinhiswife’sear,andthen,tothesurpriseofall, Valerie went into the adjoining bedroom with the Brazilian and herhusband.

“DidMadameMarneffe ever speak to you of this cousin of hers?” saidCreveltoHulot.

“Never!”repliedtheBaron,gettingup.“Thatisenoughforthisevening,”saidhe.“Ihavelosttwolouis—theretheyare.”

Hethrewthetwogoldpiecesonthetable,andseatedhimselfonthesofawithalookwhicheverybodyelsetookasahinttogo.MonsieurandMadameCoquet,afterexchanginga fewwords, left the room,andClaudeVignon, indespair, followed their example. These two departures were a hint to lessintelligentpersons,whonowfoundthattheywerenotwanted.TheBaronandCrevel were left together, and spoke never a word. Hulot, at last, ignoringCrevel,wentontiptoetolistenatthebedroomdoor;butheboundedbackwitha prodigious jump, forMarneffe opened the door and appearedwith a calmface,astonishedtofindonlythetwomen.

“Andthetea?”saidhe.

“WhereisValerie?”repliedtheBaroninarage.

“Mywife,”saidMarneffe.“Sheisgoneupstairstospeaktomademoiselleyourcousin.Shewillcomedowndirectly.”

“Andwhyhasshedesertedusforthatstupidcreature?”

“Well,” said Marneffe, “Mademoiselle Lisbeth came back from diningwith theBaronesswithanattackof indigestionandMathurineaskedValerieforsometeaforher,somywifewentuptoseewhatwasthematter.”

“Andhercousin?”

“Heisgone.”

“Doyoureallybelievethat?”saidtheBaron.

“Ihaveseenhimtohiscarriage,”repliedMarneffe,withahideoussmirk.

Thewheelsofadepartingcarriagewereaudibleinthestreet.TheBaron,counting Marneffe for nothing, went upstairs to Lisbeth. An idea flashedthrough him such as the heart sends to the brain when it is on fire withjealousy. Marneffe’s baseness was so well known to him, that he couldimaginethemostdegradingconnivancebetweenhusbandandwife.

“Whathasbecomeofalltheladiesandgentlemen?”saidMarneffe,findinghimselfalonewithCrevel.

“Whenthesungoestobed, thecocksandhensfollowsuit,”saidCrevel.“MadameMarneffe disappeared, and her adorers departed.Will you play agameofpiquet?”addedCrevel,whomeanttoremain.

HetoobelievedthattheBrazilianwasinthehouse.

MonsieurMarneffeagreed.TheMayorwasamatchfortheBaron.Simplybyplayingcardswiththehusbandhecouldstayonindefinitely;andMarneffe,since the suppressionof thepublic tables,wasquite satisfiedwith themorelimitedopportunitiesofprivateplay.

Baron Hulot went quickly up to Lisbeth’s apartment, but the door waslocked,andtheusualinquiriesthroughthedoortookuptimeenoughtoenablethetwolight-handedandcunningwomentoarrangethesceneofanattackofindigestionwith theaccessoriesof tea.Lisbethwas insuchpain thatValeriewasverymuchalarmed,andconsequentlyhardlypaidanyheedtotheBaron’sfurious entrance. Indisposition is one of the screens most often placed bywomen towardoffaquarrel.Hulotpeepedabout,hereand there,butcouldseenospotinCousinBetty’sroomwhereaBrazilianmightliehidden.

“Your indigestion does honor to my wife’s dinner, Lisbeth,” said he,scrutinizingher,forLisbethwasperfectlywell,tryingtoimitatethehiccoughofspasmodicindigestionasshedrankhertea.

“How lucky it is that dear Betty should be living under my roof!” saidMadameMarneffe.“Butforme,thepoorthingwouldhavedied.”

“You look as if youonly half believed it,” addedLisbeth, turning to theBaron,“andthatwouldbeashame——”

“Why?”askedtheBaron.“Doyouknowthepurposeofmyvisit?”

Andheleeredatthedoorofadressing-closetfromwhichthekeyhadbeenwithdrawn.

“AreyoutalkingGreek?”saidMadameMarneffe,withanappealinglookofmisprizedtendernessanddevotedness.

“Butitisallthroughyou,mydearcousin;yes,itisyourdoingthatIaminsuchastate,”saidLisbethvehemently.

ThisspeechdivertedtheBaron’sattention;helookedattheoldmaidwiththegreatestastonishment.

“YouknowthatIamdevotedtoyou,”saidLisbeth.“Iamhere,thatsayseverything.Iamwearingoutthelastshredsofmystrengthinwatchingoveryourinterests,sincetheyareonewithourdearValerie’s.Herhousecostsone-tenth of what any other does that is kept on the same scale. But for me,Cousin, instead of two thousand francs a month, you would be obliged tospendthreeorfourthousand.”

“I know all that,” replied the Baron out of patience; “you are ourprotectressinmanyways,”headded,turningtoMadameMarneffeandputtinghisarmroundherneck.—“Isnotshe,myprettysweet?”

“Onmyhonor,”exclaimedValerie,“Ibelieveyouaregonemad!”

“Well,youcannotdoubtmyattachment,”saidLisbeth.“ButIamalsoveryfondofmycousinAdeline,andIfoundherintears.Shehasnotseenyouforamonth.Nowthatisreallytoobad;youleavemypoorAdelinewithoutasou.YourdaughterHortensealmostdiedofitwhenshewastoldthatitisthankstoyourbrotherthatwehadanydinneratall.Therewasnotevenbreadinyourhousethisday.

“Adelineisheroicallyresolvedtokeephersufferingstoherself.Shesaidtome, ‘Iwilldoasyouhavedone!’Thespeechwent tomyheart;andafterdinner,asIthoughtofwhatmycousinhadbeenin1811,andofwhatsheisin1841—thirtyyearsafter—Ihadaviolentindigestion.—IfanciedIshouldgetoverit;butwhenIgothome,IthoughtIwasdying—”

“Yousee,Valerie,towhatmyadorationofyouhasbroughtme!Tocrime—domesticcrime!”

“Oh!Iwaswisenevertomarry!”criedLisbeth,withsavagejoy.“Youareakind,goodman;Adeline isaperfectangel;—and this is the rewardofherblinddevotion.”

“An elderly angel!” said Madame Marneffe softly, as she looked halftenderly,halfmockingly,atherHector,whowasgazingatherasanexamining

judgegazesattheaccused.

“Mypoorwife!”saidHulot.“FormorethanninemonthsIhavegivenhernomoney,thoughIfinditforyou,Valerie;butatwhatacost!Nooneelsewilleverloveyouso,andwhattormentsyouinflictonmeinreturn!”

“Torments?”sheechoed.“Thenwhatdoyoucallhappiness?”

“Idonotyetknowonwhattermsyouhavebeenwiththisso-calledcousinwhom you never mentioned to me,” said the Baron, paying no heed toValerie’s interjection.“Butwhenhecame in I feltas ifapenknifehadbeenstuck intomyheart.Blinded Imay be, but I amnot blind. I could read hiseyes, andyours. In short, fromunder that ape’s eyelids there flashed sparksthatheflungatyou—andyoureyes!—Oh!youhavenever lookedatmeso,never!Astothismystery,Valerie,itshallallbeclearedup.Youaretheonlywomanwhoevermademeknowthemeaningofjealousy,soyouneednotbesurprisedbywhatIsay.—Butanothermysterywhichhasrentitscloud,anditseemstomeinfamous——”

“Goon,goon,”saidValerie.

“It is thatCrevel, that square lumpof fleshandstupidity, is in lovewithyou, and that you accept his attentions with so good a grace that the idiotflauntshispassionbeforeeverybody.”

“Onlythree!Canyoudiscovernomore?”askedMadameMarneffe.

“Theremaybemore!”retortedtheBaron.

“IfMonsieurCrevel is in lovewithme,he is inhisrightsasamanafterall;ifIfavoredhispassion,thatwouldindeedbetheactofacoquette,orofawomanwhowouldleavemuchtobedesiredonyourpart.—Well,lovemeasyou findme,or letmealone. Ifyou restoreme to freedom,neitheryounorMonsieurCrevelwilleverentermydoorsagain.ButIwill takeupwithmycousin,justtokeepmyhandin,inthosecharminghabitsyousupposemetoindulge.—Good-bye,MonsieurleBaronHulot.”

Sherose,buttheBarontookherbythearmandmadehersitdownagain.TheoldmancouldnotdowithoutValerie.Shehadbecomemoreimperativelyindispensable to him than the necessaries of life; he preferred remaining inuncertaintytohavinganyproofofValerie’sinfidelity.

“MydearestValerie,”saidhe,“doyounotseehowmiserableIam?Ionlyaskyoutojustifyyourself.Givemesufficientreasons—”

“Well, go downstairs andwait forme; for I suppose youdonotwish tolookonatthevariousceremoniesrequiredbyyourcousin’sstate.”

Hulotslowlyturnedaway.

“You old profligate,” cried Lisbeth, “you have not even asked me howyourchildrenare?WhatareyougoingtodoforAdeline?I,atanyrate,willtakehermysavingsto-morrow.”

“Youoweyourwifewhitebread toeatat least,”saidMadameMarneffe,smiling.

The Baron, without taking offence at Lisbeth’s tone, as despotic asJosepha’s, got out of the room, only too glad to escape so importunate aquestion.

Thedoorboltedoncemore,theBraziliancameoutofthedressing-closet,wherehehadbeenwaiting,andheappearedwithhiseyes fullof tears, inareallypitiablecondition.Monteshadheardeverything.

“Henri, you must have ceased to love me, I know it!” said MadameMarneffe,hidingherfaceinherhandkerchiefandburstingintotears.

It was the outcry of real affection. The cry of a woman’s despair is soconvincingthatitwinstheforgivenessthatlurksatthebottomofeverylover’sheart—whensheisyoungandpretty,andwearsagownsolowthatshecouldslipoutatthetopandstandinthegarbofEve.

“Butwhy,ifyouloveme,doyounotleaveeverythingformysake?”askedtheBrazilian.

ThisSouthAmericanborn,being logical,asmenarewhohave lived thelifeofnature,atonceresumedtheconversationatthepointwhereithadbeenbrokenoff,puttinghisarmroundValerie’swaist.

“Why?”sherepeated,gazingupatHenri,whomshesubjugatedatoncebyalookchargedwithpassion,“why,mydearboy,Iammarried;weareinParis,notinthesavannah,thepampas,thebackwoodsofAmerica.—MydearHenri,myfirstandonlylove,listentome.Thathusbandofmine,asecondclerkintheWar Office, is bent on being a head-clerk and officer of the Legion ofHonor;canIhelphisbeingambitious?Nowfortheveryreasonthatmadehimleaveusourliberty—nearlyfouryearsago,doyouremember,youbadboy?—he now abandons me to Monsieur Hulot. I cannot get rid of that dreadfulofficial,whosnortslikeagrampus,whohasfinsinhisnostrils,whoissixty-three years old, andwho had grown ten years older by dint of trying to beyoung;whoissoodioustomethattheverydaywhenMarneffeispromoted,andgetshisCrossoftheLegionofHonor——”

“Howmuchmorewillyourhusbandgetthen?”

“Athousandcrowns.”

“Iwillpayhimasmuchinanannuity,”saidBaronMontes.“WewillleaveParisandgo——”

“Where?” saidValerie,with one of the pretty sneers bywhich awomanmakesfunofamansheissureof.“Parisistheonlyplacewherewecanlivehappy.Icaretoomuchforyourlovetoriskseeingitdieoutinatete-a-teteinthewilderness. Listen,Henri, you are the onlyman I care for in thewholeworld.Writethatdownclearlyinyourtiger’sbrain.”

Forwomen,whentheyhavemadeasheepofaman,alwaystellhimthatheisalionwithawillofiron.

“Now, attend tome.MonsieurMarneffe has not five years to live; he isrotten to themarrowofhisbones.Hespendssevenmonthsof the twelve inswallowingdrugsanddecoctions;heliveswrappedinflannel;inshort,asthedoctorsays,helivesunderthescythe,andmaybecutoffatanymoment.Anillness thatwouldnotharmanothermanwouldbe fatal tohim;hisblood iscorrupt,his lifeunderminedat the root.For fiveyears Ihaveneverallowedhimtokissme—heispoisonous!Someday,andthedayisnotfaroff,Ishallbeawidow.Well, then, I—whohavealreadyhadanoffer fromamanwithsixtythousandfrancsayear,IwhoamascompletelymistressofthatmanasIamofthislumpofsugar—IsweartoyouthatifyouwereaspoorasHulotandasfoulasMarneffe,ifyoubeatmeeven,stillyouaretheonlymanIwillhaveforahusband,theonlymanIlove,orwhosenameIwilleverbear.AndIamreadytogiveanypledgeofmylovethatyoumayrequire.”

“Well,then,to-night——”

“But you, son of the South,my splendid jaguar, come expressly formefrom the virgin forest of Brazil,” said she, taking his hand and kissing andfondling it, “I have some consideration for the poor creature you mean tomakeyourwife.—ShallIbeyourwife,Henri?”

“Yes,” said the Brazilian, overpowered by this unbridled volubility ofpassion.Andhekneltatherfeet.

“Well,then,Henri,”saidValerie,takinghistwohandsandlookingstraightintohiseyes,“sweartomenow,inthepresenceofLisbeth,mybestandonlyfriend,mysister—thatyouwillmakemeyourwifeat theendofmyyear’swidowhood.”

“Iswearit.”

“Thatisnotenough.Swearbyyourmother’sashesandeternalsalvation,swearbytheVirginMaryandbyallyourhopesasaCatholic!”

Valerie knew that theBrazilianwould keep that oath even if she shouldhavefallenintothefoulestsocialslough.

The Baron solemnly swore it, his nose almost touching Valerie’s whitebosom, andhis eyes spellbound.Hewasdrunk, drunk as aman iswhenhe

sees the woman he loves once more, after a sea voyage of a hundred andtwentydays.

“Good.Now be quite easy.And inMadameMarneffe respect the futureBaronessdeMontejanos.Youarenot tospendasouuponme;I forbid it.—Stayhereintheouterroom;sleeponthesofa.Imyselfwillcomeandtellyouwhenyoumaymove.—Wewillbreakfastto-morrowmorning,andyoucanbeleaving at about one o’clock as if you had come to call at noon. There isnothing to fear; thegate-keepers lovemeasmuchas if theyweremyfatherandmother.—NowImustgodownandmaketea.”

Shebeckoned toLisbeth,who followedherouton to the landing.ThereValeriewhisperedintheoldmaid’sear:

“Mydarkiehascomebacktoosoon.IshalldieifIcannotavengeyouonHortense!”

“Make yourmind easy,my pretty little devil!” said Lisbeth, kissing herforehead. “Love and Revenge on the same track will never lose the game.Hortenseexpectsmeto-morrow;sheisinbeggary.ForathousandfrancsyoumayhaveathousandkissesfromWenceslas.”

OnleavingValerie,Hulothadgonedowntotheporter’slodgeandmadeasuddeninvasionthere.

“MadameOlivier?”

On hearing the imperious tone of this address, and seeing the action bywhichtheBaronemphasizedit,MadameOliviercameoutintothecourtyardasfarastheBaronledher.

“Youknowthatifanyonecanhelpyoursontoaconnectionbyandby,itisI;itisowingtomethatheisalreadythirdclerkinanotary’soffice,andisfinishinghisstudies.”

“Yes, Monsieur le Baron; and indeed, sir, you may depend on ourgratitude.NotadaypassesthatIdonotpraytoGodforMonsieurleBaron’shappiness.”

“Notsomanywords,mygoodwoman,”saidHulot,“butdeeds——”

“WhatcanIdo,sir?”askedMadameOlivier.

“Amancamehereto-nightinacarriage.Doyouknowhim?”

MadameOlivierhadrecognizedMonteswellenough.Howcouldshehaveforgottenhim?IntheRueduDoyennetheBrazilianhadalwaysslippedafive-francpieceintoherhandashewentoutinthemorning,rathertooearly.IftheBaronhadappliedtoMonsieurOlivier,hewouldperhapshavelearnedallhewantedtoknow.ButOlivierwasinbed.Inthelowerordersthewomanisnot

merely the superior of the man—she almost always has the upper hand.MadameOlivierhadlongsincemadeuphermindastowhichsidetotakeincase of a collision between her two benefactors; she regarded MadameMarneffeasthestrongerpower.

“DoIknowhim?”sherepeated.“No,indeed,no.Ineversawhimbefore!”

“What!DidMadameMarneffe’scousinnevergotoseeherwhenshewaslivingintheRueduDoyenne?”

“Oh!Wasithercousin?”criedMadameOlivier.“Idaresayhedidcome,butIdidnotknowhimagain.Nexttime,sir,Iwilllookathim——”

“Hewillbecomingout,”saidHulot,hastilyinterruptingMadameOlivier.

“He has left,” said Madame Olivier, understanding the situation. “Thecarriageisgone.”

“Didyouseehimgo?”

“AsplainlyasIseeyou.HetoldhisservanttodrivetotheEmbassy.”

Thisaudacious statementwrunga sighof relief from theBaron;he tookMadameOlivier’shandandsqueezedit.

“Thank you, my good Madame Olivier. But that is not all.—MonsieurCrevel?”

“Monsieur Crevel?What can youmean, sir? I do not understand,” saidMadameOlivier.

“Listentome.HeisMadameMarneffe’slover——”

“Impossible,MonsieurleBaron;impossible,”saidshe,claspingherhands.

“He is Madame Marneffe’s lover,” the Baron repeated very positively.“Howdo theymanage it? Idon’tknow;but Imean toknow,andyouare tofindout.Ifyoucanputmeonthetracksofthisintrigue,yoursonisanotary.”

“Don’t you fret yourself so, Monsieur le Baron,” saidMadame Olivier.“Madamecaresforyou,andfornoonebutyou;hermaidknowsthatfortrue,andwesay,betweenherandme,thatyouaretheluckiestmaninthisworld—foryouknowwhatmadameis.—Justperfection!

“She gets up at ten everymorning; then she breakfasts.Well and good.Afterthatshetakesanhourorsotodress;thatcarriesherontilltwo;thenshegoesforawalkintheTuileriesinthesightofallmen,andsheisalwaysinbyfourtobereadyforyou.Sheliveslikeclockwork.Shekeepsnosecretsfromhermaid,andReinekeepsnothingfromme,youmaybesure.Reinecan’tifshewould—alongofmyson,forsheisverysweetuponhim.So,yousee,ifmadamehadanyintimacywithMonsieurCrevel,weshouldbeboundtoknow

it.”

The Baron went upstairs again with a beaming countenance, convincedthathewas theonlymanin theworld to thatshamelessslut,as treacherous,butaslovelyandasengagingasasiren.

Crevel and Marneffe had begun a second rubber at piquet. Crevel waslosing,asamanmustwhoisnotgivinghis thoughts tohisgame.Marneffe,who knew the cause of the Mayor’s absence of mind, took unscrupulousadvantageofit;helookedatthecardsinreverse,anddiscardedaccordingly;thus,knowinghisadversary’shand,heplayedtobeathim.Thestakebeingafranc a point, he had already robbed theMayor of thirty francswhenHulotcamein.

“Heyday!”saidhe,amazedtofindnocompany.“Areyoualone?Whereiseverybodygone?”

“Yourpleasanttemperputthemalltoflight,”saidCrevel.

“No, it was my wife’s cousin,” replied Marneffe. “The ladies andgentlemen supposed thatValerie andHenrimight have something to say toeachotherafterthreeyears’separation,andtheyverydiscreetlyretired.—IfIhad been in the room, I would have kept them; but then, as it happens, itwouldhavebeenamistake,forLisbeth,whoalwayscomesdowntomaketeaathalf-pastten,wastakenill,andthatupseteverything—”

“ThenisLisbethreallyunwell?”askedCrevelinafury.

“SoIwastold,”repliedMarneffe,withtheheartlessindifferenceofamantowhomwomenhaveceasedtoexist.

The Mayor looked at the clock; and, calculating the time, the Baronseemed to have spent forty minutes in Lisbeth’s rooms. Hector’s jubilantexpressionseriouslyincriminatedValerie,Lisbeth,andhimself.

“Ihavejustseenher;sheisingreatpain,poorsoul!”saidtheBaron.

“Then the sufferings of others must afford you much joy, my friend,”retortedCrevelwithacrimony,“foryouhavecomedownwitha face that ispositivelybeaming.IsLisbethlikelytodie?Foryourdaughter,theysay,isherheiress.You are not like the sameman.You left this room looking like theMoor ofVenice, and you come backwith the air of Saint-Preux!—Iwish IcouldseeMadameMarneffe’sfaceatthisminute——”

“Andpray,whatdoyoumeanbythat?”saidMarneffetoCrevel,packinghiscardsandlayingthemdowninfrontofhim.

Alightkindledintheeyesofthisman,decrepitattheageofforty-seven;afaint color flushed his flaccid cold cheeks, his ill-furnishedmouthwas half

open,andonhisblackenedlipsasortoffoamgathered,thick,andaswhiteaschalk.This fury insuchahelplesswretch,whose lifehungona thread,andwho in a duel would risk nothing while Crevel had everything to lose,frightenedtheMayor.

“I said,” repeated Crevel, “that I should like to seeMadameMarneffe’sface. And with all the more reason since yours, at this moment, is mostunpleasant.Onmyhonor,youarehorriblyugly,mydearMarneffe——”

“Doyouknowthatyouareveryuncivil?”

“Amanwhohaswonthirtyfrancsofmeinforty-fiveminutescannotlookhandsomeinmyeyes.”

“Ah,ifyouhadbutseenmeseventeenyearsago!”repliedtheclerk.

“Youweresogood-looking?”askedCrevel.

“Thatwasmyruin;now,ifIhadbeenlikeyou—Imightbeamayorandapeer.”

“Yes,”saidCrevel,withasmile,“youhavebeentoomuchinthewars;andofthetwoformsofmetalthatmaybeearnedbyworshipingthegodoftrade,youhavetakentheworse—thedross!”[Thisdialogueisgarnishedwithpunsfor which it is difficult to find any English equivalent.] And Crevel roaredwithlaughter.ThoughMarneffecouldtakeoffenceifhishonorwereinperil,healwaystooktheseroughpleasantriesingoodpart;theywerethesmallcoinofconversationbetweenhimandCrevel.

“ThedaughtersofEvecostmedear,nodoubt;but,bythepowers!‘Shortandsweet’ismymotto.”

“‘Longandhappy’ismoretomymind,”returnedCrevel.

MadameMarneffe now came in; she saw that her husbandwas at cardswith Crevel, and only the Baron in the room besides; amere glance at themunicipaldignitaryshowedhertheframeofmindhewasin,andherlineofconductwasatoncedecidedon.

“Marneffe,mydearboy,”saidshe,leaningonherhusband’sshoulder,andpassingherprettyfingersthroughhisdingygrayhair,butwithoutsucceedingincoveringhisbaldheadwith it,“it isvery lateforyou;youought tobe inbed. To-morrow, you know, youmust dose yourself by the doctor’s orders.Reinewillgiveyouyourherbteaatseven.Ifyouwishtolive,giveupyourgame.”

“Wewillpayitoutuptofivepoints,”saidMarneffetoCrevel.

“Verygood—Ihavescoredtwo,”repliedtheMayor.

“Howlongwillittakeyou?”

“Tenminutes,”saidMarneffe.

“Itiseleveno’clock,”repliedValerie.“Really,MonsieurCrevel,onemightfancyyoumeanttokillmyhusband.Makehaste,atanyrate.”

This double-barreled speech made Crevel and Hulot smile, and evenMarneffehimself.ValeriesatdowntotalktoHector.

“Youmustleave,mydearest,”saidsheinHulot’sear.“WalkupanddowntheRueVanneau,andcomeinagainwhenyouseeCrevelgoout.”

“I would rather leave this room and go into your room through thedressing-roomdoor.YoucouldtellReinetoletmein.”

“ReineisupstairsattendingtoLisbeth.”

“Well,supposethenIgouptoLisbeth’srooms?”

Danger hemmed inValerie on every side; she foresaw a discussionwithCrevel,andcouldnotallowHulottobeinherroom,wherehecouldhearallthatwenton.—AndtheBrazilianwasupstairswithLisbeth.

“Really,youmen,whenyouhaveanotioninyourhead,youwouldburnahousedowntogetintoit!”exclaimedshe.“Lisbethisnotinafitstatetoadmityou.—Areyou afraid of catching cold in the street?Be off there—or good-night.”

“Goodevening,gentlemen,”saidtheBarontotheothertwo.

Hulot,whenpiqued inhisoldman’svanity,wasbentonproving thathecouldplaytheyoungmanbywaitingforthehappyhourintheopenair,andhewentaway.

Marneffe bid hiswife good-night, taking her handswith a semblance ofdevotion. Valerie pressed her husband’s hand with a significant glance,conveying:

“GetridofCrevel.”

“Good-night,Crevel,”saidMarneffe.“IhopeyouwillnotstaylongwithValerie.Yes!Iamjealous—alittlelateintheday,butithasmehardandfast.Ishallcomebacktoseeifyouaregone.”

“Wehavealittlebusinesstodiscuss,butIshallnotstaylong,”saidCrevel.

“Speak low.—What is it?” saidValerie, raisinghervoice, and lookingathimwithamingledexpressionofhaughtinessandscorn.

Crevel, as he met this arrogant stare, though he was doing Valerieimportantservices,andhadhopedtoplumehimselfon thefact,wasatonce

reducedtosubmission.

“ThatBrazilian——”hebegan,but,overpoweredbyValerie’s fixed lookofcontempt,hebrokeoff.

“Whatofhim?”saidshe.

“Thatcousin—”

“Is no cousin ofmine,” said she. “He ismy cousin to theworld and toMonsieurMarneffe.Andifheweremylover,itwouldbenoconcernofyours.A tradesmanwho pays awoman to be revenged on anotherman, is, inmyopinion,beneath themanwhopaysherfor loveofher.Youdidnotcareforme; all you saw inmewasMonsieurHulot’smistress.Youboughtme as aman buys a pistol to kill his adversary. I wanted bread—I accepted thebargain.”

“Butyouhavenotcarrieditout,”saidCrevel,thetradesmanoncemore.

“You want Baron Hulot to be told that you have robbed him of hismistress,topayhimoutforhavingrobbedyouofJosepha?Nothingcanmoreclearlyproveyourbaseness.Yousayyouloveawoman,youtreatherlikeaduchess,andthenyouwanttodegradeher?Well,mygoodfellow,andyouareright.ThiswomanisnomatchforJosepha.Thatyoungpersonhasthecourageof her disgrace, while I—I am a hypocrite, and deserve to be publiclywhipped.—Alas!Josephaisprotectedbyherclevernessandherwealth.Ihavenothing tosheltermebutmyreputation;Iamstill theworthyandblamelesswifeofaplaincitizen;ifyoucreateascandal,whatistobecomeofme?IfIwere rich, then indeed; but my income is fifteen thousand francs a year atmost,Isuppose.”

“Muchmorethanthat,”saidCrevel.“IhavedoubledyoursavingsintheselasttwomonthsbyinvestinginOrleans.”

“Well, a position in Paris begins with fifty thousand. And you certainlywill notmake up tome for the position I should surrender.—Whatwasmyaim?Iwant toseeMarneffeafirst-classclerk;hewill thendrawasalaryofsixthousandfrancs.Hehasbeentwenty-sevenyearsinhisoffice;withinthreeyearsIshallhavearighttoapensionoffifteenhundredfrancswhenhedies.You, towhom I have been entirely kind, towhom I have given your fill ofhappiness—you cannot wait!—And that is what men call love!” sheexclaimed.

“Though I beganwith anulterior purpose,” saidCrevel, “I havebecomeyourpoodle.Youtrampleonmyheart,youcrushme,youstultifyme,andIloveyouasIhaveneverlovedinmylife.Valerie,IloveyouasmuchasIlovemy Celestine. I am capable of anything for your sake.—Listen, instead of

comingtwiceaweektotheRueduDauphin,comethreetimes.”

“Isthatall!Youarequiteyoungagain,mydearboy!”

“OnlyletmepackoffHulot,humiliatehim,ridyouofhim,”saidCrevel,notheedingherimpertinence!“HavenothingtosaytotheBrazilian,beminealone;youshallnotrepentofit.Tobeginwith,Iwillgiveyoueightthousandfrancsayear,securedbybond,butonlyasanannuity;Iwillnotgiveyouthecapitaltilltheendoffiveyears’constancy—”

“Alwaysabargain!Atradesmancanneverlearntogive.Youwanttostopforrefreshmentsontheroadoflove—intheformofGovernmentbonds!Bah!Shopman, pomatum seller! you put a price on everything!—Hector toldmethat theDuc d’Herouville gave Josepha a bond for thirty thousand francs ayearinapacketofsugaralmonds!AndIamworthsixofJosepha.

“Oh!tobeloved!”shewenton,twistingherringletsroundherfingers,andlookingatherselfintheglass.“Henrilovesme.HewouldsmashyoulikeaflyifIwinkedathim!Hulotlovesme;heleaveshiswifeinbeggary!Asforyou,gomygoodman,be theworthy fatherof a family.Youhave threehundredthousandfrancsoverandaboveyourfortune,onlytoamuseyourself,ahoard,infact,andyouthinkofnothingbutincreasingit—”

“Foryou,Valerie,sinceIofferyouhalf,”saidhe,fallingonhisknees.

“What, still here!” criedMarneffe, hideous in his dressing-gown. “Whatareyouabout?”

“Heisbeggingmypardon,mydear,foraninsultingproposalhehasdaredtomakeme.Unabletoobtainmyconsent,mygentlemanproposedtopayme——”

Crevelonlylongedtovanishintothecellar,throughatrap,asisdoneonthestage.

“Getup,Crevel,” saidMarneffe, laughing,“youare ridiculous. I canseebyValerie’smannerthatmyhonorisinnodanger.”

“Gotobedandsleepinpeace,”saidMadameMarneffe.

“Isn’tsheclever?”thoughtCrevel.“Shehassavedme.Sheisadorable!”

AsMarneffedisappeared,theMayortookValerie’shandsandkissedthem,leavingonthemthetracesoftears.

“Itshallallstandinyourname,”hesaid.

“Thatistruelove,”shewhisperedinhisear.“Well,loveforlove.Hulotisbelow, in the street. The poor old thing iswaiting to returnwhen I place acandleinoneofthewindowsofmybedroom.Igiveyouleavetotellhimthat

youarethemanIlove;hewillrefusetobelieveyou;takehimtotheRueduDauphin,givehimeveryproof,crushhim;Iallowit—Iorderit!Iamtiredofthat old seal; he boresme to death.Keep yourman all night in theRue duDauphin,grillhimoveraslowfire,berevengedforthelossofJosepha.Hulotmaydieofitperhaps,butweshallsavehiswifeandchildrenfromutterruin.MadameHulotisworkingforherbread—”

“Oh!poorwoman!Onmyword,it isquiteshocking!”exclaimedCrevel,hisnaturalfeelingcomingtothetop.

“If you loveme, Celestin,” said she in Crevel’s ear, which she touchedwithherlips,“keephimthere,orIamdonefor.Marneffeissuspicious.Hectorhasakeyoftheoutergate,andwillcertainlycomeback.”

Crevel clasped Madame Marneffe to his heart, and went away in theseventhheavenofdelight.Valeriefondlyescortedhimtothelanding,andthenfollowedhim,likeawomanmagnetized,downthestairstotheverybottom.

“MyValerie,goback,donotcompromiseyourselfbeforetheporters.—Goback;mylife,mytreasure,allisyours.—Goin,myduchess!”

“MadameOlivier,”Valeriecalledgentlywhenthegatewasclosed.

“Why,madame!Youhere?”saidthewomaninbewilderment.

“Boltthegatesattopandbottom,andletnoonein.”

“Verygood,madame.”

Having barred the gate, Madame Olivier told of the bribe that theWarOfficechiefhadtriedtoofferher.

“You behaved like an angel, my dear Olivier; we shall talk of that to-morrow.”

Valerieflewlikeanarrowtothethirdfloor,tappedthreetimesatLisbeth’sdoor, and then went down to her room, where she gave instructions toMademoiselle Reine, for a woman must make the most of the opportunitywhenaMontesarrivesfromBrazil.

“ByHeaven! only awoman of theworld is capable of such love,” saidCrevel to himself. “How she camedown those stairs, lighting themupwithhereyes,followingme!NeverdidJosepha—Josepha!sheiscag-mag!”criedtheex-bagman.“WhathaveIsaid?Cag-mag—why,ImighthaveletthewordslipoutattheTuileries!IcanneverdoanygoodunlessValerieeducatesme—andIwassobentonbeingagentleman.—Whatawomansheis!Sheupsetsmelikeafitofthecolicwhenshelooksatmecoldly.Whatgrace!Whatwit!NeverdidJosephamovemeso.Andwhatperfectionwhenyoucometoknowher!—Ha,thereismyman!”

He perceived in the gloom of the Rue de Babylone the tall, somewhatstooping figure of Hulot, stealing along close to a boarding, and he wentstraightuptohim.

“Good-morning,Baron, for it ispastmidnight,mydear fellow.What thedevil are your doing here?You are airing yourself under a pleasant drizzle.That is notwholesome at our timeof life.Will you letmegive you a littlepieceofadvice?Leteachofusgohome;for,betweenyouandme,youwillnotseethecandleinthewindow.”

ThelastwordsmadetheBaronsuddenlyawarethathewassixty-three,andthathiscloakwaswet.

“Whoonearthtoldyou—?”hebegan.

“Valerie,ofcourse,ourValerie,whomeanshenceforth tobemyValerie.Weareevennow,Baron;wewillplayoffthetiewhenyouplease.Youhavenothingtocomplainof;youknow,Ialwaysstipulatedfortherightof takingmy revenge; it took you threemonths to robme of Josepha; I tookValeriefromyouin—Wewillsaynomoreaboutthat.NowImeantohaveheralltomyself.Butwecanbeverygoodfriends,allthesame.”

“Crevel,nojesting,”saidHulot,inavoicechokedbyrage.“Itisamatteroflifeanddeath.”

“Blessme, is that how you take it!—Baron, do you not rememberwhatyousaid tome thedayofHortense’smarriage: ‘Can twooldgaffers likeusquarrel over a petticoat? It is too low, too common. We are Regence, weagreed, Pompadour, eighteenth century, quite theMarechalRichelieu, LouisXV.,nay,andImaysay,Liaisonsdangereuses!”

Crevelmighthavegoneonwithhisstringofliteraryallusions;theBaronheardhimasadeafman listenswhenhe isbuthalfdeaf.But, seeing in thegaslight the ghastly pallor of his face, the triumphantMayor stopped short.This was, indeed, a thunderbolt after Madame Olivier’s asservations andValerie’spartingglance.

“GoodGod!AndtherearesomanyotherwomeninParis!”hesaidatlast.

“ThatiswhatIsaidtoyouwhenyoutookJosepha,”saidCrevel.

“Look here,Crevel, it is impossible.Giveme someproof.—Have you akey,asIhave,toletyourselfin?”

Andhavingreachedthehouse,theBaronputthekeyintothelock;butthegatewasimmovable;hetriedinvaintoopenit.

“Do notmake a noise in the streets at night,” saidCrevel coolly. “I tellyou,Baron,Ihavefarbetterproofthanyoucanshow.”

“Proofs!givemeproof!”criedtheBaron,almostcrazywithexasperation.

“Come,andyoushallhavethem,”saidCrevel.

AndinobediencetoValerie’sinstructions,heledtheBaronawaytowardsthequay,downtheRueHillerin-Bertin.TheunhappyBaronwalkedon,asamerchantwalksonthedaybeforehestopspayment;hewaslostinconjecturesastothereasonsof thedepravityburiedinthedepthsofValerie’sheart,andstill believedhimself the victimof somepractical joke.As they crossed thePontRoyal,lifeseemedtohimsoblank,soutterlyavoid,andsooutofjointfromhisfinancialdifficulties,thathewaswithinanaceofyieldingtotheevilpromptingthatbidhimflingCrevelintotheriverandthrowhimselfinafter.

OnreachingtheRueduDauphin,whichhadnotyetbeenwidened,Crevelstopped before a door in a wall. It opened into a long corridor paved withblack-and-whitemarble,andservingasanentrance-hall,at theendofwhichtherewas a flight of stairs and a doorkeeper’s lodge, lighted from an innercourtyard,asisoftenthecaseinParis.Thiscourtyard,whichwassharedwithanother house, was oddly divided into two unequal portions. Crevel’s littlehouse,forheownedit,hadadditionalroomswithaglassskylight,builtoutonto the adjoining plot, under conditions that it should have no story addedabovethegroundfloor,sothatthestructurewasentirelyhiddenbythelodgeandtheprojectingmassofthestaircase.

Thisbackbuildinghadlongservedasastore-room,backshop,andkitchentooneoftheshopsfacingthestreet.Crevelhadcutoffthesethreeroomsfromthe rest of the ground floor, and Grindot had transformed them into aninexpensive private residence. There were two ways in—from the front,throughtheshopofafurniture-dealer,towhomCrevelletitatalowprice,andonly frommonth tomonth, soas tobeable toget ridofhim incaseofhistellingtales,andalsothroughadoorinthewallofthepassage,soingeniouslyhidden as to be almost invisible. The little apartment, comprising a dining-room,drawing-room,andbedroom,alllightedfromabove,andstandingpartlyonCrevel’s ground and partly on his neighbor’s,was very difficult to find.With the exception of the second-hand furniture-dealer, the tenants knewnothingoftheexistenceofthislittleparadise.

The doorkeeper, paid to keep Crevel’s secrets, was a capital cook. SoMonsieurleMairecouldgoinandoutofhisinexpensiveretreatatanyhourofthenightwithoutanyfearofbeingspiedupon.Byday,alady,dressedasPariswomen dress to go shopping, and having a key, ran no risk in coming toCrevel’s lodgings; she would stop to look at the cheapened goods, ask theprice, go into the shop, and come out again, without exciting the smallestsuspicionifanyoneshouldhappentomeether.

As soonasCrevelhad lighted thecandles in the sitting-room, theBaron

wassurprisedat theeleganceandrefinement itdisplayed.Theperfumerhadgiventhearchitectafreehand,andGrindothaddonehimselfcreditbyfittingsinthePompadourstyle,whichhadinfactcostsixtythousandfrancs.

“WhatIwant,”saidCreveltoGrindot,“isthataduchess,ifIbroughtonethere,shouldbesurprisedatit.”

HewantedtohaveaperfectParisianEdenforhisEve,his“reallady,”hisValerie,hisduchess.

“Therearetwobeds,”saidCreveltoHulot,showinghimasofathatcouldbemadewideenoughbypullingoutadrawer.“Thisisone,theotherisinthebedroom.Wecanbothspendthenighthere.”

“Proof!”wasalltheBaroncouldsay.

CreveltookaflatcandlestickandledHulotintotheadjoiningroom,wherehesaw,onasofa,asuperbdressing-gownbelongingtoValerie,whichhehadseenherwearintheRueVanneau,todisplayitbeforewearingitinCrevel’slittleapartment.TheMayorpressedthespringofalittlewriting-tableofinlaidwork,knownasabonheur-du-jour,andtookoutofitaletterthathehandedtotheBaron.

“Readthat,”saidhe.

TheCouncillorreadthesewordswritteninpencil:

“Ihavewaitedinvain,youoldwretch!Awomanofmyqualitydoesnotexpecttobekeptwaitingbyaretiredperfumer.Therewasnodinnerordered—nocigarettes.Iwillmakeyoupayforthis!”

“Well,isthatherwriting?”

“GoodGod!”gaspedHulot, sittingdown indismay. “I seeall the thingssheuses—hercaps,herslippers.Why,howlongsince—?”

Crevel nodded that he understood, and took a packet of bills out of thelittleinlaidcabinet.

“You can see, old man. I paid the decorators in December, 1838. InOctober,twomonthsbefore,thischarminglittleplacewasfirstused.”

Hulotbenthishead.

“Howthedevildoyoumanageit?Iknowhowshespendseveryhourofherday.”

“HowaboutherwalkintheTuileries?”saidCrevel,rubbinghishandsintriumph.

“Whatthen?”saidHulot,mystified.

“YourladylovecomestotheTuileries,sheissupposedtobeairingherselffromonetillfour.But,hop,skip,andjump,andsheishere.YouknowyourMoliere?Well,Baron,thereisnothingimaginaryinyourtitle.”

Hulot, left without a shred of doubt, sat sunk in ominous silence.Catastrophesleadintelligentandstrong-mindedmentobephilosophical.TheBaron,morally,wasatthismomentlikeamantryingtofindhiswaybynightthrough a forest. This gloomy taciturnity and the change in that dejectedcountenancemadeCrevel very uneasy, for he did notwish the death of hiscolleague.

“AsIsaid,oldfellow,wearenoweven;letusplayfortheodd.Willyouplayoffthetiebyhookandbycrook?Come!”

“Why,” said Hulot, talking to himself—“why is it that out of ten prettywomenatleastsevenarefalse?”

ButtheBaronwastoomuchupsettoanswerhisownquestion.Beautyisthegreatestofhumangiftsforpower.Everypowerthathasnocounterpoise,noautocraticcontrol, leadstoabusesandfolly.Despotismis themadnessofpower;inwomenthedespotiscaprice.

“Youhavenothing tocomplainof,mygoodfriend;youhaveabeautifulwife,andsheisvirtuous.”

“Ideservemy fate,” saidHulot. “I haveundervaluedmywife andmadehermiserable, and she is an angel!Oh,mypoorAdeline!youare avenged!Shesuffersinsolitudeandsilence,andsheisworthyofmylove;Iought—forshe is still charming, fair and girlish even—But was there ever a womanknownmorebase,moreignoble,morevillainousthanthisValerie?”

“She is a good-for-nothing slut,” said Crevel, “a hussy that deserveswhippingonthePlaceduChatelet.But,mydearCanillac,thoughwearesuchblades,soMarechaldeRichelieu,LouisXV.,Pompadour,MadameduBarry,gaydogs,andeverythingthatismosteighteenthcentury,thereisnolongeralieutenantofpolice.”

“How can wemake them love us?” Hulot wondered to himself withoutheedingCrevel.

“Itissheerfollyinustoexpecttobeloved,mydearfellow,”saidCrevel.“We can only be endured; for MadameMarneffe is a hundred times moreprofligatethanJosepha.”

“Andavaricious!shecostsmeahundredandninety-twothousandfrancsayear!”criedHulot.

“And how many centimes!” sneered Crevel, with the insolence of afinancierwhoscornssosmallasum.

“Youdonotloveher,thatisveryevident,”saidtheBarondolefully.

“I have had enough of her,” repliedCrevel, “for she has hadmore thanthreehundredthousandfrancsofmine!”

“Whereis it?Wheredoes itallgo?”said theBaron,claspinghisheadinhishands.

“Ifwehadcometoanagreement,likethesimpleyoungmenwhocombinetomaintainatwopennybaggage,shewouldhavecostusless.”

“That isanidea”!repliedtheBaron.“Butshewouldstillbecheatingus;for,myburlyfriend,whatdoyousaytothisBrazilian?”

“Ay,oldslyfox,youareright,weareswindledlike—likeshareholders!”saidCrevel.“Allsuchwomenareanunlimitedliability,andwethesleepingpartners.”

“Thenitwasshewhotoldyouaboutthecandleinthewindow?”

“My goodman,” replied Crevel, striking an attitude, “she has fooled usboth.Valerieisa—Shetoldmetokeepyouhere.—NowIseeitall.ShehasgotherBrazilian!—Oh,Ihavedonewithher, for ifyouholdherhands,shewouldfindawaytocheatyouwithherfeet!There!sheisaminx,ajade!”

“She is lower than a prostitute,” said the Baron. “Josepha and JennyCadinewereintheirrightswhentheywerefalsetous; theymakeatradeoftheircharms.”

“Butshe,whoaffectsthesaint—theprude!”saidCrevel.“Itellyouwhat,Hulot,doyougobacktoyourwife;yourmoneymattersarenotlookingwell;Ihaveheardtalkofcertainnotesofhandgiventoalowusurerwhosespeciallineofbusinessislendingtothesesluts,amannamedVauvinet.Formypart,Iamcuredofyour ‘real ladies.’And,afterall,atour timeof lifewhatdowewant of these swindling hussies, who, to be honest, cannot help playing usfalse?Youhavewhitehairandfalseteeth;IamoftheshapeofSilenus.Ishallgo in for saving.Moneyneverdeceivesone.Though theTreasury is indeedopen to all the world twice a year, it pays you interest, and this womanswallows it.With you, myworthy friend, as Gubetta, as my partner in theconcern,Imighthaveresignedmyselftoashadybargain—no,aphilosophicalcalm. But with a Brazilian who has possibly smuggled in some doubtfulcolonialproduce——”

“Womanisaninexplicablecreature!”saidHulot.

“Icanexplainher,”saidCrevel.“Weareold; theBrazilian isyoungandhandsome.”

“Yes;that,Iown,istrue,”saidHulot;“weareolderthanwewere.But,my

dear fellow, how is one to do without these pretty creatures—seeing themundress, twist up their hair, smile cunningly through their fingers as theyscrewup their curl-papers, putonall their airs andgraces, tell all their lies,declarethatwedon’tlovethemwhenweareworriedwithbusiness;andtheycheerusinspiteofeverything.”

“Yes,bythePower!Itistheonlypleasureinlife!”criedCrevel.“Whenasaucy littlemugsmilesatyouandsays, ‘Myolddear,youdon’tknowhowniceyouare!Iamnotlikeotherwomen,Isuppose,whogocrazyovermereboyswithgoats’beards,smellingofsmoke,andascoarseasserving-men!Forin their youth they are so insolent!—They come in and they bid you good-morning,andouttheygo.—I,whomyouthinksuchaflirt,Ipreferamanoffiftytothesebrats.Amanwhowillstickbyme,whoisdevoted,whoknowsawomanisnottobepickedupeveryday,andappreciatesus.—ThatiswhatIlove you for, you old monster!’—and they fill up these avowals with littlepettings and prettinesses and—Faugh! they are as false as the bills on theHoteldeVille.”

“Alieissometimesbetterthanthetruth,”saidHulot,rememberingsundrybewitching scenes called up by Crevel, who mimicked Valerie. “They areobligedtoactupontheirlies,tosewspanglesontheirstagefrocks—”

“Andtheyareours,afterall,thelyingjades!”saidCrevelcoarsely.

“Valerieisawitch,”saidtheBaron.“Shecanturnanoldmanintoayoungone.”

“Oh,yes!”saidCrevel,“sheisaneelthatwrigglesthroughyourhands;butthe prettiest eel, as white and sweet as sugar, as amusing as Arnal—andingenious!”

“Yes,sheisfulloffun,”saidHulot,whohadnowquiteforgottenhiswife.

Thecolleagueswent tobedthebestfriendsin theworld,remindingeachother ofValerie’s perfections, the tones of her voice, her kittenishway, hermovements,herfun,hersalliesofwit,andofaffections;forshewasanartistinlove,andhadcharmingimpulses,astenorsmaysingascenabetteronedaythananother.Andtheyfellasleep,cradledintemptinganddiabolicalvisionslightedbythefiresofhell.

Atnineo’clocknextmorningHulotwentofftotheWarOffice,Crevelhadbusinessoutoftown;theyleftthehousetogether,andCrevelheldouthishandtotheBaron,saying:

“To show that there is no ill-feeling. For we, neither of us, will haveanythingmoretosaytoMadameMarneffe?”

“Oh,thisistheendofeverything,”repliedHulotwithasortofhorror.

By half-past ten Crevel was mounting the stairs, four at a time, up toMadameMarneffe’s apartment.He found the infamouswretch, the adorableenchantress,inthemostbecomingmorningwrapper,enjoyinganelegantlittlebreakfast in the society of the Baron Montes de Montejanos and Lisbeth.ThoughthesightoftheBraziliangavehimashock,CrevelbeggedMadameMarneffe togranthim twominutes’ speechwithher.Valerie ledCrevel intothedrawing-room.

“Valerie,myangel,”saidtheamorousMayor,“MonsieurMarneffecannothave long to live. If you will be faithful to me, when he dies we will bemarried.Thinkitover.IhaveridyouofHulot.—SojustconsiderwhetherthisBrazilianistocomparewithaMayorofParis,amanwho,foryoursake,willmakehiswaytothehighestdignities,andwhocanalreadyofferyoueighty-oddthousandfrancsayear.”

“Iwillthinkitover,”saidshe.“YouwillseemeintheRueduDauphinattwoo’clock,andwecandiscuss thematter.Butbeagoodboy—anddonotforgetthebondyoupromisedtotransfertome.”

Shereturnedtothedining-room,followedbyCrevel,whoflatteredhimselfthat he had hit on a plan for keepingValerie to himself; but there he foundBaronHulot,who,duringthisshortcolloquy,hadalsoarrivedwiththesameendinview.He,likeCrevel,beggedforabriefinterview.MadameMarneffeagainrosetogotothedrawing-room,withasmileattheBrazilianthatseemedtosay,“Whatfoolstheyare!Cannottheyseeyou?”

“Valerie,”saidtheofficial,“mychild,thatcousinofyoursisanAmericancousin—”

“Oh, that is enough!” she cried, interrupting theBaron. “Marneffe neverhasbeen,andneverwillbe,nevercanbemyhusband!Thefirst,theonlymanI ever loved, has come back quite unexpectedly. It is no fault ofmine!ButlookatHenriandlookatyourself.Thenaskyourselfwhetherawoman,andawoman in love, canhesitate for amoment.Mydear fellow, I amnotakeptmistress.FromthisdayforthIrefusetoplaythepartofSusannahbetweenthetwoElders.Ifyoureallycareforme,youandCrevel,youwillbeourfriends;butallelseisatanend,forIamsix-and-twenty,andhenceforthImeantobeasaint,anadmirableandworthywife—asyoursis.”

“Is that what you have to say?” answered Hulot. “Is this the way youreceivemewhen I come like a Popewithmy hands full of Indulgences?—Well, your husbandwill never be a first-class clerk, nor be promoted in theLegionofHonor.”

“Thatremainstobeseen,”saidMadameMarneffe,withameaninglookatHulot.

“Well,well,notemper,”saidHulotindespair.“Iwillcallthisevening,andwewillcometoanunderstanding.”

“InLisbeth’sroomsthen.”

“Verygood—atLisbeth’s,”saidtheolddotard.

Hulot and Crevel went downstairs togetherwithout speaking aword tilltheywereinthestreet;butoutsideonthesidewalktheylookedateachotherwithadrearylaugh.

“Weareacoupleofoldfools,”saidCrevel.

“I have got rid of them,” saidMadameMarneffe to Lisbeth, as she satdown once more. “I never loved and I never shall love any man but myJaguar,” she added, smiling at HenriMontes. “Lisbeth, my dear, you don’tknow.HenrihasforgivenmetheinfamytowhichIwasreducedbypoverty.”

“It was my own fault,” said the Brazilian. “I ought to have sent you ahundredthousandfrancs.”

“Poor boy!” said Valerie; “I might have worked for my living, but myfingerswerenotmadeforthat—askLisbeth.”

TheBrazilianwentawaythehappiestmaninParis.

AtnoonValerieandLisbethwerechattinginthesplendidbedroomwherethisdangerouswomanwasgivingtoherdressthosefinishingtoucheswhichaladyalonecangive.Thedoorswerebolted,thecurtainsdrawnoverthem,andValerie related in every detail all the events of the evening, the night, themorning.

“What do you think of it all, my darling?” she said to Lisbeth inconclusion. “Which shall I be when the time comes—Madame Crevel, orMadameMontes?”

“Crevel will not last more than ten years, such a profligate as he is,”repliedLisbeth.“Montesisyoung.Crevelwillleaveyouaboutthirtythousandfrancsayear.LetMonteswait;hewillbehappyenoughasBenjamin.Andso,bythetimeyouarethree-and-thirty,ifyoutakecareofyourlooks,youmaymarryyourBrazilianandmakeafineshowwithsixtythousandfrancsayearofyourown—especiallyunderthewingofaMarechale.”

“Yes,butMontes isaBrazilian;hewillnevermakehismark,”observedValerie.

“We live in the day of railways,” said Lisbeth, “when foreigners rise tohighpositionsinFrance.”

“Weshallsee,”repliedValerie,“whenMarneffeisdead.Hehasnotmuch

longertosuffer.”

“These attacks that return so often are a sort of physical remorse,” saidLisbeth.“Well,IamofftoseeHortense.”

“Yes—go,my angel!” repliedValerie. “And bringmemy artist.—Threeyears,andIhavenotgainedaninchofground!Itisadisgracetobothofus!—WenceslasandHenri—thesearemytwopassions—oneforlove,theotherforfancy.”

“You are lovely this morning,” said Lisbeth, putting her arm roundValerie’swaistandkissingherforehead.“Ienjoyallyourpleasures,yourgoodfortune, your dresses—I never really lived till the day when we becamesisters.”

“Wait a moment, my tiger-cat!” cried Valerie, laughing; “your shawl iscrooked.Youcannotputashawlonyetinspiteofmylessonsforthreeyears—andyouwanttobeMadamelaMarechaleHulot!”

Shod inprunellaboots,overgraysilk stockings, inagownofhandsomecordedsilk,herhairinsmoothbandsunderaveryprettyblackvelvetbonnet,linedwithyellowsatin,LisbethmadeherwaytotheRueSaint-DominiquebytheBoulevarddesInvalides,wonderingwhethersheerdejectionwouldatlastbreakdownHortense’sbravespirit,andwhetherSarmatianinstability,takenatamomentwhen,with suchacharacter, everything ispossible,wouldbe toomuchforSteinbock’sconstancy.

Hortense andWenceslas had the ground floor of a house situated at thecorner of the Rue Saint-Dominique and the Esplanade des Invalides. Theserooms, once in harmonywith the honeymoon, now had that half-new, half-fadedlookthatmaybecalledtheautumnalaspectoffurniture.Newlymarriedfolks are as lavish and wasteful, without knowing it or intending it, ofeverything about them as they are of their affection. Thinking only ofthemselves,theyrecklittleofthefuture,which,atalatertime,weighsonthemotherofafamily.

LisbethfoundHortensejustasshehadfinisheddressingababyWenceslas,whohadbeencarriedintothegarden.

“Good-morning, Betty,” said Hortense, opening the door herself to hercousin. The cook was gone out, and the house-servant, who was also thenurse,wasdoingsomewashing.

“Good-morning,dearchild,”repliedLisbeth,kissingher.“IsWenceslasinthestudio?”sheaddedinawhisper.

“No;heisinthedrawing-roomtalkingtoStidmannandChanor.”

“Canwebealone?”askedLisbeth.

“Comeintomyroom.”

Inthisroom,thehangingsofpink-floweredchintzwithgreenleavesonawhite ground, constantly exposed to the sun, weremuch faded, as was thecarpet.Themuslincurtainshadnotbeenwashedformanyaday.Thesmelloftobaccohungabouttheroom;forWenceslas,nowanartistofrepute,andbornafinegentleman,lefthiscigar-ashonthearmsofthechairsandtheprettiestpieces of furniture, as aman does towhom love allows everything—amanrichenoughtoscornvulgarcarefulness.

“Now, then, letus talkoveryour affairs,” saidLisbeth, seeingherprettycousinsilentinthearmchairintowhichshehaddropped.“Butwhatailsyou?Youlookratherpale,mydear.”

“TwoarticleshavejustcomeoutinwhichmypoorWenceslasispulledtopieces; I have read them,but I havehidden them fromhim, for theywouldcompletely depress him. The marble statue of Marshal Montcornet ispronouncedutterlybad.Thebas-reliefsareallowedtopassmuster,simplytoallowof themostperfidiouspraiseofhis talentasadecorativeartist,andtogive thegreateremphasis to thestatement that seriousart isquiteoutofhisreach! Stidmann, whom I besought to tell me the truth, brokemy heart byconfessing thathisownopinionagreedwith thatofeveryotherartist,of thecritics, and the public. He said to me in the garden before breakfast, ‘IfWenceslascannotexhibit amasterpiecenext season,hemustgiveupheroicsculpture and be content to execute idyllic subjects, small figures, pieces ofjewelry,andhigh-classgoldsmiths’work!’Thisverdictisdreadfultome,forWenceslas,Iknow,willneveracceptit;hefeelshehassomanyfineideas.”

“Ideaswillnotpaythetradesman’sbills,”remarkedLisbeth.“Iwasalwaystellinghimso—nothingbutmoney.Moneyisonlytobehadforworkdone—thingsthatordinaryfolkslikewellenoughtobuythem.Whenanartisthastoliveandkeepafamily,hehadfarbetterhaveadesignforacandlestickonhiscounter,orforafenderoratable,thanforgroupsorstatues.Everybodymusthavesuchthings,whilehemaywaitmonthsfortheadmirerofthegroup—andforhismoney—-”

“Youareright,mygoodLisbeth.Tellhimallthat;Ihavenotthecourage.—Besides,ashewassayingtoStidmann,ifhegoesbacktoornamentalworkandsmallsculpture,hemustgiveupallhopeoftheInstituteandgrandworksofart,andweshouldnotgetthethreehundredthousandfrancs’worthofworkpromisedatVersaillesandbytheCityofParisandtheMinisters.Thatiswhatwearerobbedofbythosedreadfularticles,writtenbyrivalswhowanttostepintoourshoes.”

“And that is not what you dreamed of, poor little puss!” said Lisbeth,kissingHortenseonthebrow.“Youexpectedtofindagentleman,aleaderof

Art, the chief of all living sculptors.—But that is poetry, you see, a dreamrequiring fifty thousand francsayear, andyouhaveonly two thousand fourhundred—solongasIlive.Aftermydeaththreethousand.”

AfewtearsrosetoHortense’seyes,andLisbethdrankthemwithhereyesasacatlapsmilk.

Thisisthestoryoftheirhoneymoon—thetalewillperhapsnotbelostonsomeartists.

Intellectualwork,laborintheupperregionsofmentaleffort,isoneofthegrandestachievementsofman.ThatwhichdeservesrealgloryinArt—forbyArt we must understand every creation of the mind—is courage above allthings—asortofcourageofwhichthevulgarhavenoconception,andwhichhasneverperhapsbeendescribedtillnow.

Drivenby thedreadfulstressofpoverty,goadedbyLisbeth,andkeptbyherinblinders,asahorseis,tohinderitfromseeingtotherightandleftofitsroad,lashedonbythathardwoman,thepersonificationofNecessity,asortofdeputy Fate, Wenceslas, a born poet and dreamer, had gone on fromconception to execution, and overleaped, without sounding it, the gulf thatdividesthesetwohemispheresofArt.Tomuse,todream,toconceiveoffineworks,isadelightfuloccupation.It is likesmokingamagiccigarorleadingthelifeofacourtesanwhofollowsherownfancy.Theworkthenfloatsinallthegraceofinfancy,inthemadjoyofconception,withthefragrantbeautyofaflower,andthearomaticjuicesofafruitenjoyedinanticipation.

Themanwhocansketchhispurposebeforehandinwordsisregardedasawonder, and every artist and writer possesses that faculty. But gestation,fruition,thelaboriousrearingoftheoffspring,puttingittobedeverynightfullfed with milk, embracing it anew every morning with the inexhaustibleaffectionofamother’sheart,lickingitclean,dressingitahundredtimesintherichestgarbonlytobeinstantlydestroyed;thennevertobecastdownattheconvulsionsofthisheadlonglifetillthelivingmasterpieceisperfectedwhichinsculpturespeakstoeveryeye,inliteraturetoeveryintellect,inpaintingtoeverymemory, inmusic to every heart!—This is the task of execution.Thehandmustbereadyateveryinstanttocomeforwardandobeythebrain.Butthebrainhasnomoreacreativepoweratcommandthanlovehasaperennialspring.

The habit of creativeness, the indefatigable love of motherhood whichmakes a mother—that miracle of nature which Raphael so perfectlyunderstood—the maternity of the brain, in short, which is so difficult todevelop,islostwithprodigiousease.Inspirationistheopportunityofgenius.Shedoesnotindeeddanceontherazor’sedge,sheisintheairandfliesawaywiththesuspiciousswiftnessofacrow;shewearsnoscarfbywhichthepoet

canclutchher;herhairisaflame;shevanisheslikethelovelyroseandwhiteflamingo, the sportsman’s despair. And work, again, is a weariful struggle,alike dreaded and delighted in by these lofty and powerful natureswho areoften broken by it. A great poet of our day has said in speaking of thisoverwhelminglabor,“Isitdowntoitindespair,butIleaveitwithregret.”Beitknowntoallwhoareignorant!IftheartistdoesnotthrowhimselfintohisworkasCurtiussprangintothegulf,asasoldierleadsaforlornhopewithoutamoment’sthought,andifwhenheisinthecraterhedoesnotdigonasaminerdoeswhen the earthhas fallen inonhim; if he contemplates thedifficultiesbefore him instead of conquering them one by one, like the lovers in fairytales,whotowintheirprincessesovercomeevernewenchantments,theworkremains incomplete; it perishes in the studio where creativeness becomesimpossible,andtheartistlooksonatthesuicideofhisowntalent.

Rossini,abrothergeniustoRaphael,isastrikinginstanceinhispoverty-strickenyouth,comparedwithhislatteryearsofopulence.Thisisthereasonwhy the same prize, the same triumph, the same bays are awarded to greatpoetsandtogreatgenerals.

Wenceslas, by nature a dreamer, had expended so much energy inproduction,instudy,andinworkunderLisbeth’sdespoticrule,thatloveandhappiness resulted in reaction. His real character reappeared, the weakness,recklessness, and indolence of the Sarmatian returned to nestle in thecomfortable corners of his soul, whence the schoolmaster’s rod had routedthem.

Forthefirstfewmonthstheartistadoredhiswife.HortenseandWenceslasabandoned themselves to the happy childishness of a legitimate andunbounded passion. Hortense was the first to release her husband from hislabors, proud to triumph over her rival, his Art. And, indeed, a woman’scaressesscareawaytheMuse,andbreakdownthesturdy,brutalresolutionoftheworker.

Sixor sevenmonthsslippedby,and theartist’s fingershad forgotten theuseofthemodelingtool.Whentheneedforworkbegantobefelt,whenthePrincedeWissembourg, president of the committee of subscribers, asked toseethestatue,Wenceslasspoketheinevitablebywordoftheidler,“Iamjustgoingtoworkonit,”andhelulledhisdearHortensewithfallaciouspromisesand themagnificent schemes of the artist as he smokes.Hortense loved herpoetmorethanever;shedreamedofasublimestatueofMarshalMontcornet.Montcornetwouldbe theembodied idealofbravery, the typeof thecavalryofficer,ofcouragealaMurat.Yes,yes;atthemeresightofthatstatuealltheEmperor’s victories were to seem a foregone conclusion. And then suchworkmanship!Thepencilwasaccommodatingandansweredtotheword.

BywayofastatuetheresultwasadelightfullittleWenceslas.

WhentheprogressofaffairsrequiredthatheshouldgotothestudioatleGros-Cailloutomouldtheclayandsetupthelife-sizemodel,Steinbockfoundone day that the Prince’s clock required his presence in the workshop ofFlorentandChanor,wherethefigureswerebeingfinished;or,again,thelightwasgrayanddull;to-dayhehadbusinesstodo,to-morrowtheyhadafamilydinner,tosaynothingofindispositionsofmindandbody,andthedayswhenhestayedathometotoywithhisadoredwife.

MarshalthePrincedeWissembourgwasobligedtobeangrytogettheclaymodelfinished;hedeclaredthathemustputtheworkintootherhands.Itwasonly by dint of endless complaints and much strong language that thecommitteeof subscribers succeeded in seeing theplaster-cast.DayafterdaySteinbockcamehome,evidently tired,complainingof this“hodman’swork”andhis ownphysicalweakness.During that first year thehousehold felt nopinch; theCountess Steinbock, desperately in lovewith her husband cursedtheWarMinister.Shewent to seehim; she toldhim thatgreatworksof artwerenottobemanufacturedlikecannon;andthattheState—likeLouisXIV.,Francis I., and Leo X.—ought to be at the beck and call of genius. PoorHortense,believingsheheldaPhidiasinherembrace,hadthesortofmotherlycowardiceforherWenceslasthatisineverywifewhocarriesherlovetothepitchofidolatry.

“Do not be hurried,” said she to her husband, “our whole future life isboundupwiththatstatue.Takeyourtimeandproduceamasterpiece.”

Shewouldgotothestudio,andthentheenrapturedSteinbockwastedfivehoursoutof seven indescribing the statue insteadofworkingat it.He thusspenteighteenmonthsinfinishingthedesign,whichtohimwasall-important.

When the plasterwas cast and themodel complete, poorHortense,whohad lookedon at her husband’s toil, seeinghis health really suffer from theexertions which exhaust a sculptor’s frame and arms and hands—Hortensethoughttheresultadmirable.Herfather,whoknewnothingofsculpture,andhermother, no less ignorant, lauded it as a triumph; theWarMinister camewiththemtoseeit,and,overruledbythem,expressedapprovalofthefigure,standingasitdidalone,inafavorablelight,thrownupagainstagreenbaizebackground.

Alas!attheexhibitionof1841,thedisapprobationofthepublicsoontookthe form of abuse andmockery in themouths of thosewhowere indignantwiththeidoltoohastilysetupforworship.Stidmanntriedtoadvisehisfriend,butwasaccusedofjealousy.EveryarticleinanewspaperwastoHortenseanoutcry of envy. Stidmann, the best of good fellows, got articles written, inwhichadversecriticismwascontravened,anditwaspointedoutthatsculptors

altered theirworks in translating theplaster intomarble,and that themarblewouldbethetest.

“In reproducing the plaster sketch in marble,” wrote Claude Vignon, “amasterpiecemayberuined,orabaddesignmadebeautiful.Theplasteristhemanuscript,themarbleisthebook.”

SointwoyearsandahalfWenceslashadproducedastatueandason.Thechildwasapictureofbeauty;thestatuewasexecrable.

The clock for the Prince and the price of the statue paid off the youngcouple’sdebts.Steinbockhadacquiredfashionablehabits;hewenttotheplay,to theopera;he talked admirably about art; and in the eyesof theworldhemaintainedhis reputationasagreatartistbyhispowersofconversationandcriticism.TherearemanyclevermeninPariswhospendtheirlivesintalkingthemselves out, and are content with a sort of drawing-room celebrity.Steinbock, emulating these emasculated but charmingmen, grew every daymoreaversetohardwork.Assoonashebeganathing,hewasconsciousofall its difficulties, and thediscouragement that cameoverhimenervatedhiswill.Inspiration,thefrenzyofintellectualprocreation,flewswiftlyawayatthesightofthiseffetelover.

Sculpture—likedramaticart—isatoncethemostdifficultandtheeasiestofallarts.Youhavebuttocopyamodel,andthetaskisdone;buttogiveitasoul, to make it typical by creating a man or a woman—this is the sin ofPrometheus.Suchtriumphsintheannalsofsculpturemaybecounted,aswemaycountthefewpoetsamongmen.MichaelAngelo,MichelColumb,JeanGoujon,Phidias,Praxiteles,Polycletes,Puget,Canova,AlbertDurer,are thebrothers ofMilton, Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare, Tasso, Homer, andMoliere.And such an achievement is so stupendous that a single statue is enough tomake a man immortal, as Figaro, Lovelace, and Manon Lescaut haveimmortalizedBeaumarchais,Richardson,andtheAbbePrevost.

Superficialthinkers—andtherearemanyintheartistworld—haveassertedthat sculpture lives only by the nude, that it diedwith theGreeks, and thatmodernvesturemakesitimpossible.But,inthefirstplace,theAncientshaveleft sublime statues entirely clothed—the Polyhymnia, the Julia, and others,andwehavenotfoundone-tenthofalltheirworks;andthen,letanyloverofartgotoFlorenceandseeMichaelAngelo’sPenseroso,ortotheCathedralofMainz, and behold the Virgin by Albert Durer, who has created a livingwomanoutofebony,underherthreefolddrapery,withthemostflowing,thesoftesthairthateverawaiting-maidcombedthrough;letalltheignorantflockthither, and theywill acknowledge that genius can givemind to drapery, toarmor,toarobe,andfillitwithabody,justasamanleavesthestampofhisindividualityandhabitsoflifeontheclotheshewears.

Sculpture is the perpetual realization of the fact which once, and neveragain,was,inpaintingcalledRaphael!

The solution of this hard problem is to be found only in constantpersevering toil; for,merely toovercome thematerial difficulties to suchanextent, the hand must be so practised, so dexterous and obedient, that thesculptormaybe free to struggle soul to soulwith theelusivemoralelementthathehastotransfigureasheembodiesit.IfPaganini,whoutteredhissoulthrough the stringsofhisviolin, spent threedayswithoutpractising,he lostwhathecalledthestopsofhisinstrument,meaningthesympathybetweenthewoodenframe,thestrings,thebow,andhimself;ifhehadlostthisalliance,hewouldhavebeennomorethananordinaryplayer.

Perpetualworkisthelawofart,asitisthelawoflife,forartisidealizedcreation.Hencegreatartistsandperfectpoetswaitneitherforcommissionnorforpurchasers.Theyareconstantlycreating—to-day,to-morrow,always.Theresultisthehabitofwork,theunfailingapprehensionofthedifficultieswhichkeep them in close intercourse with the Muse and her productive forces.Canovalivedinhisstudio,asVoltairelivedinhisstudy;andsomustHomerandPhidiashavelived.

WhileLisbethkeptWenceslasSteinbockinthraldominhisgarret,hewasonthethornyroadtroddenbyall thesegreatmen,whichleadstotheAlpineheightsofglory.Thenhappiness, in thepersonofHortense,hadreducedthepoettoidleness—thenormalconditionofallartists,sincetothemidlenessisfullyoccupied.Theirjoyissuchasthatofthepashaofaseraglio;theyrevelwith ideas, they get drunk at the founts of intellect. Great artists, such asSteinbock,wrapped in reverie, are rightly spokenof asdreamers.They, likeopium-eaters, all sink into poverty,whereas if they had been kept up to themarkbythesterndemandsoflife,theymighthavebeengreatmen.

Atthesametime,thesehalf-artistsaredelightful;menlikethemandcramthemwith praise; they even seem superior to the true artists,who are taxedwith conceit, unsociableness, contempt of the laws of society. This is why:Greatmenaretheslavesoftheirwork.Theirindifferencetoouterthings,theirdevotiontotheirwork,makesimpletonsregardthemasegotists,andtheyareexpectedtowearthesamegarbasthedandywhofulfilsthetrivialevolutionscalledsocialduties.ThesemenwantthelionsoftheAtlastobecombedandscentedlikealady’spoodle.

These artists,who are too rarelymatched tomeet their fellows, fall intohabitsofsolitaryexclusiveness; theyare inexplicable to themajority,which,asweknow, consistsmostly of fools—of the envious, the ignorant, and thesuperficial.

Nowyoumay imaginewhat part awife should play in the life of these

gloriousandexceptionalbeings.Sheoughttobewhat,forfiveyears,Lisbethhadbeen,butwiththeaddedofferingoflove,humbleandpatientlove,alwaysreadyandalwayssmiling.

Hortense, enlightened by her anxieties as a mother, and driven by direnecessity,haddiscoveredtoolatethemistakesshehadbeeninvoluntarilyledintobyherexcessivelove.Still,theworthydaughterofhermother,herheartachedatthethoughtofworryingWenceslas;shelovedherdearpoettoomuchtobecomehistorturer;andshecouldforeseethehourwhenbeggaryawaitedher,herchild,andherhusband.

“Come, come, my child,” said Lisbeth, seeing the tears in her cousin’slovelyeyes,“youmustnotdespair.Aglassfuloftearswillnotbuyaplateofsoup.Howmuchdoyouwant?”

“Well,fiveorsixthousandfrancs.”

“I have but three thousand at the most,” said Lisbeth. “And what isWenceslasdoingnow?”

“He has had an offer to work in partnership with Stidmann at a tableservice for the Duc d’Herouville for six thousand francs. Then MonsieurChanorwilladvancefourthousandtorepayMonsieurdeLoraandBridau—adebtofhonor.”

“What, you have had the money for the statue and the bas-reliefs forMarshalMontcornet’smonument,andyouhavenotpaidthemyet?”

“Forthelastthreeyears,”saidHortense,“wehavespenttwelvethousandfrancsayear,andIhavebutahundredlouisayearofmyown.TheMarshal’smonument,whenalltheexpenseswerepaid,broughtusnomorethansixteenthousandfrancs.Reallyand truly, ifWenceslasgetsnowork, Idonotknowwhat is tobecomeofus.Oh, if only I could learn tomake statues, Iwouldhandletheclay!”shecried,holdingupherfinearms.

Thewoman,itwasplain,fulfilledthepromiseofthegirl;therewasaflashinhereye;impetuousblood,strongwithiron,flowedinherveins;shefeltthatshewaswastingherenergyincarryingherinfant.

“Ah,mypoorlittlething!asensiblegirlshouldnotmarryanartisttillhisfortuneismade—notwhileitisstilltomake.”

At thismoment theyheardvoices;StidmannandWenceslaswere seeingChanortothedoor;thenWenceslasandStidmanncameinagain.

Stidmann,anartistinvogueintheworldofjournalists,famousactresses,andcourtesansofthebetterclass,wasayoungmanoffashionwhomValeriemuchwishedtoseeinherrooms; indeed,hehadalreadybeenintroducedtoher by Claude Vignon. Stidmann had lately broken off an intimacy with

MadameSchontz,whohadmarriedsomemonthssinceandgonetoliveinthecountry.Valerie andLisbeth, hearing of this upheaval fromClaudeVignon,thoughtitwelltogetSteinbock’sfriendtovisitintheRueVanneau.

Stidmann, out of good feeling,went rarely to the Steinbocks’; and as ithappened that Lisbeth was not present when he was introduced by ClaudeVignon,shenowsawhimforthefirsttime.Asshewatchedthisnotedartist,shecaughtcertainglancesfromhiseyesatHortense,whichsuggestedtoherthepossibilityofofferinghim to theCountessSteinbockas a consolation ifWenceslasshouldbefalsetoher.Inpointoffact,StidmannwasreflectingthatifSteinbockwerenothis friend,Hortense, theyoungandsuperblybeautifulcountess,wouldbeanadorablemistress;itwasthisverynotion,controlledbyhonor, that kept him away from the house. Lisbeth was quick to mark thesignificantawkwardnessthattroublesamaninthepresenceofawomanwithwhomhewillnotallowhimselftoflirt.

“Verygood-looking—thatyoungman,”saidsheinawhispertoHortense.

“Oh,doyouthinkso?”shereplied.“Inevernoticedhim.”

“Stidmann,mygoodfellow,”saidWenceslas,inanundertonetohisfriend,“weareonnoceremony,youandI—wehavesomebusinesstosettlewiththisoldgirl.”

Stidmannbowedtotheladiesandwentaway.

“It is settled,” said Wenceslas, when he came in from taking leave ofStidmann. “But there are six months’ work to be done, and we must livemeanwhile.”

“Therearemydiamonds,”cried theyoungCountess,with the impetuousheroismofalovingwoman.

AtearroseinWenceslas’eye.

“Oh,Iamgoingtowork,”saidhe,sittingdownbyhiswifeanddrawingherontohisknee.“Iwilldooddjobs—aweddingchest,bronzegroups——”

“But,mychildren,”saidLisbeth;“for,asyouknow,youwillbemyheirs,and I shall leaveyou avery comfortable sum,believeme, especially if youhelpmetomarrytheMarshal;nay, ifwesucceedinthatquickly,Iwill takeyou all to board with me—you and Adeline. We should live very happilytogether.—Butforthemoment,listentothevoiceofmylongexperience.DonotflytotheMont-de-Piete;itistheruinoftheborrower.Ihavealwaysfoundthatwhentheinterestwasdue,thosewhohadpledgedtheirthingshadnothingwherewithtopayup,andthenallislost.Icangetyoualoanatfivepercentonyournoteofhand.”

“Oh,wearesaved!”saidHortense.

“Well, then, child,Wenceslashadbetter comewithme to see the lender,whowillobligehimatmyrequest.ItisMadameMarneffe.Ifyouflatterheralittle—forsheisasvainasaparvenue—shewillgetyououtofthescrapeinthemostobligingway.Comeyourselfandseeher,mydearHortense.”

Hortenselookedatherhusbandwiththeexpressionamancondemnedtodeathmustwearonhiswaytothescaffold.

“Claude Vignon took Stidmann there,” saidWenceslas. “He says it is averypleasanthouse.”

Hortense’sheadfell.Whatshefeltcanonlybeexpressedinoneword; itwasnotpain;itwasillness.

“But, my dear Hortense, you must learn something of life!” exclaimedLisbeth,understanding theeloquenceofher cousin’s looks. “Otherwise, likeyourmother,youwillfindyourselfabandonedinadesertedroom,whereyouwillweeplikeCalypsoonthedepartureofUlysses,andatanagewhenthereis no hope of Telemachus—” she added, repeating a jest of MadameMarneffe’s.“Wehavetoregardthepeopleintheworldastoolswhichwecanmakeuseofor letalone,accordingas theycanserveour turn.MakeuseofMadameMarneffenow,mydears,andletheralonebyandby.AreyouafraidlestWenceslas,whoworshipsyou,shouldfall in lovewithawomanfourorfiveyearsolderthanhimself,asyellowasabundleoffieldpeas,and——?”

“I would far rather pawn my diamonds,” said Hortense. “Oh, never gothere,Wenceslas!—Itishell!”

“Hortenseisright,”saidSteinbock,kissinghiswife.

“Thank you, my dearest,” said Hortense, delighted. “My husband is anangel,yousee,Lisbeth.Hedoesnotgamble,hegoesnowherewithoutme;ifheonlycouldsticktowork—oh,Ishouldbetoohappy.Whytakeusonshowto my father’s mistress, a woman who is ruining him and is the cause oftroublesthatarekillingmyheroicmother?”

“Mychild,thatisnotwherethecauseofyourfather’sruinlies.Itwashissingerwho ruined him, and then yourmarriage!” replied her cousin. “Blessme!why,MadameMarneffeisofthegreatestusetohim.However,Imusttellnotales.”

“Youhaveagoodwordforeverybody,dearBetty—”

Hortensewascalledintothegardenbyhearingthechildcry;LisbethwasleftalonewithWenceslas.

“Youhaveanangelforyourwife,Wenceslas!”saidshe.“Loveherasyouought;nevergivehercauseforgrief.”

“Yes, indeed, I love her so well that I do not tell her all,” repliedWenceslas;“buttoyou,Lisbeth,Imayconfessthetruth.—IfItookmywife’sdiamondstotheMonte-de-Piete,weshouldbenofurtherforward.”

“Then borrow ofMadameMarneffe,” said Lisbeth. “Persuade Hortense,Wenceslas,toletyougothere,orelse,blessme!gotherewithouttellingher.”

“That iswhat Iwas thinkingof,” repliedWenceslas,“when I refused forfearofgrievingHortense.”

“Listen to me; I care too much for you both not to warn you of yourdanger.Ifyougothere,holdyourhearttightinbothhands,forthewomanisawitch.Allwhoseeheradoreher;sheissowicked,soinviting!Shefascinatesmen like a masterpiece. Borrow her money, but do not leave your soul inpledge.IshouldneverbehappyagainifyouwerefalsetoHortense—heresheis!notanotherword!Iwillsettlethematter.”

“KissLisbeth,mydarling,”saidWenceslastohiswife.“Shewillhelpusoutofourdifficultiesbylendingushersavings.”

AndhegaveLisbethalookwhichsheunderstood.

“Then,Ihopeyoumeantowork,mydeartreasure,”saidHortense.

“Yes,indeed,”saidtheartist.“Iwillbeginto-morrow.”

“To-morrowisourruin!”saidhiswife,withasmile.

“Now,mydearchild!sayyourselfwhethersomehindrancehasnotcomeinthewayeveryday;someobstacleorbusiness?”

“Yes,verytrue,mylove.”

“Here!”criedSteinbock,strikinghisbrow,“hereIhaveswarmsofideas!Imeantoastonishallmyenemies.IamgoingtodesignaserviceintheGermanstyleofthesixteenthcentury;theromanticstyle:foliagetwinedwithinsects,sleepingchildren,newlyinventedmonsters,chimeras—realchimeras,suchaswedreamof!—Iseeitall!Itwillbeundercut,light,andyetcrowded.Chanorwasquiteamazed.—AndIwantedsomeencouragement,forthelastarticleonMontcornet’smonumenthadbeencrushing.”

Atamoment in thecourseof thedaywhenLisbethandWenceslaswerelefttogether,theartistagreedtogoonthemorrowtoseeMadameMarneffe—heeitherwouldwinhiswife’sconsent,orhewouldgowithouttellingher.

Valerie, informed the same evening of this success, insisted that HulotshouldgotoinviteStidmann,ClaudeVignon,andSteinbocktodinner;forshewasbeginningtotyrannizeoverhimaswomenofthattypetyrannizeoveroldmen, who trot round town, and go tomake interest with every one who isnecessarytotheinterestsorthevanityoftheirtask-mistress.

NexteveningValeriearmedherselfforconquestbymakingsuchatoiletasaFrenchwomancandevisewhenshewishestomakethemostofherself.Shestudiedherappearance in thisgreatworkasamangoingout to fightaduelpractises his feints and lunges. Not a speck, not a wrinkle was to be seen.Valerie was at her whitest, her softest, her sweetest. And certain little“patches”attractedtheeye.

Itiscommonlysupposedthatthepatchoftheeighteenthcenturyisoutofdateoroutoffashion;thatisamistake.Inthesedayswomen,moreingeniousperhaps than of yore, invite a glance through the opera-glass by otheraudacious devices. One is the first to hit on a rosette in her hair with adiamondinthecentre,andsheattractseveryeyeforawholeevening;anotherrevives thehair-net,or sticksadagger through the twist to suggest agarter;thisonewearsvelvetbandsroundherwrists,thatoneappearsinlacelippets.Thesevaliantefforts,anAusterlitzofvanityoroflove,thensetthefashionforlower spheres by the time the inventive creatress has originated somethingnew.Thisevening,whichValeriemeanttobeasuccessforher,shehadplacedthreepatches.Shehadwashedherhairwithsomelye,whichchangeditshueforafewdaysfromagoldcolortoadullershade.MadameSteinbock’swasalmostred,andshewouldbeineverypointunlikeher.Thisneweffectgaveherapiquantandstrangeappearance,whichpuzzledherfollowerssomuch,thatMontesaskedher:

“Whathaveyoudonetoyourselfthisevening?”—Thensheputonaratherwideblackvelvet neck-ribbon,which showedoff thewhitenessof her skin.Onepatch took theplaceof the assassineofourgrandmothers.AndValeriepinnedthesweetestrosebudintoherbodice,justinthemiddleabovethestay-busk, and in the daintiest little hollow! It was enough to make every manunderthirtydrophiseyelids.

“I am as sweet as a sugar-plum,” said she to herself, going through herattitudesbeforetheglass,exactlyasadancerpractiseshercurtesies.

Lisbeth had been to market, and the dinner was to be one of thosesuperfinemealswhichMathurinehadbeenwonttocookforherBishopwhenheentertainedtheprelateoftheadjoiningdiocese.

Stidmann, ClaudeVignon, andCount Steinbock arrived almost together,justatsix.Anordinary,or,ifyouwill,anaturalwomanwouldhavehastenedat the announcement of a name so eagerly longed for; but Valerie, thoughready since five o’clock, remained in her room, leaving her three gueststogether,certainthatshewasthesubjectoftheirconversationoroftheirsecretthoughts. She herself had arranged the drawing-room, laying out the prettytrifles produced in Paris and nowhere else, which reveal the woman andannounceherpresence:albumsboundinenamelorembroideredwithbeads,

saucersfullofprettyrings,marvelsofSevresorDresdenmountedexquisitelyby Florent and Chanor, statues, books, all the frivolities which cost insanesums,andwhichpassionordersofthemakersinitsfirstdelirium—ortopatchupitslastquarrel.

Besides,Valeriewasinthestateofintoxicationthatcomesoftriumph.ShehadpromisedtomarryCrevelifMarneffeshoulddie;andtheamorousCrevelhad transferred to the name of Valerie Fortin bonds bearing ten thousandfrancs a year, the sum-total of what he had made in railway speculationsduring thepast threeyears, the returnson thecapitalof ahundred thousandcrownswhichhehadatfirstofferedtotheBaronneHulot.SoValerienowhadanincomeofthirty-twothousandfrancs.

Crevelhad justcommittedhimself toapromiseof fargreatermagnitudethanthisgiftofhissurplus.IntheparoxysmofrapturewhichhisDuchesshadgivenhimfromtwotofour—hegavethisfinetitletoMadamedeMarneffetocomplete the illusion—for Valerie had surpassed herself in the Rue duDauphinthatafternoon,hehadthoughtwelltoencourageherinherpromisedfidelitybygivinghertheprospectofacertainlittlemansion,builtintheRueBarbettebyanimprudentcontractor,whonowwantedtosellit.Valeriecouldalreadyseeherselfinthisdelightfulresidence,withafore-courtandagarden,andkeepingacarriage!

“Whatrespectablelifecaneverprocuresomuchinsoshortatime,orsoeasily?”saidshetoLisbethasshefinisheddressing.LisbethwastodinewithValerie that evening, to tell Steinbock those things about the lady whichnobodycansayaboutherself.

MadameMarneffe, radiantwithsatisfaction,cameinto thedrawing-roomwithmodestgrace,followedbyLisbethdressedinblackandyellowtosetheroff.

“Good-evening,Claude,”saidshe,givingherhandtothefamousoldcritic.

ClaudeVignon, likemany another, had become a political personage—aworddescribinganambitiousmanatthefirststageofhiscareer.Thepoliticalpersonage of 1840 represents, in some degree, the Abbe of the eighteenthcentury.Nodrawing-roomcircleiscompletewithoutone.

“Mydear, this ismycousin,CountSteinbock,”saidLisbeth, introducingWenceslas,whomValerieseemedtohaveoverlooked.

“Ohyes,IrecognizedMonsieurleComte,”repliedValeriewithagraciousbow to the artist. “I often saw you in the Rue du Doyenne, and I had thepleasureofbeingpresentatyourwedding.—Itwouldbedifficult,mydear,”saidshetoLisbeth,“toforgetyouradoptedsonafteronceseeinghim.—Itismost kindof you,MonsieurStidmann,” shewent on, “to have acceptedmy

invitationatsuchshortnotice;butnecessityknowsnolaw.Iknewyoutobethefriendofboththesegentlemen.Nothingismoredreary,moresulky,thanadinnerwherealltheguestsarestrangers,soitwasfortheirsakethatIhailedyou in—but you will come another time for mine, I hope?—Say that youwill.”

AndforafewminutesshemovedabouttheroomwithStidmann,whollyoccupiedwithhim.

Crevel and Hulot were announced separately, and then a deputy namedBeauvisage.

Thisindividual,aprovincialCrevel,oneofthemencreatedtomakeupthecrowdintheworld,votedunderthebannerofGiraud,aStateCouncillor,andVictorin Hulot. These two politicians were trying to form a nucleus ofprogressives in the loose array of the Conservative Party. Giraud himselfoccasionally spent the evening at Madame Marneffe’s, and she flatteredherselfthatsheshouldalsocaptureVictorinHulot;butthepuritanicallawyerhadhithertofoundexcusesforrefusingtoaccompanyhisfatherandfather-in-law.Itseemedtohimcriminaltobeseeninthehouseofthewomanwhocosthismothersomany tears.VictorinHulotwas to thepuritansofpolitical lifewhatapiouswomanisamongbigots.

Beauvisage, formerly a stocking manufacturer at Arcis, was anxious topickuptheParisstyle.Thisman,oneoftheouterstonesoftheChamber,wasforminghimselfundertheauspicesofthisdeliciousandfascinatingMadameMarneffe.IntroducedherebyCrevel,hehadacceptedhim,atherinstigation,ashismodelandmaster.Heconsultedhimoneverypoint,tooktheaddressofhistailor,imitatedhim,andtriedtostrikethesameattitudes.Inshort,CrevelwashisGreatMan.

Valerie, surroundedby thesebigwigs and the three artists, and supportedby Lisbeth, struck Wenceslas as a really superior woman, all the more sobecauseClaudeVignonspokeofherlikeamaninlove.

“She is Madame de Maintenon in Ninon’s petticoats!” said the veterancritic. “You may please her in an evening if you have the wit; but as formakingherloveyou—thatwouldbeatriumphtocrownaman’sambitionandfilluphislife.”

Valerie,while seemingcold andheedlessofher formerneighbor, piquedhis vanity, quite unconsciously indeed, for she knew nothing of the Polishcharacter. There is in the Slav a childish element, as there is in all theseprimitivelywild nationswhich have overflowed into civilization rather thanthat theyhavebecomecivilized.Theracehasspreadlikeaninundation,andhascoveredalargeportionoftheglobe.Itinhabitsdesertswhoseextentisso

vastthatitexpandsatitsease;thereisnojostlingthere,asthereisinEurope,and civilization is impossible without the constant friction of minds andinterests. TheUkraine, Russia, the plains by theDanube, in short, the Slavnations,areaconnectinglinkbetweenEuropeandAsia,betweencivilizationandbarbarism.ThusthePole,thewealthiestmemberoftheSlavfamily,hasinhischaracterallthechildishnessandinconsistencyofabeardlessrace.Hehascourage, spirit, and strength; but, cursed with instability, that courage,strength,andenergyhaveneithermethodnorguidance;forthePoledisplaysavariability resembling that of the winds which blow across that vast plainbrokenwithswamps;andthoughhehas the impetuosityof thesnowsquallsthatwrenchandsweepawaybuildings,likethoseaerialavalanchesheislostinthefirstpoolandmeltsintowater.Manalwaysassimilatessomethingfromthesurroundingsinwhichhelives.PerpetuallyatstrifewiththeTurk,thePolehas imbibeda tasteforOrientalsplendor;heoftensacrificeswhat isneedfulfor the sake of display. Themen dress themselves out likewomen, yet theclimatehasgiventhemthetoughconstitutionofArabs.

The Pole, sublime in suffering, has tired his oppressors’ arms by sheerendurance of beating; and, in the nineteenth century, has reproduced thespectaclepresentedbytheearlyChristians.InfuseonlytenpercentofEnglishcautiousness into the frank and open Polish nature, and the magnanimouswhiteeaglewouldatthisdaybesupremewhereverthetwo-headedeaglehassneakedin.AlittleMachiavelismwouldhavehinderedPolandfromhelpingtosaveAustria,whohas takena shareof it; fromborrowing fromPrussia, theusurerwhohadunderminedit;andfrombreakingupassoonasadivisionwasfirstmade.

AtthechristeningofPoland,nodoubt,theFairyCarabosse,overlookedbythe genii who endowed that attractive people with the most brilliant gifts,cameintosay:

“Keep all the gifts thatmy sisters have bestowed on you; but you shallneverknowwhatyouwishfor!”

If,initsheroicduelwithRussia,Polandhadwontheday,thePoleswouldnowbefightingamong themselves,as theyformerlyfought in theirDiets tohinder each other from being chosen King. When that nation, composedentirelyofhot-headeddare-devils,hasgoodsenseenoughtoseekaLouisXI.amongherownoffspring, toaccepthisdespotismandadynasty,shewillbesaved.

What Poland has been politically, almost every Pole is in private life,especially under the stress of disaster. Thus Wenceslas Steinbock, afterworshipinghiswifeforthreeyearsandknowingthathewasagodtoher,wassomuchnettledatfindinghimselfbarelynoticedbyMadameMarneffe, that

hemadeitapointofhonortoattractherattention.HecomparedValeriewithhiswifeandgaveher thepalm.Hortensewasbeautiful flesh,asValeriehadsaid toLisbeth; butMadameMarneffe had spirit in her very shape, and thesavorofvice.

SuchdevotionasHortense’sisafeelingwhichahusbandtakesashisdue;thesenseoftheimmensepreciousnessofsuchperfectlovesoonwearsoff,asadebtor,inthecourseoftime,beginstofancythattheborrowedmoneyishisown.Thisnobleloyaltybecomesthedailybreadofthesoul,andaninfidelityis as tempting as a dainty. The woman who is scornful, and yet more thewomanwho is reputed dangerous, excites curiosity, as spices add flavor togoodfood. Indeed, thedisdainsocleverlyactedbyValeriewasanovelty toWenceslas, after three years of too easy enjoyment. Hortense was a wife;Valerieamistress.

Manymendesire tohave twoeditionsof the samework, though it is infactaproofof inferioritywhenamancannotmakehismistressofhiswife.Varietyinthisparticularisasignofweakness.Constancywillalwaysbethereal genius of love, the evidence of immense power—the power thatmakesthepoet!Amanoughttofindeverywomaninhiswife,asthesqualidpoetsoftheseventeenthcenturymadetheirManonsfigureasIrisandChloe.

“Well,” saidLisbeth to thePole, as shebeheldhim fascinated, “whatdoyouthinkofValerie?”

“Sheistoocharming,”repliedWenceslas.

“Youwouldnotlistentome,”saidBetty.“Oh!mylittleWenceslas,ifyouand I had never parted, youwould have been that siren’s lover; youmighthavemarriedherwhenshewasawidow,andyouwouldhavehadher fortythousandfrancsayear——”

“Really?”

“Certainly,”repliedLisbeth.“Now,takecareofyourself;Iwarnedyouofthedanger;donotsingeyourwingsinthecandle!—Come,givemeyourarm,dinnerisserved.”

Nolanguagecouldbesothoroughlydemoralizingasthis;forifyoushowaPoleaprecipice,heisboundtoleapit.Asanationtheyhavetheveryspiritofcavalry; they fancy they can ride down every obstacle and come outvictorious.ThespurappliedbyLisbethtoSteinbock’svanitywasintensifiedbytheappearanceofthedining-room,brightwithhandsomesilverplate; thedinnerwasservedwitheveryrefinementandextravaganceofParisianluxury.

“IshouldhavedonebettertotakeCelimene,”thoughthetohimself.

AllthroughthedinnerHulotwascharming;pleasedtoseehisson-in-law

at that table, and yet more happy in the prospect of a reconciliation withValerie,whosefidelityheproposedtosecurebythepromiseofCoquet’shead-clerkship.StidmannrespondedtotheBaron’samiabilitybyshaftsofParisianbanter and an artist’s high spirits. Steinbockwould not allow himself to beeclipsedbyhisfriend;hetoowaswitty,saidamusingthings,madehismark,andwaspleasedwithhimself;MadameMarneffesmiledathimseveraltimestoshowthatshequiteunderstoodhim.

Thegoodmealandheadywinescompletedthework;Wenceslaswasdeepinwhatmustbecalled the sloughofdissipation.Excitedby just aglass toomuch, he stretched himself on a settee after dinner, sunk in physical andmental ecstasy, which Madame Marneffe wrought to the highest pitch bycoming to sit downbyhim—airy, scented, pretty enough todamnan angel.ShebentoverWenceslasandalmosttouchedhisearasshewhisperedtohim:

“Wecannottalkoverbusinessmattersthisevening,unlessyouwillremaintill the last.Betweenus—you,Lisbeth,andme—wecansettleeverything tosuityou.”

“Ah,Madame,youareanangel!”repliedWenceslas,alsoinamurmur.“IwasaprettyfoolnottolistentoLisbeth—”

“Whatdidshesay?”

“Shedeclared,intheRueduDoyenne,thatyoulovedme!”

Madame Marneffe looked at him, seemed covered with confusion, andhastily left her seat. A young and pretty woman never rouses the hope ofimmediate success with impunity. This retreat, the impulse of a virtuouswomanwhoiscrushingapassionin thedepthsofherheart,wasa thousandtimesmoreeffectivethanthemostrecklessavowal.DesirewassothoroughlyarousedinWenceslasthathedoubledhisattentionstoValerie.Awomanseenbyallisawomanwishedfor.Hencetheterriblepowerofactresses.MadameMarneffe, knowing that she was watched, behaved like an admired actress.Shewasquitecharming,andhersuccesswasimmense.

“I no longer wonder at my father-in-law’s follies,” said Steinbock toLisbeth.

“If you say such things, Wenceslas, I shall to my dying day repent ofhavinggotyou the loanof these ten thousandfrancs.Areyou, likeall thesemen,” and she indicated the guests, “madly in love with that creature?Remember,youwouldbeyourfather-in-law’srival.AndthinkofthemiseryyouwouldbringonHortense.”

“That is true,” said Wenceslas. “Hortense is an angel; I should be awretch.”

“Andoneisenoughinthefamily!”saidLisbeth.

“Artistsoughtnevertomarry!”exclaimedSteinbock.

“Ah!thatiswhatIalwaystoldyouintheRueduDoyenne.Yourgroups,yourstatues,yourgreatworks,oughttobeyourchildren.”

“Whatareyou talkingabout?”Valerieasked, joiningLisbeth.—“Giveustea,Cousin.”

Steinbock, with Polish vainglory, wanted to appear familiar with thisdrawing-roomfairy.AfterdefyingStidmann,Vignon,andCrevelwithalook,hetookValerie’shandandforcedhertositdownbyhimonthesettee.

“Youarerathertoolordly,CountSteinbock,”saidshe,resistingalittle.Butshelaughedasshedroppedontotheseat,notwithoutarrangingtherosebudpinnedintoherbodice.

“Alas! if Iwere really lordly,” said he, “I should not be here to borrowmoney.”

“Poorboy!IrememberhowyouworkedallnightintheRueduDoyenne.You reallywere rathera spooney;youmarriedasa starvingmansnatchesaloaf.YouknewnothingofParis,andyouseewhereyouarelanded.ButyouturnedadeafeartoLisbeth’sdevotion,asyoudidtotheloveofawomanwhoknowsherParisbyheart.”

“Saynomore!”criedSteinbock;“Iamdonefor!”

“Youshallhaveyourtenthousandfrancs,mydearWenceslas;butononecondition,”shewenton,playingwithhishandsomecurls.

“Whatisthat?”

“Iwilltakenointerest——”

“Madame!”

“Oh, youneednot be indignant; you shallmake it goodbygivingme abronzegroup.YoubeganthestoryofSamson;finishit.—DoaDelilahcuttingofftheJewishHercules’hair.Andyou,who,ifyouwilllistentome,willbeagreatartist,mustenterintothesubject.Whatyouhavetoshowisthepowerofwoman. Samson is a secondary consideration. He is the corpse of deadstrength. It is Delilah—passion—that ruins everything. How far morebeautiful is that replica—That is what you call it, I think—” She skilfullyinterpolated,asClaudeVignonandStidmanncameuptothemonhearinghertalkofsculpture—“howfarmorebeautifulthantheGreekmythisthatreplicaof Hercules at Omphale’s feet.—Did Greece copy Judaea, or did JudaeaborrowthesymbolismfromGreece?”

“There,madame,youraiseanimportantquestion—thatofthedateofthevariouswritingsintheBible.ThegreatandimmortalSpinoza—mostfoolishlyrankedasanatheist,whereashegavemathematicalproofoftheexistenceofGod—assertsthattheBookofGenesisandallthepoliticalhistoryoftheBibleare of the time ofMoses, and he demonstrates the interpolated passages byphilological evidence. And he was thrice stabbed as he went into thesynagogue.”

“IhadnoideaIwassolearned,”saidValerie,annoyedatthisinterruptiontohertete-a-tete.

“Womenknoweverythingbyinstinct,”repliedClaudeVignon.

“Well,then,youpromiseme?”shesaidtoSteinbock,takinghishandwiththetimidityofagirlinlove.

“You are indeed a happy man, my dear fellow,” cried Stidmann, “ifmadameasksafavorofyou!”

“Whatisit?”askedClaudeVignon.

“Asmallbronzegroup,”repliedSteinbock,“DelilahcuttingoffSamson’shair.”

“Itisdifficult,”remarkedVignon.“Abed——”

“Onthecontrary,itisexceedinglyeasy,”repliedValerie,smiling.

“Ahha!teachussculpture!”saidStidmann.

“Youshould takemadameforyoursubject,”repliedVignon,withakeenglanceatValerie.

“Well,” shewent on, “this ismy notion of the composition. Samson onwakingfindshehasnohair,likemanyadandywithafalsetop-knot.Theherois sitting on the bed, so you need only show the foot of it, covered withhangingsanddrapery.Therehe is, likeMariusamongtheruinsofCarthage,hisarmsfolded,hisheadshaven—NapoleonatSaint-Helena—whatyouwill!Delilah isonherknees,agooddeal likeCanova’sMagdalen.Whenahussyhas ruined her man, she adores him. As I see it, the Jewess was afraid ofSamsoninhisstrengthandterrors,butshemusthavelovedhimwhenshesawhimachildagain.SoDelilahisbewailinghersin,shewouldliketogiveherloverhishairagain.Shehardlydarestolookathim;butshedoeslook,withasmile,forshereadsforgivenessinSamson’sweakness.Suchagroupasthis,andoneoftheferociousJudith,wouldepitomizewoman.Virtuecutsoffyourhead;viceonlycutsoffyourhair.Takecareofyourwigs,gentlemen!”

And she left the artists quite overpowered, to singher praises in concertwiththecritic.

“Itisimpossibletobemorebewitching!”criedStidmann.

“Oh! she is themost intelligent and desirablewoman I have evermet,”saidClaudeVignon.“Suchacombinationofbeautyandclevernessissorare.”

“AndifyouwhohadthehonorofbeingintimatewithCamilleMaupincanpronouncesuchaverdict,”repliedStidmann,“whatarewetothink?”

“IfyouwillmakeyourDelilahaportraitofValerie,mydearCount,”saidCrevel,whohadrisenforamomentfromthecard-table,andwhohadheardwhathadbeensaid,“Iwillgiveyouathousandcrownsforanexample—yes,bythePowers!Iwillshellouttothetuneofathousandcrowns!”

“Shellout!Whatdoesthatmean?”askedBeauvisageofClaudeVignon.

“Madame must do me the honor to sit for it then,” said Steinbock toCrevel.“Askher—”

At thismomentValerieherselfbroughtSteinbockacupof tea.Thiswasmorethanacompliment, itwasafavor.Thereisacompletelanguageinthemannerinwhichawomandoesthislittlecivility;butwomenarefullyawareof the fact,and it isacurious thing tostudy theirmovements, theirmanner,their look, tone,andaccentwhen theyperform thisapparentlysimpleactofpoliteness.—From the question, “Do you take tea?”—“Will you have sometea?”—“A cup of tea?” coldly asked, and followed by instructions to thenymphof theurn tobring it, to the eloquentpoemof theodalisquecomingfromthe tea-table,cup inhand, towards thepashaofherheart,presenting itsubmissively, offering it in an insinuating voice, with a look full ofintoxicatingpromises,aphysiologistcoulddeducethewholescaleoffeminineemotion,fromaversionorindifferencetoPhaedra’sdeclarationtoHippolytus.Womencanmakeit,atwill,contemptuoustothevergeofinsult,orhumbletotheexpressionofOrientalservility.

AndValeriewasmorethanwoman;shewastheserpentmadewoman;shecrowned her diabolicalwork by going up to Steinbock, a cup of tea in herhand.

“I will drink as many cups of tea as you will giveme,” said the artist,murmuringinherearasherose,andtouchingherfingerswithhis,“tohavethemgiventomethus!”

“Whatwereyousayingaboutsitting?”saidshe,withoutbetrayingthatthisdeclaration,sofranticallydesired,hadgonestraighttoherheart.

“OldCrevelpromisesmeathousandcrownsforacopyofyourgroup.”

“He!athousandcrownsforabronzegroup?”

“Yes—ifyouwillsitforDelilah,”saidSteinbock.

“Hewill not be there to see, I hope!” replied she. “Thegroupwould beworthmorethanallhisfortune,forDelilah’scostumeisratherun-dressy.”

Just as Crevel loved to strike an attitude, everywoman has a victoriousgesture,astudiedmovement,whichsheknowsmustwinadmiration.Youmayseeinadrawing-roomhowonespendsallhertimelookingdownathertuckerorpullinguptheshoulder-pieceofhergown,howanothermakesplaywiththebrightness of her eyes by glancing up at the cornice. Madame Marneffe’striumph,however,wasnotfacetoface like thatofotherwomen.Sheturnedsharply round to return to Lisbeth at the tea-table. This ballet-dancer’spirouette, whisking her skirts, by which she had overthrown Hulot, nowfascinatedSteinbock.

“Yourvengeanceissecure,”saidValerietoLisbethinawhisper.“Hortensewill cry out all her tears, and curse the day when she robbed you ofWenceslas.”

“Till I am Madame la Marechale I shall not think myself successful,”repliedthecousin;“buttheyareallbeginningtowishforit.—ThismorningIwent toVictorin’s—I forgot to tellyou.—TheyoungHulotshaveboughtuptheir father’s notes of hand given to Vauvinet, and to-morrow they willendorseabillforseventy-twothousandfrancsatfivepercent,payableinthreeyears,andsecuredbyamortgageontheirhouse.Sotheyoungpeopleareinstraitsforthreeyears;theycanraisenomoremoneyonthatproperty.Victorinis dreadfully distressed; he understands his father.AndCrevel is capable ofrefusingtoseethem;hewillbesoangryatthispieceofself-sacrifice.”

“TheBaroncannothaveasounow,”saidValerie,andshesmiledatHulot.

“I don’t see where he can get it. But he will draw his salary again inSeptember.”

“Andhehashispolicyof insurance;hehas renewed it.Come, it ishightimeheshouldgetMarneffepromoted.Iwilldriveithomethisevening.”

“My dear cousin,” said Lisbeth toWenceslas, “go home, I beg.You arequite ridiculous. Your eyes are fixed onValerie in a way that is enough tocompromise her, and her husband is insanely jealous. Do not tread in yourfather-in-law’sfootsteps.Gohome;IamsureHortenseissittingupforyou.”

“MadameMarneffetoldmetostaytillthelasttosettlemylittlebusinesswithyouandher,”repliedWenceslas.

“No,no,”saidLisbeth;“Iwillbringyou the ten thousandfrancs, forherhusbandhashiseyeonyou.Itwouldberashtoremain.To-morrowateleveno’clockbringyournoteofhand;atthathourthatmandarinMarneffeisathisoffice,Valerie is free.—Have you really asked her to sit for your group?—

Comeuptomyroomsfirst.—Ah!Iwassureofit,”sheadded,asshecaughtthelookwhichSteinbockflashedatValerie,“Iknewyouwereaprofligateinthebud!Well,Valerieislovely—buttrynottobringtroubleonHortense.”

Nothing annoys amarriedman somuch as finding his wife perpetuallyinterposingbetweenhimselfandhiswishes,howevertransient.

Wenceslasgothomeataboutone in themorning;Hortensehadexpectedhimeversincehalf-pastnine.Fromhalf-pastninetill tenshehadlistenedtothepassingcarriages, tellingherself thatneverbeforehadherhusbandcomeinsolatefromdiningwithFlorentandChanor.Shesatsewingbythechild’scot,forshehadbeguntosaveaneedlewoman’spayforthedaybydoingthemendingherself.—From ten till half-past, a suspicion crossedhermind; shesatwondering:

“Ishereallygone todinner,ashe toldme,withChanorandFlorent?Heput on his best cravat and his handsomest pinwhen he dressed.He took aslongoverhistoiletasawomanwhenshewantstomakethebestofherself.—Iamcrazy!Helovesme!—Andhereheis!”

Butinsteadofstopping,thecabsheheardwentpast.

From eleven till midnight Hortense was a victim to terrible alarms; thequarterwheretheylivedwasnowdeserted.

“Ifhehassetoutonfoot,someaccidentmayhavehappened,”thoughtshe.“Amanmaybekilledby tumblingoveracurbstoneor failing to seeagap.Artistsaresoheedless!Orifheshouldhavebeenstoppedbyrobbers!—Itisthefirsttimehehaseverleftmealonehereforsixhoursandahalf!—ButwhyshouldIworrymyself?Hecaresfornoonebutme.”

Men ought to be faithful to the wives who love them, were it only onaccountoftheperpetualmiracleswroughtbytrueloveinthesublimeregionsof the spiritualworld. Thewomanwho loves is, in relation to theman sheloves,inthepositionofasomnambulisttowhomthemagnetizershouldgivethe painful power,when she ceases to be themirror of theworld, of beingconsciousasawomanofwhatshehasseenasasomnambulist.Passionraisesthenervoustensionofawomantotheecstaticpitchatwhichpresentimentisasacuteastheinsightofaclairvoyant.Awifeknowssheisbetrayed;shewillnotletherselfsayso,shedoubtsstill—shelovessomuch!ShegivesthelietotheoutcryofherownPythianpower.Thisparoxysmoflovedeservesaspecialformofworship.

In noble souls, admiration of this divine phenomenon will always be asafeguard to protect them from infidelity.How should aman notworship abeautifulandintellectualcreaturewhosesoulcansoartosuchmanifestations?

ByoneinthemorningHortensewasinastateofsuchintenseanguish,thatshe flew to the door as she recognized her husband’s ring at the bell, andclaspedhiminherarmslikeamother.

“At last—hereyouare!”criedshe, findinghervoiceagain.“Mydearest,henceforthwhereyougo I go, for I cannot again endure the tortureof suchwaiting.—Ipicturedyou stumblingover a curbstone,with a fractured skull!Killedby thieves!—No,a second time IknowI shouldgomad.—Haveyouenjoyedyourselfsomuch?—Andwithoutme!—Badboy!”

“What can I say, my darling? There was Bixiou, who drew freshcaricaturesforus;LeondeLora,aswittyasever;ClaudeVignon,towhomIowe the only consolatory article that has come out about the Montcornetstatue.Therewere—”

“Weretherenoladies?”Hortenseeagerlyinquired.

“WorthyMadameFlorent—”

“YousaidtheRocherdeCancale.—WereyouattheFlorents’?”

“Yes,attheirhouse;Imadeamistake.”

“Youdidnottakeacoachtocomehome?”

“No.”

“AndyouhavewalkedfromtheRuedesTournelles?”

“StidmannandBixioucamebackwithmealong theboulevardsasfarastheMadeleine,talkingalltheway.”

“ItisdrythenontheboulevardsandthePlacedelaConcordeandtheRuede Bourgogne? You are not muddy at all!” said Hortense, looking at herhusband’spatentleatherboots.

It had been raining, but between the Rue Vanneau and the Rue Saint-DominiqueWenceslashadnotgothisbootssoiled.

“Here—hereare five thousand francsChanorhasbeensogenerousas tolendme,”saidWenceslas,tocutshortthislawyer-likeexamination.

Hehadmadeadivisionofthetenthousand-francnotes,halfforHortenseandhalfforhimself,forhehadfivethousandfrancs’worthofdebtsofwhichHortenseknewnothing.Heowedmoneytohisforemanandhisworkmen.

“Nowyouranxietiesarerelieved,”saidhe,kissinghiswife.“Iamgoingtoworkto-morrowmorning.SoIamgoingtobedthisminutetogetupearly,byyourleave,mypet.”

ThesuspicionthathaddawnedinHortense’smindvanished;shewasmiles

away from the truth.MadameMarneffe! She had never thought of her.Herfear forherWenceslaswas thathe should fall inwith streetprostitutes.Thenames of Bixiou and Leon de Lora, two artists noted for their wilddissipations,hadalarmedher.

Nextmorning she sawWenceslas go out at nine o’clock, andwas quitereassured.

“Nowheisatworkagain,”saidshetoherself,assheproceededtodressherboy.“Iseeheisquiteinthevein!Well,well,ifwecannothavethegloryofMichaelAngelo,wemayhavethatofBenvenutoCellini!”

Lulledbyherownhopes,Hortensebelievedinahappyfuture;andshewaschatteringtohersonoftwentymonthsinthelanguageofonomatopoeiathatamuses babes when, at about eleven o’clock, the cook, who had not seenWenceslasgoout,showedinStidmann.

“Ibegpardon,madame,”saidhe.“IsWenceslasgoneoutalready?”

“Heisatthestudio.”

“Icametotalkovertheworkwithhim.”

“Iwillsendforhim,”saidHortense,offeringStidmannachair.

Thanking Heaven for this piece of luck, Hortense was glad to detainStidmanntoasksomequestionsabouttheeveningbefore.Stidmannbowedinacknowledgment of her kindness. The Countess Steinbock rang; the cookappeared,andwasdesiredtogoatonceandfetchhermasterfromthestudio.

“Youhadanamusingdinnerlastnight?”saidHortense.“Wenceslasdidnotcomeintillpastoneinthemorning.”

“Amusing?not exactly,” replied theartist,whohad intended to fascinateMadameMarneffe.“Societyisnotveryamusingunlessoneisinterestedinit.ThatlittleMadameMarneffeisclever,butagreatflirt.”

“Andwhat didWenceslas think of her?” asked poorHortense, trying tokeepcalm.“Hesaidnothingabouthertome.”

“Iwillonlysayonething,”saidStidmann,“andthatis,thatIthinkheraverydangerouswoman.”

Hortenseturnedaspaleasawomanafterchildbirth.

“So—itwasat—atMadameMarneffe’sthatyoudined—andnot—notwithChanor?”saidshe,“yesterday—andWenceslas—andhe——”

Stidmann,without knowingwhatmischief he haddone, saw that he hadblundered.

TheCountess did not finish her sentence; she simply fainted away. Theartistrang,andthemaidcamein.WhenLouisetriedtogethermistressintoher bedroom, a serious nervous attack came on, with violent hysterics.Stidmann, like anymanwho by an involuntary indiscretion has overthrownthestructurebuiltonahusband’s lie tohiswife,couldnotconceive thathiswords should produce such an effect; he supposed that theCountesswas insuchdelicatehealththattheslightestcontradictionwasmischievous.

The cook presently returned to say, unfortunately in loud tones, that hermasterwasnotinthestudio.Inthemidstofheranguish,Hortenseheard,andthehystericalfitcameonagain.

“Goandfetchmadame’smother,”saidLouisetothecook.“Quick—run!”

“IfIknewwheretofindSteinbock,Iwouldgoandfetchhim!”exclaimedStidmannindespair.

“Heiswiththatwoman!”criedtheunhappywife.“Hewasnotdressedtogotohiswork!”

Stidmann hurried off toMadameMarneffe’s, struck by the truth of thisconclusion,duetothesecond-sightofpassion.

AtthatmomentValeriewasposedasDelilah.Stidmann,toosharptoaskforMadameMarneffe,walkedstraightinpastthelodge,andranquicklyuptothesecondfloor,arguingthus:“IfIaskforMadameMarneffe,shewillbeout.IfIinquirepoint-blankforSteinbock,Ishallbelaughedattomyface.—Takethebullbythehorns!”

Reineappearedinanswertohisring.

“TellMonsieurleComteSteinbocktocomeatonce,hiswifeisdying—”

Reine,quiteamatchforStidmann,lookedathimwithblanksurprise.

“But,sir—Idon’tknow—didyousuppose——”

“ItellyouthatmyfriendMonsieurSteinbockishere;hiswifeisveryill.Itisquiteseriousenoughforyoutodisturbyourmistress.”AndStidmannturnedonhisheel.

“Heisthere,sureenough!”saidhetohimself.

Andinpointoffact,afterwaitingafewminutes in theRueVanneau,hesawWenceslascomeout,andbeckonedtohimtocomequickly.Aftertellinghim of the tragedy enacted in the Rue Saint-Dominique, Stidmann scoldedSteinbockfornothavingwarnedhimtokeepthesecretofyesterday’sdinner.

“I am done for,” said Wenceslas, “but you are forgiven. I had totallyforgottenthatyouweretocallthismorning,andIblunderedinnottellingyou

thatwewere tohavedinedwithFlorent.—WhatcanIsay?ThatValeriehasturnedmyhead;but,mydearfellow,forhergloryiswelllost,misfortunewellwon!Shereallyis!—GoodHeavens!—ButIaminadreadfulfix.Adviseme.WhatcanIsay?HowcanIexcusemyself?”

“I!adviseyou!Idon’tknow,”repliedStidmann.“Butyourwifelovesyou,I imagine?Well, then, shewill believe anything. Tell her that youwere onyourwaytomewhenIwasonmywaytoyou;that,atanyrate,willsetthismorning’sbusinessright.Good-bye.”

Lisbeth,calleddownbyReine,ranafterWenceslasandcaughthimupatthecorneroftheRueHillerin-Bertin;shewasafraidofhisPolishartlessness.Notwishingtobeinvolvedinthematter,shesaidafewwordstoWenceslas,whoinhisjoyhuggedherthenandthere.Shehadnodoubtpushedoutaplanktoenabletheartisttocrossthisawkwardplaceinhisconjugalaffairs.

Atthesightofhermother,whohadflowntoheraid,Hortenseburst intofloodsoftears.Thishappilychangedthecharacterofthehystericalattack.

“Treachery,dearmamma!”criedshe.“Wenceslas,aftergivingmehiswordof honor that he would not go nearMadameMarneffe, dinedwith her lastnight,anddidnotcomeintillaquarter-pastoneinthemorning.—Ifyouonlyknew! The day before we had had a discussion, not a quarrel, and I hadappealedtohimsotouchingly.ItoldhimIwasjealous,thatIshoulddieifhewereunfaithful; that Iwaseasilysuspicious,but thatheought tohavesomeconsiderationformyweaknesses,astheycameofmyloveforhim;thatIhadmy father’s blood inmy veins aswell as yours; that at the firstmoment ofsuch discovery I should be mad, and capable of mad deeds—of avengingmyself—ofdishonoringus all, him,his child, andmyself; that Imight evenkillhimfirstandmyselfafter—andsoon.

“Andyethewentthere;heisthere!—Thatwomanisbentonbreakingallourhearts!OnlyyesterdaymybrotherandCelestinepledgedtheirall topayoffseventythousandfrancsonnotesofhandsignedforthatgood-for-nothingcreature.—Yes, mamma, my father would have been arrested and put intoprison. Cannot that dreadful woman be content with havingmy father, andwithallyour tears?WhytakemyWenceslas?—Iwillgo toseeherandstabher!”

MadameHulot, struck to the heart by the dreadful secretsHortensewasunwittinglylettingout,controlledhergriefbyoneoftheheroiceffortswhicha magnanimous mother can make, and drew her daughter’s head on to herbosomtocoveritwithkisses.

“WaitforWenceslas,mychild;allwillbeexplained.Theevilcannotbesogreat as youpicture it!—I, too, havebeendeceived,mydearHortense; you

think me handsome, I have lived blameless; and yet I have been utterlyforsaken for three-and-twenty years—for a Jenny Cadine, a Josepha, aMadameMarneffe!—Didyouknowthat?”

“You,mamma,you!Youhaveenduredthisfortwenty——”

Shebrokeoff,staggeredbyherownthoughts.

“DoasIhavedone,mychild,”saidhermother.“Begentleandkind,andyourconsciencewillbeatpeace.Onhisdeath-bedamanmaysay,‘Mywifehasnevercostmeapang!’AndGod,whohearsthatdyingbreath,creditsittous. If Ihadabandonedmyself to fury likeyou,whatwouldhavehappened?Your father would have been embittered, perhaps he would have left mealtogether,andhewouldnothavebeenwithheldbyany fearofpainingme.Ourruin,utterasitnowis,wouldhavebeencompletetenyearssooner,andweshouldhaveshown theworld thespectacleofahusbandandwife livingquiteapart—ascandalof themosthorrible,heart-breakingkind, for it is thedestructionofthefamily.Neitheryourbrothernoryoucouldhavemarried.

“I sacrificedmyself, and that so bravely, that, till this last connection ofyour father’s, theworld has believedme happy.My serviceable and indeedcourageousfalsehoodhas,tillnow,screenedHector;heisstillrespected;butthisoldman’spassionis takinghimtoofar, thatIsee.Hisownfolly, I fear,will break through the veil I have kept between the world and our home.However,Ihaveheldthatcurtainsteadyfortwenty-threeyears,andhaveweptbehindit—motherless,I,withoutafriendtotrust,withnohelpbutinreligion—Ihavefortwenty-threeyearssecuredthefamilyhonor——”

Hortense listenedwitha fixedgaze.Thecalm toneof resignationandofsuch crowning sorrow soothed the smart of her first wound; the tears roseagainandflowed in torrents. Ina frenzyof filialaffection,overcomebyhermother’snobleheroism,shefellonherkneesbeforeAdeline,tookupthehemofherdressandkissedit,aspiousCatholicskisstheholyrelicsofamartyr.

“Nay, get up, Hortense,” said the Baroness. “Such homage from mydaughterwipesoutmanysadmemories.Cometomyheart,andweepfornosorrowsbutyourown.Itisthedespairofmydearlittlegirl,whosejoywasmyonly joy, that broke the solemn seal which nothing ought to have removedfrommylips.Indeed,Imeanttohavetakenmywoestothetomb,asashroudthemore.ItwastosootheyouranguishthatIspoke.—Godwillforgiveme!

“Oh!ifmylifeweretobeyourlife,whatwouldInotdo?Men,theworld,Fate,Nature,GodHimself,Ibelieve,makeuspayforlovewiththemostcruelgrief.Imustpayfortenyearsofhappinessandtwenty-fouryearsofdespair,ofceaselesssorrow,ofbitterness—”

“Butyouhadtenyears,dearmamma,andIhavehadbutthree!”saidthe

self-absorbedgirl.

“Nothingislostyet,”saidAdeline.“OnlywaittillWenceslascomes.”

“Mother,”saidshe,“helied,hedeceivedme.Hesaid,‘Iwillnotgo,’andhewent.Andthatoverhischild’scradle.”

“For pleasure, my child, men will commit the most cowardly, the mostinfamous actions—even crimes; it lies in their nature, it would seem. Wewivesaresetapartforsacrifice.Ibelievedmytroubleswereended,andtheyarebeginningagain,forIneverthoughttosufferdoublybysufferingwithmychild. Courage—and silence!—My Hortense, swear that you will neverdiscussyourgriefswithanybodybutme,neverletthembesuspectedbyanythirdperson.Oh!beasproudasyourmotherhasbeen.”

Hortensestarted;shehadheardherhusband’sstep.

“So it would seem,” saidWenceslas, as he came in, “that Stidmann hasbeenherewhileIwenttoseehim.”

“Indeed!”saidHortense,withtheangryironyofanoffendedwomanwhouseswordstostab.

“Certainly,”saidWenceslas,affectingsurprise.“Wehavejustmet.”

“Andyesterday?”

“Well, yesterday Ideceivedyou,mydarling love; andyourmother shalljudgebetweenus.”

Thiscandorunlockedhiswife’sheart.Allreallyloftywomenlikethetruthbetter thanlies.Theycannotbear toseetheir idolsmirched; theywanttobeproudofthedespotismtheybowto.

There is a strain of this feeling in the devotion of the Russians to theirCzar.

“Now,listen,dearmother,”Wenceslaswenton.“IsotrulylovemysweetandkindHortense,thatIconcealedfromhertheextentofourpoverty.WhatcouldIdo?Shewasstillnursingtheboy,andsuchtroubleswouldhavedoneher harm; you knowwhat the risk is for a woman. Her beauty, youth, andhealth are imperiled. Did I do wrong?—She believes that we owe fivethousandfrancs;butIowefivethousandmore.Thedaybeforeyesterdaywewereinthedepths!Nooneonearthwilllendtousartists.Ourtalentsarenotlessuntrustworthythanourwhims.Iknockedinvainateverydoor.Lisbeth,indeed,offeredushersavings.”

“Poorsoul!”saidHortense.

“Poorsoul!”saidtheBaroness.

“ButwhatareLisbeth’stwothousandfrancs?Everythingtoher,nothingtous.—Then, as you know, Hortense, she spoke to us of Madame Marneffe,who,assheowessomuchtotheBaron,outofasenseofhonor,willtakenointerest. Hortense wanted to send her diamonds to the Mont-de-Piete; theywould have brought in a few thousand francs, butwe needed ten thousand.Thosetenthousandfrancsweretobehadfreeofinterestforayear!—Isaidtomyself,‘Hortensewillbenonethewiser;Iwillgoandgetthem.’

“Thenthewomanaskedmetodinnerthroughmyfather-in-law,givingmeto understand that Lisbeth had spoken of thematter, and I should have themoney.BetweenHortense’sdespairononehand,andthedinnerontheother,Icouldnothesitate.—Thatisall.

“What!couldHortense,atfour-and-twenty,lovely,pure,andvirtuous,andall my pride and glory, imagine that, when I have never left her since wemarried, I could now prefer—what?—a tawny, painted, ruddled creature?”saidhe,usingthevulgarexaggerationofthestudiotoconvincehiswifebythevehemencethatwomenlike.

“Oh!ifonlyyourfatherhadeverspokenso——!”criedtheBaroness.

Hortensethrewherarmsroundherhusband’sneck.

“Yes, that iswhat I shouldhavedone,” saidhermother.“Wenceslas,mydearfellow,yourwifewasneardyingofit,”shewentonveryseriously.“Youseehowwellshelovesyou.And,alas—sheisyours!”

Shesigheddeeply.

“Hemaymakeamartyrofher,orahappywoman,”thoughtshetoherself,as every mother thinks when she sees her daughter married.—“It seems tome,”shesaidaloud,“thatIammiserableenoughtohopetoseemychildrenhappy.”

“Be quite easy, dearmamma,” saidWenceslas, only too glad to see thiscriticalmomentendhappily.“IntwomonthsIshallhaverepaidthatdreadfulwoman. How could I help it,” hewent on, repeating this essentially PolishexcusewithaPole’sgrace;“therearetimeswhenamanwouldborrowoftheDevil.—And,afterall, themoneybelongs to thefamily.Whenonceshehadinvitedme,shouldIhavegotthemoneyatallifIhadrespondedtohercivilitywitharuderefusal?”

“Oh,mamma,whatmischiefpapaisbringingonus!”criedHortense.

The Baroness laid her finger on her daughter’s lips, aggrieved by thiscomplaint, the first blame she had ever uttered of a father so heroicallyscreenedbyhermother’smagnanimoussilence.

“Now, good-bye,my children,” saidMadameHulot. “The storm is over.

Butdonotquarrelanymore.”

WhenWenceslasandhiswife returned to their roomafter lettingout theBaroness,Hortensesaidtoherhusband:

“Tellmeallaboutlastevening.”

Andshewatchedhisfaceallthroughthenarrative,interruptinghimbythequestionsthatcrowdonawife’smindinsuchcircumstances.ThestorymadeHortensereflect;shehadaglimpseoftheinfernaldissipationwhichanartistmustfindinsuchviciouscompany.

“Behonest,myWenceslas;Stidmannwasthere,ClaudeVignon,Vernisset.—Whoelse?Inshort,itwasgoodfun?”

“I,Iwasthinkingofnothingbutourtenthousandfrancs,andIwassayingtomyself,‘MyHortensewillbefreedfromanxiety.’”

ThiscatechismboredtheLivonianexcessively;heseizedagayermomenttosay:

“Andyou,mydearest,whatwouldyouhavedoneifyourartisthadprovedguilty?”

“I,” said she, with an air of prompt decision, “I should have taken upStidmann—notthatIlovehim,ofcourse!”

“Hortense!” cried Steinbock, starting to his feet with a sudden andtheatrical emphasis. “You would not have had the chance—I would havekilledyou!”

Hortensethrewherselfintohisarms,claspinghimcloselyenoughtostiflehim,andcoveredhimwithkisses,saying:

“Ah,youdo loveme! I fearnothing!—ButnomoreMarneffe.Nevergoplungingintosuchhorriblebogs.”

“Isweartoyou,mydearHortense,thatIwillgotherenomore,exceptingtoredeemmynoteofhand.”

Shepoutedatthis,butonlyasalovingwomansulkstogetsomethingforit.Wenceslas,tiredoutwithsuchamorning’swork,wentofftohisstudiotomakeaclaysketchoftheSamsonandDelilah,forwhichhehadthedrawingsinhispocket.

Hortense,penitentforherlittletemper,andfancyingthatherhusbandwasannoyedwithher,wenttothestudiojustasthesculptorhadfinishedhandlingtheclaywiththeimpetuositythatspursanartistwhenthemoodisonhim.Onseeinghiswife,Wenceslashastilythrewthewetwrapperoverthegroup,andputtingbotharmsroundher,hesaid:

“Wewerenotreallyangry,werewe,myprettypuss?”

Hortensehadcaughtsightofthegroup,hadseenthelinenthrownoverit,andhadsaidnothing;butasshewasleaving,shetookoff therag, lookedatthemodel,andasked:

“Whatisthat?”

“AgroupforwhichIhadjusthadanidea.”

“Andwhydidyouhideit?”

“Ididnotmeanyoutoseeittillitwasfinished.”

“Thewomanisverypretty,”saidHortense.

Andathousandsuspicionscroppedupinhermind,as,inIndia,tall,rankplantsspringupinanight-time.

By the end of threeweeks,MadameMarneffewas intensely irritated byHortense.Womenofthatstamphaveaprideoftheirown;theyinsistthatmenshallkissthedevil’shoof;theyhavenoforgivenessforthevirtuethatdoesnotquailbeforetheirdominion,orthatevenholdsitsownagainstthem.Now,inall that timeWenceslashadnotpaidonevisit in theRueVanneau,noteventhatwhichpolitenessrequiredtoawomanwhohadsatforDelilah.

Whenever Lisbeth called on the Steinbocks, there had been nobody athome.Monsieurandmadamelivedinthestudio.Lisbeth,followingtheturtledovestotheirnestatleGros-Caillou,foundWenceslashardatwork,andwasinformedbythecookthatmadameneverleftmonsieur’sside.Wenceslaswasaslavetotheautocracyoflove.SonowValerie,onherownaccount,tookpartwithLisbethinherhatredofHortense.

Womenclingtoaloverthatanotherwomanisfightingfor,justasmuchasmen do to women round whom many coxcombs are buzzing. Thus anyreflectionsapropostoMadameMarneffeareequallyapplicabletoanylady-killingrake;heis,infact,asortofmalecourtesan.Valerie’slastfancywasamadness;aboveall,shewasbentongettinghergroup;shewaseventhinkingofgoingonemorningtothestudiotoseeWenceslas,whenaseriousincidentaroseofthekindwhich,toawomanofthatclass,maybecalledthespoilofwar.

ThisishowValerieannouncedthiswhollypersonalevent.

ShewasbreakfastingwithLisbethandherhusband.

“Isay,Marneffe,whatwouldyousaytobeingasecondtimeafather?”

“Youdon’tmeanit—ababy?—Oh,letmekissyou!”

He rose andwent round the table; hiswife held up her head so that he

couldjustkissherhair.

“If that isso,”hewenton,“Iamhead-clerkandofficerof theLegionofHonoratonce.Butyoumustunderstand,mydear,Stanislas isnot tobe thesufferer,poorlittleman.”

“Poorlittleman?”Lisbethputin.“Youhavenotsetyoureyesonhimthesesevenmonths. I am supposed to be hismother at the school; I am the onlypersoninthehousewhotakesanytroubleabouthim.”

“Abratthatcostsusahundredcrownsaquarter!”saidValerie.“Andhe,atanyrate,isyourownchild,Marneffe.Yououghttopayforhisschoolingoutofyoursalary.—Thenewcomer,farfromremindingusofbutcher’sbills,willrescueusfromwant.”

“Valerie,”repliedMarneffe,assuminganattitudelikeCrevel,“IhopethatMonsieur leBaronHulotwill takeproperchargeofhis son,andnot lay theburdenonapoorclerk.Iintendtokeephimwelluptothemark.Sotakethenecessarysteps,madame!Gethimtowriteyoulettersinwhichhealludestohissatisfaction,forheisratherbackwardincomingforwardinregardtomyappointment.”

AndMarneffewentawaytotheoffice,wherehischief’spreciousleniencyallowed him to come in at about eleven o’clock. And, indeed, he did littleenough,forhisincapacitywasnotorious,andhedetestedwork.

Nosoonerwere theyalone thanLisbethandValerie lookedateachotherforamomentlikeAugurs,andbothtogetherburstintoaloudfitoflaughter.

“Isay,Valerie—isitthefact?”saidLisbeth,“ormerelyafarce?”

“It is a physical fact!” replied Valerie. “Now, I am sick and tired ofHortense;anditoccurredtomeinthenightthatImightfirethisinfant,likeabomb,intotheSteinbockhousehold.”

Valeriewentbacktoherroom,followedbyLisbeth,towhomsheshowedthefollowingletter:—

“WENCESLAS MY DEAR,—I still believe in your love, though it isnearlythreeweekssinceIsawyou.Isthisscorn?Delilahcanscarcelybelievethat.Doesitnotratherresultfromthetyrannyofawomanwhom,asyoutoldme,youcannolongerlove?Wenceslas,youaretoogreatanartisttosubmittosuch dominion. Home is the grave of glory.—Consider now, are you theWenceslasof theRueduDoyenne?Youmissedfirewithmyfather’sstatue;butinyoutheloverisgreaterthantheartist,andyouhavehadbetterluckwithhisdaughter.Youareafather,mybelovedWenceslas.

“Ifyoudonotcometomein thestateIamin,yourfriendswould thinkverybadlyofyou.ButIloveyousomadly,thatIfeelIshouldneverhavethe

strengthtocurseyou.MayIsignmyselfasever,

“YOURVALERIE.”

“What doyou say tomy scheme for sending this note to the studio at atimewhenourdearHortenseistherebyherself?”askedValerie.“LasteveningIheardfromStidmannthatWenceslasistopickhimupateleventhismorningtogoonbusinesstoChanor’s;sothatgawkHortensewillbetherealone.”

“Butafter sucha trickas that,” repliedLisbeth,“Icannotcontinue tobeyour friend in the eyes of the world; I shall have to breakwith you, to besupposednevertovisityou,oreventospeaktoyou.”

“Evidently,”saidValerie;“but—”

“Oh!bequiteeasy,”interruptedLisbeth;“weshalloftenmeetwhenIamMadame laMarechale. They are all set upon it now. Only the Baron is inignoranceoftheplan,butyoucantalkhimover.”

“Well,”saidValerie,“butitisquitelikelythattheBaronandImaybeondistanttermsbeforelong.”

“MadameOlivier is the only personwho canmakeHortense demand tosee the letter,” said Lisbeth. “And you must send her to the Rue Saint-Dominiquebeforeshegoesontothestudio.”

“Ourbeautywillbeathome,nodoubt,”saidValerie,ringingforReinetocallupMadameOlivier.

Tenminutes after thedespatchof this fateful letter,BaronHulot arrived.MadameMarneffe threw her arms round the oldman’s neck with kittenishimpetuosity.

“Hector, you are a father!” she said in his ear. “That is what comes ofquarrelingandmakingfriendsagain——”

Perceiving a look of surprise, which the Baron did not at once conceal,Valerie assumed a reservewhich brought the oldman to despair. Shemadehimwringtheproofsfromheronebyone.Whenconviction,ledonbyvanity,hadatlastenteredhismind,sheenlargedonMonsieurMarneffe’swrath.

“My dear old veteran,” said she, “you can hardly avoid getting yourresponsibleeditor,ourrepresentativepartnerifyoulike,appointedhead-clerkandofficeroftheLegionofHonor,foryoureallyhavedoneforthepoorman,headoreshisStanislas,thelittlemonstrositywhoissolikehim,thattomeheis insufferable. Unless you prefer to settle twelve hundred francs a year onStanislas—thecapitaltobehis,andthelife-interestpayabletome,ofcourse—”

“ButifIamtosettlesecurities,Iwouldratheritshouldbeonmyownson,

andnotonthemonstrosity,”saidtheBaron.

Thisrashspeech,inwhichthewords“myownson”cameoutasfullasariverinflood,was,bytheendofthehour,ratifiedasaformalpromisetosettletwelvehundredfrancsayearonthefutureboy.Andthispromisebecame,onValerie’s tongue and in her countenance, what a drum is in the hands of achild;forthreeweekssheplayedonitincessantly.

AtthemomentwhenBaronHulotwasleavingtheRueVanneau,ashappyasamanwhoafterayearofmarriedlifestilldesiresanheir,MadameOlivierhadyieldedtoHortense,andgivenupthenoteshewasinstructedtogiveonlyintotheCount’sownhands.Theyoungwifepaidtwentyfrancsforthatletter.The wretch who commits suicide must pay for the opium, the pistol, thecharcoal.

Hortensereadandre-readthenote;shesawnothingbutthissheetofwhitepaper streaked with black lines; the universe held for her nothing but thatpaper;everythingwasdarkaroundher.Theglareoftheconflagrationthatwasconsumingtheedificeofherhappinesslightedupthepage,forblackestnightenfoldedher.TheshoutsofherlittleWenceslasatplayfellonherear,asifhehadbeeninthedepthsofavalleyandsheonahighmountain.Thusinsultedatfour-and-twenty, in all the splendor of her beauty, enhanced by pure anddevotedlove—itwasnotastab,itwasdeath.Thefirstshockhadbeenmerelyon the nerves, the physical frame had struggled in the grip of jealousy; butnowcertaintyhadseizedhersoul,herbodywasunconscious.

Forabout tenminutesHortense satunder the incubusof thisoppression.Then a visionof hermother appearedbefore her, and revulsion ensued; shewascalmandcool,andmistressofherreason.

Sherang.

“GetLouisetohelpyou,child,”saidshetothecook.“Asquicklyasyoucan,packupeverythingthatbelongstomeandeverythingwantedforthelittleboy. I give you anhour.When all is ready, fetch a hackney coach from thestand,andcallme.

“Makenoremarks!Iamleavingthehouse,andshalltakeLouisewithme.Youmuststayherewithmonsieur;takegoodcareofhim——”

Shewentintoherroom,andwrotethefollowingletter:—

“MONSIEURLECOMTE,—

“TheletterIenclosewillsufficientlyaccountforthedeterminationIhavecometo.

“Whenyouread this, I shallhave leftyourhouseandhave foundrefugewithmymother,takingourchildwithme.

“Donot imagine that I shall retracemy steps.Donot imagine that I amacting with the rash haste of youth, without reflection, with the anger ofoffendedaffection;youwillbegreatlymistaken.

“Ihavebeenthinkingverydeeplyduringthelastfortnightoflife,oflove,ofourmarriage,ofourdutiestoeachother.Ihaveknowntheperfectdevotionofmymother;shehastoldmeallhersorrows!Shehasbeenheroical—everyday for twenty-three years. But I have not the strength to imitate her, notbecauseIloveyoulessthanshelovesmyfather,butforreasonsofspiritandnature.Ourhomewouldbeahell;Imightlosemyheadsofarastodisgraceyou—disgracemyselfandourchild.

“I refuse to be aMadameMarneffe; once launched on such a course, awomanofmytempermightnot,perhaps,beabletostop.Iam,unfortunatelyformyself,aHulot,notaFischer.

“Alone, and absent from the scene of your dissipations, I am sure ofmyself,especiallywithmychildtooccupyme,andbythesideofastrongandnoblemother,whoselifecannotfailtoinfluencethevehementimpetuousnessofmyfeelings.There,Icanbeagoodmother,bringourboyupwell,andlive.Under your roof the wife would oust the mother; and constant contentionwouldsourmytemper.

“Icanacceptadeath-blow,butIwillnotendurefortwenty-fiveyears,likemymother.If,attheendofthreeyearsofperfect,unwaveringlove,youcanbe unfaithful to me with your father-in-law’s mistress, what rivals may Iexpecttohaveinlateryears?Indeed,monsieur,youhavebegunyourcareerofprofligacymuchearlierthanmyfatherdid,thelifeofdissipation,whichisadisgrace to the father of a family, which undermines the respect of hischildren,andwhichendsinshameanddespair.

“Iamnotunforgiving.UnrelentingfeelingsdonotbeseemerringcreatureslivingundertheeyeofGod.Ifyouwinfameandfortunebysustainedwork,ifyouhavenothing todowithcourtesansand ignoble,defilingways,youwillfindmestillawifeworthyofyou.

“Ibelieveyou tobe toomuchagentleman,Monsieur leComte, tohaverecourse to the law. You will respect my wishes, and leave me under mymother’sroof.Aboveall,neverletmeseeyouthere.Ihaveleftallthemoneylenttoyoubythatodiouswoman.—

Farewell.

“HORTENSEHULOT.”

Thisletterwaswritteninanguish.Hortenseabandonedherselftothetears,theoutcriesofmurderedlove.Shelaiddownherpenandtookitupagain,to

expressassimplyaspossibleallthatpassioncommonlyproclaimsinthissortof testamentary letter. Her heart went forth in exclamations, wailing andweeping;butreasondictatedthewords.

InformedbyLouisethatallwasready,theyoungwifeslowlywentroundthe little garden, through the bedroom and drawing-room, looking ateverythingforthelasttime.Thensheearnestlyenjoinedthecooktotakethegreatestcareforhermaster’scomfort,promisingtorewardherhandsomelyifshewouldbehonest.At last shegot into thehackney coach todrive tohermother’shouse,herheartquitebroken,cryingsomuchastodistressthemaid,and covering littleWenceslaswith kisses,which betrayed her still unfailingloveforhisfather.

TheBaronessknewalreadyfromLisbeththatthefather-in-lawwaslargelytoblamefortheson-in-law’sfault;norwasshesurprisedtoseeherdaughter,whoseconductsheapproved,andsheconsentedtogivehershelter.Adeline,perceivingthatherowngentlenessandpatiencehadnevercheckedHector,forwhomherrespectwasindeedfastdiminishing,thoughtherdaughterveryrighttoadoptanothercourse.

Inthreeweeksthepoormotherhadsufferedtwowoundsofwhichthepainwas greater than any ill-fortune she had hitherto endured. The Baron hadplaced Victorin and his wife in great difficulties; and then, by Lisbeth’saccount,hewasthecauseofhisson-in-law’smisconduct,andhadcorruptedWenceslas.Thedignityofthefatherofthefamily,solongupheldbyherreallyfoolish self-sacrifice, was now overthrown. Though they did not regret themoneytheyoungHulotswerefullalikeofdoubtsanduneasinessasregardedthe Baron. This sentiment, which was evidence enough, distressed theBaroness;sheforesawabreak-upofthefamilytie.

Hortensewas accommodated in the dining-room, arranged as a bedroomwith thehelpof theMarshal’smoney,and theanteroombecame thedining-room,asitisinmanyapartments.

WhenWenceslasreturnedhomeandhadreadthetwoletters,hefeltakindofgladnessmingledwithregret.Keptsoconstantlyunderhiswife’seye,sotospeak,hehadinwardlyrebelledagainstthisfreshthraldom,alaLisbeth.Fullfedwith love for threeyearspast,he toohadbeen reflectingduring the lastfortnight; and he found a family heavy on his hands. He had just beencongratulated by Stidmann on the passion he had inspired in Valerie; forStidmann,with an under-thought that was not unnatural, saw that hemightflatter the husband’s vanity in the hope of consoling the victim. AndWenceslaswasgladtobeabletoreturntoMadameMarneffe.

Still,herememberedthepureandunsulliedhappinesshehadknown,theperfectionsofhiswife,herjudgment,herinnocentandguilelessaffection,—

and he regretted her acutely.He thought of going at once to hismother-in-law’s to crave forgiveness; but, in fact, like Hulot and Crevel, he went toMadameMarneffe, towhomhe carried hiswife’s letter to showherwhat adisaster she had caused, and to discount his misfortune, so to speak, byclaiminginreturnthepleasureshismistresscouldgivehim.

HefoundCrevelwithValerie.Themayor,puffedupwithpride,marchedupanddown the room, agitatedby a stormof feelings.Heputhimself intopositionasifhewereabouttospeak,buthedarednot.Hiscountenancewasbeaming,andhewentnowandagain to thewindow,wherehedrummedonthepanewithhisfingers.Hekept lookingatValeriewithaglanceof tenderpathos.Happilyforhim,Lisbethpresentlycamein.

“Cousin Betty,” he said in her ear, “have you heard the news? I am afather!ItseemstomeIlovemypoorCelestinetheless.—Oh!whatathingitistohaveachildbythewomanoneidolizes!Itisthefatherhoodoftheheartaddedtothatoftheflesh!Isay—tellValeriethatIwillworkforthatchild—itshallberich.Shetellsmeshehassomereasonforbelievingthatitwillbeaboy!Ifit isaboy,IshallinsistonhisbeingcalledCrevel.Iwillconsultmynotaryaboutit.”

“Iknowhowmuchshelovesyou,”saidLisbeth.“Butforhersakeinthefuture,andforyourown,controlyourself.Donotrubyourhandseveryfiveminutes.”

WhileLisbethwasspeakingasideonthiswisetoCrevel,ValeriehadaskedWenceslastogiveherbackherletter,andshewassayingthingsthatdispelledallhisgriefs.

“Sonowyouarefree,mydear,”saidshe.“Oughtanygreatartisttomarry?Youliveonlybyfancyandfreedom!There,Ishallloveyousomuch,belovedpoet,thatyoushallneverregretyourwife.Atthesametime,if,likesomanypeople,youwanttokeepupappearances,IundertaketobringHortensebacktoyouinaveryshorttime.”

“Oh,ifonlythatwerepossible!”

“Iamcertainofit,”saidValerie,nettled.“Yourpoorfather-in-lawisamanwhoisineverywayutterlydonefor;whowantstoappearasthoughhecouldbeloved,outofconceit,andtomaketheworldbelievethathehasamistress;andhe is soexcessivelyvainon thispoint, that I candowhat Ipleasewithhim.TheBaronessisstillsodevotedtoheroldHector—IalwaysfeelasifIwere talkingof the Iliad—that these twoold folkswill contrive topatchupmattersbetweenyouandHortense.Only,ifyouwanttoavoidstormsathomefor the future, do not leaveme for threeweekswithout coming to see yourmistress—Iwasdyingof it.Mydearboy, someconsideration isdue froma

gentlemantoawomanhehassodeeplycompromised,especiallywhen,asinmycase,shehastobeverycarefulofherreputation.

“Staytodinner,mydarling—andrememberthatImusttreatyouwithallthe more apparent coldness because you are guilty of this too obviousmishap.”

BaronMonteswaspresentlyannounced;Valerieroseandhurriedforwardtomeethim;shespokeafewsentencesinhisear,enjoiningonhimthesamereserve as she had impressed on Wenceslas; the Brazilian assumed adiplomaticreticencesuitabletothegreatnewswhichfilledhimwithdelight,forhe,atanyratewassureofhispaternity.

Thankstothesetactics,basedonthevanityofthemanintheloverstageofhisexistence,Valeriesatdowntotablewithfourmen,allpleasedandeagertoplease, all charmed, and each believing himself adored; called byMarneffe,whoincludedhimself,inspeakingtoLisbeth,thefiveFathersoftheChurch.

BaronHulot alone at first showed an anxious countenance, and thiswaswhy.Justashewasleavingtheoffice,theheadofthestaffofclerkshadcometohisprivateroom—aGeneralwithwhomhehadservedforthirtyyears—andHulothadspokentohimastoappointingMarneffetoCoquet’splace,Coquethavingconsentedtoretire.

“Mydearfellow,”saidhe,“IwouldnotaskthisfavorofthePrincewithoutourhavingagreedonthematter,andknowingthatyouapproved.”

“Mygoodfriend,”repliedtheother,“youmustallowmetoobservethat,for yourown sake, you shouldnot insist on this nomination. I have alreadytoldyoumyopinion.Therewouldbeascandalintheoffice,wherethereisagreat deal toomuch talk already about you andMadameMarneffe.This, ofcourse,isbetweenourselves.Ihavenowishtotouchyouonasensitivespot,ordisobligeyouinanyway,andIwillproveit.IfyouaredeterminedtogetMonsieurCoquet’splace,andhewillreallybealossintheWarOffice,forhehasbeenhere since1809, Iwillgo into thecountry fora fortnight, soas toleave the fieldopenbetweenyouand theMarshal,who lovesyou as a son.ThenIshalltakeneitherpart,andshallhavenothingonmyconscienceasanadministrator.”

“Thankyouverymuch,”saidHulot.“Iwillreflectonwhatyouhavesaid.”

“In allowingmyself to say somuch,my dear friend, it is because yourpersonalinterest isfarmoredeeplyimplicatedthananyconcernorvanityofmine.Inthefirstplace,thematterliesentirelywiththeMarshal.Andthen,mygoodfellow,weareblamedforsomanythings,thatonemoreorless!Wearenot at the maiden stage in our experience of fault-finding. Under theRestoration,menwereputinsimplytogivethemplaces,withoutanyregard

fortheoffice.—Weareoldfriends——”

“Yes,”theBaronputin;“anditisinordernottoimpairouroldandvaluedfriendshipthatI—”

“Well,well,” said thedepartmentalmanager, seeingHulot’s facecloudedwithembarrassment,“Iwilltakemyselfoff,oldfellow.—ButIwarnyou!youhaveenemies—thatistosay,menwhocovetyoursplendidappointment,andyouhavebutoneanchorout.Nowif,likeme,youwereaDeputy,youwouldhavenothingtofear;somindwhatyouareabout.”

This speech, in themost friendly spirit, made a deep impression on theCouncillorofState.

“But,afterall,Roger,whatisitthatiswrong?Donotmakeanymysterieswithme.”

The individual addressed as Roger looked at Hulot, took his hand, andpressedit.

“Wearesucholdfriends,thatIamboundtogiveyouwarning.Ifyouwanttokeepyourplace,youmustmakeabedforyourself,andinsteadofaskingtheMarshaltogiveCoquet’splacetoMarneffe,inyourplaceIwouldbeghimtousehisinfluencetoreserveaseatformeontheGeneralCouncilofState;there you may die in peace, and, like the beaver, abandon all else to thepursuers.”

“What,doyouthinktheMarshalwouldforget—”

“TheMarshalhasalreadytakenyourpartsowarmlyataGeneralMeetingof theMinisters, that you will not now be turned out; but it was seriouslydiscussed!Sogive themnoexcuse. I can saynomore.At thismomentyoumaymakeyourownterms;youmaysitontheCouncilofStateandbemadeaPeeroftheChamber.Ifyoudelaytoolong,ifyougiveanyoneaholdagainstyou,Icananswerfornothing.—Now,amItogo?”

“Waita little. Iwillsee theMarshal,”repliedHulot,“andIwillsendmybrothertoseewhichwaythewindblowsatheadquarters.”

ThehumorinwhichtheBaroncamebacktoMadameMarneffe’smaybeimagined;hehadalmostforgottenhisfatherhood,forRogerhadtakenthepartofatrueandkindfriendinexplainingtheposition.AtthesametimeValerie’sinfluencewassogreatthat,bythemiddleofdinner,theBaronwastuneduptothe pitch, and was all the more cheerful for having unwonted anxieties toconceal; but the hapless man was not yet aware that in the course of thateveninghewouldfindhimselfinacleftstick,betweenhishappinessandthedanger pointed out by his friend—compelled, in short, to choose betweenMadameMarneffeandhisofficialposition.

Ateleveno’clock,when theeveningwasat itsgayest, for the roomwasfullofcompany,ValeriedrewHectorintoacornerofhersofa.

“Mydearoldboy,”saidshe,“yourdaughterissoannoyedatknowingthatWenceslas comes here, that she has left him ‘planted.’ Hortense is wrong-headed.AskWenceslastoshowyoutheletterthelittlefoolhaswrittentohim.

“Thisdivisionoftwolovers,ofwhichIamreputedtobethecause,maydomethegreatestharm,forthisishowvirtuouswomenundermineeachother.Itisdisgracefultoposeasavictiminordertocasttheblameonawomanwhoseonlycrimeis thatshekeepsapleasanthouse.Ifyouloveme,youwillclearmycharacterbyreconcilingthesweetturtle-doves.

“Idonotintheleastcareaboutyourson-in-law’svisits;youbroughthimhere—takehimawayagain!Ifyouhaveanyauthorityinyourfamily,itseemstomethatyoumayverywellinsistonyourwife’spatchingupthissquabble.Tell theworthyold lady fromme, that if I amunjustlychargedwithhavingcaused a young couple to quarrel,with upsetting the unity of a family, andannexingboth thefatherand theson-in-law, Iwilldeservemyreputationbyannoyingtheminmyownway!Why,hereisLisbethtalkingofthrowingmeover!Shepreferstosticktoherfamily,andIcannotblameherforit.Shewillthrowmeover,saysshe,unlesstheyoungpeoplemakefriendsagain.Aprettystateofthings!Ourexpensesherewillbetrebled!”

“Oh, as for that!” said the Baron, on hearing of his daughter’s strongmeasures,“Iwillhavenononsenseofthatkind.”

“Very well,” said Valerie. “And now for the next thing.—What aboutCoquet’splace?”

“That,” said Hector, looking away, “is more difficult, not to sayimpossible.”

“Impossible,mydearHector?”saidMadameMarneffeintheBaron’sear.“Butyoudonotknowtowhat lengthsMarneffewillgo.Iamcompletely inhispower;he is immoral forhisowngratification, likemostmen,buthe isexcessivelyvindictive, likeallweakand impotentnatures. In theposition towhichyouhave reducedme, I am inhispower. I ambound tobeon termswithhimforafewdays,andheisquitecapableofrefusingtoleavemyroomanymore.”

Hulotstartedwithhorror.

“He would leave me alone on condition of being head-clerk. It isabominable—butlogical.”

“Valerie,doyouloveme?”

“InthestateinwhichIam,mydear,thequestionisthemeanestinsult.”

“Well,then—ifIweretoattempt,merelytoattempt,toaskthePrinceforaplaceforMarneffe,Ishouldbedonefor,andMarneffewouldbeturnedout.”

“IthoughtthatyouandthePrinceweresuchintimatefriends.”

“We are, and he has amply proved it; but, my child, there is authorityabovetheMarshal’s—forinstance,thewholeCouncilofMinisters.Withtimeand a little tacking,we shall get there. But, to succeed, Imustwait till themomentwhensomeserviceisrequiredofme.ThenIcansayonegoodturndeservesanother—”

“If I tellMarneffe this tale,mypoorHector, hewill playus somemeantrick.Youmusttellhimyourselfthathehastowait.Iwillnotundertaketodoso.Oh!Iknowwhatmyfatewouldbe.Heknowshowtopunishme!Hewillhenceforthsharemyroom——

“Donotforgettosettlethetwelvehundredfrancsayearonthelittleone!”

Hulot,seeinghispleasures indanger, tookMonsieurMarneffeaside,andfor the first time derogated from the haughty tone he had always assumedtowards him, so greatly was he horrified by the thought of that half-deadcreatureinhisprettyyoungwife’sbedroom.

“Marneffe,mydear fellow,” saidhe, “Ihavebeen talkingofyou to-day.Butyoucannotbepromotedtothefirstclassjustyet.Wemusthavetime.”

“Iwillbe,MonsieurleBaron,”saidMarneffeshortly.

“But,mydearfellow—”

“I will be, Monsieur le Baron,” Marneffe coldly repeated, lookingalternatelyattheBaronandatValerie.“Youhaveplacedmywifeinapositionthatnecessitateshermakingupherdifferenceswithme,andImean tokeepher;for,mydearfellow,sheisacharmingcreature,”headded,withcrushingirony.“Iammasterhere—morethanyouareattheWarOffice.”

TheBaron felt one of those pangs of furywhich have the effect, in theheart,ofafitofragingtoothache,andhecouldhardlyconcealthetearsinhiseyes.

Duringthislittlescene,ValeriehadbeenexplainingMarneffe’simaginarydeterminationtoMontes,andthushadridherselfofhimforatime.

Ofherfouradherents,Crevelalonewasexemptedfromtherule—Crevel,themasterofthelittle“bijou”apartment;andhedisplayedonhiscountenancean air of really insolent beatitude, notwithstanding the wordless reproofsadministered by Valerie in frowns and meaning grimaces. His triumphantpaternitybeamedineveryfeature.

WhenValeriewaswhisperingawordofcorrectioninhisear,hesnatched

herhand,andputin:

“To-morrow, my Duchess, you shall have your own little house! Thepapersaretobesignedto-morrow.”

“Andthefurniture?”saidshe,withasmile.

“Ihavea thousand shares in theVersailles rivegauche railway. Iboughtthemat twenty-five,and theywillgoup to threehundred inconsequenceoftheamalgamationofthetwolines,whichisasecrettoldtome.Youshallhavefurniturefitforaqueen.Butthenyouwillbeminealonehenceforth?”

“Yes, burly Maire,” said this middle-class Madame de Merteuil. “Butbehaveyourself;respectthefutureMadameCrevel.”

“My dear cousin,” Lisbeth was saying to the Baron, “I shall go to seeAdeline early to-morrow; for, as youmust see, I cannot,with any decency,remainhere.IwillgoandkeephouseforyourbrothertheMarshal.”

“Iamgoinghomethisevening,”saidHulot.

“Verywell,youwillseemeatbreakfastto-morrow,”saidLisbeth,smiling.

Sheunderstood thatherpresencewouldbenecessaryat thefamilyscenethatwouldtakeplaceonthemorrow.Andtheveryfirstthinginthemorningshe went to see Victorin and to tell him that Hortense andWenceslas hadparted.

WhentheBaronwenthomeathalf-pastten,MarietteandLouise,whohadhadahardday,werelockinguptheapartment.Hulothadnottoring.

Verymuchputoutatthiscompulsoryvirtue,thehusbandwentstraighttohiswife’s room,and through thehalf-opendoorhe sawherkneelingbeforeher Crucifix, absorbed in prayer, in one of those attitudes which make thefortuneof the painter or the sculptorwho is so happy to invent and then toexpressthem.Adeline,carriedawaybyherenthusiasm,wasprayingaloud:

“OGod,havemercyandenlightenhim!”

TheBaronesswasprayingforherHector.

At thissight,sounlikewhathehad just left,andonhearing thispetitionfoundedon theeventsof theday, theBaronheavedasighofdeepemotion.Adeline lookedround,her facedrowned in tears.Shewassoconvinced thather prayer had been heard, that,with one spring, she threw her arms roundHectorwith the impetuosity of happy affection.Adeline had given up all awife’s instincts; sorrow had effaced even the memory of them. No feelingsurvived in her but those ofmotherhood, of the family honor, and the pureattachmentofaChristianwifeforahusbandwhohasgoneastray—thesaintlytendernesswhichsurvivesallelseinawoman’ssoul.

“Hector!”shesaid,“areyoucomebacktous?HasGodtakenpityonourfamily?”

“DearAdeline,”repliedtheBaron,cominginandseatinghiswifebyhisside on a couch, “you are the saintliest creature I ever knew; I have longknownmyselftobeunworthyofyou.”

“Youwouldhaveverylittletodo,mydear,”saidshe,holdingHulot’shandandtremblingsoviolentlythatitwasasthoughshehadapalsy,“verylittletosetthingsinorder—”

Shedarednotproceed; she felt that everywordwouldbe a reproof, andshedidnotwishtomarthehappinesswithwhichthismeetingwasinundatinghersoul.

“ItisHortensewhohasbroughtmehere,”saidHulot.“ThatchildmaydousfarmoreharmbyherhastyproceedingthanmyabsurdpassionforValeriehas ever done.Butwewill discuss all this to-morrowmorning.Hortense isasleep,Mariettetellsme;wewillnotdisturbher.”

“Yes,”saidMadameHulot,suddenlyplungedintothedepthsofgrief.

SheunderstoodthattheBaron’sreturnwaspromptednotsomuchbythewishtoseehisfamilyasbysomeulteriorinterest.

“Leaveherinpeacetillto-morrow,”saidthemother.“Thepoorchildisinadeplorablecondition;shehasbeencryingallday.”

Atninethenextmorning,theBaron,awaitinghisdaughter,whomhehadsent for, was pacing the large, deserted drawing-room, trying to findargumentsbywhichtoconquerthemostdifficultformofobstinacythereistodealwith—thatofayoungwife,offendedandimplacable,asblamelessyouthever is, in its ignorance of the disgraceful compromises of theworld, of itspassionsandinterests.

“Here I am,papa,” saidHortense in a tremulousvoice, and lookingpalefromhermiseries.

Hulot,sittingdown,tookhisdaughterroundthewaist,anddrewherdowntositonhisknee.

“Well,my child,” said he, kissingher forehead, “so there are troubles athome,andyouhavebeenhastyandheadstrong?That isnot likeawell-bredchild.MyHortense ought not to have taken such a decisive step as that ofleavingherhouseanddesertingherhusbandonherownaccount,andwithoutconsulting her parents. If my darling girl had come to see her kind andadmirablemother,shewouldnothavegivenmethiscruelpainI feel!—Youdonotknowtheworld;itismalignantlyspiteful.Peoplewillperhapssaythatyourhusbandsentyoubacktoyourparents.Childrenbroughtupasyouwere,

on your mother’s lap, remain artless; maidenly passion like yours forWenceslas,unfortunately,makesnoallowances;itactsoneveryimpulse.Thelittleheartismoved,theheadfollowssuit.YouwouldburndownParistoberevenged,withnothoughtofthecourtsofjustice!

“Whenyouroldfathertellsyouthatyouhaveoutragedtheproprieties,youmaytakehiswordforit.—Isaynothingofthecruelpainyouhavegivenme.It is bitter, I assureyou, foryou throwall theblameon awomanofwhoseheartyouknownothing,andwhosehostilitymaybecomedisastrous.Andyou,alas!sofullofguilelessinnocenceandpurity,canhavenosuspicions;butyoumay be vilified and slandered.—Besides, my darling pet, you have taken afoolishjesttooseriously.Icanassureyou,onmyhonor,thatyourhusbandisblameless.MadameMarneffe—”

SofartheBaron,artisticallydiplomatic,hadformulatedhisremonstrancesvery judiciously.Hehad, asmaybeobserved,workedup to thementionofthisnamewithsuperiorskill;andyetHortense,assheheard it,wincedas ifstungtothequick.

“Listen tome; I have had great experience, and I have seenmuch,” hewenton,stoppinghisdaughter’sattempttospeak.“Thatladyisverycoldtoyourhusband.Yes,youhavebeenmadethevictimofapractical joke,andIwillproveittoyou.YesterdayWenceslaswasdiningwithher—”

“Diningwithher!”criedtheyoungwife,startingtoherfeet,andlookingatherfatherwithhorrorineveryfeature.“Yesterday!Afterhavinghadmyletter!Oh,greatGod!—WhydidInottaketheveilratherthanmarry?Butnowmylifeisnotmyown!Ihavethechild!”andshesobbed.

HerweepingwenttoMadameHulot’sheart.Shecameoutofherroomandran to her daughter, taking her in her arms, and asking her those questions,stupidwithgrief,whichfirstrosetoherlips.

“Nowwe have tears,” said the Baron to himself, “and all was going sowell!Whatistobedonewithwomenwhocry?”

“My child,” said the Baroness, “listen to your father! He loves us all—come,come—”

“Come,Hortense,mydearlittlegirl,crynomore,youmakeyourselftoougly!”said theBaron,“Now,bea littlereasonable.Gosensiblyhome,andIpromiseyouthatWenceslasshallneversetfootinthatwoman’shouse.Iaskyoutomakethesacrifice,ifitisasacrificetoforgivethehusbandyoulovesosmalla fault. I askyou—for the sakeofmygrayhairs, andof the loveyouoweyourmother.Youdonotwanttoblightmylateryearswithbitternessandregret?”

Hortensefellatherfather’sfeetlikeacrazedthing,withthevehemenceofdespair;herhair,looselypinnedup,fellabouther,andsheheldoutherhandswithanexpressionthatpaintedhermisery.

“Father,”shesaid,“askmylife!Takeitifyouwill,butatleasttakeitpureandspotless,andIwillyielditupgladly.Donotaskmetodieindishonorandcrime.Iamnotatalllikemyhusband;Icannotswallowanoutrage.IfIwentbackundermyhusband’sroof,Ishouldbecapableofsmotheringhiminafitofjealousy—orofdoingworse!Donoexactfrommeathingthatisbeyondmypowers.Do not have tomourn forme still living, for the least that canbefallmeistogomad.Ifeelmadnesscloseuponme!

“Yesterday, yesterday, he could dinewith thatwoman, after having readmy letter?—Areothermenmade so?My life I give you, but do not letmydeathbeignominious!—Hisfault?—Asmallone!Whenhehasachildbythatwoman!”

“Achild!”criedHulot,startingbackastepor two.“Come.This isreallysomefooling.”

AtthisjunctureVictorinandLisbetharrived,andstooddumfoundedatthescene. The daughter was prostrate at her father’s feet. The Baroness,speechless between her maternal feelings and her conjugal duty, showed aharassedfacebathedintears.

“Lisbeth,”said theBaron,seizinghiscousinby thehandandpointing toHortense,“youcanhelpmehere.Mypoorchild’sbrainisturned;shebelievesthatherWenceslasisMadameMarneffe’slover,whileallthatValeriewantedwastohaveagroupbyhim.”

“Delilah!” cried the youngwife. “The only thing he has done since ourmarriage.Themanwouldnotworkformeorforhisson,andhehasworkedwith frenzy for thatgood-for-nothingcreature.—Oh, father,killmeoutright,foreverywordstabslikeaknife!”

LisbethturnedtotheBaronessandVictorin,pointingwithapityingshrugtotheBaron,whocouldnotseeher.

“Listentome,”saidshetohim.“Ihadnoidea—whenyouaskedmetogoto lodge overMadameMarneffe and keep house for her—I had no idea ofwhatshewas;butmanythingsmaybelearnedinthreeyears.Thatcreatureisaprostitute,andonewhosedepravitycanonlybecomparedwith thatofherinfamousandhorriblehusband.Youarethedupe,mylordpot-boiler,ofthosepeople;youwillbeledfurtherbythemthanyoudreamof!Ispeakplainly,foryouareatthebottomofapit.”

TheBaroness and her daughter, hearing Lisbeth speak in this style, cast

adoring looksather,suchas thedevoutcastataMadonnaforhavingsavedtheirlife.

“Thathorriblewomanwasbentondestroyingyourson-in-law’shome.Towhatend?—Iknownot.Mybrainisnotequaltoseeingclearlyintothesedarkintrigues—perverse,ignoble,infamous!YourMadameMarneffedoesnotloveyourson-in-law,butshewillhavehimatherfeetoutofrevenge.Ihavejustspokentothewretchedwomanasshedeserves.Sheisashamelesscourtesan;Ihave toldher that Iamleavingherhouse, that Iwouldnothavemyhonorsmirchedinthatmuck-heap.—Iowemyselftomyfamilybeforeallelse.

“I knew thatHortense had left her husband, so here I am.YourValerie,whomyoubelievetobeasaint,isthecauseofthismiserableseparation;canIremainwithsuchawoman?OurpoorlittleHortense,”saidshe,touchingtheBaron’sarm,withpeculiarmeaning, “isperhaps thedupeof awishof suchwomenasthese,who,topossessatoy,wouldsacrificeafamily.

“I do not think Wenceslas guilty; but I think him weak, and I cannotpromisethathewillnotyieldtoherrefinementsoftemptation.—Mymindismadeup.Thewomanisfataltoyou;shewillbringyoualltoutterruin.Iwillnot even seem to be concerned in the destruction of my own family, afterlivingthereforthreeyearssolelytohinderit.

“Youarecheated,Baron;sayverypositivelythatyouwillhavenothingtosaytothepromotionofthatdreadfulMarneffe,andyouwillseethen!Thereisafinerodinpickleforyouinthatcase.”

LisbethliftedupHortenseandkissedherenthusiastically.

“MydearHortense,standfirm,”shewhispered.

TheBaronessembracedLisbethwiththevehemenceofawomanwhoseesherself avenged.Thewhole family stood inperfect silence round the father,whohadwitenoughtoknowwhatthatsilenceimplied.Astormoffurysweptacrosshisbrowandfacewithevidentsigns;theveinsswelled,hiseyeswerebloodshot,hisfleshshowedpatchesofcolor.Adelinefellonherkneesbeforehimandseizedhishands.

“Mydear,forgive,mydear!”

“Youloatheme!”criedtheBaron—thecryofhisconscience.

Forwe all know the secret of our ownwrong-doing.We almost alwaysascribetoourvictimsthehatefulfeelingswhichmustfillthemwiththehopeof revenge; and in spiteof everyeffortofhypocrisy,our tongueorour facemakesconfessionundertherackofsomeunexpectedanguish,asthecriminalofoldconfessedunderthehandsofthetorturer.

“Ourchildren,”hewenton, to retract the avowal, “turnat last tobeour

enemies—”

“Father!”Victorinbegan.

“Youdare to interruptyourfather!”said theBaroninavoiceof thunder,glaringathisson.

“Father,listentome,”Victorinwentoninaclear,firmvoice,thevoiceofapuritanicaldeputy.“IknowtherespectIoweyoutoowellevertofailinit,andyouwillalwaysfindmethemostrespectfulandsubmissiveofsons.”

Thosewho are in thehabit of attending the sittingsof theChamberwillrecognize the tactics of parliamentary warfare in these fine-drawn phrases,usedtocalmthefactionswhilegainingtime.

“Wearefarfrombeingyourenemies,”hissonwenton.“Ihavequarreledwithmyfather-in-law,MonsieurCrevel,forhavingrescuedyournotesofhandforsixtythousandfrancsfromVauvinet,andthatmoneyis,beyonddoubt,inMadameMarneffe’spocket.—Iamnotfindingfaultwithyou,father,”saidhe,in reply to an impatient gesture of the Baron’s; “I simply wish to add myprotest to my cousin Lisbeth’s, and to point out to you that though mydevotion to you as a father is blind and unlimited, my dear father, ourpecuniaryresources,unfortunately,areverylimited.”

“Money!” cried the excitable old man, dropping on to a chair, quitecrushedbythisargument.“Frommyson!—Youshallberepaidyourmoney,sir,”saidhe,rising,andhewenttothedoor.

“Hector!”

At this cry the Baron turned round, suddenly showing his wife a facebathedintears;shethrewherarmsroundhimwiththestrengthofdespair.

“Donotleaveusthus—donotgoawayinanger.Ihavenotsaidaword—notI!”

Atthisheart-wrungspeechthechildrenfellattheirfather’sfeet.

“Weallloveyou,”saidHortense.

Lisbeth,asrigidasastatue,watchedthegroupwithasuperiorsmileonherlips.JustthenMarshalHulot’svoicewasheardintheanteroom.Thefamilyallfelt the importance of secrecy, and the scene suddenly changed. The youngpeoplerose,andeveryonetriedtohidealltracesofemotion.

AdiscussionwasgoingonatthedoorbetweenMarietteandasoldier,whowassopersistentthatthecookcamein.

“Monsieur, a regimental quartermaster, who says he is just come fromAlgiers,insistsonseeingyou.”

“Tellhimtowait.”

“Monsieur,”saidMariettetohermasterinanundertone,“hetoldmetotellyouprivatelythatithastodowithyourunclethere.”

TheBaronstarted;hebelievedthatthefundshadbeensentatlastwhichhehadbeenaskingforthesetwomonths,topayuphisbills;heleftthefamily-party,andhurriedouttotheanteroom.

“YouareMonsieurdeParonHulot?”

“Yes.”

“Yourownself?”

“Myownself.”

Theman,whohadbeenfumblingmeanwhileintheliningofhiscap,drewoutaletter,ofwhichtheBaronhastilybroketheseal,andreadasfollows:—

“DEAR NEPHEW,—Far from being able to send you the hundredthousandfrancsyouaskofme,mypresentpositionisnottenableunlessyoucan take some decisive steps to save me. We are saddled with a publicprosecutor who talks goody, and rhodomontades nonsense about themanagement. It is impossible to get the black-chokered pump to hold histongue.IftheWarMinisterallowscivilianstofeedoutofhishand,Iamdonefor. I can trust the bearer; try to get him promoted; he has done us goodservice.Donotabandonmetothecrows!”

This letter was a thunderbolt; the Baron could read in it the intestinewarfarebetweencivilandmilitaryauthorities,whichtothisdayhamperstheGovernment,andhewasrequiredtoinventonthespotsomepalliativeforthedifficultythatstaredhimintheface.Hedesiredthesoldiertocomebacknextday,dismissinghimwithsplendidpromisesofpromotion,andhereturnedtothedrawing-room.“Good-dayandgood-bye,brother,”saidhetotheMarshal.—“Good-bye, children.—Good-bye, my dear Adeline.—And what are yougoingtodo,Lisbeth?”heasked.

“I?—Iamgoing tokeephouse for theMarshal, for Imust endmydaysdoingwhatIcanforoneoranotherofyou.”

“DonotleaveValerietillIhaveseenyouagain,”saidHulotinhiscousin’sear.—“Good-bye,Hortense,refractorylittlepuss;trytobereasonable.Ihaveimportant business to be attended to at once; we will discuss yourreconciliationanothertime.Now,thinkitover,mychild,”saidheashekissedher.

Andhewentaway,soevidentlyuneasy,thathiswifeandchildrenfeltthegravestapprehensions.

“Lisbeth,”saidtheBaroness,“ImustfindoutwhatiswrongwithHector;Ineversawhiminsuchastate.Stayadayortwolongerwiththatwoman;hetellshereverything,andwecanthenlearnwhathassosuddenlyupsethim.Bequite easy; we will arrange your marriage to the Marshal, for it is reallynecessary.”

“I shall never forget the courage you have shown this morning,” saidHortense,embracingLisbeth.

“Youhaveavengedourpoormother,”saidVictorin.

The Marshal looked on with curiosity at all the display of affectionlavishedonLisbeth,whowentofftoreportthescenetoValerie.

ThissketchwillenableguilelesssoulstounderstandwhatvariousmischiefMadameMarneffesmaydo ina family, and themeansbywhich they reachpoorvirtuouswivesapparently so faroutof theirken.And then, ifweonlytransfer,infancy,suchdoingstotheupperclassofsocietyaboutathrone,andifweconsiderwhatkings’mistressesmusthavecost them,wemayestimatethedebtowedbyanationtoasovereignwhosetstheexampleofadecentanddomesticlife.

In Paris each ministry is a little town by itself, whence women arebanished; but there is just as much detraction and scandal as though thefemininepopulationwereadmittedthere.Attheendofthreeyears,MonsieurMarneffe’spositionwasperfectlyclearandopentotheday,andineveryroomoneandanotherasked,“IsMarneffetobe,ornottobe,Coquet’ssuccessor?”Exactly as the question might have been put to the Chamber, “Will theestimatespassornotpass?”ThesmallestinitiativeonthepartoftheboardofManagementwascommentedon;everythinginBaronHulot’sdepartmentwascarefullynoted.TheastuteStateCouncillorhadenlistedonhissidethevictimofMarneffe’spromotion,ahard-workingclerk,tellinghimthatifhecouldfillMarneffe’s place, hewould certainly succeed to it; he had told him that themanwasdying.SothisclerkwasschemingforMarneffe’sadvancement.

WhenHulotwentthroughhisanteroom,fullofvisitors,hesawMarneffe’scolorlessfaceinacorner,andsentforhimbeforeanyoneelse.

“Whatdoyouwantofme,mydearfellow?”saidtheBaron,disguisinghisanxiety.

“Monsieur leDirecteur, I am the laughing-stock of the office, for it hasbecomeknownthatthechiefoftheclerkshasleftthismorningforaholiday,onthegroundofhishealth.Heistobeawayamonth.Now,weallknowwhatwaiting for a month means. You deliver me over to the mockery of myenemies, and it is bad enough to be drummeduponone side; drumming onbothatonce,monsieur,isapttoburstthedrum.”

“MydearMarneffe, it takes longpatience togainanend.Youcannotbemadehead-clerkinlessthantwomonths,ifever.JustwhenImust,asfaraspossible, secure my own position, is not the time to be applying for yourpromotion,whichwouldraiseascandal.”

“Ifyouarebroke,Ishallnevergetit,”saidMarneffecoolly.“Andifyougetmetheplace,itwillmakenodifferenceintheend.”

“ThenIamtosacrificemyselfforyou?”saidtheBaron.

“Ifyoudonot,Ishallbemuchmistakeninyou.”

“YouaretooexclusivelyMarneffe,MonsieurMarneffe,”saidHulot,risingandshowingtheclerkthedoor.

“I have the honor to wish you good-morning,Monsieur le Baron,” saidMarneffehumbly.

“Whataninfamousrascal!”thoughttheBaron.“Thisisuncommonlylikeasummonstopaywithintwenty-fourhoursonpainofdistraint.”

Twohourslater,justwhentheBaronhadbeeninstructingClaudeVignon,whomhewassendingtotheMinistryofJusticetoobtaininformationastothejudicialauthoritiesunderwhosejurisdictionJohannFischermightfall,Reineopened thedoorofhisprivate roomandgavehimanote, sayingshewouldwaitfortheanswer.

“Valerieismad!”saidtheBarontohimself.“TosendReine!Itisenoughto compromiseus all, and it certainly compromises that dreadfulMarneffe’schancesofpromotion!”

Buthedismissedtheminister’sprivatesecretary,andreadasfollows:—

“Oh,mydearfriend,whatasceneIhavehadtoendure!Thoughyouhavemademehappyforthreeyears,Ihavepaiddearlyforit!Hecameinfromtheofficeinaragethatmademequake.Iknewhewasugly;Ihaveseenhimamonster!His four real teethchattered,andhe threatenedmewithhisodiouspresencewithoutrespiteifIshouldcontinuetoreceiveyou.Mypoor,dearoldboy, our door is closed against you henceforth. You seemy tears; they aredroppingonthepaperandsoakingit;canyoureadwhatIwrite,dearHector?Oh,tothinkofneverseeingyou,ofgivingyouupwhenIbearinmesomeofyourlife,asIflattermyselfIhaveyourheart—itisenoughtokillme.ThinkofourlittleHector!

“Donotforsakeme,butdonotdisgraceyourselfforMarneffe’ssake;donotyieldtohisthreats.

“IloveyouasIhaveneverloved!IrememberallthesacrificesyouhavemadeforyourValerie;sheisnot,andneverwillbe,ungrateful;youare,and

willeverbe,myonlyhusband.ThinknomoreofthetwelvehundredfrancsayearIaskedyoutosettleonthedearlittleHectorwhoistocomesomemonthshence;Iwillnotcostyouanythingmore.Andbesides,mymoneywillalwaysbeyours.

“Oh,ifyouonlylovedmeasIloveyou,myHector,youwouldretireonyour pension; we should both take leave of our family, our worries, oursurroundings,sofullofhatred,andweshouldgotolivewithLisbethinsomeprettycountryplace—inBrittany,orwhereveryoulike.Thereweshouldseenobody,andweshouldbehappyawayfromtheworld.Yourpensionandthelittle property I can callmy ownwould be enough for us.You say you arejealous;well,youwouldthenhaveyourValerieentirelydevotedtoherHector,andyouwouldneverhavetotalkinaloudvoice,asyoudidtheotherday.Ishall have but one child—ours—you may be sure, my dearly loved oldveteran.

“Youcannotconceiveofmyfury,foryoucannotknowhowhetreatedme,and the foulwordshevomitedonyourValerie.Suchwordswoulddisgracemy paper; a woman such as I am—Montcornet’s daughter—ought never tohaveheardoneoftheminherlife.Ionlywishyouhadbeenthere,thatImighthavepunishedhimwiththesightofthemadpassionIfeltforyou.Myfatherwould have killed the wretch; I can only do as women do—love youdevotedly! Indeed, my love, in the state of exasperation in which I am, Icannotpossiblygiveupseeingyou.Imustpositivelyseeyou,insecret,everyday!Thatiswhatweare,wewomen.Yourresentmentismine.Ifyouloveme,I implore you, do not let himbe promoted; leave him to die a second-classclerk.

“AtthismomentIhavelostmyhead;Istillseemtohearhimabusingme.Betty,who hadmeant to leaveme, has pity onme, andwill stay for a fewdays.

“Mydearkindlove,Idonotknowyetwhatistobedone.Iseenothingforitbutflight.Ialwaysdelightinthecountry—Brittany,Languedoc,whatyouwill,solongasIamfreetoloveyou.Poordear,howIpityyou!ForcednowtogobacktoyouroldAdeline,tothatlachrymalurn—for,ashenodoubttoldyou,themonstermeans towatchmenightandday;hespokeofadetective!Donotcomehere,heiscapableofanythingIknow,sincehecouldmakeuseofmeforthebasestpurposesofspeculation.IonlywishIcouldreturnyouallthethingsIhavereceivedfromyourgenerosity.

“Ah!mykindHector, Imayhave flirted, andhave seemed toyou to befickle,butyoudidnotknowyourValerie;shelikedtoteaseyou,butshelovesyoubetterthananyoneintheworld.

“Hecannotpreventyourcomingtoseeyourcousin;Iwillarrangewithher

thatwehave speechwitheachother.Mydearoldboy,writeme just a line,pray,tocomfortmeintheabsenceofyourdearself.(Oh,Iwouldgiveoneofmyhands tohaveyoubymeonour sofa!)A letterwillwork like a charm;writemesomethingfullofyournoblesoul;Iwillreturnyournotetoyou,forImust be cautious; I should not knowwhere to hide it, he pokes his nose ineverywhere.Inshort,comfortyourValerie,yourlittlewife,themotherofyourchild.—Tothinkofmyhavingtowritetoyou,whenIusedtoseeyoueveryday.AsIsaytoLisbeth,‘IdidnotknowhowhappyIwas.’Athousandkisses,dearboy.Betruetoyour

“VALERIE.”

“And tears!”saidHulot tohimselfashefinished this letter,“tearswhichhaveblottedouthername.—Howisshe?”saidhetoReine.

“Madameisinbed;shehasdreadfulspasms,”repliedReine.“Shehadafitof hysterics that twisted her like a withy round a faggot. It came on afterwriting. It comes of crying so much. She heard monsieur’s voice on thestairs.”

TheBaroninhisdistresswrotethefollowingnoteonofficepaperwithaprintedheading:—

“Bequiteeasy,myangel,hewilldieasecond-classclerk!—Your idea isadmirable;wewillgoandlivefarfromParis,whereweshallbehappywithourlittleHector;Iwillretireonmypension,andIshallbesuretofindsomegoodappointmentonarailway.

“Ah,mysweet friend, I feel somuch theyounger foryour letter! I shallbeginlifeagainandmakeafortune,youwillsee,forourdearlittleone.AsIread your letter, a thousand times more ardent than those of the NouvelleHeloise, itworkedamiracle! Ihadnotbelieved itpossible that Icould loveyoumore.Thisevening,atLisbeth’syouwillsee

“YOURHECTOR,FORLIFE.”

Reine carried off this reply, the first letter the Baron had written to his“sweet friend.” Such emotions to some extent counterbalanced the disastersgrowling in the distance; but the Baron, at thismoment believing he couldcertainlyavert theblowsaimedathisuncle,JohannFischer, thoughtonlyofthedeficit.

Oneof thecharacteristicsof theBonapartist temperament isafirmbeliefin the power of the sword, and confidence in the superiority of themilitaryovercivilians.HulotlaughedtoscornthePublicProsecutorinAlgiers,wheretheWarOfficeissupreme.Manisalwayswhathehasoncebeen.Howcantheofficers of the ImperialGuard forget that timewaswhen themayors of the

largesttownsintheEmpireandtheEmperor’sprefects,Emperorsthemselvesonaminute scale,wouldcomeout tomeet the ImperialGuard, topay theirrespectsonthebordersoftheDepartmentsthroughwhichitpassed,andtodoit,inshort,thehomageduetosovereigns?

Athalf-pastfourthebaronwentstraighttoMadameMarneffe’s;hisheartbeatashighasayoungman’sashewentupstairs,forhewasaskinghimselfthisquestion,“ShallIseeher?orshallInot?”

Howwashenowtorememberthesceneofthemorningwhenhisweepingchildren had knelt at his feet? Valerie’s note, enshrined for ever in a thinpocket-bookoverhisheart,proved tohim that she lovedhimmore than themostcharmingofyoungmen.

Having rung, the unhappyvisitor heardwithin the shuffling slippers andvexatiousscrapingcoughofthedetestablemaster.Marneffeopenedthedoor,butonlytoputhimselfintoanattitudeandpointtothestairs,exactlyasHulothadshownhimthedoorofhisprivateroom.

“YouaretooexclusivelyHulot,MonsieurHulot!”saidhe.

TheBarontriedtopasshim,Marneffetookapistoloutofhispocketandcockedit.

“Monsieur leBaron,” said he, “when aman is as vile as I am—for youthinkmeveryvile, don’t you?—hewouldbe themeanest galley-slave if hedidnotgetthefullbenefitofhisbetrayedhonor.—Youareforwar;itwillbehotworkandnoquarter.Comeherenomore,anddonotattempttogetpastme.Ihavegiventhepolicenoticeofmypositionwithregardtoyou.”

AndtakingadvantageofHulot’samazement,hepushedhimoutandshutthedoor.

“What a low scoundrel!” said Hulot to himself, as he went upstairs toLisbeth.“Iunderstandher letternow.ValerieandIwillgoawayfromParis.Valerieiswhollyminefortheremainderofmydays;shewillclosemyeyes.”

Lisbethwasout.MadameOlivier toldtheBaronthatshehadgonetohiswife’shouse,thinkingthatshewouldfindhimthere.

“Poor thing! I shouldneverhaveexpectedher tobesosharpas shewasthismorning,”thoughtHulot,recallingLisbeth’sbehaviorashemadehiswayfromtheRueVanneautotheRuePlumet.

AsheturnedthecorneroftheRueVanneauandtheRuedeBabylone,helookedbackattheEdenwhenceHymenhadexpelledhimwiththeswordofthelaw.Valerie,atherwindow,waswatchinghisdeparture;asheglancedup,shewavedherhandkerchief,but therascallyMarneffehithiswife’scapanddraggedherviolentlyawayfromthewindow.Atearrosetothegreatofficial’s

eye.

“Oh!tobesowellloved!Toseeawomansoillused,andtobesonearlyseventyyearsold!”thoughthe.

Lisbethhadcometogivethefamilythegoodnews.AdelineandHortensehadalreadyheardthattheBaron,notchoosingtocompromisehimselfintheeyesof thewholeofficebyappointingMarneffe to the first class,wouldbeturnedfromthedoorby theHulot-hatinghusband.Adeline,veryhappy,hadorderedadinnerthatherHectorwastolikebetterthananyofValerie’s;andLisbeth,inherdevotion,washelpingMariettetoachievethisdifficultresult.CousinBettywastheidolofthehour.Motheranddaughterkissedherhands,andhadtoldherwithtouchingdelightthattheMarshalconsentedtohaveherashishousekeeper.

“Andfromthat,mydear,thereisbutonesteptobecominghiswife!”saidAdeline.

“In fact, he did not say no when Victorin mentioned it,” added theCountess.

TheBaronwaswelcomedhomewithsuchcharmingproofsofaffection,sopatheticallyoverflowingwithlove,thathewasfaintoconcealhistroubles.

MarshalHulotcametodinner.Afterdinner,Hectordidnotgoout.Victorinandhiswifejoinedthem,andtheymadeuparubber.

“Itisalongtime,Hector,”saidtheMarshalgravely,“sinceyougaveusthetreatofsuchanevening.”

Thisspeechfromtheoldsoldier,whospoiledhisbrother thoughhe thusimplicitlyblamedhim,madeadeepimpression.Itshowedhowwideanddeepwere thewounds inaheartwhereall thewoeshehaddivinedhadfoundanecho.Ateighto’clocktheBaroninsistedonseeingLisbethhome,promisingtoreturn.

“Doyouknow,Lisbeth,heill-treatsher!”saidheinthestreet.“Oh,Ineverlovedhersowell!”

“IneverimaginedthatValerielovedyousowell,”repliedLisbeth.“Sheisfrivolousandacoquette,shelovestohaveattentionspaidher,andtohavethecomedyof love-makingperformedforher,asshesays;butyouareheronlyrealattachment.”

“Whatmessagedidshesendme?”

“Why,this,”saidLisbeth.“Shehas,asyouknow,beenonintimatetermswithCrevel.Youmustowehernogrudge,forthat,infact,iswhathasraisedheraboveutterpovertyfortherestofherlife;butshedetestshim,andmatters

arenearlyatanend.—Well,shehaskeptthekeyofsomerooms—”

“RueduDauphin!”criedthethrice-blestBaron.“Ifitwereforthatalone,IwouldoverlookCrevel.—Ihavebeenthere;Iknow.”

“Here, then, is thekey,”saidLisbeth.“Haveanothermadefromit in thecourseofto-morrow—twoifyoucan.”

“Andthen,”saidHuloteagerly.

“Well,Iwilldineatyourhouseagainto-morrow;youmustgivemebackValerie’s key, for oldCrevelmight ask her to return it to him, and you canmeether there thedayafter; thenyoucandecidewhatyour facts are tobe.Youwillbequitesafe,astherearetwowaysout.IfbychanceCrevel,whoisRegence in his habits, as he is fond of saying, should come in by the sidestreet,youcouldgooutthroughtheshop,orviceversa.

“Youoweallthistome,youoldvillain;nowwhatwillyoudoforme?”

“Whateveryouwant.”

“Thenyouwillnotopposemymarryingyourbrother?”

“You! the Marechale Hulot, the Comtesse de Frozheim?” cried Hector,startled.

“Well,AdelineisaBaroness!”retortedBettyinaviciousandformidabletone. “Listen to me, you old libertine. You know how matters stand; yourfamilymayfinditselfstarvinginthegutter—”

“ThatiswhatIdread,”saidHulotindismay.

“And if your brother were to die, who would maintain your wife anddaughter?ThewidowofaMarshalgetsat leastsixthousandfrancspension,doesn’t she?Well, then, I wish tomarry to secure bread for yourwife anddaughter—olddotard!”

“Ihadnotseenitinthatlight!”saidtheBaron.“Iwilltalktomybrother—forwearesureofyou.—Tellmyangelthatmylifeishers.”

AndtheBaron,havingseenLisbethgointothehouseintheRueVanneau,wentbacktohiswhistandstayedathome.TheBaronesswasattheheightofhappiness;herhusbandseemedtobereturningtodomestichabits;foraboutafortnighthewenttohisofficeatnineeverymorning,hecameintodinneratsix, and spent the evening with his family. He twice took Adeline andHortense to the play. The mother and daughter paid for three thanksgivingmasses,andprayedtoGodtosufferthemtokeepthehusbandandfatherHehadrestoredtothem.

OneeveningVictorinHulot, seeinghis father retire for thenight, said to

hismother:

“Well,weareatanyratesofarhappythatmyfatherhascomebacktous.MywifeandIshallneverregretourcapitalifonlythislasts—”

“Your father is nearly seventy,” said the Baroness. “He still thinks ofMadameMarneffe,thatIcansee;buthewillforgetherintime.Apassionforwomenisnotlikegambling,orspeculation,oravarice;thereisanendtoit.”

ButAdeline, still beautiful in spiteofher fiftyyears andher sorrows, inthiswasmistaken.Profligates,menwhomNaturehasgiftedwiththepreciouspowerof lovingbeyond the limitsordinarilyset to love, rarelyareasoldastheirage.

DuringthisrelapseintovirtueBaronHulothadbeenthreetimestotheRuedu Dauphin, and had certainly not been the man of seventy. His rekindledpassionmade him young again, and he would have sacrificed his honor toValerie, his family, his all, without a regret. But Valerie, now completelyaltered,nevermentionedmoney,noteventhetwelvehundredfrancsayeartobe settled on their son; on the contrary, she offered himmoney, she lovedHulot as a woman of six-and-thirty loves a handsome law-student—a poor,poetical, ardent boy.And the haplesswife fancied she had reconquered herdearHector!

Thefourthmeetingbetweenthiscouplehadbeenagreeduponattheendofthethird,exactlyasformerlyinItaliantheatrestheplaywasannouncedforthenextnight.Thehourfixedwasnineinthemorning.Onthenextdaywhenthehappinesswas due forwhich the amorous oldman had resigned himself todomesticrules,atabouteightinthemorning,ReinecameandaskedtoseetheBaron.Hulot, fearing some catastrophe,went out to speakwithReine,whowould not come into the anteroom. The faithfulwaiting-maid gave him thefollowingnote:—

“DEAROLDMAN,—Donotgo to theRueduDauphin.Our incubus isill,andImustnursehim;butbetherethiseveningatnine.CrevelisatCorbeilwithMonsieurLebas;soIamsurehewillbringnoprincesstohislittlepalace.I havemade arrangements here to be free for thenight andget backbeforeMarneffeisawake.Answermeastoallthis,forperhapsyourlongelegyofawife no longer allows you your liberty as she did. I am told she is still sohandsome that youmight playme false, you are such a gay dog!Burn thisnote;Iamsuspiciousofeveryone.”

Hulotwrotethisscrapinreply:

“MYLOVE,—As I have told you,mywife has not for five-and-twentyyears interfered with my pleasures. For you I would give up a hundredAdelines.—Iwillbe in theCrevelsanctumatnine thiseveningawaitingmy

divinity.Ohthatyourclerkmightsoondie!Weshouldpartnomore.Andthisisthedearestwishof

“YOURHECTOR.”

ThateveningtheBarontoldhiswifethathehadbusinesswiththeMinisteratSaint-Cloud,thathewouldcomehomeataboutfourorfiveinthemorning;andhewent to theRueduDauphin.Itwas towards theendof themonthofJune.

Few men have in the course of their life known really the dreadfulsensationofgoingtotheirdeath;thosewhohavereturnedfromthefootofthescaffoldmaybeeasilycounted.Butsomehavehadavividexperienceofitindreams; they have gone through it all, to the sensation of the knife at theirthroat,atthemomentwhenwakinganddaylightcometoreleasethem.—Well,the sensation to which the Councillor of State was a victim at five in themorninginCrevel’shandsomeandelegantbed,wasimmeasurablyworsethanthatoffeelinghimselfboundtothefatalblockinthepresenceoftenthousandspectatorslookingatyouwithtwentythousandsparksoffire.

Valeriewas asleep in a graceful attitude. Shewas lovely, as awoman iswho is lovely enough to look so even in sleep. It is art invading nature; inshort,alivingpicture.

Inhishorizontal position theBaron’s eyeswerebut three feet above thefloor. His gaze, wandering idly, as that of a man who is just awake andcollecting his ideas, fell on a door painted with flowers by Jan, an artistdisdainful of fame. The Baron did not indeed see twenty thousand flamingeyes,likethemancondemnedtodeath;hesawbutone,ofwhichtheshaftwasreallymorepiercingthanthethousandsonthePublicSquare.

Nowthissensation,farrarerinthemidstofenjoymenteventhanthatofaman condemned to death, was one forwhichmany a splenetic Englishmanwould certainly pay a high price. The Baron lay there, horizontal still, andliterallybathed incold sweat.He tried todoubt the fact;but thismurderouseyehadavoice.Asoundofwhisperingwasheardthroughthedoor.

“SolongasitisnobodybutCrevelplayingatrickonme!”saidtheBarontohimself,onlytoocertainofanintruderinthetemple.

The door was opened. The Majesty of the French Law, which in alldocumentsfollowsnexttotheKing,becamevisibleinthepersonofaworthylittlepolice-officersupportedbyatallJusticeofthePeace,bothshowninbyMonsieur Marneffe. The police functionary, rooted in shoes of which thestrapswere tied togetherwith flappingbows, endedat top in ayellow skullalmostbareofhair,andafacebetrayinghimasawide-awake,cheerful,andcunningdog,fromwhomParislifehadnosecrets.Hiseyes,thoughgarnished

withspectacles,piercedtheglasseswithakeenmockingglance.TheJusticeofthePeace,aretiredattorney,andanoldadmirerofthefairsex,enviedthedelinquent.

“Pray excuse the strong measures required by our office, Monsieur leBaron!”saidtheconstable;“weareactingfortheplaintiff.TheJusticeofthePeaceisheretoauthorizethevisitationofthepremises.—Iknowwhoyouare,andwhotheladyiswhoisaccused.”

Valerieopenedherastonishedeyes,gavesuchashriekasactressesusetodepictmadnessonthestage,writhedinconvulsionsonthebed,likeawitchoftheMiddleAgesinhersulphur-coloredfrockonabedoffaggots.

“Death,andIamready!mydearHector—butapolicecourt?—Oh!never.”

With one bound she passed the three spectators and crouched under thelittlewriting-table,hidingherfaceinherhands.

“Ruin!Death!”shecried.

“Monsieur,”saidMarneffetoHulot,“ifMadameMarneffegoesmad,youareworsethanaprofligate;youwillbeamurderer.”

Whatcanamando,whatcanhesay,whenheisdiscoveredinabedwhichisnothis,evenonthescoreofhiring,withawomanwhoisnomorehisthanthebedis?—Well,this:

“MonsieurtheJusticeofthePeace,MonsieurthePoliceOfficer,”saidtheBaronwithsomedignity,“begoodenoughtotakepropercareofthatunhappywoman,whose reason seems tome tobe indanger.—Youcanharanguemeafterwards.Thedoorsarelocked,nodoubt;youneednotfearthatshewillgetaway,orIeither,seeingthecostumewewear.”

Thetwofunctionariesbowedtothemagnate’sinjunctions.

“You,comehere,miserablecur!” saidHulot ina lowvoice toMarneffe,takinghimbythearmanddrawinghimcloser.“ItisnotI,butyou,whowillbe themurderer!Youwant tobehead-clerkofyour roomandofficerof theLegionofHonor?”

“Thatinthefirstplace,Chief!”repliedMarneffe,withabow.

“Youshallbeallthat,onlysootheyourwifeanddismissthesefellows.”

“Nay, nay!” said Marneffe knowingly. “These gentlemen must draw uptheirreportaseyewitnessestothefact;withoutthat,thechiefevidenceinmycase,whereshouldIbe?Thehigherofficialranksarechokefulofrascalities.Youhavedonemeoutofmywife,andyouhavenotpromotedme,MonsieurleBaron; I give youonly twodays to get out of the scrape.Here are someletters—”

“Someletters!”interruptedHulot.

“Yes; letters which prove that you are the father of the child my wifeexpectstogivebirthto.—Youunderstand?Andyououghttosettleonmysonasumequaltowhathewilllosethroughthisbastard.ButIwillbereasonable;this does not distressme, I have nomania for paternitymyself. A hundredlouis a year will satisfy me. By to-morrow I must be Monsieur Coquet’ssuccessorandseemynameonthelistforpromotionintheLegionofHonorattheJulyfetes,orelse—thedocumentaryevidenceandmychargeagainstyouwillbelaidbeforetheBench.Iamnotsohardtodealwithafterall,yousee.”

“Blessme,andsuchaprettywoman!”saidtheJusticeofthePeacetothepoliceconstable.“Whatalosstotheworldifsheshouldgomad!”

“Sheisnotmad,”saidtheconstablesententiously.Thepoliceisalwaystheincarnationof scepticism.—“Monsieur leBaronHulot has been caught by atrick,”headded,loudenoughforValerietohearhim.

Valerieshotaflashfromhereyewhichwouldhavekilledhimonthespotiflookscouldeffectthevengeancetheyexpress.Thepolice-officersmiled;hehadlaidasnare,andthewomanhadfallenintoit.Marneffedesiredhiswifetogointo theotherroomandclotheherselfdecently,forheandtheBaronhadcometoanagreementonallpoints,andHulotfetchedhisdressing-gownandcameoutagain.

“Gentlemen,”saidhetothetwoofficials,“Ineednotimpressonyoutobesecret.”

Thefunctionariesbowed.

Thepolice-officerrappedtwiceonthedoor;hisclerkcamein,satdownatthe “bonheur-du-jour,” and wrote what the constable dictated to him in anundertone.Valeriestillweptvehemently.Whenshewasdressed,Hulotwentintotheotherroomandputonhisclothes.Meanwhilethereportwaswritten.

Marneffethenwantedtotakehiswifehome;butHulot,believingthathesawherforthelasttime,beggedthefavorofbeingallowedtospeakwithher.

“Monsieur,yourwifehascostmedearenoughformetobeallowedtosaygood-byetoher—inthepresenceofyouall,ofcourse.”

ValeriewentuptoHulot,andhewhisperedinherear:

“There is nothing left for usbut to fly, but howcanwecorrespond?Wehavebeenbetrayed—”

“ThroughReine,”sheanswered.“Butmydearfriend,afterthisscandalwecannevermeetagain.Iamdisgraced.Besides,youwillheardreadfulthingsaboutme—youwillbelievethem—”

TheBaronmadeagestureofdenial.

“Youwillbelievethem,andIcanthankGodforthat,forthenperhapsyouwillnotregretme.”

“Hewillnotdiea second-classclerk!”saidMarneffe toHulot,ashe ledhiswifeaway,sayingroughly,“Come,madame; if Iamfoolish toyou, Idonotchoosetobeafooltoothers.”

Valerie left thehouse,Crevel’sEden,with a last glance at theBaron, socunning that he thought she adored him. The Justice of the Peace gaveMadameMarneffehisarmtothehackneycoachwithaflourishofgallantry.The Baron, who was required to witness the report, remained quitebewildered, alone with the police-officer. When the Baron had signed, theofficerlookedathimkeenly,overhisglasses.

“Youareverysweetonthelittlelady,MonsieurleBaron?”

“Tomysorrow,asyousee.”

“Suppose that shedoesnot care foryou?” themanwenton, “that she isdeceivingyou?”

“I have long known that, monsieur—here, in this very spot, MonsieurCrevelandItoldeachother——”

“Oh! Then you knew that you were in Monsieur le Maire’s privatesnuggery?”

“Perfectly.”

Theconstablelightlytouchedhishatwitharespectfulgesture.

“You are very much in love,” said he. “I say no more. I respect aninveterate passion, as a doctor respects an inveterate complaint.—I sawMonsieurdeNucingen,thebanker,attackedinthesameway—”

“Heisafriendofmine,”saidtheBaron.“ManyatimehaveIsuppedwithhishandsomeEsther.Shewasworththetwomillionfrancsshecosthim.”

“Andmore,” said the officer. “That caprice of the oldBaron’s cost fourpersonstheirlives.Oh!suchpassionsasthesearelikethecholera!”

“What had you to say to me?” asked the Baron, who took this indirectwarningveryill.

“Oh! why should I deprive you of your illusions?” replied the officer.“Menrarelyhaveanyleftatyourage!”

“Ridmeofthem!”criedtheCouncillor.

“Youwillcursethephysicianlater,”repliedtheofficer,smiling.

“Ibegofyou,monsieur.”

“Well,then,thatwomanwasincollusionwithherhusband.”

“Oh!——”

“Yes,sir,andsoitisintwocasesoutofeveryten.Oh!weknowitwell.”

“Whatproofhaveyouofsuchaconspiracy?”

“Inthefirstplace,thehusband!”saidtheother,withthecalmacumenofasurgeon practised in unbinding wounds. “Mean speculation is stamped ineverylineofthatvillainousface.Butyou,nodoubt,setgreatstorebyacertainletterwrittenbythatwomanwithregardtothechild?”

“Somuchso,thatIalwayshaveitaboutme,”repliedHulot,feelinginhisbreast-pocketforthelittlepocketbookwhichhealwayskeptthere.

“Leave your pocketbook where it is,” said the man, as crushing as athunder-clap. “Here is the letter.—Inowknowall Iwant to know.MadameMarneffe,ofcourse,wasawareofwhatthatpocketbookcontained?”

“Shealoneintheworld.”

“So I supposed.—Nowfor theproofyouasked forofher collusionwithherhusband.”

“Letushear!”saidtheBaron,stillincredulous.

“When we came in here, Monsieur le Baron, that wretched creatureMarneffeledtheway,andhetookupthisletter,whichhiswife,nodoubt,hadplaced on this writing-table,” and he pointed to the bonheur-du-jour. “Thatevidentlywasthespotagreeduponbythecouple,incasesheshouldsucceedinstealingtheletterwhileyouwereasleep;forthisletter,aswrittentoyoubythe lady, is, combined with those you wrote to her, decisive evidence in apolice-court.”

HeshowedHulot thenote thatReinehaddelivered tohim inhisprivateroomattheoffice.

“Itisoneofthedocumentsinthecase,”saidthepolice-agent;“returnittome,monsieur.”

“Well, monsieur,” replied Hulot with bitter expression, “that woman isprofligacyitselfinfixedratios.Iamcertainatthismomentthatshehasthreelovers.”

“That is perfectly evident,” said the officer. “Oh, they are not all on thestreets!Whenawomanfollowsthat trade inacarriageandadrawing-room,andherownhouse,itisnotacaseforfrancsandcentimes,MonsieurleBaron.MademoiselleEsther, ofwhomyou spoke, andwhopoisoned herself,made

away with millions.—If you will take my advice, you will get out of it,monsieur. This last little gamewill have cost you dear. That scoundrel of ahusband has the law on his side.And indeed, but forme, that littlewomanwouldhavecaughtyouagain!”

“Thankyou,monsieur,”saidtheBaron,tryingtomaintainhisdignity.

“Nowwewilllockup;thefarceisplayedout,andyoucansendyourkeytoMonsieurtheMayor.”

Hulot went home in a state of dejection bordering on helplessness, andsunk in the gloomiest thoughts. He woke his noble and saintly wife, andpoured intoherheart thehistoryof thepast threeyears,sobbing likeachilddeprived of a toy. This confession from an old man young in feeling, thisfrightful and heart-rending narrative, while it filled Adeline with pity, alsogaveherthegreatestjoy;shethankedHeavenforthislastcatastrophe,forinfancyshesawthehusbandsettledatlastinthebosomofhisfamily.

“Lisbethwas right,” saidMadameHulot gently andwithout any uselessrecrimination,“shetoldushowitwouldbe.”

“Yes. Ifonly Ihad listened toher, insteadof flying intoa rage, thatdaywhen I wanted poor Hortense to go home rather than compromise thereputationofthat—Oh!mydearAdeline,wemustsaveWenceslas.Heisuptohischininthatmire!”

“My poor old man, the respectable middle-classes have turned out nobetterthantheactresses,”saidAdeline,withasmile.

TheBaronesswasalarmedatthechangeinherHector;whenshesawhimso unhappy, ailing, crushed under hisweight ofwoes, shewas all heart, allpity,alllove;shewouldhaveshedherbloodtomakeHulothappy.

“Staywithus,mydearHector.Tellmewhat is it thatsuchwomendotoattract you sopowerfully. I toowill try.Whyhaveyounot taughtme tobewhatyouwant?AmIdeficientinintelligence?Menstillthinkmehandsomeenoughtocourtmyfavor.”

Manyamarriedwoman,attachedtoherdutyandtoherhusband,mayherepausetoaskherselfwhystrongandaffectionatemen,sotender-heartedtotheMadameMarneffes,donottaketheirwivesfortheobjectoftheirfanciesandpassions,especiallywivesliketheBaronneAdelineHulot.

This is, indeed, one of the most recondite mysteries of human nature.Love,whichisdebauchofreason, thestrongandaustere joyofa loftysoul,andpleasure, thevulgarcounterfeitsoldinthemarket-place,aretwoaspectsofthesamething.Thewomanwhocansatisfyboththesedevouringappetitesis as rare in her sex as a great general, a greatwriter, a great artist, a great

inventor in a nation. A man of superior intellect or an idiot—a Hulot or aCrevel—equallycravefortheidealandforenjoyment;allalikegoinsearchofthemysteriouscompound,sorarethatatlastitisusuallyfoundtobeaworkintwovolumes.Thiscravingisadepravedimpulseduetosociety.

Marriage,nodoubt,mustbeacceptedasatie;itislife,withitsdutiesandits stern sacrifices on both parts equally. Libertines, who seek for hiddentreasure,areasguiltyasotherevil-doerswhoaremorehardlydealtwiththanthey. These reflections are not amere veneer ofmoralizing; they show thereason ofmany unexplainedmisfortunes. But, indeed, this drama points itsownmoral—ormorals,fortheyareofmanykinds.

TheBaronpresentlywenttocallontheMarshalPrincedeWissembourg,whosepowerfulpatronagewasnowhisonlychance.Havingdweltunderhisprotectionforfive-and-thirtyyears,hewasavisitoratallhours,andwouldbeadmittedtohisroomsassoonashewasup.

“Ah!How are you,my dear Hector?” said the great andworthy leader.“What is thematter? You look anxious. And yet the session is ended. Onemoreover!IspeakofthatnowasIusedtospeakofacampaign.AndindeedIbelieve the newspapers nowadays speak of the sessions as parliamentarycampaigns.”

“Wehavebeen indifficulties, Imust confess,Marshal;but the timesarehard!”saidHulot.“Itcannotbehelped;theworldwasmadeso.Everyphasehasitsowndrawbacks.Theworstmisfortunesintheyear1841isthatneithertheKingnortheministersarefreetoactasNapoleonwas.”

The Marshal gave Hulot one of those eagle flashes which in its pride,clearness,andperspicacityshowedthat, inspiteofyears, that loftysoulwasstilluprightandvigorous.

“Youwantmetososomethingforyou?”saidhe,inaheartytone.

“Ifindmyselfunderthenecessityofapplyingtoyouforthepromotionofoneofmysecondclerkstotheheadofaroom—asapersonalfavortomyself—andhisadvancementtobeofficeroftheLegionofHonor.”

“Whatishisname?”saidtheMarshal,withalooklikealightningflash.

“Marneffe.”

“He has a pretty wife; I saw her on the occasion of your daughter’smarriage.—IfRoger—butRogerisaway!—Hector,myboy,thisisconcernedwithyourpleasures.What,youstill indulge—?Well,youareacredit to theoldGuard.ThatiswhatcomesofhavingbeenintheCommissariat;youhavereserves!—Buthavenothing todowith this little job,mydearboy; it is toostrongofthepetticoattobegoodbusiness.”

“No,Marshal; it isbadbusiness, for thepolicecourtshaveafinger in it.Wouldyouliketoseemegothere?”

“Thedevil!”saidthePrinceuneasily.“Goon!”

“Well,Iaminthepredicamentofatrappedfox.Youhavealwaysbeensokind to me, that you will, I am sure, condescend to help me out of theshamefulpositioninwhichIamplaced.”

Hulotrelatedhismisadventures,aswittilyandaslightlyashecould.

“And you, Prince,will you allowmy brother to die of grief, aman youlove so well; or leave one of your staff in theWar Office, a Councillor ofState, to live in disgrace. This Marneffe is a wretched creature; he can beshelvedintwoorthreeyears.”

“Howyoutalkoftwoorthreeyears,mydearfellow!”saidtheMarshal.

“But,Prince,theImperialGuardisimmortal.”

“I am the last of the first batch of Marshals,” said the Prince. “Listen,Hector.Youdonotknowtheextentofmyattachment toyou;youshallsee.OnthedaywhenIretirefromoffice,wewillgotogether.ButyouarenotaDeputy,myfriend.Manymenwantyourplace;butforme,youwouldbeoutofitbythistime.Yes,Ihavefoughtmanyapitchedbattletokeepyouinit.—Well,Igrantyouyourtworequests;itwouldbetoobadtoseeyouridingthebaratyourageandinthepositionyouhold.Butyoustretchyourcreditalittletoo far. If this appointment gives rise to discussion, we shall not be heldblameless.Icanlaughatsuchthings;butyouwillfinditathornunderyourfeet.Andthenextsessionwillseeyourdismissal.Yourplaceisheldoutasabaittofiveorsixinfluentialmen,andyouhavebeenenabledtokeepitsolelybytheforceofmyarguments.Itellyou,onthedaywhenyouretire,therewillbefivemalcontents toonehappyman;whereas,bykeepingyouhangingonbyathreadfortwoorthreeyears,weshallsecureallsixvotes.TherewasagreatlaughattheCouncilmeeting;theVeteranoftheOldGuard,astheysay,was becoming desperately wide awake in parliamentary tactics! I am frankwithyou.—Andyouaregrowinggray;youareahappymantobeabletogetintosuchdifficultiesasthese!HowlongisitsinceI—LieutenantCottin—hadamistress?”

Herangthebell.

“Thatpolicereportmustbedestroyed,”headded.

“Monseigneur,youareasafathertome!Idarednotmentionmyanxietyonthatpoint.”

“IstillwishIhadRogerhere,”criedthePrince,asMitouflet,hisgroomofthe chambers, came in. “I was just going to send for him!—You may go,

Mitouflet.—Go you,my dear old fellow, go and have the nominationmadeout;Iwillsignit.Atthesametime,thatlowschemerwillnotlongenjoythefruit of his crimes. He will be sharply watched, and drummed out of theregimentforthesmallestfault.—Youaresavedthistime,mydearHector;takecareforthefuture.Donotexhaustyourfriends’patience.Youshallhavethenominationthismorning,andyourmanshallgethispromotionintheLegionofHonor.—Howoldareyounow?”

“Withinthreemonthsofseventy.”

“Whatascapegrace!”said thePrince, laughing.“It isyouwhodeserveapromotion,but,bythunder!wearenotunderLouisXV.!”

Such is thesenseofcomradeship thatbinds theglorioussurvivorsof theNapoleonic phalanx, that they always feel as if theywere in camp together,andboundtostandtogetherthroughthickandthin.

“Onemorefavorsuchasthis,”Hulotreflectedashecrossedthecourtyard,“andIamdonefor!”

ThelucklessofficialwenttoBarondeNucingen,towhomhenowowedamere trifle, and succeeded inborrowing forty thousand francs, onhis salarypledgedfortwoyearsmore;thebankerstipulatedthatintheeventofHulot’sretirementonhispension,thewholeofitshouldbedevotedtotherepaymentofthesumborrowedtillthecapitalandinterestwereallclearedoff.

This new bargain, like the first, was made in the name of Vauvinet, towhom the Baron signed notes of hand to the amount of twelve thousandfrancs.

On the followingday, the fatefulpolice report, thehusband’scharge, theletters—all the papers—were destroyed. The scandalous promotion ofMonsieur Marneffe, hardly heeded in the midst of the July fetes, was notcommentedoninanynewspaper.

Lisbeth,toallappearanceatwarwithMadameMarneffe,hadtakenupherabodewithMarshalHulot.Tendaysaftertheseevents,thebannsofmarriagewere published between the old maid and the distinguished old officer, towhom,towinhisconsent,AdelinehadrelatedthefinancialdisasterthathadbefallenherHector,begginghimnevertomentionittotheBaron,whowas,asshesaid,muchsaddened,quitedepressedandcrushed.

“Alas!heisasoldashisyears,”sheadded.

SoLisbethhad triumphed.Shewasachieving theobjectofherambition,she would see the success of her scheme, and her hatred gratified. Shedelightedintheanticipatedjoyofreigningsupremeoverthefamilywhohadso long looked down upon her. Yes, she would patronize her patrons, she

would be the rescuing angelwhowould dole out a livelihood to the ruinedfamily; she addressed herself as “Madame la Comtesse” and “Madame laMarechale,”courtesyinginfrontofaglass.AdelineandHortenseshouldendtheir days in struggling with poverty, while she, a visitor at the Tuileries,wouldlorditinthefashionableworld.

A terrible disaster overthrew the oldmaid from the social heightswhereshesoproudlyenthronedherself.

Ontheverydaywhenthebannswerefirstpublished,theBaronreceivedasecondmessage fromAfrica.AnotherAlsatian arrived, handed him a letter,afterassuringhimselfthathespoketoBaronHulot,andaftergivingtheBarontheaddressofhislodgings,bowedhimselfout,leavingthegreatmanstrickenbytheopeninglinesofthisletter:—

“DEARNEPHEW,—Youwill receive this letter, bymy calculations, onthe7thofAugust.Supposing it takesyou threedays tosendus thehelpweneed, and that it is a fortnight on theway here, that brings us to the 1st ofSeptember.

“Ifyoucanactdecisivelywithinthattime,youwillhavesavedthehonorandthelifeofyourssincerely,JohannFischer.

“This iswhat I am required to demand by the clerk you havemademyaccomplice; for Iamamenable, itwouldseem, to the law,at theAssizes,orbefore a council ofwar.Of course, youunderstand that JohannFischerwillneverbebroughttothebarofanytribunal;hewillgoofhisownacttoappearatthatofGod.

“Yourclerk seems tomeabad lot, quite capableofgettingyou intohotwater;butheisascleverasanyrogue.Hesaysthelineforyoutotakeistocall out louder than any one, and to send out an inspector, a specialcommissioner, to discoverwho is really guilty, rake up abuses, andmake afuss,inshort;butifwestirupthestruggle,whowillstandbetweenusandthelaw?

“Ifyourcommissionerarrivesherebythe1stofSeptember,andyouhavegivenhimyourorders,sendingbyhimtwohundredthousandfrancstoplaceinourstorehousesthesuppliesweprofesstohavesecuredinremotecountryplaces,weshallbeabsolutelysolventandregardedasblameless.YoucantrustthesoldierwhoisthebearerofthisletterwithadraftinmynameonahouseinAlgiers.Heisatrustworthyfellow,arelationofmine,incapableoftryingtofind out what he is the bearer of. I have taken measures to guarantee thefellow’ssafereturn.Ifyoucandonothing,IamreadyandwillingtodieforthemantowhomweoweourAdeline’shappiness!”

The anguish and raptures of passion and the catastrophe which had

checkedhiscareerofprofligacyhadpreventedBaronHulot’severthinkingofpoor JohannFischer, thoughhis first letterhadgivenwarningof thedangernow become so pressing. The Baron went out of the dining-room in suchagitation thathe literallydroppedon toa sofa in thedrawing-room.Hewasstunned,sunkinthedullnumbnessofaheavyfall.Hestaredatafloweronthecarpet,quiteunconsciousthathestillheldinhishandJohann’sfatalletter.

Adeline,inherroom,heardherhusbandthrowhimselfonthesofa,likealifelessmass;thenoisewassopeculiarthatshefanciedhehadanapoplecticattack.She looked through thedoorat themirror, insuchdreadasstops thebreath andhindersmotion, and she sawherHector in the attitude of amancrushed.TheBaronessstoleinontiptoe;Hectorheardnothing;shewentcloseup tohim, saw the letter, took it, read it, trembling inevery limb.Shewentthroughoneofthoseviolentnervousshocksthatleavetheirtracesforeveronthesufferer.Withinafewdaysshebecamesubjecttoaconstanttrembling,forafterthefirstinstanttheneedforactiongavehersuchstrengthascanonlybedrawnfromtheverywellspringofthevitalpowers.

“Hector,comeintomyroom,”saidshe,inavoicethatwasnomorethanabreath.“Donotletyourdaughterseeyouinthisstate!Come,mydear,come!”

“Twohundredthousandfrancs?WherecanIfindthem?IcangetClaudeVignon sent out there as commissioner.He is a clever, intelligent fellow.—Thatisamatterofacoupleofdays.—Buttwohundredthousandfrancs!Myson has not somuch; his house is loadedwithmortgages for three hundredthousand. My brother has saved thirty thousand francs at most. Nucingenwouldsimplylaughatme!—Vauvinet?—hewasnotveryreadytolendmetheten thousand francs Iwanted tomakeup thesumfor thatvillainMarneffe’sboy.No,itisallupwithme;ImustthrowmyselfatthePrince’sfeet,confesshowmatters stand,hearmyself told that I ama lowscoundrel, and takehisbroadsidesoastogodecentlytothebottom.”

“But, Hector, this is not merely ruin, it is disgrace,” said Adeline. “Mypoorunclewillkillhimself.Onlykillus—yourselfandme;youhavearighttodo that, butdonotbe amurderer!Come, takecourage; theremustbe somewayoutofit.”

“Notone,”saidHulot.“NooneintheGovernmentcouldfindtwohundredthousand francs, not if it were to save an Administration!—Oh, Napoleon!whereartthou?”

“Myuncle! poorman!Hector, hemust not be allowed tokill himself indisgrace.”

“Thereisonemorechance,”saidhe,“butaveryremoteone.—Yes,Crevelis at daggers drawn with his daughter.—He has plenty of money, he alone

could—”

“Listen,Hector itwillbebetter foryourwife toperish than to leaveouruncle to perish—and your brother—the honor of the family!” cried theBaroness, struck by a flash of light. “Yes, I can save you all.—GoodGod!whatadegradingthought!Howcouldithaveoccurredtome?”

She clasped her hands, dropped on her knees, and put up a prayer. Onrising,shesawsuchacrazyexpressionofjoyonherhusband’sface,thatthediabolical suggestion returned, and then Adeline sank into a sort of idioticmelancholy.

“Go,mydear, atonce to theWarOffice,” said she, rousingherself fromthis torpor; “try to send out a commission; it must be done. Get round theMarshal.And on your return, at five o’clock, youwill find—perhaps—yes!youshallfindtwohundredthousandfrancs.Yourfamily,yourhonorasaman,asaStateofficial,aCouncillorofState,yourhonesty—yourson—allshallbesaved;—butyourAdelinewillbelost,andyouwillseehernomore.Hector,mydear,”saidshe,kneelingbeforehim,claspingandkissinghishand,“givemeyourblessing!Sayfarewell.”

Itwassoheart-rendingthatHulotputhisarmsroundhiswife,raisedherandkissedher,saying:

“Idonotunderstand.”

“If you did,” said she, “I should die of shame, or I should not have thestrengthtocarryoutthislastsacrifice.”

“Breakfastisserved,”saidMariette.

Hortense came in towish her parents good-morning. They had to go tobreakfastandassumeafalseface.

“Beginwithoutme;Iwilljoinyou,”saidtheBaroness.

Shesatdowntoherdeskandwroteasfollows:

“MYDEARMONSIEURCREVEL,—I have to ask a service of you; Ishall expect you thismorning, and I count on your gallantry,which iswellknowntome,tosavemefromhavingtoolongtowaitforyou.

—Yourfaithfulservant,

“ADELINEHULOT.”

“Louise,” said she toherdaughter’smaid,whowaitedonher, “take thisnotedowntotheporteranddesirehimtocarryitatoncetothisaddressandwaitforananswer.”

TheBaron,whowasreadingthenews,heldoutaRepublicanpapertohis

wife,pointingtoanarticle,andsaying:

“Istheretime?”

Thiswastheparagraph,oneoftheterrible“notes”withwhichthepapersspicetheirpoliticalbreadandbutter:—

“AcorrespondentinAlgierswritesthatsuchabuseshavebeendiscoveredin the commissariate transactions of the province of Oran, that the Law ismaking inquiries. The peculation is self-evident, and the guilty persons areknown.Ifseveremeasuresarenottaken,weshallcontinuetolosemorementhroughtheextortionthat limits theirrations thanbyArabsteelor thefierceheat of the climate. We await further information before enlarging on thisdeplorable business.We need no longerwonder at the terror caused by theestablishment of thePress inAfrica, aswas contemplatedby theCharter of1830.”

“Iwill dress and go to theMinister,” said theBaron, as they rose fromtable.“Timeisprecious;aman’slifehangsoneveryminute.”

“Oh, mamma, there is no hope for me!” cried Hortense. And unable tocheckher tears,shehandedtohermotheranumberof theRevuedesBeauxArts.

MadameHulot’s eye fell on a print of the group of “Delilah” byCountSteinbock,underwhichwerethewords,“ThepropertyofMadameMarneffe.”

The very first lines of the article, signed V., showed the talent andfriendlinessofClaudeVignon.

“Poorchild!”saidtheBaroness.

Alarmedbyhermother’stoneofindifference,Hortenselookedup,sawtheexpression of a sorrow before which her own paled, and rose to kiss hermother,saying:

“What is the matter, mamma? What is happening? Can we be morewretchedthanwearealready?”

“Mychild,itseemstomethatinwhatIamgoingthroughto-daymypastdreadfulsorrowsareasnothing.WhenshallIhaveceasedtosuffer?”

“Inheaven,mother,”saidHortensesolemnly.

“Come,myangel,helpmetodress.—No,no;Iwillnothaveyouhelpmeinthis!SendmeLouise.”

Adeline, in her room, went to study herself in the glass. She looked atherselfcloselyandsadly,wonderingtoherself:

“AmIstillhandsome?CanIstillbedesirable?AmInotwrinkled?”

She lifted up her fine golden hair, uncovering her temples; theywere asfresh as a girl’s. She went further; she uncovered her shoulders, and wassatisfied;nay,shehadalittlefeelingofpride.Thebeautyofreallyhandsomeshouldersisoneofthelastcharmsawomanloses,especiallyifshehaslivedchastely.

Adelinechoseherdresscarefully,but thepiousandblamelesswoman isdecent to the end, in spite of her little coquettish graces.Ofwhat usewerebrand-new gray silk stockings and high heeled satin shoes when she wasabsolutelyignorantoftheartofdisplayingaprettyfootatacriticalmoment,byobtrudingitaninchortwobeyondahalf-liftedskirt,openinghorizonstodesire? She put on, indeed, her prettiest floweredmuslin dress, with a lowbodyandshortsleeves;buthorrifiedatsomuchbareness,shecoveredherfinearms with clear gauze sleeves and hid her shoulders under an embroideredcape.Hercurls,al’Anglaise,struckherastoofly-away;shesubduedtheirairylightnessbyputtingonaveryprettycap;but,withorwithoutthecap,wouldshehaveknownhowto twist thegoldenringletssoas toshowoffher taperfingerstoadmiration?

As to rouge—theconsciousnessofguilt, thepreparationsforadeliberatefall, threwthissaintlywomanintoastateofhighfever,which, for the time,revived the brilliant coloring of youth. Her eyes were bright, her cheeksglowed. Instead of assuming a seductive air, she saw in herself a look ofbarefacedaudacitywhichshockedher.

Lisbeth, at Adeline’s request, had told her all the circumstances ofWenceslas’ infidelity; and theBaroness had learned to her utter amazement,that inoneevening inonemoment,MadameMarneffehadmadeherself themistressofthebewitchedartist.

“Howdothesewomendoit?”theBaronesshadaskedLisbeth.

Thereisnocuriositysogreatasthatofvirtuouswomenonsuchsubjects;theywouldliketoknowtheartsofviceandremainimmaculate.

“Why,theyareseductive;itistheirbusiness,”saidCousinBetty.“Valeriethatevening,mydear,was,Ideclare,enoughtobringanangeltoperdition.”

“Buttellmehowshesettowork.”

“There is no principle, only practice in that walk of life,” said Lisbethironically.

The Baroness, recalling this conversation, would have liked to consultCousin Betty; but there was no time for that. Poor Adeline, incapable ofimaginingapatch,ofpinningarosebudintheverymiddleofherbosom,ofdevisingthetricksofthetoiletintendedtoresuscitatetheardorsofexhausted

nature,wasmerelywelldressed.Awomanisnotacourtesanforthewishing!

“Womanissoupforman,”asMolieresaysbythemouthofthejudiciousGros-Rene.Thiscomparisonsuggestsasortofculinaryart inlove.Thenthevirtuous wife would be a Homeric meal, flesh laid on hot cinders. Thecourtesan,on thecontrary, is adishbyCareme,with its condiments, spices,andelegantarrangement.TheBaronesscouldnot—didnotknowhowtoserveup her fair bosom in a lordly dish of lace, after the manner of MadameMarneffe. She knew nothing of the secrets of certain attitudes. This high-souledwomanmighthave turned roundandroundahundred times,andshewouldhavebetrayednothingtothekeenglanceofaprofligate.

Tobeagoodwomanandaprudetoalltheworld,andacourtesantoherhusband,isthegiftofawomanofgenius,andtheyarefew.Thisisthesecretof long fidelity, inexplicable to the women who are not blessed with thedouble and splendid faculty. Imagine Madame Marneffe virtuous, and youhavetheMarchesadiPescara.Butsuchloftyandillustriouswomen,beautifulasDianedePoitiers,butvirtuous,maybeeasilycounted.

Sothescenewithwhich thisseriousand terribledramaofParismannersopened was about to be repeated, with this singular difference—that thecalamities prophesied then by the captain of the municipal Militia hadreversed the parts. Madame Hulot was awaiting Crevel with the sameintentionsashadbroughthimtoher,smilingdownatthePariscrowdfromhismilord, threeyearsago.And,strangest thingofall, theBaronesswastruetoherselfandtoherlove,whilepreparingtoyieldtothegrossestinfidelity,suchasthestormofpassionevendoesnotjustifyintheeyesofsomejudges.

“WhatcanIdotobecomeaMadameMarneffe?”sheaskedherselfassheheardthedoor-bell.

Sherestrainedhertears,fevergavebrilliancytoherface,andshemeanttobequitethecourtesan,poor,noblesoul.

“What the devil can that worthy Baronne Hulot want of me?” Crevelwonderedashemountedthestairs.“SheisgoingtodiscussmyquarrelwithCelestineandVictorin,nodoubt;butIwillnotgiveway!”

Ashewentintothedrawing-room,showninbyLouise,hesaidtohimselfashenotedthebarenessoftheplace(Crevel’sword):

“Poorwoman!Shelivesherelikesomefinepicturestowedinaloftbyamanwhoknowsnothingofpainting.”

Crevel,seeingComtePopinot,theMinisterofCommerce,buypicturesandstatues, wanted also to figure as a Maecenas of Paris, whose love of Artconsistsinmakinggoodinvestments.

AdelinesmiledgraciouslyatCrevel,pointingtoachairfacingher.

“HereIam,fairlady,atyourcommand,”saidCrevel.

Monsieur theMayor, a political personage, now wore black broadcloth.Hisface,atthetopofthissolemnsuit,shonelikeafullmoonrisingaboveamass of dark clouds. His shirt, buttoned with three large pearls worth fivehundredfrancsapiece,gaveagreat ideaofhis thoraciccapacity,andhewasapt tosay,“Inmeyousee thecomingathleteof the tribune!”Hisenormousvulgarhandswereencased inyellowgloveseven in themorning;hispatentleatherbootsspokeofthechocolate-coloredcoupewithonehorseinwhichhedrove.

InthecourseofthreeyearsambitionhadalteredCrevel’spretensions.Likeallgreatartists,hehadcometohissecondmanner.Inthegreatworld,whenhewent to thePrincedeWissembourg’s, to thePrefecture, toComtePopinot’s,and the like, he held his hat in his hand in an airy manner taught him byValerie, and he inserted the thumb of the other hand in the armhole of hiswaistcoatwithaknowingair,andasimperingfaceandexpression.ThisnewgraceofattitudewasduetothesatiricalinventivenessofValerie,who,underpretence of rejuvenating her mayor, had given him an added touch of theridiculous.

“Ibeggedyoutocome,mydearkindMonsieurCrevel,”saidtheBaronessinahuskyvoice,“onamatterofthegreatestimportance—”

“I can guesswhat it is,madame,” saidCrevel,with a knowing air, “butwhatyouwouldask is impossible.—Oh,Iamnotabrutal father,aman—touseNapoleon’swords—sethardandfastonsheeravarice.Listentome,fairlady. Ifmy childrenwere ruining themselves for their ownbenefit, Iwouldhelpthemoutof thescrape;butasforbackingyourhusband,madame?It isliketryingtofillthevatoftheDanaides!Theirhouseismortgagedforthreehundred thousand francs for an incorrigible father!Why, they have nothingleft,poorwretches!And theyhaveno fun for theirmoney.All theyhave toliveuponiswhatVictorinmaymakeinCourt.Hemustwaghistonguemore,mustmonsieur your son!And hewas to have been aMinister, that learnedyouth! Our hope and pride. A pretty pilot, who runs aground like a land-lubber;forifhehadborrowedtoenablehimtogeton,ifhehadrunintodebtforfeastingDeputies,winningvotes,andincreasinghisinfluence,Ishouldbethefirsttosay,‘Hereismypurse—dipyourhandin,myfriend!’Butwhenitcomesofpayingforpapa’sfolly—follyIwarnedyouof!—Ah!hisfatherhasdeprivedhimofeverychanceofpower.—ItisIwhoshallbeMinister!”

“Alas,mydearCrevel,ithasnothingtodowiththechildren,poordevotedsouls!—IfyourheartisclosedtoVictorinandCelestine,Ishalllovethemsomuch that perhaps Imay soften the bitterness of their souls caused by your

anger.Youarepunishingyourchildrenforagoodaction!”

“Yes, for a good action badly done! That is half a crime,” said Crevel,muchpleasedwithhisepigram.

“Doinggood,mydearCrevel,doesnotmeansparingmoneyoutofapursethatisburstingwithit;itmeansenduringprivationstobegenerous,sufferingfor liberality! It is being prepared for ingratitude! Heaven does not see thecharitythatcostsusnothing—”

“Saints,madame,mayiftheypleasegototheworkhouse;theyknowthatit is for them thedoorof heaven.Formypart, I amworldly-minded; I fearGod,butyetmoreIfearthehellofpoverty.Tobedestituteisthelastdepthofmisfortune in society as now constituted. I am aman ofmy time; I respectmoney.”

“Andyouareright,”saidAdeline,“fromtheworldlypointofview.”

Shewasathousandmilesfromherpoint,andshefeltherselfonagridiron,likeSaintLaurence,asshethoughtofheruncle,forshecouldseehimblowinghisbrainsout.

Shelookeddown;thensheraisedhereyestogazeatCrevelwithangelicsweetness—notwith the inviting suggestivenesswhichwaspart ofValerie’swit.ThreeyearsagoshecouldhavebewitchedCrevelbythatbeautifullook.

“Ihaveknownthetime,”saidshe,“whenyouweremoregenerous—youusedtotalkofthreehundredthousandfrancslikeagrandgentleman—”

CrevellookedatMadameHulot;hebeheldherlikealilyinthelastofitsbloom, vague sensations rose within him, but he felt such respect for thissaintly creature that he spurned all suspicions and buried them in themostprofligatecornerofhisheart.

“I, madame, am still the same; but a retired merchant, if he is a grandgentleman, plays, and must play, the part with method and economy; hecarries his ideas of order into everything.He opens an account for his littleamusements,anddevotescertainprofitstothatheadofexpenditure;butastotouching his capital! it would be folly.My children will have their fortuneintact,mineandmywife’s;butIdonotsupposethattheywishtheirfathertobedull,amonkandamummy!Mylifeisaveryjollyone;Ifloatgailydownthestream.Ifulfilallthedutiesimposedonmebylaw,bymyaffections,andbyfamily ties, justas Ialwaysused tobepunctual inpayingmybillswhentheyfelldue.IfonlymychildrenconductthemselvesintheirdomesticlifeasIdo,Ishallbesatisfied;andforthepresent,solongasmyfollies—forIhavecommitted follies—areno loss toanyonebut thegulls—excuseme,youdonotperhapsunderstandtheslangword—theywillhavenothingtoblameme

for,andwillfindatidylittlesumstillleftwhenIdie.Yourchildrencannotsayasmuchoftheirfather,whoisruininghissonandmydaughterbyhispranks—”

TheBaronesswasgettingfurtherfromherobjectashewenton.

“Youareveryunkindaboutmyhusband,mydearCrevel—andyet,ifyouhadfoundhiswifeobliging,youwouldhavebeenhisbestfriend——”

SheshotaburningglanceatCrevel;but,likeDubois,whogavetheRegentthreekicks,sheaffectedtoomuch,andtherakishperfumer’sthoughtsjumpedatsuchprofligatesuggestions,thathesaidtohimself,“DoesshewanttoturnthetablesonHulot?—DoesshethinkmemoreattractiveasaMayorthanasaNationalGuardsman?Womenarestrangecreatures!”

And he assumed the position of his second manner, looking at theBaronesswithhisRegencyleer.

“Icouldalmost fancy,”shewenton,“thatyouwant tovisitonhimyourresentmentagainstthevirtuethatresistedyou—inawomanwhomyoulovedwellenough—to—tobuyher,”sheaddedinalowvoice.

“In a divine woman,” Crevel replied, with a meaning smile at theBaroness, who looked down while tears rose to her eyes. “For you haveswallowednotafewbitterpills!—inthesethreeyears—hey,mybeauty?”

“Do not talk of my troubles, dear Crevel; they are too much for theenduranceofamerehumanbeing.Ah!ifyoustillloveme,youmaydragmeoutofthepitinwhichIlie.Yes,Iaminhelltorment!Theregicideswhowereracked and nipped and torn into quarters by four horses were on rosescomparedwithme,fortheirbodiesonlyweredismembered,andmyheart istorninquarters——”

Crevel’sthumbmovedfromhisarmhole,heplacedhishandonthework-table,heabandonedhisattitude,hesmiled!ThesmilewassovacuousthatitmisledtheBaroness;shetookitforanexpressionofkindness.

“Youseeawoman,notindeedindespair,butwithherhonoratthepointofdeath,andpreparedforeverything,mydearfriend,tohinderacrime.”

FearingthatHortensemightcomein,sheboltedthedoor;thenwithequalimpetuosityshefellatCrevel’sfeet,tookhishandandkissedit.

“Bemydeliverer!”shecried.

Shethoughttherewassomegenerousfibreinthismercantilesoul,andfullof suddenhope that shemight get the twohundred thousand francswithoutdegradingherself:

“Buy a soul—youwere once ready to buy virtue!” shewent on, with a

frenziedgaze.“Trusttomyhonestyasawoman,tomyhonor,ofwhichyouknow the worth! Be my friend! Save a whole family from ruin, shame,despair;keepitfromfallingintoabogwherethequicksandsaremingledwithblood! Oh! ask for no explanations,” she exclaimed, at a movement onCrevel’spart,whowasabout tospeak.“Aboveall,donotsay tome, ‘I toldyou so!’ like a friendwho is glad at amisfortune. Come now, yield to herwhom you used to love, to the woman whose humiliation at your feet isperhaps the crowningmomentofherglory; asknothingofher, expectwhatyouwillfromhergratitude!—No,no.Givemenothing,butlend—lendtomewhomyouusedtocallAdeline——”

Atthispointhertearsflowedsofast,Adelinewassobbingsopassionately,that Crevel’s gloves were wet. The words, “I need two hundred thousandfrancs,”werescarcelyarticulateinthetorrentofweeping,asstones,howeverlarge,areinvisibleinAlpinecataractsswollenbythemeltingofthesnows.

Thisistheinexperienceofvirtue.Viceasksfornothing,aswehaveseeninMadameMarneffe; itgetseverythingoffered to it.Womenof thatstampareneverexacting till theyhavemade themselves indispensable,orwhenamanhastobeworkedasaquarryisworkedwherethelimeisratherscarce—goingtoruin,asthequarry-mensay.

On hearing these words, “Two hundred thousand francs,” Crevelunderstoodall.HecheerfullyraisedtheBaroness,sayinginsolently:

“Come,come,bearup,mother,”whichAdeline,inherdistraction,failedtohear.Thescenewaschangingitscharacter.Crevelwasbecoming“masterofthesituation,”tousehisownwords.ThevastnessofthesumstartledCrevelsogreatlythathisemotionatseeingthishandsomewomanintearsathisfeetwasforgotten.Besides,howeverangelicalandsaintlyawomanmaybe,whensheiscryingbitterlyherbeautydisappears.AMadameMarneffe,ashasbeenseen,whimpersnowandthen,ateartricklesdownhercheek;butastomeltingintotearsandmakinghereyesandnosered!—neverwouldshecommitsuchablunder.

“Come,child,composeyourself.—Deucetakeit!”Crevelwenton,takingMadameHulot’shandsinhisownandpattingthem.“Whydoyouapplytomefor twohundred thousand francs?Whatdoyouwantwith them?Whomaretheyfor?”

“Donot,”saidshe,“insistonanyexplanations.Givemethemoney!—Youwillsavethreelivesandthehonorofourchildren.”

“Anddo you suppose,mygoodmother, that in all Paris youwill find amanwhoatawordfromahalf-crazywomanwillgooffhicetnunc,andbringoutofsomedrawer,Heavenknowswhere, twohundredthousandfrancsthat

havebeenlyingsimmeringtheretillsheispleasedtoscoopthemup?Isthatallyouknowoflifeandofbusiness,mybeauty?Yourfolksareinabadway;youmay send them the last sacraments; for no one in Paris but herDivineHighnessMadamelaBanque,orthegreatNucingen,orsomemiserablemiserwhoisinlovewithgoldasweotherfolksarewithawoman,couldproducesuchamiracle!Thecivillist,civilasitmaybe,wouldbegyoutocallagaintomorrow.Every one invests hismoney, and turns it over to the best of hispowers.

“You are quite mistaken, my angel, if you suppose that King Louis-Philipperulesus;hehimselfknowsbetterthanthat.Heknowsaswellaswedo that supreme above the Charter reigns the holy, venerated, substantial,delightful, obliging, beautiful, noble, ever-youthful, and all-powerful five-francpiece!Butmoney,mybeauty,insistsoninterest,andisalwaysengagedinseekingit!‘GodoftheJews,thouartsupreme!’saysRacine.Theperennialparableof thegoldencalf,yousee!—In thedaysofMoses therewas stock-jobbinginthedesert!

“WehaverevertedtoBiblicaltraditions;theGoldenCalfwasthefirstStateledger,”hewenton.“You,myAdeline,havenotgonebeyondtheRuePlumet.The Egyptians had lent enormous sums to the Hebrews, andwhat they ranafterwasnotGod’speople,buttheircapital.”

He lookedat theBaronesswithanexpressionwhichsaid,“Howclever Iam!”

“Youknownothingofthedevotionofeverycitymantohissacredhoard!”hewenton,afterapause.“Excuseme.Listentome.Get thiswell intoyourhead.—Youwanttwohundredthousandfrancs?Noonecanproducethesumwithoutsellingsomesecurity.Nowconsider!Tohavetwohundredthousandfrancsinhardcashitwouldbeneedfultosellaboutsevenhundredthousandfrancs’worthofstockatthreepercent.Well;andthenyouwouldonlygetthemoneyonthe thirdday.That is thequickestway.Topersuadeamantopartwithafortune—fortwohundredthousandfrancsisthewholefortuneofmanya man—he ought at least to know where it is all going to, and for whatpurpose—”

“It is going,my dear kindCrevel, to save the lives of twomen, one ofwhomwill die of grief and the otherwill kill himself!And to saveme toofromgoingmad!AmInotalittlemadalready?”

“Notsomad!”saidhe,takingMadameHulotroundtheknees;“oldCrevelhashisprice,sinceyouthoughtofapplyingtohim,myangel.”

“They submit to have aman’s arms round their knees, it would seem!”thoughtthesaintlywoman,coveringherfacewithherhands.

“Onceyouofferedmeafortune!”saidshe,turningred.

“Ay,mother!butthatwasthreeyearsago!”repliedCrevel.“Well,youarehandsomernowthanever Isawyou!”hewenton, taking theBaroness’armandpressingit tohisheart.“Youhaveagoodmemory,mydear,byJove!—And now you see how wrong you were to be so prudish, for those threehundred thousand francs that you refused somagnanimously are in anotherwoman’s pocket. I lovedyou then, I loveyou still; but just lookback thesethreeyears.

“When I said to you, ‘You shall bemine,’what object had I in view? Imeant to be revenged on that rascal Hulot. But your husband, my beauty,foundhimselfamistress—ajewelofawoman,apearl,acunninghussythenaged three-and-twenty, for she is six-and-twenty now. It struckme asmoreamusing,morecomplete,moreLouisXV.,moreMarechaldeRichelieu,morefirst-classaltogether, to filchaway thatcharmer,who, inpointof fact,nevercared forHulot, andwho for these threeyears has beenmadly in lovewithyourhumbleservant.”

As he spoke, Crevel, from whose hands the Baroness had released herown, had resumed his favorite attitude; both thumbs were stuck into hisarmholes,andhewaspattinghisribswithhisfingers,liketwoflappingwings,fancyingthathewasthusmakinghimselfveryattractiveandcharming.Itwasasmuchastosay,“Andthisisthemanyouwouldhavenothingtosayto!”

“Thereyouaremydear;Ihadmyrevenge,andyourhusbandknowsit.Iprovedtohimclearlythathewasbasketed—justwherehewasbefore,aswesay.MadameMarneffeismymistress,andwhenherpreciousMarneffekicksthebucket,shewillbemywife.”

MadameHulotstaredatCrevelwithafixedandalmostdazedlook.

“Hectorknewit?”shesaid.

“Andwentbacktoher,”repliedCrevel.“AndIallowedit,becauseValeriewished to be thewife of a head-clerk; but she promisedme that shewouldmanagethingssothatourBaronshouldbesoeffectuallybowledoverthathecanneverinterfereanymore.Andmylittleduchess—forthatwomanisabornduchess,onmysoul!—keptherword.SherestoresyouyourHector,madame,virtuousinperpetuity,asshesays—sheissowitty!Hehashadagoodlesson,I can tell you!TheBaron has had somehard knocks; hewill help nomoreactressesorfineladies;heisradicallycured;cleanedoutlikeabeer-glass.

“IfyouhadlistenedtoCrevelinthefirstinstance,insteadofscorninghimandturninghimoutofthehouse,youmighthavehadfourhundredthousandfrancs, formy revenge has costme all of that.—But I shall getmy changeback,Ihope,whenMarneffedies—Ihaveinvestedinawife,yousee;thatis

thesecretofmyextravagance.Ihavesolvedtheproblemofplayingthelordoneasyterms.”

“Would you give your daughter such a mother-in-law? cried MadameHulot.

“YoudonotknowValerie,madame,” repliedCrevelgravely, striking theattitudeofhisfirstmanner.“Sheisawomanwithgoodbloodinherveins,alady,andawomanwhoenjoysthehighestconsideration.Why,onlyyesterdaythe vicar of the parish was dining with her. She is pious, and we havepresentedasplendidmonstrancetothechurch.

“Oh!sheisclever,sheiswitty,sheisdelightful,well informed—shehaseverythinginherfavor.Formypart,mydearAdeline,Ioweeverythingtothatcharmingwoman;shehasopenedmymind,polishedmyspeech,asyoumayhavenoticed; she correctsmy impetuosity, andgivesmewords and ideas. Ineversayanythingnowthat Ioughtnot. Ihavegreatly improved;youmusthave noticed it. And then she has encouraged my ambition. I shall be aDeputy; and I shallmake no blunders, for I shall consultmyEgeria. Everygreatpolitician,fromNumatoourpresentPrimeMinister,hashadhisSibylofthe fountain.A score of deputies visitValerie; she is acquiring considerableinfluence; and now that she is about to be established in a charming house,withacarriage,shewillbeoneoftheoccultrulersofParis.

“Afinelocomotive!Thatiswhatsuchawomanis.Oh,Ihaveblessedyoumanyatimeforyoursternvirtue.”

“It is enough to make one doubt the goodness of God!” cried Adeline,whose indignation had dried her tears. “But, no! Divine justice must behangingoverherhead.”

“You know nothing of the world, my beauty,” said the great politician,deeply offended. “The world, my Adeline, loves success! Say, now, has itcometoseekoutyoursublimevirtue,pricedattwohundredthousandfrancs?”

ThewordsmadeMadameHulot shudder; thenervous tremblingattackedheroncemore.Shesawthat theex-perfumerwas takingameanrevengeonher as he had onHulot; she felt sickwith disgust, and a spasm rose to herthroat,hinderingspeech.

“Money!”shesaidatlast.“Alwaysmoney!”

“You touchedme deeply,” said Crevel, reminded by these words of thewoman’s humiliation, “when I beheld you there,weeping atmy feet!—Youperhapswillnotbelieveme,butifIhadmypocket-bookaboutme,itwouldhavebeenyours.—Come,doyoureallywantsuchasum?”

Assheheardthisquestion,bigwithtwohundredthousandfrancs,Adeline

forgot the odious insults heaped on her by this cheap-jack fine gentleman,beforethetemptingpictureofsuccessdescribedbyMachiavelli-Crevel,whoonlywantedtofindouthersecretsandlaughoverthemwithValerie.

“Oh! I will do anything, everything,” cried the unhappy woman.“Monsieur,Iwillsellmyself—IwillbeaValerie,ifImust.”

“Youwill find thatdifficult,” repliedCrevel. “Valerie isamasterpiece inherway.My goodmother, twenty-five years of virtue are always repellent,likeabadlytreateddisease.Andyourvirtuehasgrownverymouldy,mydearchild.ButyoushallseehowmuchIloveyou.Iwillmanagetogetyouyourtwohundredthousandfrancs.”

Adeline, incapableof uttering aword, seizedhis hand and laid it onherheart;atearofjoytrembledinhereyes.

“Oh!don’tbeinahurry;therewillbesomehardpulling.Iamajollygoodfellow, a good soulwithnoprejudices, and Iwill put thingsplainly to you.YouwanttodoasValeriedoes—verygood.Butthatisnotall;youmusthaveagull,a stockholder,aHulot.—Well, Iknowa retired tradesman—infact,ahosier.He isheavy,dull,hasnotan idea, Iam lickinghim intoshape,but Idon’t know when he will do me credit. My man is a deputy, stupid andconceited; the tyranny of a turbanedwife, in the depths of the country, haspreserved him in a state of utter virginity as to the luxury and pleasures ofParis life. But Beauvisage—his name is Beauvisage—is a millionaire, and,likeme,mydear,threeyearsago,hewillgiveahundredthousandcrownstobe the loverof a real lady.—Yes,you see,”hewenton,misunderstandingagestureonAdeline’spart,“heisjealousofme,youunderstand;jealousofmyhappinesswithMadameMarneffe,andheisafellowquitecapableofsellinganestatetopurchasea—”

“Enough,MonsieurCrevel!”saidMadameHulot,nolongercontrollingherdisgust, and showing all her shame in her face. “I am punished beyondmydeserts.Myconscience,sosternlyrepressedbytheironhandofnecessity,tellsme,atthisfinalinsult,thatsuchsacrificesareimpossible.—Myprideisgone;Idonotsaynow,asIdidthefirsttime,‘Go!’afterreceivingthismortalthrust.Ihavelosttherighttodoso.Ihaveflungmyselfbeforeyoulikeaprostitute.

“Yes,”shewenton,inreplytoanegativeonCrevel’spart,“Ihavefouledmy life, till nowsopure,by adegrading thought; and I am inexcusable!—Iknow it!—I deserve every insult you can offerme!God’swill be done! If,indeed,Hedesires the death of two creaturesworthy to appear beforeHim,theymustdie!Ishallmournthem,andprayforthem!IfitisHiswillthatmyfamilyshouldbehumbled to thedust,wemustbowtoHisavengingsword,nay,andkissit,sinceweareChristians.—Iknowhowtoexpiatethisdisgrace,whichwillbethetormentofallmyremainingdays.

“Iwho speak to you,monsieur, am notMadameHulot, but awretched,humblesinner,aChristianwhosehearthenceforthwillknowbutonefeeling,andthatisrepentance,allmytimegivenuptoprayerandcharity.Withsuchasinonmysoul,Iamthelastofwomen,thefirstonlyofpenitents.—Youhavebeen themeansofbringingmetoarightmind;Icanhear theVoiceofGodspeakingwithinme,andIcanthankyou!”

Shewas shakingwith thenervous tremblingwhich from thathourneverleft her. Her low, sweet tones were quite unlike the fevered accents of thewomanwhowasreadyfordishonortosaveherfamily.Thebloodfadedfromhercheeks,herfacewascolorless,andhereyesweredry.

“And I played my part very badly, did I not?” she went on, looking atCrevelwiththesweetnessthatmartyrsmusthaveshownintheireyesastheylookedupattheProconsul.“Truelove,thesacredloveofadevotedwoman,givesotherpleasures,nodoubt,thanthosethatareboughtintheopenmarket!—But why so many words?” said she, suddenly bethinking herself, andadvancingastepfurtherinthewaytoperfection.“Theysoundlikeirony,butIamnotironical!Forgiveme.Besides,monsieur,Ididnotwanttohurtanyonebutmyself—”

Thedignityofvirtueanditsholyflamehadexpelledthetransientimpurityof the woman who, splendid in her own peculiar beauty, looked taller inCrevel’s eyes. Adeline had, at this moment, the majesty of the figures ofReligion clinging to the Cross, as painted by the old Venetians; but sheexpressed, too, the immensity of her love and the grandeur of the CatholicChurch,towhichsheflewlikeawoundeddove.

Crevelwasdazzled,astounded.

“Madame,Iamyourslave,withoutconditions,”saidhe,inaninspirationofgenerosity.“Wewilllookintothismatter—and—whateveryouwant—theimpossibleeven—Iwilldo.IwillpledgemysecuritiesattheBank,andintwohoursyoushallhavethemoney.”

“GoodGod!amiracle!”saidpoorAdeline,fallingonherknees.

SheprayedtoHeavenwithsuchfervorastouchedCreveldeeply;MadameHulot saw that he had tears in his eyeswhen, having ended her prayer, sherosetoherfeet.

“Be a friend tome,monsieur,” said she. “Your heart is better than yourwordsandconduct.Godgaveyouyoursoul;yourpassionsandtheworldhavegiven you your ideas. Oh, I will love you truly,” she exclaimed, with anangelictendernessinstrangecontrastwithherattemptsatcoquettishtrickery.

“Butceasetotrembleso,”saidCrevel.

“AmItrembling?”saidtheBaroness,unconsciousoftheinfirmitythathadsosuddenlycomeuponher.

“Yes;why,look,”saidCrevel,takingAdelinebythearmandshowingherthat she was shaking with nervousness. “Come, madame,” he addedrespectfully,“composeyourself;IamgoingtotheBankatonce.”

“Andcomebackquickly!Remember,”sheadded,betrayingallhersecrets,“that the first point is to prevent the suicide of our poor Uncle Fischerinvolved by my husband—for I trust you now, and I am telling youeverything.Oh, ifwe shouldnot be on time, I knowmybrother-in-law, theMarshal,andhehassuchadelicatesoul,thathewoulddieofitinafewdays.”

“I amoff, then,” saidCrevel, kissing theBaroness’ hand. “Butwhat hasthatunhappyHulotdone?”

“HehasswindledtheGovernment.”

“GoodHeavens!Ifly,madame;Iunderstand,Iadmireyou!”

Crevelbentoneknee,kissedMadameHulot’sskirt,andvanished,saying,“Youwillseemesoon.”

Unluckily,onhiswayfromtheRuePlumettohisownhouse,tofetchthesecurities,CrevelwentalongtheRueVanneau,andhecouldnotresistgoingintoseehislittleDuchess.Hisfacestillboreanagitatedexpression.

HewentstraightintoValerie’sroom,whowashavingherhairdressed.ShelookedatCrevelinherglass,and,likeeverywomanofthatsort,wasannoyed,beforesheknewanythingaboutit,toseethathewasmovedbysomestrongfeelingofwhichshewasnotthecause.

“Whatisthematter,mydear?”saidshe.“IsthatafacetobringintoyourlittleDuchess?IwillnotbeyourDuchessanymore,monsieur,nomorethanIwillbeyour‘littleduck,’youoldmonster.”

Crevelrepliedbyamelancholysmileandaglanceatthemaid.

“Reine,child,thatwilldoforto-day;Icanfinishmyhairmyself.GivememyChinesewrapper;mygentlemanseemstomeoutofsorts.”

Reine, whose face was pitted like a colander, and who seemed to havebeen made on purpose to wait on Valerie, smiled meaningly in reply, andbroughtthedressing-gown.Valerietookoffhercombing-wrapper;shewasinhershift,andshewriggledintothedressing-gownlikeasnakeintoaclumpofgrass.

“Madameisnotathome?”

“What a question!” said Valerie.—“Come, tell me, my big puss, have

RivesGauchesgonedown?”

“No.”

“Theyhaveraisedthepriceofthehouse?”

“No.”

“YoufancythatyouarenotthefatherofourlittleCrevel?”

“Whatnonsense!”repliedhe,sureofhispaternity.

“Onmyhonor,Igiveitup!”saidMadameMarneffe.“IfIamexpectedtoextractmyfriend’swoesasyoupullthecorkoutofabottleofBordeaux,Iletitalone.—Goaway,youboreme.”

“It isnothing,”saidCrevel.“Imust find twohundred thousandfrancs intwohours.”

“Oh,youcaneasilygetthem.—IhavenotspentthefiftythousandfrancswegotoutofHulotforthatreport,andIcanaskHenriforfiftythousand—”

“Henri—itisalwaysHenri!”exclaimedCrevel.

“Anddoyousuppose,yougreatbabyofaMachiavelli,thatIwillcastoffHenri? Would France disarm her fleet?—Henri! why, he is a dagger in asheathhangingonanail.Thatboyservesasaweather-glasstoshowmeifyouloveme—andyoudon’tlovemethismorning.”

“I don’t love you, Valerie?” cried Crevel. “I love you as much as amillion.”

“That isnotnearlyenough!”criedshe, jumpingon toCrevel’sknee,andthrowingbotharmsroundhisneckasifitwereapegtohangonby.“Iwanttobe lovedasmuchas tenmillions, asmuchas all thegold in theworld, andmoretothat.Henriwouldneverwaitaminutebeforetellingmeallhehadonhismind.What is it,mygreatpet?Have itout.Makeacleanbreastof it toyourownlittleduck!”

AndshesweptherhairoverCrevel’s face,while she jestinglypulledhisnose.

“Canamanwithanoselikethat,”shewenton,“haveanysecretsfromhisVava—lele—ririe?”

AndattheVavashetweakedhisnosetotheright;atleleitwenttotheleft;atririeshenippeditstraightagain.

“Well, I have just seen—” Crevel stopped and looked at MadameMarneffe.

“Valerie,mytreasure,promisemeonyourhonor—ours,youknow?—not

torepeatasinglewordofwhatItellyou.”

“Of course,Mayor,we know all about that.One hand up—so—andonefoot—so!”Andsheputherself inanattitudewhich, touseRabelais’phrase,strippedCrevelbare fromhisbrain tohisheels,soquaintanddeliciouswasthenudityrevealedthroughthelightfilmoflawn.

“Ihavejustseenvirtueindespair.”

“Candespairpossessvirtue?”saidshe,noddinggravelyandcrossingherarmslikeNapoleon.

“ItispoorMadameHulot.Shewantstwohundredthousandfrancs,orelseMarshalHulotandoldJohannFischerwillblowtheirbrainsout;andasyou,mylittleDuchess,arepartlyatthebottomofthemischief,Iamgoingtopatchmattersup.Sheisasaintlycreature,Iknowherwell;shewillrepayyoueverypenny.”

AtthenameofHulot,atthewordstwohundredthousandfrancs,agleamfromValerie’seyesflashedfrombetweenherlongeyelidsliketheflameofacannonthroughthesmoke.

“Whatdidtheoldthingdotomoveyoutocompassion?Didsheshowyou—what?—her—herreligion?”

“Donotmakegameofher,sweetheart;sheisaverysaintly,averynobleandpiouswoman,worthyofallrespect.”

“Am I not worthy of respect then, heh?” answered Valerie, with athreateninggazeatCrevel.

“Ineversaidso,”repliedhe,understandingthatthepraiseofvirtuemightnotbegratifyingtoMadameMarneffe.

“Iampioustoo,”Valeriewenton,takingherseatinanarmchair;“butIdonotmakeatradeofmyreligion.Igotochurchinsecret.”

Shesatinsilence,andpaidnofurtherheedtoCrevel.He,extremelyillatease,cametostandinfrontofthechairintowhichValeriehadthrownherself,andsawherlostinthereflectionshehadbeensofoolishastosuggest.

“Valerie,mylittleAngel!”

Uttersilence.Ahighlyproblematicaltearwasfurtivelydashedaway.

“Oneword,mylittleduck?”

“Monsieur!”

“Whatareyouthinkingof,mydarling?”

“Oh,MonsieurCrevel,Iwasthinkingofthedayofmyfirstcommunion!

HowprettyIwas!Howpure,howsaintly!—immaculate!—Oh!ifanyonehadcometomymotherandsaid,‘Yourdaughterwillbeahussy,andunfaithfultoherhusband;onedayapolice-officerwillfindherinadisreputablehouse;shewillsellherselftoaCreveltocheataHulot—twohorribleoldmen—’Poof!horrible—shewouldhavediedbeforetheendofthesentence,shewassofondofme,poordear!—”

“Nay,becalm.”

“You cannot think howwell a womanmust love a man before she cansilence theremorse thatgnawsat theheartofanadulterouswife. Iamquitesorry thatReine isnothere;shewouldhavetoldyouthatshefoundmethismorningprayingwithtearsinmyeyes.I,MonsieurCrevel,formypart,donotmakeamockeryofreligion.HaveyoueverheardmesayawordIoughtnotonsuchasubject?”

Crevelshookhisheadinnegation.

“Iwillneverallowit tobementionedinmypresence.Icanmakefunofanythingunder the sun:Kings, politics, finance, everything that is sacred intheeyesof theworld—judges,matrimony,and love—oldmenandmaidens.ButtheChurchandGod!—ThereIdrawtheline.—IknowIamwicked;Iamsacrificing my future life to you. And you have no conception of theimmensityofmylove.”

Crevelclaspedhishands.

“No, unless you could see into my heart, and fathom the depth of myconvictionsoastoknowtheextentofmysacrifice!IfeelinmethemakingofaMagdalen.—AndseehowrespectfullyItreatthepriests;thinkofthegiftsImake to theChurch!Mymotherbroughtmeup in theCatholicFaith, and Iknowwhat ismeant byGod! It is to sinners like us thatHis voice ismostawful.”

Valeriewipedawaytwotearsthattrickleddownhercheeks.Crevelwasindismay.MadameMarneffestoodupinherexcitement.

“Becalm,mydarling—youalarmme!”

MadameMarneffefellonherknees.

“DearHeaven! I amnotbad all through!” she cried, claspingherhands.“Vouchsafe to rescue Thywandering lamb, strike her, crush her, snatch herfrom foul and adulterous hands, and how gladly she will nestle on Thyshoulder!Howwillinglyshewillreturntothefold!”

ShegotupandlookedatCrevel;hercolorlesseyesfrightenedhim.

“Yes, Crevel, and, do you know? I, too, am frightened sometimes. The

justice of God is exerted in this nether world as well as in the next.Whatmercy can I expect at God’s hands? His vengeance overtakes the guilty inmanyways;itassumeseveryaspectofdisaster.Thatiswhatmymothertoldmeonherdeath-bed,speakingofherownoldage.—ButifIshouldloseyou,”sheadded,huggingCrevelwithasortofsavagefrenzy—“oh!Ishoulddie!”

Madame Marneffe released Crevel, knelt down again at the armchair,folded her hands—and in what a bewitching attitude!—and with incrediblefervorpouredoutthefollowingprayer:—

“Andthou,SaintValerie,mypatronsaint,whydostthousorarelyvisitthepillowofherwhowas intrusted to thycare?Oh,comethisevening,as thoudidstthismorning,toinspiremewithholythoughts,andIwillquitthepathofsin;liketheMagdalen,Iwillgiveupdeludingjoysandthefalseglitteroftheworld,eventhemanIlovesowell—”

“Mypreciousduck!”

“Nomoreofthe‘preciousduck,’monsieur!”saidshe,turningroundlikeavirtuouswife,hereyesfulloftears,butdignified,cold,andindifferent.

“Leaveme,” shewent on, pushinghim fromher. “What ismyduty?Tobelongwholly tomy husband.—He is a dyingman, andwhat am I doing?Deceivinghimontheedgeofthegrave.Hebelievesyourchildtobehis.Iwilltellhimthetruth,andbeginbysecuringhispardonbeforeIaskforGod’s.—Wemustpart.Good-bye,MonsieurCrevel,”andshestooduptoofferhimanicycoldhand.“Good-bye,myfriend;weshallmeetnomoretillwemeetinabetterworld.—You have to thankme for some enjoyment, criminal indeed;nowIwant—ohyes,Ishallhaveyouresteem.”

Crevelwasweepingbittertears.

“You great pumpkin!” she exclaimed, with an infernal peal of laughter.“Thatishowyourpiouswomengoaboutit todragfromyouaplumoftwohundredthousandfrancs.Andyou,whotalkoftheMarechaldeRichelieu,theprototypeofLovelace,youcouldbe taken inby sucha stale trickas that! Icouldgethundredsofthousandsoffrancsoutofyouanyday,ifIchose,youoldninny!—Keepyourmoney!Ifyouhavemorethanyouknowwhattodowith,itismine.Ifyougivetwosoustothat‘respectable’woman,whoispiousforsooth,becausesheisfifty-sixyearsofage,weshallnevermeetagain,andyoumay take her for yourmistress! You could come back tome next daybruisedalloverfromherbonycaressesandsoddenwithhertears,andsickofherlittlebarmaid’scapsandherwhimpering,whichmustturnherfavorsintoshowers—”

“In point of fact,” saidCrevel, “two hundred thousand francs is a roundsumofmoney.”

“They have fine appetites, have the goody sort! By the poker! they selltheir sermons dearer than we sell the rarest and realest thing on earth—pleasure.—Andtheycanspinayarn!There,Iknowthem.Ihaveseenplentyinmymother’shouse.TheythinkeverythingisallowablefortheChurchandfor—Really,mydearlove,yououghttobeashamedofyourself—foryouarenotsoopen-handed!Youhavenotgivenmetwohundredthousandfrancsalltold!”

“Ohyes,”saidCrevel,“yourlittlehousewillcostasmuchasthat.”

“Thenyouhavefourhundredthousandfrancs?”saidshethoughtfully.

“No.”

“Then, sir, youmeant to lend that old horror the two hundred thousandfrancsdueformyhotel?Whatacrime,whathightreason!”

“Onlylistentome.”

“Ifyouweregivingthemoneytosomeidioticphilanthropicscheme,youwouldberegardedasacomingman,”shewenton,withincreasingeagerness,“and I shouldbe the first to advise it; for you are too simple towrite a bigpoliticalbookthatmightmakeyoufamous;asforstyle,youhavenotenoughto butter a pamphlet; but you might do as other men do who are in yourpredicament,andwhogetahaloofgloryabouttheirnamebyputtingitatthetopofsomesocial,ormoral,orgeneral,ornationalenterprise.Benevolenceisoutofdate,quitevulgar.Providingforoldoffenders,andmakingthemmorecomfortablethanthepoordevilswhoarehonest,isplayedout.WhatIshouldliketoseeissomeinventionofyourownwithanendowmentoftwohundredthousand francs—something difficult and really useful. Then you would betalkedaboutasamanofmark,aMontyon,andIshouldbeveryproudofyou!

“Butas to throwingtwohundredthousandfrancsintoaholy-watershell,or lending them to a bigot—cast off by her husband, andwhoknowswhy?thereisalwayssomereason:doesanyonecastmeoff,Iaskyou?—isapieceof idiocy which in our days could only come into the head of a retiredperfumer. It reeksof thecounter.Youwouldnotdare lookatyourself in theglasstwodaysafter.

“Goandpaythemoneyinwhereitwillbesafe—run,fly;Iwillnotadmityouagainwithoutthereceiptinyourhand.Go,asfastandsoonasyoucan!”

She pushed Crevel out of the room by the shoulders, seeing avariceblossoming inhis faceoncemore.When sheheard theouter door shut, sheexclaimed:

“ThenLisbethisrevengedoverandoveragain!WhatapitythatsheisatheroldMarshal’snow!Wewouldhavehadagoodlaugh!Sothatoldwoman

wantstotakethebreadoutofmymouth.Iwillstartleheralittle!”

MarshalHulot,beingobligedtoliveinastylesuitedtothehighestmilitaryrank,hadtakenahandsomehouseintheRueduMont-Parnasse,wherethereare threeor fourprincely residences.Thoughhe rented thewholehouse, heinhabitedonlythegroundfloor.WhenLisbethwenttokeephouseforhim,sheatoncewishedtolet thefirstfloor,which,asshesaid,wouldpaythewholerent,sothattheCountwouldlivealmostrent-free;buttheoldsoldierwouldnothearofit.

For somemonths past theMarshal had hadmany sad thoughts. He hadguessed howmiserably poor his sister-in-lawwas, and suspected her griefswithoutunderstanding theircause.Theoldman, socheerful inhisdeafness,becametaciturn;hecouldnothelpthinkingthathishousewouldonedaybearefugefortheBaronessandherdaughter;anditwasforthemthathekeptthefirst floor.The smallness of his fortunewas sowell known at headquarters,thattheWarMinister,thePrincedeWissembourg,beggedhisoldcomradetoaccept a sum of money for his household expenses. This sum theMarshalspentinfurnishingthegroundfloor,whichwasineverywaysuitable;for,ashesaid,hewouldnotaccepttheMarshal’sbatontowalkthestreetswith.

The house had belonged to a senator under the Empire, and the groundfloor drawing-rooms had been very magnificently fitted with carved wood,white-and-gold,stillinverygoodpreservation.TheMarshalhadfoundsomegoodoldfurnitureinthesamestyle;inthecoach-househehadacarriagewithtwobatonsinsaltireonthepanels;andwhenhewasexpectedtoappearinfullfig,attheMinister’s,attheTuileries,forsomeceremonyorhighfestival,hehiredhorsesforthejob.

Hisservant formore than thirtyyearswasanoldsoldierof sixty,whosesisterwasthecook,sohehadsavedtenthousandfrancs,addingitbydegreestoalittlehoardheintendedforHortense.Everydaytheoldmanwalkedalongtheboulevard,fromtheRueduMont-ParnassetotheRuePlumet;andeverypensionerashepassedstoodatattention,withoutfail,tosalutehim:thentheMarshalrewardedtheveteranwithasmile.

“Who is theman you always stand at attention to salute?” said a youngworkmanonedaytoanoldcaptainandpensioner.

“Iwilltellyou,boy,”repliedtheofficer.

The“boy”stoodresigned,asamandoestolistentoanoldgossip.

“In1809,”saidthecaptain,“wewerecoveringtheflankofthemainarmy,marching on Vienna under the Emperor’s command. We came to a bridgedefendedby threebatteriesof cannon,one aboveanother, on a sort of cliff;threeredoubtslikethreeshelves,andcommandingthebridge.Wewereunder

Marshal Massena. That man whom you see there was Colonel of theGrenadierGuards,andIwasoneofthem.Ourcolumnsheldonebankoftheriver,thebatterieswereontheother.Threetimestheytriedforthebridge,andthree times they were driven back. ‘Go and find Hulot!’ said the Marshal;‘nobodybutheandhismencanboltthatmorsel.’Sowecame.TheGeneral,whowas just retiring from the bridge, stoppedHulot under fire, to tell himhowtodoit,andhewasintheway.‘Idon’twantadvice,butroomtopass,’said ourGeneral coolly,marching across at the head of hismen.And then,rattle,thirtygunsrakingusatonce.”

“By Heaven!” cried the workman, “that accounts for some of thesecrutches!”

“And ifyou, likeme,myboy,hadheard thosewords soquietly spoken,youwouldbowbefore thatmandown to theground! It isnot so famousasArcole,butperhapsitwasfiner.WefollowedHulotatthedouble,rightuptothosebatteries.Allhonor to thosewe left there!”and theoldman liftedhishat. “TheAustrianswere amazedat thedashof it.—TheEmperormade themanyousawaCount;hehonoredusallbyhonoringourleader;andtheKingofto-daywasveryrighttomakehimaMarshal.”

“HurrahfortheMarshal!”criedtheworkman.

“Oh,youmayshout—shoutaway!TheMarshalisasdeafasapostfromtheroarofcannon.”

ThisanecdotemaygivesomeideaoftherespectwithwhichtheInvalidesregarded Marshal Hulot, whose Republican proclivities secured him thepopularsympathyofthewholequarterofthetown.

Sorrowtakingholdonaspirit socalmandstrictandnoble,wasaheart-breaking spectacle. The Baroness could only tell lies, with a woman’singenuity,toconcealthewholedreadfultruthfromherbrother-in-law.

Inthecourseofthismiserablemorning,theMarshal,who,likealloldmen,sleptbut little,hadextracted fromLisbeth fullparticularsas tohisbrother’ssituation,promisingtomarryherastherewardofherrevelations.Anyonecanimaginewithwhatglee theoldmaidallowedthesecrets tobedraggedfromherwhichshehadbeendyingtotelleversinceshehadcomeintothehouse;forbythismeansshemadehermarriagemorecertain.

“Yourbrotherisincorrigible!”LisbethshoutedintotheMarshal’sbestear.

Her strong, clear tones enabled her to talk to him, but shewore out herlungs,soanxiouswasshetoprovetoherfuturehusbandthattoherhewouldneverbedeaf.

“He has had three mistresses,” said the old man, “and his wife was an

Adeline!PoorAdeline!”

“If you will take my advice,” shrieked Lisbeth, “you will use yourinfluence with the Prince de Wissembourg to secure her some suitableappointment.Shewillneedit,fortheBaron’spayispledgedforthreeyears.”

“IwillgototheWarOffice,”saidhe,“andseethePrince,tofindoutwhathe thinks ofmybrother, and ask for his interest to helpmy sister.Thinkofsomeplacethatisfitforher.”

“The charitable ladies of Paris, in concert with the Archbishop, haveformed various beneficent associations; they employ superintendents, verydecently paid, whose business it is to seek out cases of realwant. Such anoccupationwouldexactly suitdearAdeline; itwouldbeworkafterherownheart.”

“Send toorder thehorses,” said theMarshal. “Iwillgoanddress. IwilldrivetoNeuillyifnecessary.”

“Howfondheisofher!ShewillalwayscrossmypathwhereverIturn!”saidLisbethtoherself.

Lisbeth was already supreme in the house, but not with the Marshal’scognizance.Shehadstruckterrorintothethreeservants—forshehadallowedherselfahousemaid,andsheexertedherold-maidishenergyintakingstockofeverything, examining everything, and arranging in every respect for thecomfort of her dear Marshal. Lisbeth, quite as Republican as he could be,pleasedhimbyherdemocraticopinions,andsheflatteredhimwithamazingdexterity;forthelastfortnighttheoldman,whosehousewasbetterkept,andwhowascaredforasachildbyitsmother,hadbeguntoregardLisbethasapartofwhathehaddreamedof.

“MydearMarshal,”sheshouted,followinghimoutontothesteps,“pullupthewindows,donotsitinadraught,toobligeme!”

TheMarshal,whohadneverbeensocossetedinhislife,wentoffsmilingatLisbeth,thoughhisheartwasaching.

At thesamehourBaronHulotwasquitting theWarOffice tocallonhischief, Marshal the Prince deWissembourg, who had sent for him. ThoughtherewasnothingextraordinaryinoneoftheGeneralsontheBoardbeingsentfor, Hulot’s conscience was so uneasy that he fancied he saw a cold andsinisterexpressioninMitouflet’sface.

“Mitouflet,how is thePrince?”heasked, locking thedoorofhisprivateroomandfollowingthemessengerwholedtheway.

“Hemusthaveacrowtopluckwithyou,MonsieurleBaron,”repliedtheman,“forhisfaceissetatstormy.”

Hulot turned pale, and said no more; he crossed the anteroom andreceptionrooms,and,withaviolentlybeatingheart,foundhimselfatthedoorofthePrince’sprivatestudy.

Thechief,atthistimeseventyyearsold,withperfectlywhitehair,andthetannedcomplexionofasoldierofthatage,commandedattentionbyabrowsovastthatimaginationsawinitafieldofbattle.Underthisdome,crownedwithsnow,sparkledapairofeyes,of theNapoleonblue,usuallysad-lookingandfullofbitterthoughtsandregrets,theirfireovershadowedbythepenthouseofthestronglyprojectingbrow.Thisman,Bernadotte’srival,hadhopedtofindhis seat on a throne.But those eyes could flash formidable lightningswhentheyexpressedstrongfeelings.

Then,hisvoice,alwayssomewhathollow,rangwithstridenttones.Whenhewasangry, thePrincewasasoldieroncemore;hespoke the languageofLieutenant Cottin; he spared nothing—nobody. Hulot d’Ervy found the oldlion,hishairshaggylikeamane,standingbythefireplace,hisbrowsknit,hisbackagainstthemantel-shelf,andhiseyesapparentlyfixedonvacancy.

“Here! At your orders, Prince!” said Hulot, affecting a graceful ease ofmanner.

TheMarshallookedhardattheBaron,withoutsayingaword,duringthetime it took him to come from the door towithin a few steps ofwhere thechiefstood.ThisleadenstarewasliketheeyeofGod;Hulotcouldnotmeetit;helookeddowninconfusion.

“Heknowseverything!”saidhetohimself.

“Doesyourconsciencetellyounothing?”askedtheMarshal,inhisdeep,hollowtones.

“It tellsme, sir, that Ihavebeenwrong,nodoubt, inordering razzias inAlgeriawithout referring thematter to you.Atmyage, andwithmy tastes,afterforty-fiveyearsofservice,Ihavenofortune.—Youknowtheprinciplesof the four hundred elect representatives of France. Those gentlemen areenviousofeverydistinction;theyhavepareddowneventheMinisters’pay—thatsayseverything!Askthemformoneyforanoldservant!—Whatcanyouexpectofmenwhopayawholeclass sobadlyas theypay theGovernmentlegal officials?—who give thirty sous a day to the laborers on theworks atToulon,whenitisaphysicalimpossibilitytolivethereandkeepafamilyonlessthanfortysous?—whoneverthinkoftheatrocityofgivingsalariesofsixhundredfrancs,uptoathousandortwelvehundredperhaps,toclerkslivinginParis; andwhowant to secureourplaces for themselves as soon as thepayrisestofortythousand?—who,finally,refusetorestoretotheCrownapieceofCrownproperty confiscated from theCrown in1830—property acquired,

too, by Louis XVI. out of his privy purse!—If you had no private fortune,Prince,youwouldbelefthighanddry,likemybrother,withyourpayandnotanothersou,andnothoughtofyourhavingsavedthearmy,andmewithit,intheboggyplainsofPoland.”

“YouhaverobbedtheState!YouhavemadeyourselfliabletobebroughtbeforethebenchatAssizes,”saidtheMarshal,“likethatclerkoftheTreasury!Andyoutakethis,monsieur,withsuchlevity.”

“But there is a great difference,monseigneur!” cried the baron. “Have Idippedmyhandsintoacashboxintrustedtomycare?”

“When a man of your rank commits such an infamous crime,” said theMarshal, “he isdoublyguilty ifhedoes it clumsily.Youhavecompromisedthehonorofourofficialadministration,whichhithertohasbeenthepurestinEurope!—And all for two hundred thousand francs and a hussy!” said theMarshal, in a terrible voice. “You are a Councillor of State—and a privatesoldierwhosellsanythingbelongingtohisregiment ispunishedwithdeath!HereisastorytoldtomeonedaybyColonelPourinoftheSecondLancers.AtSaverne,oneofhismen fell in lovewitha littleAlsatiangirlwhohadafancy for a shawl.The jade teased thispoordevilof a lancer so effectually,that though he could show twenty years’ service, and was about to bepromoted tobequartermaster—theprideof the regiment—tobuy this shawlhesoldsomeofhiscompany’skit.—Doyouknowwhatthislancerdid,Barond’Ervy?Heswallowedsomewindow-glassafterpoundingitdown,anddiedin eleven hours, of an illness, in hospital.—Try, if you please, to die ofapoplexy,thatwemaynotseeyoudishonored.”

Hulotlookedwithhaggardeyesattheoldwarrior;andthePrince,readingthe lookwhichbetrayed the coward, felt a flush rise tohis cheeks; his eyesflamed.

“Willyou,sir,abandonme?”Hulotstammered.

Marshal Hulot, hearing that only his brother was with the Minister,venturedatthisjuncturetocomein,and,likealldeafpeople,wentstraightuptothePrince.

“Oh,” cried the hero of Poland, “I knowwhat you are here for,my oldfriend!Butwecandonothing.”

“Donothing!”echoedMarshalHulot,whohadheardonlythelastword.

“Nothing;youhavecometointercedeforyourbrother.Butdoyouknowwhatyourbrotheris?”

“Mybrother?”askedthedeafman.

“Yes,heisadamnedinfernalblackguard,andunworthyofyou.”

TheMarshalinhisrageshotfromhiseyesthosefulminatingfireswhich,likeNapoleon’s,brokeaman’swillandjudgment.

“You lie,Cottin!” saidMarshalHulot, turningwhite. “ThrowdownyourbatonasIthrowmine!Iamready.”

The Prince went up to his old comrade, looked him in the face, andshoutedinhisearashegraspedhishand:

“Areyouaman?”

“YouwillseethatIam.”

“Well, then, pull yourself together! Youmust face the worst misfortunethatcanbefallyou.”

ThePrinceturnedround,tooksomepapersfromthetable,andplacedthemintheMarshal’shands,saying,“Readthat.”

TheComtedeForzheimreadthefollowingletter,whichlayuppermost:—

“TohisExcellencythePresidentoftheCouncil.

“PrivateandConfidential.

“ALGIERS.

“MYDEARPRINCE,—Wehave a very ugly business on our hands, asyouwillseebytheaccompanyingdocuments.

“Thestory,brieflytold,isthis:BaronHulotd’Ervysentouttotheprovinceof Oran an uncle of his as a broker in grain and forage, and gave him anaccompliceinthepersonofastorekeeper.Thisstorekeeper,tocurryfavor,hasmadeaconfession, and finallymadehis escape.ThePublicProsecutor tookthematterupvery thoroughly,seeing,ashesupposed, thatonly twoinferioragents were implicated; but Johann Fischer, uncle to your Chief of theCommissariatDepartment,findingthathewastobebroughtupattheAssizes,stabbedhimselfinprisonwithanail.

“That would have been the end of thematter if this worthy and honestman, deceived, it would seem, by his agent and by his nephew, had notthoughtproper towrite toBaronHulot.This letter,seizedasadocument,sogreatlysurprisedthePublicProsecutor,thathecametoseeme.Now,thearrestandpublictrialofaCouncillorofStatewouldbesuchaterriblething—ofamanhighinofficetoo,whohasagoodrecordforloyalservice—foraftertheBeresina,itwashewhosavedusallbyreorganizingtheadministration—thatIdesiredtohaveallthepaperssenttome.

“Isthemattertotakeitscourse?Nowthattheprincipalagentisdead,willit not be better to smother up the affair and sentence the storekeeper in

default?

“ThePublicProsecutorhasconsentedtomyforwardingthedocumentsforyourperusal;theBaronHulotd’Ervy,beingresidentinParis,theproceedingswill liewithyourSupremeCourt.Wehavehiton this rather shabbywayofriddingourselvesofthedifficultyforthemoment.

“Only, my dearMarshal, decide quickly. This miserable business is toomuchtalkedaboutalready,anditwilldoasmuchharmtousastoyouallifthe name of the principal culprit—known at present only to the PublicProsecutor,theexaminingjudge,andmyself—shouldhappentoleakout.”

At thispoint the letter fell fromMarshalHulot’shands;he lookedathisbrother;hesawthattherewasnoneedtoexaminetheevidence.Buthelookedfor Johann Fischer’s letter, and after reading it at a glance, held it out toHector:—

“FROMTHEPRISONATORAN.

“DEARNEPHEW,—Whenyoureadthisletter,Ishallhaveceasedtolive.

“Bequiteeasy,noproofcanbefoundtoincriminateyou.WhenIamdeadand your Jesuit of a Chardin fled, the trial must collapse. The face of ourAdeline,madesohappybyyou,makesdeatheasytome.Nowyouneednotsendthetwohundredthousandfrancs.Good-bye.

“This letterwill be delivered by a prisoner for a short termwhom I cantrust,Ibelieve.

“JOHANNFISCHER.”

“I beg your pardon,” saidMarshal Hulot to the Prince deWissembourgwithpatheticpride.

“Come,come,saytu,nottheformalvous,”repliedtheMinister,claspinghisoldfriend’shand.“Thepoorlancerkillednoonebuthimself,”headded,withathunderouslookatHulotd’Ervy.

“Howmuchhaveyouhad?”saidtheComtedeForzheimtohisbrother.

“Twohundredthousandfrancs.”

“Mydearfriend,”saidtheCount,addressingtheMinister,“youshallhavethe two hundred thousand francs within forty-eight hours. It shall never besaidthatamanbearingthenameofHulothaswrongedthepublictreasuryofasinglesou.”

“Whatnonsense!”saidthePrince.“Iknowwherethemoneyis,andIcangetitback.—Sendinyourresignationandaskforyourpension!”hewenton,sending a double sheet of foolscap flying across towhere theCouncillor of

Statehadsatdownby the table, forhis legsgavewayunderhim.“Tobringyou to trialwoulddisgraceusall. Ihavealreadyobtained from the superiorBoard their sanction to this line of action. Since you can accept life withdishonor—inmyopinion the lastdegradation—youwillget thepensionyouhaveearned.Onlytakecaretobeforgotten.”

TheMinisterrang.

“IsMarneffe,thehead-clerk,outthere?”

“Yes,monseigneur.”

“Showhimin!”

“You,” said theMinister asMarneffe came in, “you and yourwife havewittinglyandintentionallyruinedtheBarond’Ervywhomyousee.”

“MonsieurleMinistre,Ibegyourpardon.Weareverypoor.Ihavenothingtoliveonbutmypay,andIhavetwochildren,andtheonethatiscomingwillhavebeenbroughtintothefamilybyMonsieurleBaron.”

“What a villain he looks!” said the Prince, pointing to Marneffe andaddressingMarshalHulot.—“NomoreofSganarelle speeches,”hewenton;“youwilldisgorgetwohundredthousandfrancs,orbepackedofftoAlgiers.”

“But,MonsieurleMinistre,youdonotknowmywife.Shehasspentitall.MonsieurleBaronaskedsixpersonstodinnereveryevening.—Fiftythousandfrancsayeararespentinmyhouse.”

“Leavetheroom!”saidtheMinister,intheformidabletonesthathadgiventhewordtochargeinbattle.“Youwillhavenoticeofyourtransferwithintwohours.Go!”

“Iprefertosendinmyresignation,”saidMarneffeinsolently.“ForitistoomuchtobewhatIamalready,andthrashedintothebargain.Thatwouldnotsatisfymeatall.”

Andhelefttheroom.

“Whatanimpudentscoundrel!”saidthePrince.

Marshal Hulot, who had stood up throughout this scene, as pale as acorpse,studyinghisbrotheroutofthecornerofhiseye,wentuptothePrince,andtookhishand,repeating:

“Inforty-eighthours thepecuniarymischiefshallberepaired;buthonor!—Good-bye,Marshal. It is the last shot thatkills.Yes, I shall dieof it!”hesaidinhisear.

“What the devil brought you here thismorning?” said the Prince,muchmoved.

“Icametoseewhatcanbedoneforhiswife,”repliedtheCount,pointingtohisbrother.“Sheiswantingbread—especiallynow!”

“Hehashispension.”

“Itispledged!”

“TheDevilmustpossesssuchaman,”saidthePrince,withashrug.“Whatphiltredo thosebaggagesgiveyou to robyouofyourwits?”hewenton toHulot d’Ervy. “How could you—you, who know the precise details withwhichinFrenchofficeseverythingiswrittendownatfulllength,consumingreamsofpapertocertifytothereceiptoroutlayofafewcentimes—you,whohave so often complained that a hundred signatures are needed for a meretrifle, to discharge a soldier, to buy a curry-comb—how could you hope toconcealatheftforanylengthoftime?Tosaynothingofthenewspapers,andtheenvious,andthepeoplewhowouldliketosteal!—thosewomenmustrobyouofyourcommon-sense!Do theycoveryoureyeswithwalnut-shells?orareyouyourselfmadeofdifferentstufffromus?—Yououghttohavelefttheofficeassoonasyoufoundthatyouwerenolongeraman,butatemperament.Ifyouhavecomplicatedyourcrimewithsuchgrossfolly,youwillend—Iwillnotsaywhere——”

“Promise me, Cottin, that you will do what you can for her,” said theMarshal,whoheardnothing,andwasstillthinkingofhissister-in-law.

“Dependonme!”saidtheMinister.

“Thankyou,andgood-byethen!—Come,monsieur,”hesaidtohisbrother.

ThePrincelookedwithapparentcalmnessatthetwobrothers,sodifferentintheirdemeanor,conduct,andcharacter—thebravemanandthecoward,theasceticand theprofligate, thehonestmanand thepeculator—andhe said tohimself:

“Thatmean creature will not have courage to die! Andmy poor Hulot,suchanhonestfellow!hasdeathinhisknapsack,Iknow!”

He sat down again in his big chair andwent on reading the despatchesfromAfricawithalookcharacteristicatonceofthecoolnessofaleaderandof the pity roused by the sight of a battle-field! For in reality no one is sohumaneasasoldier,sternashemayseemintheicydeterminationacquiredbythehabitoffighting,andsoabsolutelyessentialinthebattle-field.

Nextmorningsomeofthenewspaperscontained,undervariousheadings,thefollowingparagraphs:—

“MonsieurleBaronHulotd’Ervyhasappliedforhisretiringpension.Theunsatisfactory state of the Algerian exchequer, which has come out inconsequenceof thedeathanddisappearanceof twoemployes,hashadsome

shareinthisdistinguishedofficial’sdecision.Onhearingofthedelinquenciesoftheagentswhomhehadunfortunatelytrusted,MonsieurleBaronHulothadaparalyticstrokeintheWarMinister’sprivateroom.

“MonsieurHulotd’Ervy,brother to theMarshalComtedeForzheim,hasbeen forty-five years in the service. His determination has been vainlyopposed, and is greatly regretted by all who knowMonsieur Hulot, whoseprivatevirtuesareasconspicuousashisadministrativecapacity.NoonecanhaveforgottenthedevotedconductoftheCommissaryGeneraloftheImperialGuard at Warsaw, or the marvelous promptitude with which he organizedsupplies for the various sections of the army so suddenly required byNapoleonin1815.

“OnemoreoftheheroesoftheEmpireisretiringfromthestage.MonsieurleBaronHulothasneverceased,since1830,tobeoneoftheguidinglightsoftheStateCouncilandoftheWarOffice.”

“ALGIERS.—Thecaseknownastheforagesupplycase,towhichsomeofour contemporaries have given absurd prominence, has been closed by thedeathofthechiefculprit.JohannWischhascommittedsuicideinhiscell;hisaccomplice,whohadabsconded,willbesentencedindefault.

“Wisch, formerly an army contractor, was an honest man and highlyrespected,whocouldnotsurvivetheideaofhavingbeenthedupeofChardin,thestorekeeperwhohasdisappeared.”

AndintheParisNewsthefollowingparagraphappeared:

“Monsieur leMarechal theMinisterofWar, toprevent the recurrenceofsuchscandalsforthefuture,hasarrangedforaregularCommissariatofficeinAfrica.Ahead-clerk in theWarOffice,MonsieurMarneffe, is spokenof aslikelytobeappointedtothepostofdirector.”

“TheofficevacatedbyBaronHulot is theobjectofmuchambition.Theappointmentispromised,itissaid,toMonsieurleComteMartialdelaRoche-Hugon,Deputy,brother-in-lawtoMonsieurleComtedeRastignac.MonsieurMassol, Master of Appeals, will fill his seat on the Council of State, andMonsieurClaudeVignonbecomesMasterofAppeals.”

Of all kinds of false gossip, the most dangerous for the Oppositionnewspapersistheofficialbogusparagraph.Howeverkeenjournalistsmaybe,they are sometimes the voluntary or involuntary dupes of the cleverness ofthosewhohaverisenfromtheranksofthePress,likeClaudeVignon,tothehigher realms of power. The newspaper can only be circumvented by thejournalist.Itmaybesaid,asaparodyonalinebyVoltaire:

“TheParisnewsisneverwhatthefoolishfolkbelieve.”

Marshal Hulot drove home with his brother, who took the front seat,respectfully leaving thewhole of the backof the carriage to his senior.Thetwo men spoke not a word. Hector was helpless. TheMarshal was lost inthought, likeamanwhoiscollectingallhisstrength,andbracinghimself tobearacrushingweight.Onarrivingathisownhouse,stillwithoutspeaking,butbyanimperiousgesture,hebeckonedhisbrotherintohisstudy.TheCounthadreceivedfromtheEmperorNapoleonasplendidpairofpistols fromtheVersaillesfactory;hetookthebox,withitsinscription.“GivenbytheEmperorNapoleon to General Hulot,” out of his desk, and placing it on the top, heshowedittohisbrother,saying,“Thereisyourremedy.”

Lisbeth,peepingthroughthechinkofthedoor,flewdowntothecarriageandorderedthecoachmantogoasfastashecouldgalloptotheRuePlumet.Within about twentyminutes she had brought backAdeline,whom she hadtoldoftheMarshal’sthreattohisbrother.

TheMarshal,withoutlookingatHector,rangthebellforhisfactotum,theoldsoldierwhohadservedhimforthirtyyears.

“Beau-Pied,” said he, “fetch my notary, and Count Steinbock, and mynieceHortense, and the stockbroker to theTreasury. It is nowhalf-past ten;theymustallbeherebytwelve.Takehackneycabs—andgofasterthanthat!”headded,arepublicanallusionwhichinpastdayshadbeenoftenonhislips.AndheputonthescowlthathadbroughthissoldierstoattentionwhenhewasbeatingthebroomontheheathsofBrittanyin1799.(SeeLesChouans.)

“Youshallbeobeyed,Marechal,”saidBeau-Pied,withamilitarysalute.

Stillpayingnoheedtohisbrother,theoldmancamebackintohisstudy,tookakeyoutofhisdesk,andopenedalittlemalachiteboxmountedinsteel,thegiftoftheEmperorAlexander.

ByNapoleon’sordershehadgone to restore to theRussianEmperor theprivate property seized at the battle of Dresden, in exchange for whichNapoleon hoped to get backVandamme. TheCzar rewardedGeneralHulotveryhandsomely,givinghimthiscasket,andsayingthathehopedonedaytoshowthesamecourtesytotheEmperoroftheFrench;buthekeptVandamme.The Imperial arms of Russia were displayed in gold on the lid of the box,whichwasinlaidwithgold.

TheMarshal counted the bank-notes it contained; he had a hundred andfifty-twothousandfrancs.Hesawthiswithsatisfaction.AtthesamemomentMadameHulotcameintotheroominastatetotouchtheheartofthesternestjudge.SheflewintoHector’sarms,lookingalternatelywithacrazyeyeattheMarshalandatthecaseofpistols.

“Whathaveyoutosayagainstyourbrother?Whathasmyhusbanddoneto

you?”saidshe,insuchavoicethattheMarshalheardher.

“Hehasdisgracedusall!”repliedtheRepublicanveteran,whospokewitha vehemence that reopened one of his old wounds. “He has robbed theGovernment!Hehascastodiumonmyname,hemakesmewishIweredead—hehaskilledme!—Ihaveonlystrengthenoughlefttomakerestitution!

“Ihavebeenabasedbefore theCondeof theRepublic, themanIesteemabove all others, and to whom I unjustifiably gave the lie—the Prince ofWissembourg!—Is that nothing? That is the score his country has againsthim!”

Hewipedawayatear.

“Now,astohisfamily,”hewenton.“HeisrobbingyouofthebreadIhadsaved foryou, the fruitof thirtyyears’ economy,of theprivationsof anoldsoldier!Here iswhatwas intended foryou,”andheheldup thebank-notes.“HehaskilledhisUncleFischer,anobleandworthysonofAlsacewhocouldnot—ashecan—endurethethoughtofastainonhispeasant’shonor.

“Tocrownall,God,inHisadorableclemency,hadallowedhimtochooseanangelamongwomen;hehashad theunspeakablehappinessofhavinganAdelineforhiswife!Andhehasdeceivedher,hehassoakedherinsorrows,hehasneglectedherforprostitutes,forstreet-hussies,forballet-girls,actresses—Cadine,Josepha,Marneffe!—AndthatisthebrotherItreatedasasonandmademypride!

“Go, wretched man; if you can accept the life of degradation you havemade foryourself, leavemyhouse! Ihavenot theheart tocurseabrother Ihavelovedsowell—Iamasfoolishabouthimasyouare,Adeline—butneverletmeseehimagain.Iforbidhisattendingmyfuneralorfollowingmetothegrave.Lethimshowthedecencyofacriminalifhecanfeelnoremorse.”

TheMarshal, as pale as death, fell back on the settee, exhausted by hissolemnspeech.And,forthefirsttimeinhislifeperhaps,tearsgatheredinhiseyesandrolleddownhischeeks.

“Mypooruncle!”criedLisbeth,puttingahandkerchieftohereyes.

“Brother!”saidAdeline,kneelingdownbytheMarshal,“liveformysake.HelpmeinthetaskofreconcilingHectortotheworldandmakinghimredeemthepast.”

“He!”criedtheMarshal.“Ifhelives,heisnotattheendofhiscrimes.AmanwhohasmisprizedanAdeline,whohas smothered inhisownsoul thefeelingsofatrueRepublicanwhichI triedtoinstill intohim,theloveofhiscountry,ofhisfamily,andofthepoor—thatmanisamonster,aswine!—Takehimawayifyoustillcareforhim,foravoicewithinmecriestometoload

mypistolsandblowhisbrainsout.BykillinghimIshouldsaveyouall,andIshouldsavehimtoofromhimself.”

The old man started to his feet with such a terrifying gesture that poorAdelineexclaimed:

“Hector—come!”

Sheseizedherhusband’sarm,draggedhimaway,andoutofthehouse;buttheBaronwassobrokendown, that shewasobliged tocall acoach to takehim to theRuePlumet,where hewent to bed.Theman remained there forseveraldays in a sortofhalf-dissolution, refusingall nourishmentwithout aword.Byfloodsoftears,Adelinepersuadedhimtoswallowalittlebroth;shenursedhim,sittingbyhisbed,andfeelingonly,ofalltheemotionsthatoncehadfilledherheart,thedeepestpityforhim.

Athalf-pasttwelve,LisbethshowedintoherdearMarshal’sroom—forshewouldnotleavehim,somuchwasshealarmedattheevidentchangeinhim—CountSteinbockandthenotary.

“MonsieurleComte,”saidtheMarshal,“Iwouldbegyoutobesogoodastoputyoursignaturetoadocumentauthorizingmyniece,yourwife,tosellabondforcertainfundsofwhichsheatpresentholdsonlythereversion.—You,MademoiselleFischer,willagreetothissale,thuslosingyourlifeinterestinthesecurities.”

“Yes,dearCount,”saidLisbethwithouthesitation.

“Good,mydear,” said theoldsoldier.“Ihope Imay live to rewardyou.ButIdidnotdoubtyou;youareatrueRepublican,adaughterofthepeople.”Hetooktheoldmaid’shandandkissedit.

“MonsieurHannequin,”hewenton,speakingtothenotary,“drawupthenecessary document in the form of a power of attorney, and letme have itwithintwohours,sothatImaysellthestockontheBourseto-day.Myniece,theCountess,holdsthesecurity;shewillbeheretosignthepowerofattorneywhenyoubringit,andsowillmademoiselle.MonsieurleComtewillbegoodenoughtogowithyouandsignitatyouroffice.”

Theartist, at anod fromLisbeth,bowed respectfully to theMarshal andwentaway.

Nextmorning,atteno’clock,theComtedeForzheimsentintoannouncehimselftothePrince,andwasatonceadmitted.

“Well,mydearHulot,”saidthePrince,holdingoutthenewspaperstohisoldfriend,“wehavesavedappearances,yousee.—Read.”

MarshalHulotlaidthepapersonhiscomrade’stable,andheldouttohim

thetwohundredthousandfrancs.

“HereisthemoneyofwhichmybrotherrobbedtheState,”saidhe.

“Whatmadness!” cried theMinister. “It is impossible,” he said into thespeaking-trumpethanded tohimby theMarshal,“tomanage this restitution.We should be obliged to declare your brother’s dishonest dealings, and wehavedoneeverythingtohidethem.”

“Dowhatyoulikewiththemoney;butthefamilyshallnotoweonesouofitsfortunetoarobberyonthefundsoftheState,”saidtheCount.

“I will take the King’s commands in the matter. We will discuss it nofurther,”repliedthePrince,perceivingthatitwouldbeimpossibletoconquertheoldman’ssublimeobstinacyonthepoint.

“Good-bye,Cottin,”saidtheoldsoldier,takingthePrince’shand.“Ifeelasifmysoulwerefrozen—”

Then,aftergoingastep towards thedoor,he turnedround, lookedat thePrince,andseeingthathewasdeeplymoved,heopenedhisarmstoclasphiminthem;thetwooldsoldiersembracedeachother.

“IfeelasifIweretakingleaveofthewholeoftheoldarmyinyou,”saidtheCount.

“Good-bye,mygoodoldcomrade!”saidtheMinister.

“Yes,itisgood-bye;forIamgoingwhereallourbravemenareforwhomwehavemourned—”

JustthenClaudeVignonwasshownin.ThetworelicsoftheNapoleonicphalanxbowedgravelytoeachother,effacingeverytraceofemotion.

“You have, I hope, been satisfied by the papers,” said the Master ofAppeals-elect.“IcontrivedtolettheOppositionpapersbelievethattheywerelettingoutoursecrets.”

“Unfortunately,itisallinvain,”repliedtheMinister,watchingHulotasheleft the room.“Ihave justgone througha leave-taking thathasbeenagreatgrieftome.For,indeed,MarshalHulothasnotthreedaystolive;Isawthatplainlyenoughyesterday.Thatman,oneofthosehonestsoulsthatareaboveproof, a soldier respected by the bullets in spite of his valor, received hisdeath-blow—there,inthatarmchair—anddealtbymyhand,inaletter!—Ringandordermycarriage.ImustgotoNeuilly,”saidhe,puttingthetwohundredthousandfrancsintohisofficialportfolio.

NotwithstandingLisbeth’s nursing,MarshalHulot three days laterwas adeadman.Suchmenarethegloryofthepartytheysupport.ToRepublicans,the Marshal was the ideal of patriotism; and they all attended his funeral,

whichwasfollowedbyanimmensecrowd.Thearmy,theStateofficials, theCourt, and the populace all came to do homage to this lofty virtue, thisspotlesshonesty,thisimmaculateglory.Suchalasttributeofthepeopleisnotathingtobehadfortheasking.

Thisfuneralwasdistinguishedbyoneofthosetributesofdelicatefeeling,ofgood taste, andsincere respectwhich from time to time remindusof thevirtues and dignity of the old French nobility. Following theMarshal’s biercame the oldMarquis deMontauran, the brother of him who, in the greatrising of theChouans in 1799, had been the foe, the luckless foe, ofHulot.ThatMarquis,killedbytheballsofthe“Blues,”hadconfidedtheinterestsofhisyoungbrothertotheRepublicansoldier.(SeeLesChouans.)HulothadsofaithfullyactedonthenobleRoyalist’sverbalwill,thathesucceededinsavingtheyoungman’sestates,thoughhehimselfwasatthetimeanemigre.AndsothehomageoftheoldFrenchnobilitywasnotwantingtotheleaderwho,nineyearssince,hadconqueredMADAME.

Thisdeath, happening just fourdaysbefore thebannswere cried for thelast time, came upon Lisbeth like the thunderbolt that burns the garneredharvest with the barn. The peasant of Lorraine, as often happens, hadsucceededtoowell.TheMarshalhaddiedoftheblowsdealttothefamilybyherselfandMadameMarneffe.

The oldmaid’s vindictiveness,which success seemed to have somewhatmollified,wasaggravatedbythisdisappointmentofherhopes.Lisbethwent,cryingwith rage, toMadameMarneffe; for shewas homeless, theMarshalhavingagreedthathisleasewasatanytimetoterminatewithhislife.Crevel,to console Valerie’s friend, took charge of her savings, added to themconsiderably, and invested the capital in five per cents, giving her the lifeinterest,andputtingthesecuritiesintoCelestine’sname.Thankstothisstrokeofbusiness,Lisbethhadanincomeofabouttwothousandfrancs.

WhentheMarshal’spropertywasexaminedandvalued,anotewasfound,addressed to his sister-in-law, to his niece Hortense, and to his nephewVictorin, desiring that they would pay among them an annuity of twelvehundred francs toMademoiselleLisbeth Fischer,whowas to have been hiswife.

Adeline, seeingherhusbandbetween life anddeath, succeeded for somedaysinhidingfromhimthefactofhisbrother’sdeath;butLisbethcame, inmourning,andtheterribletruthwastoldhimelevendaysafterthefuneral.

Thecrushingblowrevived thesickman’senergies.Hegotup, foundhisfamilycollected in thedrawing-room,all inblack,andsuddenlysilentashecame in. In a fortnight,Hulot, as lean as a spectre, looked tohis family themereshadowofhimself.

“I must decide on something,” said he in a husky voice, as he seatedhimself inaneasy-chair,andlookedroundat theparty,ofwhomCrevelandSteinbockwereabsent.

“Wecannotstayhere,therentistoohigh,”Hortensewassayingjustasherfathercamein.

“Astoahome,”saidVictorin,breakingthepainfulsilence,“Icanoffermymother——”

Asheheardthesewords,whichexcludedhim,theBaronraisedhishead,whichwas sunkonhisbreast as thoughhewere studying thepatternof thecarpet, though he did not even see it, and he gave the young lawyer anappealinglook.Therightsofafatheraresoindefeasiblysacred,evenwhenheisavillainanddevoidofhonor,thatVictorinpaused.

“Toyourmother,”theBaronrepeated.“Youareright,myson.”

“Theroomsoveroursinourwing,”saidCelestine,finishingherhusband’ssentence.

“Iaminyourway,mydears?”saidtheBaron,withthemildnessofamanwhohasjudgedhimself.“Butdonotbeuneasyastothefuture;youwillhavenofurthercauseforcomplaintofyourfather;youwillnotseehimtillthetimewhenyouneednolongerblushforhim.”

Hewentup toHortenseandkissedherbrow.Heopenedhis arms tohisson,who rushed intohis embrace, guessinghis father’s purpose.TheBaronsignedtoLisbeth,whocametohim,andhekissedherforehead.Thenhewenttohisroom,whitherAdelinefollowedhiminanagonyofdread.

“Mybrotherwas quite right,Adeline,” he said, holding her hand. “I amunworthyofmyhomelife.Idarednotblessmychildren,whohavebehavedsonobly,butinmyheart;tellthemthatIcouldonlyventuretokissthem;fortheblessingofabadman,afatherwhohasbeenanassassinandthescourgeofhis family insteadof itsprotectorand itsglory,mightbringevilon them;butassurethemthatIshallblessthemeveryday.—Astoyou,Godalone,forHe isAlmighty, can ever rewardyouaccording toyourmerits!—Icanonlyaskyourforgiveness!”andhekneltatherfeet, takingherhandsandwettingthemwithhistears.

“Hector,Hector!Yoursinshavebeengreat,butDivineMercyis infinite,andyoumayrepairallbystayingwithme.—RiseupinChristiancharity,mydear—Iamyourwife,andnotyourjudge.Iamyourpossession;dowhatyouwillwithme;takemewhereveryougo,Ifeelstrongenoughcomfortyou,tomakelifeendurabletoyou,bythestrengthofmylove,mycare,andrespect.—Ourchildrenaresettledinlife;theyneedmenomore.Letmetrytobean

amusementtoyou,anoccupation.Letmesharethepainofyourbanishmentandofyourpoverty,andhelptomitigateit.Icouldalwaysbeofsomeuse,ifitwereonlytosavetheexpenseofaservant.”

“Canyouforgive,mydearly-belovedAdeline?”

“Yes,onlygetup,mydear!”

“Well,withthatforgivenessIcanlive,”saidhe,risingtohisfeet.“Icamebackintothisroomthatmychildrenshouldnotseetheirfather’shumiliation.Oh! the sight constantly before their eyes of a father so guilty as I am is aterriblething;itmustundermineparentalinfluenceandbreakeveryfamilytie.So I cannot remain among you, and I must go to spare you the odiousspectacleofafatherbereftofdignity.DonotopposemydepartureAdeline.Itwouldonlybetoloadwithyourownhandthepistol toblowmybrainsout.Aboveall,donotseekmeinmyhiding-place;youwoulddeprivemeof theonlystrongmotiveremaininginme,thatofremorse.”

Hector’s decisiveness silenced his dejected wife. Adeline, lofty in themidstofallthisruin,hadderivedhercouragefromherperfectunionwithherhusband;forshehaddreamedofhavinghimforherown,ofthebeautifultaskofcomfortinghim,ofleadinghimbacktofamilylife,andreconcilinghimtohimself.

“But,Hector,wouldyouleavemetodieofdespair,anxiety,andalarms!”saidshe,seeingherselfbereftofthemainspringofherstrength.

“Iwillcomebacktoyou,dearangel—sentfromHeavenexpresslyforme,Ibelieve.Iwillcomeback,ifnotrich,atleastwithenoughtoliveinease.—Listen,my sweetAdeline, I cannot stay here formany reasons. In the firstplace,mypensionofsixthousandfrancsispledgedforfouryears,soIhavenothing.That isnot all. I shallbecommitted toprisonwithina fewdays inconsequenceofthebillsheldbyVauvinet.SoImustkeepoutofthewayuntilmyson, towhomIwillgive full instructions, shallhavebought in thebills.Mydisappearancewillfacilitatethat.Assoonasmypensionismyown,andVauvinet ispaidoff, Iwill return toyou.—Youwouldbe sure to letout thesecretofmyhiding-place.Becalm;donotcry,Adeline—itisonlyforamonth—”

“Wherewillyougo?Whatwillyoudo?Whatwillbecomeofyou?Whowilltakecareofyounowthatyouarenolongeryoung?Letmegowithyou—wewillgoabroad—”saidshe.

“Well,well,wewillsee,”hereplied.

The Baron rang and orderedMariette to collect all his things and packthemquickly and secretly.Then, after embracinghiswifewith awarmthof

affection towhichshewasunaccustomed,hebeggedher to leavehimaloneforafewminuteswhilehewrotehisinstructionsforVictorin,promisingthathewouldnotleavethehousetilldark,orwithouther.

As soon as theBaronesswas in thedrawing-room, the cunningoldmanstoleout throughthedressing-closet to theanteroom,andwentaway,givingMarietteaslipofpaper,onwhichwaswritten,“AddressmytrunkstogobyrailwaytoCorbeil—toMonsieurHector,cloak-room,Corbeil.”

TheBaronjumpedintoahackneycoach,andwasrushingacrossParisbythetimeMariettecametogivetheBaronessthisnote,andsaythathermasterhadgoneout.Adelineflewbackintoherroom,tremblingmoreviolentlythanever;herchildrenfollowedonhearinghergiveapiercingcry.Theyfoundherinadeadfaint;andtheyputhertobed,forshewasseizedbyanervousfeverwhichheldherforamonthbetweenlifeanddeath.

“Whereishe?”wastheonlythingshewouldsay.

Victorinsoughtforhiminvain.

Andthisiswhy.TheBaronhaddriventothePlaceduPalaisRoyal.Therethisman,whohadrecoveredallhiswitstoworkoutaschemewhichhehadpremeditatedduringthedayshehadspentcrushedwithpainandgrief,crossedthePalaisRoyalonfoot,andtookahandsomecarriagefromalivery-stableintheRueJoquelet.Inobediencetohisorders,thecoachmanwenttotheRuedela Ville l’Eveque, and into the courtyard of Josepha’s mansion, the gatesopeningatonceat thecallof thedriverof sucha splendidvehicle. Josephacame out, prompted by curiosity, for her man-servant had told her that ahelplessoldgentleman,unabletogetoutofhiscarriage,beggedhertocometohimforamoment.

“Josepha!—itisI——”

ThesingerrecognizedherHulotonlybyhisvoice.

“What?you,pooroldman?—Onmyhonor,youlooklikea twenty-francpiecethattheJewshavesweatedandthemoney-changersrefuse.”

“Alas,yes,”repliedHulot;“Iamsnatchedfromthejawsofdeath!Butyouareaslovelyasever.Willyoubekind?”

“Thatdepends,”saidshe;“everythingisrelative.”

“Listen,” said Hulot; “can you put me up for a few days in a servant’sroomundertheroof?Ihavenothing—notafarthing,notahope;nofood,nopension,nowife,nochildren,noroofovermyhead;withouthonor,withoutcourage,withoutafriend;andworsethanallthat, liabletoimprisonmentfornotmeetingabill.”

“Poor old fellow! you are without most things.—Are you also sansculotte?”

“Youlaughatme!Iamdonefor,”criedtheBaron.“AndIcountedonyouasGourvilledidonNinon.”

“Anditwasa‘reallady,’Iamtoldwhobroughtyoutothis,”saidJosepha.“Thosepreciousslutsknowhowtopluckagooseevenbetterthanwedo!—Why,youarelikeacorpsethatthecrowshavedonewith—Icanseedaylightthrough!”

“Timeisshort,Josepha!”

“Comein,oldboy,Iamalone,asithappens,andmypeopledon’tknowyou.Sendawayyourtrap.Isitpaidfor?”

“Yes,”saidtheBaron,gettingoutwiththehelpofJosepha’sarm.

“Youmaycall yourselfmy father if you like,” said the singer,moved topity.

ShemadeHulotsitdowninthesplendiddrawing-roomwherehehadlastseenher.

“And is it the fact, old man,” she went on, “that you have killed yourbrotherandyouruncle, ruinedyourfamily,mortgagedyourchildren’shouseover and over again, and robbed theGovernment till inAfrica, all for yourprincess?”

Hulotsadlybenthishead.

“Well,Iadmirethat!”criedJosepha,startingupinherenthusiasm.“Itisageneralflare-up!ItisSardanapalus!Splendid,thoroughlycomplete!Imaybeahussy,butIhaveasoul!Itellyou,Ilikeaspendthrift,likeyou,crazyoverawoman,athousandtimesbetterthanthosetorpid,heartlessbankers,whoaresupposedtobesogood,andwhoruinnoendoffamilieswiththeirrails—goldforthem,andironfortheirgulls!Youhaveonlyruinedthosewhobelongtoyou,youhavesoldnoonebutyourself;andthenyouhaveexcuses,physicalandmoral.”

Shestruckatragicattitude,andspouted:

“‘TisVenuswhosegraspneverpartsfromherprey.

Andthereyouare!”andshepirouettedonhertoe.

Vice,Hulotfound,couldforgivehim;vicesmiledonhimfromthemidstofunbridledluxury.Here,asbeforea jury, themagnitudeofacrimewasanextenuating circumstance. “And is your lady pretty at any rate?” askedJosepha,tryingasapreliminaryactofcharity,todivertHulot’sthoughts,for

hisdepressiongrievedher.

“Onmyword,almostasprettyasyouare,”saidtheBaronartfully.

“Andmonstrouslydroll?SoIhavebeentold.Whatdoesshedo,Isay?IsshebetterfunthanIam?”

“Idon’twanttotalkabouther,”saidHulot.

“And I hear she has come roundmyCrevel, and little Steinbock, and agorgeousBrazilian?”

“Verylikely.”

“And thatshehasgotahouseasgoodas this, thatCrevelhasgivenher.Thebaggage!Sheismyprovost-marshal,andfinishesoffthoseIhavespoiled.ItellyouwhyIamsocurioustoknowwhatsheislike,oldboy;IjustcaughtsightofherintheBois,inanopencarriage—butalongwayoff.Sheisamostaccomplishedharpy,Carabinesays.SheistryingtoeatupCrevel,butheonlyletshernibble.Crevelisaknowinghand,good-naturedbuthard-headed,whowillalwayssayYes,andthengohisownway.Heisvainandpassionate;buthis cash is cold. You can never get anything out of such fellows beyond athousandtothreethousandfrancsamonth;theyjibatanyseriousoutlay,asadonkeydoesatarunningstream.

“Not like you, old boy.You are amanof passions; youwould sell yourcountryforawoman.And,lookhere,Iamreadytodoanythingforyou!Youaremyfather;youstartedmeinlife;itisasacredduty.Whatdoyouwant?Doyouwantahundredthousandfrancs?Iwillwearmyselftoaragtogainthem.Astogivingyoubedandboard—thatisnothing.Aplacewillbelaidforyouhereeveryday;youcanhaveagoodroomonthesecondfloor,andahundredcrownsamonthforpocket-money.”

TheBaron,deeplytouchedbysuchawelcome,hadalastqualmofhonor.

“No,mydearchild,no;Ididnotcomehereforyoutokeepme,”saidhe.

“Atyourageitissomethingtobeproudof,”saidshe.

“ThisiswhatIwish,mychild.YourDucd’HerouvillehasimmenseestatesinNormandy,andIwanttobehissteward,underthenameofThoul.Ihavethecapacity,andIamhonest.AmanmayborrowoftheGovernment,andyetnotstealfromacash-box——”

“H’m,h’m,”saidJosepha.“Oncedrunk,drinksagain.”

“Inshort,Ionlywanttoliveoutofsightforthreeyears—”

“Well, it is soondone,” said Josepha. “This evening, afterdinner, I haveonlytospeak.TheDukewouldmarrymeifIwishedit,butIhavehisfortune,

andIwantsomethingbetter—hisesteem.HeisaDukeofthefirstwater.Heishigh-minded,asnobleandgreatasLouisXIV.andNapoleonrolledintoone,thoughhe is a dwarf.Besides, I havedone for himwhat laSchontzdid forRochefide;bytakingmyadvicehehasmadetwomillions.

“Now, listen to me, old popgun. I know you; you are always after thewomen,andyouwouldbedancingattendanceontheNormandygirls,whoaresplendidcreatures, andgettingyour ribscrackedby their loversand fathers,andtheDukewouldhavetogetyououtofthescrape.Why,can’tIseebythewayyoulookatmethattheyoungmanisnotdeadinyou—asFenelonputit.—No,thisstewardshipisnotthethingforyou.AmancannotbeoffwithhisParis and with us, old boy, for the saying! You would die of weariness atHerouville.”

“Whatistobecomeofme?”saidtheBaron,“forIwillonlystayheretillIseemyway.”

“Well, shall I findapigeon-hole foryou?Listen,youoldpirate.Womenarewhatyouwant.Theyareconsolationinallcircumstances.Attendnow.—At theendof theAlley,RueSaint-Maur-du-Temple, there isapoor familyIknowofwherethereisajewelofalittlegirl,prettierthanIwasatsixteen.—Ah!thereisatwinkleinyoureyealready!—Thechildworkssixteenhoursaday at embroidering costly pieces for the silkmerchants, and earns sixteensousaday—onesouanhour!—andfeeds like the Irish,onpotatoes fried inrats’dripping,withbreadfivetimesaweek—anddrinkscanalwateroutofthetownpipes,becausetheSeinewatercoststoomuch;andshecannotsetuponher own account for lack of six or seven thousand francs. Your wife andchildren bore you to death, don’t they?—Besides, one cannot submit to benobodywhereonehasbeenalittleAlmighty.Afatherwhohasneithermoneynorhonorcanonlybestuffedandkeptinaglasscase.”

TheBaroncouldnothelpsmilingattheseabominablejests.

“Well, now, Bijou is to come to-morrow morning to bring me anembroideredwrapper,agem!Ithastakensixmonthstomake;nooneelsewillhaveanystufflikeit!Bijouisveryfondofme;Igivehertidbitsandmyoldgowns.And I send orders for bread andmeat andwood to the family,whowouldbreaktheshin-bonesofthefirstcomerifIbidthem.—Itrytodoalittlegood.Ah!IknowwhatIenduredfromhungermyself!—Bijouhasconfidedtome all her little sorrows. There is the making of a super at the Ambigu-Comiqueinthatchild.Herdreamistowearfinedresseslikemine;aboveall,torideinacarriage.Ishallsaytoher,‘Lookhere,littleone,wouldyouliketohave a friend of—’ How old are you?” she asked, interrupting herself.“Seventy-two?”

“Ihavegivenupcounting.”

“‘Would you like an old gentleman of seventy-two?’ I shall say. ‘Verycleanandneat,andwhodoesnottakesnuff,whoisassoundasabell,andasgoodasayoungman?Hewillmarryyou(intheThirteenthArrondissement)andbeverykindtoyou;hewillplaceseventhousandfrancsinyouraccount,and furnish you a room all in mahogany, and if you are good, he willsometimestakeyoutotheplay.Hewillgiveyouahundredfrancsamonthforpocket-money, and fifty francs for housekeeping.’—I know Bijou; she ismyself at fourteen. I jumped for joywhen thathorribleCrevelmademehisatrociousoffers.Well,andyou,oldman,willbedisposedoffor threeyears.She is agoodchild,well behaved; for threeor fouryears shewill haveherillusions—notforlonger.”

Hulot did not hesitate; he hadmade up hismind to refuse; but to seemgrateful to the kind-hearted singer, who was benevolent after her lights, heaffectedtohesitatebetweenviceandvirtue.

“Why, you are as cold as a paving-stone in winter!” she exclaimed inamazement. “Come, now. You will make a whole family happy—agrandfatherwho runs all the errands, amotherwho is beingworn outwithwork,andtwosisters—oneofthemveryplain—whomakethirty-twosousaday while putting their eyes out. It will make up for the misery you havecausedathome,andyouwillexpiateyoursinwhileyouarehavingasmuchfunasaminxatMabille.”

Hulot, to put an end to this temptation,moved his fingers as if hewerecountingoutmoney.

“Oh!bequiteeasyastowaysandmeans,”repliedJosepha.“MyDukewilllendyou ten thousandfrancs;seven thousand tostartanembroideryshop inBijou’sname,andthreethousandforfurnishing;andeverythreemonthsyouwill findachequehere for sixhundredand fifty francs.Whenyougetyourpension paid you, you can repay the seventeen thousand francs.Meanwhileyouwillbeashappyasacowinclover,andhiddeninaholewherethepolicewillneverfindyou.Youmustwearaloosesergecoat,andyouwilllooklikeacomfortablehouseholder.CallyourselfThoul,ifthatisyourfancy.IwilltellBijou that you are an uncle of mine come fromGermany, having failed inbusiness,andyouwillbecossetedlikeadivinity.—Therenow,Daddy!—Andwhoknows!youmayhavenoregrets.Incaseyoushouldbebored,keeponeSunday rig-out, and you can come and ask me for a dinner and spend theeveninghere.”

“I!—andImeant tosettledownandbehavemyself!—Lookhere,borrowtwenty thousand francs for me, and I will set out to make my fortune inAmerica,likemyfriendd’AiglemontwhenNucingencleanedhimout.”

“You!” cried Josepha. “Nay, leave morals to work-a-day folks, to raw

recruits,totheworrrthycitizenswhohavenothingtoboastofbuttheirvirtue.You!Youwereborntobesomethingbetterthananincompoop;youareasamanwhatIamasawoman—aspendthriftofgenius.”

“Wewillsleeponitanddiscussitallto-morrowmorning.”

“YouwilldinewiththeDuke.Myd’HerouvillewillreceiveyouascivillyasifyouwerethesaviouroftheState;andto-morrowyoucandecide.Come,bejolly,oldboy!Lifeisagarment;whenitisdirty,wemustbrushit;whenitisragged,itmustbepatched;butwekeepitonaslongaswecan.”

This philosophy of life, and her high spirits, postponed Hulot’s keenestpangs.

Atnoonnextday,afteracapitalbreakfast,Hulotsawthearrivalofoneofthose livingmasterpieceswhichParisaloneofall thecities in theworldcanproduce,bymeansoftheconstantconcubinageofluxuryandpoverty,ofviceand decent honesty, of suppressed desire and renewed temptation, whichmakestheFrenchcapitalthedaughterofNinevah,ofBabylon,andofImperialRome.

Mademoiselle Olympe Bijou, a child of sixteen, had the exquisite facewhichRaphaeldrew forhisVirgins; eyesofpathetic innocence,wearywithoverwork—blackeyes,withlonglashes,theirmoistureparchedwiththeheatof laboriousnights, anddarkenedwith fatigue; a complexion likeporcelain,almost too delicate; a mouth like a partly opened pomegranate; a heavingbosom,afullfigure,prettyhands,thewhitestteeth,andamassofblackhair;andthewholemeagrelysetoffbyacottonfrockatseventy-fivecentimesthemetre, leather shoes without heels, and the cheapest gloves. The girl, allunconsciousofhercharms,hadputonherbestfrocktowaitonthefinelady.

The Baron, gripped again by the clutch of profligacy, felt all his lifeconcentrated in his eyes. He forgot everything on beholding this delightfulcreature.Hewas like a sportsman in sight of the game; if an emperorwerepresent,hemusttakeaim!

“And warranted sound,” said Josepha in his ear. “An honest child, andwantingbread.ThisisParis—Ihavebeenthere!”

“Itisabargain,”repliedtheoldman,gettingupandrubbinghishands.

When Olympe Bijou was gone, Josepha looked mischievously at theBaron.

“Ifyouwant things tokeepstraight,Daddy,”saidshe,“beasfirmas thePublicProsecutoronthebench.Keepatighthandonher,beaBartholo!WareAuguste, Hippolyte, Nestor, Victor—or, that is gold, in every form. Whenoncethechildisfedanddressed,ifshegetstheupperhand,shewilldriveyou

like a serf.—I will see to settling you comfortably. The Duke does thehandsome; he will lend—that is, give—you ten thousand francs; and hedepositseightthousandwithhisnotary,whowillpayyousixhundredfrancseveryquarter,forIcannottrustyou.—Now,amInice?”

“Adorable.”

Ten days after deserting his family, when they were gathered roundAdeline, who seemed to be dying, as she said again and again, in a weakvoice,“Whereishe?”Hector,underthenameofThoul,wasestablishedintheRueSaint-Maur,attheheadofabusinessasembroiderer,underthenameofThoulandBijou.

Victorin Hulot, under the overwhelming disasters of his family, hadreceivedthefinishingtouchwhichmakesormarstheman.Hewasperfection.In the great storms of lifewe act like the captain of a shipwho, under thestressofahurricane,lightenstheshipofitsheaviestcargo.Theyounglawyerlosthisself-consciouspride,histooevidentassertiveness,hisarroganceasanoratorandhispoliticalpretensions.Hewasasamanwhathiswifewasasawoman. He made up his mind to make the best of his Celestine—whocertainlydidnotrealizehisdreams—andwaswiseenoughtoestimatelifeatits true value by contenting himself in all things with the second best. Hevowed to fulfil his duties, so much had he been shocked by his father’sexample.

Thesefeelingswereconfirmedashestoodbyhismother’sbedonthedaywhen she was out of danger. Nor did this happiness come single. ClaudeVignon,whocalledeverydayfromthePrincedeWissembourgtoinquireastoMadameHulot’sprogress,desiredthere-electeddeputytogowithhimtoseetheMinister.

“His Excellency,” said he, “wants to talk over your family affairs withyou.”

The Prince had long known Victorin Hulot, and received him with afriendlinessthatpromisedwell.

“My dear fellow,” said the old soldier, “I promised your uncle, in thisroom,thatIwouldtakecareofyourmother.Thatsaintlywoman,Iamtold,isgettingwell again;now is the time topouroil intoyourwounds. Ihave foryouheretwohundredthousandfrancs;Iwillgivethemtoyou——”

Thelawyer’sgesturewasworthyofhisuncletheMarshal.

“Bequiteeasy,”saidthePrince,smiling;“itismoneyintrust.Mydaysarenumbered; I shall not always be here; so take this sum, and fill my placetowardsyourfamily.Youmayusethismoneytopayoffthemortgageonyour

house.Thesetwohundredthousandfrancsarethepropertyofyourmotherandyoursister.IfIgavethemoneytoMadameHulot,Ifearthat,inherdevotiontoherhusband,shewouldbetemptedtowasteit.Andtheintentionofthosewhorestore it toyou is, that itshouldproducebreadforMadameHulotandherdaughter,theCountessSteinbock.Youareasteadyman,theworthysonofyour noble mother, the true nephew of my friend the Marshal; you areappreciatedhere,you see—andelsewhere.Sobe theguardianangelofyourfamily,andtakethisasalegacyfromyouruncleandme.”

“Monseigneur,” said Hulot, taking the Minister’s hand and pressing it,“suchmenasyouknowthatthanksinwordsmeannothing;gratitudemustbeproven.”

“Proveyours—”saidtheoldman.

“Inwhatway?”

“ByacceptingwhatIhavetoofferyou,”saidtheMinister.“Weproposetoappointyou tobeattorney to theWarOffice,which justnow is involved inlitigationsinconsequenceoftheplanforfortifyingParis;consultingclerkalsotothePrefectureofPolice;andamemberoftheBoardoftheCivilList.Thesethree appointmentswill secure you salaries amounting to eighteen thousandfrancs, andwill leave you politically free. You can vote in the Chamber inobedience to your opinions and your conscience.Act in perfect freedomonthatscore.Itwouldbeabadthingforusiftherewerenonationalopposition!

“Also,afewlinesfromyouruncle,writtenadayortwobeforehebreathedhislast,suggestedwhatIcoulddoforyourmother,whomhelovedverytruly.—MesdamesPopinot,deRastignac,deNavarreins,d’Espard,deGrandlieu,deCarigliano,deLenoncourt,anddelaBatiehavemadeaplaceforyourmotherasaLadySuperintendentoftheircharities.Theseladies,presidentsofvariousbranches of benevolentwork, cannot do everything themselves; they need alady of characterwho can act for them by going to see the objects of theirbeneficence, ascertaining that charity is not imposed upon, andwhether thehelp given really reaches thosewho applied for it, findingout that the poorwho are ashamed to beg, and so forth. Your mother will fulfil an angelicfunction; she will be thrown in with none but priests and these charitableladies; she will be paid six thousand francs and the cost of her hackneycoaches.

“Yousee,youngman, thatapureandnoblyvirtuousmancanstillassisthisfamily,evenfromthegrave.Suchanameasyouruncle’sis,andoughttobe,abuckleragainstmisfortuneinawell-organizedschemeofsociety.Followinhispath;youhavestartedinit,Iknow;continueinit.”

“Suchdelicate kindness cannot surpriseme inmymother’s friend,” said

Victorin.“Iwilltrytocomeuptoallyourhopes.”

“Go at once, and take comfort to your family.—By theway,” added thePrince,asheshookhandswithVictorin,“yourfatherhasdisappeared?”

“Alas!yes.”

“So much the better. That unhappy man has shown his wit, in which,indeed,heisnotlacking.”

“Therearebillsofhistobemet.”

“Well, you shall have six months’ pay of your three appointments inadvance.Thispre-paymentwillhelpyou,perhaps,togetthenotesoutofthehandsofthemoney-lender.AndIwillseeNucingen,andperhapsmaysucceedinreleasingyourfather’spension,pledgedtohim,withoutitscostingyouorour office a sou. The peer has not killed the banker in Nucingen; he isinsatiable;hewantssomeconcession.—Iknownotwhat——”

Soon his return to theRuePlumet,Victorin could carry out his plan oflodginghismotherandsisterunderhisroof.

The young lawyer, already famous, had, for his sole fortune, one of thehandsomesthousesinParis,purchasedin1834inpreparationforhismarriage,situatedon theboulevardbetween theRuede laPaixand theRueLouis-le-Grand. A speculator had built two houses between the boulevard and thestreet; and between these, with the gardens and courtyards to the front andback, there remained still standing a splendid wing, the remains of themagnificentmansionoftheVerneuils.TheyoungerHulothadpurchasedthisfineproperty,onthestrengthofMademoiselleCrevel’smarriage-portion,forone million francs, when it was put up to auction, paying five hundredthousanddown.Helivedonthegroundfloor,expectingtopaytheremainderoutof letting the rest;but though it is safe tospeculate inhouse-property inParis,such investmentsarecapriciousorhangfire,dependingonunforeseencircumstances.

As the Parisian lounger may have observed, the boulevard between theRuede laPaixand theRueLouis-le-Grandprosperedbut slowly; it tooksolongtofurbishandbeautifyitself,thattradedidnotsetupitsdisplaytheretill1840—the gold of the money-changers, the fairy-work of fashion, and theluxurioussplendorofshop-fronts.

InspiteoftwohundredthousandfrancsgivenbyCreveltohisdaughteratthetimewhenhisvanitywasflatteredbythismarriage,beforetheBaronhadrobbedhimofJosepha;inspiteofthetwohundredthousandfrancspaidoffbyVictorin in thecourseof sevenyears, thepropertywasstillburdenedwithadebtoffivehundredthousandfrancs,inconsequenceofVictorin’sdevotionto

his father.Happily, a rise in rents and theadvantagesof the situationhadatthis time improved the value of the houses. The speculation was justifyingitself after eightyears’patience,duringwhich the lawyerhad strainedeverynervetopaytheinterestandsometriflingamountsofthecapitalborrowed.

Thetradespeoplewerereadytooffergoodrentsfortheshops,onconditionof being granted leases for eighteen years. The dwelling apartments rose invaluebytheshiftingofthecentreinParislife—henceforthtransferredtotheregion between theBourse and theMadeleine, now the seat of the politicalpowerandfinancialauthorityinParis.ThemoneypaidtohimbytheMinister,addedtoayear’srentinadvanceandthepremiumspaidbyhistenants,wouldfinallyreduce theoutstandingdebt to twohundredthousandfrancs.The twohouses,ifentirelylet,wouldbringinahundredthousandfrancsayear.Withintwoyearsmore,duringwhichtheHulotscouldliveonhissalaries,addedtobytheMarshal’sinvestments,Victorinwouldbeinasplendidposition.

Thiswasmannafromheaven.Victorincouldgiveupthefirstfloorofhisownhouse to hismother, and the second toHortense, excepting two roomsreserved for Lisbeth.WithCousinBetty as the housekeeper, this compoundhouseholdcouldbearallthesecharges,andyetkeepupagoodappearance,asbeseemed a pleader of note. The great stars of the law-courts were rapidlydisappearing; and Victorin Hulot, gifted with a shrewd tongue and stricthonesty,was listened to by theBench andCouncillors; he studied his casesthoroughly,andadvancednothingthathecouldnotprove.Hewouldnotholdeverybriefthatoffered;infact,hewasacredittothebar.

TheBaroness’homeintheRuePlumethadbecomesoodioustoher,thatsheallowedherselftobetakentotheRueLouis-le-Grand.Thus,byherson’scare,Adelineoccupiedafineapartment;shewassparedallthedailyworriesof life; for Lisbeth consented to begin again,workingwonders of domesticeconomy,suchasshehadachievedforMadameMarneffe,seeinghereawayofexertinghersilentvengeanceonthosethreenoblelives,theobject,each,ofherhatred,whichwaskeptgrowingbytheoverthrowofallherhopes.

Once a month she went to see Valerie, sent, indeed, by Hortense, whowantednewsofWenceslas,andbyCelestine,whowasseriouslyuneasyattheacknowledgedandwell-knownconnectionbetweenherfatherandawomantowhomhermother-in-lawandsister-in-lawowedtheirruinandtheirsorrows.Asmaybesupposed,LisbethtookadvantageofthistoseeValerieasoftenaspossible.

Thus, about twenty months passed by, during which the Baronessrecovered her health, though her palsied trembling never left her. Shemadeherself familiarwithher duties,which affordedher a nobledistraction fromher sorrowand constant food for thedivinegoodnessof her heart.She also

regardeditasanopportunityforfindingherhusbandinthecourseofoneofthoseexpeditionswhichtookherintoeverypartofParis.

Duringthistime,Vauvinethadbeenpaid,andthepensionofsixthousandfrancswas almost redeemed.Victorin couldmaintain hismother aswell asHortenseoutofthetenthousandfrancsinterestonthemoneyleftbyMarshalHulot in trust for them.Adeline’s salary amounted to six thousand francs ayear; and this, added to the Baron’s pension when it was freed, wouldpresentlysecureanincomeoftwelvethousandfrancsayeartothemotheranddaughter.

Thus,thepoorwomanwouldhavebeenalmosthappybutforherperpetualanxietiesastotheBaron’sfate;forshelongedtohavehimwithhertosharetheimprovedfortunesthatsmiledonthefamily;andbutfortheconstantsightof her forsaken daughter; and but for the terrible thrusts constantly andunconsciously dealt her by Lisbeth, whose diabolical character had freecourse.

A scenewhich took place at the beginning of themonth ofMarch 1843willshowtheresultsofLisbeth’slatentandpersistenthatred,stillseconded,asshealwayswas,byMadameMarneffe.

Two great events had occurred in the Marneffe household. In the firstplace,Valeriehadgivenbirthtoastill-bornchild,whoselittlecoffinhadcosther two thousand francs a year. And then, as to Marneffe himself, elevenmonthssince,thisisthereportgivenbyLisbethtotheHulotfamilyonedayonherreturnfromavisitofdiscoveryatthehotelMarneffe.

“Thismorning,”saidshe,“thatdreadfulValeriesentforDoctorBianchontoaskwhether themedicalmenwhohadcondemnedherhusbandyesterdayhad made no mistake. Bianchon pronounced that to-night at the latest thathorrible creaturewill depart to the torments that await him.OldCrevel andMadameMarneffe saw the doctor out; and your father, my dear Celestine,gavehimfivegoldpiecesforhisgoodnews.

“When he came back into the drawing-room, Crevel cut capers like adancer; he embraced that woman, exclaiming, ‘Then, at last, you will beMadame Crevel!’—And to me, when she had gone back to her husband’sbedside,forhewasathislastgasp,yournoblefathersaidtome,‘WithValerieasmywife,IcanbecomeapeerofFrance!IshallbuyanestateIhavemyeyeon—Presles, which Madame de Serizy wants to sell. I shall be Crevel dePresles,memberoftheCommonCouncilofSeine-et-Oise,andDeputy.Ishallhave a son! I shall be everything I have everwished tobe.’—‘Heh!’ said I,‘andwhataboutyourdaughter?’—‘Bah!’sayshe,‘sheisonlyawoman!AndsheisquitetoomuchofaHulot.Valeriehasahorrorofthemall.—Myson-in-lawhasneverchosen tocome to thishouse;whyhashegivenhimself such

airsasaMentor,aSpartan,aPuritan,aphilanthropist?Besides,Ihavesquaredaccounts with my daughter; she has had all her mother’s fortune, and twohundredthousandfrancstothat.SoIamfreetoactasIplease.—Ishalljudgeof my son-in-law and Celestine by their conduct on my marriage; as theybehave,soshallI.Iftheyarenicetotheirstepmother,Iwillreceivethem.Iama man, after all!’—In short, all this rhodomontade! And an attitude likeNapoleononthecolumn.”

Thetenmonths’widowhoodinsistedonbythelawhadnowelapsedsomefewdays since.The estate ofPresleswas purchased.Victorin andCelestinehadthatverymorningsentLisbethtomakeinquiriesastothemarriageofthefascinating widow to the Mayor of Paris, now a member of the CommonCounciloftheDepartmentofSeine-et-Oise.

Celestine and Hortense, in whom the ties of affection had been drawnclosersincetheyhadlivedunderthesameroof,werealmostinseparable.TheBaroness,carriedawaybyasenseofhonestywhichledhertoexaggeratethedutiesofherplace,devotedherselftotheworkofcharityofwhichshewastheagent;shewasoutalmosteverydayfromeleventillfive.Thesisters-in-law,unitedintheircaresforthechildrenwhomtheykepttogether,satathomeandworked. They had arrived at the intimacy which thinks aloud, and were atouchingpictureoftwosisters,onecheerfulandtheothersad.Thelesshappyofthetwo,handsome,lively,high-spirited,andclever,seemedbyhermannertodefyherpainfulsituation;whilethemelancholyCelestine,sweetandcalm,andasequableasreasonitself,mighthavebeensupposedtohavesomesecretgrief. Itwas thiscontradiction,perhaps, thatadded to theirwarmfriendship.Eachsuppliedtheotherwithwhatshelacked.

Seated in a little summer-house in the garden, which the speculator’strowelhadsparedbysome fancyof thebuilder’s,whobelieved thathewaspreservingthesehundredfeetsquareofearthforhisownpleasure,theywereadmiring the firstgreen shootsof the lilac-trees, a spring festivalwhichcanonly be fully appreciated in Paris when the inhabitants have lived for sixmonthsobliviousofwhatvegetationmeans,amongthecliffsofstonewheretheoceanofhumanitytossestoandfro.

“Celestine,”saidHortensetohersister-in-law,whohadcomplainedthatinsuchfineweatherherhusbandshouldbekeptattheChamber,“Ithinkyoudonot fully appreciate your happiness. Victorin is a perfect angel, and yousometimestormenthim.”

“Mydear,menliketobetormented!Certainwaysofteasingareaproofofaffection. If your poor mother had only been—I will not say exacting, butalways prepared to be exacting, youwould not have had somuch to grieveover.”

“Lisbeth is not comeback. I shall have to sing the songofMalbrouck,”saidHortense. “Ido long for somenewsofWenceslas!—Whatdoeshe liveon?Hehasnotdoneathingthesetwoyears.”

“Victorinsawhim,hetoldme,withthathorriblewomannotlongago;andhefanciedthatshemaintainshiminidleness.—Ifyouonlywould,dearsoul,youmightbringyourhusbandbacktoyouyet.”

Hortenseshookherhead.

“Believeme,”Celestinewenton,“thepositionwillerelongbeintolerable.In thefirst instance, rage,despair, indignation,gaveyoustrength.Theawfuldisasters that have come upon us since—two deaths, ruin, and thedisappearanceofBaronHulot—haveoccupiedyourmindandheart;butnowyouliveinpeaceandsilence,youwillfindithardtobearthevoidinyourlife;andasyoucannot,andwillneverleavethepathofvirtue,youwillhavetobereconciledtoWenceslas.Victorin,wholovesyousomuch,isofthatopinion.Thereissomethingstrongerthanone’sfeelingseven,andthatisNature!”

“Butsuchameancreature!”criedtheproudHortense.“Hecaresfor thatwomanbecauseshefeedshim.—Andhasshepaidhisdebts,doyousuppose?—GoodHeaven!Ithinkofthatman’spositiondayandnight!Heisthefatherofmychild,andheisdegradinghimself.”

“Butlookatyourmother,mydear,”saidCelestine.

Celestine was one of those women who, when you have given themreasonsenoughtoconvinceaBretonpeasant,stillgobackforthehundredthtimetotheiroriginalargument.Thecharacterofherface,somewhatflat,dull,and common, her light-brownhair in stiff, neat bands, her very complexionspokeofasensiblewoman,devoidofcharm,butalsodevoidofweakness.

“TheBaronesswouldwillinglygo to joinherhusbandinhisdisgrace, tocomfort him and hide him in her heart from every eye,”Celestinewent on.“Why, she has a room made ready upstairs for Monsieur Hulot, as if sheexpectedtofindhimandbringhimhomefromonedaytothenext.”

“Ohyes,mymotherissublime!”repliedHortense.“Shehasbeensoeveryminuteofeverydayforsix-and-twentyyears;butIamnot likeher, it isnotmynature.—HowcanIhelpit?Iamangrywithmyselfsometimes;butyoudonotknow,Celestine,whatitwouldbetomaketermswithinfamy.”

“Thereismyfather!”saidCelestineplacidly.“Hehascertainlystartedontheroadthatruinedyours.HeistenyearsyoungerthantheBaron,tobesure,andwasonly a tradesman;but howcan it end?ThisMadameMarneffehasmadeaslaveofmyfather;heisherdog;sheismistressofhisfortuneandhisopinions,andnothingcanopenhiseyes.ItremblewhenIrememberthattheir

bannsofmarriagearealreadypublished!—Myhusbandmeanstomakealastattempt;hethinksitadutytotrytoavengesocietyandthefamily,andbringthatwomantoaccountforallhercrimes.Alas!mydearHortense,suchloftysoulsasVictorinandheartslikeourscometoolatetoacomprehensionoftheworldanditsways!—Thisisasecret,dear,andIhavetoldyoubecauseyouareinterestedinit,butneverbyawordoralookbetrayittoLisbeth,oryourmother,oranybody,for—”

“HereisLisbeth!”saidHortense.“Well,cousin,andhowistheInfernooftheRueBarbetgoingon?”

“Badlyforyou,mychildren.—Yourhusband,mydearHortense, ismorecrazyaboutthatwomanthanever,andshe,Imustown,ismadlyinlovewithhim.—Your father, dear Celestine, is gloriously blind. That, to be sure, isnothing;Ihavehadoccasiontoseeitonceafortnight;really,Iamluckynevertohavehadanythingtodowithmen,theyarebesottedcreatures.—Fivedayshenceyou,dearchild,andVictorinwillhavelostyourfather’sfortune.”

“Thenthebannsarecried?”saidCelestine.

“Yes,”saidLisbeth,“andIhavejustbeenarguingyourcase.Ipointedouttothatmonster,whoisgoingthewayof theother, that ifhewouldonlygetyououtofthedifficultiesyouareinbypayingoffthemortgageonthehouse,youwouldshowyourgratitudeandreceiveyourstepmother—”

Hortensestartedinhorror.

“Victorinwillseeaboutthat,”saidCelestinecoldly.

“ButdoyouknowwhatMonsieur leMaire’sanswerwas?”saidLisbeth.“‘Imeantoleavethemwheretheyare.Horsescanonlybebrokeninbylackof food, sleep, and sugar.’—Why,BaronHulotwas not so bad asMonsieurCrevel.

“So,mypoordears,youmaysaygood-byetothemoney.Andsuchafinefortune!YourfatherpaidthreemillionfrancsforthePreslesestate,andhehasthirty thousandfrancsayear instocks!Oh!—hehasnosecretsfromme.HetalksofbuyingtheHoteldeNavarreins,intheRueduBac.MadameMarneffeherself has forty thousand francs a year.—Ah!—here is our guardian angel,herecomesyourmother!”sheexclaimed,hearingtherumbleofwheels.

And presently the Baroness came down the garden steps and joined theparty. At fifty-five, though crushed by so many troubles, and constantlytremblingasifshiveringwithague,Adeline,whosefacewasindeedpaleandwrinkled, still had a fine figure, a noble outline, and natural dignity. Thosewhosawhersaid,“Shemusthavebeenbeautiful!”Wornwiththegriefofnotknowingherhusband’sfate,ofbeingunabletosharewithhimthisoasisinthe

heartofParis,thispeaceandseclusionandthebetterfortunethatwasdawningonthefamily,herbeautywasthebeautyofaruin.Aseachgleamofhopediedout,eachdayofsearchprovedvain,Adelinesankintofitsofdeepmelancholythatdroveherchildrentodespair.

The Baroness had gone out that morning with fresh hopes, and wasanxiouslyexpected.Anofficial,whowasunderobligationstoHulot,towhomheowedhispositionandadvancement,declaredthathehadseentheBaroninaboxattheAmbigu-Comiquetheatrewithawomanofextraordinarybeauty.SoAdelinehadgonetocallontheBaronVerneuil.Thisimportantpersonage,while asserting that he had positively seen his old patron, and that hisbehaviourtothewomanindicatedanillicitestablishment,toldMadameHulotthattoavoidmeetinghimtheBaronhadleftlongbeforetheendoftheplay.

“He looked like aman at homewith the damsel, but his dress betrayedsomelackofmeans,”saidheinconclusion.

“Well?”saidthethreewomenastheBaronesscametowardsthem.

“Well,MonsieurHulotisinParis;andtome,”saidAdeline,“itisagleamofhappinessonlytoknowthatheiswithinreachofus.”

“Buthedoesnotseemtohavemendedhisways,”LisbethremarkedwhenAdelinehadfinishedherreportofhervisittoBaronVerneuil.“Hehastakenupsome littlework-girl.Butwherecanheget themoney from? Icouldbetthat he begs of his former mistresses—Mademoiselle Jenny Cadine orJosepha.”

TheBaronesstrembledmoreseverelythanever;everynervequivered;shewiped away the tears that rose to her eyes and looked mournfully up toheaven.

“IcannotthinkthataGrandCommanderoftheLegionofHonorwillhavefallensolow,”saidshe.

“For his pleasurewhatwould he not do?” said Lisbeth. “He robbed theState,hewillrobprivatepersons,commitmurder—whoknows?”

“Oh,Lisbeth!”criedtheBaroness,“keepsuchthoughtstoyourself.”

AtthismomentLouisecameuptothefamilygroup,nowincreasedbythearrival of the two Hulot children and little Wenceslas to see if theirgrandmother’spocketsdidnotcontainsomesweetmeats.

“Whatisit,Louise?”askedoneandanother.

“AmanwhowantstoseeMademoiselleFischer.”

“Whoistheman?”askedLisbeth.

“Heisinrags,mademoiselle,andcoveredwithfluelikeamattress-picker;hisnoseisred,andhesmellsofbrandy.—Heisoneofthosemenwhoworkhalfoftheweekatmost.”

This uninviting picture had the effect of making Lisbeth hurry into thecourtyard of the house in the Rue Louis-le-Grand, where she found a mansmokingapipecoloredinastylethatshowedhimanartistintobacco.

“Why have you come here, PereChardin?” she asked. “It is understoodthat you go, on the first Saturday in everymonth, to the gate of the HotelMarneffe,RueBarbet-de-Jouy. Ihave justcomebackafterwaiting there forfivehours,andyoudidnotcome.”

“Ididgothere,goodandcharitablelady!”repliedthemattress-picker.“Butthere was a game at pool going on at the Cafe des Savants, Rue du Cerf-Volant, andeverymanhashis fancy.Now,mine isbilliards. If itwasn’t forbilliards,Imightbeeatingoffsilverplate.For,Itellyouthis,”andhefumbledforascrapofpaperinhisraggedtrouserspocket,“itisbilliardsthatleadsontoadramandplum-brandy.—Itisruinous,likeallfinethings,inthethingsitleadsto.Iknowyourorders,buttheold‘unisinsuchaquandarythatIcameontoforbiddengrounds.—Ifthehairwasallhair,wemightsleepsoundonit;butitismixed.Godisnotforall,asthesayinggoes.HehasHisfavorites—well,Hehastheright.Now,hereisthewritingofyourestimablerelativeandmyverygoodfriend—hispoliticalopinion.”

Chardinattemptedtotracesomezigzaglinesintheairwiththeforefingerofhisrighthand.

Lisbeth,notlisteningtohim,readthesefewwords:

“DEARCOUSIN,—BemyProvidence;givemethreehundredfrancsthisday.

“HECTOR.”

“Whatdoeshewantsomuchmoneyfor?”

“Thelan’lord!”saidChardin,still tryingtosketcharabesques.“Andthenmy son, you see, has come back fromAlgiers through Spain andBayonee,and,and—hehasfoundnothing—againsthisrule,forasharpcoveismyson,savingyourpresence.Howcanhehelp it,he is inwantof food;buthewillrepayallwelendhim,forheisgoingtogetupacompany.Hehasideas,hehas,thatwillcarryhim—”

“Tothepolicecourt,”Lisbethputin.“Hemurderedmyuncle;Ishallnotforgetthat.”

“He—why,hecouldnotbleedachicken,honorablelady.”

“Here are the three hundred francs,” said Lisbeth, taking fifteen goldpiecesoutofherpurse.“Now,go,andnevercomehereagain.”

Shesaw the fatherof theOranstorekeeperoff thepremises,andpointedoutthedrunkenoldcreaturetotheporter.

“At any time when that man comes here, if by chance he should comeagain,donot let him in. If he shouldaskwhetherMonsieurHulot juniororMadamelaBaronneHulotliveshere,tellhimyouknowofnosuchpersons.”

“Verygood,mademoiselle.”

“Yourplacedependsonitifyoumakeanymistake,evenwithoutintendingit,”saidLisbeth,inthewoman’sear.—“Cousin,”shewentontoVictorin,whojustnowcamein,“agreatmisfortuneishangingoveryourhead.”

“Whatisthat?”saidVictorin.

“WithinafewdaysMadameMarneffewillbeyourwife’sstepmother.”

“Thatremainstobeseen,”repliedVictorin.

For sixmonthspastLisbethhadvery regularlypaida little allowance toBaronHulot, her former protector, whom she now protected; she knew thesecretofhisdwelling-place,andrelishedAdeline’stears,sayingtoher,aswehaveseen,whenshesawhercheerfulandhopeful,“Youmayexpect to findmy poor cousin’s name in the papers some day under the heading ‘PoliceReport.’”

Butinthis,asonaformeroccasion,shelethervengeancecarryhertoofar.ShehadarousedtheprudentsuspicionsofVictorin.HehadresolvedtoberidofthisDamocles’swordsoconstantlyflourishedoverthembyLisbeth,andofthe femaledemon towhomhismother and the familyowed somanywoes.ThePrincedeWissembourg,knowingallaboutMadameMarneffe’sconduct,approved of the young lawyer’s secret project; he had promised him, as aPresident of theCouncil can promise, the secret assistance of the police, toenlightenCrevelandrescueafinefortunefromtheclutchesofthediabolicalcourtesan,whomhecouldnotforgiveeitherforcausingthedeathofMarshalHulotorfortheBaron’sutterruin.

ThewordsspokenbyLisbeth,“Hebegsofhisformermistresses,”hauntedtheBaronessallnight.Likesickmengivenoverbythephysicians,whohaverecoursetoquacks,likemenwhohavefallenintothelowestDantesquecircleofdespair, or drowningcreatureswhomistake a floating stick for ahawser,sheendedbybelieving in thebasenessofwhich themere ideahadhorrifiedher;anditoccurredtoherthatshemightapplyforhelptooneofthoseterriblewomen.

Next morning, without consulting her children or saying a word to

anybody, shewent to seeMademoiselle JosephaMirah, prima donna of theRoyalAcademyofMusic,tofindortolosethehopethathadgleamedbeforeherlikeawill-o’-the-wisp.Atmidday,thegreatsinger’swaiting-maidbroughtherinthecardoftheBaronneHulot,sayingthatthispersonwaswaitingatthedoor,havingaskedwhetherMademoisellecouldreceiveher.

“Aretheroomsdone?”

“Yes,mademoiselle.”

“Andtheflowersfresh?”

“Yes,mademoiselle.”

“Just tell Jean to look round and see that everything is as it should bebefore showing the lady in, and treat herwith the greatest respect.Go, andcomebacktodressme—Imustlookmyverybest.”

Shewenttostudyherselfinthelongglass.

“Now,toputourbestfootforemost!”saidshetoherself.“Viceunderarmstomeetvirtue!—Poorwoman,whatcanshewantofme?Icannotbeartosee.

“Thenoblevictimofoutrageousfortune!”

Andshesangthroughthefamousariaasthemaidcameinagain.

“Madame,”saidthegirl,“theladyhasanervoustrembling—”

“Offerhersomeorange-water,somerum,somebroth—”

“I did, mademoiselle; but she declines everything, and says it is aninfirmity,anervouscomplaint—”

“Whereisshe?”

“Inthebigdrawing-room.”

“Well,makehaste,child.Givememysmartestslippers,thedressing-gownembroidered by Bijou, and no end of lace frills. Do my hair in a way toastonishawoman.—Thiswomanplaysapartagainstmine;andtellthelady—forsheisareal,greatlady,mygirl,nay,more,sheiswhatyouwillneverbe,awomanwhoseprayerscanrescuesoulsfromyourpurgatory—tellherIwasinbed,asIwasplayinglastnight,andthatIamjustgettingup.”

TheBaroness,shownintoJosepha’shandsomedrawing-room,didnotnotehow long she was kept waiting there, though it was a long half hour. Thisroom, entirely redecorated even since Josephahadhad the house,was hungwithsilkinpurpleandgoldcolor.Theluxurywhichfinegentlemenwerewonttolavishontheirpetitesmaisons,thescenesoftheirprofligacy,ofwhichtheremainsstillbearwitnesstothefolliesfromwhichtheyweresoaptlynamed,

wasdisplayedtoperfection,thankstomoderninventiveness,inthefourroomsopening into each other, where the warm temperature wasmaintained by asystemofhot-airpipeswithinvisibleopenings.

The Baroness, quite bewildered, examined each work of art with thegreatest amazement.Here she found fortunes accounted for thatmelt in thecrucible under which pleasure and vanity feed the devouring flames. Thiswoman,whofortwenty-sixyearshadlivedamongthedeadrelicsofimperialmagnificence, whose eyeswere accustomed to carpets patternedwith fadedflowers, rubbed gilding, silks as forlorn as her heart, half understood thepowerfulfascinationsofviceasshestudieditsresults.Itwasimpossiblenottowish to possess these beautiful things, these admirable works of art, thecreation of the unknown talent which abounds in Paris in our day andproducestreasuresforallEurope.Eachthinghadthenovelcharmofuniqueperfection.Themodelsbeingdestroyed,everyvase,everyfigure,everypieceofsculpturewastheoriginal.Thisisthecrowninggraceofmodernluxury.Toown the thingwhich is not vulgarizedby the two thousandwealthy citizenswhosenotionof luxury is the lavishdisplayof the splendors that shops cansupply, is the stampof true luxury—the luxuryof the finegentlemenof theday,theshootingstarsoftheParisfirmament.

Assheexamined theflower-stands, filledwith thechoicestexoticplants,mounted inchasedbrassand inlaid in the styleofBoulle, theBaronesswasscared by the idea of the wealth in this apartment. And this impressionnaturallyshedaglamourover thepersonroundwhomall thisprofusionwasheaped. Adeline imagined that Josepha Mirah—whose portrait by JosephBridauwasthegloryoftheadjoiningboudoir—mustbeasingerofgenius,aMalibran,andsheexpectedtoseearealstar.Shewassorryshehadcome.Butshehadbeenpromptedbya strongand sonatural a feeling,by suchpurelydisinterested devotion, that she collected all her courage for the interview.Besides,shewasabouttosatisfyherurgentcuriosity,toseeforherselfwhatwas the charmof this kindofwomen, that they could extract somuchgoldfromthemiserlyoreofParismud.

The Baroness looked at herself to see if she were not a blot on all thissplendor; but she was well dressed in her velvet gown, with a little capetrimmed with beautiful lace, and her velvet bonnet of the same shade wasbecoming.Seeingherselfstillasimposingasanyqueen,alwaysaqueeneveninherfall,shereflectedthatthedignityofsorrowwasamatchforthedignityoftalent.

At last, aftermuchopening and shuttingofdoors, she saw Josepha.Thesinger bore a strong resemblance to Allori’s Judith, which dwells in thememoryofallwhohaveeverseenitinthePittipalace,nearthedoorofoneofthegreatrooms.Shehadthesamehaughtymien,thesamefinefeatures,black

hair simply knotted, and a yellow wrapper with little embroidered flowers,exactly like the brocade worn by the immortal homicide conceived of byBronzino’snephew.

“MadamelaBaronne,Iamquiteoverwhelmedbythehonoryoudomeincominghere,”saidthesinger,resolvedtoplayherpartasagreatladywithagrace.

Shepushedforwardaneasy-chairfortheBaronessandseatedherselfonastool.Shediscernedthefadedbeautyofthewomanbeforeher,andwasfilledwith pity as she saw her shaken by the nervous palsy that, on the leastexcitement, became convulsive. She could read at a glance the saintly lifedescribedtoherofoldbyHulotandCrevel;andshenotonlyceasedtothinkof a contest with her, she humiliated herself before a superiority sheappreciated.Thegreatartistcouldadmirewhatthecourtesanlaughedtoscorn.

“Mademoiselle,despairbroughtmehere.Itreducesustoanymeans—”

AlookinJosepha’sfacemadetheBaronessfeelthatshehadwoundedthewoman from whom she hoped for so much, and she looked at her. HerbeseechingeyesextinguishedtheflashinJosepha’s;thesingersmiled.Itwasawordlessdialogueofpatheticeloquence.

“ItisnowtwoyearsandahalfsinceMonsieurHulotlefthisfamily,andIdonotknowwheretofindhim,thoughIknowthathelivesinParis,”saidtheBaronesswith emotion. “Adream suggested tome the idea—anabsurdoneperhaps—that you may have interested yourself in Monsieur Hulot. If youcouldenablemetoseehim—oh!mademoiselle,IwouldprayHeavenforyoueverydayaslongasIliveinthisworld—”

Twolargetearsinthesinger’seyestoldwhatherreplywouldbe.

“Madame,”saidshe,“Ihavedoneyouaninjurywithoutknowingyou;but,nowthatIhavethehappinessofseeinginyouthemostperfectvirtueonearth,believe me I am sensible of the extent of my fault; I repent sincerely, andbelieveme,Iwilldoallinmypowertoremedyit!”

ShetookMadameHulot’shandandbeforetheladycoulddoanythingtohinderher,shekisseditrespectfully,evenhumblingherselftobendoneknee.Thensherose,asproudaswhenshestoodonthestageinthepartofMathilde,andrangthebell.

“Goonhorseback,”saidshetotheman-servant,“andkillthehorseifyoumust,tofindlittleBijou,RueSaint-Maur-du-Temple,andbringherhere.Puther into a coach and pay the coachman to come at a gallop.Do not lose amoment—oryouloseyourplace.

“Madame,”shewenton,comingbacktotheBaroness,andspeakingtoher

in respectful tones, “youmust forgiveme.As soonas theDucd’Herouvillebecamemyprotector,IdismissedtheBaron,havingheardthathewasruininghisfamilyforme.WhatmorecouldIdo?Inanactress’careeraprotectorisindispensablefromthefirstdayofherappearanceontheboards.Oursalariesdonotpayhalfourexpenses;wemusthavea temporaryhusband. IdidnotvalueMonsieurHulot,whotookmeawayfromarichman,aconceitedidiot.OldCrevelwouldundoubtedlyhavemarriedme—”

“Sohetoldme,”saidtheBaroness,interruptingher.

“Well, then, you see, madame, I might at this day have been an honestwoman,withonlyonelegitimatehusband!”

“Youhavemanyexcuses,mademoiselle,”saidAdeline,“andGodwilltakethemintoaccount.But,formypart,farfromreproachingyou,Icame,onthecontrary,tomakemyselfyourdebtoringratitude—”

“Madame,fornearlythreeyearsIhaveprovidedforMonsieurleBaron’snecessities—”

“You?”interruptedtheBaroness,withtearsinhereyes.“Oh,whatcanIdoforyou?Icanonlypray—”

“IandMonsieurleDucd’Herouville,”thesingersaid,“anoblesoul,atruegentleman—” and Josepha related the settling and marriage of MonsieurThoul.

“Andso,thankstoyou,mademoiselle,theBaronhaswantednothing?”

“Wehavedoneourbesttothatend,madame.”

“Andwhereishenow?”

“Aboutsixmonthsago,MonsieurleDuctoldmethattheBaron,knowntothenotarybythenameofThoul,haddrawnalltheeightthousandfrancsthatweretohavebeenpaidtohiminfixedsumsonceaquarter,”repliedJosepha.“Wehaveheardnomoreof theBaron,neither InorMonsieurd’Herouville.Ourlivesaresofull,weartistsaresobusy,thatIreallyhavenottimetorunafteroldThoul.Asithappens,forthelastsixmonths,Bijou,whoworksforme—his—whatshallIsay—?”

“Hismistress,”saidMadameHulot.

“His mistress,” repeated Josepha, “has not been here. MademoiselleOlympe Bijou is perhaps divorced. Divorce is common in the thirteentharrondissement.”

Josepha rose, and foraging among the rare plants in her stands, made acharming bouquet for Madame Hulot, whose expectations, it may be said,werebynomeansfulfilled.Likethoseworthyfold,whotakemenofgeniusto

be a sort of monsters, eating, drinking, walking, and speaking unlike otherpeople,theBaronesshadhopedtoseeJosephatheoperasinger,thewitch,theamorousandamusingcourtesan;shesawacalmandwell-manneredwoman,withthedignityoftalent,thesimplicityofanactresswhoknowsherselftobeatnightaqueen,andalso,better thanall,awomanof the townwhoseeyes,attitude,anddemeanorpaidfullandungrudginghomagetothevirtuouswife,theMaterdolorosaof the sacredhymn, andwhowas crowningher sorrowswithflowers,astheMadonnaiscrownedinItaly.

“Madame,” said theman-servant, reappearingat the endofhalf anhour,“MadameBijouisonherway,butyouarenottoexpectlittleOlympe.Yourneedle-woman,madame,issettledinlife;sheismarried—”

“Moreorless?”saidJosepha.

“No,madame, reallymarried.She is at theheadofavery finebusiness;shehasmarriedtheownerofalargeandfashionableshop,onwhichtheyhavespentmillions of francs, on theBoulevard des Italiens; and she has left theembroidery business to her sister and mother. She isMadame Grenouville.Thefattradesman—”

“ACrevel?”

“Yes,madame,”saidtheman.“Well,hehassettledthirtythousandfrancsayearonMademoiselleBijoubythemarriagearticles.Andhereldersister,theysay,isgoingtobemarriedtoarichbutcher.”

“Your business looks rather hopeless, I am afraid,” said Josepha to theBaroness.“MonsieurleBaronisnolongerwhereIlodgedhim.”

Tenminutes laterMadameBijouwasannounced.JosephaveryprudentlyplacedtheBaronessintheboudoir,anddrewthecurtainoverthedoor.

“Youwouldscareher,”saidshetoMadameHulot.“Shewouldletnothingoutifshesuspectedthatyouwereinterestedintheinformation.Leavemetocatechise her.Hide there, and youwill hear everything. It is a scene that isplayedquiteasofteninreallifeasonthestage—”

“Well,MotherBijou,”shesaidtoanoldwomandressedintartanstuff,andwho looked like a porter’s wife in her Sunday best, “so you are all veryhappy?Yourdaughterisinluck.”

“Oh, happy? As for that!—My daughter gives us a hundred francs amonth, while she rides in a carriage and eats off silver plate—she is amillionary,ismydaughter!Olympemighthaveliftedmeabovelabor.Tohavetoworkatmyage?Isthatbeinggoodtome?”

“Sheoughtnottobeungrateful,forsheowesherbeautytoyou,”repliedJosepha;“butwhydidshenotcometoseeme?ItwasIwhoplacedherinease

bysettlingherwithmyuncle.”

“Yes,madame,witholdMonsieurThoul,butheisveryoldandbroken—”

“Butwhathaveyoudonewithhim?Ishewithyou?Shewasveryfoolishtoleavehim;heisworthmillionsnow.”

“Heaven above us!” cried the mother. “What did I tell her when shebehavedsobadlytohim,andheasmildasmilk,pooroldfellow?Oh!didn’tshejustgiveithimhot?—Olympewasperverted,madame?”

“Buthow?”

“Shegottoknowaclaqueur,madame,savingyourpresence,amanpaidtoclap,youknow,thegrandnephewofanoldmattress-pickeroftheFaubourgSaint-Marceau. This good-for-naught, as all your good-looking fellows are,paid to make a piece go, is the cock of the walk out on the Boulevard duTemple,whereheworksupthenewplays,andtakescarethattheactressesgetareception,ashecallsit.First,hehasagoodbreakfastinthemorning;then,beforetheplay,hedines, tobe‘uptothemark,’ashesays; inshort,heisabornloverofbilliardsanddrams.‘Butthatisnotfollowingatrade,’asIsaidtoOlympe.”

“Itisatrademenfollow,unfortunately,”saidJosepha.

“Well, the rascal turned Olympe’s head, and he, madame, did not keepgoodcompany—whenItellyouhewasverynearbeingnabbedbythepoliceinatavernwherethievesmeet.‘Wever,MonsieurBraulard,theleaderoftheclaque, got him out of that. Hewears gold earrings, and he lives by doingnothing, hanging on to women, who are fools about these good-lookingscamps.HespentallthemoneyMonsieurThoulusedtogivethechild.

“Then thebusinesswasgoing togrief;whatembroiderybrought inwentout across the billiard table. ‘Wever, the young fellow had a pretty sister,madame,who,likeherbrother,livedbyhookandbycrook,andnobetterthansheshouldbeneither,overinthestudents’quarter.”

“OneoftheslutsattheChaumiere,”saidJosepha.

“So,madame,” said the oldwoman. “So Idamore, his name is Idamore,leastwaysthatiswhathecallshimself,forhisrealnameisChardin—Idamorefancied that your uncle had a deal more money than he owned to, and hemanagedtosendhissisterElodie—andthatwasastagenamehegaveher—tosend her to be aworkwoman at our place, withoutmy daughter’s knowingwho she was; and, gracious goodness! but that girl turned the whole placetopsy-turvy; she got all those poor girls into mischief—impossible towhitewashthem,savingyourpresence——

“Andshewassosharp,shewonoverpooroldThoul,andtookhimaway,

andwedon’tknowwhere,andleftusinaprettyfix,withalotofbillscomingin.Tothisdayaseveriswehavenotbeenabletosettleup;butmydaughter,whoknows all about such things, keeps an eye on themas they fall due.—Then,whenIdamoresawhehadgotholdof theoldman, throughhissister,youunderstand,hethrewovermydaughter,andnowhehasgotholdofalittleactress at the Funambules.—And that was how my daughter came to getmarried,asyouwillsee—”

“Butyoumustknowwherethemattress-pickerlives?”saidJosepha.

“What!oldChardin?Asifhelivedanywhereatall!—Heisdrunkbysixinthemorning;hemakesamattressonceamonth;hehangsaboutthewineshopsallday;heplaysatpools—”

“Heplaysatpools?”saidJosepha.

“Youdonotunderstand,madame,poolsofbilliards,Imean,andhewinsthreeorfouraday,andthenhedrinks.”

“Wateroutofthepools,Isuppose?”saidJosepha.“ButifIdamorehauntstheBoulevard,byinquiringthroughmyfriendVraulard,wecouldfindhim.”

“Idon’tknow,madame;allthiswassixmonthsago.Idamorewasoneofthesortwhoareboundtofindtheirwayintothepolicecourts,andfromthattoMelun—andthe—whoknows—?”

“Totheprisonyard!”saidJosepha.

“Well, madame, you know everything,” said the old woman, smiling.“Well,ifmygirlhadneverknownthatscamp,shewouldnowbe—Still,shewasinluck,allthesame,youwillsay,forMonsieurGrenouvillefellsomuchinlovewithherthathemarriedher—”

“Andwhatbroughtthatabout?”

“Olympewasdesperate,madame.Whenshefoundherselfleftinthelurchforthatlittleactress—andshetookarodoutofpickleforher,Icantellyou;myword,butshegaveheradressing!—andwhenshehadlostpooroldThoul,whoworshipedher,shewouldhavenothingmoretosaytothemen.‘Wever,MonsieurGrenouville,whohadbeendealinglargelywithus—tothetuneoftwo hundred embroidered China-crape shawls every quarter—he wanted toconsoleher;butwhetherorno,shewouldnot listen toanythingwithout themayorandthepriest.‘Imeantoberespectable,’saidshe,‘orperish!’andshestucktoit.MonsieurGrenouvilleconsentedtomarryher,onconditionofhergivingusallup,andweagreed—”

“Forahandsomeconsideration?”saidJosepha,withherusualperspicacity.

“Yes,madame,tenthousandfrancs,andanallowancetomyfather,whois

pastwork.”

“IbeggedyourdaughtertomakeoldThoulhappy,andshehasthrownmeover.Thatisnotfair.Iwilltakenointerestinanyoneforthefuture!Thatiswhatcomesoftryingtodogood!Benevolencecertainlydoesnotanswerasaspeculation!—Olympeought,atleast,tohavegivenmenoticeofthisjobbing.Now, if you find the old man Thoul within a fortnight, I will give you athousandfrancs.”

“Itwill be a hard task,mygood lady; still, there are a goodmany five-francpiecesinathousandfrancs,andIwilltrytoearnyourmoney.”

“Good-morning,then,MadameBijou.”

On going into the boudoir, the singer found that Madame Hulot hadfainted;butinspiteofhavinglostconsciousness,hernervoustremblingkeptherstillperpetuallyshaking,asthepiecesofasnakethathasbeencutupstillwriggleandmove.Strongsalts,coldwater,andalltheordinaryremedieswereappliedtorecall theBaronesstohersenses,orrather, totheapprehensionofhersorrows.

“Ah!mademoiselle,howfarhashefallen!”criedshe,recognizingJosepha,andfindingthatshewasalonewithher.

“Take heart, madame,” replied the actress, who had seated herself on acushionatAdeline’sfeet,andwaskissingherhands.“Weshallfindhim;andifhe is in themire,well,hemustwashhimself.Believeme,withpeopleofgood breeding it is amatter of clothes.—Allowme tomake up for you theharmIhavedoneyou,forIseehowmuchyouareattachedtoyourhusband,in spite of hismisconduct—or you should not have come here.—Well, yousee,thepoormanissofondofwomen.Ifyouhadhadalittleofourdash,youwouldhavekepthimfromrunningabouttheworld;foryouwouldhavebeenwhatwecanneverbe—allthewomenmanwants.

“TheStateoughttosubsidizeaschoolofmannersforhonestwomen!Butgovernmentsaresoprudish!Still,theyareguidedbymen,whomweprivatelyguide.Myword,Ipitynations!

“Butthematterinquestionishowyoucanbehelped,andnottolaughattheworld.—Well,madame,beeasy,gohomeagain,anddonotworry.IwillbringyourHectorbacktoyouashewasasamanofthirty.”

“Ah,mademoiselle, let us go to see thatMadameGrenouville,” said theBaroness. “She surely knows something! Perhaps I may see the Baron thisveryday,andbeabletosnatchhimatoncefrompovertyanddisgrace.”

“Madame, Iwill show you the deep gratitude I feel towards you by notdisplaying the stage-singer Josepha, the Duc d’Herouville’s mistress, in the

companyofthenoblest,saintliestimageofvirtue.Irespectyoutoomuchtobe seen by your side. This is not acted humility; it is sincere homage.Youmakemesorry,madame,thatIcannottreadinyourfootsteps,inspiteofthethornsthattearyourfeetandhands.—Butitcannotbehelped!Iamonewithart,asyouareonewithvirtue.”

“Poorchild!”saidtheBaroness,movedamidherownsorrowsbyastrangesenseofcompassionatesympathy;“IwillpraytoGodforyou;foryouarethevictimofsociety,whichmusthave theatres.Whenyouareold, repent—youwillbeheardifGodvouchsafestoheartheprayersofa—”

“Of a martyr, madame,” Josepha put in, and she respectfully kissed theBaroness’skirt.

ButAdeline took the actress’ hand, and drawing her towards her, kissedherontheforehead.ColoringwithpleasureJosephasawtheBaronessintothehackneycoachwiththehumblestpoliteness.

“Itmust be some visiting Lady of Charity,” said theman-servant to themaid,“forshedoesnotdosomuchforanyone,notevenforherdearfriendMadameJennyCadine.”

“Waitafewdays,”saidshe,“andyouwillseehim,madame,orIrenouncetheGod ofmy fathers—and that from a Jewess, you know, is a promise ofsuccess.”

AttheverytimewhenMadameHulotwascallingonJosepha,Victorin,inhis study, was receiving an old woman of about seventy-five, who, to gainadmission to the lawyer, had used the terrible name of the head of thedetectiveforce.Themaninwaitingannounced:

“MadamedeSaint-Esteve.”

“Ihaveassumedoneofmybusinessnames,”saidshe,takingaseat.

Victorinfeltasortofinternalchillatthesightofthisdreadfuloldwoman.Though handsomely dressed, she was terrible to look upon, for her flat,colorless, strongly-marked face, furrowedwithwrinkles, expressed a sort ofcold malignity. Marat, as a woman of that age, might have been like thiscreature,alivingembodimentoftheReignofTerror.

This sinister old woman’s small, pale eyes twinkled with a tiger’sbloodthirsty greed. Her broad, flat nose, with nostrils expanded into ovalcavities,breathedthefiresofhell,andresembledthebeakofsomeevilbirdofprey.Thespiritofintriguelurkedbehindherlow,cruelbrow.Longhairshadgrown from her wrinkled chin, betraying the masculine character of herschemes.Anyoneseeingthatwoman’sfacewouldhavesaidthatartistshadfailedintheirconceptionsofMephistopheles.

“Mydearsir,”shebegan,withapatronizingair,“Ihavelongsincegivenup active business of any kind. What I have come to you to do, I haveundertaken,forthesakeofmydearnephew,whomIlovemorethanIcouldloveasonofmyown.—Now,theHeadofthePolice—towhomthePresidentof theCouncil said a fewwords inhis ear as regardsyourself, in talking toMonsieurChapuzot—thinksas thepoliceoughtnot toappear inamatterofthisdescription,youunderstand.Theygavemynephewa freehand,butmynephewwillhavenothingtosaytoit,exceptasbeforetheCouncil;hewillnotbeseeninit.”

“Thenyournephewis—”

“Youhavehitit,andIamratherproudofhim,”saidshe,interruptingthelawyer, “forhe ismypupil, andhe sooncould teachhis teacher.—Wehaveconsidered this case, andhavecome toourownconclusions.Willyouhandover thirty thousand francs to have thewhole thing taken off your hands? Iwillmakeacleansweepofall,andyouneednotpaytillthejobisdone.”

“Doyouknowthepersonsconcerned?”

“No,mydearsir;Ilookforinformationfromyou.Whatwearetoldis,thatacertainoldidiothasfallenintotheclutchesofawidow.Thiswidow,ofnine-and-twenty,hasplayedhercardssowell,thatshehasfortythousandfrancsayear, ofwhich she has robbed two fathers of families. She is now about toswallowdowneightythousandfrancsayearbymarryinganoldboyofsixty-one.Shewillthusruinarespectablefamily,andhandoverthisvastfortunetothechildofsomeloverbygettingridatonceoftheoldhusband.—Thatisthecaseasstated.”

“Quitecorrect,”saidVictorin.“Myfather-in-law,MonsieurCrevel—”

“Formerlyaperfumer,amayor—yes,IliveinhisdistrictunderthenameofMa’ameNourrisson,”saidthewoman.

“TheotherpersonisMadameMarneffe.”

“Idonotknow,”saidMadamedeSaint-Esteve.“Butwithin threedays Iwillbeinapositiontocounthershifts.”

“Canyouhinderthemarriage?”askedVictorin.

“Howfarhavetheygot?”

“Tothesecondtimeofasking.”

“Wemust carry off thewoman.—To-day is Sunday—there are but threedays,fortheywillbemarriedonWednesday,nodoubt;itisimpossible.—Butshemaybekilled—”

VictorinHulot startedwith an honestman’s horror at hearing these five

wordsutteredincoldblood.

“Murder?”saidhe.“Andhowcouldyoudoit?”

“Forfortyyears,now,monsieur,wehaveplayedthepartoffate,”repliedshe, with terrible pride, “and do just what wewill in Paris.More than onefamily—even in the Faubourg Saint-Germain—has toldme all its secrets, Icantellyou.Ihavemadeandspoiledmanyamatch,Ihavedestroyedmanyawill and saved many a man’s honor. I have in there,” and she tapped herforehead,“astoreofsecretswhichareworththirty-sixthousandfrancsayeartome;andyou—youwillbeoneofmylambs,hoh!CouldsuchawomanasIambewhatIamifsherevealedherwaysandmeans?Iact.

“WhateverImaydo,sir,willbetheresultofanaccident;youneedfeelnoremorse.Youwillbelikeamancuredbyaclairvoyant;bytheendofamonth,itseemsalltheworkofNature.”

Victorinbrokeoutinacoldsweat.Thesightofanexecutionerwouldhaveshockedhim less than thisprolix andpretentiousSisterof theHulks.Ashelookedatherpurple-redgown,sheseemedtohimdyedinblood.

“Madame,Idonotacceptthehelpofyourexperienceandskillifsuccessistocostanybody’slife,ortheleastcriminalactistocomeofit.”

“Youareagreatbaby,monsieur,”repliedthewoman;“youwishtoremainblamelessinyourowneyes,whileyouwantyourenemytobeoverthrown.”

Victorinshookhisheadindenial.

“Yes,”shewenton,“youwantthisMadameMarneffetodropthepreyshehasbetweenherteeth.Buthowdoyouexpecttomakeatigerdrophispieceofbeef? Can you do it by patting his back and saying, ‘Poor Puss’? You areillogical.Youwantabattlefought,butyouobjecttoblows.—Well,Igrantyouthe innocence you are so careful over. I have always found that there wasmaterialforhypocrisyinhonesty!Oneday,threemonthshence,apoorpriestwillcometobegofyoufortythousandfrancsforapiouswork—aconventtoberebuiltintheLevant—inthedesert.—Ifyouaresatisfiedwithyourlot,givethegoodmanthemoney.Youwillpaymorethanthatintothetreasury.Itwillbeameretrifleincomparisonwithwhatyouwillget,Icantellyou.”

She rose, standing on the broad feet that seemed to overflow her satinshoes;shesmiled,bowed,andvanished.

“TheDevilhasasister,”saidVictorin,rising.

Hesawthehideousstrangertothedoor,acreaturecalledupfromthedensofthepolice,asonthestageamonstercomesupfromthethirdcellaratthetouchofafairy’swandinaballet-extravaganza.

After finishingwhathehad todoat theCourts,Victorinwent tocallonMonsieur Chapuzot, the head of one of themost important branches of theCentralPolice, tomakesome inquiriesabout thestranger.FindingMonsieurChapuzotaloneinhisoffice,Victorinthankedhimforhishelp.

“You sentme an oldwomanwhomight stand for the incarnation of thecriminalsideofParis.”

Monsieur Chapuzot laid his spectacles on his papers and looked at thelawyerwithastonishment.

“Ishouldnothavetakenthelibertyofsendinganybodytoseeyouwithoutgivingyounoticebeforehand,oralineofintroduction,”saidhe.

“ThenitwasMonsieurlePrefet—?”

“I think not,” said Chapuzot. “The last time that the Prince deWissembourgdinedwiththeMinisteroftheInterior,hespoketothePrefetofthe position in which you find yourself—a deplorable position—and askedhimifyoucouldbehelpedinanyfriendlyway.ThePrefet,whowasinterestedby the regrets his Excellency expressed as to this family affair, didme thehonortoconsultmeaboutit.

“Ever since the present Prefet has held the reins of this department—sousefulandsovilified—hehasmadeitarulethatfamilymattersarenevertobeinterferedin.Heisrightinprincipleandinmorality;butinpracticeheiswrong.Intheforty-fiveyearsthatIhaveservedinthepolice,itdid,from1799till 1815, great services in family concerns. Since 1820 a constitutionalgovernmentandthepresshavecompletelyalteredtheconditionsofexistence.Somyadvice,indeed,wasnottointerveneinsuchacase,andthePrefetdidmethehonortoagreewithmyremarks.TheHeadofthedetectivebranchhasorders, inmypresence, to takenosteps; so ifyouhavehadanyonesent toyoubyhim,hewillbereprimanded.Itmightcosthimhisplace.‘ThePolicewilldothisorthat,’iseasilysaid;thePolice,thePolice!But,mydearsir,theMarshal and the Ministerial Council do not know what the Police is. ThePolicealoneknowsthePolice;butasforours,onlyFouche,MonsieurLenoir,andMonsieurdeSartineshavehadanynotionof it.—Everythingischangednow; we are reduced and disarmed! I have seen many private disastersdevelop,whichIcouldhavecheckedwithfivegrainsofdespoticpower.—Weshallberegrettedbytheverymenwhohavecrippleduswhenthey,likeyou,stand face to facewith somemoralmonstrosities,which ought to be sweptaway as we sweep away mud! In public affairs the Police is expected toforesee everything, or when the safety of the public is involved—but thefamily?—It is sacred! I would domy utmost to discover and hinder a plotagainst theKing’s life, Iwould see through thewalls of a house; but as tolaying a finger on a household, or peeping into private interests—never, so

longasIsitinthisoffice.Ishouldbeafraid.”

“Ofwhat?”

“OfthePress,MonsieurleDepute,oftheleftcentre.”

“What,then,canIdo?”saidHulot,afterapause.

“Well, youare theFamily,” said theofficial. “That settles it; youcandowhatyouplease.Butastohelpingyou,astousingthePoliceasaninstrumentofprivate feelings,and interests,how is itpossible?There lies,yousee, thesecret of the persecution, necessary, but pronounced illegal, by the Bench,which was brought to bear against the predecessor of our present chiefdetective. Bibi-Lupin undertook investigations for the benefit of privatepersons.Thismight have led to great social dangers.With themeans at hiscommand,themanwouldhavebeenformidable,anunderlyingfate—”

“Butinmyplace?”saidHulot.

“Why,youaskmyadvice?Youwhosell it!”repliedMonsieurChapuzot.“Come,come,mydearsir,youaremakingfunofme.”

Hulot bowed to the functionary, and went away without seeing thatgentleman’salmostimperceptibleshrugasherosetoopenthedoor.

“Andhewantstobeastatesman!”saidChapuzottohimselfashereturnedtohisreports.

Victorinwenthome,stillfullofperplexitieswhichhecouldconfidetonoone.

At dinner theBaroness joyfully announced to her children thatwithin amonththeirfathermightbesharingtheircomforts,andendhisdaysinpeaceamonghisfamily.

“Oh,Iwouldgladlygivemythree thousandsixhundredfrancsayear tosee the Baron here!” cried Lisbeth. “But, my dear Adeline, do not dreambeforehandofsuchhappiness,Ientreatyou!”

“Lisbethisright,”saidCelestine.“Mydearmother,waittilltheend.”

The Baroness, all feeling and all hope, related her visit to Josepha,expressedhersenseofthemiseryofsuchwomeninthemidstofgoodfortune,andmentionedChardinthemattress-picker,thefatheroftheOranstorekeeper,thusshowingthatherhopeswerenotgroundless.

BysevennextmorningLisbethhaddriveninahackneycoachtotheQuaidelaTournelle,andstoppedthevehicleatthecorneroftheRuedePoissy.

“Go to theRue desBernardins,” said she to the driver, “No. 7, a housewithanentryandnoporter.Gouptothefourthfloor,ringatthedoortothe

left, on which you will see ‘Mademoiselle Chardin—Lace and shawlsmended.’Shewillanswerthedoor.AskfortheChevalier.Shewillsayheisout.Sayinreply,‘Yes,Iknow,butfindhim,forhisbonneisoutonthequayinacoach,andwantstoseehim.’”

Twentyminuteslater,anoldman,wholookedabouteighty,withperfectlywhitehair,andanosereddenedbythecold,andapale,wrinkledfacelikeanold woman’s, came shuffling slowly along in list slippers, a shiny alpacaovercoathangingonhis stooping shoulders,no ribbonathisbuttonhole, thesleeves of an under-vest showing below his coat-cuffs, and his shirt-frontunpleasantly dingy.He approached timidly, looked at the coach, recognizedLisbeth,andcametothewindow.

“Why,mydearcousin,whatastateyouarein!”

“Elodiekeepseverythingforherself,”saidBaronHulot.“ThoseChardinsareablackguardcrew.”

“Willyoucomehometous?”

“Oh,no,no!”criedtheoldman.“IwouldrathergotoAmerica.”

“Adelineisonthescent.”

“Oh, if only some one would pay my debts!” said the Baron, with asuspiciouslook,“forSamanonisafterme.”

“We have not paid up the arrears yet; your son still owes a hundredthousandfrancs.”

“Poorboy!”

“Andyourpensionwillnotbefreebeforesevenoreightmonths.—Ifyouwillwaitaminute,Ihavetwothousandfrancshere.”

TheBaronheldouthishandwithfearfulavidity.

“Giveitme,Lisbeth,andmayGodrewardyou!Giveitme;Iknowwheretogo.”

“Butyouwilltellme,oldwretch?”

“Yes, yes. Then I can wait eight months, for I have discovered a littleangel,agoodchild,aninnocentthingnotoldenoughtobedepraved.”

“Do not forget the police-court,” said Lisbeth,who flattered herself thatshewouldsomedayseeHulotthere.

“No.—It is in theRuedeCharonne,”said theBaron,“apartof the townwherenofuss ismadeaboutanything.Noonewilleverfindmethere.IamcalledPereThorec,Lisbeth,andIshallbetakenforaretiredcabinet-maker;

thegirlisfondofme,andIwillnotallowmybacktobeshornanymore.”

“No, thathasbeendone,”saidLisbeth, lookingathiscoat.“SupposingItakeyouthere.”

Baron Hulot got into the coach, desertingMademoiselle Elodie withouttakingleaveofher,ashemighthavetossedasideanovelhehadfinished.

Inhalfanhour,duringwhichBaronHulottalkedtoLisbethofnothingbutlittleAtala Judici—for he had fallen by degrees to those base passions thatruinoldmen—shesethimdownwithtwothousandfrancsinhispocket,intheRue de Charonne, Faubourg Saint-Antoine, at the door of a doubtful andsinister-lookinghouse.

“Good-day,cousin;sonowyouare tobecalledThorec, Isuppose?Sendnone but commissionaires if you need me, and always take them fromdifferentparts.”

“Trustme!Oh,Iamreallyverylucky!”saidtheBaron,hisfacebeamingwiththeprospectofnewandfuturehappiness.

“Noonecanfindhim there,”saidLisbeth;andshepaid thecoachat theBoulevard Beaumarchais, and returned to the Rue Louis-le-Grand in theomnibus.

On the following day Crevel was announced at the hour when all thefamilyweretogetherinthedrawing-room,justafterbreakfast.Celestineflewtothrowherarmsroundherfather’sneck,andbehavedasifshehadseenhimonlythedaybefore,thoughinfacthehadnotcalledthereformorethantwoyears.

“Good-morning,father,”saidVictorin,offeringhishand.

“Good-morning, children,” said the pompous Crevel. “Madame laBaronne,Ithrowmyselfatyourfeet!GoodHeavens,howthechildrengrow!theyarepushingusofftheperch—‘Grand-pa,’theysay,‘wewantourturninthesunshine.’—MadamelaComtesse,youareaslovelyasever,”hewenton,addressingHortense.—“Ah,ha!andhere is thebestofgoodmoney:CousinBetty,theWiseVirgin.”

“Why,youarereallyverycomfortablehere,”saidhe,afterscatteringthesegreetings with a cackle of loud laughter that hardly moved the rubicundmusclesofhisbroadface.

Helookedathisdaughterwithsomecontempt.

“MydearCelestine,IwillmakeyouapresentofallmyfurnitureoutoftheRuedesSaussayes;itwilljustdohere.Yourdrawing-roomwantsfurnishingup.—Ha! there is that little rogue Wenceslas. Well, and are we very good

children,Iwonder?Youmusthaveprettymanners,youknow.”

“Tomakeupforthosewhohavenone,”saidLisbeth.

“That sarcasm,my dear Lisbeth, has lost its sting. I am going,my dearchildren, to put an end to the false position in which I have so long beenplaced;Ihavecome,likeagoodfather,toannouncemyapproachingmarriagewithoutanycircumlocution.”

“Youhaveaperfectrighttomarry,”saidVictorin.“Andformypart,IgiveyoubackthepromiseyoumademewhenyougavemethehandofmydearCelestine—”

“Whatpromise?”saidCrevel.

“Not tomarry,” replied the lawyer. “Youwill dome the justice to allowthat I did not ask you to pledge yourself, that you gave your word quitevoluntarilyandinspiteofmydesire,forIpointedouttoyouatthetimethatyouwereunwisetobindyourself.”

“Yes, I do remember,mydear fellow,” saidCrevel, ashamedof himself.“But,onmyhonor,ifyouwillbutlivewithMadameCrevel,mychildren,youwill findno reason to repent.—Yourgood feeling touchesme,Victorin, andyouwillfindthatgenerositytomeisnotunrewarded.—Come,bythePoker!welcomeyourstepmotherandcometothewedding.”

“Butyouhavenottoldusthelady’sname,papa,”saidCelestine.

“Why, it is an open secret,” repliedCrevel. “Donot let us play at guesswhocan!Lisbethmusthavetoldyou.”

“MydearMonsieurCrevel,”repliedLisbeth,“therearecertainnamesweneverutterhere—”

“Well,then,itisMadameMarneffe.”

“MonsieurCrevel,” said the lawyer very sternly, “neithermywife nor Icanbepresentatthatmarriage;notoutofinterest,forIspokeinallsincerityjustnow.Yes, Iammosthappy to think thatyoumayfindhappiness in thisunion;butIactonconsiderationsofhonorandgoodfeelingwhichyoumustunderstand, and which I cannot speak of here, as they reopen wounds stillreadytobleed——”

TheBaroness telegraphedasignal toHortense,who tuckedher littleoneunder her arm, saying, “ComeWenceslas, and have your bath!—Good-bye,MonsieurCrevel.”

TheBaronessalsobowedtoCrevelwithoutaword;andCrevelcouldnothelpsmilingatthechild’sastonishmentwhenthreatenedwiththisimpromptutubbing.

“You,monsieur,”saidVictorin,whenhefoundhimselfalonewithLisbeth,hiswife,andhisfather-in-law,“areabouttomarryawomanloadedwiththespoilsofmyfather;itwasshewho,incoldblood,broughthimdowntosuchdepths;awomanwhois theson-in-law’smistressafterruining thefather-in-law;who is the causeof constant grief tomy sister!—Andyou fancy that Ishallseemtosanctionyourmadnessbymypresence?Ideeplypityyou,dearMonsieurCrevel;youhavenofamilyfeeling;youdonotunderstandtheunityofthehonorwhichbindsthemembersofittogether.Thereisnoarguingwithpassion—asIhavetoomuchreasontoknow.Theslavesoftheirpassionsareasdeafastheyareblind.YourdaughterCelestinehastoostrongasenseofherdutytoprofferawordofreproach.”

“Thatwould, indeed,be apretty thing!” criedCrevel, trying to cut shortthisharangue.

“Celestinewouldnotbemywifeifshemadetheslightestremonstrance,”thelawyerwenton.“ButI,atleast,maytrytostopyoubeforeyoustepovertheprecipice,especiallyaftergivingyouampleproofofmydisinterestedness.Itisnotyourfortune,itisyouthatIcareabout.Nay,tomakeitquiteplaintoyou, Imayadd, if itwereonly tosetyourmindateasewith regard toyourmarriagecontract,thatIamnowinapositionwhichleavesmewithnothingtowishfor—”

“Thankstome!”exclaimedCrevel,whosefacewaspurple.

“Thanks to Celestine’s fortune,” replied Victorin. “And if you regrethavinggiventoyourdaughterasapresentfromyourself,asumwhichisnothalfwhathermother left her, I canonly say thatweareprepared togive itback.”

“Anddoyounotknow,myrespectedson-in-law,”saidCrevel,strikinganattitude, “thatunder the shelterofmynameMadameMarneffe isnot calledupontoanswerforherconductexceptingasmywife—asMadameCrevel?”

“Thatis,nodoubt,quitethecorrectthing,”saidthelawyer;“verygeneroussofarastheaffectionsareconcernedandthevagariesofpassion;butIknowof no name, nor law, nor title that can shelter the theft of three hundredthousandfrancssomeanlywrungfrommyfather!—Itellyouplainly,mydearfather-in-law,yourfuturewifeisunworthyofyou,sheisfalsetoyou,andismadlyinlovewithmybrother-in-law,Steinbock,whosedebtsshehadpaid.”

“ItisIwhopaidthem!”

“Verygood,” saidHulot;“Iamglad forCountSteinbock’s sake;hemaysomedayrepaythemoney.Butheisloved,muchloved,andoften—”

“Loved!” criedCrevel,whose face showedhis utter bewilderment. “It is

cowardly,anddirty,andmean,andcheap,tocalumniateawoman!—Whenamansayssuchthings,monsieur,hemustbringproof.”

“Iwillbringproof.”

“Ishallexpectit.”

“Bythedayafterto-morrow,mydearMonsieurCrevel,Ishallbeabletotell you the day, the hour, the veryminute when I can expose the horribledepravityofyourfuturewife.”

“Verywell;Ishallbedelighted,”saidCrevel,whohadrecoveredhimself.

“Good-bye,mychildren,forthepresent;good-bye,Lisbeth.”

“Seehimout,Lisbeth,”saidCelestineinanundertone.

“Andisthisthewayyoutakeyourselfoff?”criedLisbethtoCrevel.

“Ah,ha!”saidCrevel,“myson-in-lawis toocleverbyhalf;heisgettingon. The Courts and the Chamber, judicial trickery and political dodges, aremakingamanofhimwithavengeance!—SoheknowsIamtobemarriedonWednesday,andonaSundaymygentlemanproposes to fix thehour,withinthreedays,whenhecanprovethatmywifeisunworthyofme.Thatisagoodstory!—Well,Iamgoingbacktosignthecontract.Comewithme,Lisbeth—yes,come.Theywillneverknow.ImeanttohaveleftCelestinefortythousandfrancsayear;butHulothasjustbehavedinawaytoalienatemyaffectionforever.”

“Giveme tenminutes, Pere Crevel; wait forme in your carriage at thegate.Iwillmakesomeexcuseforgoingout.”

“Verywell—allright.”

“My dears,” said Lisbeth, who found all the family reassembled in thedrawing-room,“IamgoingwithCrevel:themarriagecontractistobesignedthisafternoon,andIshallhearwhathehassettled.Itwillprobablybemylastvisittothatwoman.Yourfatherisfurious;hewilldisinherityou—”

“His vanity will prevent that,” said the son-in-law. “He was bent onowningtheestateofPresles,andhewillkeepit;Iknowhim.Evenifheweretohavechildren,Celestinewouldstillhavehalfofwhathemight leave; thelawforbidshisgivingawayallhisfortune.—Still,thesequestionsarenothingtome; I am only thinking of our honor.—Go then, cousin,” and he pressedLisbeth’shand,“andlistencarefullytothecontract.”

Twentyminutes after, Lisbeth and Crevel reached the house in the RueBarbet,whereMadameMarneffewasawaiting,inmildimpatience,theresultofasteptakenbyhercommands.Valeriehadintheendfallenapreyto theabsorbing lovewhich, once in her life,masters awoman’s heart.Wenceslas

was its object, and, a failure as an artist, he became inMadameMarneffe’shandsaloversoperfectthathewastoherwhatshehadbeentoBaronHulot.

Valeriewasholdingaslipperinonehand,andSteinbockclaspedtheother,while her head rested on his shoulder. The rambling conversation in whichtheyhadbeenengagedeversinceCrevelwentoutmaybeticketed,likecertainlengthy literary efforts of our day, “All rights reserved,” for it cannot bereproduced.Thismasterpieceofpersonalpoetrynaturallybroughtaregrettotheartist’slips,andhesaid,notwithoutsomebitterness:

“WhatapityitisthatImarried;forifIhadbutwaited,asLisbethtoldme,Imightnowhavemarriedyou.”

“WhobutaPolewouldwishtomakeawifeofadevotedmistress?”criedValerie.“Tochangeloveintoduty,andpleasureintoabore.”

“Iknowyoutobesofickle,”repliedSteinbock.“DidInothearyoutalkingtoLisbethofthatBrazilian,BaronMontes?”

“Doyouwanttoridmeofhim?”

“Itwouldbetheonlywaytohinderhisseeingyou,”saidtheex-sculptor.

“Letmetellyou,mydarling—forItellyoueverything,”saidValerie—“Iwassavinghimupforahusband.—ThepromisesIhavemadetothatman!—Oh, long before I knew you,” said she, in reply to a movement fromWenceslas. “And those promises, of which he avails himself to plagueme,oblige me to get married almost secretly; for if he should hear that I ammarryingCrevel,heisthesortofmanthat—thatwouldkillme.”

“Oh, as to that!” said Steinbock, with a scornful expression, whichconveyedthatsuchadangerwassmallindeedforawomanbelovedbyaPole.

And in the matter of valor there is no brag or bravado in a Pole, sothoroughlyandseriouslybravearetheyall.

“AndthatidiotCrevel,”shewenton,“whowantstomakeagreatdisplayand indulgehis taste for inexpensivemagnificence inhonorof thewedding,placesmeindifficultiesfromwhichIseenoescape.”

Could Valerie confess to this man, whom she adored, that since thediscomfiture of Baron Hulot, this Baron Henri Montes had inherited theprivilege of calling on her at all hours of the day or night; and that,notwithstandinghercleverness,shewasstillpuzzledtofindacauseofquarrelinwhich theBrazilianmight seem tobe solely in thewrong?Sheknew theBaron’salmostsavagetemper—notunlikeLisbeth’s—toowellnottoquakeasshethoughtofthisOthelloofRiodeJaneiro.

As the carriage drove up, Steinbock released Valerie, for his arm was

roundherwaist,and tookupanewspaper, inwhichhewasfoundabsorbed.Valeriewasstitchingwithelaboratecareat theslippersshewasworkingforCrevel.

“How they slander her!” whispered Lisbeth to Crevel, pointing to thispictureastheyopenedthedoor.“Lookatherhair—notintheleasttumbled.TohearVictorin,youmighthaveexpectedtofindtwoturtle-dovesinanest.”

“MydearLisbeth,”criedCrevel,inhisfavoriteposition,“youseethattoturnLucretiaintoAspasia,youhaveonlytoinspireapassion!”

“AndhaveInotalwaystoldyou,”saidLisbeth,“thatwomenlikeaburlyprofligatelikeyou?”

“Andshewouldbemostungrateful,too,”saidCrevel;“forastothemoneyIhavespenthere,GrindotandIalonecantell!”

Andhewavedahandatthestaircase.

Indecorating thishouse,whichCrevel regardedashisown,Grindothadtried to compete with Cleretti, in whose hands the Duc d’Herouville hadplacedJosepha’svilla.ButCrevel,incapableofunderstandingart,had,likeallsordidsouls,wantedtospendacertainsumfixedbeforehand.Grindot,fetteredbyacontract,hadfounditimpossibletoembodyhisarchitecturaldream.

The difference between Josepha’s house and that in theRueBarbetwasjustthatbetweentheindividualstamponthingsandcommonness.TheobjectsyouadmiredatCrevel’swere tobebought inany shop.These two typesofluxury are divided by the river Million. A mirror, if unique, is worth sixthousandfrancs;amirrordesignedbyamanufacturerwhoturnsthemoutbythedozencostsfivehundred.AgenuinelustrebyBoullewillsellatapublicauctionfor threethousandfrancs; thesamethingreproducedbycastingmaybe made for a thousand or twelve hundred; one is archaeologically what apicturebyRaphaelisinpainting,theotherisacopy.AtwhatwouldyouvalueacopyofaRaphael?ThusCrevel’smansionwasa splendidexampleof theluxuryofidiots,whileJosepha’swasaperfectmodelofanartist’shome.

“Warisdeclared,”saidCrevel,goinguptoMadameMarneffe.

Sherangthebell.

“GoandfindMonsieurBerthier,”saidshetotheman-servant,“anddonotreturnwithouthim. Ifyouhad succeeded,” said she, embracingCrevel, “wewouldhavepostponedourhappiness,mydearDaddy,andhavegivenareallysplendid entertainment; butwhenawhole family is set against amatch,mydear,decencyrequiresthattheweddingshallbeaquietone,especiallywhentheladyisawidow.”

“On the contrary, I intend tomake a display ofmagnificence a laLouis

XIV.,”saidCrevel,whooflatehadheldtheeighteenthcenturyrathercheap.“Ihaveorderednewcarriages; there isone formonsieur andone formadame,twoneatcoupes;andachaise,ahandsometravelingcarriagewithasplendidhammercloth,onspringsthattremblelikeMadameHulot.”

“Oh,ho!You intend?—Thenyouhave ceased tobemy lamb?—No,no,myfriend,youwilldowhatI intend.Wewillsignthecontractquietly—justourselves—thisafternoon.Then,onWednesday,wewillberegularlymarried,reallymarried,inmufti,asmypoormotherwouldhavesaid.Wewillwalktochurch, plainly dressed, and have only a low mass. Our witnesses areStidmann,Steinbock,Vignon,andMassol,allwide-awakemen,whowillbeatthemairie by chance, andwhowill so far sacrifice themselves as to attendmass.

“Yourcolleaguewillperformthecivilmarriage,foronceinaway,asearlyashalf-pastnine.Massisatten;weshallbeathometobreakfastbyhalf-pasteleven.

“Ihavepromisedourgueststhatwewillsitattabletilltheevening.TherewillbeBixiou,youroldofficialchumduTillet,Lousteau,Vernisset,LeondeLora, Vernou, all the wittiest men in Paris, whowill not know that we aremarried.Wewill play them a little trick, wewill get just a little tipsy, andLisbethmustjoinus.Iwanthertostudymatrimony;Bixioushallmakelovetoher,and—andenlightenherdarkness.”

For two hoursMadameMarneffe went on talking nonsense, and Crevelmadethisjudiciousreflection:

“Howcansolight-heartedacreaturebeutterlydepraved?Feather-brained,yes!butwicked?Nonsense!”

“Well, and what did the young people say about me?” said Valerie toCrevel at a moment when he sat down by her on the sofa. “All sorts ofhorrors?”

“Theywillhave it thatyouhaveacriminalpassion forWenceslas—you,whoarevirtueitself.”

“I love him!—I should think so, my little Wenceslas!” cried Valerie,callingtheartisttoher,takinghisfaceinherhands,andkissinghisforehead.“Apoorboywithnofortune,andnoonetodependon!Castoffbyacarrottygiraffe!Whatdoyouexpect,Crevel?Wenceslasismypoet,andIlovehimasifheweremyownchild,andmakenosecretofit.Bah!yourvirtuouswomenseeevileverywhereandineverything.Blessme,couldtheynotsitbyamanwithoutdoingwrong?Iamaspoiltchildwhohashadalliteverwanted,andbonbonsnolongerexciteme.—Poorthings!Iamsorryforthem!

“Andwhoslanderedmeso?”

“Victorin,”saidCrevel.

“Thenwhydidyounotstophismouth,theodiouslegalmacaw!withthestoryofthetwohundredthousandfrancsandhismamma?”

“Oh,theBaronesshadfled,”saidLisbeth.

“Theyhadbettertakecare,Lisbeth,”saidMadameMarneffe,withafrown.“Either they will receive me and do it handsomely, and come to theirstepmother’s house—all theparty!—or Iwill see them in lowerdepths thantheBaronhasreached,andyoumaytellthemIsaidso!—AtlastIshallturnnasty.Onmyhonor,Ibelievethatevil is thescythewithwhichtocutdownthegood.”

Atthreeo’clockMonsieurBerthier,Cardot’ssuccessor,readthemarriage-contract, after a short conferencewithCrevel, for someof the articlesweremade conditional on the action taken by Monsieur and Madame VictorinHulot.

Crevelsettledonhiswifea fortuneconsisting, in the firstplace,of fortythousand francs in dividends on specified securities; secondly, of the houseandall itscontents;and thirdly,of threemillionfrancsnot invested.Healsoassignedtohiswifeeverybenefitallowedbylaw;heleftallthepropertyfreeof duty; and in the event of their dying without issue, each devised to thesurvivorthewholeoftheirpropertyandrealestate.

By this arrangement the fortune left to Celestine and her husband wasreduced to twomillions of francs in capital. If Crevel and his second wifeshouldhavechildren,Celestine’ssharewaslimitedtofivehundredthousandfrancs,asthelife-interest intherestwastoaccruetoValerie.Thiswouldbeabouttheninthpartofhiswholerealandpersonalestate.

LisbethreturnedtodineintheRueLouis-le-Grand,despairwrittenonherface.Sheexplainedandbewailedthetermsofthemarriage-contract,butfoundCelestineandherhusbandinsensibletothedisastrousnews.

“Youhaveprovokedyour father,mychildren.MadameMarneffe swearsthatyoushallreceiveMonsieurCrevel’swifeandgotoherhouse,”saidshe.

“Never!”saidVictorin.

“Never!”saidCelestine.

“Never!”saidHortense.

LisbethwaspossessedbythewishtocrushthehaughtyattitudeassumedbyalltheHulots.

“Sheseemstohavearmsthatshecanturnagainstyou,”shereplied.“Idonotknowallaboutit,butIshallfindout.ShespokevaguelyofsomehistoryoftwohundredthousandfrancsinwhichAdelineisimplicated.”

TheBaronessfellgentlybackwardonthesofashewassittingoninafitofhystericalsobbing.

“Go there, go,my children!” she cried. “Receive the woman!MonsieurCrevelisaninfamouswretch.Hedeservestheworstpunishmentimaginable.—Doasthewomandesiresyou!Sheisamonster—sheknowsall!”

After gasping out these words with tears and sobs, Madame Hulotcollected her strength to go to her room, leaning on her daughter andCelestine.

“Whatisthemeaningofallthis?”criedLisbeth,leftalonewithVictorin.

Thelawyerstoodrigid,inverynaturaldismay,anddidnothearher.

“Whatisthematter,mydearVictorin?”

“Iamhorrified!” saidhe, andhis face scowleddarkly. “Woe toanybodywhohurtsmymother!Ihavenoscruplesthen.Iwouldcrushthatwomanlikea viper if I could!—What, does she attack my mother’s life, my mother’shonor?”

“Shesaid,butdonotrepeatit,mydearVictorin—shesaidyoushouldallfall lower even than your father. And she scolded Crevel roundly for nothaving shut your mouths with this secret that seems to be such a terror toAdeline.”

Adoctorwassentfor,fortheBaronesswasevidentlyworse.Hegaveheradraughtcontaininga largedoseofopium,andAdeline,havingswallowedit,fellintoadeepsleep;butthewholefamilyweregreatlyalarmed.

EarlynextmorningVictorinwentout,andonhiswaytotheCourtscalledat the Prefecture of the Police, where he begged Vautrin, the head of thedetectivedepartment,tosendhimMadamedeSaint-Esteve.

“We are forbidden,monsieur, tomeddle in your affairs; butMadame deSaint-Esteveisinbusiness,andwillattendtoyourorders,”repliedthisfamouspoliceofficer.

Onhisreturnhome,theunhappylawyerwastoldthathismother’sreasonwas in danger.DoctorBianchon,Doctor Larabit, and ProfessorAngard hadmetinconsultation,andwerepreparedtoapplyheroicremediestohindertherush of blood to the head. At the moment when Victorin was listening toDoctorBianchon,whowasgivinghim,atsomelength,hisreasonsforhopingthat the crisis might be got over, the man-servant announced that a client,

MadamedeSaint-Esteve,waswaitingtoseehim.VictorinleftBianchoninthemiddleofasentenceandflewdownstairslikeamadman.

“Is thereanyhereditarylunacyinthefamily?”saidBianchon,addressingLarabit.

Thedoctorsdeparted, leavingahospitalattendant, instructedby them, towatchMadameHulot.

“A whole life of virtue!——” was the only sentence the sufferer hadspokensincetheattack.

Lisbethnever leftAdeline’s bedside; she sat up all night, andwasmuchadmiredbythetwoyoungerwomen.

“Well, my dear Madame de Saint-Esteve,” said Victorin, showing thedreadfuloldwomanintohisstudyandcarefullyshuttingthedoors,“howarewegettingon?”

“Ah,ha!mydearfriend,”saidshe,lookingatVictorinwithcoldirony.“Soyouhavethoughtthingsover?”

“Haveyoudoneanything?”

“Willyoupayfiftythousandfrancs?”

“Yes,” repliedVictorin, “forwemust get on.Do you know that by onesinglephrasethatwomanhasendangeredmymother’slifeandreason?So,Isay,geton.”

“Wehavegoton!”repliedtheoldwoman.

“Well?”criedVictorin,withagulp.

“Well,youdonotcryofftheexpenses?”

“Onthecontrary.”

“Theyrunuptotwenty-threethousandfrancsalready.”

Victorinlookedhelplesslyatthewoman.

“Well,couldwehoodwinkyou,you,oneoftheshininglightsofthelaw?”saidshe.“Forthatsumwehavesecuredamaid’sconscienceandapicturebyRaphael.—Itisnotdear.”

Hulot,stillbewildered,satwithwideopeneyes.

“Well, then,” his visitor went on, “we have purchased the honesty ofMademoiselleReineTousard,adamselfromwhomMadameMarneffehasnosecrets—”

“Iunderstand!”

“Butifyoushy,sayso.”

“Iwillplayblindfold,”hereplied.“Mymotherhastoldmethatthatcoupledeservetheworsttorments—”

“Therackisoutofdate,”saidtheoldwoman.

“Youanswerfortheresult?”

“Leaveitalltome,”saidthewoman;“yourvengeanceissimmering.”

Shelookedattheclock;itwassix.

“Youravenger isdressing; thefiresare lightedat theRocherdeCancale;thehorsesarepawingtheground;myironsaregettinghot.—Oh,IknowyourMadameMarneffebyheart!—Everythingisready.Andtherearesomebolusesintherat-trap;Iwill tellyouto-morrowmorningif themouseispoisoned.Ibelieveshewillbe;goodevening,myson.”

“Good-bye,madame.”

“DoyouknowEnglish?”

“Yes.”

“Well,myson,thoushaltbeKing.Thatistosay,youshallcomeintoyourinheritance,” said thedreadful oldwitch, foreseenbyShakespeare, andwhoseemedtoknowherShakespeare.

SheleftHulotamazedatthedoorofhisstudy.

“The consultation is for to-morrow!” said she,with thegracious air of aregularclient.

Shesawtwopersonscoming,andwishedtopassintheireyesapinchbeckcountess.

“Whatimpudence!”thoughtHulot,bowingtohispretendedclient.

Baron Montes de Montejanos was a lion, but a lion not accounted for.Fashionable Paris, Paris of the turf and of the town, admired the ineffablewaistcoats of this foreign gentleman, his spotless patent-leather boots, hisincomparable sticks, his much-coveted horses, and the negro servants whorodethehorsesandwhowereentirelyslavesandmostconsumedlythrashed.

Hisfortunewaswellknown;hehadacreditaccountuptosevenhundredthousand francs in the great banking house of du Tillet; but hewas alwaysseenalone.Whenhewentto“firstnights,”hewasinastall.Hefrequentednodrawing-rooms.Hehadnevergivenhisarmtoagirlonthestreets.Hisnamewouldnotbecoupledwiththatofanyprettywomanoftheworld.TopasshistimeheplayedwhistattheJockey-Club.Theworldwasreducedtocalumny,

or,which it thought funnier, to laughing at his peculiarities; hewent by thenameofCombabus.

Bixiou,LeondeLora,Lousteau,Florine,MademoiselleHeloiseBrisetout,andNathan, supping one eveningwith the notorious Carabine,with a largeparty of lions and lionesses, had invented this name with an excessivelyburlesqueexplanation.Massol,asbeingon theCouncilofState,andClaudeVignon,erewhileProfessorofGreek,hadrelatedtotheignorantdamselsthefamous anecdote, preserved in Rollin’s Ancient History, concerningCombabus,thatvoluntaryAbelardwhowasplacedinchargeofthewifeofaKing of Assyria, Persia, Bactria, Mesopotamia, and other geographicaldivisions peculiar to old Professor du Bocage, who continued the work ofd’Anville, the creator of the East of antiquity. This nickname, which gaveCarabine’s guests laughter for a quarter of an hour, gave rise to a series ofover-freejests,towhichtheAcademycouldnotawardtheMontyonprize;butamongwhichthenamewastakenup,torestthenceforthonthecurlymaneofthehandsomeBaron,calledbyJosephathesplendidBrazilian—asonemightsayasplendidCatoxantha.

Carabine,theloveliestofhertribe,whosedelicatebeautyandamusingwithadsnatchedthesceptreoftheThirteenthArrondissementfromthehandsofMademoiselleTurquet,betterknownbythenameofMalaga—MademoiselleSeraphine Sinet (this was her real name) was to du Tillet the banker whatJosephaMirahwastotheDucd’Herouville.

Now,onthemorningoftheverydaywhenMadamedeSaint-Estevehadprophesiedsuccess toVictorin,CarabinehadsaidtoduTilletataboutseveno’clock:

“Ifyouwant tobeverynice,youwillgivemeadinnerat theRocherdeCancaleandbringCombabus.Wewanttoknow,onceforall,whetherhehasamistress.—Ibetthathehas,andIshouldliketowin.”

“HeisstillattheHoteldesPrinces;Iwillcall,”repliedduTillet.“Wewillhavesomefun.Askall theyoungsters—theyoungsterBixiou, theyoungsterLora,inshort,alltheclan.”

Athalf-pastseventhatevening,inthehandsomestroomoftherestaurantwhere all Europe has dined, a splendid silver service was spread, made onpurposeforentertainmentswherevanitypaysthebillinbank-notes.Afloodoflightfellinripplesonthechasedrims;waiters,whomaprovincialmighthavetaken for diplomatists but for their age, stood solemnly, as knowingthemselvestobeoverpaid.

Fiveguestshadarrived,andwerewaitingforninemore.Thesewerefirstand foremost Bixiou, still flourishing in 1843, the salt of every intellectual

dish,alwayssuppliedwithfreshwit—aphenomenonasrareinParisasvirtueis;LeondeLora,thegreatestlivingpainteroflandscapeandtheseawhohasthisgreatadvantageoverallhisrivals,thathehasneverfallenbelowhisfirstsuccesses.Thecourtesanscouldneverdispensewiththesetwokingsofreadywit.Nosupper,nodinner,waspossiblewithoutthem.

SeraphineSinet,diteCarabine,asthemistressentitreoftheAmphitryon,was one of the first to arrive; and the brilliant lighting showed off hershoulders, unrivaled in Paris, her throat, as round as if turned in a lathe,withoutacrease,hersaucyface,anddressofsatinbrocadeintwoshadesofblue, trimmed with Honiton lace enough to have fed a whole village for amonth.

PrettyJennyCadine,notactingthatevening,cameinadressofincrediblesplendor; her portrait is toowell known to need any description.A party isalwaysaLongchampsofeveningdressfor theseladies,eachanxioustowintheprizeforhermillionairebythusannouncingtoherrivals:

“ThisisthepriceIamworth!”

A thirdwoman, evidently at the initial stageofher career,gazed, almostshamefaced, at the luxury of her two established and wealthy companions.Simply dressed in white cashmere trimmed with blue, her head had beendressed with real flowers by a coiffeur of the old-fashioned school, whoseawkward hands had unconsciously given the charmof ineptitude to her fairhair. Still unaccustomed to any finery, she showed the timidity—to use ahackneyedphrase—inseparable froma first appearance.Shehad come fromValognes to find in Paris some use for her distracting youthfulness, herinnocencethatmighthavestirredthesensesofadyingman,andherbeauty,worthy to hold its own with any that Normandy has ever supplied to thetheatres of the capital. The lines of that unblemished facewere the ideal ofangelic purity. Her milk-white skin reflected the light like a mirror. Thedelicate pink in her cheeksmight have been laid onwith a brush. ShewascalledCydalise,and,aswillbeseen,shewasanimportantpawninthegameplayedbyMa’ameNourrissontodefeatMadameMarneffe.

“Yourarmisnotamatchforyourname,mychild,”saidJennyCadine,towhomCarabinehadintroducedthismasterpieceofsixteen,havingbroughtherwithher.

And, infact,Cydalisedisplayed topublicadmirationafinepairofarms,smoothandsatiny,butredwithhealthyyoungblood.

“What do you want for her?” said Jenny Cadine, in an undertone toCarabine.

“Afortune.”

“Whatareyougoingtodowithher?”

“Well—MadameCombabus!”

“Andwhatareyoutogetforsuchajob?”

“Guess.”

“Aserviceofplate?”

“Ihavethree.”

“Diamonds?”

“Iamsellingthem.”

“Agreenmonkey?”

“No.ApicturebyRaphael.”

“Whatmaggotisthatinyourbrain?”

“Josephamakesmesickwithherpictures,” saidCarabine.“Iwant somebetterthanhers.”

Du Tillet came with the Brazilian, the hero of the feast; the Ducd’HerouvillefollowedwithJosepha.Thesingerworeaplainvelvetgown,butshe had on a necklace worth a hundred and twenty thousand francs, pearlshardlydistinguishablefromherskinlikewhitecamelliapetals.Shehadstuckonescarletcamelliainherblackhair—apatch—theeffectwasdazzling,andshehadamusedherselfbyputtingelevenrowsofpearlsoneacharm.AssheshookhandswithJennyCadine,theactresssaid,“Lendmeyourmittens!”

Josephaunclasped themonebyone andhanded them to her friendon aplate.

“There’sstyle!”saidCarabine.“Quite theDuchess!Youhaverobbed theocean todress thenymph,Monsieur leDuc,” she added turning to the littleDucd’Herouville.

Theactresstooktwoofthebracelets;sheclaspedtheothertwentyonthesinger’sbeautifularms,whichshekissed.

Lousteau, the literarycadger, laPalferineandMalaga,Massol,Vauvinet,and Theodore Gaillard, a proprietor of one of the most important politicalnewspapers,completedtheparty.TheDucd’Herouville,politetoeverybody,asafinegentlemanknowshowtobe,greetedtheComtedelaPalferinewiththe particular nodwhich,while it does not imply either esteemor intimacy,conveys to all the world, “We are of the same race, the same blood—equals!”—Andthisgreeting,theshibbolethofthearistocracy,wasinventedtobethedespairoftheuppercitizenclass.

CarabineplacedCombabusonher left, and theDucd’Herouville onherright.CydalisewasnexttotheBrazilian,andbeyondherwasBixiou.MalagasatbytheDuke.

Oystersappearedatseveno’clock;ateighttheyweredrinkingicedpunch.Everyoneisfamiliarwiththebilloffareofsuchabanquet.Bynineo’clocktheyweretalkingaspeopletalkafterforty-twobottlesofvariouswines,drunkbyfourteenpersons.Dessertwasonthetable,theodiousdessertofthemonthofApril.Ofalltheparty,theonlyoneaffectedbytheheadyatmospherewasCydalise,whowashummingatune.Noneoftheparty,withtheexceptionofthepoorcountrygirl,hadlosttheirreason;thedrinkersandthewomenweretheexperiencedeliteofthesocietythatsups.Theirwitswerebright,theireyesglistened,butwithno lossof intelligence, though the talkdrifted intosatire,anecdote,andgossip.Conversation,hithertoconfined to the inevitablecircleofracing,horses,hammeringsontheBourse,thedifferentoccupationsofthelionsthemselves,andthescandalsofthetown,showedatendencytobreakupintointimatetete-a-tete,thedialoguesoftwohearts.

And at this stage, at a signal fromCarabine toLeondeLora,Bixiou, laPalferine,andduTillet,lovecameunderdiscussion.

“Adoctoringoodsocietynevertalksofmedicine,truenoblesneverspeakof their ancestors,men of genius do not discuss theirworks,” said Josepha;“whyshouldwetalkbusiness?IfIgottheoperaputoffinordertodinehere,itwasassuredlynottowork.—Soletuschangethesubject,dearchildren.”

“Butwearespeakingofreal love,mybeauty,”saidMalaga,“ofthelovethatmakes aman fling all to the dogs—father,mother,wife, children—andretiretoClichy.”

“Talkaway,then,‘don’tknowyer,’”saidthesinger.

The slang words, borrowed from the Street Arab, and spoken by thesewomen,maybeapoemontheirlips,helpedbytheexpressionoftheeyesandface.

“What,donotIloveyou,Josepha?”saidtheDukeinalowvoice.

“You, perhaps,may loveme truly,” said she in his ear, and she smiled.“ButIdonotloveyouinthewaytheydescribe,withsuchloveasmakestheworlddarkintheabsenceofthemanbeloved.Youaredelightfultome,useful—butnotindispensable;andifyouweretothrowmeoverto-morrow,Icouldhavethreedukesforone.”

“Is true love tobe found inParis?” askedLeondeLora. “Menhavenoteventimetomakeafortune;howcantheygivethemselvesovertotruelove,whichswampsamanaswatermeltssugar?Amanmustbeenormouslyrichto

indulgeinit,forloveannihilateshim—forinstance,likeourBrazilianfriendoverthere.AsIsaidlongago,‘Extremesdefeat—themselves.’Atrueloverislikeaneunuch;womenhaveceasedtoexistforhim.Heismystical;heislikethetrueChristian,ananchoriteofthedesert!—SeeournobleBrazilian.”

EveryoneattablelookedatHenriMontesdeMontejanos,whowasshyatfindingeveryeyecentredonhim.

“Hehasbeenfeedingthereforanhourwithoutdiscovering,anymorethananoxatpasture,thatheissittingnextto—Iwillnotsay,insuchcompany,theloveliest—butthefreshestwomaninallParis.”

“Everythingisfreshhere,eventhefish;itiswhatthehouseisfamousfor,”saidCarabine.

BaronMonteslookedgood-naturedlyatthepainter,andsaid:

“Very good! I drink to your very good health,” and bowing to Leon deLora,heliftedhisglassofportwineanddrankitwithmuchdignity.

“Are you then truly in love?” asked Malaga of her neighbor, thusinterpretinghistoast.

TheBrazilianrefilledhisglass,bowedtoCarabine,anddrankagain.

“To the lady’s health then!” said the courtesan, in such a droll tone thatLora,duTillet,andBixiouburstoutlaughing.

The Brazilian sat like a bronze statue. This impassibility provokedCarabine. She knew perfectly well that Montes was devoted to MadameMarneffe,butshehadnotexpectedthisdoggedfidelity,thisobstinatesilenceofconviction.

Awomanisasoftengaugedbytheattitudeofherloverasamanisjudgedfrom the tone of his mistress. The Baron was proud of his attachment toValerie,andofherstohim;hissmilehad,totheseexperiencedconnoisseurs,atouchof irony;hewasreallygrandto lookupon;winehadnotflushedhim;andhiseyes,withtheirpeculiarlustreasoftarnishedgold,keptthesecretsofhissoul.EvenCarabinesaidtoherself:

“Whatawomanshemustbe!Howshehassealedupthatheart!”

“Heisarock!”saidBixiouinanundertone,imaginingthatthewholethingwas a practical joke, and never suspecting the importance to Carabine ofreducingthisfortress.

While this conversation, apparently so frivolous, was going on atCarabine’sright,thediscussionoflovewascontinuedonherleftbetweentheDucd’Herouville,Lousteau, Josepha, JennyCadine,andMassol.Theywerewonderingwhethersuchrarephenomenaweretheresultofpassion,obstinacy,

oraffection.Josepha,boredtodeathbyitall,triedtochangethesubject.

“Youare talkingofwhatyouknownothingabout. Is thereamanamongyouwhoever lovedawoman—awomanbeneathhim—enough to squanderhisfortuneandhischildren’s,tosacrificehisfutureandblighthispast,toriskgoingtothehulksforrobbingtheGovernment,tokillanuncleandabrother,tolethiseyebesoeffectuallyblindedthathedidnotevenperceivethatitwasdone to hinder his seeing the abyss intowhich, as a crowning jest, he wasbeingdriven?DuTillethasacash-boxunderhisleftbreast;LeondeLorahashis wit; Bixiou would laugh at himself for a fool if he loved any one buthimself;Massolhasaminister’sportfoliointheplaceofaheart;Lousteaucanhavenothingbutviscera,sincehecouldenduretobethrownoverbyMadamede Baudraye; Monsieur le Duc is too rich to prove his love by his ruin;Vauvinetisnotinit—Idonotregardabill-brokerasoneofthehumanrace;andyouhaveneverloved,norI,norJennyCadine,norMalaga.Formypart,IneverbutonceevensawthephenomenonIhavedescribed.Itwas,”andsheturnedtoJennyCadine,“thatpoorBaronHulot,whomIamgoingtoadvertiseforlikealostdog,forIwanttofindhim.”

“Oh,ho!” saidCarabine toherself, and lookingkeenly at Josepha, “thenMadameNourrissonhastwopicturesbyRaphael,sinceJosephaisplayingmyhand!”

“Poorfellow,”saidVauvinet,“hewasagreatman!Magnificent!Andwhatafigure,whatastyle, theairofFrancisI.!Whatavolcano!andhowfullofingeniouswaysofgettingmoney!Hemustbelookingforitnow,whereverheis,andImakenodoubtheextractsitevenfromthewallsbuiltofbonesthatyoumayseeinthesuburbsofParisnearthecitygates—”

“Andall that,” saidBixiou, “for that littleMadameMarneffe!There is aprecioushussyforyou!”

“SheisjustgoingtomarrymyfriendCrevel,”saidduTillet.

“AndsheismadlyinlovewithmyfriendSteinbock,”LeondeLoraputin.

These three phrases were like so many pistol-shots fired point-blank atMontes. He turned white, and the shock was so painful that he rose withdifficulty.

“Youareasetofblackguards!”criedhe.“Youhavenorighttospeakthename of an honestwoman in the same breathwith those fallen creatures—aboveall,nottomakeitamarkforyourslander!”

Hewas interrupted by unanimous bravos and applause.Bixiou,Leon deLora,Vauvinet,duTillet,andMassolsettheexample,andtherewasachorus.

“HurrahfortheEmperor!”saidBixiou.

“Crownhim!crownhim!”criedVauvinet.

“Threegroansforsuchagooddog!HurrahforBrazil!”criedLousteau.

“So,mycopper-coloredBaron,itisourValeriethatyoulove;andyouarenotdisgusted?”saidLeondeLora.

“Hisremarkisnotparliamentary,butitisgrand!”observedMassol.

“But, my most delightful customer,” said du Tillet, “you wererecommendedtome;Iamyourbanker;yourinnocencereflectsonmycredit.”

“Yes,tellme,youareareasonablecreature——”saidtheBraziliantothebanker.

“Thanksonbehalfofthecompany,”saidBixiouwithabow.

“Tellmetherealfacts,”Monteswenton,heedlessofBixiou’sinterjection.

“Well,then,”repliedduTillet,“IhavethehonortotellyouthatIamaskedtotheCrevelwedding.”

“Ah, ha! Combabus holds a brief forMadameMarneffe!” said Josepha,risingsolemnly.

Shewent round toMontes with a tragic look, patted him kindly on thehead, looked at him for a moment with comical admiration, and noddedsagely.

“Hulotwasthefirstinstanceoflovethroughfireandwater,”saidshe;“thisisthesecond.Butitoughtnottocount,asitcomesfromtheTropics.”

Monteshaddroppedintohischairagain,whenJosephagentlytouchedhisforehead,andlookedatduTilletashesaid:

“IfIamthevictimofaParisjest, ifyouonlywantedtogetatmysecret——”andhesentaflashinglookroundthetable,embracingalltheguestsinaflamingglancethatblazedwiththesunofBrazil,—“Ibegofyouasafavortotellme so,” hewent on, in a tone of almost childlike entreaty; “but do notvilifythewomanIlove.”

“Nay,indeed,”saidCarabineinalowvoice;“butif,onthecontrary,youareshamefullybetrayed,cheated,trickedbyValerie,ifIshouldgiveyoutheproofinanhour,inmyownhouse,whatthen?”

“IcannottellyoubeforealltheseIagos,”saidtheBrazilian.

Carabineunderstoodhimtosaymagots(baboons).

“Well,well,saynomore!”shereplied,smiling.“Donotmakeyourselfalaughing-stockforallthewittiestmeninParis;cometomyhouse,wewilltalkitover.”

Monteswascrushed.“Proofs,”hestammered,“consider—”

“Onlytoomany,”repliedCarabine;“andifthemeresuspicionhitsyousohard,Ifearforyourreason.”

“Is thiscreatureobstinate, Iaskyou?He isworse than the late lamentedKingofHolland!—Isay,Lousteau,Bixiou,Massol, all thecrewofyou, areyounotinvitedtobreakfastwithMadameMarneffethedayafterto-morrow?”saidLeondeLora.

“Ya,”saidduTillet;“Ihavethehonorofassuringyou,Baron,thatifyouhadbyanychancethoughtofmarryingMadameMarneffe,youarethrownoutlikeabill inParliament,beatenbyablackballcalledCrevel.Myfriend,myoldcomradeCrevel,haseightythousandfrancsayear;andyou,Isuppose,didnotshowsuchagoodhand,forifyouhad,you,Iimagine,wouldhavebeenpreferred.”

Montes listenedwithahalf-absent,half-smilingexpression,whichstruckthemallwithterror.

Atthismomentthehead-waitercametowhispertoCarabinethatalady,arelationofhers,wasinthedrawing-roomandwishedtospeaktoher.

Carabine rose andwent out to findMadameNourrisson, decently veiledwithblacklace.

“Well,child,amItogotoyourhouse?Hashetakenthehook?”

“Yes,mother;andthepistolissofullyloaded,thatmyonlyfearisthatitwillburst,”saidCarabine.

About an hour later,Montes,Cydalise, andCarabine, returning from theRocher de Cancale, entered Carabine’s little sitting-room in the Rue Saint-Georges.MadameNourrissonwassittinginanarmchairbythefire.

“Hereismyworthyoldaunt,”saidCarabine.

“Yes,child,Icameinpersontofetchmylittleallowance.Youwouldhaveforgottenme, thoughyou arekind-hearted, and I have somebills to pay to-morrow.Buyingandsellingclothes,Iamalwaysshortofcash.Whoisthisatyourheels?Thegentlemanlooksverymuchputoutaboutsomething.”

ThedreadfulMadameNourrisson,atthismomentsocompletelydisguisedas to look likea respectableoldbody, rose toembraceCarabine,oneof thehundredandoddcourtesansshehadlaunchedontheirhorriblecareerofvice.

“He is anOthellowho is not to be taken in,whom I have the honor ofintroducingtoyou—MonsieurleBaronMontesdeMontejanos.”

“Oh! I have heard him talked about, and know his name.—You are

nicknamedCombabus,becauseyoulovebutonewoman,andinParis,thatisthe same as loving no one at all. And is it by chance the object of youraffectionswhoisfrettingyou?MadameMarneffe,Crevel’swoman?Itellyouwhat,mydearsir,youmayblessyourstarsinsteadofcursingthem.Sheisagood-for-nothingbaggage,isthatlittlewoman.Iknowhertricks!”

“Get along,” said Carabine, into whose hand Madame Nourrisson hadslippedanotewhileembracingher,“youdonotknowyourBrazilians.Theyarewrong-headedcreaturesthatinsistonbeingimpaledthroughtheheart.Themore jealous they are, themore jealous theywant to be.Monsieur talks ofdealing death all round, but he will kill nobody because he is in love.—However,Ihavebroughthimheretogivehimtheproofsofhisdiscomfiture,whichIhavegotfromthatlittleSteinbock.”

Montes was drunk; he listened as if the women were talking aboutsomebodyelse.

Carabinewenttotakeoffhervelvetwrap,andreadafacsimileofanote,asfollows:—

“DEAR PUSS.—He dines with Popinot this evening, and will come tofetchmefromtheOperaateleven. Ishallgooutatabouthalf-past fiveandcount on finding you at our paradise. Order dinner to be sent in from theMaisond’or.Dress, soas tobeable to takeme to theOpera.Weshallhavefourhours toourselves.Return thisnote tome;not thatyourValeriedoubtsyou—Iwouldgiveyoumylife,myfortune,andmyhonor,butIamafraidofthetricksofchance.”

“Here,Baron, this is thenotesent toCountSteinbockthismorning; readtheaddress.Theoriginaldocumentisburnt.”

Montes turned the note over and over, recognized the writing, and wasstruck by a rational idea,which is sufficient evidence of the disorder of hisbrain.

“And, pray,” said he, looking at Carabine, “what object have you intorturing my heart, for you must have paid very dear for the privilege ofhavingthenoteinyourpossessionlongenoughtogetitlithographed?”

“Foolishman!”saidCarabine,atanodfromMadameNourrisson,“don’tyousee thatpoorchildCydalise—agirlofsixteen,whohasbeenpiningforyouthesethreemonths,tillshehaslostherappetiteforfoodordrink,andwhoisheart-brokenbecauseyouhaveneverevenglancedather?”

Cydaliseputherhandkerchief tohereyeswithanappearanceofemotion—“Sheisfurious,”Carabinewenton,“thoughshelooksasifbutterwouldnotmelt in hermouth, furious to see theman she adores duped by a villainous

hussy;shewouldkillValerie—”

“Oh,asforthat,”saidtheBrazilian,“thatismybusiness!”

“What,killing?”saidoldNourrisson.“No,myson,wedon’tdothatherenowadays.”

“Oh!” saidMontes, “I amnot a native of this country. I live in a parishwhereIcanlaughatyourlaws;andifyougivemeproof—”

“Well,thatnote.Isthatnothing?”

“No,” said theBrazilian. “I do not believe in thewriting. Imust see formyself.”

“See!” cried Carabine, taking the hint at once from a gesture of hersupposed aunt. “You shall see,my dear Tiger, all youwish to see—on onecondition.”

“Andthatis?”

“LookatCydalise.”

At a wink fromMadameNourrisson, Cydalise cast a tender look at theBaron.

“Willyoubegoodtoher?Willyoumakeherahome?”askedCarabine.“Agirl of such beauty is well worth a house and a carriage! It would be amonstrousshametoleavehertowalkthestreets.Andbesides—sheisindebt.—Howmuchdoyouowe?”askedCarabine,nippingCydalise’sarm.

“Sheisworthallshecanget,”saidtheoldwoman.“Thepointisthatshecanfindabuyer.”

“Listen!” cried Montes, fully aware at last of this masterpiece ofwomankind“youwillshowmeValerie—”

“AndCountSteinbock.—Certainly!”saidMadameNourrisson.

ForthepasttenminutestheoldwomanhadbeenwatchingtheBrazilian;shesawthathewasaninstrumenttuneduptothemurderouspitchsheneeded;and,aboveall,soeffectuallyblinded, thathewouldneverheedwhohadledhimontoit,andshespoke:—

“Cydalise, my Brazilian jewel, is my niece, so her concerns are partlymine.All thiscatastrophewillbe theworkofa fewminutes, fora friendofmine lets the furnished room to Count Steinbock where Valerie is at thismomenttakingcoffee—aqueersortofcoffee,butshecallsithercoffee.Soletusunderstandeachother,Brazil!—IlikeBrazil,itisahotcountry.—Whatistobecomeofmyniece?”

“You old ostrich,” said Montes, the plumes in the woman’s bonnetcatchinghiseye,“youinterruptedme.—Ifyoushowme—ifIseeValerieandthatartisttogether—”

“Asyouwouldwishtobe—”saidCarabine;“thatisunderstood.”

“ThenIwilltakethisgirlandcarryheraway—”

“Where?”askedCarabine.

“ToBrazil,”repliedtheBaron.“Iwillmakehermywife.Myuncleleftmeten leagues square of entailed estate; that is how I still have that house andhome. I have a hundred negroes—nothing but negroes and negresses andnegrobrats,allboughtbymyuncle—”

“Nephewtoanigger-driver,”saidCarabine,withagrimace.“Thatneedssomeconsideration.—Cydalise,child,areyoufondoftheblacks?”

“Pooh!Carabine,nononsense,”said theoldwoman.“Thedeuce is in it!MonsieurandIaredoingbusiness.”

“If I take up another Frenchwoman, Imean to have her tomyself,” theBrazilian went on. “I warn you, mademoiselle, I am king there, and not aconstitutionalking.IamCzar;mysubjectsareminebypurchase,andnoonecan escape frommykingdom,which is a hundred leagues fromany humansettlement,hemmedinbysavagesontheinterior,anddividedfromtheseabyawildernessaswideasFrance.”

“Ishouldpreferagarrethere.”

“SothoughtI,”saidMontes,“sinceIsoldallmylandandpossessionsatRiotocomebacktoMadameMarneffe.”

“Aman does not make such a voyage for nothing,” remarkedMadameNourrisson.“Youhavearighttolookforloveforyourownsake,particularlybeingsogood-looking.—Oh,heisveryhandsome!”saidshetoCarabine.

“Very handsome, handsomer than the Postillon de Longjumeau,” repliedthecourtesan.

Cydalise took the Brazilian’s hand, but he released it as politely as hecould.

“IcamebackforMadameMarneffe,”themanwentonwherehehadleftoff,“butyoudonotknowwhyIwasthreeyearsthinkingaboutit.”

“No,savage!”saidCarabine.

“Well,shehadsorepeatedlytoldmethatshelongedtolivewithmealoneinadesert—”

“Oh, ho! he is not a savage after all,” cried Carabine, with a shout oflaughter.“Heisofthehighly-civilizedtribeofFlats!”

“She had told me this so often,” Montes went on, regardless of thecourtesan’smockery,“that Ihada lovelyhouse fittedup in theheartof thatvastestate.IcamebacktoFrancetofetchValerie,andthefirsteveningIsawher—”

“Sawherisveryproper!”saidCarabine.“Iwillrememberit.”

“She toldme towait till thatwretchedMarneffewasdead;and Iagreed,andforgaveherforhavingadmittedtheattentionsofHulot.WhetherthedevilhadherinhandIdon’tknow,butfromthatinstantthatwomanhashumoredmyeverywhim,compliedwithallmydemands—neverforonemomenthasshegivenmecausetosuspecther!—”

“That is supremely clever!” said Carabine to Madame Nourrisson, whonoddedinsignofassent.

“Myfaithinthatwoman,”saidMontes,andheshedatear,“wasamatchformylove.Justnow,Iwasreadytofighteverybodyattable—”

“SoIsaw,”saidCarabine.

“AndifIamcheated,ifsheisgoingtobemarried,ifsheisatthismomentinSteinbock’sarms,shedeservesathousanddeaths!IwillkillherasIwouldsmashafly—”

“Andhowaboutthegendarmes,myson?”saidMadameNourrisson,withasmilethatmadeyourfleshcreep.

“And the police agents, and the judges, and the assizes, and all the set-out?”addedCarabine.

“Youarebragging,mydear fellow,”said theoldwoman,whowanted toknowalltheBrazilian’sschemesofvengeance.

“Iwill kill her,” he calmly repeated. “You calledme a savage.—DoyouimaginethatIamfoolenoughtogo,likeaFrenchman,andbuypoisonatthechemist’sshop?—Duringthetimewhileweweredrivingher,Ithoughtoutmymeansofrevenge,ifyoushouldprovetoberightasconcernsValerie.Oneofmynegroeshas themost deadlyof animalpoisons, and incurable anywherebutinBrazil.IwilladministerittoCydalise,whowillgiveittome;thenbythetimewhendeathisacertaintytoCrevelandhiswife,IshallbebeyondtheAzoreswithyourcousin,whowillbecured,andIwillmarryher.Wehaveourownlittletricks,wesavages!—Cydalise,”saidhe,lookingatthecountrygirl,“istheanimalIneed.—Howmuchdoessheowe?”

“Ahundredthousandfrancs,”saidCydalise.

“She says little—but to the purpose,” said Carabine, in a low tone toMadameNourrisson.

“Iamgoingmad!”criedtheBrazilian,inahuskyvoice,droppingontoasofa.“Ishalldieofthis!ButImustsee,foritisimpossible!—Alithographednote!Whatistoassuremethatitisnotaforgery?—BaronHulotwasinlovewithValerie?”saidhe, recallingJosepha’sharangue.“Nay; theproof thathedidnot love is thatshe isstillalive—Iwillnot leaveher livingforanybodyelse,ifsheisnotwhollymine.”

Montes was terrible to behold. He bellowed, he stormed; he brokeeverythinghetouched;rosewoodwasasbrittleasglass.

“Howhedestroysthings!”saidCarabine,lookingattheoldwoman.“Mygoodboy,”saidshe,givingtheBrazilianalittleslap,“RolandtheFuriousisveryfineinapoem;butinadrawing-roomheisprosaicandexpensive.”

“My son,” said oldNourrisson, rising to stand in front of the crestfallenBaron, “I amof yourway of thinking.When you love in thatway, and arejoined‘tilldeathdoesyoupart,’lifemustanswerforlove.Theonewhofirstgoes,carrieseverythingaway;itisageneralwreck.Youcommandmyesteem,myadmiration,myconsent,especiallyforyourinoculation,whichwillmakemeaFriendoftheNegro.—Butyouloveher!Youwillharkback?”

“I?—Ifsheissoinfamous,I—”

“Well, come now, you are talking too much, it strikes me. A man whomeanstobeavenged,andwhosayshehasthewaysandmeansofasavage,doesn’t do that.—Ifyouwant to seeyour ‘object’ inherparadise, youmusttakeCydaliseandwalkstraightinwithheronyourarm,asiftheservanthadmadeamistake.Butnoscandal!Ifyoumeantoberevenged,youmusteattheleek, seem tobe indespair,andallowher tobullyyou.—Doyousee?”saidMadame Nourrisson, finding the Brazilian quite amazed by so subtle ascheme.

“Allright,oldostrich,”hereplied.“Comealong:Iunderstand.”

“Good-bye,littleone!”saidtheoldwomantoCarabine.

ShesignedtoCydalisetogoonwithMontes,andremainedaminutewithCarabine.

“Now, child, I have but one fear, and that is that hewill strangle her! Ishouldbe inavery tightplace;wemustdoeverythinggently. IbelieveyouhavewonyourpicturebyRaphael;buttheytellmeitisonlyaMignard.Nevermind,itismuchprettier;alltheRaphaelsaregoneblack,Iamtold,whereasthisoneisasbrightasaGirodet.”

“AllIwantistocrowoverJosepha;anditisallthesametomewhetherI

haveaMignardoraRaphael!—Thatthiefhadonsuchpearlsthisevening!—youwouldsellyoursoulforthem.”

Cydalise,Montes,andMadameNourrissongotintoahackneycoachthatwas waiting at the door. Madame Nourrisson whispered to the driver theaddressofahouseinthesameblockastheItalianOperaHouse,whichtheycould have reached in five or sixminutes from the Rue Saint-Georges; butMadameNourrissondesiredthemantodrivealongtheRuelePeletier,andtogoveryslowly,soastobeabletoexaminethecarriagesinwaiting.

“Brazilian,” said theoldwoman, “lookout for your angel’s carriage andservants.”

TheBaronpointedoutValerie’scarriageastheypassedit.

“Shehastoldthemtocomeforheratteno’clock,andsheisgoneinacabtothehousewhereshevisitsCountSteinbock.Shehasdinedthere,andwillcome to the Opera in half an hour.—It is well contrived!” said MadameNourrisson.“Thusyouseehowshehaskeptyousolonginthedark.”

TheBrazilianmadenoreply.Hehadbecomethetiger,andhadrecoveredtheimperturbablecoolferocitythathadbeensostrikingatdinner.Hewasascalmasabankruptthedayafterhehasstoppedpayment.

At the door of the house stood a hackney coachwith two horses, of thekindknownasaCompagnieGenerale,fromtheCompanythatrunsthem.

“Stayhereinthebox,”saidtheoldwomantoMontes.“Thisisnotanopenhouselikeatavern.Iwillsendforyou.”

TheparadiseofMadameMarneffeandWenceslaswasnotatall likethatof Crevel—who, finding it useless now, had just sold his to the ComteMaximedeTrailles.Thisparadise, theparadiseofallcomers,consistedofaroomonthefourthflooropeningtothelanding,inahouseclosetotheItalianOpera. On each floor of this house there was a roomwhich had originallyserved as the kitchen to the apartments on that floor. But the house havingbecomeasortofinn,letoutforclandestineloveaffairsatanexorbitantprice,the owner, the real Madame Nourrisson, an old-clothes buyer in the RueNueveSaint-Marc, hadwisely appreciated thegreat valueof thesekitchens,andhad turned them intoa sortofdining-rooms.Eachof these rooms,builtbetweenthickparty-wallsandwithwindowstothestreet,wasentirelyshutinby very thick double doors on the landing.Thus themost important secretscouldbediscussedoveradinner,withnoriskofbeingoverheard.Forgreatersecurity, the windows had shutters inside and out. These rooms, inconsequenceof thispeculiarity,were let for twelvehundred francsamonth.Thewholehouse,fullofsuchparadisesandmysterieswasrentedbyMadameNourrisson the First for twenty-eight thousand francs of clear profit, after

paying her housekeeper, Madame Nourrisson the Second, for she did notmanageitherself.

Theparadiselet toCountSteinbockhadbeenhungwithchintz; thecold,hard floor, of common tiles reddenedwith encaustic,wasnot felt through asoftthickcarpet.Thefurnitureconsistedoftwoprettychairsandabedinanalcove,justnowhalfhiddenbyatableloadedwiththeremainsofanelegantdinner,while twobottleswithlongnecksandanemptychampagne-bottle inicestrewedthefieldofbacchuscultivatedbyVenus.

Therewerealso—theproperty,nodoubt,ofValerie—aloweasy-chairandaman’s smoking-chair, andapretty toiletchestofdrawers in rosewood, themirrorhandsomelyframedalaPompadour.Alamphangingfromtheceilinggave a subdued light, increased by wax candles on the table and on thechimney-shelf.

Thissketchwillsufficetogiveanidea,urbietorbi,ofclandestinepassionin the squalid style stamped on it in Paris in 1840.How far, alas! from theadulterouslove,symbolizedbyVulcan’snets,threethousandyearsago.

WhenMontesandCydalisecameupstairs,Valerie,standingbeforethefire,wherealogwasblazing,wasallowingWenceslastolaceherstays.

This isamomentwhenawomanwho isneither toofatnor too thin,butlikeValerie,elegantandslender,displaysdivinebeauty.Therosyskin,mostlysoft, invites thesleepiesteye.The linesofherfigure,so littlehidden,aresocharmingly outlined by the white pleats of the shift and the support of thestays,thatsheisirresistible—likeeverythingthatmustbepartedfrom.

Withahappyfacesmilingattheglass,afootimpatientlymarkingtime,ahandputuptorestoreorderamongthetumbledcurls,andeyesexpressiveofgratitude;with theglowofsatisfactionwhich, likeasunset,warms the leastdetails of the countenance—everything makes such a moment a mine ofmemories.

Anymanwhodareslookbackontheearlyerrorsofhislifemay,perhaps,recallsomesuchreminiscences,andunderstand,thoughnotexcuse,thefolliesof Hulot and Crevel. Women are so well aware of their power at such amoment,thattheyfindinitwhatmaybecalledtheaftermathofthemeeting.

“Come,come;aftertwoyears’practice,youdonotyetknowhowtolaceawoman’s stays! You are too much a Pole!—There, it is ten o’clock, myWenceslas!”saidValerie,laughingathim.

Atthisverymoment,amischievouswaiting-woman,byinsertingaknife,pushed up the hook of the double doors that formed the whole security ofAdam andEve. She hastily pulled the door open—for the servants of these

denshavelittletimetowaste—anddiscoveredoneofthebewitchingtableauxdegenrewhichGavarnihassooftenshownattheSalon.

“In here, madame,” said the girl; and Cydalise went in, followed byMontes.

“Butthereissomeonehere.—Excuseme,madame,”saidthecountrygirl,inalarm.

“What?—Why!itisValerie!”criedMontes,violentlyslammingthedoor.

Madame Marneffe, too genuinely agitated to dissemble her feelings,dropped on to the chair by the fireplace. Two tears rose to her eyes, and atoncedriedaway.ShelookedatMontes,sawthegirl,andburstintoacackleofforcedlaughter.Thedignityoftheinsultedwomanredeemedthescantinessofherattire;shewalkedcloseuptotheBrazilian,andlookedathimsodefiantlythathereyesglitteredlikeknives.

“So that,”saidshe,standingface to facewith theBaron,andpointing toCydalise—“that is the other side of your fidelity?You,who havemademepromisesthatmightconvertadisbelieverinlove!You,forwhomIhavedonesomuch—haveevencommittedcrimes!—Youareright,monsieur,Iamnottocomparewithachildofherageandofsuchbeauty!

“Iknowwhatyouaregoing to say,” shewenton, lookingatWenceslas,whose undress was proof too clear to be denied. “This is my concern. If Icouldloveyouaftersuchgrosstreachery—foryouhavespieduponme,youhavepaidforeverystepupthesestairs,paidthemistressofthehouse,andtheservant, perhaps even Reine—a noble deed!—If I had any remnant ofaffectionforsuchameanwretch,Icouldgivehimreasonsthatwouldrenewhispassion!—But I leaveyou,monsieur, toyourdoubts,whichwillbecomeremorse.—Wenceslas,mygown!”

Shetookherdressandputiton,lookedatherselfintheglass,andfinisheddressingwithoutheedingtheBaron,ascalmlyasifshehadbeenaloneintheroom.

“Wenceslas,areyouready?—Gofirst.”

ShehadbeenwatchingMontes in theglass andout of the corner of hereye, and fancied she could see in his pallor an indication of the weaknesswhichdeliversastrongmanovertoawoman’sfascinations;shenowtookhishand, going so close to him that he could not help inhaling the terribleperfumes which men love, and by which they intoxicate themselves; then,feelinghispulsesbeathigh,shelookedathimreproachfully.

“You have my full permission to go and tell your history to MonsieurCrevel;hewillneverbelieveyou.Ihaveaperfectrighttomarryhim,andhe

becomesmyhusbandthedayafterto-morrow.—Ishallmakehimveryhappy.—Good-bye;trytoforgetme.”

“Oh! Valerie,” cried Henri Montes, clasping her in his arms, “that isimpossible!—CometoBrazil!”

Valerielookedinhisface,andsawhimherslave.

“Well,ifyoustillloveme,Henri,twoyearshenceIwillbeyourwife;butyourexpressionatthismomentstrikesmeasverysuspicious.”

“Isweartoyouthattheymademedrink,thatfalsefriendsthrewthisgirlonmyhands,andthatthewholethingistheoutcomeofchance!”saidMontes.

“ThenIamtoforgiveyou?”sheasked,withasmile.

“But you will marry, all the same?” asked the Baron, in an agony ofjealousy.

“Eightythousandfrancsayear!”saidshe,withalmostcomicalenthusiasm.“AndCrevellovesmesomuchthathewilldieofit!”

“Ah!Iunderstand,”saidMontes.

“Well,then,inafewdayswewillcometoanunderstanding,”saidshe.

Andshedepartedtriumphant.

“I have no scruples,” thought the Baron, standing transfixed for a fewminutes.“What!Thatwomanbelievesshecanmakeuseofhispassiontobequit of that dolt, as she counted on Marneffe’s decease!—I shall be theinstrumentofdivinewrath.”

Two days later those of duTillet’s guestswho had demolishedMadameMarneffetoothandnail,wereseatedroundhertableanhouraftershehasshedherskinandchangedhernamefortheillustriousnameofaParismayor.ThisverbaltreasonisoneofthecommonestformsofParisianlevity.

Valeriehadhad thesatisfactionofseeing theBrazilian in thechurch; forCrevel,nowsoentirelythehusband,hadinvitedhimoutofbravado.AndtheBaron’spresenceatthebreakfastastonishednoone.Allthesemenofwitandoftheworldwerefamiliarwiththemeannessofpassion,thecompromisesofpleasure.

Steinbock’sdeepmelancholy—forhewasbeginningtodespisethewomanwhomhehadadoredasanangel—wasconsideredtobeinexcellenttaste.ThePole thus seemed to convey that all was at an end between Valerie andhimself. Lisbeth came to embrace her dearMadame Crevel, and to excuseherself fornotstayingto thebreakfaston thescoreofAdeline’ssadstateofhealth.

“Bequiteeasy,” saidshe toValerie,“theywillcallonyou,andyouwillcall on them. Simply hearing the words two hundred thousand francs hasbroughttheBaronesstodeath’sdoor.Oh,youhavethemallhardandfastbythattale!—Butyoumusttellittome.”

Within a month of her marriage, Valerie was at her tenth quarrel withSteinbock;he insistedonexplanationsas toHenriMontes, remindingherofthewords spoken in theirparadise; and,not contentwith speaking toher interms of scorn, he watched her so closely that she never had amoment ofliberty, somuch was she fettered by his jealousy on one side and Crevel’sdevotionontheother.

BereftnowofLisbeth,whoseadvicehadalwaysbeensovaluablesheflewintosucharageastoreproachWenceslasforthemoneyshehadlenthim.ThissoeffectuallyrousedSteinbock’spride,thathecamenomoretotheCrevels’house.SoValeriehadgainedherpoint,whichwastoberidofhimforatime,andenjoysomefreedom.ShewaitedtillCrevelshouldmakea little journeyinto the country to see Comte Popinot, with a view to arranging for herintroduction to theCountess, andwas then able tomake an appointment tomeettheBaron,whomshewantedtohaveathercommandforawholedaytogivehimthose“reasons”whichweretomakehimlovehermorethanever.

On themorning of that day,Reine,who estimated themagnitude of hercrimeby thatof thebribe she received, tried towarnhermistress, inwhomshe naturally took more interest than in strangers. Still, as she had beenthreatened withmadness, and ending her days in the Salpetriere in case ofindiscretion,shewascautious.

“Madame, you are sowell off now,” said she. “Why take on againwiththatBrazilian?—Idonottrusthimatall.”

“Youareveryright,Reine,andImeantoberidofhim.”

“Oh,madame,Iamgladtohearit;hefrightensme,doesthatbigMoor!Ibelievehimtobecapableofanything.”

“Silly child!youhavemore reason tobeafraid forhimwhenhe iswithme.”

AtthismomentLisbethcamein.

“MydearlittlepetNanny,whatanagesincewemet!”criedValerie.“Iamsounhappy!Crevelboresmetodeath;andWenceslasisgone—wequarreled.”

“Iknow,”saidLisbeth,“andthatiswhatbringsmehere.Victorinmethimat about five in the afternoon going into an eating-house at five-and-twentysous,andhebroughthimhome,hungry,byworkingonhisfeelings,totheRueLouis-le-Grand.—Hortense,seeingWenceslasleanandillandbadlydressed,

heldoutherhand.Thisishowyouthrowmeover—”

“MonsieurHenri,madame,”theman-servantannouncedinalowvoicetoValerie.

“Leavemenow,Lisbeth; Iwillexplain itall to-morrow.”But,aswillbeseen,Valeriewaserelongnotinastatetoexplainanythingtoanybody.

TowardstheendofMay,BaronHulot’spensionwasreleasedbyVictorin’sregularpaymenttoBaronNucingen.Aseverybodyknows,pensionsarepaidhalf-yearly, and only on the presentation of a certificate that the recipient isalive:andasHulot’sresidencewasunknown,thearrearsunpaidonVauvinet’sdemand remained to his credit in the Treasury. Vauvinet now signed hisrenunciation of any further claims, and itwas still indispensable to find thepensionerbeforethearrearscouldbedrawn.

ThankstoBianchon’scare,theBaronesshadrecoveredherhealth;andtothisJosepha’sgoodhearthadcontributedbyaletter,ofwhichtheorthographybetrayedthecollaborationoftheDucd’Herouville.ThiswaswhatthesingerwrotetotheBaroness,aftertwentydaysofanxioussearch:—

“MADAME LA BARONNE,—Monsieur Hulot was living, two monthssince, in the Rue des Bernardins, with Elodie Chardin, a lace-mender, forwhom he had leftMademoiselle Bijou; but he went away without a word,leaving everythingbehindhim, andnoone knowswhere hewent. I amnotwithouthope,however,andIhaveputamanonthistrackwhobelieveshehasalreadyseenhimintheBoulevardBourdon.

“Thepoor Jewessmeans to keep thepromise shemade to theChristian.Willtheangelprayforthedevil?Thatmustsometimeshappeninheaven.—Iremain,withthedeepestrespect,alwaysyourhumbleservant,

“JOSEPHAMIRAH.”

Thelawyer,MaitreHulotd’Ervy,hearingnomoreofthedreadfulMadameNourrisson,seeinghisfather-in-lawmarried,havingbroughtbackhisbrother-in-lawtothefamilyfold,sufferingfromnoimportunityonthepartofhisnewstepmother,andseeinghismother’shealthimprovedaily,gavehimselfuptohispoliticalandjudicialduties,sweptalongbythetideofParislife,inwhichthehourscountfordays.

Onenight, towards theendof the session,havingoccasion towriteupareport to theChamberofDeputies, hewasobliged to sit atwork till late atnight.Hehadgone intohisstudyatnineo’clock,and,whilewaiting till theman-servantshouldbringinthecandleswithgreenshades,histhoughtsturnedtohisfather.Hewasblaminghimselffor leavingthe inquirysomuchto thesinger, and had resolved to seeMonsieurChapuzot himself on themorrow,

whenhesawinthetwilight,outsidethewindow,ahandsomeoldhead,baldandyellow,withafringeofwhitehair.

“Wouldyoupleasetogiveorders,sir,thatapoorhermitistobeadmitted,just come from the Desert, and who is instructed to beg for contributionstowardsrebuildingaholyhouse.”

Thisapparition,whichsuddenlyremindedthelawyerofaprophecyutteredbytheterribleNourrisson,gavehimashock.

“Letinthatoldman,”saidhetotheservant.

“Hewillpoisontheplace,sir,”repliedtheman.“HehasonabrowngownwhichhehasneverchangedsinceheleftSyria,andhehasnoshirt—”

“Showhimin,”repeatedthemaster.

Theoldmancamein.Victorin’skeeneyeexaminedthisso-calledpilgrimhermit,andhesawafinespecimenoftheNeapolitanfriars,whosefrocksareakin to the ragsof the lazzaroni,whose sandals are tatters of leather, as thefriarsaretattersofhumanity.Theget-upwassoperfectthatthelawyer,thoughstillonhisguard,wasvexedwithhimselfforhavingbelievedittobeoneofMadameNourrisson’stricks.

“Howmuchtoyouwantofme?”

“Whateveryoufeelthatyououghttogiveme.”

Victorintookafive-francpiecefromalittlepileonhistable,andhandedittothestranger.

“Thatisnotmuchonaccountoffiftythousandfrancs,”saidthepilgrimofthedesert.

ThisspeechremovedallVictorin’sdoubts.

“AndhasHeavenkeptitsword?”hesaid,withafrown.

“The question is an offence, my son,” said the hermit. “If you do notchoose to pay till after the funeral, you are in your rights. Iwill return in aweek’stime.”

“Thefuneral!”criedthelawyer,startingup.

“Theworldmoveson,” said theoldman, ashewithdrew,“and thedeadmovequicklyinParis!”

WhenHulot,whostoodlookingdown,wasabouttoreply,thestalwartoldmanhadvanished.

“Idon’tunderstandonewordofallthis,”saidVictorintohimself.“ButattheendoftheweekIwillaskhimagainaboutmyfather,ifwehavenotyet

foundhim.WheredoesMadameNourrisson—yes, thatwashername—pickupsuchactors?”

Onthefollowingday,DoctorBianchonallowedtheBaronesstogodownintothegarden,afterexaminingLisbeth,whohadbeenobligedtokeeptoherroomforamonthbyaslightbronchialattack.Thelearneddoctor,whodarednot pronounce a definite opinion on Lisbeth’s case till he had seen somedecisivesymptoms,wentintothegardenwithAdelinetoobservetheeffectofthefreshaironhernervoustremblingaftertwomonthsofseclusion.Hewasinterestedandalluredbythehopeofcuringthisnervouscomplaint.Onseeingthe great physician sitting with them and sparing them a few minutes, theBaronessandherfamilyconversedwithhimongeneralsubjects.

“Youlifeisaveryfullandaverysadone,”saidMadameHulot.“Iknowwhatitistospendone’sdaysinseeingpovertyandphysicalsuffering.”

“I know, madame,” replied the doctor, “all the scenes of which charitycompelsyoutobeaspectator;butyouwillgetusedtoitintime,aswealldo.Itisthelawofexistence.Theconfessor,themagistrate,thelawyerwouldfindlifeunendurableifthespiritoftheStatedidnotassertitselfabovethefeelingsoftheindividual.Couldweliveatallbutforthat?Isnotthesoldierintimeofwar brought face to facewith spectacles evenmore dreadful than thosewesee?Andevery soldier thathasbeenunder fire iskind-hearted.Wemedicalmenhavethepleasurenowandagainofasuccessfulcure,asyouhavethatofsaving a family from the horrors of hunger, depravity, or misery, and ofrestoringittosocialrespectability.Butwhatcomfortcanthemagistratefind,the police agent, or the attorney, who spend their lives in investigating thebasestschemesofself-interest,thesocialmonsterwhoseonlyregretiswhenitfails,butonwhomrepentanceneverdawns?

“One-halfofsocietyspendsitslifeinwatchingtheotherhalf.Averyoldfriendofmine isanattorney,nowretired,whotoldmethat forfifteenyearspastnotariesand lawyershavedistrusted theirclientsquiteasmuchas theiradversaries.Yourson isapleader;hashenever foundhimselfcompromisedbytheclientforwhomheheldabrief?”

“Veryoften,”saidVictorin,withasmile.

“Andwhatisthecauseofthisdeep-seatedevil?”askedtheBaroness.

“Thedecayofreligion,”saidBianchon,“andthepre-eminenceoffinance,whichissimplysolidifiedselfishness.Moneyusednottobeeverything;thereweresomekindsofsuperioritythatrankedaboveit—nobility,genius,servicedone to the State. But nowadays the law takes wealth as the universalstandard,andregardsitasthemeasureofpubliccapacity.CertainmagistratesareineligibletotheChamber;Jean-JacquesRousseauwouldbeineligible!The

perpetualsubdivisionofestatecompelseverymantotakecareofhimselffromtheageoftwenty.

“Well,then,betweenthenecessityformakingafortuneandthedepravityofspeculationthereisnocheckorhindrance;forthereligioussenseiswhollylackinginFrance,inspiteofthelaudableendeavorsofthosewhoareworkingfor a Catholic revival. And this is the opinion of everymanwho, likeme,studiessocietyatthecore.”

“Andyouhavefewpleasures?”saidHortense.

“The true physician, madame, is in love with his science,” replied thedoctor. “He is sustained by that passion as much as by the sense of hisusefulnesstosociety.

“At this very time you see inme a sort of scientific rapture, andmanysuperficial judges would regard me as a man devoid of feeling. I have toannounceadiscoveryto-morrowtotheCollegeofMedicine,forIamstudyingadiseasethathaddisappeared—amortaldiseaseforwhichnocureisknownin temperate climates, though it is curable in the West Indies—a maladyknownhereintheMiddleAges.Anoblefightisthatofthephysicianagainstsuchadisease.ForthelasttendaysIhavethoughtofnothingbutthesecases—fortherearetwo,ahusbandandwife.—Aretheynotconnectionsofyours?Foryou,madame,aresurelyMonsieurCrevel’sdaughter?”saidhe,addressingCelestine.

“What, is my father your patient?” asked Celestine. “Living in the RueBarbet-de-Jouy?”

“Preciselyso,”saidBianchon.

“Andthediseaseisinevitablyfatal?”saidVictorinindismay.

“Iwillgotoseehim,”saidCelestine,rising.

“I positively forbid it, madame,” Bianchon quietly said. “The disease iscontagious.”

“But you go there,monsieur,” replied the youngwoman. “Do you thinkthatadaughter’sdutyislessbindingthanadoctor’s?”

“Madame,aphysicianknowshowtoprotecthimselfagainstinfection,andthe rashnessofyourdevotionproves tome thatyouwouldprobablybe lessprudentthanI.”

Celestine,however,gotupandwenttoherroom,whereshedressedtogoout.

“Monsieur,” said Victorin to Bianchon, “have you any hope of savingMonsieurandMadameCrevel?”

“Ihope,butIdonotbelievethatImay,”saidBianchon.“Thecaseistomequiteinexplicable.ThediseaseispeculiartonegroesandtheAmericantribes,whoseskinisdifferentlyconstitutedtothatofthewhiteraces.NowIcantracenoconnectionwith thecopper-colored tribes,withnegroesorhalf-castes, inMonsieurorMadameCrevel.

“Andthoughit isaveryinterestingdiseasetous,it isaterriblethingforthe sufferers. The poor woman, who is said to have been very pretty, ispunishedforhersins,forsheisnowsqualidlyhideousifsheisstillanythingatall.Sheislosingherhairandteeth,herskinislikealeper’s,sheisahorrortoherself; her hands arehorrible, coveredwithgreenishpustules, her nails areloose,andthefleshiseatenawaybythepoisonedhumors.”

“Andthecauseofsuchadisease?”askedthelawyer.

“Oh!”saidthedoctor,“thecauseliesinaformofrapidblood-poisoning;itdegenerateswith terrific rapidity. I hope to act on theblood; I amhaving itanalyzed;andIamnowgoinghometoascertaintheresultofthelaborsofmyfriendProfessorDuval,thefamouschemist,withaviewtotryingoneofthosedesperatemeasuresbywhichwesometimesattempttodefeatdeath.”

“ThehandofGodisthere!”saidAdeline,inavoicehuskywithemotion.“Though that woman has brought sorrows on me which have led me inmomentsofmadnesstoinvokethevengeanceofHeaven,Ihope—GodknowsIhope—youmaysucceed,doctor.”

Victorinfeltdizzy.Helookedathismother,hissister,andthephysicianbyturns,quakinglesttheyshouldreadhisthoughts.Hefelthimselfamurderer.

Hortense,forherpart,thoughtGodwasjust.

Celestinecamebacktobegherhusbandtoaccompanyher.

“If you insist on going,madame, and you too,monsieur, keep at least afoot between you and the bed of the sufferer, that is the chief precaution.Neitheryounoryourwifemustdreamofkissingthedyingman.And,indeed,you ought to go with your wife, Monsieur Hulot, to hinder her fromdisobeyingmyinjunctions.”

AdelineandHortense,whentheywereleftalone,wenttositwithLisbeth.HortensehadsuchavirulenthatredofValerie thatshecouldnotcontain theexpressionofit.

“Cousin Lisbeth,” she exclaimed, “my mother and I are avenged! thatvenomoussnakeisherselfbitten—sheisrottinginherbed!”

“Hortense, at thismomentyou arenot aChristian.Youought topray toGodtovouchsaferepentancetothiswretchedwoman.”

“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”saidBetty,risingfromhercouch.“AreyouspeakingofValerie?”

“Yes,”repliedAdeline;“sheispasthope—dyingofsomehorriblediseaseofwhichthemeredescriptionmakesoneshudder——”

Lisbeth’steethchattered,acoldsweatbrokeoutalloverher;theviolenceoftheshockshowedhowpassionateherattachmenttoValeriehadbeen.

“Imustgothere,”saidshe.

“Butthedoctorforbidsyourgoingout.”

“Idonotcare—Imustgo!—PoorCrevel!whatastatehemustbein;forhelovesthatwoman.”

“Heisdyingtoo,”repliedCountessSteinbock.“Ah!allourenemiesareinthedevil’sclutches—”

“InGod’shands,mychild—”

Lisbeth dressed in the famous yellow Indian shawl and her black velvetbonnet,andputonherboots;inspiteofherrelations’remonstrances,shesetoutasifdrivenbysomeirresistiblepower.

ShearrivedintheRueBarbetafewminutesafterMonsieurandMadameHulot, and found seven physicians there, brought byBianchon to study thisunique case; he had just joined them. The physicians, assembled in thedrawing-room,were discussing the disease; nowone and now anotherwentintoValerie’s roomorCrevel’s to take a note, and returnedwith anopinionbasedonthisrapidstudy.

Theseprincesof scienceweredivided in their opinions.One,who stoodaloneinhisviews,considereditacaseofpoisoning,ofprivaterevenge,anddenied its identitywith thediseaseknown in theMiddleAges.Threeothersregarded itasaspecificdeteriorationof thebloodand thehumors.Therest,agreeing with Bianchon, maintained that the blood was poisoned by somehitherto unknown morbid infection. Bianchon produced Professor Duval’sanalysisoftheblood.Theremediestobeapplied,thoughabsolutelyempiricalandwithouthope,dependedontheverdictinthismedicaldilemma.

LisbethstoodasifpetrifiedthreeyardsawayfromthebedwhereValerielay dying, as she saw a priest from Saint-Thomas d’Aquin standing by herfriend’spillow,andasisterofcharityinattendance.Religioncouldfindasoultosaveinamassofrottennesswhich,ofthefivesensesofman,hadnowonlythatofsight.ThesisterofcharitywhoalonehadbeenfoundtonurseValeriestoodapart.ThustheCatholicreligion,thatdivineinstitution,alwaysactuatedby the spirit of self-sacrifice, under its twofold aspect of the Spirit and theFlesh,wastendingthishorribleandatrociouscreature,soothingherdeath-bed

byitsinfinitebenevolenceandinexhaustiblestoresofmercy.

Theservants,inhorror,refusedtogointotheroomofeithertheirmasterormistress; they thought only of themselves, and judged their betters asrighteouslystricken.Thesmellwassofoulthatinspiteofopenwindowsandstrongperfumes,noonecouldremainlonginValerie’sroom.Religionalonekeptguardthere.

Howcould awoman so clever asValerie fail to ask herself towhat endthesetworepresentativesoftheChurchremainedwithher?Thedyingwomanhadlistenedtothewordsofthepriest.Repentancehadrisenonherdarkenedsoul as the devouringmalady had consumed her beauty.The fragileValeriehadbeenlessabletoresisttheinroadsofthediseasethanCrevel;shewouldbethefirsttosuccumb,and,indeed,hadbeenthefirstattacked.

“If I had not been ill myself, I would have come to nurse you,” saidLisbeth at last, after a glance at her friend’s sunken eyes. “I have keptmyroom this fortnight or threeweeks; butwhen I heardof your state from thedoctor,Icameatonce.”

“Poor Lisbeth, you at least loveme still, I see!” saidValerie. “Listen. Ihaveonlyadayortwolefttothink,forIcannotsaytolive.Yousee,thereisnothingleftofme—Iamaheapofmud!Theywillnotletmeseemyselfinaglass.—Well, it is nomore than I deserve.Oh, if Imightonlywinmercy, IwouldgladlyundoallthemischiefIhavedone.”

“Oh!” said Lisbeth, “if you can talk like that, you are indeed a deadwoman.”

“Donothinderthiswoman’srepentance,leaveherinherChristianmind,”saidthepriest.

“Thereisnothingleft!”saidLisbethinconsternation.“Icannotrecognizehereyesorhermouth!Notafeatureofheristhere!Andherwithasdesertedher!Oh,itisawful!”

“Youdon’tknow,”saidValerie,“whatdeathis;whatitistobeobligedtothinkofthemorrowofyourlastdayonearth,andofwhatistobefoundinthegrave.—Wormsforthebody—andforthesoul,what?—Lisbeth,Iknowthereisanother life!AndIamgivenover to terrorswhichpreventmyfeeling thepangs ofmy decomposing body.—I,who could laugh at a saint, and say toCrevelthatthevengeanceofGodtookeveryformofdisaster.—Well,Iwasatrueprophet.—Donottriflewithsacredthings,Lisbeth;ifyouloveme,repentasIdo.”

“I!”saidLisbeth.“IseevengeancewhereverIturninnature;insectsevendietosatisfythecravingforrevengewhentheyareattacked.Anddonotthese

gentlementellus”—andshelookedatthepriest—“thatGodisrevenged,andthatHisvengeancelaststhroughalleternity?”

ThepriestlookedmildlyatLisbethandsaid:

“You,madame,areanatheist!”

“ButlookwhatIhavecometo,”saidValerie.

“And where did you get this gangrene?” asked the old maid, unmovedfromherpeasantincredulity.

“IhadaletterfromHenriwhichleavesmeinnodoubtastomyfate.Hehasmurderedme.And—justwhenImeanttolivehonestly—todieanobjectofdisgust!

“Lisbeth,giveupallnotionsofrevenge.BekindtothatfamilytowhomIhaveleftbymywilleverythingIcandisposeof.Go,child,thoughyouaretheonlycreaturewho,atthishour,doesnotavoidmewithhorror—go,Ibeseechyou,andleaveme.—IhaveonlytimetomakemypeacewithGod!”

“Sheiswanderinginherwits,”saidLisbethtoherself,asshelefttheroom.

Thestrongestaffectionknown,thatofawomanforawoman,hadnotsuchheroic constancy as theChurch.Lisbeth, stifled by themiasma,went away.Shefoundthephysiciansstillinconsultation.ButBianchon’sopinioncarriedtheday,andtheonlyquestionnowwashowtotrytheremedies.

“At any rate, we shall have a splendid post-mortem,” said one of hisopponents,“andtherewillbetwocasestoenableustomakecomparisons.”

Lisbeth went in again with Bianchon, who went up to the sick womanwithoutseemingawareofthemalodorousatmosphere.

“Madame,”saidhe,“weintendtotryapowerfulremedywhichmaysaveyou—”

“Andifyousavemylife,”saidshe,“shallIbeasgood-lookingasever?”

“Possibly,”saidthejudiciousphysician.

“Iknowyourpossibly,”saidValerie.“Ishalllooklikeawomanwhohasfallenintothefire!No,leavemetotheChurch.IcanpleasenoonenowbutGod.IwilltrytobereconciledtoHim,andthatwillbemylastflirtation;yes,ImusttrytocomeroundGod!”

“That is my poor Valerie’s last jest; that is all herself!” said Lisbeth intears.

Lisbeth thought it her duty to go into Crevel’s room, where she foundVictorinandhiswifesittingaboutayardawayfromthestrickenman’sbed.

“Lisbeth,”saidhe,“theywillnottellmewhatstatemywifeisin;youhavejustseenher—howisshe?”

“Sheisbetter;shesayssheissaved,”repliedLisbeth,allowingherselfthisplayonthewordtosootheCrevel’smind.

“That iswell,”said theMayor.“I feared lest Ihadbeen thecauseofherillness.Amanisnotatravelerinperfumeryfornothing;Ihadblamedmyself.—IfIshouldloseher,whatwouldbecomeofme?Onmyhonor,mychildren,Iworshipthatwoman.”

Hesatupinbedandtriedtoassumehisfavoriteposition.

“Oh, Papa!” cried Celestine, “if only you could be well again, I wouldmakefriendswithmystepmother—Imakeavow!”

“PoorlittleCelestine!”saidCrevel,“comeandkissme.”

Victorinheldbackhiswife,whowasrushingforward.

“Youdonotknow,perhaps,”saidthelawyergently,“thatyourdiseaseiscontagious,monsieur.”

“Tobesure,” repliedCrevel.“And thedoctorsarequiteproudofhavingrediscovered in me some long lost plague of the Middle Ages, which theFacultyhashadcriedlikelostproperty—itisveryfunny!”

“Papa,” said Celestine, “be brave, and you will get the better of thisdisease.”

“Bequiteeasy,mychildren;DeaththinkstwiceofitbeforecarryingoffaMayor of Paris,” said he,withmonstrous composure. “And if, after all,mydistrict is so unfortunate as to lose a man it has twice honored with itssuffrages—yousee,whataflowofwordsIhave!—Well,Ishallknowhowtopackupandgo.Ihavebeenacommercialtraveler;Iamexperiencedinsuchmatters.Ah!mychildren,Iamamanofstrongmind.”

“Papa,promisemetoadmittheChurch—”

“Never,” replied Crevel. “What is to be said? I drank the milk ofRevolution;IhavenotBaronHolbach’swit,butIhavehisstrengthofmind.IammoreRegencethanever,moreMusketeer,AbbeDubois,andMarechaldeRichelieu!BytheHolyPoker!—Mywife,whoiswanderinginherhead,hasjustsentmeamaninagown—tome!theadmirerofBeranger,thefriendofLisette,thesonofVoltaireandRousseau.—Thedoctor,tofeelmypulse,asitwere,andseeifsicknesshadsubduedme—‘YousawMonsieurl’Abbe?’saidhe.—Well,IimitatedthegreatMontesquieu.Yes,Ilookedatthedoctor—see,like this,” and he turned to show three-quarters face, like his portrait, andextendedhishandauthoritatively—“andIsaid:

“Theslavewashere,

Heshowedhisorder,buthenothinggained.

“His order is a pretty jest, showing that even in death Monsieur lePresidentdeMontesquieupreservedhiselegantwit, for theyhadsenthimaJesuit. I admire thatpassage—Icannot sayofhis life,butofhisdeath—thepassage—another joke!—The passage from life to death—the PassageMontesquieu!”

Victorin gazed sadly at his father-in-law, wondering whether folly andvanitywerenotforcesonaparwithtruegreatnessofsoul.Thecausesthatactonthespringsofthesoulseemtobequiteindependentoftheresults.Canitbethat thefortitudewhichupholdsagreatcriminal is thesameas thatwhichaChampcenetzsoproudlywalkstothescaffold?

By the end of the week Madame Crevel was buried, after dreadfulsufferings; and Crevel followed her within two days. Thus the marriage-contractwasannulled.CrevelwasheirtoValerie.

Ontheverydayafterthefuneral,thefriarcalledagainonthelawyer,whoreceivedhiminperfectsilence.Themonkheldouthishandwithoutaword,and without a word Victorin Hulot gave him eighty thousand-franc notes,takenfromasumofmoneyfoundinCrevel’sdesk.

YoungMadameHulot inherited the estate of Presles and thirty thousandfrancsayear.

MadameCrevelhadbequeathedasumofthreehundredthousandfrancstoBaronHulot.HerscrofulousboyStanislaswastoinherit,athismajority,theHotelCrevelandeightythousandfrancsayear.

AmongthemanynobleassociationsfoundedinParisbyCatholiccharity,there isone,originatedbyMadamede laChanterie, forpromotingcivilandreligiousmarriagesbetweenpersonswhohave formedavoluntarybut illicitunion.Legislators,whodrawlargerevenuesfromtheregistrationfees,andtheBourgeoisdynasty,whichbenefits by thenotary’sprofits, affect tooverlookthe fact that three-fourthsof thepoorerclasscannotafford fifteen francs forthemarriage-contract.The pleaders, a sufficiently vilified body, gratuitouslydefendthecasesoftheindigent,whilethenotarieshavenotasyetagreedtocharge nothing for the marriage-contract of the poor. As to the revenuecollectors,thewholemachineryofGovernmentwouldhavetobedislocatedtoinducetheauthoritiestorelaxtheirdemands.Theregistrar’sofficeisdeafanddumb.

ThentheChurch,too,receivesadutyonmarriages.InFrancetheChurchdepends largely on such revenues; even in the House of God it traffics in

chairsandkneelingstools inaway thatoffends foreigners; though it cannothaveforgottentheangeroftheSaviourwhodrovethemoney-changersoutoftheTemple.IftheChurchissoloathtorelinquishitsdues,itmustbesupposedthatthesedues,knownasVestrydues,areoneofitssourcesofmaintenance,andthenthefaultoftheChurchisthefaultoftheState.

Theco-operationoftheseconditions,atatimewhencharityistoogreatlyconcernedwiththenegroesandthepettyoffendersdischargedfromprisontotrouble itself about honest folks in difficulties, results in the existence of anumber of decent coupleswho have never been legallymarried for lack ofthirtyfrancs,thelowestfigureforwhichtheNotary,theRegistrar,theMayorand the Church will unite two citizens of Paris.Madame de la Chanterie’sfund, founded to restore poor households to their religious and legal status,huntsupsuchcouples,andwithallthemoresuccessbecauseithelpsthemintheirpovertybeforeattackingtheirunlawfulunion.

AssoonasMadameHulothadrecovered,shereturnedtoheroccupations.AndthenitwasthattheadmirableMadamedelaChanteriecametobegthatAdelinewouldaddthelegalizationofthesevoluntaryunionstotheothergoodworksofwhichshewastheinstrument.

OneoftheBaroness’firstefforts inthiscausewasmadeintheominous-looking district, formerly known as la Petite Pologne—Little Poland—boundedbytheRueduRocher,RuedelaPepiniere,andRuedeMiromenil.Thereexists thereasortofoffshootof theFaubourgSaint-Marceau.Togiveanideaofthispartofthetown,itisenoughtosaythatthelandlordsofsomeof the houses tenanted by working men without work, by dangerouscharacters,andbytheverypooremployedinunhealthytoil,darenotdemandtheirrents,andcanfindnobailiffsboldenoughtoevictinsolventlodgers.Atthepresenttimespeculatingbuilders,whoarefastchangingtheaspectofthiscorner of Paris, and covering the waste ground lying between the Rued’Amsterdam and the Rue Faubourg-du-Roule, will no doubt alter thecharacterof the inhabitants; for the trowel is amorecivilizingagent than isgenerally supposed. By erecting substantial and handsome houses, withporters at the doors, by bordering the streets with footwalks and shops,speculation,whileraisingtherents,dispersesthesqualidclass,familiesbereftoffurniture,andlodgersthatcannotpay.Andsothesedistrictsareclearedofsuchobjectionableresidents,andthedensvanishintowhichthepoliceneverventurebutunderthesanctionofthelaw.

In June 1844, the purlieus of the Place de Laborde were still far frominviting.Thegenteelpedestrian,whobychanceshouldturnoutoftheRuedelaPepiniereintooneofthosedreadfulside-streets,wouldhavebeendismayedtoseehowvileabohemiadweltcheekby jowlwith thearistocracy.Insuchplacesasthese,hauntedbyignorantpovertyandmiserydriventobay,flourish

the lastpublic letter-writerswhoare tobe found inParis.Whereveryouseethe twowords “Ecrivain Public” written in a fine copy hand on a sheet ofletter-paperstuck to thewindowpaneofsomelowentresolormud-splashedground-floor room, you may safely conclude that the neighborhood is thelurking place of many unlettered folks, and of much vice and crime, theoutcomeofmisery;forignoranceisthemotherofallsortsofcrime.Acrimeis,inthefirstinstance,adefectofreasoningpowers.

While theBaroness had been ill, this quarter, towhich shewas aminorProvidence,hadseentheadventofapublicwriterwhosettledinthePassageduSoleil—SunAlley—aspotofwhichthenameisoneoftheantithesesdeartotheParisian,forthepassageisespeciallydark.Thiswriter,supposedtobeaGerman,wasnamedVyder,andhelivedonmatrimonial termswithayoungcreatureofwhomhewassojealousthatheneverallowedhertogoanywhereexcepting to some honest stove and flue-fitters, in the Rue Saint-Lazare,Italians,assuchfittersalwaysare,but longsinceestablished inParis.Thesepeoplehadbeensavedfromabankruptcy,whichwouldhavereducedthemtomisery,bytheBaroness,actinginbehalfofMadamedelaChanterie.Inafewmonths comfort had taken the place of poverty, and Religion had found ahome in hearts which once had cursed Heaven with the energy peculiar toItalianstove-fitters.SooneofMadameHulot’sfirstvisitswastothisfamily.

ShewaspleasedatthescenethatpresenteditselftohereyesatthebackofthehousewheretheseworthyfolkslivedintheRueSaint-Lazare,notfarfromthe Rue du Rocher. High above the stores andworkshops, nowwell filled,where toiled a swarm of apprentices and workmen—all Italians from thevalleyofDomod’Ossola—themaster’sfamilyoccupiedasetofrooms,whichhard work had blessed with abundance. The Baroness was hailed like theVirginMaryinperson.

After a quarter of an hour’s questioning,Adeline, having towait for thefathertoinquirehowhisbusinesswasprospering,pursuedhersaintlycallingasaspybyaskingwhethertheyknewofanyfamiliesneedinghelp.

“Ah,dearlady,youwhocouldsavethedamnedfromhell!”saidtheItalianwife,“thereisagirlquitenearheretobesavedfromperdition.”

“Agirlwellknowntoyou?”askedtheBaroness.

“She is the granddaughter of amastermyhusband formerlyworked for,whocametoFrancein1798,aftertheRevolution,bynameJudici.OldJudici,inNapoleon’stime,wasoneoftheprincipalstove-fittersinParis;hediedin1819, leaving his son a fine fortune. But the younger Judici wasted all hismoneyonbadwomen; till,at last,hemarriedonewhowassharper thantherest,andshehadthispoorlittlegirl,whoisjustturnedfifteen.”

“Andwhatiswrongwithher?”askedAdeline,struckbytheresemblancebetweenthisJudiciandherhusband.

“Well, madame, this child, named Atala, ran away from her father, andcametoliveclosebyherewithanoldGermanofeightyatleast,namedVyder,who does odd jobs for peoplewho cannot read andwrite. Now, if this oldsinner,whoboughtthechildofhermother,theysayforfifteenhundredfrancs,wouldbutmarryher,ashecertainlyhasnotlongtolive,andasheissaidtohavesomefewthousandoffrancsayear—well,thepoorthing,whoisasweetlittleangel,wouldbeoutofmischief,andabovewant,whichmustbetheruinofher.”

“Thank you verymuch for the information. Imay do some good, but Imustactwithcaution.—Whoistheoldman?”

“Oh!madame,heisagoodoldfellow;hemakesthechildveryhappy,andhehassomesensetoo,forheleftthepartoftownwheretheJudicislive,asIbelieve, to snatch the child from her mother’s clutches. The mother wasjealousofher, and Idare sayshe thought shecouldmakemoneyoutofherbeautyandmakeamademoiselleofthegirl.

“Atalarememberedus,andadvisedhergentlemantosettlenearus;andasthegoodman seeshowdecentwe are, he allowsher to comehere.But getthem married, madame, and you will do an action worthy of you. Oncemarried,thechildwillbeindependentandfreefromhermother,whokeepsaneyeonher,andwho,ifshecouldmakemoneybyher,wouldliketoseeheronthestage,orsuccessfulinthewickedlifeshemeanthertolead.”

“Whydoesn’ttheoldmanmarryher?”

“Therewasnonecessityforit,yousee,”saidtheItalian.“AndthougholdVyderisnotabadoldfellow,Ifancyheissharpenoughtowishtoremainthemaster,whileifheoncegotmarried—why,thepoormanisafraidofthestonethathangsroundeveryoldman’sneck.”

“Couldyousendforthegirltocomehere?”saidMadameHulot.“Ishouldseeherquietly,andfindoutwhatcouldbedone—”

Thestove-fitter’swifesignedtohereldestgirl,whoranoff.Tenminuteslatershereturned,leadingbythehandachildoffifteenandahalf,abeautyoftheItaliantype.MademoiselleJudiciinheritedfromherfatherthativoryskinwhich, rather yellow by day, is by artificial light of lily-whiteness; eyes ofOrientalbeauty,form,andbrilliancy,closecurlinglasheslikeblackfeathers,hairofebonyhue,andthatnativedignityof theLombardracewhichmakesthe foreigner, as he walks through Milan on a Sunday, fancy that everyporter’sdaughterisaprincess.

Atala,toldbythestove-fitter’sdaughterthatshewastomeetthegreatladyofwhomshehadheardsomuch,hadhastilydressedinablacksilkgown,asmartlittlecape,andneatboots.Acapwithacherry-coloredbowaddedtothebrilliant effect of her coloring. The child stood in an attitude of artlesscuriosity, studying theBaronessoutof thecornerofhereye, forherpalsiedtremblingpuzzledhergreatly.

Adelinesigheddeeplyasshesawthisjewelofwomanhoodinthemireofprostitution,anddeterminedtorescuehertovirtue.

“Whatisyourname,mydear?”

“Atala,madame.”

“Andcanyoureadandwrite?”

“No,madame;butthatdoesnotmatter,asmonsieurcan.”

“Did your parents ever take you to church?Have you been to your firstCommunion?DoyouknowyourCatechism?”

“Madame,papawanted tomakemedosomethingof thekindyouspeakof,butmammawouldnothaveit—”

“Yourmother?”exclaimedtheBaroness.“Isshebadtoyou,then?”

“Shewasalwaysbeatingme. Idon’tknowwhy,but Iwasalwaysbeingquarreledoverbymyfatherandmother—”

“DidyoueverhearofGod?”criedtheBaroness.

Thegirllookedupwide-eyed.

“Oh,yes,papaandmammaoftensaid‘GoodGod,’and‘InGod’sname,’and‘God’sthunder,’”saidshe,withperfectsimplicity.

“Thenyouneversawachurch?Didyouneverthinkofgoingintoone?”

“A church?—Notre-Dame, the Pantheon?—I have seen them from adistance,whenpapatookmeintotown;butthatwasnotveryoften.TherearenochurcheslikethoseintheFaubourg.”

“WhichFaubourgdidyoulivein?”

“IntheFaubourg.”

“Yes,butwhich?”

“IntheRuedeCharonne,madame.”

The inhabitants of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine never call that notoriousdistrictotherthantheFaubourg.TothemitistheoneandonlyFaubourg;andmanufacturersgenerallyunderstandthewordsasmeaningtheFaubourgSaint-

Antoine.

“Didnooneevertellyouwhatwasrightorwrong?”

“MammausedtobeatmewhenIdidnotdowhatpleasedher.”

“But did you not know that it was very wicked to run away from yourfatherandmothertogotolivewithanoldman?”

AtalaJudicigazedattheBaronesswithahaughtystare,butmadenoreply.

“Sheisaperfectlittlesavage,”murmuredAdeline.

“ThereareagreatmanylikeherintheFaubourg,madame,”saidthestove-fitter’swife.

“Butsheknowsnothing—notevenwhatiswrong.GoodHeavens!—Whydo you not answer me?” saidMadame Hulot, putting out her hand to takeAtala’s.

Atalaindignantlywithdrewastep.

“You are an old fool!” said she. “Why, my father and mother had hadnothingtoeatforaweek.Mymotherwantedmetodomuchworsethanthat,Ithink, formy father thrashedher andcalledher a thief!However,MonsieurVyderpaidalltheirdebts,andgavethemsomemoney—oh,abagful!Andhebrought me away, and poor papa was crying. But we had to part!—Was itwicked?”sheasked.

“AndareyouveryfondofMonsieurVyder?”

“Fondofhim?”saidshe.“Ishouldthinkso!Hetellsmebeautifulstories,madame, every evening; and he has givenme nice gowns, and linen, and ashawl.Why,Iamfiggedoutlikeaprincess,andIneverwearsabotsnow.Andthen,Ihavenotknownwhatitistobehungrythesetwomonthspast.AndIdon’t live on potatoes now.He bringsme bonbons and burnt almonds, andchocolatealmonds.—Aren’ttheygood?—Idoanythinghepleasesforabagofchocolate.—ThenmyoldDaddyisverykind;hetakessuchcareofme,andissonice;Iknownowwhatmymotheroughttohavebeen.—Heisgoingtogetan old woman to help me, for he doesn’t like me to dirty my hands withcooking.For thepastmonth, too,hehasbeenmakinga littlemoney,andhegivesmethreefrancseveryeveningthatIputintoamoney-box.Onlyhewillnever let me out except to come here—and he calls me his little kitten!Mammanevercalledmeanythingbutbadnames—andthief,andvermin!”

“Well,then,mychild,whyshouldnotDaddyVyderbeyourhusband?”

“But he is, madame,” said the girl, looking at Adelinewith calm pride,withoutablush,herbrowsmooth,hereyessteady.“HetoldmethatIwashislittlewife; but it is a horrid bore to be aman’swife—if itwere not for the

burntalmonds!”

“GoodHeaven!”saidtheBaronesstoherself,“whatmonstercanhavehadthehearttobetraysuchperfect,suchholyinnocence?Torestorethischildtothe ways of virtue would surely atone for many sins.—I knew what I wasdoing.” thought she, remembering the scene with Crevel. “But she—sheknowsnothing.”

“Do you know Monsieur Samanon?” asked Atala, with an insinuatinglook.

“No,mychild;butwhydoyouask?”

“Reallyandtruly?”saidtheartlessgirl.

“Youhavenothingtofearfromthislady,”saidtheItalianwoman.“Sheisanangel.”

“ItisbecausemygoodoldboyisafraidofbeingcaughtbySamanon.Heishiding,andIwishhecouldbefree—”

“Why?”

“On!thenhewouldtakemetoBobino,perhapstotheAmbigu.”

“Whatadelightfulcreature!”saidtheBaroness,kissingthegirl.

“Areyourich?”askedAtala,whowasfingeringtheBaroness’laceruffles.

“Yes,andNo,”repliedMadameHulot.“Iamrichfordearlittlegirlslikeyouwhen theyarewilling tobe taught theirdutiesasChristiansbyapriest,andtowalkintherightway.”

“Whatwayisthat?”saidAtala;“Iwalkonmytwofeet.”

“Thewayofvirtue.”

AtalalookedattheBaronesswithacraftysmile.

“Lookatmadame,” said theBaroness,pointing to the stove-fitter’swife,“she has been quite happy because shewas received into the bosom of theChurch.Youmarriedlikethebeaststhatperish.”

“I?”saidAtala.“Why,ifyouwillgivemeasmuchasDaddyVydergivesme,Ishallbequitehappyunmarriedagain.Itisagrind.—Doyouknowwhatitisto—?”

“Butwhenonceyouareunitedtoamanasyouare,”theBaronessputin,“virtuerequiresyoutoremainfaithfultohim.”

“Tillhedies,”saidAtala,withaknowingflash.“Ishallnothavetowaitlong. If youonlyknewhowDaddyVyder coughs andblows.—Poof, poof,”

andsheimitatedtheoldman.

“Virtue andmorality require that the Church, representingGod, and theMayor, representing the law, should consecrate your marriage,” MadameHulotwenton.“Lookatmadame;sheislegallymarried—”

“Willitmakeitmoreamusing?”askedthegirl.

“Youwill be happier,” said the Baroness, “for no one could then blameyou. You would satisfy God! Ask her if she was married without thesacramentofmarriage!”

AtalalookedattheItalian.

“HowissheanybetterthanIam?”sheasked.“Iamprettierthansheis.”

“Yes,butIamanhonestwoman,”saidthewife,“andyoumaybecalledbyabadname.”

“HowcanyouexpectGodtoprotectyouifyoutrampleeverylaw,humanand divine, under foot?” said the Baroness. “Don’t you know that God hasParadiseinstoreforthosewhoobeytheinjunctionsofHisChurch?”

“WhatisthereinParadise?Arethereplayhouses?”

“Paradise!” saidAdeline, “is every joyyou can conceive of. It is full ofangelswithwhitewings.YouseeGodinallHisglory,youshareHispower,youarehappyforeveryminuteofeternity!”

Atalalistenedtotheladyasshemighthavelistenedtomusic;butAdeline,seeingthatshewasincapableofunderstandingher,thoughtshehadbettertakeanotherlineofactionandspeaktotheoldman.

“Gohome, then,my child, and Iwill go to seeMonsieurVyder. Is he aFrenchman?”

“HeisanAlsatian,madame.Buthewillbequiterichsoon.IfyouwouldpaywhatheowestothatvileSamanon,hewouldgiveyoubackyourmoney,forinafewmonthshewillbegettingsixthousandfrancsayear,hesays,andwearetogotoliveinthecountryalongwayoff,intheVosges.”

AtthewordVosgestheBaronesssatlostinreverie.Itcalledupthevisionofhernativevillage.Shewasrousedfromhermelancholymeditationbytheentranceofthestove-fitter,whocametoassureherofhisprosperity.

“In a year’s time,madame, I can repay themoney you lent us, for it isGod’smoney,themoneyofthepoorandwretched.IfeverImakeafortune,come to me for what you want, and I will render through you the help tootherswhichyoufirstbroughtus.”

“Justnow,”saidMadameHulot,“Idonotneedyourmoney,butIaskyour

assistanceinagoodwork.IhavejustseenthatlittleJudici,whoislivingwithanoldman,andImeantoseethemregularlyandlegallymarried.”

“Ah!oldVyder;heisaveryworthyoldfellow,withplentyofgoodsense.Thepooroldmanhas alreadymade friends in theneighborhood, thoughhehasbeenherebuttwomonths.Hekeepsmyaccountsforme.Heis,Ibelieve,abraveColonelwhoservedtheEmperorwell.AndhowheadoresNapoleon!—He has some orders, but he never wears them. He is waiting till he isstraightagain,forhe is indebt,pooroldboy!Infact, Ibelievehe ishiding,threatenedbythelaw—”

“TellhimthatIwillpayhisdebtsifhewillmarrythechild.”

“Oh,thatwillsoonbesettled.—Supposeyouweretoseehim,madame;itisnottwostepsaway,inthePassageduSoleil.”

Sotheladyandthestove-fitterwentout.

“Thisway,madame,”saidtheman,turningdowntheRuedelaPepiniere.

Thealleyruns,infact,fromthebottomofthisstreetthroughtotheRueduRocher.Halfwaydownthispassage,recentlyopenedthrough,wheretheshopsletataverylowrent,theBaronesssawonawindow,screeneduptoaheightwithagreen,gauzecurtain,whichexcludedthepryingeyesofthepasser-by,thewords:

“ECRIVAINPUBLIC”;andonthedoortheannouncement:

BUSINESSTRANSACTED.

PetitionsDrawnUp,AccountsAudited,Etc.

WithSecrecyandDispatch.

The shopwas likeoneof those littleofficeswhere travelersbyomnibuswait thevehicles to take themon to theirdestination.Aprivatestaircase ledup,nodoubt,totheliving-roomsontheentresolwhichwereletwiththeshop.Madame Hulot saw a dirty writing-table of some light wood, some letter-boxes, and a wretched second-hand chair. A cap with a peak and a greasygreen shade for the eyes suggested either precautions for disguise, or weakeyes,whichwasnotunlikelyinanoldman.

“He isupstairs,” said the stove-fitter. “Iwill goupand tell him to comedown.”

Adeline loweredherveiland tookaseat.Aheavystepmade thenarrowstairscreak,andAdelinecouldnot restrainapiercingcrywhenshesawherhusband,BaronHulot, inagrayknittedjersey,oldgrayflanneltrousers,andslippers.

“Whatisyourbusiness,madame?”saidHulot,withaflourish.

Sherose,seizedHulotbythearm,andsaidinavoicehoarsewithemotion:

“Atlast—Ihavefoundyou!”

“Adeline!”exclaimedtheBaroninbewilderment,andhelockedtheshopdoor.“Joseph,gooutthebackway,”headdedtothestove-fitter.

“Mydear!”shesaid, forgettingeverything inherexcessive joy,“youcancome home to us all; we are rich. Your son draws a hundred and sixtythousand francs a year!Your pension is released; there are fifteen thousandfrancsofarrearsyoucangeton showing thatyouarealive.Valerie isdead,andleftyouthreehundredthousandfrancs.

“Yournameisquiteforgottenbythistime;youmayreappearintheworld,and you will find a fortune awaiting you at your son’s house. Come; ourhappinesswillbecomplete.Fornearly threeyears Ihavebeenseekingyou,and I felt so sure of finding you that a room is readywaiting for you.Oh!comeawayfromthis,comeawayfromthedreadfulstateIseeyouin!”

“Iamverywilling,”saidthebewilderedBaron,“butcanItakethegirl?”

“Hector,giveherup!DothatmuchforyourAdeline,whohasneverbeforeaskedyoutomakethesmallestsacrifice.IpromiseyouIwillgivethechildamarriageportion;Iwillseethatshemarrieswell,andhassomeeducation.Letitbesaidofoneofthewomenwhohavegivenyouhappinessthatshetooishappy;anddonotrelapseintovice,intothemire.”

“So it was you,” said the Baron, with a smile, “who wanted to see memarried?—Waitafewminutes,”headded;“Iwillgoupstairsanddress;Ihavesomedecentclothesinatrunk.”

Adeline,leftalone,andlookingroundthesqualidshop,meltedintotears.

“Hehasbeen livinghere, andwe rolling inwealth!” said she toherself.“Poorman,hehasindeedbeenpunished—hewhowaseleganceitself.”

The stove-fitter returned to make his bow to his benefactress, and shedesired him to fetch a coach.When he came back, she begged him to givelittleAtalaJudiciahome,andtotakeherawayatonce.

“AndtellherthatifshewillplaceherselfundertheguidanceofMonsieurtheCureoftheMadeleine,onthedaywhensheattendsherfirstCommunionIwillgiveherthirtythousandfrancsandfindheragoodhusband,someworthyyoungman.”

“Myeldestson,thenmadame!Heistwo-and-twenty,andheworshipsthechild.”

TheBaronnowcamedown;thereweretearsinhiseyes.

“Youareforcingmetodeserttheonlycreaturewhohadeverbeguntolovemeatallasyoudo!”saidheinawhispertohiswife.“Sheiscryingbitterly,andIcannotabandonherso—”

“Bequiteeasy,Hector.Shewillfindahomewithhonestpeople,andIwillanswerforherconduct.”

“Well, then, Icangowithyou,”said theBaron,escortinghiswife to thecab.

Hector,theBarond’Ervyoncemore,hadputonabluecoatandtrousers,awhitewaistcoat,ablackstock,andgloves.WhentheBaronesshadtakenherseatinthevehicle,Atalaslippedinlikeaneel.

“Oh, madame,” she said, “let me go with you. I will be so good, soobedient; Iwill dowhatever youwish; but do not partme frommyDaddyVyder,mykindDaddywhogivesmesuchnicethings.Ishallbebeaten—”

“Come,come,Atala,”saidtheBaron,“thisladyismywife—wemustpart—”

“She!Asoldasthat!andshakinglikealeaf!”saidthechild.“Lookatherhead!”andshelaughinglymimickedtheBaroness’palsy.

Thestove-fitter,whohadrunafterthegirl,cametothecarriagedoor.

“Take her away!” said Adeline. Theman put his arms round Atala andfairlycarriedheroff.

“Thanksforsuchasacrifice,mydearest,”saidAdeline,takingtheBaron’shandandclutchingitwithdeliriousjoy.“Howmuchyouarealtered!youmusthavesufferedsomuch!WhatasurpriseforHortenseandforyourson!”

Adelinetalkedasloverstalkwhomeetafteralongabsence,ofahundredthingsatonce.

IntenminutestheBaronandhiswifereachedtheRueLouis-le-Grand,andthereAdelinefoundthisnoteawaitingher:—

“MADAMELABARONNE,—

“Monsieur le Baron Hulot d’Ervy lived for one month in the Rue deCharonneunderthenameofThorec,ananagramofHector.HeisnowinthePassageduSoleilbythenameofVyder.HesaysheisanAlsatian,anddoeswriting, and he lives with a girl named Atala Judici. Be very cautious,madame,forsearchisonfoot;theBaroniswanted,onwhatscoreIknownot.

“Theactresshaskeptherword,andremains,asever,

“MadamelaBaronne,yourhumbleservant,

“J.M.”

TheBaron’sreturnwashailedwithsuchjoyasreconciledhimtodomesticlife.HeforgotlittleAtalaJudici,forexcessesofprofligacyhadreducedhimtothevolatilityoffeelingthatischaracteristicofchildhood.Butthehappinessofthe familywasdashedby the change that had comeoverhim.Hehadbeenstillhalewhenhehadgoneawayfromhishome;hehadcomebackalmostahundred,broken,bent,andhisexpressionevendebased.

Asplendiddinner, improvisedbyCelestine, reminded theoldmanof thesinger’sbanquets;hewasdazzledbythesplendorofhishome.

“Afeastinhonorofthereturnoftheprodigalfather?”saidheinamurmurtoAdeline.

“Hush!”saidshe,“allisforgotten.”

“AndLisbeth?”heasked,notseeingtheoldmaid.

“Iamsorrytosaythatsheisinbed,”repliedHortense.“Shecannevergetup,andweshallhave thegriefof losingherere long.Shehopes toseeyouafterdinner.”

At daybreak next morning Victorin Hulot was informed by the porter’swifethatsoldiersofthemunicipalguardwerepostedallroundthepremises;thepolicedemandedBaronHulot.Thebailiff,whohadfollowedthewoman,laid a summons in due form before the lawyer, and asked him whether hemeanttopayhisfather’sdebts.Theclaimwasfortenthousandfrancsatthesuit of an usurer namedSamanon,who had probably lent theBaron two orthree thousand atmost. Victorin desired the bailiff to dismiss hismen, andpaid.

“Butisitthelast?”heanxiouslywondered.

Lisbeth,miserable already at seeing the family so prosperous, could notsurvive thishappyevent.Shegrewso rapidlyworse thatBianchongaveherbut aweek to live, conquered at last in the long struggle inwhich she hadscoredsomanyvictories.

She kept the secret of her hatred even through a painful death frompulmonary consumption. And, indeed, she had the supreme satisfaction ofseeing Adeline, Hortense, Hulot, Victorin, Steinbock, Celestine, and theirchildrenstandingintearsroundherbedandmourningforherastheangelofthefamily.

BaronHulot,enjoyingacourseofsolidfoodsuchashehadnotknownfornearlythreeyears,recoveredfleshandstrength,andwasalmosthimselfagain.

This improvement was such a joy to Adeline that her nervous tremblingperceptiblydiminished.

“Shewillbehappyafterall,”saidLisbethtoherselfonthedaybeforeshedied, as she saw the venerationwithwhich theBaron regarded hiswife, ofwhosesufferingshehadheardfromHortenseandVictorin.

AndvindictivenesshastenedCousinBetty’send.Thefamilyfollowedher,weeping,tothegrave.

TheBaronandBaroness,havingreached theagewhich looksforperfectrest,gaveupthehandsomeroomsonthefirstfloortotheCountandCountessSteinbock,and took thoseabove.TheBaronbyhisson’sexertions foundanofficialpositioninthemanagementofarailroad,in1845,withasalaryofsixthousand francs, which, added to the six thousand of his pension and themoneylefttohimbyMadameCrevel,securedhimanincomeoftwenty-fourthousandfrancs.Hortensehavingenjoyedherindependentincomeduringthethree years of separation from Wenceslas, Victorin now invested the twohundred thousandfrancshehad in trust, inhissister’snameandheallowedhertwelvethousandfrancs.

Wenceslas,asthehusbandofarichwoman,wasnotunfaithful,buthewasanidler;hecouldnotmakeuphismindtobeginanywork,howevertrifling.Oncemore he became the artist in partibus; hewas popular in society, andconsultedbyamateurs;inshort,hebecameacritic,likeallthefeeblefolkwhofallbelowtheirpromise.

Thuseachhousehold,thoughlivingasonefamily,haditsownfortune.TheBaroness, taughtbybitter experience, left themanagementofmatters toherson,andtheBaronwasthusreducedtohissalary,inhopethatthesmallnessofhis incomewouldpreventhis relapsing intomischief.Andbysomesingulargood fortune, onwhich neither themother nor the son had reckoned,Hulotseemedtohaveforeswornthefairsex.Hissubduedbehaviour,ascribedtothecourseofnature,socompletelyreassuredthefamily,thattheyenjoyedtothefull his recovered amiability and delightful qualities. He was unfailinglyattentive to his wife and children, escorted them to the play, reappeared insociety, anddid thehonors tohis son’shousewithexquisitegrace. In short,thisreclaimedprodigalwasthejoyofhisfamily.

Hewasamostagreeableoldman,aruin,butfullofwit,havingretainednomoreofhisvicethanmadeitanaddedsocialgrace.

Ofcourse,everybodywasquitesatisfiedandeasy.TheyoungpeopleandtheBaronesslaudedthemodelfathertotheskies,forgettingthedeathofthetwouncles.Lifecannotgoonwithoutmuchforgetting!

MadameVictorin,whomanagedthisenormoushouseholdwithgreatskill,

due, no doubt, to Lisbeth’s training, had found it necessary to have aman-cook.Thisagainnecessitatedakitchen-maid.Kitchen-maidsareinthesedaysambitiouscreatures,eagertodetectthechef’ssecrets,andtobecomecooksassoon as they have learnt to stir a sauce. Consequently, the kitchen-maid isliabletofrequentchange.

At the beginning of 1845 Celestine engaged as kitchen-maid a sturdyNormandypeasantcomefromIsigny—short-waisted,withstrongredarms,acommon face, as dull as an “occasional piece” at theplay, andhardly tobepersuaded out of wearing the classical linen cap peculiar to the women ofLowerNormandy.Thisgirl,asbuxomasawet-nurse,lookedasifshewouldburst thebluecottoncheck inwhich sheclothedherperson.Her florid facemighthavebeenhewnoutofstone,sohardwereitstawnyoutlines.

Of course no attention was paid to the advent in the house of this girl,whosenamewasAgathe—anordinary,wide-awakespecimen,suchasisdailyimported from the provinces. Agathe had no attractions for the cook, hertonguewastoorough,forshehadservedinasuburbaninn,waitingoncarters;and instead of making a conquest of her chief and winning from him thesecretsofthehighartofthekitchen,shewastheobjectofhisgreatcontempt.The chef’s attentions were, in fact, devoted to Louise, the CountessSteinbock’s maid. The country girl, thinking herself ill-used, complainedbitterlythatshewasalwayssentoutofthewayonsomepretextwhenthechefwasfinishingadishorputtingthecrowningtouchtoasauce.

“Iamoutofluck,”saidshe,“andIshallgotoanotherplace.”

Andyetshestayedthoughshehadtwicegivennoticetoquit.

Onenight,Adeline, rousedbysomeunusualnoise,didnotseeHector inthe bed he occupied near hers; for they slept side by side in two beds, asbeseemedanoldcouple.Shelayawakeanhour,buthedidnotreturn.Seizedwith a panic, fancying some tragic end had overtaken him—an apoplecticattack,perhaps—shewentupstairstotheflooroccupiedbytheservants,andthenwas attracted to the roomwhereAgathe slept, partly by seeing a lightbelowthedoor,andpartlybythemurmurofvoices.Shestoodstillindismayonrecognizingthevoiceofherhusband,who,avictimtoAgathe’scharms,tovanquishthisstrappingwench’snotdisinterestedresistance,wenttothelengthofsaying:

“Mywifehasnotlongtolive,andifyoulikeyoumaybeaBaroness.”

Adelinegaveacry,droppedhercandlestick,andfled.

ThreedayslatertheBaroness,whohadreceivedthelastsacraments,wasdying,surroundedbyherweepingfamily.

Just before she died, she took her husband’s hand and pressed it,murmuringinhisear:

“Mydear,Ihadnothinglefttogiveuptoyoubutmylife.Inaminuteortwoyouwillbefree,andcanmakeanotherBaronneHulot.”

And,raresight,tearsoozedfromherdeadeyes.

Thisdesperatenessofvicehadvanquishedthepatienceoftheangel,who,on the brink of eternity, gave utterance to the only reproach she had everspokeninherlife.

The Baron left Paris three days after his wife’s funeral. Eleven monthsafterVictorinheardindirectlyofhisfather’smarriagetoMademoiselleAgathePiquetard,solemnizedatIsigny,onthe1stFebruary1846.

“Parentsmayhindertheirchildren’smarriage,butchildrencannotinterferewith the insane acts of their parents in their second childhood,” saidMaitreHulot toMaitrePopinot, the second sonof theMinister ofCommerce,whowasdiscussingthismarriage.

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