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 NUMA ROOMESTAN 
 
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 GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON 
 
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 ' :: .«••*' '• Ofpyright, 1899, 1900, 
 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 
 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 
 
 
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 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 
NUMA ROUMESTAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TO THE arena! 
 
 That Sunday — it was a scorching hot Sunday 
 in July at the time of the yearly competitions for 
 the department — there was a great open-air festi- 
 val held in the ancient amphitheatre of Aps in 
 Provence. All the town was there — the weavers 
 from the New Road, the aristocrats of the Calade 
 quarter, and some people even came all the way 
 frorh Beaucaire. 
 
 " Fifty thousand persons at the lowest estimate," 
 said the Forum in its account the next day; but 
 then we must allow for Provengal puffing. 
 
 The truth was that an enormous crowd was 
 crushed together upon the sun-baked stone 
 benches of the old amphitheatre, just as in the 
 palmy days of the Antonines, and it was evident 
 that the meet of the Society of Agriculture was 
 far from being the main attraction to this overflow 
 of the folk. Something more than the Landes 
 horse-races was needed, or the prize-fights for men 
 and "half men," the athletic games of "strangle 
 the cat" and "jump the swineskin," or the contests 
 
 I 
 
 849204 
 
5 Numa Roumesta7t, 
 
 for fifers and tabor-players, as old a story to the 
 
 townspeople as the ancient red stones of the Arena ; 
 
 something more was needed to keep this multitude 
 
 standing for two hours under that blinding, murder- 
 
 /'ous surh,'. upon .'those burning flags, breathing in an 
 
 ^ atpipsphere. q-f fl'a'me and dust flavored with gun- 
 
 ; \ pqwdei-; riskihg blindness, sunstroke, fevers and all 
 
 the other dangers and tortures attendant on what 
 
 is called down there in Provence an open-air 
 
 festival. 
 
 The grand attraction of the annual competitions 
 was Numa Roumestan. 
 
 Ah, well; the proverb "No man is a prophet" 
 etc. is certainly true when applied to painters and 
 poets, whose fellow-countrymen in fact are always 
 the last to acknowledge their claims to superiority 
 for whatever is ideal and lacking in tangible re- 
 sults ; but it does not apply to statesmen, to politi- 
 cal or industrial celebrities, those mighty advertised 
 fames whose currency consists of favors and influ- 
 ence, fames that reflect their glory on city and 
 townsmen in the form of benefits of every sort 
 and kind. 
 
 For the last ten years Numa, the great Numa, 
 leader and Deputy representing all the professions, 
 has been the prophet of Provence ; for ten years 
 the town of Aps has shown toward her illustrious son 
 the tender care and efl"usiveness of a mother, one 
 of those mothers of the South quick in her expres- 
 sions, lively in her exclamations and gesticulatory 
 caresses. 
 
 When he comes each summer during the vaca- 
 
To the Arena! x 
 
 tion of the Chamber of Deputies, the ovation be- 
 gins as soon as he appears at the station ! There 
 are the Orpheons swelHng out their embroidered 
 banners as they intone their heroic choral songs. 
 The railway porters are in waiting, seated on the 
 steps until the ancient family coach which always 
 comes for the " leader " has made a few turns of its 
 big wheels down the alley of big plane-trees on the 
 Avenue Berchere ; then they take the horses out 
 and put themselves into the shafts and draw the great 
 man with their own hands, amid the shouts of the 
 populace and the waving of hats, as far as the Portal 
 mansion, where he gets out. This enthusiasm has 
 so completely passed into the stage of tradition in 
 the rites of his arrival that the horses now stop of 
 themselves, like a team in a post-chaise, at the exact 
 corner where they are accustomed to be taken out 
 by the porters ; no amount of beating could induce 
 them to go a step farther. 
 
 From the first day the whole city has changed 
 its appearance. Here is no longer that melan- 
 choly palace of the prefect where long siestas are 
 lulled by the strident note of the locusts in the 
 parched trees on the Cours. Even in the hottest 
 part of the day the esplanade is alive and the 
 streets are filled with hurrying people arrayed in 
 solemn black suits and hats of ceremony, all 
 sharply defined in the brilliant sunlight, the shad- 
 ows of their epileptic gestures cut in black against 
 the white walls. 
 
 The carriages of the Bishop and the President 
 shake the highroad ; then delegations arrive from 
 
4 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 the aristocratic Faubourg where Roumestan is 
 adored because of his royalist convictions; next 
 deputations from 'the women warpers march in 
 bands the width of the street, their heads held 
 high under their Arlesian caps. 
 
 The inns overflow with the country people, 
 farmers from the Camargue or the Crau, whose 
 unhitched wagons crowd the small squares and 
 streets as on a market day. In the evening the 
 cafes crowded with people remain open well on 
 into the night, and the windows of the club of the 
 ** Whites," lighted up until an impossible hour, 
 vibrate with the peals of a voice that belongs to 
 the popular god. 
 
 Not a prophet in his own country? 'T was only 
 necessary to look at the Arena under the intense 
 blue sky of that Sunday of July 1875, note the 
 indifference of the crowd to the games going on 
 in the circus below, and all the faces turned in the 
 same direction, toward the municipal platform, 
 where Roumestan was seated surrounded by braided 
 coats and sunshades for festivals and gay dresses 
 of many-colored silks. 'Twas only necessary to 
 listen to the talk and cries of ecstasy and the 
 simple words of admiration coming in loud voices 
 from this good people of Aps, some expressed in 
 Provencal and some in a barbarous kind of French 
 well rubbed with garlic, but all uttered with an 
 accent as implacable as is the sun down there, 
 an accent which cuts out and gives its own to 
 every syllable and will not so much as spare us 
 the dot over an *' i." 
 
To the Arena! r 
 
 " Diou! qu'es Mou ! God ! how beautiful he is !" 
 '* He is a bit stouter than he was last year." 
 " That makes him look all the more imposing." 
 " Don't push so ! there is room for everybody ! " 
 ** Look at him, my son ; there 's our Numa. 
 When you are grown up you can say that you 
 have seen him, qu^ !'' 
 
 ** His Bourbon nose is all there ! and not one of 
 his teeth missing ! " 
 
 " Not a single gray hair, either ! " 
 " Te\ I should say not ! he is not so very old yet 
 He was born in '32 — the year that Louis Philippe 
 pulled down the mission crosses, peca'ir^ f" 
 ** That scoundrel of a Philippe ! " 
 " They scarcely show, those forty-three years 
 of his." 
 
 " Sure enough, they certainly don't. . . . T^f 
 here, great star — " 
 
 And with a bold gesture a big girl with burning 
 eyes throws a kiss toward him from afar that re- 
 sounds through the air like the cry of a bird. 
 
 " Take care, Zette — suppose his wife should 
 see you." 
 
 " The one in blue, is that his wife } " 
 No, the lady in blue was his sister-in-law. Mile. 
 Hortense, a pretty girl just out of the convent, but 
 one, "they say, who already straddled a horse just as 
 well as a dragoon. Mme. Roumestan was more dig- 
 nified, more thoroughbred in appearance, but she 
 looked much haughtier. These Parisian ladies think 
 so much of themselves ! And so, with the pictu- 
 resque impudence of their half-Latin language, the 
 
6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 women, standing and shading their eyes with their 
 hands, proceeded in loud voices deliberately to 
 pick the two Parisians to pieces — their simple 
 little travelling hats, their close-fitting dresses 
 worn without jewelry, which were so great a con- 
 trast to the local toilettes, in which gold chains 
 and red and green skirts puffed out by enormous 
 bustles prevailed. 
 
 The men talked of the services rendered by Numa 
 to the good cause, of his letter to the Emperor, 
 and his speeches for the White Flag. Oh, if we 
 had only a dozen men in the Chamber like him, 
 Henry V would have been on his throne long ago ! 
 
 Intoxicated by this circumambient enthusiasm 
 and wrought up by these remarks, Numa could not 
 remain quiet in one spot. He threw himself back 
 in his great arm-chair, his eyes shut, his expres- 
 sion ecstatic, and swayed himself restlessly back 
 and forth ; then, rising, he strode up and down the 
 platform and leaned over toward the arena to 
 breathe in as it were all the light and cries, and 
 then returned to his seat. Jovial and unceremoni- 
 ous, his necktie loose, he knelt on his chair, his 
 back and his boot-soles turned to the crowd, and 
 conversed with his Paris ladies seated above and 
 behind him, trying to inoculate them with his 
 own joy and satisfaction. 
 
 Mme. Roumestan was bored — that was evident 
 from the expression of abstracted indifference on 
 her face, which though beautiful in lines seemed 
 cold and a little haughty when not enlivened by 
 the light of two gray eyes, two eyes like pearls, 
 
To the Arena! 7 
 
 true Parisian eyes, and by the dazzling effect of 
 the smile on her slightly open mouth. 
 
 All this southern gayety, made up of turbulence 
 and familiarity, and this wordy race all on the 
 outside and the surface, whose nature was so much 
 the opposite of her own, which was serious and 
 self-contained, grated on her perhaps unconscious- 
 ly, because she saw in them multiplied and 
 vulgarized the same type as that of the man at 
 whose side she had lived ten years, whom she 
 had learned to know to her cost. The glaring hot 
 blue sky, so excessively brilliant and vibrating 
 with heat, was also not to her liking. How could 
 these people breathe? Where did they find breath 
 enough to shout so? She took it into her head 
 to speak her thought aloud, how delightful a nice 
 gray misty sky of Paris would be, and how a fresh 
 spring shower would cool the pavements and make 
 them glisten ! 
 
 '* Oh, Rosalie, how can you talk so ! " 
 Her husband and sister were quite indignant, 
 especially her sister, a tall young girl in the full 
 bloom of youth and health, who, the better to see 
 everything, was making herself as tall as possible. 
 It was her first visit to Provence, and yet one 
 might have thought that these shouts and gestures 
 beneath the burning Italian sky had stirred within 
 her some secret fibre, some dormant instinct, her 
 southern origin, in fact, which was revealed in the 
 heavy eyebrows meeting over her houri-like eyes, 
 and her pale complexion, on which the fierce 
 summer sun left not one red mark. 
 
8 Numa Roicmestan, 
 
 *'Do, please, Rosalie ! " pleaded Roumestan,who 
 was determined to persuade his wife. " Get up 
 and look at that. Did Paris ever show you any- 
 thing like that?" 
 
 In the vast theatre widening into an ellipse 
 that made a great jag in the blue sky, thousands 
 of faces were packed together on the many rows 
 of benches rising in terraces ; bright eyes made 
 luminous points, while bright colored and pictu- 
 resque costumes spangled the whole mass with 
 butterfly tints. Thence, as from a huge caldron, 
 rose a chorus of joyous shouts, the ringing of 
 voices and the blare of trumpets volatilized, as it 
 were, by the intense light of the sun. Hardly 
 audible on the lower stories, where dust, sand and 
 human breath formed a floating cloud, this din 
 grew louder as it rose and became more distinct 
 and unveiled itself in the purer air. Above all 
 rang out the cry of the milk-roll venders, who bore 
 from tier to tier their baskets draped with white 
 linen: ''■Li pan on la^ li pan on la!'' (Here's 
 your milk bread, here's your milk bread!) The 
 sellers of drinking-water, cleverly balancing their 
 green glazed pitchers, made one thirsty just to 
 hear them cry : " Vaigo es fresco ! Qnau von 
 benre ? " (The water 's fresh ! Who will drink?) 
 
 Up on the highest brim of the amphitheatre, 
 high up, groups of children playing and running 
 noisily added a crown of sharp calls to the mass 
 of noise below, much like a flock of martins soar- 
 ing high above the other birds. 
 
 And over all of it, how wonderful was the play 
 
To the Arena! o 
 
 of light and shadow, as with the advance of day 
 the sun turned slowly in the hollow of the vast 
 amphitheatre as it might on the disk of a sun- 
 dial, driving the crowd along, and grouping it in 
 the zone of shade, leaving empty those parts of 
 the vast structure exposed to a terrible heat — 
 broad stretches of red flags fringed with dry grass 
 where successive conflagrations have left their 
 mark in black. 
 
 At times a stone would detach itself in the top- 
 most tier of the ancient monument, and, rolling 
 down from story to story, cause cries of terror 
 and much crowding among the people below, as 
 if the whole edifice were about to crumble; then 
 on the tiers there was a movement like the assault of 
 a raging sea on the dunes, for with this exuberant 
 race the effect of a thing never has any relation to 
 its cause, enlarged as it is by dreams and percep- 
 tions that lack all sense of proportion. 
 
 Thus peopled and thus animated once more, the 
 ancient ruin seemed to live again, and no longer 
 retain its appearance of a showplace for tourists. 
 Looking thereon, it gave one the sensation of a 
 poem by Pindar recited by a modern Greek, which 
 means a dead language come to life again, having 
 lost its cold scholarly look. The clear sky, the 
 sun like silver turned to vapor, these Latin intona- 
 tions still preserved in the Proven9al idiom, and 
 here and there, particularly in the cheap seats, the 
 poses of the people in the opening of a vaulted 
 passage — motionless attitudes made antique and 
 almost sculptural by the vibration of the air, local 
 
lO Numa Roumestan, 
 
 types, profiles standing out like those on ancient 
 coins, with the short aquihne nose, broad shaven 
 cheeks and upturned chin that Numa showed; all 
 this filled out the idea of a Roman festival — even 
 to the lowing of the cows from the Landes which 
 echoed through the vaults below — those vaults 
 whence in olden days lions and elephants were 
 wont to issue to the combat. Thus, when the 
 great black hole of the podium, closed by a grat- 
 ing, stood open to the arena all empty and yellow 
 with sand, one almost expected to see wild beasts 
 spring out instead of the peaceful bucolic pro- 
 cession of men and of the animals that had received- 
 prizes in the competitions. 
 
 At the moment it was the turn of the mules led 
 along in harness, sumptuously arrayed in rich Pro- 
 vencal trappings, carrying proudly their slender 
 little heads adorned with silver bells, rosettes, 
 ribbons and feathers, not in the least alarmed at the 
 fierce cracking of whips clear and sharply cut, 
 swung serpent-like or in volleys by the muleteers, 
 each one standing up full length upon his beast. 
 In the crowd each village recognized its champions 
 and named each one aloud : 
 
 " There 's Cavaillon ! There 's Maussane ! " 
 The long, richly-colored file rolled its slow 
 length around the arena to the sound of musical 
 bells and jingling, glittering harness, and stopped 
 before the municipal platform and saluted Numa 
 with a serenade of whip-crackings and bells ; then 
 passed along on its circular course under the leader- 
 ship of a fine-looking horseman in white tights and 
 
To the Arena! il 
 
 high top-boots, one of the gentlemen of the local 
 club who had planned the function and quite un- 
 consciously had struck a false note in its harmony, 
 mixing provincialism with Provencal things and 
 thus giving to this curious local festival a vague 
 flavor of a procession of riders at Franconi's circus. 
 However, apart from a few country people, no one 
 paid much attention to him. No one had eyes for 
 anything but the grand stand, crowded just then 
 with persons who wished to shake hands with 
 Numa — friends, clients, old college chums, who 
 were proud of their relations with the great man 
 and wished all the world to see them conversing 
 with him and proposed to show themselves there 
 on the benches, well in sight. 
 
 Flood of visitors succeeded flood without a break. 
 There were old men and young men, country gentle- 
 men dressed all in gray from their gaiters to their 
 little hats, managers of shops in their best clothes 
 creased from much lying away in presses, menagers 
 or farmers from the district of Aps in their round 
 jackets, a pilot from Port St. Louis twirling his big 
 prisoner's cap in his hands — all bearing their 
 " South " stamped upon their faces, whether cov- 
 ered to the eyes with those purple-black beards 
 which the Oriental pallor of their complexion 
 accentuates, or closely shaven after the ancient 
 French fashion, short-necked ruddy people sweat- 
 ing like terra cotta water coolers ; all of them with 
 flaming black eyes sticking well out from the face, 
 gesticulating in a familiar way and calling each 
 other ''thee" and "thou"! 
 
12 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 And how Roumestan did receive them, without 
 distinction of birth or class or fortune, all with the 
 same unquenchable effusiveness ! It was : " 7"/, 
 Monsieur d'Espalion ! and how are you, Mar- 
 quis?" ''He b^ ! old Cabantous, how goes the 
 piloting?" "Delighted to see you, President 
 B^darride ! " 
 
 Then came shaking of hands, embraces, solid 
 taps on the shoulder that give double value to 
 words spoken, which are always too cold for the 
 intense feeling of the Provengal. To be sure, the 
 conversations were of short duration. Their 
 " leader " gave but a divided attention, and as he 
 chatted he waved how-d'ye-do with his hand to 
 the new-comers. But nobody resented this un- 
 ceremonious way of dismissing people with a few 
 kind words: "Yes, yes, I won't forget — send in 
 your claim — I will take it with me." 
 
 There were promises of government tobacco 
 shops and collectors' offices; what they did not 
 ask for he seemed to divine ; he encouraged timid 
 ambitions and provoked them with kindly words: 
 
 " What, no medal yet, my old Cabantous, after 
 you have saved twenty lives? Send me your 
 papers. They adore me at the Navy Department. 
 We must repair this injustice." 
 
 His voice rang out warm and metallic, stamping 
 and separating each word. One would have said that 
 each one was a gold piece rolling out fresh from 
 the mint. And every one went away delighted 
 with this shining coin, leaving the platform with the 
 beaming look of the pupil who has been awarded 
 
To the Arena! 13 
 
 a prize. The most wonderful thing about this devil 
 of a man was his prodigious suppleness in assum- 
 ing the air and manner of the person to whom he was 
 speaking, and perfectly naturally, too, apparently in 
 the most unconscious way in the world. 
 
 With President Bedarride he was unctuous, 
 smooth in gestures, his mouth fixed affectedly and 
 his arm stretched forth in a magisterial fashion as 
 if he were tossing aside his lawyer's toga before the 
 judge's seat. When talking to Colonel Roche- 
 maure he assumed a soldierly bearing, his hat 
 slapped on one side ; while with Cabantous he 
 thrust his hands into his pockets, bowed his legs 
 and rolled his shoulders as he walked, just like an 
 old sea-dog. From time to time, between two 
 embraces as it were, he turned to his Parisian 
 guests, beaming and wiping his steaming brow. 
 
 '* But, my dear Numa ! " cried Hortense in a low 
 voice with her pretty laugh, "■ where will you find 
 all these tobacco shops you have been promising 
 them?" 
 
 Roumestan bent his large head with its crop of 
 close curling hair slightly thinned at the top and 
 whispered : " They are promised, little sister, not 
 given." 
 
 And, fancying a reproach in his wife's silence, he 
 added: 
 
 " Do not forget that we are in Provence, where 
 we understand each other's language. All these 
 good fellows understand what a promise is worth. 
 They don't expect to get the shops any more 
 positively than I count on giving them. But they 
 
14 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 chatter about them — which amuses them — and 
 their imaginations are at work : why deprive them 
 of that pleasure? Besides, you must know that 
 among us Southerners words have only a relative 
 meaning. It is merely putting things in their 
 proper focus." The phrase seemed to please him, 
 for he repeated several times the final words, " in 
 their proper focus — in their proper focus — " 
 
 " I like these people," said Hortense, who really 
 seemed to be amusing herself immensely; but 
 Rosalie was not to be convinced. " Still, words do 
 signify something," she murmured very seriously, 
 as if communing with her own soul. 
 
 '' My dear, it is a simple question of latitude." 
 Roumestan accompanied his paradox with a jerk of 
 the shoulder peculiar to him, Hke that of a peddler 
 putting up his pack. The great orator of the 
 aristocracy retained several personal tricks of this 
 kind, of which he had never been able to break 
 himself — tricks that might have caused him in 
 another political party to seem a representative of 
 the common folk ; but it was a proof of power and 
 of singular originaHty in those aristocratic heights 
 where he sat enthroned between the Prince of 
 Anhalt and the Due de la Rochetaillade. The 
 Faubourg St. Germain went wild over this shoul- 
 der-jerk coming from the broad stalwart back that 
 carried the hopes of the French monarchy. 
 
 If Mme. Roumestan had ever shared the 
 illusions of the Faubourg she did so no longer, 
 judging from her look of disenchantment and the 
 little smile with which she Hstened to her husband's 
 
To the Arena! 15 
 
 words, a smile paler with melancholy than with dis- 
 dain. But he left them suddenly, attracted by the 
 sound of some peculiar music that came to them 
 from the arena below. The crowd in great ex- 
 citement was on its feet shouting '' Valmajour ! 
 Valmajour ! " 
 
 Having taken the musicians' prize the day be- 
 fore, the famous Valmajour, the greatest taborist 
 of Provence, had come to honor Numa with his 
 finest airs. In truth he was a handsome youth, 
 this same Valmajour, as he stood in the centre of 
 the arena, his coat of yellow wool hanging from 
 one shoulder and a scarlet belt standing out against 
 the white linen of his shirt. Suspended from his 
 left arm he carried his long light tabor by a strap 
 and with his left hand held a small fife to his lips, 
 while with his right hand and his right leg held 
 forward he played on his tabor with a brave and 
 gallant air. The fife, though but small, filled the 
 whole place like a chorus of locusts ; appropriate 
 music in this limpid crystalline atmosphere in 
 which all sounds vibrate, while the deep notes of 
 the tabor supported this peculiar singing and its 
 many variations. 
 
 The sound of the wild, sharp music brought 
 back his childhood to Numa more vividly than 
 anything else that he had seen that day; he saw 
 himself a little Provence boy running about to 
 country fairs, dancing under the leafy shadow of 
 the plane-trees, on village squares, in the white dust 
 of the highroads, or over the lavender flowers ,of 
 sun-parched hillsides. A delicious emotion passed 
 
1 6 Numa Roumesta7t, 
 
 through his eyes, for, notwithstanding his forty 
 years and the parching effects of political life, he 
 still retained a good portion of imagination, thanks 
 to the kindliness of nature, a surface-sensibility 
 that is so deceptive to those who do not know the 
 true bottom of a man's character. 
 
 And besides, Valmajour was not an everyday 
 taborist, one of those common minstrels who pick 
 up music-hall catches and odds and ends of music 
 at country fairs, degrading their instrument by 
 trying to cater to modern taste. Son and grand- 
 son of taborists, he played only the songs of his 
 native land, songs crooned during night watches over 
 cradles by grandmothers ; and these he did know ; 
 he never wearied of them. After playing some 
 of Saboly's rhythmical Christmas carols arranged 
 as minuets and quadrilles, he started the " March 
 of the Kings," to the tune of which, during the 
 grand epoch, Turenne conquered and burned the 
 Palatinate. Along the benches where but a moment 
 before one heard the humming of popular airs like 
 the swarming of bees, the delighted crowd began 
 keeping time with their arms and heads, following 
 the splendid rhythm which surged along through 
 the grand silences of the theatre like mistral, that 
 mighty wind ; silences only broken by the mad 
 twittering of swallows that flew about hither and 
 thither in the bluish green vault above, disquieted, 
 and as it were crazy, as if trying to discover what 
 unseen bird it was that gave forth these wonder- 
 fully high and sharp notes. 
 
 When Valmajour had finished, wild shouts of 
 
To the Arena! 17 
 
 applause burst forth. Hats and handkerchiefs 
 flew into the air. Numa called the musician up to 
 the platform, and throwing his arms around his 
 neck exclaimed : '' You have made me weep, my 
 boy." And he showed his big golden-brown eyes 
 all swimming in tears. 
 
 Very proud to find himself in such exalted com- 
 pany, among embroidered coats and the mother- 
 of-pearl handles of official swords, the musician 
 accepted these praises and embraces without any 
 great embarrassment. He was a good-looking 
 fellow with a well shaped head, broad forehead, 
 beard and moustache of lustrous black against a 
 swarthy skin, one of those proud peasants from 
 the valley of the Rhone who have none of the 
 artful humility of the peasants of central France. 
 
 Hortense had noticed at once how delicately 
 formed were his hands under their covering of sun- 
 burn. She examined the tabor with its ivory-tipped 
 drum-stick and was astonished at the lightness of the 
 old instrument, which had been in his family for two 
 hundred years, and whose case curiously carved in 
 walnut wood, decked with light carvings, polished, 
 thin and sonorous, seemed to have grown pliable 
 under the patina time had lent it. They admired 
 above all the little old fife, that simple rustic flute 
 with three stops only, such as the ancient taborists 
 used, to which Valmajour had returned out of re- 
 spect for tradition and the management of which 
 he had conquered after infinite pains and patience. 
 Nothing more touching than to hear the little tale of 
 his struggles and victory in an odd sort of French, 
 
1 8 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 "It come to me in the night," he said, "as I 
 listened me to the nightingawles. Thought I \\\ 
 meself — look there, Valmajour, there's a little 
 birrd o' God whose throat alone is equal to all the 
 trills. Now, what he can do with one stop, can't 
 you accomplish with the three holes in your little 
 flute?" 
 
 He talked quietly, with a perfectly confident 
 tone of voice, without a suspicion of being ridicu- 
 lous. No one indeed would have dared to smile 
 in the face of Numa's enthusiasm, for he was 
 throwing up his arms and stamping so that he 
 almost went through the platform. " How hand- , 
 some he is ! What an artist ! " And after him the 
 Mayor and President Bedarride and the General 
 and M. Roumavage, the big brewer from Beau- 
 caire, vice-consul of Peru, tightly buttoned into 
 a carnival costume all over silver, echoed the sen- 
 timents of the leader, repeating in convinced tones : 
 " What a great artist ! " 
 
 Hortense agreed with them, and in her usual im- 
 pulsive manner expressed her sentiments: "Oh, 
 yes, a great artist indeed " while Mme. Roumestan 
 murmured " You will turn his head, poor fellow." 
 
 But there seemed to be no fear of this for Val- 
 majour, to judge by his tranquil air; he was not 
 even in the least excited on hearing Numa suddenly 
 exclaim : 
 
 " Come to Paris, my boy, your fortune is 
 assured ! " 
 
 "Oh, my sister never would let me go," he 
 explained with a quiet smile. 
 
To the Are7ia! 19 
 
 His mother was dead and he Hved with his 
 father and sister on a farm that bore the family 
 name some three leagues distant from Aps on 
 the Cordova mountain. Numa swore he would go 
 to see him before he returned to Paris ; he would 
 talk to his relations — he was sure to make it 
 a go. 
 
 "And I will help you, Numa," said a girlish 
 Voice behind him. 
 
 Valmajour bowed without speaking, turned on 
 his heel and walked down the broad carpet of the 
 platform, his tabor under his arm, his head held 
 high and in his gait that light, swaying motion of 
 the hips common to the Provencal, a lover of 
 dancing and rhythm. Down below his comrades 
 were waiting for him and shook him by the hand. 
 
 Suddenly a cry arose, '* The farandole, the faran- 
 dole," a shout without end doubled by the echoes 
 of the stone passages and corridors from which the 
 shadows and freshness seemed to come which were 
 now invading the arena and ever diminishing the 
 zone of sunlight. In a moment the arena was 
 crowded, crammed to suffocation with merry 
 dancers, a regular village crowd of girls in white 
 neckscarfs and bright dresses, velvet ribbons nod- 
 ding on lace caps, and of men in braided blouses 
 and colored waistcoats. 
 
 At the signal from the tabor that mob fell into 
 line and filed off in bands, holding each other's 
 hands, their legs all eager for the steps. A pro- 
 longed trill from the fife made the whole circus 
 undulate, and led by a man from Barbantane, a 
 
20 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 district famous for its dancers, the farandole slowly 
 began its march, unwinding its rings, executing its 
 figures almost on one spot, filling with its confused 
 noise of rustling garments and heavy breathing the 
 huge vaulted passage of the outlet in which, bit by 
 bit, it was swallowed up. 
 
 Valmajour followed them with even steps, 
 solemnly, managing his long tabor with his knee, 
 while he played louder and louder upon the fife, 
 as the closely packed crowd in the arena, already 
 plunged in the bluish gray of the twilight, un- 
 wound itself like a bobbin filled with silk and gold 
 thread. 
 
 '• Look up there ! " said Roumestan all of a 
 sudden. 
 
 It was the head of the line of dancers pouring 
 in through the arches of the second tier, while the 
 musician and the last line of dancers were still 
 stepping about in the arena. As it proceeded the 
 farandole took up in its folds everybody whom the 
 rhythm forced to join in the dance. What Pro- 
 vencal could have resisted the magic flute of Val- 
 majour? Upborne and shot forward by the 
 rebounding undernote of the tabor, his music 
 seemed to be playing on every tier at the same 
 time, passing the gratings and the open donjons, 
 overtopping the cries of the crowd. So the faran- 
 dole climbed higher and higher, and reached at 
 last the uppermost tier, where the sun was yet 
 glowing with a tawny light. The outlines of the 
 long procession of dancers, bounding in their 
 solemn dance, etched themselves against the high 
 
To the Arena! 21 
 
 panelled bays of the upper tier in the hot vibration 
 of that July afternoon, like a row of fine silhouettes 
 or a series of bas-reliefs in antique stone on the 
 sculptured pediment of some ruined temple. 
 
 Down below on the deserted platform — for 
 people were beginning to leave and the lower 
 tiers were empty — Numa said to his wife as he 
 wrapped a lace shawl about her to protect her 
 from the evening chill: 
 
 ** Now, really, is it not beautiful? " 
 
 " Very beautiful," answered the Parisian, moved 
 this time to the depths of her artistic nature. 
 
 And the great man of Aps seemed prouder of 
 this simple word of approbation than of all the 
 noisy homage with which he had been surfeited 
 for the last two hours. 
 
22 
 
 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE SEAMY SIDE OF A GREAT MAN. 
 
 NuMA Roumestan was twenty-two years old 
 when he came to Paris to complete the law stud- 
 ies which he had begun at Aix. At that time he 
 was a good enough kind of a fellow, light-hearted, 
 boisterous, full-blooded, with big, handsome, promi- 
 nent eyes of a golden-brown color and somewhat 
 frog-like, and a heavy mop of naturally curling 
 hair which grew low on his forehead like a woollen 
 cap without a visor. There was not the shadow of 
 an idea, not the ghost of an ambition beneath that 
 encroaching thatch of his. He was a typical Aix 
 student, a good billiard and card player, without a 
 rival in his capacity for drinking champagne and 
 "going on the cat-hunt with torches" until three 
 o'clock in the morning through the wide streets of 
 the old aristocratic and Parliamentary town. But 
 he was interested in absolutely nothing. He never 
 read a book nor even a newspaper, and was deep 
 in the mire of that provincial folly which shrugs its 
 shoulders at everything and hides its ignorance 
 under a pretence of plain common-sense. 
 
 Arrived in Paris, the Quartier Latin woke him up 
 a little, although there was small reason for it. 
 Like all his compatriots Numa installed himself 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 23 
 
 as soon as he arrived at the Cafe Malmus, a tall 
 and noisy barrack of a place with three stories of 
 tall windows, as high as those in a department 
 shop, on the corner of the Rue Four Saint Ger- 
 main. It filled the street with the noise of bil- 
 liard playing and the vociferations of its clients, a 
 regular horde of savages. The entire South of 
 France loomed and spread itself there ; every 
 shade of it ! Specimens of the southern French 
 Gascon, the Provencal, the Bordeaux man, the 
 Toulousian and Marseilles man, samples of the 
 Auvergnat and Perigordian Southerner, him of 
 Ariege, of the Ard^che and the Pyrenees, all 
 with names ending in ** as," *' us " and '' ac," re- 
 sounding, sonorous and barbarous, such as Etch- 
 everry, Terminarias, Bentaboulech, Laboulbene — 
 names that sounded as if hurled from the mouth 
 of a blunderbuss or exploded as from a powder 
 mine, so fierce were the ejaculations. And what 
 shouts and wasted breath merely to call for a cup 
 of coffee ; what resounding laughter, like the noise 
 of a load of stones shunted from a cart; what 
 gigantic beards, too stiff, too black, with a bluish 
 tinge, beards that defied the razor, growing up into 
 the eyes and joining on to the eyebrows, sprouted 
 in little tufts in the broad equine nostrils and ears, 
 but never able utterly to conceal the youth and in- 
 nocence of these good honest faces hidden beneath 
 such tropical growths. 
 
 When not at their lectures, which they attended 
 conscientiously, these students passed their entire 
 time at Malmus's, falling naturally into groups 
 
24 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 according to their provinces or even their parishes, 
 seated around the same old tables handed down to 
 them by tradition, which might have retained the 
 twang of their patois in the echoes of their marble 
 tops, just as the desks of school-rooms retain the 
 initials carved on them by school-boys. 
 
 Women in that company were few and far be- 
 tween, scarcely two or three to a story, poor girls 
 whom their lovers brought there in a shamefaced 
 way only to pass an evening beside them behind a 
 glass of beer, looking over the illustrated papers, 
 silent and feeling very out of place among these 
 Southern youths who had been bought up to de- 
 spise loii f^mdan — females. Mistresses? Te ! 
 By Jove, they knew where to get them whenever 
 they wanted them for an hour or a night; but 
 never for long. Bullier's ball and the " howlers " 
 did not tempt them, nor the late suppers of the 
 rotisseuse. They much preferred to stay at Mal- 
 mus's, talk patois, and roll leisurely from the cafe 
 to the schools and then to the table d'hote. 
 
 If they ever crossed the Seine it was to go to 
 the Theatre Francais to a performance of one of 
 the old plays ; for the Southerner always has the clas- 
 sic thing in his blood. They would go in a crowd, 
 talking and laughing loudly in the street, though 
 in reality feeling rather timid, and then return 
 silent and subdued, their eyes dazed by the dust 
 of the tragic scenes they had just witnessed, and 
 with closed blinds and gas turned low would have 
 another game before they went to bed. 
 
 Sometimes, on the occasion of the graduation 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man. 25 
 
 of one of their number, an impromptu feed would 
 make the whole house redolent of garlic stews and 
 mountain cheeses smelling strong and rotting nicely 
 in their blue paper wrappers. After his farewell 
 dinner the new owner of a sheepskin would take 
 down from the rack the pipe that bore his initials 
 and sally forth to be notary or deputy in some far- 
 away hole beyond the Loire, there to talk to his 
 friends in the provinces about Paris — Paris which 
 he thought he knew, but in which really he had 
 never set his foot ! 
 
 In this narrow local circle Numa readily assumed 
 the eagle's place. To begin with, he shouted louder 
 than the others, and then his music was looked 
 upon as a sign of superiority ; at any rate there was 
 some originality in his very lively taste for music. 
 Two or three times a week he treated himself to a 
 stall at the opera and when he came back he over- 
 flowed with recitatives and arias, which he sang 
 quite agreeably in a pretty good throaty voice 
 that rebelled against all cultivation. When he 
 strode into the Cafe Malmus in a theatrical man- 
 ner, singing some bit of Italian music as he passed 
 the tables, peals of admiration welcomed him: 
 "Hello, old artist!" tlie boys would shout from 
 every gang. It was just like a club of ordinary 
 citizens in this respect: owing to his reputation 
 as a musical artist all the women gave him a warm 
 look, but the men would use the term enviously 
 and with a suggestion of irony. This artistic fame 
 did him good service later when he came to power 
 and entered public life. Even now the name of 
 
26 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Roumestan figures high on the list of all artistic 
 commissions, plans for popular operas, reforms in 
 exhibitions of paintings proposed in the Chamber 
 of Deputies. All that was the result of evenings 
 spent in haunting the music-halls. He learned 
 there self-confidence, the actor's pose, and a cer- 
 tain way of taking up a position three-quarters 
 front when talking to the lady at the cashier's 
 desk; then his wonder-struck comrades would ex- 
 claim : " Oh! de ce Numa, pas moms! " (Oh, that 
 Numa ! what a fellow he is !) 
 
 In his studies he had the same easy victory ; he 
 was lazy and hated study and solitude, but he- 
 managed to pass his examination with no little 
 success through sheer audacity and Southern sly- 
 ness, the slyness which made him discover the weak 
 spot in his professor's vanity and work it for all it 
 was worth. Then his pleasant, frank expression and 
 his amiability were also in his favor, and it seemed 
 as if a lucky star lighted the pathway before him. 
 
 As soon as he obtained his lawyer's diploma his 
 parents sent for him to return home, because the 
 slender pocket money which he cost them meant 
 privations they could no longer bear. But the 
 prospect of burying himself alive in the old dead 
 town of Aps crumbling to dust with its ancient 
 ruins, an existence composed of a humdrum round 
 of visits and nothing more exciting than a few law- 
 suits over a parcel of party-walls, held out no 
 inducements to that undefined ambition that the 
 southern youth vaguely felt underlying his love for 
 the stir and intellectual life of Paris. 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 27 
 
 With great difficulty he obtained an extension 
 of two years more, in which to complete his stud- 
 ies, and just as these two years had expired and 
 the irrevocable summons home had come, at the 
 house of the Duchesse de San Donnino he met 
 Sagnier during a musical function to which he 
 had been asked on account of his pretty voice — • 
 Sagnier, the great Sagnier, the Legitimist lawyer, 
 brother of the duchess and a musical monomaniac. 
 Numa's youthful enthusiasm appearing in the 
 monotonous round of society and his craze for 
 Mozart's music carried Sagnier off his feet. He 
 offered him the position of fourth secretary in his 
 office. The salary was merely nominal, but it was 
 being admitted into the employment of the 
 greatest law office in Paris, having close relations 
 with the Faubourg Saint Germain and also with the 
 Chamber of Deputies. Unluckily old Roumestan 
 insisted on cutting off his allowance, hoping to 
 force him to return when hunger stared him in the 
 face. Was he not twenty-six, a notary, and fit to 
 earn his own bread? Then it was that landlord 
 Malmus came to the front. 
 
 A regular type was this Malmus ; a large, pale- 
 faced, asthmatic man, who from being a mere waiter 
 had become the proprietor of one of the largest 
 restaurants in Paris, partly by having credit, partly 
 by usury. It had been his custom in early days to 
 advance money to the students when they were 
 in need of it, and then when their ships came in, 
 allow himself to be repaid threefold. He could 
 hardly read and could not write at all ; his accounts 
 
28 Nunia Roumesfan, 
 
 were kept by means of notches cut in a piece of 
 wood, as he had seen the baker boys do in his 
 native town of Lyon ; but he was so accurate that 
 he never made a mistake in his accounts, and, more 
 than all, he never placed his money badly. Later, 
 when he had become rich and the proprietor of the 
 house in which he had been a servant for fifteen 
 years, he established his business, and placed it 
 entirely upon a credit basis, an unlimited credit 
 that left the money-drawer empty at the close of the 
 day but filled his queerly kept books with endless 
 lines of orders for food and drink jotted down with 
 those celebrated five-nibbed pens which are held in, 
 such sovereign honor in the world of Paris trade. 
 
 And the honest fellow's system was simplicity 
 itself. A student kept all his pocket money, all 
 his allowance from home. All had full credit for 
 meals and drinks and favorites were even allowed 
 a room in his house. He did not ask for a penny 
 during term time, letting the interest mount up on 
 very high sums. But he did not do this carelessly 
 or without circumspection. Malmus passed two 
 months every year, his vacation, in the provinces, 
 making secret inquiry into the health and wealth 
 of the families of his debtors. His asthma was ter- 
 rible as he mounted the peaks of the C^vennes and 
 descended the low ranges of Languedoc. He was 
 to be seen, gouty and mysterious, prowling about 
 among forgotten villages, with suspicious eyes 
 lowering under the heavy lids that are peculiar to 
 waiters in all-night restaurants. He would remain 
 a few days in each place, interview the notary and 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 29 
 
 the sheriff, inspect secretly the farm or factory of 
 his debtor's father, and then nothing was heard of 
 him more. 
 
 What he learned at Aps gave him full confi- 
 dence in Numa, The latter's father, formerly a 
 weaver, had ruined himself with inventions and 
 speculations and lived now in modest circum- 
 stances as an insurance agent, but his aunt, 
 Mme. Portal, the childless widow of a rich town 
 councillor, would doubtless leave all her prop- 
 erty to her nephew ; so, naturally, Malmus wished 
 Numa to remain in Paris. 
 
 ** Go into Sagnier's office; I will help you." 
 As a secretary of a man in Sagnier's position he 
 could not live in the Quartier Latin, so Malmus 
 furnished a set of bachelor chambers for him on the 
 Quai Voltaire, on the courts, paying the rent and 
 giving him his allowance on credit. Thus did the 
 future leader face his destiny, everything on the 
 surface seemingly easy and comfortable, but in 
 reality in the direst need ; lacking pin and pocket 
 money. The friendship of Sagnier helped him to 
 fine acquaintances. The Faubourg welcomed him. 
 But this social success, the invitations in Paris and 
 to country houses in summer, where he had to 
 arrive in perfect fashionable outfit, only added to 
 his expense. After repeated prayers his Aunt 
 Portal helped him a little, but with great caution 
 and stinginess, always accompanying her gifts 
 with long flighty stupidities and Bible denuncia- 
 tions against " that ruinous Paris." The situation 
 was untenable. 
 
^o Numa RoumestaM, 
 
 At the end of a year he looked for other em- 
 ployment. Besides, Sagnier required pioneers, 
 regular navvies for hard work, and Roumestan 
 was not that sort of man. The Provencal's indo- 
 lence was ineradicable, and above all things he had 
 a loathing for office work or any hard and continu- 
 ous labor. The faculty of attention, which is noth- 
 ing if not deep, was absolutely wanting to this 
 volatile Southerner. That was because his imagin- 
 ation was too vivid, his ideas too jumbled-up 
 beneath his dark brows, his mind too fickle, as 
 even his writing showed ; it was never twice the 
 same. He was all on the surface, all voice, ges-' 
 tures, like a tenor at the opera. 
 
 ** When I am not speaking I cannot think," he 
 said naively, and it was true. Words with him 
 never rushed forth propelled by the force of his 
 thought; on the contrary, at the mechanical 
 sound of his own words the thoughts formed 
 themselves in advance. He was astonished and 
 amused at chance meetings of words and ideas in 
 his mind which had been lost in some corner of his 
 memory, thoughts which speech would discover, 
 pick up and marshal into arguments. Whilst he 
 held forth he would suddenly discover emotions of 
 which he had been unconscious; the vibrations of 
 his own voice moved him to such a degree that there 
 were certain intonations which touched his heart 
 and affected him to tears. These were the qualities 
 of an orator, to be sure, but he did not recognize 
 them, as his duties at Sagnier's had hardly been 
 such as to give him a chance to practise them. 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 31 
 
 Nevertheless, the year spent with the great Le- 
 gitimist lawyer had a decisive effect upon his after 
 life. He acquired convictions and a political party, 
 the taste for politics and a longing for fortune and 
 glory. 
 
 Glory came to him first. 
 
 A few months after he left his master, that title 
 of '' Secretary to Sagnier," which he clung to as an 
 actor who has appeared once on the boards of 
 the Comedie Francaise forever calls himself" of the 
 Comedie Francaise," was the means of getting 
 him his first case, the defence of a little Legitimist 
 newspaper called " The Ferret," much patronized 
 in the best society. His defence was cleverly and 
 brilliantly made. Coming into court without the 
 slightest preparation, his hands in his pockets, he 
 talked for two hours with such an insolent *' go " 
 to him, and so much good-natured sarcasm, that 
 the judges were forced to listen to him to the end. 
 His dreadful southern accent, with its rolling " r's," 
 which he had always been too indolent to correct, 
 seemed to make his irony only bite the deeper. 
 It had a power of its own, this eloquence with its 
 very Southern swing, theatrical and yet familiar, 
 but above all lucid and full of that broad light 
 which is found in the works of people down South,, 
 as in their landscapes, limpid to their remotest 
 parts. 
 
 Of course the paper was non-suited ; Numa's 
 success was paid for by costs and imprisonment. 
 So from the ashes of many a play that has ruined 
 manager and author one actor may snatch a repu- 
 
32 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 tation. Old Sagnier, who had come to hear Numa 
 plead, embraced his pupil before the assembled 
 crowd. " Count yourself from this day on a great 
 man, my dear Numa ! " said he, and seemed sur- 
 prised that he had hatched such a falcon's egg. 
 But the most surprised man was Numa himself, as 
 with the echo of his own words still sounding in his 
 ears he descended the broad railless staircase of the 
 Palais de Justice, quite stunned, as if in a dream. 
 
 After this success and this ovation, after showers 
 of eulogistic letters and the jaundiced smiles of his 
 brethren, the coming lawyer naturally felt he was 
 indeed launched upon a triumphal career. He sat 
 patiently waiting in his office looking out on the 
 courtyard, before his scanty little fire; but nothing 
 came save a few more invitations to dinner, and a 
 pretty bronze from the foundry of Barb^dienne, 
 a donation from the staff of Lc Ftwct. 
 
 The new great man found himself still facing the 
 same difficulties, the same uncertain future. Oh! 
 these professions called liberal, which cannot de- 
 coy and entrap their clients, how hard are their 
 beginnings, before serious and paying customers 
 come to sit in rows in their little rooms furnished 
 on credit with dilapidated furniture and the sym- 
 bolical clock on the chimney-piece flanked by 
 tottering candelabra ! Numa was driven to giving 
 lessons in law among his Catholic and Legitimist 
 acquaintances; but he considered work like this 
 beneath the dignity of the man whose name had 
 been so covered with glory by the party news- 
 papers. 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man. 2i7) 
 
 What mortified him most of all and made him 
 feel his wretched plight was to be obliged to go 
 and dine at Malmus's when he had no invitation 
 elsewhere, and no money for a dinner at a fashiona- 
 ble restaurant Nothing had changed at Malmus's ; 
 the same cashier's lady was enthroned among the 
 punch-bowls as of old; the same pottery stove 
 rumbled away near the old pipe-rack; the same 
 shouts and accents, the same black beards from 
 every section of the South prevailed ; but his gen- 
 eration had passed, and he looked on the new 
 generation with the disfavor which a man at matu- 
 rity, but without a position, feels for the youths who 
 make him seem old. 
 
 How could he have existed in so brainless a set? 
 Surely the students of his day could not have been 
 such fools ! Even their admiration, their fawning 
 round him like a lot of good-natured dogs, was 
 insupportable to him. 
 
 While he ate, Malmus, proud of his guest, came 
 and sat on the little red sofa which shook under 
 his fits of asthma, and talked to him, while at a 
 table near by a tall, thin woman took her place, the 
 only relic of the old days left — a bony creature 
 destitute of age known in the quarter as *' every- 
 one's old girl." Some kind-hearted student now 
 married and settled far away had opened a credit 
 for her at Malmus's before he went. Confined for 
 so many years to this one pasture, the poor crea- 
 ture knew nothing of what was going on in the 
 outside world ; she had not even heard of Numa's 
 triumph, and spoke to him pityingly as to one 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 whom fortune had passed by, and in the same rank 
 and category as herself. 
 
 " Wall, poor old chum, how are things a-getting 
 on? You know Pompon is married, and Laboul- 
 bene has passed his deputy at Caen." 
 
 Roumestan hardly answered a word, hurried 
 through his dinner and rushed away through the 
 streets, noisy with many beershops and fruit stalls, 
 feeling the bitterness of a life of failure and a gen- 
 eral impression of bankruptcy. 
 
 Several years passed thus, during which his 
 name became better known and more firmly estab- 
 lished, but with little profit to himself, except for 
 an occasional gift of a copy of some statuette in 
 Barb^dienne bronze. Then he was called upon to 
 defend a manufacturer of Avignon, who had made 
 seditious silk handkerchiefs. There was some sort 
 of a deputation pictured on them standing about 
 the Comte de Chambord, but very confusedly 
 done in the printing, only with great imprudence 
 he had allowed the initials " H. V." (Henry Fifth) 
 to be left, surrounded by a coat of arms. 
 
 Here was Numa's chance for a good bit of com- 
 edy. He thundered against the stupidity that 
 could see the slightest political allusion in that 
 H. V. ! Why, that meant Horace Vernet — there 
 he was, presiding over a meeting of the French 
 Institute ! 
 
 This " tarasconade " had a great local success 
 that did him more service than any advertisement 
 won in Paris could ; above all, it gained him the 
 active approbation of his Aunt Portal. At first 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 35 
 
 this was expressed by presents of olive oil and 
 white melons, followed by a lot of other articles of 
 food — figs, peppers, potted ducks from Aix, ca- 
 viar from Martigues, jujubes, elderberry jam and 
 St. John's-bread, a lot of boyish goodies of which 
 the old lady herself was very fond, but which her 
 nephew threw into a cupboard to spoil. 
 
 Shortly after arrived a letter, written with a quill 
 in a large handwriting, which displayed the brusque 
 accents and absurd phrases customary with his 
 aunt, and betrayed her puzzle-headed mind by its 
 absolute freedom from punctuation and by the 
 lively way in which she jumped from one subject 
 to the other. 
 
 Still, Numa was able to discover the fact that 
 the good woman desired to marry him off to the 
 daughter of a Councillor in the Court of Appeals 
 in Paris, one M. Le Quesnoy, whose wife, a Mile. 
 Soustelle from Aps, had gone to school with her 
 at the Convent of la Calade — big fortune — the 
 girl handsome, good morals, somewhat cool and 
 haughty — but marriage would soon warm that up. 
 And if the marriage took place, what would his old 
 Aunt Portal give her Numa? One hundred thou- 
 sand francs in good cHnking tin — on the day of 
 the wedding ! 
 
 Under its provincialisms the letter contained a 
 serious proposition, so serious indeed that the 
 next day but one Numa received an invitation to 
 dine with the Le Quesnoys. He accepted, though 
 with some trepidation. 
 
 The Councillor, whom he had often seen at the 
 
36 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Palais de Justice, was one of those men who had 
 always impressed him most. Tall, slender, with a 
 haughty face and a mortal paleness, sharp, search- 
 ing eyes, a thin-lipped, tightly-closed mouth — the 
 old magistrate, who originally came from Valen- 
 ciennes, seemed like that town to be surrounded by 
 an impregnable wall and fortified by Vauban. His 
 cool Northern manner was most disconcerting to 
 Numa. His high position, gained by his exhaus- 
 tive study of the Penal Code, his wealth and his 
 spotless life would have given him a yet higher 
 position had it not been for the Independence of 
 his views and a morose withdrawal from the world 
 and its gayeties ever since the death of his only 
 son, a lad of twenty. All these circumstances 
 passed before Numa's mental vision as he mounted 
 the broad stone steps with their carved hand-rail 
 of the Le Quesnoy residence, one of the oldest 
 houses on the Place Royale. 
 
 The great drawing-room Into which he was 
 shown, with its lofty celling reaching down to the 
 doors to meet the delicate paintings of its piers, the 
 straight hangings with stripes In brown and gold- 
 colored Chinese silk framing the long windows 
 that opened upon an antique balcony, and also on 
 one of the rose-colored corners of brick build- 
 ings on the square — all this was not calculated to 
 change his first Impressions. 
 
 But the welcome given him by Mme. Le Ques- 
 noy soon put him at his ease. 
 
 This fragile little woman with her sad sweet 
 smile, wrapped in many shawls and crippled by 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 2>7 
 
 rheumatism, from which she had suffered ever since 
 she came to Hve in Paris, still preserved the accent 
 and habits of her dear South, and she loved any- 
 thing that reminded her of it. She invited Numa 
 to sit down by her side, and looking affectionately 
 at him in the dim light, she murmured : *' The 
 very picture of Evelina ! " This pet name of his 
 aunt, so long unheard by him, touched his quick 
 sensibility like an echo of his childhood. It ap- 
 peared that Mme. Le Quesnoy had long wished 
 to know the nephew of her old friend, but her 
 house had been so mournful since her son's death, 
 and they had been so entirely out of the world, that 
 she had never sought him out. Now they had 
 decided to entertain a little, not because their 
 sorrow was less keen, but on account of their two 
 daughters, the eldest of whom was almost twenty 
 years old; and turning toward the balcony whence 
 they could hear peals of girlish laughter, she 
 called, '' Rosalie, Hortense, come in — here is 
 Monsieur Roumestan ! " 
 
 Ten years after that visit Numa remembered the 
 calm and smiling picture that appeared, framed 
 by the long window in the tender light of the sun- 
 set, of that beautiful young girl, and the absence 
 of all affected embarrassment as she came towards 
 him, smoothing the bands of her hair that her 
 little sister's play had ruffled — her clear eyes and 
 direct gaze. 
 
 He felt an instant confidence in and sympathy 
 with her. 
 
 Once or twice during dinner, nevertheless, when 
 
38 Numa Roumesian, 
 
 he was in the full flow of animated conversation he 
 was conscious that a ripple as of disdain passed 
 over the clear-cut profile and pure complexion 
 of the face beside him — without question that 
 "cool and haughty" air which Aunt Portal had 
 mentioned, and which Rosahe got through her 
 striking resemblance to her father. But the little 
 grimace of her pretty mouth and the cold blue 
 of her look softened quickly to a kindly attention, 
 and she was again under the charm of a surprise 
 she did not try to conceal. Born and brought up 
 in Paris, Rosalie had always felt a fixed aversion 
 to the South; its accent, its manners, even the 
 country itself as she saw it in the vacations she 
 occasionally spent at Aps — everything was anti- 
 pathetic to her. It seemed to be an instinct of 
 race, and was the cause of many gentle disputes 
 with her mother. 
 
 " Nothing would induce me to marry a Souther- 
 ner," Rosalie had laughingly declared, and she 
 arranged in her own mind a type — a coarse, 
 noisy, vacant fellow, combining an opera tenor and 
 a drummer for Bordeaux wines, but with a fine 
 head and well-cut features. Roumestan came 
 pretty near to this clear-cut vision of the mocking 
 little Parisian, but his ardent musical speech, taking 
 on that evening an irresistible force by reason of 
 the sympathy of those around him, inspired and 
 aroused him, seeming even to make his face more 
 refined. After the usual talk in low voices between 
 neighbors at the table, those hors-d' ceuvres of con- 
 versation that circulate with caviar and anchovy, 
 
The Seamy Side of a Grtat Man, 39 
 
 the Emperor's hunting parties at Compiegne be- 
 came the general topic of conversation; those 
 hunts in costume at which the invited guests ap- 
 peared as grandees and grand ladies of the Court 
 of Louis XV. Knowing M. Le Quesnoy to be 
 a Liberal, Numa launched forth into a magnifi- 
 cent diatribe, almost a prophetic one. He drew 
 a picture of the Court as a set of circus riders, 
 women performers, grooms and jockeys riding 
 hard under a threatening sky, pursuing the stag to 
 its death to the accompaniment of lightning-flash 
 and distant claps of thunder, and then — in the 
 midst of all this revelry — the deluge, the hunting 
 horns drowned, all this monarchical harlequinade 
 ending in a morass of blood and mire ! 
 
 Perhaps this piece was not entirely impromptu ; 
 probably he had got it off before at the committee 
 meeting; but never before had his brilliant speech 
 and tone of candor in revolt roused anywhere such 
 enthusiasm and sympathy as he suddenly saw re- 
 flected in one sweet, serious countenance, that he 
 felt turning toward him, while the gentle face of 
 Mme. Le Quesnoy lit up with a ray of fun and 
 seemed to ask her daughter : " Well, how do you 
 like my Southerner now?" 
 
 Rosalie was captivated. Deep in her inmost 
 heart she bowed to the power of that voice and to 
 generous thoughts that accorded so well with 
 all her youthful enthusiasms, her passion for liberty 
 and justice. As women at a play will confound 
 the singer with his song, the actor with his role, so 
 she forgot to make allowances for the artist's 
 
40 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 imagination. Oh, if she could but have known 
 what an abyss of nothing lay below these profes- 
 sional phrases, how little he troubled himself about 
 the hunting-parties at Compiegne ! She did not 
 know that he merely needed an invitation with the 
 imperial crest on it, and he would have joined these 
 self-same parties, in which his vanity, his tastes as 
 actor and pleasure-seeker, would have found com- 
 plete satisfaction. But she was under the charm. 
 As he talked, it seemed to her the table grew larger, 
 the dull, sleepy faces of the few guests, a certain 
 President of the Chamber and an old physician, 
 were transfigured ; and when they returned to the 
 drawing-room, the chandelier, lighted for the first 
 time since her brother's death, had almost the 
 dazzling effect upon her of the sun itself. 
 
 The sun was Roumestan. 
 
 He woke up the majestic old house, drove away 
 mourning and the gloom that was piled in all 
 the corners, the particles of sadness that accumu- 
 late in old dwellings; he seemed to make the 
 facets of the mirrors glisten and give new life to 
 the delightful panel paintings on the walls, which 
 had been scarce visible for a hundred years. 
 
 " Are you fond of painting. Monsieur?" 
 
 •' Fond of it, Mademoiselle? Oh, I should think 
 so ! " 
 
 The truth was that he knew absolutely nothing 
 about it, but he had a stock of words and phrases 
 ready for use on that subject as on all others, and 
 while the servants were arranging the card tables 
 he made the paintings on the well-preserved Louis 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Mait, 41 
 
 XIII walls the pretext for a quiet talk very near to 
 the young girl. 
 
 Of the two, Rosalie knew much the more about 
 art. Having lived always in an atmosphere of culti- 
 vation and good taste, the sight of a fine bit of 
 sculpture or a great painting thrilled her with a 
 special vibratory emotion which she felt rather 
 than expressed, because of her reserved character 
 and because the false emotions in the world are 
 apt to keep down the real ones. At sight of 
 them a superficial observer, however, noting the 
 eloquent assurance with which the lawyer talked 
 and the wide professional gestures he used, as well 
 as the rapt attention of Rosalie, might have taken 
 him for some great master giving a lesson to a 
 pupil. 
 
 ''Mamma, can we go into your room? I want 
 to show Monsieur Roumestan the hunting panel." 
 
 At the whist table Mme. Le Quesnoy gave a 
 quick inquiring glance at him whom she always 
 called, with a peculiar tone of renunciation and 
 humility in her voice, " Monsieur Le Quesnoy," 
 and, receiving an affirmative nod from him which 
 meant that the thing was in order, gave the desired 
 permission. 
 
 They crossed a passage lined with books and 
 found themselves in the old people's chamber, an 
 immense room as majestic and antique as the draw- 
 ing-room. The panel was above a small door 
 beautifully curved. 
 
 " It is too dark to see it well," said Rosalie. 
 
 As she spoke she held up a double candlestick 
 
42 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 she had taken from a card table, and with her arm 
 raised, her graceful figure in fine relief, she threw 
 the light upon the picture which showed Diana, 
 the crescent on her brow, among her huntress 
 maidens in the landscape of a pagan Paradise. But 
 at this gesture of a Greek torch-bearer the light 
 from the double candles fell upon her own head with 
 its simple coifTure and sparkled in her clear eyes 
 with their high-bred smile and on the virginal 
 curves of her slender yet stately bust. She seemed 
 more of a Diana than the pictured goddess herself. 
 Roumestan looked at her; carried away by her 
 charm of youthful innocence and candid chastity, 
 he forgot who she was and what his purpose had 
 been in coming, yes, all his dreams of fortune and 
 ambition! He felt an insane desire to clasp this 
 supple form in his arms, to shower kisses on her 
 fine hair, the delicate fragrance of which intoxicated 
 him, to carry ofif this enchanting being to be the 
 safeguard and joy of his whole life ; and something 
 told him that if he attempted it she would permit 
 it, and that she was his, his entirely, conquered, 
 vanquished at the first sight. 
 
 Fire and wind of the South, you are irresistible ! 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 43 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SEAMY SIDE OF A GREAT MAN (^continued). 
 
 If ever people were unsuited for life side by 
 side it was these two. Opposites by instinct, by 
 education and temperament, thinking alike on no 
 one subject, they were the North and the South 
 face to face without the slightest chance of fusion. 
 Love feeds on contrasts like this and laughs when 
 they are pointed out, so powerful does it feel 
 itself. But later, when everyday life sets in, dur- 
 ing the monotony of days and nights passed 
 beneath the same roof, that mist which constitutes 
 love disappears ; the veil is lifted ; they begin to 
 see each other, and, what is worse, to judge each 
 other ! 
 
 It was some time before the awakening came 
 to these young people ; at least with Rosalie the 
 illusion lasted. Clear-sighted and clever on all 
 other subjects, for a long while she remained blind 
 to Numa's faults and could not see how far in many 
 ways she was his superior. It had not taken him 
 long to relapse into his old self again. Passioft 
 in the South is short-lived because of its very 
 violence. And then the Southerner is so perfectly 
 assured of the inferiority of women that, once 
 married and sure of his happiness, he installs him- 
 
44 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 self like a bashaw in" his home, receiving love as 
 homage due and not of much importance; for, 
 after all, it takes up a good deal of time to be 
 loved, and Numa was much preoccupied just then 
 arranging the new life which his marriage, his 
 wealth and the high position in the law courts 
 as son-in-law to M. Le Ouesnoy necessitated. 
 
 The one hundred thousand francs given him by- 
 Aunt Portal sufficed to pay his debts to Malmus and 
 the furnisher and to wipe out forever the dreary 
 record of his straitened bachelor days. It was a 
 delightful change from the humble /nV//// (lunch) 
 at Malmus's on the old sofa with its worn red vel-- 
 vet, in company of '* every one's old girl," to the 
 dining-room in his new house in the Rue Scribe 
 where, opposite his dainty little Parisian wife, he 
 presided over the sumptuous dinners that he offered 
 to the magnates of the law and of music. 
 
 The Provencal loved a life of eating, luxury and 
 display, but he liked it best in his own house, with- 
 out any trouble or ceremony, where a certain 
 looseness was possible over a cigar and risky 
 stories might be told. Rosalie resigned herself to 
 keeping open house, the table always set, ten or 
 fifteen guests every evening, and never anybody 
 but men, among whose black coats her evening 
 dress made the only point of color. There she 
 stayed until with the serving of the coffee and the 
 opening of cigar boxes she would slip away, leav- 
 ing them to their politics and the coarse roars of 
 laughter that accompany the close of bachelor 
 dinners. 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man. 45 
 
 Only the mistress of a house knows what 
 domestic complications arise when such constant 
 and unusual services are required every day of the 
 servants. Rosalie struggled uncomplainingly with 
 this problem and tried to bring some order out of 
 chaos, carried away as she was by the whirlwind 
 of her terrible genius of a husband, who did not 
 spare her the turbulence of his own nature, yet 
 between two storms had a smile of approbation for 
 his little wife. Her only regret was that she never 
 had him enough to herself. Even at breakfast, 
 that hasty morning's meal for a busy lawyer, there 
 was always a guest between them, namely that 
 male comrade without whom the man of the South 
 could not exist, that inevitable some one to answer 
 a bright remark and call forth a flash from his own 
 wits, the arm on which condescendingly to lean, 
 some henchman to catch his handkerchief as he 
 sallied forth to the Palace of Justice! 
 
 Ah, how she longed to accompany him across 
 the Seine, how glad she would have been to call 
 for him on rainy days, wait, and bring him home in 
 her carriage, nestled up to him behind the windows 
 blurred with raindrops ! She did not dare to 
 suggest such things any more, so sure was she of 
 some excuse, an appointment in the Lawyers' Hall 
 with some one of three hundred intimate friends 
 of whom the Provencal would say with deep 
 emotion : 
 
 " He adores me ! He would go through fire and 
 water for me ! " 
 
 That was his idea of friendship. But in other 
 
46 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 respects, no selection whatever as to his friends ! 
 His easy good-nature and Hvely capriciousness 
 caused him to throw himself into the arms of 
 each man he met, but made him as easily drop 
 him. Every week there was a new craze for some- 
 one whose name came up incessantly, a name 
 which Rosalie wrote down conscientiously on the 
 little menu card, but which presently disappeared 
 as suddenly as if the new favorite's personality had 
 been as flimsy and as easily burned as the little 
 colored card itself. 
 
 Among these birds of passage one alone re- 
 mained stationary, more from force of childish' 
 habit than from anything else, for Bompard and 
 Roumestan were born in the same street at Aps. 
 Bompard was an institution in the house, found 
 there in a place of honor when the bride came 
 home. He was a cadaverous creature with Don 
 Quixote's head and a big eagle's nose and eyes like 
 balls of agate set in a pitted, saffron-colored com- 
 plexion that looked like Cordova leather; it was 
 lined and seamed with the wrinkles one sees only 
 in the faces of clowns and jesters which are forced 
 constantly into contortions. 
 
 Bompard had never been a comedian, however. 
 Numa had found him again in the chorus of the 
 opera where he had sung for a short time. Be- 
 yond this, it was impossible to say what was real 
 in the shifting sands of that career. He had been 
 everywhere, seen everything and practised all 
 trades. No great man or great event could be 
 mentioned without his saying : •' He is a friend of 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 47 
 
 mine," or " I was present at the time," and then 
 would follow a long story to prove his assertion. 
 
 In piecing together these fragments of his his- 
 tory most astonishing chronological conclusions 
 were arrived at ; thus, at the same date Bompard 
 led a company of Polish and Caucasian deserters 
 at the siege of Sebastopol and was choir-master to 
 the King of Holland and very close to the king's 
 sister, for which latter indiscretion he was impris- 
 oned for six months in the fortress at The 
 Hague — which did not prevent him at the same 
 time from making a forced march from Laghouat 
 to Gadames through the great African desert. 
 
 He told these wonderful tales with rare gestures, 
 in a solemn tone, using a strong Southern accent, 
 but with a continual twitching and contortion of 
 his features as trying to the eyes as the shifting of 
 the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. 
 
 The present life of Bompard was as mysterious 
 as his past. How and where did he live? And 
 on what? He was forever talking of wonderful 
 schemes for making money, such as a new and 
 cheap manner of asphalting one corner of Paris, or, 
 all of a sudden, he was deep in the discovery of an 
 infallible remedy for the phylloxera and was only 
 waiting for a letter from the Minister to receive the 
 prize of one hundred thousand francs in order to be 
 in funds to pay his bill at the little dairy where he 
 took his meals, whose managers he had almost 
 driven insane with his false hopes and extravagant 
 dreams. 
 
 This crazy Southerner was Roumestan's delight, 
 
48 Numa Roumesfan, 
 
 He took him about, making a butt of him, egging 
 him on, warming him up and exciting his folly. If 
 Numa stopped in the street to speak to any one, 
 Bompard stepped aside with a dignified air as if 
 about to light a cigar. At funerals or first nights he 
 was always turning up to ask every one in the most 
 impressive haste : *' Have you seen Roumestan 
 anywhere?" He came to be as well known as 
 Numa himself. This type of parasite is not uncom- 
 mon in Paris; each great man has a Bompard 
 dragging at his heels, who walks on in his shadow 
 and comes to have a kind of personality reflected 
 from that of his patron. It was a mere chance- 
 that Roumestan's Bompard really had a personal- 
 ity of his own, not a reflection of his master. 
 Rosalie detested this intruder on her happiness, 
 always between her and her husband, appropri- 
 ating to himself the few precious moments that 
 might have been hers alone. The two old friends 
 always talked a patois that seemed to set her 
 apart and laughed uproariously at untranslatable 
 local jokes. What she particularly disliked about 
 him was the necessity he was under of telling lies. 
 At first she had believed these inventions, so un- 
 suspicious was her true and candid nature, whose 
 greatest charm was its harmony in word and 
 thought, a combination that was audible in the 
 crystalline clearness and steadiness of her musical 
 voice. 
 
 *' I do not like him — he tells lies," she said in 
 deep disgust to Roumestan, who only laughed. 
 To defend his friend, he said : 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 49 
 
 ** No, he 's not a liar ; he 's only gifted with a 
 vivid imagination. He is a sleeper awake who 
 talks out his dreams. My country is full of just 
 such people. It is the efifect of the sun and the 
 accent. There is my Aunt Portal — and even I 
 myself — if I did not have myself well in hand — " 
 
 She placed her little hand over his mouth : 
 
 *' Hush, hush ! I could not love you if you 
 came from that side of Provence ! " 
 
 The sad fact was that he did come from that 
 very countryside. His assumed Paris manners 
 and the veneer of society restrained him somewhat, 
 but she was soon to see that terrible South appear 
 in him after all, commonplace, brutal, illogical. 
 The first time that she realized it was in regard 
 to religion, about which, as about everything else, 
 Numa was entirely in line with the traditions of 
 his province. 
 
 Numa was the Provencal Roman Catholic who 
 never goes to communion, never confesses himself 
 except in cholera times, never goes to church 
 except to bring his wife home after mass, and then 
 stands in the vestibule near the holy-water basin 
 with the superior air of a father who has taken his 
 children to a show of Chinese shadows —   yet a 
 man who would let himself be drawn and quar- 
 tered in defence of a faith he does not feel, which 
 in no way controls his passions or his vices. 
 
 When he married he knew that his wife was of 
 the same church as himself and that at the wed- 
 ding in St Paul's the priest had eulogized them in 
 due form as befitted all the candles and carpets 
 
 4 
 
^o Numa Roumestan. 
 
 and gorgeous flowers that go with a first-class 
 wedding. He had never worried further about it. 
 All the women whom he knew — his mother, his 
 cousins, his aunt, the Duchesse de San Donnino, 
 were devout Catholics ; so he was much surprised 
 after several months of marriage to observe that 
 his wife never went to church. He spoke of it : 
 
 " Do you never go to confession? " 
 
 ** No, my dear," she answered quietly, " nor you 
 either, so far as I can see." 
 
 " Oh, I — that is quite different ! " 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 She looked at him with such a sincerely puzzled 
 expression — she seemed so far from understand- 
 ing her own inferiority as a woman, that he made 
 no reply and waited for her to explain. 
 
 No, she was not a free-thinker, nor a strong- 
 minded woman. Educated in Paris at a good 
 school, she had had for confessor a priest of Saint- 
 Laurent up to seventeen ; when she left school, 
 and even for some time after, she had fulfilled all 
 her religious duties at the side of her mother, who 
 was a bigoted Southerner. Then, one day, some- 
 thing within her seemed suddenly to give way, and 
 she declared to her parents that she felt an in- 
 superable repulsion for the confessional. Her 
 pious mother would have tried to overcome what 
 she looked upon as a whim, but her father had 
 interfered : 
 
 ** Let her alone ; it took hold of me just as it has 
 seized her and at the same age." 
 
 And since then she had consulted only her own 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 51 
 
 pure young conscience in regard to her actions. 
 Otherwise she was a Parisian, a woman of the 
 world to her finger-tips, and disliked the bad taste 
 in displays of independence. If Numa wished to 
 go to church she would go with him, as for a long 
 while she had gone with her mother; but at the 
 same time she would not lie or pretend to believe 
 that in which she had lost all faith. 
 
 Numa listened to her in speechless amazement, 
 alarmed to hear such sentiments expressed with a 
 firmness and conviction in her own moral being 
 that dissipated all his Southern ideas about the 
 dependency of women. 
 
 ''Then you don't believe in God?" he asked 
 in his best forensic manner, his raised finger 
 pointed solemnly toward the moldings of the ceil- 
 ing. She gave a cry of astonishment: *' Is it 
 possible to do so? " — so spontaneously and with 
 such conviction that it was as good as a confession 
 of faith. Then he fell back on what the world 
 would say, on social conventions, on the intimate 
 connection between religion and monarchy. All 
 the ladies whom they knew went to church, the 
 duchess and Mme. d'Escarbes ; they had their 
 confessors to dine and at evening parties. Her 
 strange views would have a bad effect upon them 
 socially, were they known. He suddenly ceased 
 speaking, feeling that he was floundering about in 
 commonplaces, and the discussion ended there. 
 Far several Sundays in succession he went through 
 a grand and hollow form of taking his wife to mass, 
 whereby Rosalie gained the boon of a pleasant 
 
52 Nitma Roumestan, 
 
 walk on her husband's arm ; but he soon wearied 
 of the business, pleaded important engagements 
 and let the religious question drop. 
 
 This first misunderstanding made no breach be- 
 tween them. As if seeking pardon, the young 
 wife redoubled her devotion to her husband and 
 her usual clever, smiling deference to his wishes. 
 No longer so blind as in the earHer days, per- 
 chance she sometimes felt a vague premonition 
 of things that she would not admit even to her- 
 self; but she was happy still, because she wished 
 to be so, and because she lived in that dreamlike 
 atmosphere enveloping the new life of a young 
 married woman still surrounded by the dreams 
 and uncertainty which are like the clouds of white 
 tulle of the wedding dress that drape the form of 
 a bride. The awakening was bound to come; to 
 her it was sudden and frightful. 
 
 One summer day — they were staying at Orsay, 
 a country seat belonging to the Le Quesnoys — 
 her father and husband had already gone up to 
 Paris, as they did every morning, when Rosalie 
 discovered that the pattern for a little garment 
 she was making was not to be found. The gar- 
 ment was part of the outfit for the expected heir. 
 It is true there are beautiful things to be bought 
 ready-made at the shops, but real mothers, the 
 women who feel the mother-love in advance, like 
 to plan and cut and sew ; and as the pile of little 
 clothes increases in the box, as each garment is 
 finished, feel that they are hastening the matter 
 and each object is bringing the advent of the 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 53 
 
 longed-for birth one step nearer. Rosalie would 
 not for worlds have allowed any other hand 
 to touch this tremendous work which had been 
 begun five months before — as soon as she was 
 sure of her coming happiness. On the bench where 
 she sat under the big catalpa tree down there at 
 Orsay were spread out dainty little caps that were 
 only big enough to be tried on one's fist, little 
 flannel skirts and dresses, the straight sleeves sug- 
 gesting the stiff gestures of the tiny form for which 
 they were designed — and now, here she was with- 
 out this most important pattern ! 
 
 " Send your maid up town for it," suggested her 
 mother. 
 
 A maid, indeed ! What should she know about 
 it? "No, no, I shall go myself. I will have fin- 
 ished my shopping by noon, and then I shall go 
 and surprise Numa and eat up half his luncheon." 
 
 It was a beautiful idea, this bachelor luncheon 
 with her husband, alone in the half-darkened house 
 in the Rue Scribe, with the curtains all gone and 
 the furniture covered up ; it would be a regular 
 spree ! She laughed to herself as all alone she ran 
 up the steps, her errands done, and put her key 
 softly in the lock so that she might surprise him. 
 *' It is pretty late, he has probably finished." 
 
 Indeed, she did find only the remnants of a dainty 
 meal for two upon the table in the dining room, 
 and the footman in his checked jacket hard at it 
 emptying all the bottles and dishes. She thought 
 of nothing at first but that her want of punctuality 
 had spoiled her little plan. If only she had not 
 
54 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 loafed so long in that shop over those adorable 
 little garments, all lace and embroideries ! 
 
 " Has your master gone out? " 
 
 The slowness of the servant in answering, the 
 sudden pallor that overspread his big impudent 
 face framed in long whiskers, did not at first strike 
 her. She only saw a servant embarrassed at being 
 caught helping himself to his master's wines and 
 good things. Still it was absolutely necessary to 
 say that his master was still there, but that he was 
 very much occupied and would be occupied for 
 quite a while. But it took him some time to 
 stammer out this information. How the fellow's 
 hands trembled as he cleared off the table and 
 began to rearrange it for his mistress's luncheon ! 
 
 *' Has he been lunching alone?" 
 
 " Yes, Madame ; at least, only Monsieur Bom- 
 pard." 
 
 She had suddenly caught sight of a black lace 
 scarf lying on a chair. The foolish fellow saw it 
 at the same moment, and as their eyes were fixed 
 on the same object the whole thing stood be- 
 fore her in a flash. Quickly, without a word, she 
 crossed the Httle waiting room, went straight to 
 the door of the library, opened it wide, and fell 
 flat on the floor. They had not even troubled 
 themselves to lock the door! 
 
 And if you had seen the woman ! Forty years 
 old, a washed-out blonde with a pimply complex- 
 ion, thin lips and eyelids wrinkled like an old 
 glove! Under her eyes were purple scars, signs 
 of her evil life ; her shoulders were bony and her 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 55 
 
 voice harsh. But — she was high-born, the Mar- 
 quise d'Escarbes ! which to the Southerner means 
 everything. The escutcheon concealed her defects 
 as a woman. Separated from her husband through 
 an unsavory divorce suit, disowned by her family 
 and no longer received in the great houses of the 
 Faubourg, Mme. d'Escarbes had gone over to the 
 Empire and had opened a political diplomatic 
 salon, one of those which are for the police rather 
 than politicians, where one could find the most 
 notorious persons of the day — without their wives. 
 Then, after two years of intrigues, having gathered 
 together quite a following, she determined to ap- 
 peal her law case. Roumestan, who had been her 
 lawyer in the first suit, could not very well refuse 
 to take up the second. He hesitated, nevertheless, 
 for public opinion was very strong against her. 
 But the entreaties of the Marquise took such con- 
 vincing steps and the lawyer's vanity was so flat- 
 tered by the steps themselves that he had yielded. 
 Now that the case was soon to be on, they saw 
 each other every day, either at her house or his 
 own, pushing the affair vigorously and from two 
 standpoints. 
 
 This terrible discovery nearly killed Rosalie; 
 it struck her doubly in her sensibility to pain 
 as a woman with child, bearing as she did two 
 hearts within her, two spots for suffering. The 
 child was killed, but the mother lived. But after 
 three days of unconsciousness, when she regained 
 memory and the power of suffering, her tears 
 poured forth in a torrent, a bitter flood that noth- 
 
5 6 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 ing could stem. When she had wept her heart 
 out over the faithlessness of her husband, the 
 empty cradle and the dainty little garments resting 
 useless under the transparent blue curtains caused 
 her anguish to break forth again in tears — but 
 without a cry or lament! 
 
 Poor Numa was in almost as deep despair as she 
 was. The hope of a little Roumestan, ** the eldest," 
 who is always a great personage in Provencal 
 families, was gone forever, destroyed by his own 
 fault. The pale face of his wife with its resigned 
 expression, her compressed lips and smothered 
 sobs, nearly broke his heart — her grief was so dif- 
 ferent from his way of acting, from the coarse, 
 superficial sensibility that he showed as he sat at 
 the foot of his victim's bed, saying at intervals with 
 swimming eyes and trembling lips, ** Come now, 
 Rosalie, come now ! " That was all he could find 
 to say ; but what vanity in that " Come now," ut- 
 tered with the Southern accent that so easily takes 
 on a sympathetic tone; yet beneath it all one 
 seemed to hear: "Don't let it worry you, my 
 darling little pet ! Is it really worth while? Does 
 it keep me from loving you just the same? " 
 
 It is true that he did love her just as much as 
 his shallow nature was capable of loving constantly 
 any one. lie could not bear to think of any one 
 else presiding over his house, caring for him, or 
 petting him. 
 
 ** I must have devotion about me," he said naYve- 
 ly, and he well knew that the devotion she had to 
 give was the perfection of everything that a man 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 57 
 
 could desire ; so the idea of losing her was horrible 
 to him. If that is not love, what is? 
 
 Rosalie, alas, was thinking on quite another line. 
 Her life was wrecked, her idol fallen, her confi- 
 dence in him forever lost. And yet she had for- 
 given him. She had forgiven him, however, as a 
 mother yields to the child that cries and begs 
 for her pardon ; also for the sake of their name, 
 her father's honored name that the scandal of a 
 separation would have tarnished, and because 
 every one believed her happy and she could not 
 let them know the truth. 
 
 But let him beware ! After this pardon so 
 generously accorded, she warned him, a repetition 
 of such an outrage would not find the same 
 clemency. Let him never try it again, or their 
 lives would be separated cruelly and forever under 
 the eyes of the whole world. There was a firm- 
 ness in her tone and look as she said this, which 
 showed her capable of revenging her wounded 
 woman's pride upon a society that held her im- 
 prisoned in its bonds. 
 
 Numa understood ; he swore in perfect good 
 faith that he would sin no more. He was still 
 upset at the risk he had run of losing his happi- 
 ness and that repose which was so necessary to 
 him, all for an intrigue which had only appealed to 
 his vanity. It was an immense relief to be rid of 
 his great lady, his bony marquise, who but for her 
 noble coat-of-arms was hardly more desirable than 
 poor ** every one's old girl " at the Cafe Malmus ; to 
 have no more love-letters to write and rendezvous 
 
cS Numa Roumestan, 
 
 to make and keep. The knowledge that this silly 
 sentimental nonsense which had so tried his ease- 
 loving nature was over and done with enchanted 
 him as much as his wife's forgiveness and the 
 restored peace of his household. 
 
 He was as happy as before all this had hap- 
 pened. No apparent change took place in their 
 mode of life — the table always laid, the same 
 crowd of guests, the same round of entertainments 
 and receptions at which Numa sang and declaimed 
 and strutted, unconscious that at his side sat one 
 whose beautiful eyes were evermore open and 
 aware of facts under their veil of actual tears. 
 She understood her great man now : all words and 
 gestures, kind-hearted and generous at times, but 
 kind only a little while, made up of caprice, a 
 love of showing off and a desire to please like 
 a coquette. She realized the shallowness of such a 
 nature, undecided in his beliefs as in his dislikes; 
 above all she feared for both their sakes the weak- 
 ness hidden under his swelling words and resound- 
 ing voice, a weakness which angered and yet 
 endeared him to her, because, now that her wifely 
 love had vanished, she felt the yearning towards him 
 that a mother feels to a wayward child. Always 
 ready to sacrifice herself and to be devoted in spite 
 of treachery, the secret fear haunted her still : " If 
 only he does not wear out my patience ! " 
 
 Clear-sighted as she was, Rosalie quickly ob- 
 served a change in her husband's political opinions. 
 His relations with the Faubourg St. Germain had 
 begun to cool. The nankin waistcoat and fleur-de- 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 59 
 
 lis pin of old Sagnier no longer awed him. Sag- 
 nier's mind, he said, was not what it had been. 
 It was his shadow alone that presided at the Palace, 
 a sleepy ghost that recalled far too well the epoch 
 of the Legitimacy and its morbid inactivity, the 
 next thing to death. 
 
 So it was that Numa slowly, gently developed to- 
 wards the Empire, opening his doors to notable 
 men among the Imperialists whom he had met at 
 the house of Mme. d'Escarbes, whose influence 
 had prepared him for this very change. 
 
 *' Look out for your great man ; I am afraid he 
 is going to moult," said the councillor to his 
 daughter at dinner one day, when the lawyer had 
 been letting his coarse satire loose regarding the 
 affair of Froschdorf, which he compared to the 
 wooden horse of Don Quixote, stationary and 
 nailed down, while his rider with bandaged eyes 
 believed he was careering far through heavenly 
 space. 
 
 She did not have to ask many questions. De- 
 ceitful as he might be, his lies, which he scorned 
 to cover with complications or with finesse, were 
 so careless that they betrayed him at once. 
 
 Going into the library one morning she found 
 him absorbed in writing a letter, and leaning over 
 him with her head near his she inquired : 
 
 " To whom are you writing? " 
 
 He stammered, tried to invent something, but 
 the clear eyes searched him through and through 
 like a conscience ; he had an impulse to be frank 
 because he could not help it. 
 
6o Nttma Roumestan, 
 
 It was a letter to the emperor accepting the 
 position of councillor of state, written in the dry 
 but emphatic style, that style at the bar which he 
 employed when addressing the Bench whilst he 
 gesticulated with his long sleeves. It began thus : 
 ** A Vendean of the South, raised in the belief in 
 the monarchy and a respectful reverence for the 
 past, I feel that I shall not do violence to my 
 honor or to my conscience — " 
 
 " You must not send that ! " said she quickly. 
 
 He flew into a rage, talked loudly and brutally 
 like a shopman at Aps laying down the law in his 
 own household. What business was it of hers, 
 after all was said and done? What did she mean 
 by it? Did he interfere with her about the shape 
 of her bonnets or the models of her gowns? He 
 stormed and thundered as if he had a public 
 audience, but Rosalie maintained a tranquil, al- 
 most disdainful silence at such violence as this, 
 mere remnant of a will already broken, sure of her 
 victory in the end. These crises which weaken 
 and disarm them are themselves the ruin of exu- 
 berant natures. 
 
 ** You must not send that letter. It would give 
 the lie to your whole life, to all your obliga- 
 tions—" 
 
 " My obligations ! and to whom? " 
 
 " To me. Remember how we first knew each 
 other, how you won my heart by your protesta- 
 tions and disgust at the emperor's masquerades. It 
 was not so much the sentiments that I admired in 
 you as the fixed purpose that you showed to up- 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 61 
 
 hold a righteous cause once adopted — your steady 
 manly will ! " 
 
 But he defended his conduct. Ought he eat his 
 heart out all his life long in a party frozen stiff, 
 without springs of action, a camp deserted and 
 abandoned under the snow? Besides, it was not he 
 who went to the Empire, it was the Empire that 
 came to him. The emperor was an excellent man, 
 full of ideas, much superior to his court — in fine, 
 he brought to bear all the good arguments for 
 playing the traitor. But Rosalie would accept 
 none of them, and tried to show him that his 
 conduct would not only be treacherous but short- 
 sighted : 
 
 " Do you not see how uneasy these people are, 
 how they feel that the earth is mined and hollow 
 beneath their feet? The slightest jar from a roll- 
 ing stone and the whole thing will crumble ! And 
 into what a gulf! " 
 
 She talked with perfect clearness, gave details, 
 repeated many things that she, always a silent 
 person, had picked up after dinner from the talks 
 when the men would leave the women, intelligent 
 or not, to languish over toilets and worldly scan- 
 dal in conversation that even such topics could 
 not enliven. 
 
 " Odd little woman ! " thought Roumestan. Where 
 had she learned all that she was saying? He 
 could not get over the fact that she was so clever; 
 and, following one of those sudden changes that 
 make these gusty natures so lovable, he took this 
 reasoning little head, so charming with youth and 
 
62 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 yet so intelligent, between his hands and covered 
 it with a passion of tender kisses. 
 
 *' You are right, a thousand times right ! I ought 
 to write just the opposite ! " 
 
 He was going to tear up the rough copy, but he 
 noted that in the opening sentence there was a 
 phrase that pleased him, one that might still serve 
 his turn if it were changed a bit, somewhat in this 
 way : 
 
 " A Vendean of the South, raised in the belief 
 in the monarchy and a respectful reverence for 
 the past, I feel that I should do violence to my 
 honor and conscience, if I accepted the post which 
 your Majesty — " etc. 
 
 This polite but firm refusal published in all the 
 Legitimist papers raised Roumestan to a very dif- 
 ferent place in public opinion ; it made his name a 
 synonym for incorruptibility. " Cannot be rent," 
 wrote the Charivari under an amusing cartoon 
 which represented the toga of the great jurist 
 resisting the violent tugging of the several political 
 parties. 
 
 Shortly after this the Empire went to pieces and 
 when the Assembly of Bordeaux met Numa had 
 the choice between three departments which had 
 elected him their Deputy to the House, entirely on 
 account of his letter to the emperor. His first 
 speeches, delivered with a somewhat forced and 
 turgid eloquence, soon made him leader of all the 
 parties of the Right. 
 
 He was only the small change of old Sagnier, 
 but in these days of middle-class races, blue blood 
 
The Seamy Side of a Great Man, 63 
 
 rarely came to the front, and so the new leader 
 triumphed on the benches of the Chamber as 
 easily as on the old red divans at Father Malmus's 
 cafe. 
 
 Councillor-general in his own department, the 
 idol of the entire South, and raised still higher by 
 the position of his father-in-law, who after the fall 
 of the Empire had become first president of 
 the court of appeals, Numa without doubt was 
 marked out to become sooner or later a cabinet 
 minister. In the meantime a great man in the 
 eyes of every one but his own wife, he carried his 
 fresh glories about, from Paris to Versailles and 
 down to Provence, amiable, familiar, jolly and un- 
 conventional, bringing his aureola with him, it is 
 true, but only too willing to leave it in its band- 
 box, like an opera hat when no ceremony calls for 
 its. presence. 
 
64 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SOUTHERN AUNT — REMINISCENCES OF 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 The Portal mansion in which the great man dwells 
 when he is in Provence is one of the show-places 
 of Aps. It is mentioned by the Joanne guide-book 
 in the same category as the temple of Juno, the 
 amphitheatre, the old theatre and the tower of the 
 Antonines, relics of the old Roman days of which 
 the town is very proud and always keeps well fur- 
 bished up. But it is not the heavy ancient arched 
 gate of the old provincial residence itself, embossed 
 with immense nails, nor the high windows, bristling 
 with iron bars, spikes and pike-heads of a threat- 
 ening sort, that they point out to the stranger who 
 comes to see the town. It is only a little balcony 
 with its black iron props on the first floor, cor- 
 belled out above the porch. For it is here that 
 Numa shows himself to the crowd when he arrives 
 and it is from here that he speaks. The whole 
 town is witness that the iron balcony, which was 
 once as straight as a rule, has been hammered 
 into such an original shape, into such capricious 
 curves, by the blows showered upon it by the 
 powerful fist of the orator. 
 
A Southern Aunt 65 
 
 " TV, ve ! our Numa has molded the iron ! " 
 
 This they will say with bulging eyes and so 
 much earnestness as to leave no room for doubt — 
 say it with that imposing rolling of the " r " thus : 
 petrrri le ferrr I 
 
 They are a proud race, these good people of 
 Aps, and kindly withal, but vivid in their impres- 
 sions and most exaggerated in their language, of 
 which Aunt Portal, a true type of the local citi- 
 zenry, gave a very fair idea. 
 
 Immensely fat, apoplectic, her blood rushing to 
 her pendulous cheeks purple like the lees of wine 
 in fine contrast with her pale complexion, the skin 
 of a former blonde. So far as one saw it the throat 
 was very white, and her neat handsome iron-gray 
 curls showed from beneath a cap decorated with 
 lilac ribbon. Her bodice was hooked awry, but 
 she was imposing nevertheless, having a majestic 
 air and a pleasant smile and manner. It was thus 
 that she appeared in the half-light of her drawing- 
 room, always kept hermetically sealed after the 
 Southern custom. You would say she looked like 
 an old family portrait, or one of Mirabeau's old 
 marquises, and very appropriate to her old house, 
 built a hundred years ago by Gonzague Portal, 
 chief councillor of the Parliament of Aix. 
 
 It is not uncommon to find people and houses 
 ia Provence that seem as if they belong to olden 
 times, as if the last century, while passing out 
 through those high panelled doors, had let a bit of 
 her gown full of furbelows stick in the crack of the 
 door, 
 
 5 
 
66 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 But if in conversing with Aunt Portal you should 
 be so unlucky as to hint that Protestants are as 
 good as Catholics, or that Henry V may not 
 ascend the throne at any moment, the old portrait 
 will spring headlong out of its frame, and with the 
 veins on its neck swelling and the hands tearing 
 at the neatly hanging curls, will fly into an un- 
 governable passion, swear, threaten and curse ! 
 These outbursts have passed into tradition in the 
 town and many wonderful tales are told upon the 
 subject. At an evening party in her house a 
 servant let fall a tray of wineglasses ; Aunt Portal 
 fell into one of her fits of rage, shouting and excit- 
 ing herself with cries, reproaches and lamentations; 
 finally her voice failed, and almost choking in her 
 frenzy, unable to beat the unlucky servant, who 
 had promptly fled, she raised the skirt of her dress 
 and wrapped it about her head and face to con- 
 ceal her groans and her visage disfigured by rage, 
 quite regardless of the voluminous display of a 
 portly, white-fleshed lady to which she was treating 
 her guests. 
 
 In any other part of the country she would have 
 been considered mad, but in Aps, the land of hot 
 brains and explosive natures, they were satisfied 
 to say that she " rode a high horse." It is true 
 that passers-by on the quiet square before her 
 doors on restful afternoons, when the cloistral 
 stillness of the town is only broken by the chirp- 
 ing of the locusts or a few notes on a piano, are 
 wont to hear such words as '* monster," ** thief," 
 ** assassin," " stealers of priests' property," " I 'U 
 
A Southern Aunt. 67 
 
 cut your arm off," ''I'll rip the skin off your 
 stomach ! " Then doors would slam and stairways 
 tremble beneath the vaults of whitewashed stone ; 
 windows would open noisily, as though the muti- 
 lated bodies of the unhappy servants were to be 
 thrown from them ! But nothing happens ; the 
 servants placidly continue their work, accustomed 
 to these tempests, knowing perfectly that they are 
 mere habits of speech. 
 
 An excellent person, all things considered, 
 ardent, generous, with a great desire to please 
 and to sacrifice herself — a noble trait in these 
 impulsive people, and one by which Numa had 
 profited. Since he had been chosen deputy the 
 house on the Place Cavalerie belonged to him, his 
 aunt only reserving the right to remain there the 
 rest of her life. And then, what a delight it was 
 to her when the party from Paris arrived, with the 
 receptions, the visits, the morning music and the 
 serenades which the presence of the great man 
 brought into that lonely life of hers, eager for 
 excitement ! Besides, she adored her niece Rosa- 
 lie, partly because they were so entirely the oppo- 
 site of each other and also because of the respect 
 she felt for the daughter of the chief magistrate 
 of France. 
 
 It really needed a world of patience on Rosalie's 
 part and all the love of family inculcated in her by 
 her parents to endure for two whole months the 
 whims and tiresome caprices of this disordered 
 imagination, always over-excited and as restless in 
 mind as she was indolent in her big body. Seated 
 
68 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 in the large vestibule, as cool as a Moorish court, but 
 yet close and musty from the exclusion of air and 
 sunshine, Rosalie, holding a bit of embroidery in 
 her hands — for like a true Parisian she never could 
 be idle — was obliged to listen for hours at a time to 
 her surprising confidences. The enormous lady sat 
 before her in an arm-chair, with her hands free in 
 order to gesticulate, and recapitulated breathlessly 
 the chronicles of the whole town. She sometimes 
 depicted her maid-servants and coachman as mon- 
 sters, sometimes as angels, according to the caprice 
 of the moment. She would select some one against 
 whom she apparently had some grudge, and cover 
 the detested one with the foulest, bloodiest, most 
 venomous abuse, relating stories like those in the 
 Annals of the Propagation of the Faith, Rosalie, 
 who had lived with Numa, had luckily become 
 accustomed to these frantic objurgations. She lis- 
 tened abstractedly ; for the most part they passed 
 in at one ear and out at the other ; hardly did she 
 stop to wonder how it came about that she, so 
 reserved and discreet, could ever have entered 
 such a family of theatrical persons who draped 
 themselves with phrases and overflowed with ges- 
 tures. It had to be a very strong bit of gossip to 
 make her hold up Aunt Portal with an " Oh, my 
 dear aunt ! " thrown out with a far-away air. 
 
 " Perhaps you are right, my dear, perhaps I do 
 exaggerate a little." 
 
 But Aunt Portal's tumultuous imagination was 
 soon off again, recounting some comic or tragic 
 tale with so much mimicry and dramatic effect 
 
A Southern Aunt, 69 
 
 that she gave one the impression of wearing alter- 
 nately the two masks borne by ancient actors of 
 tragedy and of comedy. She only calmed down 
 when she described her one visit to Paris and re- 
 lated the wonders of the arrival in the " Passage 
 Somon," where she had stopped at a small hotel 
 patronized by all the travelling salesmen of her 
 native province, where they ** took the air " in a 
 glass-covered passage as stuffy ,and hot as a melon- 
 frame. Of all her remarkable stories of Paris this 
 place was the central point from which everything 
 else evolved — it was the elegant, fashionable spot 
 beyond all others. 
 
 These tiresome, empty tirades had at least the 
 spice of being uttered in the strangest and most 
 amusing kind of language, in which an old-school 
 stilted French, the French of books of rhetoric, 
 was mixed with the oddest provincialisms. Aunt 
 Portal detested the Provencal tongue, that dialect 
 so admirable in color and sonorousness, which only 
 the peasants and people talk, which contains an 
 echo of Latin vibrating across the deep blue sea. 
 She belonged to the burgher class of Provence 
 who translate p^caire by pechere (sinner) and fancy 
 they talk correctly. 
 
 When her coachman Menicle (Dominick) in his 
 frank way said to her in Provencal : 
 
 " Voii baia de civ ado au chivaou'' (I am going 
 to give the horses oats) — she would assume an 
 austere air and say: 
 
 " I do not understand you — speak French, my 
 good fellow ! " 
 
yo Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Then M^nicle, like a docile schoolboy, would 
 
 say: 
 
 ''Je vais hayer d^ civade au chivau." 
 
 "That is right, now I understand you ! " — and he 
 would go away thinking that he had been speaking 
 the language. It is a fact that most of the people 
 in the South below Valence only know this hybrid 
 kind of French. 
 
 But besides all this Aunt Portal played upon 
 her words by no means according to her fancy but 
 in accordance with the rules of some local gram- 
 mar. Thus she said diligence for diligence y aMter 
 for acheter, an^ote for anecdote^ r^giire for registre. 
 She called a pillow-slip (taie d'oreiller) a cous- 
 sinihe, an umbrella was an ombrette, the foot- 
 warmer which she used at all seasons of the year 
 was a banquette. She did not cry, she " fell to 
 tears ; " and though very '* overweighted " she 
 never took more than " half hour " for her round of 
 the city. All this twaddle was larded with those 
 little words and expressions without precise mean- 
 ing which Provencals scatter through their speech, 
 those verbal snips which they stuff between sen- 
 tences to less^on their stress or increase their 
 strength, or keep up the multifold character of 
 the accent, such as 
 
 ^' Aie, 07iie, avai, agavaiy au moins^ pas moinSy 
 diff&emment, allons! " 
 
 This contempt of Mme. Portal for the language 
 of her province extended to its usages and its tra- 
 ditions and even to its costume. Just as she did 
 not permit her coachman to lapse into Provencal, 
 
A Southern Aunt, 71 
 
 in the same way she never would have allowed a 
 servant to enter her house wearing the head-dress 
 and neck-kerchief of Aries. 
 
 *' My house is neither a mas (farm) nor a 
 weaver's loft," said she. Nor would she let them 
 wear a chapo either. To wear a bonnet is the 
 distinctive hieratic sign of the ascendancy of the 
 citizen in the provinces. The title of " madame " 
 is one of its attributes, a title refused to any of the 
 baser sort. It is amusing to see the condescension 
 of the wife of a retired officer or municipal em- 
 ployee who earns eight hundred francs a year, 
 doing her own marketing in an enormous bonnet, 
 when she speaks to the wife of an immensely rich 
 farmer from the Crau, in her picturesque head- 
 gear trimmed with real old thread lace. In the 
 Portal mansion the ladies had worn bonnets for 
 over a century. This made Mme. Portal very 
 arrogant toward poor people and was the cause 
 of a terrible scene between her and Roumestan a 
 few days after the festival in the amphitheatre. 
 
 It was a Friday morning at breakfast, a regular 
 Provencal breakfast, pretty and attractive to the 
 eye although strictly a fast-day meal, for Aunt 
 Portal was very keen about her orders. On the 
 white cloth in picturesque array were big green 
 peppers, alternating with blood-red figs, almonds 
 and carved water-melons, that looked like big rose- 
 colored magnolias, anchovy patties and little white 
 rolls such as are to be found nowhere else — all 
 very light dishes set among decanters of fresh 
 water and bottles of light home-made wine. Out- 
 
72 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 side in the sun the locusts and rays were chirping 
 and ghttering, and a broad band of golden light 
 slid through a crevice into the great dining-room, 
 vaulted and resounding like the refectory of a 
 convent. 
 
 In the middle of the table on a chafing dish 
 were two large cutlets designed for Numa. Not- 
 withstanding that his name was uttered in all the 
 prayers, perhaps because of it, the great man of 
 Aps, alone of all the family, had obtained a dis- 
 pensation from fasting from the cardinal. So there 
 he sat feasting and carving his juicy cutlets, while 
 his aunt and his wife and sister-in-law breakfasted 
 on figs and watermelon. 
 
 Rosalie was used to it. The two days' fast every 
 week was but a part of her yearly burden, as much 
 a matter of course as the sunshine, the dust, the 
 hot mistral wind, the mosquitoes, her aunt's gossip 
 and the Sunday services at the church of St. Per- 
 petue. But the youthful appetite of Hortense 
 revolted against this continual fasting and it took 
 all the gentle authority of the elder sister to pre- 
 vent an outburst from the spoiled child, which 
 would have shocked all Aunt Portal's ideas of the 
 conduct becoming to a young person of refinement 
 and education. So Hortense had to content her- 
 self with her husks, revenging herself by making 
 the most awful grimaces, rolling up her eyes, snuff- 
 ing up the smell of the cutlets and murmuring 
 under her breath for Rosalie's benefit alone : 
 
 •' It always happens so. I took a long ride this 
 morning. I am as hungry as a tramp ! " 
 
A Southern Aunt, J2> 
 
 She still wore her habit, which was as becoming 
 to her tall, slim figure as was the straight, high 
 collar to her irregular saucy little face, still flushed 
 by her exercise in the open air. Her ride had 
 given her an idea. 
 
 '* Oh Numa, how about Valmajour? When are 
 we going to see him?" 
 
 **Who is Valmajour? " answered Numa, whose 
 fickle brain had already discarded all memory of 
 the taborist. '^ Te, that 's a fact, Valmajour ! I had 
 forgotten all about him. What a genius he is ! " 
 
 It all came back to him — the arches of the am- 
 phitheatre echoing to the farandole with the dull 
 vibration of the tabor; it fired his memory and so 
 excited him that he called out decisively: 
 
 "Aunt Portal, do lend us the landau; we will 
 set off directly after breakfast." 
 
 His aunt's brow darkened above her big eyes, 
 flaming like those of a Japanese idol. 
 
 '♦The landau? Avail What for? At least 
 you 're not going to take your wife and sister to 
 see that player of the tutn-panpan ! " 
 
 This word " tutu-panpan " so perfectly mimicked 
 the sound of the fife and tabor that Roumestan 
 burst out laughing, but Hortense took up the 
 defence of the old Provencal tabor with much 
 earnestness. Nothing that she had seen in the 
 South had impressed her so much. Besides, it 
 would not be honest to break one's word to the 
 nice boy. 
 
 " He is a great artist ! Numa, you said so 
 yourself" 
 
74 ' Numa Roumestan. 
 
 " Yes, yes, little sister, you are right ; we must 
 certainly go." 
 
 Aunt Portal in a towering rage said that she 
 could not understand how a man like her nephew, 
 a deputy, could put himself out for peasants, farm- 
 ers, whose people from father to son had made 
 music for the villages. Then, in her usual spirit 
 of mimicry, she stuck out a disdainful lip and 
 played with the fingers of one hand on an imagin- 
 ary fife, while with the other she beat upon the 
 table to represent the tabor, taking off the tabor- 
 player's gestures. 
 
 " Nice people to take ladies to see ! No one but 
 Numa would dream of doing such a thing. Call- 
 ing on the Valmajours ! Holy mother of angels ! " 
 And becoming more and more excited, she accused 
 them of crimes enough to make them out a brood 
 of monsters as bloody and dreadful as the Tres- 
 taillon family, when suddenly across the table she 
 caught the eye of her butler M^nicle, who came 
 from the same village as the Valmajours and was 
 listening to her lies, every feature strained in 
 astonishment. At once she shouted to him in a 
 terrible voice to " go and change himself quickly " 
 and have the landau at the door at "■ two o'clock 
 a quarter off." All the rages of Aunt Portal ended 
 in this fashion. 
 
 Hortense threw down her napkin and ran and 
 kissed the old lady rapturously on her fat cheeks. 
 She was in a tumult of gayety and bounded for 
 joy: 
 
 " Come, Rosalie, let us hurry ! " 
 
A Southern Aunt, 75 
 
 Aunt Portal looked at her niece : 
 
 " Well, I hope, Rosalie, that you are not going 
 to vagabondize with these feather-heads ! " 
 
 ** No, no, aunt, I will stay with you " answered 
 Rosalie, amused at the character of elderly relative 
 that her unvarying amiability and resignation had 
 created for her in that house. 
 
 At the right moment the carriage came promptly 
 to the door, but they sent it on ahead, telling Menicle 
 to wait for them at the amphitheatre square, and 
 R.oumestan set out on foot with his little sister on 
 his arm, full of curiosity and pride at seeing Aps 
 in his company, to visit the house in which he was 
 born and to retrace with him the streets through 
 which he had so often walked when a child. 
 
 It was the hour of the midday rest. The whole 
 town slept, silent and deserted, rocked by the south 
 wind blowing in great fanlike gusts, cooling and 
 freshening the fierce Provencal summer heat, but 
 making walking difficult, especially along the 
 Corso, which offered no resistance to it, where it 
 roared round the little city with the bellowings 
 of a loosened bull. Hortense, with her head down, 
 her hands tightly clasped about her brother's arm, 
 out of breath and bewildered, enjoyed the sensa- 
 tion of being raised and borne along by the gusts 
 which were like resistless waves, noisy and com- 
 plaining, white with foamlike dust. Sometimes 
 they had to stop and cling to the ropes stretched 
 along the ramparts for use on windy days. Owing 
 to the whirlwinds in which bits of bark and plane- 
 tree seeds spun round, and owing to its solitude 
 
76 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 the Corso had an air of distress in its wide desola- 
 tion, still soiled as it was with the remains of the 
 recent market, strewn with melon-rinds, straw litters, 
 empty casks, as if the mistral alone had charge of 
 the street cleaning. 
 
 Roumestan was anxious to reach the carriage as 
 soon as possible, but Hortense enjoyed this battle 
 with the hurricane and insisted on walking farther, 
 panting and overborne by the gust that curled her 
 blue veil three times around her hat and molded 
 her short walking skirt against her figure as she 
 walked. She was saying : 
 
 " It is queer how different people are ! Rosalie, 
 now, hates the wind. She says it blows away all 
 her ideas, keeps her from thinking. Now me the 
 wind excites, intoxicates ! " 
 
 ** So it does me ! " said Numa, clinging on to his 
 hat, his eyes full of water, and then suddenly, as 
 they turned a corner: 
 
 " Ah, here is my street — I was born here." 
 
 The wind was going down, at least they felt it 
 less ; it was blowing farther away with a sound as 
 of billows breaking on a beach, as one hears them 
 from the quiet inner bay. The street was a largish 
 one, paved with pointed stones, without sidewalks, 
 and the house an insignificant little gray structure 
 standing between an Ursuline convent shaded with 
 big plane-trees and a fine old seignorial mansion 
 on which was carved a coat of arms and the in- 
 scription " H6tel de Rochemaure." Opposite stood 
 a very old and characterless building with broken 
 columns, defaced statues and grave-stones with 
 
A Southern Aiint. 77 
 
 Roman inscriptions carved on them ; it had the 
 word '* Academy " in faded gilt letters over a 
 green door. 
 
 In that little gray house the great orator first 
 saw the light on the 15th of July, 1832; it was 
 easy to draw more than one parallel between his 
 narrow, classical talent and his education as a 
 Catholic and a Legitimist, and that little house of 
 needy citizens with a convent on one side and a 
 seignorial residence on the other, and a provincial 
 academy in front of it. 
 
 Roumestan was filled with emotion, as he always 
 was over anything concerning himself. He had 
 not visited this spot for perhaps thirty years; it 
 needed the whim of this young girl to bring him 
 here. He was much struck with the immutability 
 of things. He recognized in the wall a shutter- 
 catch that his childish hand had turned and played 
 with every morning as he passed on his way up 
 the street. The columns and precious torsos of 
 the academy threw their shadows on the same spot 
 as of old. The rose-laurel bushes had the same 
 spicy odor and he showed Hortense the narrow 
 window where his mother had sat and signed 
 to him to hurry when he came from the friars' 
 school: 
 
 " Come up quickly, father has come in ! " His 
 father did not like to be kept waiting. 
 
 "Tell me, Numa, is it really true? were you 
 really educated by the friars } " 
 
 "■ Yes, little sister, until I was twelve years old, 
 and then Aunt Portal sent me to the Assumption, 
 
78 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 the most fashionable boarding-school in the town ; 
 but it was the Ignorantins over there in that big 
 barrack with yellow shutters who taught me to 
 read." 
 
 As he called to mind the pail of brine under the 
 Brother's chair in which were soaked the straps 
 with which they beat the boys, to make the pain 
 greater, he shuddered ; he remembered the large 
 paved class-room where they were made to say 
 their lessons on their knees and had to crawl up 
 holding out their hands to be punished on the 
 slightest pretext ; he recalled how the Brother in 
 his shabby black gown stood stiff and rigid, with 
 his habit rolled up beneath his arm, the better to 
 strike his pitiless blow^s — Brother Crust-to-cook, 
 as he was called, because he was the cook. He 
 remembered how the dear Brother cried *'ha!" 
 and how his little inky fingers tingled with the pain 
 as if ants werQ biting them. As Hortense cried 
 aloud in dismay at the brutality of such punish- 
 ments, he related others still more dreadful ; for 
 example, they were obliged to clean the freshly 
 watered pavements with their tongues, the dust 
 and water making a muddy subtance that injured 
 the tender palates of the naughty children. 
 
 " It is shameful ! and you defend such people 
 and speak in their favor in the Chamber?" 
 
 " Ah, my dear, that is politics ! " said Roumestan 
 calmly. 
 
 As they talked they were threading a labyrinth 
 of small, dingy streets, almost oriental in their char- 
 acter, where old women lay asleep on their door- 
 
A Southern AunL 79 
 
 steps, and other streets, though not so sombre, 
 where long pieces of printed calicoes fluttered in 
 explanation of signboards on which were painted : 
 '^Haberdashery," ''Shoes," "Silks." 
 
 Thence they came out on what was called in 
 Aps the " Little Square," with its asphalt melting 
 in the hot sun and surrounded by shops, at this 
 hour closed and silent, in the narrow shadow of 
 whose walls boot-blacks slept peacefully, their 
 heads resting on their boxes, their limbs stretched 
 out Hke those of drowned people, wrecks of the* 
 tempest that has just swept over the town. An 
 unfinished monument occupied the centre of the 
 little square. Hortense wished to know what was 
 ultimately to be the statue placed upon it and 
 Roumestan smiled in an embarrassed way. 
 
 " It is a long story ! " he answered, hurrying on. 
 
 The town of Aps had voted a statue to Numa, 
 but the Liberals of the " Vanguard " had strongly 
 disapproved of this apotheosis of a living man and 
 so his friends had not dared to go on with it. The 
 statue was all ready, but now probably they would 
 wait for his death before raising it. Surely it 's a 
 glorious thought that after your funeral you will 
 have civic recognition and that you die only to 
 rise again in bronze or marble ; but this empty 
 pedestal shining in the sun seemed to Roumestan, 
 whenever he passed it, as gloomy as a majestic 
 family vault; it was not until they had reached 
 the amphitheatre that he could dispel his funereal 
 thoughts. 
 
 The old structure, divested of its Sunday cheer- 
 
8o Numa Roumestan. 
 
 fulness and returned to its solemnity of a great and 
 useless ruin, seemed damp and cheerless as it 
 loomed darkly against the rays of the setting sun, 
 with its dark corridors and floors caved in here and 
 there and stones crumbling beneath the footsteps 
 of the centuries. 
 
 '' How dreadfully sad it is ! " said Hortense, re- 
 gretting the music of Valmajour's fife; but to 
 Numa it did not seem sad. His happiest days had 
 been passed there — his childish days with all their 
 pleasures and longings. Oh, the Sundays at the 
 bull-fights, prowling around the gates with other 
 poor children who lacked ten sous to pay for their' 
 tickets ! In the hot afternoon sun they crawled 
 into some corner where a glimpse of the arena 
 could be obtained. What pleasures of forbidden 
 fruits ! — the red-stockinged legs of the bull-fighters, 
 the wrathful hoofs of the bull, the dust of the combat 
 rising from the arena amid the cries of '' Bravo ! " 
 and the bellowings and the roar of the multitude ! 
 The yearning to get inside was not to be resisted. 
 While the sentinel's back was turned the bravest 
 of them would wriggle through the iron bars with 
 a little effort. 
 
 " I always got through ! " said Roumestan in 
 ecstasy. The history of his whole life was ex- 
 pressed in those few words. By chance or by 
 cleverness — no matter how close were the bars — 
 the Southerner always wriggled through. 
 
 ** I was thinner in those days, all the same," he 
 said with a sigh and he looked with comic regret 
 at the narrow bars of the grille and then at his big 
 
A Southern Aunt 8i 
 
 white waistcoat, within which lay the solid sign of 
 his forty years. 
 
 Behind the enormous amphitheatre they found 
 the carriage, safely harbored from wind and 
 sun. They had to wake up Menicle, who was 
 sleeping peacefully on the box between two large 
 baskets of provisions, wrapped in his heavy cloak 
 of royal blue. But before getting in Numa pointed 
 out to Hortense an old inn at a distance whose sign 
 read : " To the Little St. John, coach and express 
 office," the whitewashed front and large open sheds 
 of which took up one whole corner of the square. 
 In these sheds were ancient stage-coaches and 
 rural chaises long unused, covered with dust, 
 their shafts raised high in air from beneath their 
 gray covers. 
 
 *' Look there, little sister," he cried with emotion. 
 *' It was from this spot that I set out for Paris one- 
 and-twenty years ago. There was no railway then ; 
 we went by coach as far as Montelimar, then up 
 the Rh6ne. Heavens, how happy I was ! and how 
 your big Paris frightened me ! It was evening — I 
 remember it so well. . ." 
 
 He spoke quickly, reminiscences crowding each 
 other in his mind. 
 
 " The evening, ten o'clock, in November, beauti- 
 ful moonlight. The guard's name was Fouque, a 
 great person ! While he was harnessing we walked 
 about with Bompard — yes, Bompard — you know 
 we were already great friends. He was, or thought 
 he was, studying for a druggist and meant to join 
 me in Paris. We made many plans for living 
 
 6 
 
82 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 together and helping each other along in the world 
 to get ahead quicker — in the meantime he en- 
 couraged me, gave me good advice — he was 
 older than I. My great bugbear was the fear of 
 being ridiculous — Aunt Portal had ordered for 
 me a travelling wrap called a Raglan; I was a 
 little dubious about that Raglan, so Bompard made 
 me put it on and walk before him in it. Te ! I 
 can see yet my shadow beside me as I walked, and 
 gravely, with that knowing air he has, he said : 
 'That is all right, old boy; you don't look ridicu- 
 lous.' — Ah, youth, youth ! " 
 
 Hortense, who was beginning to fear that they 
 should never get away from this town where every 
 stone was eloquent of reminiscences for the great 
 man, led the way gently towards the carriage. 
 
 **Let us get in, Numa. We can talk just as well 
 as we drive along." 
 
Valmajour, 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 VALMAJOUR. 
 
 It takes hardly more than two hours to drive 
 from Aps to Cordova Mountain provided the wind 
 is astern. Drawn by the two old horses from 
 the Camargue, the carriage went almost by itself, 
 propelled by the mistral which shook and rattled 
 it, beating on its leather hood and curtains or 
 blowing them out like sails. 
 
 Out here it did not bellow any more as it did 
 round the ramparts and through the vaulted pas- 
 sages of the town ; but, free of all obstacles, driv- 
 ing before it the great plain itself, where a solitary 
 farm and some peasant manses here and there, 
 forming gray spots in the green landscape, seemed 
 the scattering of a village by the storm, the wind 
 passed in the form of smoke before the sky, and 
 like sudden dashes of surf over the tall wheat and 
 olive orchards, whose silvery leaves it made to 
 flutter like a swarm of butterflies. Then with sud- 
 den rebounds that raised in blond masses the dust 
 that crackled under the wheels it fell upon the 
 files of closely pressed cypresses and the Spanish 
 reeds with their long rustling leaves, which made 
 one feel that there wis a river flowing beside the 
 road. When for one moment it stopped, as if 
 
84 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 short of breath, one felt all the weight of summer ; 
 then a truly African heat rose from the earth, 
 which was soon driven off by the wholesome, re- 
 vivifying hurricane, extending its jovial dance to the 
 very farthest point on the horizon, to those little 
 dull, grayish mounds which are seen on the hori- 
 zon in all Provencal landscapes, but which the sun- 
 set turns to iridescent tints of fairyland. 
 
 They did not meet many people. An occasional 
 huge wagon from the quarries filled with hewn 
 stones, blinding in the sunlight; an old peasant 
 woman from Ville-des-Baux bending under a great 
 couffin or basket of sweet-smelling herbs ; the robe 
 of a medicant friar with a sack on his back and a 
 rosary round his waist, his hard, tonsured head 
 sweating and shining like a Durance pebble ; or 
 else a group of people returning from a pilgrimage, 
 a wagon-load of women and girls in holiday attire, 
 with fine black eyes, big chignons and bright- 
 colored ribbons, coming from Sainte Baume or 
 Notre-Dame-de-Lumi^re. Well, the mistral gave 
 to all these people, to hard labor, to wretchedness 
 and to superstition the same flow of health and 
 good spirits, gathering up and scattering again 
 during its rushes the hymn of the monk, the 
 shrill canticles of the pilgrims, the bells and jin- 
 gling blue glass beads of the horses and the " Dia ! 
 hue!'' of the carters, as well as the popular refrain 
 that Numa, intoxicated by the breeze of his native 
 land, poured forth with all the power of his lungs 
 and with wide gesticulations that were waved from 
 both the carriage doors at once : 
 
Valmajour, 85 
 
 " Beau soleil de la Provence, 
 Gai cotnpere du jnisiralf " 
 (Splendid sun of old Provence, 
 Of the mislral comrade gay ! ) 
 
 Suddenly he cried to the coachman : ** Here ! 
 Menicle, Menicle ! " 
 
 " Monsieur Numa? " 
 
 " What is that stone building on the other side 
 of the Rhdne?" 
 
 " That, Monsieur Numa, is the jonjon of Queen 
 Jeanne." 
 
 '* Oh, yes, that 's so — I remember ; poor jo7i- 
 jon ! Its name is as much of a ruin as the tower 
 itself!" 
 
 And then he told Hortense the story of the 
 royal dungeon, for he was thoroughly grounded in 
 his native legends. 
 
 That ruined and rusty tower up there dated 
 from the time of the Saracen invasion, although 
 more modern than the ruin of the abbey near it, a 
 bit of whose half crumbled wall still remained 
 standing near at hand, with its row of narrow win- 
 dows showing against the sky and its big ogival 
 doorway. He showed her, against the rocky slope, 
 a worn pathway leading to a pond that shone like 
 a cup of crystal, where the monks used to go to 
 fish for eels and carp for the table of the abbot. 
 As they looked at the lovely spot Numa remarked 
 that the men of God had always known how to 
 select the choicest spots in which to pass their com- 
 fortable, restful lives, generally choosing the sum- 
 mits where they might soar and dream, but whence 
 
86 Numa Roumeslan. 
 
 they descended upon the quiet valleys and levied 
 their toll on all the good things from the surround- 
 ing villages. 
 
 Oh, Provence in the Middle Ages ! land of the 
 troubadours and courts of beauty ! , 
 
 Now briers dislocate the stones of the terraces 
 erstwhile swept by the trains of courtly beauties — 
 Stephenettes or Azalai'ses — while ospreys and 
 owls scream at night in the place where the dead 
 and gone troubadours used to sing! But was 
 there not still a perfume of delicate beauty, a 
 charming Italian coquetry pervading this landscape 
 of the Alpilles, like the quiver of a lute or viol 
 floating through the pure, still air? 
 
 Numa grew excited, forgetting that he had only 
 his sister-in-law and old Menicle's blue cloak for 
 audience, and, after a few commonplaces fit for 
 local banquets and meetings of the Academy, 
 broke forth into one of those ingenious and brilliant 
 impromptus that proved him to be indeed the 
 descendant of the light Provencal troubadours. 
 
 " There is Valmajour ! " said Menicle all at once, 
 pointing upwards with his whip as he leaned round 
 on the box. 
 
 They had left the highroad and were climbing a 
 zigzag path up the side of Cordova Mountain, 
 narrow and slippery with the lavender whose fra- 
 grance filled the air with a smell of burnt incense 
 as the carriage wheels passed. On a plateau half 
 way up, at the foot of a black, dilapidated tower, 
 the roofs of the farmstead could be seen. Here it 
 was that for years and years the Valmajours had 
 
Valmajour, Z"] 
 
 lived, from father td son, on the site of the old 
 chateau whose name abided with them. And who 
 knows? perhaps these peasants really were the 
 descendants of the princes of Valmajour, related 
 to the counts of Provence and to the house of 
 Baux. This idea, imprudently expressed by Rou- 
 mestan, was eagerly taken up by Hortense, who 
 thus accounted to herself for the really high-bred 
 manners of the taborist. 
 
 As they conversed in the carriage on the subject 
 Menicle listened to their talk in amazement from 
 his box. The name of Valmajour was common 
 enough in the province ; there were mountain Val- 
 majours and Valmajours of the valley, according 
 as they dwelt on upland or on plain. " So they 
 are all noblemen ! " he wondered. But the astute 
 Provencal kept his thoughts on the subject to 
 himself. 
 
 As they advanced further into this desolate but 
 beautiful landscape the imagination of the young 
 girl, excited by Numa's animated conversation, gave 
 free vent to its romantic impressions, stimulated 
 by the brightly-colored fantasies of the past ; and 
 looking upward and seeing a peasant woman sit- 
 ting on a buttress of the ruined tower, watching 
 the approach of the strangers, her face in profile, 
 her hand shading her eyes from the sun, she 
 imagined she saw some princess wearing the 
 mediaeval wimple gazing down upon them from 
 her feudal tower — like an illustration in an old 
 book. 
 
 The illusion was hardly dispelled when, on leav- 
 
88 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ing the carnage, they saw before them the sister of 
 the taborist, who was making willow screens for 
 silk worms. She did not rise, although Menicle 
 had shouted to her from a distance : '' Ve ! Audi- 
 berte, here are visitors for your brother ! " Her 
 face with its delicate, regular features, long and 
 green as an unripe olive, expressed neither pleas- 
 ure nor surprise, but kept the concentrated look 
 that brought the heavy black eyebrows together in 
 front and seemed to tie a knot below her obstinate 
 brows, as if with a hard, fixed line. Numa, some- 
 what taken aback by this frigid reception, said 
 hastily : *' I am Numa Roumestan, the deputy — " 
 
 " Oh, I know who you are well enough," she 
 answered gravely, and throwing down her work in 
 a heap by her side : *' Come in a moment, my 
 brother will be here presently." 
 
 "When she stood up their hostess lost her impos- 
 ing appearance ; short of stature, with a large bust, 
 she walked with an ungraceful waddle that spoiled 
 the effect of her pretty head charmingly set off by 
 the little Aries head-dress and the picturesque fichu 
 of white muslin with its bluish shadow in every 
 fold which she wore over her shoulders. She led 
 her guests into the house. This peasant's cottage, 
 leaning up against its ruined tower, seemed to 
 have imbibed a distinguished air, with its coat-of- 
 arms in stone over a door shaded by an awning of 
 reeds cracked by the heat of the sun and its big 
 curtain of checked muslin stretched across the 
 door to keep out the mosquitoes. The old guard- 
 room, with its ceiling riddled by cracks, its tall, 
 
Valmajour, 89 
 
 ancient chimneypiece and its white walls, was 
 lighted only by small green-glass windows and the 
 curtain stretched across the door. 
 
 In the dim Hght could be seen the black wooden 
 kneading-trough, shaped like a sarcophagus, carved 
 with designs of wheat and flowers ; over it hung 
 the open-work wicker bread-basket, ornamented 
 with little Moorish bells, in which the bread is kept 
 fresh in Provencal farm-houses. Two or three 
 sacred images, the Virgin, Saint Martha and the 
 iarasque, a small red copper lamp of antique form 
 hanging from the beak of a mocking-bird carved 
 in white wood by one of the shepherds, and on 
 each side of the fireplace the salt and the flour 
 boxes, completed the furniture of the big room, 
 not forgetting a large sea-shell, with which they 
 called the cattle home, ghttering on the mantel- 
 piece above the hearth. 
 
 A long table ran lengthwise through the hall, 
 on each side of which were benches and stools. 
 From the ceiling hung strings of onions black with 
 flies, that buzzed loudly whenever the door curtain 
 was raised. 
 
 "Take a seat, sir — a seat, madame; you must 
 share the grand boire with us." 
 
 The grand boire or " big drink " is the lunch par- 
 taken of wherever the peasants are working — out 
 in the fields, under the trees, in the shade of a mill, 
 or in a roadside ditch. But the Valmajours took 
 theirs in the house, as they were at work near by. 
 The table was already laid with little yellow 
 earthen dishes in which were pickled olives and 
 
90 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 romaine salad shining with oil. In the willpw 
 stand where the bottles and glasses are kept Numa 
 thought he saw some wine. , 
 
 " So you still have vineyards up here? " he asked 
 smilingly, trying to ingratiate himself with this 
 queer little savage. But at the word '* vineyards " 
 she sprang to her feet like a goat bitten by an asp, 
 and in a moment her voice struck the full note of 
 indignation. Vines ! oh, yes ! nice luck they had 
 had with their vineyards ! Out of five only one 
 was left to them — the smallest one, too, and that 
 they had to keep under water half the year, — 
 water from the roubine at that, costing them their 
 last sou ! And all that — who was to blame for it? 
 the Reds, those swine, those monsters, the Reds 
 and their godless republic, that had let loose all 
 the devils of hell upon the country ! 
 
 As she spoke in this passionate manner her eyes 
 grew blacker with the murky look of an assassin ; 
 her pretty face was all convulsed and disfigured, 
 her mouth was distorted and her black eyebrows 
 made with their knot a big lump in the middle of 
 her brow. The strangest of all was that in spite 
 of her fury she continued her peaceful avocations, 
 making the coffee, blowing the fire, coming and 
 going, gesticulating with whatever was in her 
 hand, the bellows or the coffee-pot, or a blazing 
 brand of vine-wood from the fire, which she brand- 
 ished like the torch of a Fury. Suddenly she 
 calmed down. 
 
 " Here is my brother," she said. 
 
 The rustic curtain, brushed aside, let in a flood of 
 
Valmajour, 91 
 
 white sunlight against which appeared the tall form 
 of Valmajour, followed by a little old man with a 
 smooth face, sunburned until it was as black and 
 gnarled as the root of a diseased vine. Neither 
 father nor son showed any more excitement at the 
 sight of the visitors than Audiberte. 
 
 The first greeting over, they seated themselves 
 at the table, on which had been spread the con- 
 tents of the two baskets that Roumestan had 
 brought in the carriage, at sight of which the eyes 
 of old Valmajour shone with little joyous sparkles. 
 Roumestan, who could not recover from the want 
 of enthusiasm about himself shown by these peas- 
 ants, began at once to speak of the great success 
 on the Sunday at the amphitheatre. That must 
 have made him proud of his son ! 
 
 *' Yes, yes," mumbled the old man, spearing his 
 olives with his knife. " But I too in my time used 
 to get prizes myself for my tabor-playing " — and 
 he smiled the same wicked smile that had played 
 on his daughter's lips in her recent gust of temper. 
 Very peaceful just now, Audiberte sat upon the 
 hearthstone with her plate upon her knees ; for, 
 although she was the mistress of the house and a 
 very tyrannical one at that, she still obeyed the an- 
 cient Provengal custom that did not allow the 
 women to sit at the table and eat with their men. 
 But from that humble spot she listened attentively 
 all the while to what they were saying and shook 
 her head when they spoke of the festival at the 
 amphitheatre. She did not care for the tabor, her- 
 self — nani! no indeed! Her mother had been 
 
g2 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 killed by the bad blood her father's love for it had 
 occasioned. It was a profession, look you, fit for 
 drunkards; it kept people from profitable work 
 and cost more money than it made. 
 
 "• Well then, let him come to Paris," said Rou- 
 mestan. ** Take my word for it, his tabor will coin 
 money for him there. . . ." 
 
 Spurred on by the utter incredulity of the coun- 
 try girl, he tried to make her understand how ca- 
 pricious Paris was and how the city would pay 
 almost anything to gratify its whims. He told her 
 of the success of old Mathurin, who used to play 
 the bagpipes at the " Closerie des Genets," and 
 how inferior were the Breton bagpipes, coarse and 
 shrieking, fit only for Esquimaux in the Polar Cir- 
 cle to dance to, when compared with the tabor of 
 Provence, so pretty, so delicate and high-bred ! 
 He could tell them that all the Parisian women 
 would go wild over it and all wish to dance the 
 farandole, Hortense also grew excited and put in 
 her oar, while the taborist smiled vaguely and 
 twirled his brown moustache with the fatuous air 
 of a lady-killer. 
 
 " Well now, come ! Give me an idea what he 
 would earn by his music ! " cried the .peasant girl. 
 Roumestan thought a moment. He could not say 
 precisely. One hundred and fifty to two hundred 
 francs — 
 
 "A month?" quoth the old man excitedly. 
 
 ** Heavens ! no — a day ! " 
 
 The three peasants started and then looked at 
 erach other. From any one else but M. Numa 
 
ValmajoMV, 93 
 
 the deputy, member of the General Council, they 
 would have suspected a joke, a galejade I But 
 with him of course the matter was serious. Two 
 hundred francs a day — f outre ! The musician 
 himself wished to go at once, but his more prudent 
 sister would have Hked to draw up a paper for 
 Roumestan to sign ; and then quietly, with lowered 
 eyelids, that the money greed in her eyes might 
 not be seen, she began to canvass the matter in 
 her hypocritical voice. 
 
 Valmajour was so much needed at home, pe- 
 ca'ire ! He took care of the property, ploughed, 
 dressed the vines, his father being too old now for 
 such work. What should they do if her brother 
 went away? And he — he would be sure to be 
 homesick alone in Paris, and his money, his two 
 hundred francs a day, who would take care of it in 
 that awful great city? And her voice hardened 
 as she spoke of money that she could not take 
 care of and stow carefully away in her most secret 
 drawer. 
 
 " Well," said Roumestan, '* come to Paris with 
 him." 
 
 "And the house?" 
 
 " Leave it or sell it. You can buy a much bet- 
 ter one when you come back." 
 
 He hesitated as Hortense glanced warningly at 
 him, and, as if remorseful for disturbing the quiet 
 life of these simple people, he said : 
 
 " After all, there is a great deal besides money 
 in this life. You are lucky enough as you are." 
 
 Audiberte interrupted him sharply: "Lucky? 
 
94 
 
 Numa Roumesfan. 
 
 Existence is a struggle; things are not as they 
 used to be ! " — and she began again to whine about 
 the vineyards, the silk-worms, the madder, the 
 vermilion and all the other vanished riches of the 
 country. Nowadays one had to work in the sun 
 like cart-horses. It is true that they expected to 
 inherit the fortune of Cousin Puyfourcat, the colo- 
 nist in Algiers, but Algeria is so far away; and 
 then the astute little peasant, in order to warm 
 Numa up, whom she reproached herself for caus- 
 ing to lose some of his enthusiasm on the subject, 
 turned in a catty way to her brother and said in 
 her coaxing, singsong voice : 
 
 " Qu^, Valmajour ! suppose you play something 
 for the pleasure of the pretty young lady." 
 
 Ah, clever girl ! she was not mistaken. At the 
 first blow of the stick, at the first pearly notes of 
 the fife Roumestan was trapped once more and 
 went into raptures. 
 
 The musician leaned against the curb of an old 
 well in front of the farmhouse door. Over the 
 well was an iron frame, round which a wild fig- 
 tree had wound itself and made a marvellously 
 picturesque background for his handsome figure 
 and swarthy face. With his bare arms, his dusty, 
 toil-worn garments, his uncovered sun-browned 
 breast, he looked nobler and prouder than he had 
 appeared when in the arena, where his natural grace 
 had a somewhat tawdry touch through a certain 
 striving after theatrical effect. The old airs that 
 he played on his rustic instrument, made poetic by 
 the solitude and silence of the mountains and wak- 
 
Valmajour. 95 
 
 ing the ancient golden ruins from their slumbers 
 in stone, floated like skylarks round the slopes all 
 gray with lavender or checkered with wheat and 
 dead vines and mulberry-trees with their broad 
 leaves casting longer but lighter shadows on the 
 grass at their feet. The wind had gone down. 
 The setting sun played upon the violet line of the 
 Alpilles and poured into the hollows of the rocks 
 a very mirage of lakes, of liquid porphyry and of 
 molten gold. 
 
 All along the horizon there seemed as it were 
 a luminous vibration, Hke the stretched cords of a 
 lyre, to which the song of the crickets and the 
 hum of the tabor furnished the sonorous base. 
 Silent and delighted, Hortense, seated on the para- 
 pet of the old tower, leaning her elbow on the 
 fragment of a broken column near which a pome- 
 granate grew, listened and admired while she let 
 her romantic little mind wander, filled with the 
 legends and stories that Roumestan had told her 
 on the way to the farm. 
 
 She pictured to herself the old chateau rising 
 from its ruins, its towers rebuilt, its gates renewed, 
 its cloister-like arches peopled with lovely women 
 in long-bodiced gowns, with those pale, clear com- 
 plexions that the sun cannot injure. She herself 
 was a princess of the house of Baux with a pretty 
 name of some saint in a missal and the musician 
 who was giving her a morning greeting was also a 
 prince, the last of the Valmajours, dressed in the 
 costume of a peasant. 
 
 ** Of a certes, ywis, the song once finished," as 
 
96 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 the chroniclers of the courts of love of old used 
 to say, she broke from the tree above her a bunch 
 of pomegranate blossoms and held it out to the 
 musician as the prize won by his playing. He 
 received it with gallantry and wound it round the 
 strings of his tabor. 
 
Cabinet Minister I 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CABINET minister! 
 
 Three months have passed since that expedition 
 to Mount Cordova. 
 
 Parliament had met at Versailles in a deluge of 
 November rain, which brought the low cloudy 
 sky down to the lakes in the parks, enveloped 
 everything in mist and wrapped the two Chambers 
 in a dreary dampness and darkness ; but it had 
 done nothing to cool the heat of political hatreds. 
 The opening was stormy and threatening. Train 
 after train filled with deputies and senators followed 
 and crossed each other, hissing, whistling, splutter- 
 ing, blowing defiant smoke at each other as if 
 animated by the same passions and intrigues 
 they were carrying through the torrents of rain. 
 During this hour in the train, discussion and loud- 
 voiced conversation prevail above all the tumult 
 of rushing wheels in the different carriages, as 
 violently and furiously as if they were in the 
 Chamber. 
 
 The noisiest, the most excited of all is Roumes- 
 tan. He has already delivered himself of two 
 speeches since Parliament met. He addresses 
 committees, talks in the corridors, in the railway 
 Station, in the caf6, and makes the windows tremble 
 
 7 
 
gS Numa Roumestan, 
 
 in the photographer's shop where all the Rights 
 assemble. Little else is seen but that restless out- 
 line and heavy form, his big head always in 
 motion, the roll of his broad shoulders, so formid- 
 able in the eyes of the Ministry, which he is 
 about to " down " according to all the rules, like one 
 of the stoutest and most supple of his native 
 Southern wrestlers. 
 
 Ah ! the blue sky, the tabors, the cicadas, all the 
 bright pleasures of his vacation days — how^ far 
 away they seem, how utterly dislocated and 
 vanished ! Numa never gives them a moment's 
 thought nowadays, entirely carried away as he is^ 
 by the whirl of his double life as politician and 
 man of the law. Like his old master Sagnier, 
 when he went into politics he did not renounce the 
 law, and every evening from six o'clock to eight his 
 office in the Rue Scribe is thronged with clients. 
 
 It looked like a legation, this office managed 
 by Roumestan. The first secretary, his right- 
 hand man, his counsellor and friend, was a very 
 good legal man of business named Mejean, a 
 Southerner, as were all Numa's following; but 
 from the Cevennes, the rocky region of the South, 
 which is more like Spain than Italy, where the 
 inhabitants have retained in their manners and 
 speech the prudent reserve and level-headed 
 common-sense of the renowned Sancho. 
 
 Vigorous, robust, already a little bald, with the 
 sallow complexion of sedentary workers, Mejean 
 alone did all the work of the office, clearing away 
 papers, preparing speeches, trying to reconcile 
 
Cabinet Minister! 99 
 
 facts with his friend's sonorous phrases — some 
 say his future brother-in-law's. The other secre- 
 taries, Messieurs de Rochemaure and de Lappara, 
 two young graduates related to the noblest fami- 
 lies in the province, are only there for show, 
 in training for political life under Roumestan's 
 guidance. 
 
 Lappara, a handsome tall fellow with a neat leg, 
 a ruddy complexion and a blond beard, son of the 
 old Marquis de Lappara, chief of the Right in the 
 Bordeaux district, is a fair type of that Creole 
 South ; he is a gabbler and adventurer, with a 
 love for duels and prodigalities {escampatives). 
 Five years of life in Paris, one hundred thousand 
 francs gone in " bucking the tiger " at the clubs, 
 paid for with his mother's diamonds, had sufhced 
 to give him a good boulevard accent and a fine 
 crusty tone of gold on his manners. 
 
 Viscount Charlexis de Rochemaure, a com- 
 patriot of Numa, is of a very different kind. 
 Educated by the Fathers of the Assumption, he 
 had made his law studies at home under the 
 superintendence of his mother and an abb6 ; he 
 still retained from that early education a candid 
 look and the timid manners of a theological student 
 that contrasted vividly with his goatee in the style 
 of Louis XIII, the combination making him seem 
 at one and the same time foxy and a muff. 
 
 Big Lappara tries hard to initiate this young 
 Tony Lumpkin into the mysteries of Parisian life. 
 He teaches him how to dress himself, what is chic 
 and what is not chiCf to walk with his neck forward 
 
lOO Numa Roumestan, 
 
 and his mouth drawn down and to seat himself all 
 of a piece, as it were, w^ith his legs extended in 
 order not to wrinkle his trousers at the knees. He 
 would like to shake his simple faith in men and 
 things, to cure him of that love of superstitions 
 which simply classes him among the quill-drivers. 
 
 Not a bit of it ! the viscount likes his work and 
 when he is not at the Palace or the Chamber with 
 Roumestan, as to-day for instance, he sits "for 
 hours at the secretaries' table in the office next to 
 the chief's and practises engrossing. The Bor- 
 deaux man, on the contrary, has drawn an arm-chair 
 up to the window, and in the twilight, with a cigar 
 in his mouth and his legs stretched out, lazily 
 watches through the falling rain and the steaming 
 asphalt the long procession of carriages driving up 
 to the doors with every whip in the air ; for to-day 
 is Mme. Roumestan's Thursday. 
 
 What a lot of people ! and still they come ; more 
 and more carriages ! Lappara, who boasts of 
 knowing thoroughly the liveries of the great 
 people in Paris, calls out the names as he recog- 
 nizes them : " Duchesse de San Donnino, Marquis 
 de Bellegarde — hello ! the Mauconseils, too ! 
 Now I'd like to know what that means?" and 
 turning towards a tall, thin person who stands by 
 the mantelpiece drying his worsted gloves and his 
 light-colored trousers, too , thin for the season, 
 carefully turned up over his cloth shoes : " Have 
 you heard anything, Bompard? " 
 
 " Heard anythink? Sartainly I have," was the 
 answer in a broad accent. 
 
Cabinet Minister I loi 
 
 Bompard, Roumestan's mame,luk&,; H^a the 
 honorary position of a fourth secretary who does 
 outside business, goes to look for news and sir.g^s 
 his patron's praises about the streets. This occupa- 
 tion does not seem to be a lucrative one, judging 
 from his appearance, but that is really not Numa's 
 fault. Aside from the midday meal and an occa- 
 sional half-louis, this singular kind of parasite could 
 never be induced to accept anything ; and how he 
 supported existence remained as great a mystery 
 as ever to his best friends. To ask him if he knows 
 anything, to doubt the imagination of Bompard, 
 is to show a fine simplicity of soul ! 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, and somethink vary serious." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " The Marshal has just been shot at." For 
 one moment consternation reigns ; the young men 
 look at each other. Then Lappara stretches him- 
 self in his chair and asks languidly : 
 
 ** How about your asphalt affair, old man — how 
 is it getting on?" 
 
 ** Vai ! the asphalt — I have something much 
 better than that." 
 
 Not at all surprised that his news of the 
 attempted assassination of the Marshal had pro- 
 duced so little effect, he now proceeded to unfold to 
 them his new scheme. A wonderful thing, and so 
 simple ! It was to scoop the prizes of one hundred 
 and twenty thousand francs that the Swiss govern- 
 ments offers yearly at the Federal shooting- 
 matches. He had been a crack shot at larks in 
 his day ; with a little practice he could easily get 
 
I02 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ■.his han<i; magam and secure a hundred and twenty 
 "thousand francs- annually to the end of his life. 
 $^0<iH*^i^-^^b' w^y to do it, au mains I Traversing 
 Switzerland by short marches, going slowly, from 
 canton to canton, rifle on showlder. 
 
 The man of schemes grew warm with his sub- 
 ject, climbed mountains, crossed glaciers, de- 
 scended vales and torrents and shook down 
 avalanches before his astonished young listeners. 
 Of all the imaginings of that disordered brain 
 this was certainly the most astonishing, delivered 
 with an air of perfect conviction, with a fire and 
 flame that, burning inwardly, covered his brow , 
 with corrugated wrinkles. 
 
 His ravings were only hushed by the breathless 
 arrival of Mejean, who came rushing in much 
 excited : 
 
 " Great news ! " he said throwing his bag upon 
 the table. " The Ministry is fallen ! " 
 
 " It can't be possible ! " 
 
 " Roumestan takes the Ministry of Public 
 Instruction. ..." 
 
 " I knew that," said Bompard ; and as they 
 smiled, he added: '^ Par-f ait-em am, gentlemen! 
 I was there ; I have just come from there." 
 
 " And you did n't mention it before ! " 
 
 "Why should I? No one ever believes me. I 
 think it is my agsent^' he added resignedly and 
 with a candid air, the fun of which was lost in the 
 prevailing excitement. 
 
 Roumestan a Cabinet Minister ! 
 
 "Ah, my boys, what a shifty, smart fellow the 
 
Cabinet Minister I 103 
 
 chief is ! " Lappara kept saying, throwing himself 
 back in his chair with his legs near the ceiling. 
 *' Has n't he played his cards well ! " 
 
 Rochemaure looked up indignant: 
 
 " Don't talk of smartness and shiftiness, my 
 friend; Roumestan is conscientiousness itself. 
 He goes straight ahead like a bullet — " 
 
 ** In the first place, there are no bullets now- 
 adays, my child — only shells; and shells do 
 this — " and with the tip of his boot he indi- 
 cated the curving course of a trajectory: 
 
 " Scandal-monger ! " 
 
 *' Idiot!" 
 
 ** Gentlemen, gentlemen ! " 
 
 Mejean wondered to himself over this extraor- 
 dinary man Roumestan, this complicated nature 
 whom even those who knew him most intimately 
 could judge so differently. 
 
 "A shifty fellow ! — conscientiousness itself! " 
 
 The public judged of him in the same double 
 way. He who knew him thoroughly was con- 
 scious of the shallowness and indolence that 
 modified his tireless ambition and made him at 
 the same time better and worse than his reputa- 
 tion. But was it really true, this news of his Min- 
 isterial portfolio? Anxious to know the truth, 
 Mejean glanced in the glass to see if he was in 
 proper shape, and, stepping across the hall, entered 
 the apartments of Mme. Roumestan. 
 
 From the antechamber where the footmen waited 
 with their ladies' wraps could be heard the hum of 
 many voices deadened by the heavy, luxurious 
 
I04 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 hangings and high ceilings. Rosalie generally 
 received in her little drawing-room, furnished as 
 a winter garden with cane seats and pretty little 
 tables, the light just filtering in between the green 
 leaves of the plants that filled the windows. That 
 had always sufficed her in her lowly position as 
 a simple lady overshadowed by her husband's 
 greatness, perfectly without social ambition and 
 passing among those who did not know her supe- 
 riority for a good-enough person of no great 
 importance. But to-day the two large drawing- 
 rooms were humming and crowded to overflow- 
 ing ; new people were constantly arriving, friends 
 to the remotest degree, even to the slightest ac- 
 quaintanceship, people to whose faces it would 
 have puzzled Rosalie to attach a name. 
 
 Dressed very simply in a gown of violet, most 
 becoming to her slender figure and the whole 
 harmonious personality of her being, she received 
 every one alike with her gentle little smile, her 
 manner somewhat haughty — her r^fr^jon^ or *' up- 
 pish" air, as Aunt Portal had once expressed it. 
 Not the slightest elation at her new position — 
 rather a little surprise and uneasiness, but her feel- 
 ings kept well concealed ! 
 
 She went from group to group as the daylight 
 faded rapidly in the lower story of the city house 
 and the servants brought lamps and lighted the 
 candles. The rooms assumed their festal air as 
 at their evening receptions, the rich shining hang- 
 ings and oriental rugs and tapestries glittering 
 like colored stones in the light 
 
Cabinet Minister ! 105 
 
 " Ah, Monsieur Mejean ! " and Rosalie came up 
 to him, glad to feel an intimate friend near her in 
 this crowd of strangers. They understood each 
 other perfectly. This Southerner who had learned 
 to be cool and the emotional Parisian had similar 
 ways of seeing and judging things, and together 
 they acted as counterweights to the weaknesses 
 and extravagances of Numa. 
 
 '* I came in to see if the news were true. But 
 there is no doubt about it," said he, glancing at 
 the crowded rooms. She handed him the tele- 
 gram she had received from her husband and said 
 in a low voice : 
 
 " What do you think of it? " 
 
 " It is a great responsibility, but you will be 
 there." 
 
 "And you too," she answered, pressing his 
 hand, and then turned away to meet other new- 
 comers. 
 
 The fact was that more people kept arriving but 
 no one went away. They were waiting for Rou- 
 mestan ; they wished to hear all the particulars of 
 the affair from his own lips — how with one lift of 
 his shoulder he had managed to upset them all. 
 Some of the new arrivals who had just come 
 from the Chamber were already bringing with 
 them bits of news and scraps of conversations. 
 Every one crowded about them in pleasurable 
 excitement The women especially were wildly 
 interested. Under the big hats which came into 
 fashion that winter their pretty cheeks flushed 
 with that fine rosy tint, that fever one sees in the 
 
io6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 players round the tables at the gambling house 
 at Monte Carlo. The fashion of hats this year 
 was a revival of the days of the Fronde, soft felt 
 hats with long feathers ; perhaps it was this that 
 made their wearers so interested in politics. But 
 all these ladies appeared well up in such matters; 
 they talked in purest parliamentary language, 
 emphasizing their remarks with blows from their 
 little muffs ; all of them sang the praises of the 
 leader. In fact this exclamation could be heard 
 on every side : " What a man ! what a man ! " 
 
 In a corner sat old Bechut, a professor at the 
 College de France, a very ugly man all nose — an 
 immense scientist's nose that seemed to have 
 elongated itself from poking into books. He was 
 taking the success of Roumestan as the text for 
 one of his favorite theories — that all the weakness 
 in the modern world comes from the too promi- 
 nent place in it given to women and children. 
 Ignorance and toilets, caprice and brainlessness ! 
 ** You see, sir, that is where Roumestan is so 
 strong! He has no children and he has known 
 how to escape the influence of woman. So he 
 has followed one straight, firm path; no turning 
 aside, no deviation!" The solemn personage 
 whom he was addressing, councillor at the Court 
 of Cassation, a simple-looking, round-headed little 
 man whose ideas rattled about in his empty skull 
 like corn in a gourd, drew himself up approvingly 
 in a magisterial way, as who should say: " I also 
 am a superior man, sir ! I also have escaped from 
 the influences to which you refer," 
 
Cabinet Minister! 107 
 
 Seeing that people were listening, the professor 
 spoke louder and cited the great names of history, 
 Caesar, Richelieu, Frederick, Napoleon, scientific- 
 ally proving at the same time that in the scale of 
 thinking creatures woman was on a much lower 
 grade than man. " And, as a matter of fact, if we 
 examine the cellular tissues . . ." 
 
 But what was much more amusing to examine was 
 the expression on the faces of the wives of these two 
 gentlemen, who were sitting side by side, all atten- 
 tion, taking a cup of tea — which genial meal, with 
 its goodies hot from the oven, its steaming sam- 
 ovar and rattle of spoons on costly china, was just 
 being served to the guests. The younger lady, 
 Mme. de Boe, had made of her gourd-headed hus- 
 band, a used-up nobleman with nothing but debts, 
 a magistrate in the Court of Cassation through 
 the influence of her family; people shuddered to 
 think of this spendthrift, who had quickly wasted 
 all his wife's fortune and his own, having the 
 public moneys in his control. Mme. Bechut, a 
 former beauty and still beautiful, with long-lidded, 
 intelligent eyes and delicate features, showed only 
 by a contraction of her mouth that she had been at 
 war with the world for years and was consumed 
 with a tireless and unscrupulous ambition. Her 
 sole effort had been to push into the front rank 
 her very commonplace professor. By means that 
 unfortunately were only too well known she had 
 compelled the doors of the Institute and the Col- 
 lege de France to open to him. There was a 
 whole world of meaning in the grim smile that 
 
io8 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 these two women exchanged over their teacups 
 — and perhaps, if one were to search carefully 
 among the gentlemen, there were a good many 
 other men in the throng who had not been exactly 
 injured by feminine influence. 
 
 Suddenly Roumestan appeared. Disregarding 
 the shouts of welcome and congratulations of the 
 guests, he crossed the room quickly, went straight 
 to his wife and kissed her on both cheeks before 
 she could prevent this rather trying demonstration 
 before the public. But what could have better 
 disproved the assertion of the professor? All the 
 ladies cried " bravo ! " Much hand-shaking and 
 embracing ensued and then an attentive silence as 
 Numa, leaning against the chimney-piece, began 
 to relate briefly the results of the day. 
 
 The great blow arranged a week ago to be 
 struck to-day, the plots and counter-plots, the 
 wild rage of the Left at its defeat, his own over- 
 whelming triumph, his rush to the tribune, even 
 to the very intonation he had used to the Marshal 
 when he replied : " That depends on you, Mr. 
 President " — he told everything, forgot nothing, 
 with a gayety and warmth that were contagious. 
 
 Then, becoming grave, he enumerated the great 
 responsibilities of his position; the reform of 
 the University with its crowd of youths to be 
 brought up hoping for the realization of better 
 things — this allusion was understood and greeted 
 with loud applause; but he meant to surround 
 himself with enlightened men, to beg for the good 
 will and devotion of all. With moist eyes he 
 
Cabinet Minister I 109 
 
 mustered the groups about him. ** I call on you, 
 friend Bechut, and you, my dear De Boe — " 
 
 They were all so in earnest that no one stopped 
 to ask in what manner the dull wits of the coun- 
 cillor at the Court of Cassation could aid in the 
 reform of the University. But then the number 
 of persons of that sort whom Roumestan had 
 urged that afternoon to aid him in his tremendous 
 duties of the Public Instruction was really incal- 
 culable. As regards the fine arts, however, he felt 
 more at ease, so he said ; there they would not 
 refuse help ! A flattering murmur of laughter and 
 exclamations stopped his further words. 
 
 As to that department there was but one voice 
 in all Paris, even among his worst enemies — Numa 
 was the man for the work. Now at last there 
 would be a jury for art, a lyric theatre, an official 
 art ! But the Minister cut these dithyrambics off 
 and remarked in a gay and familiar tone that the 
 new Cabinet was composed almost exclusively of 
 Southerners. Out of eight members Provence, 
 Bordeaux, Perigord and Languedoc had supplied 
 six ; and then, growing excited : " Aha, the South 
 is cHmbing, the South is climbing ! Paris is ours. 
 We have everything. It rests with you, gentlemen, 
 to profit by it. For the second time the Latins 
 have conquered Gaul ! " 
 
 He looked indeed like a Latin of the conquest, 
 his head Hke a medallion with broad flat sur- 
 faces on the cheeks, with his dark complexion and 
 unceremonious ways, his carelessness, so out of 
 place in this Parisian drawing-room. In the midst 
 
no Numa Roumestan, 
 
 of the cheers and laughter greeting his last speech 
 Numa, always a good actor, knowing well how to 
 leave as soon as he had shot his bolt, suddenly 
 quitted the fireplace and signing to Mejean to fol- 
 low him passed from the room by one of the 
 smaller doors, leaving Rosalie to make his excuses 
 for him. He was to dine at Versailles with the 
 Marshal ; he had hardly the time to dress and sign 
 a few papers. 
 
 ** Come and help me dress," said he to a servant 
 who was laying the table with three plates, for 
 Roumestan, Madame and Bompard, around tha,t 
 basket of flowers which Rosalie had fresh at every 
 meal. He felt a thrill of delight that he was not 
 to dine there; the tumult of enthusiasm that he 
 had left behind him in the drawing-room excited 
 in him the desire for more gayety and more brilliant 
 company. Besides, a Southerner is never a domes- 
 tic man. The Northern nations alone have in- 
 vented to meet their wretched climate the word 
 ** home," that intimate family circle to which the 
 Provencal and the Italian prefer the gardens of 
 caf(6s and the noise and excitement of the streets. 
 
 Between the dining-room and the office was a 
 small reception room, usually full of people at this 
 hour, anxiously watching the clock and looking 
 abstractedly at the illustrated papers, but quite 
 preoccupied by their legal woes. Mejean had 
 sent them all away to-day, for he did not think 
 Numa could attend to them. One, however, had 
 refused to go : a big fellow in ready-made garments 
 and awkward as a corporal in citizen's dress. 
 
Cabinet Minister / III 
 
 "Ah, God be with ye, Monsieur Roumestan; 
 how are things? I have been hoping so long that 
 you would come ! " 
 
 The accent, the swarthy face, that jaunty air — 
 Numa had seen them somewhere before, but 
 where ? 
 
 " You have forgotten me ? " said the stranger. 
 " Valmajour, the taborist." 
 
 " Oh yes, yes, of course." 
 
 He was about to pass on, but Valmajour planted 
 himself before him and informed him that he had 
 arrived the day before yesterday. " I could n't get 
 here before, because when one moves a whole 
 family, it takes a little time to get installed." 
 
 "A whole family?" said Numa with bulging 
 eyes. 
 
 ^^ Be ! yes; my father and my sister. We have 
 done as you advised." 
 
 Roumestan looked distressed and embarrassed, 
 as he always did when called upon to redeem notes 
 like this or fulfil a promise, lightly given in order 
 to make himself agreeable, but with little idea of 
 future acceptance. Dear me, he was only too glad 
 to be of use to Valmajour ! He would consider 
 it and see what he could do. But this evening he 
 was very much hurried — exceptional circumstan- 
 ces — the invitation of the President. But as the 
 peasant made no sign of going: " Come in here," 
 said he, and they went into the study. 
 
 As Numa sat at his desk reading over and sign- 
 ing several papers Valmajour glanced about the 
 handsome room, richly furnished and carpeted, with 
 
112 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 book-shelves covering all the walls, surmounted by- 
 bronzes, busts and works of art, reminiscences 
 each one of glorious causes — a portrait of the king 
 signed by his own royal hand. And he was much 
 impressed by the solemnity of it all — the stiffness 
 of the carved chairs, the rows of books, above all 
 the presence of the servant, correct in his severe 
 black costume, coming and going and arranging 
 quickly on chairs his master's evening clothes and 
 immaculate linen. But over there in the light of 
 the lamps the big kind face and familiar profile of 
 Roumestan that he knew so well reassured him. 
 His letters finished, Roumestan began to dress, and 
 while the servant drew off his master's trousers and 
 shoes he asked Valmajour questions and learned 
 to his dismay that before leaving home they had 
 sold everything that they owned in the world — 
 mulberry-trees, vineyards, farm, everything! 
 "You sold your farm, foolish fellow? " 
 " Well, my sister was somewhat afraid, but my 
 father and I insisted upon it. I said to them, 
 * What risk is it when we are going to Numa and 
 when he is getting us to come ? ' " 
 
 It needed all the taborist's nalvetd to dare talk 
 in that free and easy way before a Minister. It 
 was not Valmajour's simplicity that struck Numa 
 most; it was the thought of the great crowd of 
 enemies that he had made for himself by this 
 incorrigible mania for promises. Now I ask you 
 — what need was there to go and disturb the quiet 
 life of these poor people? and he went over in 
 his memory all the details of his visit to Mount 
 
Cabinet Minister ! 113 
 
 Cordova, the scruples of the peasant girl and the 
 pains that he took to overcome them. What for? 
 what devil tempted him? He, this peasant, was 
 dreadful. And as to his talent, he did not re- 
 member much about it, concerned as he was at 
 having this whole family on his shoulders. He 
 knew beforehand how his wife would reproach 
 him — remembered her cold look as she said : 
 " Still, words must vs\^2.w something ! '* And now, 
 in his new position at the source and spring of 
 favors, what a lot of trouble he was going to 
 create for himself as a result of his own fatal 
 benevolence ! 
 
 But the gladsome thought that he was a Minister 
 and the consciousness of his power restored his 
 spirits almost at once. On such pinnacles as his, 
 why should such small things worry him? Master 
 of all the fine arts, with all the theatres and places 
 of amusement under his thumb, it would be a trifle 
 to make the fortune of these luckless people. 
 Restored to his own self-complacency, he changed 
 his tone and in order to keep the peasant in his 
 place told him solemnly and from a lofty place 
 to what important distinction he had been that 
 day appointed. Unhappily he was at that mo- 
 ment only half dressed, his feet in silk stockings 
 rested on the floor and his portly form was arrayed 
 in white flannel underclothes trimmed with pink 
 ribbons. Valmajour could not connect the word 
 " Minister " in his mind with a fat man in his shirt- 
 sleeves, so he continued to call him Moussii Numa, 
 to talk to him about his own '' music " and the 
 
 8 
 
114 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 new songs that he had learned. Ah, he feared no 
 tabor-player in all Paris now ! 
 
 *' Listen, I will show you." 
 
 He flew toward the next room to get his tabor 
 but Roumestan stopped him. 
 
 " I tell you I am in a great hurry, deuce take 
 you ! " 
 
 " All right, all right, another time then," said 
 the peasant good-naturedly. 
 
 And seeing Mejean approaching he thought it 
 necessary to begin to tell him the story of the 
 fife with three stops. 
 
 " It come to me right in the middle of the ' 
 night, listening to the singing of the nightingoyle ; 
 thought I to meself : * How is it, Valmajour — ' " 
 
 It was the same little story that he had told 
 them in the amphitheatre : having found it suc- 
 cessful, he cleverly clung to it, repeating it word 
 for word. But this time his manner became less 
 assured, a certain embarrassment gaining from 
 moment to moment as Roumestan finished his 
 toilet and stood before him in all the severity of 
 his black evening clothes and enormous shirt-front 
 of fine linen with its studs of Oriental pearls, which 
 the valet handed him piece by piece. 
 
 Moussu Numa seemed to him to have grown 
 taller, his head, held stiffly, solemnly, for fear of 
 disarranging his immaculate white muslin tie, 
 seemed lighted up by the pale beams radiating 
 from the cross of Saint Anne around his neck and 
 the big order of Isabella the Catholic, like a sun, 
 pinned upon his breast. And suddenly the peas- 
 
Cabinet Minister! 115 
 
 ant, seized by a wave of respect and fright, realized 
 that he stood in the presence of one of those priv- 
 ileged beings of the earth, that strange, almost 
 superhuman creature, the powerful god to whom 
 the prayers and desires and supplications of his 
 worshippers are sent only on large stamped paper, 
 so high up, indeed, that humbler devotees are never 
 privileged to see him, so haughty that they only 
 whisper his name with fear and trembling, in a 
 sort of restrained fear and ignorant emphasis — 
 the Minister ! 
 
 Poor Valmajour ! He was so upset by this idea 
 that he hardly heard Roumestan's kind words of 
 farewell, asking him to come again in a fortnight 
 when he would be installed in his new quarters at 
 the Ministry. 
 
 ** All right, all right, your Excellency." 
 
 He backed towards the door, still dazzled by 
 the orders and extraordinary expression of his 
 transfigured compatriot. Numa was delighted at 
 this sudden timidity, which was a tribute to what 
 he henceforward called his ** ministerial air," his 
 curling lip, his frowning brow and his severe, 
 reserved manner. 
 
 A few moments later his Excellency was rolling 
 towards the railway station, forgetting this tire- 
 some episode and lulled by the gentle motion of 
 the coup6 with its bright lamps as he flew to 
 meet his new and exalted engagements. He was 
 already preparing the telling points in his first 
 speech, composing his plan of campaign, his famous 
 letter to the rectors and thinking of the excite- 
 
ii6 Nttma Roumestan, 
 
 ment caused all over Europe when they should 
 read his nomination in to-morrow's papers, when, 
 at the turn of the boulevard, in the light of a gas- 
 lamp reflected in the wet asphalt, he caught sight 
 of the taborist, his tabor hanging from his arm, 
 deafened and frightened, waiting for an opportu- 
 nity to cross the street v/hich was at that hour, as 
 all Paris hastened to re-enter its gates, a mov- 
 ing mass of carriages and wagons, while crowded 
 omnibuses jolted swaying along and the horns of 
 the tramway conductors sounded at intervals. In 
 the falling shades of night and the steam of damp- 
 ness which the rain threw up from the hurrying 
 crowd, in this great jostling crowd the poor boy 
 seemed so lost, exiled and overwhelmed by the 
 tall, unfriendly buildings around him — he seemed 
 so pitifully unlike the handsome Valmajour at the 
 door of his mas, giving the rhythm to the locusts 
 with his tabor, that Roumestan turned away his 
 head and, for a few moments, a feeling of remorse 
 threw a cloud over the radiant pathway of his 
 triumph. 
 
The Passage du Saumon, iiy 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PASSAGE DU SAUMON. 
 
 While awaiting a more complete settling than 
 was possible before the arrival of their furniture, 
 which was coming by slow freight, the Valmajours 
 had taken rooms temporarily at the famous Pas- 
 sage du Saumon, where from time immemorial 
 teachers from Aps and its district have stopped, 
 and of which Aunt Portal still retained such aston- 
 ishing recollections. There, up under the roof, they 
 had two small rooms, one of which was without 
 light or air, a kind of wood-closet which was occu- 
 pied by the men ; the other was not much larger 
 but seemed to them fine in comparison, with its 
 worm-pierced black walnut furniture, its moth- 
 eaten ragged carpet on the worn wooden floor 
 and the dormer windows that let in only a bit of a 
 sky as lowering and yellow as the long donkey- 
 backed skylight over the Passage. 
 
 In these poor quarters they kept up the mem- 
 ory of home with a strong smell of garlic and fried 
 onions, which foreign food they cooked for them- 
 selves on a little stove. Old Valmajour, who loved 
 good eating and was also fond of company, would 
 have liked to dine at the hotel table, where the 
 white linen and plated salt-cellars and service 
 seemed very handsome to him, and also to have 
 
Ii8 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 joined in the noisy conversations and mingled with 
 shouts of laughter of the commercial gentlemen 
 who at meal times filled the house to the very top 
 floor with their noise and jollity. But Audiberte 
 opposed this flatly. 
 
 Amazed not to find at once on their arrival the 
 promises of Numa fulfilled and the two hundred 
 francs an evening which had filled her little head 
 with piles of money ever since the visit of the 
 Parisians; horrified at the high price of every* 
 thing, from the first day she had been seized with 
 the craze that the Parisians call *' fear of want- 
 ing." For herself she could get along with an- 
 chovies and olives as in Lent — te, pardi ! but her 
 men were perfect wolves, worse than in their own 
 country because it is colder in Paris, and she was 
 obliged to be constantly opening her saquette, a 
 large calico pocket made by her own hands, in 
 which she carried the three thousand francs that 
 they had received for their farm and chattels. 
 
 Each coin that she spent was a struggle, a pang, 
 as if she were handing over the stones of her farm- 
 house or the last vines of her vineyard. Her 
 peasant greed and her suspiciousness, that fear 
 of being cheated by a tenant which caused her to 
 sell her farm instead of letting it, were redoubled 
 in this gloomy, unknown Paris, this city which from 
 her garret she heard roaring with a sound that did 
 not cease day or night at this noisy corner of the 
 city market, causing the glasses near the hotel 
 water-bottle on the table to rattle at every hour. 
 
 No traveller lost in a wood of sinister repute 
 
The Passage du Saumon. 1 1 9 
 
 ever clung more convulsively to his baggage than 
 did Audiberte to her saquette as she walked 
 through the streets in her green skirt and her 
 Aries head-dress, which the passers-by turned to 
 stare at. When she entered a shop with her coun- 
 trywoman's gait, the way she had of calling things 
 by a lot of outlandish names, saying api for celery, 
 meriiijanes for aubergines, made her, a woman 
 from the south of France, as much a stranger in 
 her country's capital as if she had been a Russian 
 from Nijni Novgorod or a Swede from Stockholm. 
 
 Sweet and humble of manner at first, if she de- 
 tected a smile on the face of a clerk or received a 
 rough answer on account of her mania for bar- 
 gaining, she would suddenly fly into a gust of 
 rage; her pretty virginal brown face twitching 
 with frantic gesticulations she would pour forth 
 a torrent of noisy, vainglorious words. Then 
 she would tell about the expected legacy from 
 Cousin Puyfourcat, the two hundred francs a night 
 to be earned by her brother, the friendship that 
 Roumestan had for them — sometimes calling him 
 Numa, sometimes the Menister — all this with an' 
 emphasis more grotesque than her familiarity. 
 Everything was jumbled together in a flood of 
 gibberish composed of the langue d'oil tinged 
 with French. 
 
 Then her habitual caution would return to her; 
 she would fear that she had talked imprudently, 
 and, seized by a superstitious terror at her own 
 gossip, she would stop, suddenly mute, and close 
 her lips as tightly as the strings of her saquette. 
 
I20 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 At the end of a week she had become a legend- 
 ary character in the quarter of the Rue Mont- 
 martre, a street of shops where, at their ever-open 
 doors, the vendors of meats, green-groceries and 
 colonial wares discussed the affairs and secrets of 
 all the inhabitants of the neighborhood. The con- 
 stant teasing of these people, the saucy questions 
 with which they plied her as she made her frugal 
 purchases each morning — as to why her brother's 
 appearance was delayed and when the legacy was 
 coming from the Arab — all these insults to her 
 self-respect, more than the fear of poverty staring 
 them in the face, exasperated Audiberte against 
 Numa, against those promises which at first she 
 had suspected, true child of the South that she 
 was, knowing well that the promises of her coun- 
 try-people down South vanish easier than those of 
 other folks — all because of the lightness of the 
 air. 
 
 '' Oh, if we had only made him sign a paper ! " 
 
 This idea became a fixture in her mind and she 
 felt daily in her brother's pockets for the stamped 
 document when Valmajour set out for the Ministry, 
 in order to be sure it was there. 
 
 But Roumestan was engaged in signing another 
 kind of paper and had many things to think of 
 more important than the taborist. He was set- 
 tling down in his new office with the generous 
 ardor and enthusiasm, with the fever of a man who 
 comes to his own. Everything was a novelty to 
 him — the enormous rooms of the Ministry as well 
 as the large ideas necessitated by his position. 
 
The Passage du Saumon, 121 
 
 To arrive at the top, to '' reconquer Gaul," as he 
 had said, that was not so difficult; but to sustain 
 himself satisfactorily, to justify his elevation by 
 intelligent reforms and attempts at progress ! 
 Full of zeal, he studied, questioned, consulted, 
 literally surrounded himself with shining lights. 
 With Bechut, that great professor, he studied the 
 evils of the college system and the means to 
 extirpate the spirit of free-thinking in the schools. 
 He employed the experience of his chief in the 
 fine arts, M. de la Calmette, who had behind 
 him twenty-nine years of office, and of Cadaillac, 
 the manager of the grand opera, who was still 
 erect after three failures, in order to remodel the 
 Conservatory, the Salon and the Academy of 
 Music in accordance with brand-new plans. 
 
 The trouble was that he never listened to these 
 counsellors, but talked himself for hours at a time 
 and then, suddenly glancing at his watch, would 
 rise and hastily dismiss them: "Bad luck to it — 
 I had forgotten the council meeting ! What a 
 life, not a moment to oneself! I understand — 
 just send me your memorial right off! " 
 
 Memorials were piling up on Mejean's desk, who, 
 notwithstanding his good intentions and intelli- 
 gence, had none too much time for current work 
 and so permitted these grand reforms to slumber 
 in their dust. I.ike all Ministers when they arrive 
 at a portfolio, Roumestan had brought with him 
 all his clerks from the Rue Scribe — Baron de 
 Lappara and Viscount de Rochemaure, who gave 
 a flavor of aristocracy to the new Ministry, but 
 
12 2 Ntima Rou7nestan, 
 
 who were otherwise perfectly incompetent and 
 ignorant of their duties. 
 
 The first time that Valmajour came there he 
 was received by Lappara, who occupied himself 
 by preference with the fine arts and whose duties 
 consisted principally in sending invitations in large 
 official envelopes at all hours by staff officers, 
 dragoons or cuirassiers to the young ladies of the 
 minor theatres, asking them to supper. Some- 
 times the envelope was empty, being merely a 
 pretext to display in front of the lady's door that 
 reassuring orderly from the Ministry the day 
 before some debt came due. 
 
 Lappara received him with a kindly, easy air, a 
 bit top-loftical, like that of a feudal lord receiving 
 one of his vassals. His legs outstretched, so as 
 not to crease his gray-blue trousers, he talked 
 mincingly without stopping a moment the polish- 
 ing of his nails. 
 
 "Not easy just now — the Minister is busy — 
 perhaps in a few days. We '11 let you know, my 
 good fellow ! " 
 
 And when in his simplicity the musician ven- 
 tured to say that his matter was somewhat urgent, 
 that they only had enough for a short time left, 
 the baron, carefully placing his file upon the edge 
 of the desk with his most serious air, suggested to 
 him to have a crank attached to his tabor. 
 
 "A crank attached to my tabor? — for what 
 purpose?" 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, so as to use it as a box 
 iox plaisirs (cakes) while you are out of work." 
 
The Passage du Saumo7t, 123 
 
 The next time Valmajour came to see Roumes- 
 tan he was received by Rochemaure. The vis- 
 count raised his head of hair frizzed with hot 
 irons from the dusty ledger over which he was 
 bending and in his conscientious manner asked 
 to have the mechanism of the fife explained to 
 him, took notes, tried to understand and said 
 finally that he was not there for art matters, but 
 more especially for religious questions. 
 
 After that the unhappy peasant never could 
 find any one — they had all betaken themselves to 
 that inaccessible retreat where His Excellency 
 had hidden himself. Still he did not lose calm- 
 ness or heart and always responded to the evasive 
 answers and shrugging shoulders of the attendants 
 with the surprised but steady look and shrewd 
 half-smile peculiar to the Provencal. 
 
 *' All right, I will come again." 
 
 And he did come again. But for his high gait- 
 ers and the tabor hanging on his arm, he might 
 have been taken for an employee of the house, 
 he came so regularly. But each time he came it 
 was harder than the last. 
 
 Now the mere sight of the great arched door 
 made his heart beat. Beyond the arch was the 
 old H6tel Augereau with its large courtyard where 
 they were already stacking wood for the winter 
 and the double staircase so hard to ascend under 
 the mocking gaze of the servants. Everything 
 combined to harass him — the silver chains of the 
 porters, the gold-laced caps, the endless gorgeous 
 things that made him feel the distance that sepa- 
 
124 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 rated him from his patron. But he dreaded more 
 than all this the dreadful scenes that he went 
 through at home, the terrible frowning brows of 
 Audiberte; that is why he still desperately insisted 
 on coming. At last the hall porter took pity upon 
 him and gave him the advice to waylay the Minis- 
 ter at the Saint-Lazare station when he was going 
 down to Versailles. 
 
 He took his advice and did sentry work in the 
 big lively waiting room on the first story at the 
 hour of the Parliament train when it took on a 
 very special look of its own. Deputies, senators, 
 journalists, members of the Left, of the Right and 
 all the parties jostled each other there, forming as 
 variegated a throng as the blue, red and green 
 placards that covered the walls. They watched 
 each other, talked, screamed, whispered, some sit- 
 ting apart rehearsing their next speech, others, 
 the orators of the lobbies, making the windows 
 rattle with loud voices that the Chamber was never 
 destined to hear. Northern accents and Southern 
 accents, divers opinions and sentiments, swarming 
 ambitions and intrigues, the noisy tramp of the 
 restless crowd — this waiting-room with its delays 
 and uncertainties was an appropriate theatre for 
 politics, this tumult of a journey at a fixed hour 
 which would soon, at bid of the whistle, be speed- 
 ing over the rails down a perspective of tracks, disks 
 and locomotives, over a country full of accidents 
 and surprises. 
 
 Five minutes later he saw Numa enter, leaning 
 on the arm of one of his secretaries who carried 
 
The Passage dti Saumon, 125 
 
 his portfolio. His coat was flung open, his face 
 beaming just as he had looked that day on the 
 platform in the amphitheatre and at a distance 
 he recognized the facile voice, the warm words, 
 his protestations of friendship : " Count on me, 
 — put yourself in my hands, — it is as good as 
 granted. . . ." 
 
 The Minister just then was in the honey-moon 
 of prosperity. Except for political enmities — not 
 always as bitter as they are supposed to be, simply 
 the result of rivalry between public speakers or 
 quarrels of lawyers on opposite sides of a case — 
 Numa had no enemies, not having been in power 
 long enough to discourage those who sought his 
 services. His credit was still good. Only a few 
 had begun to be impatient and dog his foot- 
 steps. To these he threw a loud, hasty " How are 
 you, friend ? " that anticipated their reproaches 
 and in a way denied their arguments, while his 
 familiar manner flattered the baffled office-seekers 
 and yet kept their demands at a distance. It was 
 a great idea, was this " How are you? " It sprang 
 from instinctive duplicity. 
 
 At sight of Valmajour, who came swinging 
 towards him, his smile showing his white teeth, 
 Numa felt inclined to throw him his fatal, care- 
 less " How are you, friend?" — but how could he 
 treat this peasant lad in a little felt hat as a friend 
 as he stood there in his gray jacket, from the 
 sleeves of which his brown hands protruded like 
 those in a cheap village photograph? He pre- 
 ferred to pass him by without a word, with his 
 
126 Numa Rottmestan. 
 
 *' Ministerial air," leaving the poor boy amazed, 
 crushed and knocked about by the crowd that was 
 following the great man. Still Valmajour returned 
 to his station the next day and several days there- 
 after, but he did not dare approach the Minister; 
 he sat on the edge of a bench with that touching 
 air of sorrowful resignation that one so often sees 
 in a railway station on the faces of soldiers and 
 emigrants, who are going to a strange country, pre- 
 pared to meet all the chances of their evil destiny. 
 
 Roumestan could not evade that silent figure 
 on his path with its dumb appeal. He might 
 pretend not to see it, turn aside his glance, talk 
 louder as he passed ; the smile on his victim's 
 face was there and remained there until the train 
 had gone. Of a certainty he would have preferred 
 a noisy demand and a row, when he could have 
 called a policeman and given the disturber of 
 his complacency in charge and so got rid of him. 
 He, the Minister, went so far as to take a different 
 station on the left bank of the Seine to avoid this 
 trouble of his conscience. Thus in many instances 
 is the greatest man's life made wretched by some 
 little thing of no account, like a pebble in the 
 seven-league boots. 
 
 But Valmajour would not despair. 
 
 " He must be ill," he said to himself and stuck 
 obstinately to his post. At home his sister watched 
 for his coming in a fever of impatience. 
 
 ''Well, /^/./ have you seen the Menister? Has 
 he signed that paper?" 
 
 His eternal "• No, not yet ! " exasperated her, 
 
The Passage du Saumon, 127 
 
 but more his calmness as he threw Into a corner 
 his tabor-whose strap left a dent on his shoulder 
 — it was the calmness of indolence and shiftless- 
 ness, as common as vivacity among Southern 
 nations. Then the queer little creature would 
 fall into one of her furious fits. What had he 
 in his veins in place of blood? — was there to 
 be no end to this? — *' Look out, or I will attend 
 to it myself! " Very calm, he made no answer, 
 but let the storm blow over, took his instruments 
 from their cases, his fife and mouth-piece with 
 its ivory tip, and rubbed them well with a bit of 
 cloth for fear of dampness and promised to try 
 at the Ministry again to-morrow, and, if he could 
 not see Numa, ask to see Mme. Roumestan. 
 
 '* O, va'i ! Mme. Roumestan ! You know she 
 does not like your music — but the young lady, 
 though — she will be sure to help you; yes in- 
 deed ! " And she tossed her head. 
 
 " Madame or Mademoiselle, they don't either 
 of them care anything about you," said the old 
 man, who was cowering over a turf fire that his 
 daughter had economically covered with ashes, 
 a fire about which they were eternally quarrelling. 
 
 In the bottom of his heart the old man was not 
 displeased at his son's want of success, from pro- 
 fessional jealousy. All these complications and 
 the uprooting of their lives had been most wel- 
 come to the Bohemian tastes of the old wandering 
 minstrel; he was delighted at first with the journey 
 and the idea of seeing Paris, that " Paradise of 
 females and purgatory of bosses," as the carters 
 
128 Numa Rotcmestan. 
 
 of his country put it, imagining that in Paris one 
 would see women hke houris arrayed in trans- 
 parent garments and horses distorted, leaping 
 about in the midst, of flames. 
 
 Instead he had found cold, privations and rain. 
 From fear of Audiberte and respect for Roumes- 
 tan he had contented himself with grumbling and 
 shivering in a corner, only an occasional word or 
 wink hinting at his dissatisfaction. But Numa's 
 treachery and his daughter's fits of wrath gave 
 him also an excuse for opening hostilities. He 
 revenged himself for all the blows to his vanity 
 that his son's musical proficiency had inflicted on 
 him for ten years and shrugged his shoulders as 
 he heard him trying his fife. 
 
 '* Music, music, oh, yes — much good your 
 music is going to do you ! " 
 
 And then in a loud voice he asked if it was n't 
 a sin to bring an old man like him so far — into 
 this Sibelia, this wilderness, to let him perish of 
 cold and hunger. He called on the memory of 
 his sainted wife, whom, by the way, he had killed 
 with unhappiness — '' made a goat of her," as 
 Audiberte put it. He would whine for hours at 
 a time, his head in the fire, red-faced and sullen, 
 until his daughter, wearied with his lamentations, 
 gave him a few pennies and sent him out to get 
 a glass of country wine for himself In the wine- 
 shop his sorrows fled away. It was comfortable 
 by the roaring stove; in the warmth the old 
 wretch soon recovered his low vein of an actor 
 in Italian comedy, which his grotesque figure, big 
 
The Passage du Saumon, 129 
 
 nose and thin lips made more apparent, taken in 
 connection with his little wiry body, like Punch 
 in the show. 
 
 He was soon the delight of the customers in 
 the wine-shop with his buffooneries and his boast- 
 ing. He jeered his son's tabor and told them how 
 much trouble it gave them at the hotel; for in 
 order to be ready for his coming out Valmajour, 
 kept at tension by the delay of hopes, persisted 
 in practising up to midnight; but the other tenants 
 objected to the continual thunder of the tabor and 
 the ear-piercing cry of the fife — the very stairs 
 shook with the sound, as if an engine were in 
 motion on the fifth floor. 
 
 " Go ahead," Audiberte would say to her brother 
 when the proprietor came to them with complaints. 
 It was pretty queer if one had n't the right to make 
 music in this Paris that makes so much noise one 
 cannot sleep at night! So he continued to prac- 
 tise. Then the proprietor demanded their rooms. 
 But when they left the Passage du Saumon, the 
 hostelry so well known in their native province, 
 one that recalled their native land, they felt as if 
 their exile were heavier to bear and that they had 
 journeyed still a bit farther North. 
 
 The night before they left, after another long, 
 unfruitful journey taken by Valmajour, Audiberte 
 hurried her men through dinner without speak- 
 ing a word, but with the light of firm resolution 
 shining in her eyes. When it was over she threw 
 her long brown cloak over her shoulders and went 
 out, leaving the washing of the dishes to the men. 
 
 9 
 
130 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 "Two months, almost two months since we came- 
 to Paris," she muttered through her clenched teeth. 
 " I 've had enough, I am going to speak to thiv. 
 Menister myself — " 
 
 She arranged the ribbon of her head-dress, that, 
 perched over her wavy hair in high bows, stood up 
 like a helmet, and rushed violently from the room, 
 her well-blacked boot-heels kicking at every step 
 the heavy material of her gown. Father and son 
 stared at each other alarmed, but did not dare to 
 restrain her; they knew that any interference 
 would but exasperate her anger. They passed^ 
 the afternoon alone together, hardly speaking as 
 the rain battered against the windows, the one 
 polishing his bag and fife, the other cooking the 
 stew for supper over a good, big fire that he took 
 advantage of Audiberte's absence to kindle, and 
 over which he was for once getting thoroughly 
 warm. 
 
 Finally her quick steps, the short steps of a 
 dwarf, were heard in the corridor. She entered 
 beaming. 
 
 " Too bad our windows do not look out upon 
 the street," she said, removing her cloak, which 
 was perfectly dry. "You might have seen the 
 beautiful carriage in which I came home." 
 
 " A carriage ! you are joking ! " 
 
 ** And two servants, and liveries — it is making a 
 great stir in the hotel ! " 
 
 Then in a wondering silence she described and 
 acted out her adventure. In the first place and 
 to start with — instead of going to the Minister, 
 
The Passage du Saumon, 131 
 
 who would not have received her, she found out 
 the address — one can get anything if one talks 
 politely — of the sister of Mme. Roumestan, the 
 tall young lady who came to see them at Valma- 
 jour. She did not live at the Ministry but with 
 her parents in a quarter full of little, badly-paved 
 streets that smelt of drugs and remiryded Audiberte 
 of her own province. It was ever so far away and 
 she was obliged to walk. She found the place at 
 last in a little square surrounded with arcades like 
 the placette at Aps. 
 
 The dear young lady — how well she had received 
 her, without any haughtiness, although everything 
 looked very rich and handsome in the house, much 
 gilding, and many silken curtains hung round on 
 this side and that, in every direction : 
 
 " Ah, God be with you ! So you have come to 
 Paris? Where from? Since when?" 
 
 Then, when she heard how Numa had disap- 
 pointed them, she rang for her governess, she too 
 a lady in a bonnet, and all three set off for the 
 Ministry. It was something to see the bows and 
 reverences made to them by all those old beadles 
 who ran ahead of them to open the doors. 
 
 "So you have seen him, then, the Minister?" 
 timidly ventured Valmajour as his sister stopped 
 to breathe. 
 
 " Seen him ! I certainly have ; what did I tell 
 you, you poor bedigas (calf), that you must get 
 the young lady on your side ! She arranged the 
 whole thing in no time. There is to be a great 
 musical function next week at the Minister's and 
 
132 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 you are to play before the directors of the Con- 
 servatory of Music. And after that, cra-cra ! the 
 contract drawn up and signed ! " 
 
 But the best of all was that the young lady had 
 driven her home in the carriage of the Minister. 
 
 " And she was very anxious to come upstairs with 
 me," added the peasant girl, winking at her father 
 and distorting her pretty face with a meaning 
 grimace. The father's old face, with its complex- 
 ion like a dried fig, wrinkled up in a look of slyness 
 which meant : " I understand ; not a word ! " He 
 no longer taunted the taborist. Valmajour him^ 
 self, very quiet, did not understand his sister's per- 
 fidious meaning; he could think only of his coming 
 appearance, and, taking down his instruments, he 
 passed all his pieces in review, sending the notes 
 as a farewell all over the house and down the 
 glass-covered passage in floods of trills on rolling 
 cadences. 
 
Renewal of Youth, 133 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 RENEWAL OF YOUTH. 
 
 The Minister and his wife had finished breakfast 
 in their dining-room on the first floor, a room much 
 too big and showy, that never could be thoroughly- 
 thawed out, even with heavy curtains and the heat 
 of a furnace that warmed the whole house, and 
 the steam from the hot dishes of a copious repast. 
 By some chance that morning they were alone 
 together. On the table amidst the dessert, always 
 a great feature in the Southerner's meal, lay a box 
 of cigars and a cup of vervain, which is the tea of 
 the Provencal, and large boxes filled with cards of 
 invitation to a series of concerts to be given by 
 the Minister. They were addressed to senators, 
 deputies, clergymen, professors, academicians, 
 people of society — all the motley crowd that is 
 generally bidden to public receptions ; and some 
 larger boxes for the cards to the privileged guests 
 asked to the first series of *' little concerts." 
 
 Mme. Roumestan was running them over, occa- 
 sionally pausing at some name, watched by her 
 husband out of the corner of his eye as he pre- 
 tended to be absorbed in selecting a cigar, while 
 really his furtive glance was noting the disappro- 
 
134 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 bation and reserve on her quiet face at the promis- 
 cuous way this first batch of invitations had been 
 selected. 
 
 But Rosalie asked no questions ; all these prepa- 
 rations did not interest her. Since their installa- 
 tion at the Ministry she had felt herself farther off 
 than ever from her husband, separated by his many 
 engagements, too many guests and a public way 
 of living that had destroyed all intimacy. To this 
 was added the ever-bitter sorrow of childlessness ; 
 never to hear about her the pattering of tireless 
 little feet, nor any of those peals of baby laughter 
 that would have banished from their dining-room 
 that icy look as if a hotel where they were stopping 
 for a day or two, with its impersonal air on table- 
 cloth, furniture, silver and all the sumptuous things 
 to be found in any public place. 
 
 In the embarrassing silence could be heard the 
 distant sound of hammers interspersed with music 
 and singing. The musicians were rehearsing, while 
 carpenters were busy putting up and hanging the 
 stage on which the concert was to take place. 
 The door opened ; Mejean entered, his hands full 
 of papers. 
 
 " Still more petitions ! " 
 
 Roumestan flew into a rage : No, it was really 
 too bad ! — if it were the Pope himself there would 
 be no place to give him. Mejean calmly placed 
 before him the heap of letters, cards and scented 
 notes : 
 
 " It is very difficult to refuse — you promised 
 them, you know — " 
 
Renewal of Youth. 135 
 
 "I promised? I haven't spoken to one of 
 them ! " 
 
 ''Listen a moment: 'My dear Minister — I beg 
 to remind you of your kind speech,' and this one, 
 * The General informs me that you were so kind 
 as to offer him/ and this, ' Reminding the Minister 
 of his promise.' " 
 
 " I must be a somnambuHst, then ! " said Rou- 
 mestan in astonishment. 
 
 The fact was that as soon as the day for the 
 concert was decided upon Numa had said to every 
 one whom he met in the Senate or Chamber: "I 
 count on you for the loth, you know," and as he 
 added " Quite a private affair," no one had failed 
 to accept the flattering invitation. 
 
 Embarrassed at being caught in the act by 
 his wife, he vented his irritability upon her as 
 usual. 
 
 " It 's the fault of your sister with her taborist. 
 What need have I of all this fuss? I did not intend 
 to give our concerts until much later — but that 
 girl, such an impatient little person ! ' No, no, 
 right away; ' and you were in as much of a hurry 
 as she was! Vaz^ me fiche if I don't believe this 
 taborist has turned your heads." 
 
 " O no, not mine," answered Rosalie gayly. 
 " Indeed I am dreadfully afraid that this foreign 
 music may not be understood by the Parisians. 
 We ought to have brought the atmosphere of 
 Provence, the costumes, the farandole — but first 
 of all," she added seriously, " it is necessary that 
 you must keep your promise." 
 
136 Nu7na Roumestan, 
 
 " Promise, promise? It will be impossible to 
 talk at all very soon ! " 
 
 Turning towards his secretary, who was smiling, 
 he added: 
 
 ** By Jove, all Southerners are not like you, 
 Mejean, cold and calculating and taciturn. You 
 are a false one, a renegade Southerner, a Francioty 
 as they say with us. A Southerner? — you? A 
 man who has never lied and who does not like 
 vervain tea ! " he added with a comically indignant 
 tone. 
 
 " I am not so franciot as I seem, sir," answered 
 Mejean calmly. ** When I first came to Paris 
 twenty years ago I was a terrible Southerner — 
 impudence, gesticulations, assurance — as talkative 
 and inventive as — " 
 
 "As Bompard," prompted Roumestan, who never 
 liked other people to ridicule his dearest friend, 
 but did not deny himself the privilege. 
 
 *' Yes, really, almost as bad as Bompard. A 
 kind of instinct urged me never to tell the truth. 
 One day I began to feel ashamed of this and 
 resolved to correct it. Outward exaggeration 
 could be mastered at least by speaking in a low 
 voice and keeping my arms pressed tightly against 
 my sides ; but the inward — the boiling, bub- 
 bling torrent — that was more difficult. Then I 
 made an heroic resolution. Every time I caught 
 myself in an untruth I punished myself by not 
 speaking for the rest of the day ; that is how I was 
 able to reform my nature. Nevertheless the in- 
 stinct is there under all my coolness. Sometimes 
 
Renewal of Youth, 137 
 
 I have broken off short in the middle of a sen- 
 tence — it is n't the words I lack, quite the con- 
 trary — I hold myself in check because I feel that 
 I am going to lie." 
 
 " The terrible South — there is no way of escap- 
 ing from it ! " said the genial Numa, philosophically, 
 blowing a cloud of smoke from his cigar up to the 
 ceiling. " The South holds me through the mania 
 I have to make promises, that craziness of throwing 
 myself at people's heads and insisting on their hap- 
 piness whether they want it or not — " 
 
 A footman interrupted him, opened the door 
 and announced with a knowing and confidential 
 air: 
 
 " M. Bechut is here." 
 
 The Minister was furious at once. '* Tell him I 
 am at breakfast! I wish people would let me 
 alone." 
 
 The footman asked pardon, but said M. Bechut 
 claimed that he had an appointment with his Ex- 
 cellency. Roumestan softened visibly : 
 
 '' Well, well, I will come. Let him wait in the 
 library." 
 
 ** Not in the library," said Mejean, '' it is occu- 
 pied ; there 's the Superior Council ! You ap- 
 pointed this hour to see them." 
 
 "Well, in M. de Lappara's room, then — " 
 
 " I have put the Bishop of Tulle in there," said 
 the footman timidly ; " your Excellency said — " 
 
 Every place was occupied with office-seekers 
 whom he had confidentially told that the breakfast 
 hour was the time when they would be sure to find 
 
138 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 him — and most of them were personages that 
 could not be made to '' do antechamber " Hke the 
 ordinary herd. 
 
 '• Go into my morning room," said Rosalie as 
 she rose. " I am going out." 
 
 And while the secretary and the footman went 
 to reassure and quiet the waiting petitioners Numa 
 hastily swallowed his cup of vervain, scalding him- 
 self badly, exclaiming : '' I am at my wits' end, 
 overwhelmed." 
 
 " What can that sorry fellow Bechut be after 
 now?" asked Rosalie, instinctively lowering her 
 voice in that crowded house where a stranger was 
 lurking behind every door." 
 
 " What is he after? After the manager's posi- 
 tion of course. /"/.Oie is Dansaert's shark — 
 he expects him to be thrown overboard for him to 
 devour." 
 
 She approached him hastily : 
 
 " Is M. Dansaert to be dropped from the Cabi- 
 net?" 
 
 ** Do you Icnow him? " 
 
 " My father often spoke of him — he was a com- 
 patriot and old friend of his. He considers him an 
 upright man and very clever." 
 
 Roumestan stammered out his reasons : " Bad 
 tendencies — free-thinker — it was necessary to 
 make reforms, and then, he was a very old man." 
 
 '' And you will put Bechut in his place ? " 
 
 " O, I know the poor man lacks the gift of 
 pleasing the ladies." 
 
 She smiled a fine scornful smile. 
 
Renewal of Youth, 139 
 
 " His impertinences are as indifferent to me as 
 his compliments would be. What I cannot forgive 
 in him is his assumption of clerical learning and 
 piety. I respect all forms of religion — but if there 
 is one thing more detestable in this world than an- 
 other, it is hypocrisy and deceit." 
 
 Unconsciously her voice rose warm and vibrat- 
 ing; her rather cold features beamed with a glow 
 of honesty and rectitude and flushed with righteous 
 indignation. 
 
 '* Hush, hush," said Numa pointing towards the 
 door. Perhaps it was not perfectly just ; he allowed 
 that old Dansaert had rendered good service to 
 his country ; but what was to be done } He had 
 given his word. 
 
 ** Take it back " said Rosalie. " Come, Numa, 
 for my sake — I implore you ! " 
 
 The tender request was emphasized by the 
 gentle pressure of her little hand upon his shoulder. 
 He was much touched. His wife had not seemed 
 interested in his affairs of late; she had given 
 only an indulgent but silent attention to his plans, 
 which were ever changing their direction. This 
 urgent request was flattering to him. 
 
 " Can any one resist you, my darling?" 
 
 He pressed upon her finger tips a kiss so fervid 
 that she felt it all up her narrow sleeve. She had 
 such beautiful arms ! It was most painful, however, 
 to say anything disagreeable to a man's face and 
 he rose reluctantly : 
 
 " I will be here, listening ! " she said with a 
 pretty threatening gesture. 
 
140 Numa Roumestmi, 
 
 He went into the next room, leaving the door 
 ajar to giv^e himself courage and so that she might 
 hear all that was said. Oh, the beginning was 
 firm and to the point! 
 
 *'I am in despair, my dear B6chut — but it is 
 utterly impossible for me to do for you as I 
 promised — " 
 
 The answer of the professor was inaudible, but 
 rendered in a tearful, supplicating voice through 
 his huge tapir-like nose. To her surprise Roumes- 
 tan did not waver, but began to sound the praises 
 of Dansaert with a surprising accent of conviction 
 for a man to whom all his arguments had only 
 just been suggested. True, it was very hard for 
 him to take back a promise once given, but was it 
 not better than to do an act of injustice? It was 
 his wife's thought modulated and put to music 
 and uttered with wide, heartfelt gestures that made 
 the hangings vibrate. 
 
 ** Of course I will make up to you in some way 
 this little misunderstanding," he added, changing 
 his tone hastily. 
 
 *' Oh, good Lord ! " cried Rosalie under her 
 breath. Then came a shower of new promises — the 
 cross of commander in the Legion of Honor on the 
 first of January next, the next vacancy in the Supe- 
 rior Council, the — the — Bechut tried to protest, 
 just for decency's sake, but said Numa: "Permit 
 me, permit me, it 's only an act^of justice — such 
 men as you are too uncommon — " 
 
 Intoxicated with his own benevolence, stammer- 
 ing from sheer affectionateness — if B6chut had 
 
Renewal of Youth, 141 
 
 not gone Numa would have offered him his own 
 portfolio next. But suddenly remembering the 
 concert, he called to him from the door: 
 
 *' I count on seeing you next Sunday, my dear 
 professor ; we are starting a series of little concerts, 
 very unceremonious you know — the very ' top of 
 the basket ' — " 
 
 Then returning to Rosalie, he said : 
 
 *' Well, what do you think of it ? I hope I have 
 been firm enough ! " 
 
 It was really so amusing that she burst into a 
 peal of laughter. When he understood her amuse- 
 ment and that he had made a number of new 
 promises, he seemed alarmed. 
 
 " Well, well, people are grateful to one all the 
 same." 
 
 She left him, smiling one of her old smiles, quite 
 gay from her kind deed and perhaps above all 
 delighted to find a feeling for him reviving in her 
 heart that she had long thought dead. 
 
 "Angel that you are ! " said Numa to himself as 
 he watched her go, tears of tenderness in his eyes ; 
 and when Mejean came in to remind him of the 
 waiting council : 
 
 " My friend, Hsten : when one has the luck to 
 possess a wife like mine — marriage is an earthly 
 Paradise. Hurry up and marry ! " 
 
 Mejean shook his head without answering. 
 
 *' How now? Is n't your affair prospering? " 
 
 " I fear not. Mme. Roumestan promised to 
 sound her sister for me, but as she has never said 
 anything more — " 
 
142 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 '* Don't you want me to manage it for you? \ 
 get on splendidly with my little sister-in-law ... I 
 bet you I can make her decide ..." 
 
 There was still a little vervain left in the teapot, 
 and as he poured out a fresh cup Roumestan over- 
 flowed with protestations to his first secretary. 
 *'Ah! no, success had not altered him; as always, 
 M^jean was his best, his chosen friend ! Between 
 him and Rosalie he indeed felt himself stronger 
 and more complete. . . . 
 
 ** O, my friend, that woman, that woman — if you 
 only knew what her goodness is ! how noble and 
 forgiving ! When I think that I was capable of — " 
 
 Positively it was with difficulty that he restrained 
 himself from launching the confidence that rose to 
 his lips along with a heavy sigh. *' If I did not 
 love her, I should be guilty indeed." 
 
 Baron de Lappara came in quickly and whis- 
 pered with a mysterious air: 
 
 ^' Mile. Bachellery is here." 
 
 Numa turned scarlet and a flash dried the ten- 
 derness from his eyes in a moment. 
 
 " Where is she? In your room?" 
 
 " Monsignor Lipmann was there already," said 
 Lappara, smiling a little at the idea of the possible 
 meeting. " I put her downstairs in the large 
 drawing-room. The rehearsal is over." 
 
 ''Very well; I will go." 
 
 "■ Don't forget the Council," Mejean tried to say, 
 but Roumestan did not hear and sprang down the 
 steep stairway leading to the Minister's private 
 apartments on the reception floor. 
 
Renewal of Youth, 143 
 
 He had steered clear of serious entanglements 
 since the trouble over Mme. d'Escarbes, avoid- 
 ing adventures of the heart or of vanity, because 
 he feared an open rupture that might ruin his 
 household forever. He was not a model husband, 
 certainly, but the marriage contract, though soiled 
 and full of holes, was still intact. Though once 
 well warned, Rosalie was much too honest and 
 high-minded to spy jealously upon her husband, 
 and although she was always anxious, never sought 
 for proofs. Even at that moment, if Numa had 
 had any idea of the influence this new fancy of 
 his was to have upon his life, he would have has- 
 tened to ascend the stairs rriuch more quickly 
 than he had come down them ; but our destiny 
 delights to come to us in mask and domino, 
 doubling the pleasure of the first meeting with 
 the touch of mystery. How could Numa divine 
 that any danger threatened from the pretty little 
 girl whom he had seen from his carriage window 
 crossing the courtyard several days before, jump- 
 ing over the puddles, holding her umbrella in one 
 hand and her coquettish skirts gathered up in the 
 other, with all the smartness of a true Parisian 
 woman, her long lashes curving above a saucy, 
 turned-up nose, her blond hair, twisted in an 
 American knot behind, which the moist air had 
 turned to curls at the ends, and her shapely, finely- 
 curved leg quite at ease above her high-heeled 
 boot — that was all he had seen of her. So dur- 
 ing the evening he had said to De Lappara as if it 
 were a matter of very little importance ; 
 
144 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 " I will wager, that little charmer I met in the 
 courtyard this morning was on her way to see 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency, she came to see me, 
 but it was on your account she came." 
 
 And then he had named little Bachellery. 
 
 "" What ! the debutante at the Bouffes ? How old 
 is she? Why, she 's hardly more than a child ! " 
 
 The papers were talking a great deal that winter 
 about this Alice Bachellery, whom a fashionable 
 impresario had discovered in a small theatre in 
 the provinces, whom all the world was crowding, 
 to hear when she sang the *' Little Baker's Boy," 
 the chorus to which — 
 
 " Hot, hot, little oat-cakes " — 
 
 she gave with an irresistible drollery. She was 
 one of those divas half a dozen of whom the 
 boulevard devours each season, paper reputations 
 inflated by gas and puffery, which make one think 
 of the little rose-colored balloons that live their 
 single day of sunshine and dust in the public 
 gardens. And what think you she had come to 
 ask for at the Minister's? Permission to appear 
 on the programme at his first concert ! Little 
 Bachellery and the Department of Public Instruc- 
 tion ! It was so amusing and so crazy that Numa 
 wanted to hear her ask it himself; so by a Minis- 
 terial letter that smelt of the leather and gloves 
 of the orderly who took it he gave her to under- 
 stand that he would receive her next day. But 
 the next day Mile. Bachellery did not appear. 
 
Renewal of Youth, 145 
 
 *' She must have changed her mind," said Lap- 
 para, '* she is such a child ! " 
 
 But Roumestan felt piqued, did not mention the 
 subject for two days and on the third sent for her. 
 
 And now she was awaiting him in the great 
 drawing-room for official functions, all in gold and 
 red, so imposing with its long windows opening 
 into the garden now bereft of flowers, its Gobelin 
 tapestries and its marble statue of Moliere sitting 
 in a dreamy posture in the background. A 
 grand piano, a few music-stands used at the re- 
 hearsal, scarcely filled one corner of the big room 
 whose dreary air, like an empty museum, would 
 have disconcerted any one but httle Bachellery; 
 but then she was such a child ! 
 
 Tempted by the broad floor, all waxed , and 
 shiny, here she was, amusing herself by taking 
 slides from one end of the room to the other, 
 wrapped in her furs, her hands in a mufl" too small 
 for them, her little nose upraised under her jaunty 
 pork-pie hat, looking like one of the dancers of 
 the " ice ballet " in The Prophet. Roumestan 
 caught her at the game. 
 
 "Oh! Your Excellency!" 
 
 She was dreadfully embarrassed, her eyelashes 
 quivering, all out of breath. He had come in 
 with his head up and a solemn step in order to 
 give some point to a somewhat irregular interview 
 and put this impertinent huzzy, who had kept 
 Ministers waiting, in her proper place. But the 
 sight of her quite disarmed him. What could you 
 expect? 
 
 10 
 
146 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 She laid her simple ambition so cleverly before 
 him as an idea that had come to her suddenly, to 
 appear at the concerts which every one was talk- 
 ing about so much — it would be of so much ad- 
 vantage to her to be heard otherwise than in 
 comic opera and music hall extravaganzas, which 
 bored her to death ! But then, on reflection, a 
 panic had seized her: "Oh, I tell you, a regular 
 panic! Wasn't it, Mamma?" 
 
 Then for the first time Roumestan perceived 
 a stout woman in a velvet cloak and a much 
 beplumed bonnet advancing toward him with 
 regular reverences every three steps. Mme. 
 Bachellery, the mother, had been a singer in a 
 concert-garden. She had the Bordeaux accent, 
 a little nose like her daughter's sunk in a large 
 face Hke a dish — one of those terrible mothers, 
 who, in the company of their daughters, seem 
 the hideous prophecy of what their beauty will 
 come to ! But Numa was not engaged in a philo- 
 sophical study. He was too much engrossed by 
 the grace of this hoyden that shone from a fin- 
 ished body, a body adorably finished, as well as 
 by her theatrical slang mingled with her child- 
 like laugh, " her sixteen-year-old laugh," as the 
 ladies of her acquaintance called it. 
 
 " Sixteen ! then how old could she have been 
 when she went on the stage?" 
 
 " She was born there, your Excellency. Her 
 father, now retired, was the manager of the Folies 
 Bordelaises." 
 
 •' A daughter of the regiment," said Alice, show- 
 
Renewal of Youth, 147 
 
 ing thirty-two sparkling teeth, as close and evenly 
 ranked as soldiers on parade. 
 
 "Alice, Alice, you forget yourself in the pres- 
 ence of his Excellency." 
 
 *' Let her alone — she is only a child ! " 
 
 He made her sit down by him on the sofa in a 
 kindly, almost paternal manner, complimented her 
 on her ambition and her sentiment for real art, 
 her desire to escape from the easy and demoral- 
 izing successes of comic opera; but then she 
 would have to work hard and study seriously. 
 
 " O, as for that," she answered, brandishing a 
 roll of music, " I study two hours every day with 
 Mme. Vauters." 
 
 *' Mme. Vauters? Yes, hers is an excellent 
 method," and he opened the roll of music and 
 examined its contents with a knowing air. 
 
 " What are we singing now? Aha! The waltz 
 of Mireilley the song of Magali. Why, they are 
 the songs of my part of the country ! " 
 
 He half closed his eyes and keeping time with 
 his head he began softly to hum : 
 
 " O Magali, ma bien-aimde, 
 Fuyons tous deux sous la ramde 
 Au fond du bois silencieux. . . ." 
 
 And she took it up : 
 
 " La nuit sur nous dtend ses voiles 
 Et tes beaux yeux — " 
 
 And Roumestan sang out loud : 
 
 " Vont faire palir les ^toiles. . . ." 
 
148 Numa Roumesta7i, 
 
 "• Do wait a moment," she cried, ** Mamma will 
 play us the accompaniment." 
 
 Pushing aside the music-stands and opening 
 the piano, she led her reluctant mother to the 
 piano-stool. Ah, she was such a determined little 
 person ! The Minister hesitated a moment with 
 his finger on the page of the duet — what if any 
 one should hear them? Never mind; there had 
 been rehearsals going on every day in the big 
 salon. . . . They began. 
 
 They were singing together from the same sheet 
 of music as they stood, while Mme. Bachellery 
 played from memory. Their heads were almost 
 touching, their breaths mingled together with 
 caressing modulations of the music. Numa got 
 excited and dramatic, raising his arms to bring 
 out the high notes. For many years now, ever 
 since his political hfe had absorbed him, he had 
 done more talking than singing. His voice had 
 become heavy like his figure, but he still loved to 
 sing, especially with this child. 
 
 He had completely forgotten the Bishop of 
 Tulle and the Superior Council which was wearily 
 awaiting him round the big green table. Several 
 times the pallid face of the chamberlain on duty, 
 his official silver chain clanking, peered into the 
 room but quickly disappeared again, terrified 
 lest he should be caught gazing at the Minister 
 of Public Instruction and Religions singing a duet 
 with an actress from one of the minor theatres. 
 But a Minister Numa was no longer, only Vincent 
 the basket-maker pursuing the unapproachable 
 
Renewal of Youth, 149 
 
 Magali through all her cbquettlsh transformations. 
 And how well she fled ! how well, with childish 
 malice, she did make her escape, her ringing 
 laughter clear as pearls rippling over her sharp 
 little teeth, until at last, overcome, she yields and 
 her mad little head, made dizzy by her rapid 
 course, sinks on her lover's shoulder ! . . . 
 
 Mme. Bachellery broke the charm and recalled 
 them to their senses as soon as the song was 
 finished. Turning round, she cried: 
 
 ** What a voice, Excellency ! What a noble 
 voice ! " 
 
 ** Yes, I used to sing when I was young " he 
 said, somewhat fatuously. 
 
 "But you still sing maganifisuntly ! Say, Baby, 
 what a contrast to M. de Lappara ! " 
 
 Baby, who was rolling up her music, shrugged 
 her shoulders as much as to say, that was too 
 much of a truism to be discussed or to need further 
 answer. A little anxious, Roumestan asked: 
 
 '* Indeed? M. de Lappara?" 
 
 " O, he sometimes comes to eat boiiillabaise 
 with us ; then after dinner Baby and he sing duets 
 together." 
 
 Hearing the music no longer, the chamberlain 
 ventured at last into the room, as cautiously as a 
 lion-tamer going into a cage of lions. 
 
 *' Yes, yes, I am coming," said Roumestan, and 
 addressing the little actress with his best " Excel- 
 lency air " in order to make her feel the difference 
 in position between him and his secretary: 
 
 " I am very much pleased with your singing, 
 
150 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Mademoiselle; you have a great deal of talent, a 
 great deal ! And if you care to sing for us on 
 Sunday next, I gladly grant you that favor." 
 
 She gave a joyful, childlike cry: " Really? O, 
 how lovely of you ! " — and in an instant flung her 
 arms about his neck. 
 
 " Alice ! Alice ! Well, I declare ! " cried her 
 mother. 
 
 But she was gone ; she had taken flight through 
 the great rooms where she looked so tiny in the 
 long perspective — a child ! O, such a perfect 
 child ! 
 
 Much agitated by her caress, Roumestan paused 
 a few moments before he went upstairs. Outside 
 in the wintry garden one pale sun-ray shone on 
 the withered lawn and seemed to warm and revive 
 the winter. He felt penetrated to the heart by a 
 similar warmth as if the contact with this supple 
 youthful form communicated some of its spring- 
 like vitality to him. "■ Ah ! how charming is 
 youth ! " 
 
 Instinctively he glanced at himself in the mirror ; 
 a mournfulness came over him that he had not felt 
 for years. How changed things were, boun Dioti ! 
 He had grown very stout from want of exercise, 
 much sitting at his desk and the too constant use 
 of his carriage ; his complexion was injured by 
 staying up late at night, his hair thin and grizzled 
 at the temples; he was even more horrified at the 
 fatness of his cheeks and the vast flat expanse be- 
 tween his nose and his ears. " I have a mind to 
 grow a beard to cover that." But then the beard 
 
Renewal of Youth. 151 
 
 would be white — and yet he was only forty-five. 
 Alas, politics age one so ! 
 
 He was suffering there, in those few moments, 
 the frightful anguish a woman feels when she real- 
 izes that all is over — her power of inspiring love 
 is gone, while her own power to love still remains. 
 His reddened lids swelled with tears ; there in the 
 midst of his masterful place this sorrow profoundly 
 human, in which ambition had no part, seemed to 
 him bitter almost beyond endurance. But with 
 his usual versatility of feeling he consoled himself 
 quickly by thinking of his talents, his fame and 
 his high position. Were they not just as strong 
 as beauty or as youth in order to make him loved? 
 
 ** Come, come ! " 
 
 He quite despised himself for his folly, and, driv- 
 ing off his troubles with the customary jerk of his 
 shoulder, went upstairs to dismiss the Council, for 
 he had no time left to preside to-day. 
 
 ** What has happened to you, my dear Excel- 
 lency, you seem to have renewed your youth?" 
 
 This question was asked him a dozen times in 
 the lobby of the Chambers, where his good humor 
 was remarked upon and where he caught him- 
 self humming, " O Magali, my well-beloved." Sit- 
 ting on the Bench he listened with an attention 
 most flattering to the speaker during a long-winded 
 discourse about the tariff, smiling beatifically be- 
 neath his lowered eyelids. 
 
 So the Left, whom his character for astuteness 
 held in awe, said timidly one to the other : " Let 
 
152 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 us hold fast, Roumestan is preparing a coup ! " 
 In reality he was engaged in bringing before his 
 mental vision, through the empty hum of the 
 wearying discourse, the outlines of little Bachel- 
 lery, trotting her out, as it were, before the Minis- 
 terial Bench, passing her attractions in review, her 
 hair waving like a golden net across her brow, her 
 wild-rose complexion, her bewitching air of a girl 
 who was already a woman ! 
 
 Nevertheless, that evening he had another attack 
 of moodiness on the train returning from Versailles 
 with some of his colleagues of the Cabinet. In 
 the heated carriage where every one was smoking 
 they were discussing, in the free and easy manner 
 that Numa always carried about with him, a cer- 
 tain orange-colored velvet bonnet in the diplo- 
 mats' gallery that framed a pale Creole face; it 
 had proved an agreeable diversion from the tariff 
 question and caused all the honorable noses to 
 rise, just as the sudden appearance of a butterfly 
 in a school-room will fix the attention of the class 
 In the middle of a Greek lesson. Who was she? 
 No one knew. 
 
 " You must ask the General," said Numa gayly, 
 turning to the Marquis d'Espaillon d'Aubord, Min- 
 ister of War, an old rake, tireless in love. ** That *s 
 all right — do not try to get out of it — she 
 never looked at any one but you." 
 
 The General cut a sinister grimace that caused 
 his old yellow goat's moustache to fly up under 
 his nose as if it were moved by springs. 
 
 ** It is a good while since women have bothered 
 
Renewal of Youth, 153 
 
 themselves about me — they only care for bucks 
 Hke that ! " 
 
 In this extremely choice language peculiar to 
 noblemen and soldiers he indicated young De 
 Lappara, sitting modestly in a corner of the car- 
 riage with Numa's portfolio on his lap, respect- 
 fully silent in the company of the big-wigs. 
 
 Roumestan felt piqued, he did not know exactly 
 why, and replied hotly. In his opinion there were 
 many other things that women preferred to youth 
 in a man. 
 
 " They tell you that, of course." 
 
 ** I ask the opinion of these gentlemen." 
 
 These gentlemen were all elderly, some so fat 
 that their coats would hardly meet across their 
 stomachs, some thin and dried up, bald or quite 
 white, with defective teeth and ugly mouths, many 
 of them in failing health — these Ministers and 
 Under-Secretaries of State all agreed with Numa. 
 The discussion became very animated as the Par- 
 liamentary train rushed along with its noise of 
 wheels and loud talk. 
 
 ** Our Ministers are having a great row," said 
 the people in the neighboring compartments. 
 
 Several newspaper reporters tried to hear through 
 the partitions what they were saying. 
 
 ** The well-known man, the man in power!" 
 thundered Numa, '' that is what they like. To know 
 that the man who is kneeling before them with his 
 head on their knees is a great man, a powerful man, 
 one who moves the world — that works them up ! " 
 
 •' Yes, indeed ! " 
 
154 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 " You are right, quite right." 
 
 " I am of your opinion, my dear colleague." 
 
 ** Well, as for me, I tell you that when I was 
 only a poor little lieutenant on the staff and went 
 out on my Sunday leave, dressed in my best, with 
 my five and twenty years and my new shoulder- 
 straps, I used to get many long, fond glances from 
 the women whom I met, those glances like a whip 
 that make your whole body tingle from head to foot, 
 looks that cannot be got by a big epaulette of my 
 age. And so, now, when I want to feel the warmth 
 and sincerity in looks of that sort from lovely eyes, 
 silent declarations in the open street, do you know 
 what I do? I take one of my aides-de-camp, young, 
 cocky, with a fine figure and — get them by prom- 
 enading by his side, S — d — m — s — !" 
 
 Roumestan did not speak again until they reached 
 Paris. As in the morning, he was again plunged 
 in gloom, but furious also against those fools of 
 women who could be so blind as to go crazy over 
 boobies and fops. 
 
 What was there particularly fascinating about 
 De Lappara he would like to know? Throughout 
 the discussion he had sat fingering his beard with 
 a fatuous air, looking conceited in his perfect 
 clothes and low-cut shirt collar, and not saying 
 a word. He would have liked to slap him. Prob- 
 ably it was that air he took when he sang Mireille 
 with little Bachellery — who was probably his mis- 
 tress. The idea was horrible to him — but still 
 he would have liked to know the truth about it 
 and convince himself. 
 
Renewal of Youth, 155 
 
 As soon as they were alone and driving to the 
 Ministry in the coupe he said to Lappara sud- 
 denly, brutally, without looking at him : 
 
 '* Have you known these women long? " 
 
 " Which women, your Excellency? " 
 
 ** The Bachellerys, of course ; O, come ! " 
 
 He had been thinking of them so constantly 
 himself that he felt as if every one else must be 
 doing the same thing. Lappara laughed. 
 
 O, yes — he had known them a long time; they 
 were countrywomen of his. The Bachellery fam- 
 ily and the Folies Bordelaises were part of the 
 joUiest souvenirs of his youth. He had been des- 
 perately enough in love with the mother when 
 he was a lad to make all his school-boy buttons 
 split. 
 
 ** And to-day in love with the daughter? " asked 
 Roumestan playfully, rubbing the misty window 
 with his glove to look out into the dark rainy 
 street. 
 
 ** Ah ! — the daughter is a horse of another color. 
 Although she seems to be so light and frisky, she 
 is really a very serious and cool young person. 
 I don't know what she is aiming at, but I feel that 
 it is something that I can never have the chance 
 to offer her." 
 
 Numa felt comforted: ''Really — and yet you 
 continue to go there ! " 
 
 *' O, yes, they are so amusing, the Bachellery 
 family. The father, the retired manager, writes 
 comic songs for the concert-gardens. The mother 
 sings and acts them while frying eels in oil and 
 
156 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 making a houillabaise that Roubion's own is n't 
 a patch on. Noise, disorder, bits of music, rows 
 — there you have the Folies Bordelaises at home. 
 AHce rules the roost, rushes about like mad, runs 
 the supper, sings; but never loses her head for 
 one moment." 
 
 " Well, gay boy, you expect her to lose it some 
 day, do you not? and in your favor! " Suddenly 
 becoming very serious the Minister added: "It 
 is not a good place for you to go to, young man. 
 The devil ! You must learn to take life more seri- 
 ously than you do. The Bordelaise folly cannot , 
 last all your life." 
 
 He took his hand : '* Do you never think of 
 marrying? " 
 
 " No, indeed. Excellency. I am perfectly con- 
 tent as I am — unless, indeed, I should find some 
 uncommon bonanza." 
 
 "We could find you the bonanza- — with your 
 name, your connections . . . what would you say to 
 Mile. Le Quesnoy? " 
 
 "O, Excellency — I never should have dared . . ." 
 
 Notwithstanding all his boldness, the Bordeaux 
 man grew pale with joy and astonishment. 
 
 "Why not? You must, you must — you know 
 how highly I esteem you, my dear boy ; I should 
 like to have you as a member of my family — I 
 should feel stronger, more rounded out — " 
 
 He stopped suddenly, remembering that he 
 had used these same words to Mejean that same 
 morning. 
 
 " Well, I can't help it — it 's done now." 
 
Renewal of Youth, 157 
 
 He jerked his shoulder and sank into a corner 
 of the coupe. 
 
 " After all, Hortense is free to choose for her- 
 self; she can decide. I shall have saved this boy 
 anyhow from spending his time in bad company." 
 And in fact Roumestan really thought that this 
 motive alone had made him act as he did. 
 
158 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN EVENING PARTY AT THE MINISTRY. 
 
 There was an unusual look to the Faubourg St. 
 Germain that evening. Quiet little streets that 
 were sleeping peacefully at an early hour were 
 awakened by the jolting of omnibuses turned from 
 their usual course ; while other streets, where 
 usually the uninterrupted stream and roar of great 
 Parisian arteries prevail, were like a river-bed 
 from which the water has been drained. Silent, 
 empty, apparently enlarged, the entrance was 
 guarded by the outline of a mounted policeman 
 or by the sombre shadows across the asphalt of a 
 line of civic guards, with hoods drawn up over 
 their caps and hands muffled in their long sleeves, 
 saying by a gesture to carriages as they ap- 
 proached : *' No one can pass." 
 
 "Is it a fire?" asked a frightened man, putting 
 his head out of the carriage window. 
 
 " No, sir ; it is the evening party of the Public 
 Instruction." 
 
 The sentry passed on and the coachman drove 
 off, swearing at being obliged to go so far out of 
 his way on that left bank of the Seine, where the 
 little streets planned without system are still some- 
 what confusing, after the fashion of old Paris. 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 159 
 
 At a distance, sure enough, the brilliant lights 
 from the two fronts of the Ministry, the bonfires 
 lighted in the middle of the streets because of 
 the cold, the gleam from lines of lanterns on the 
 carriages converging to one spot, threw a halo 
 round the whole quarter like the reflection of a 
 great conflagration, made more brilliant by the 
 limpid blueness of the sky and the frosty dryness 
 of the air. On approaching the house, however, 
 one was reassured by the perfect arrangements of 
 the party ; for the conflagration was but the glare 
 of the even white light rising to the eaves of the 
 nearer houses, that rendered visible, as distinctly 
 as by day, the names in gold upon the diff'er- 
 ent public buildings — " Mayory of the Seventh 
 District," "■ Ministry of Posts and Telegraphs," 
 fading off in Bengal flames and fairylike illumina- 
 tion among the branches of some big and leafless 
 trees. 
 
 Among those who lingered notwithstanding the 
 chill wind and formed a hedge of curious gazers 
 near the hotel gates was a little pale shadow with 
 awkward, ducklike gait, wrapped from head to foot 
 in a long peasant's cloak, which allowed nothing 
 of her but two piercing eyes to be visible. She 
 walked up and down, bent with the cold, her teeth 
 chattering, but insensible to the biting frost in the 
 fever and intoxication of her excitement. Occa- 
 sionally she would rush at some carriage in the 
 row advancing slowly up the Rue de Crenelle 
 with a luxurious noise of jingling harness and 
 champing bits of impatient horses, where dainty 
 
i6o Numa Roumestan, 
 
 forms clad in white were dimly seen behind the 
 misty carriage windows. Then she would return 
 to the entrance where the privilege of a special 
 ticket allowed the carriage of some dignitary to 
 break the line and enter. She pushed the peo- 
 ple aside: ** Excuse me — just let me look a 
 moment." Under the blaze from the lamp-stands 
 built in the form of yew trees, under the striped 
 awning of the marquees, the carriage doors, open- 
 ing with a bang, discharged upon the carpets their 
 freight of rustling satin, billowy tulle and glowing 
 flowers. 
 
 The little figure leaned eagerly forward and 
 hardly withdrew herself quickly enough to avoid 
 being crushed by the next carriage to come on. 
 
 Audiberte was determined to see for herself 
 how such an entertainment was managed. How 
 proudly she gazed on this crowd and these lights, 
 the soldiers ahorse and afoot, the police and these 
 brilliant goings-on, all this part of Paris turned 
 topsy-turvy in honor of Valmajour's tabor ! For 
 it was being given in his honor and she was sure 
 that his name was on the lips of all these fine and 
 beautiful gentlemen and ladies. From the front 
 entrance on Crenelle Street she rushed to that on 
 Bellechasse Street, through which the empty car- 
 riages drove out; there she mingled with the civic 
 guards and the coachmen in immense coats with 
 capes round a brasero flaming in the middle of the 
 street, and was astonished to hear these people talk- 
 ing of every-day matters, the sharp cold of that 
 winter, potatoes freezing in the cellars, of things 
 
An Evening Parly at the Mhiistry, i6i 
 
 absolutely foreign to the function and her brother. 
 The slowness of the crawling line of carriages 
 particularly irritated her; she longed to see the 
 last one drive up and be able to say : " Ready at 
 last! Now it will begin. This time it is really 
 commencing." 
 
 But with the deepening of the night the cold 
 became more penetrating; she could have cried 
 with the pain of her nearly frozen feet; but it 
 is pretty rough to cry when one's heart is so 
 happy ! 
 
 At last she made up her mind to go home, 
 after taking in all this gorgeousness in one last 
 look and carrying it off in her poor, savage little 
 head as she passed along the dismal streets 
 through the icy night. Her temples throbbed 
 with the fever of ambition and almost burst with 
 dreams and hopes, whilst her eyes were forever 
 dazzled and, as it were, blinded by that illumina- 
 tion to the honor and glory of the Valmajours. 
 
 But what would she have said, had she gone in, 
 had she seen all those drawing-rooms in white 
 and gold unfolding themselves in perspective be- 
 neath their arcaded doorways, enlarged by mirrors 
 on which fell the flames of the chandeliers, the 
 wall decorations, the dazzling glitter of diamonds 
 and military trappings, the orders of all kinds — 
 palm-shaped, in tufted form, broochlike, or big as 
 Catherine wheels, or small as watch-charms, or 
 else fastened about the neck with those broad 
 red ribbons which make one think of bloody 
 decapitations ! 
 
1 62 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Pell-mell among great names belonging to the 
 Faubourg St. Germain there were present minis- 
 ters, generals, ambassadors, members of the In- 
 stitute and the Superior Council of the University. 
 Never in the arena at Aps, no, not even at 
 the tabor matches in Marseilles, had Valmajour 
 had such an audience. To tell the truth, his name 
 did not occupy much space at this festival which 
 was given in his honor. The programme was 
 decorated with marvellous borders from the pen of 
 Dalys, and certainly mentioned " Various Airs on 
 the Tabor" with the name of Valmajour in com- 
 bination with that of several lyrical pieces; but 
 people did not look at the programme. Only the 
 intimate friends, only those people who are ac- 
 quainted with everything that is going on, said to 
 the Minister as he stood to receive at the entrance 
 to the first drawing-room : 
 
 "So you have a tabor-player?" And he an- 
 swered, with his thoughts elsewhere : 
 
 " Yes, a whim of the ladies." 
 
 He was not thinking much of poor Valmajour 
 that evening, but of another appearance much 
 more important to him. What would people say ? 
 Would she be a success? Had not the interest 
 he had taken in the child made him exaggerate 
 her talent? And, very much in love, although he 
 would not have owned it yet to himself, bitten to 
 the bone by the absorbing passion of an elderly 
 man, he felt all the anxiety of the father, husband, 
 lover or milliner of a d^butajite, one of those 
 sorrowful anxieties such as one often sees in some- 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 163 
 
 body restlessly wandering behind the scenes on 
 the night of a first representation. That did not 
 prevent him from being amiable, warm and meet- 
 ing his guests with both hands outstretched ; and 
 what guests, boun Diou ! nor from simpering, 
 smiling, neighing, prancing, throwing back his 
 body, twisting and bending with unfailing if some 
 what monotonous effusion — but with shades of 
 difference, nevertheless. 
 
 Suddenly quitting, almost pushing aside, the 
 guest to whom he was speaking in a low voice 
 and promising endless favors, he flew to meet a 
 stately lady with crimson cheeks and authorita- 
 tive manner: "Ah, Madame la Marechale," and 
 placing in his own the august arm encased in 
 a twenty-button glove, he led his noble guest 
 through the rooms between a double row of 
 obsequious black coats to the concert room, 
 where Mme. Roumestan presided, assisted by 
 her sister. 
 
 As he passed through the rooms on his return 
 he scattered kind words and hand-shakes right 
 and left. " Count on me ! It 's a settled thing ! " 
 — or else he threw rapidly his *' How are you, 
 friend?" — or again, in order to warm up the 
 reception and put a sympathetic current flowing 
 through all this solemn society crowd, he would 
 present people to each other, throwing them 
 without warning into each other's arms : " What ! 
 you do not know each other? The Prince of 
 Anhalt ! — M. Bos, Senator ! " and never noticed 
 that the two men, their names hardly uttered, after 
 
164 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 a hasty duck of the head and a " Sir " — ** Sir," 
 merely waited till he was gone to turn their backs 
 on each other with a ferocious look. 
 
 Like the greater number of political antagonists, 
 our good Numa had relaxed and let himself out 
 when he had won the fight and come to power. 
 Without ceasing to belong to the party of moral 
 order, this Vendean from the South had lost his 
 fine ardor for the Cause, permitted his grand 
 hopes to slumber, and began to find that things 
 were not so bad after all. Why should these 
 savage hatreds exist between nice people? He 
 yearned for peace and a general indulgence. He 
 counted on music to operate a fusion among the 
 parties, his little fortnightly concerts becoming a 
 neutral ground for artistic and sociable enjoyment, 
 where the most bitterly hostile people might meet 
 each other and learn to esteem one another in a 
 spot apart from the passions and torments of 
 politics. 
 
 That was why there was such a queer mixture 
 in the invitations ; thence also the embarrassment 
 and lack of ease among the guests ; therefore also 
 colloquies in low tones suddenly interrupted and 
 that curious going and coming of black coats, the 
 assumed interest seen in looks raised to the ceil- 
 ing, examining the gilded fluting of the panels, 
 the decorations of the time of the Directory, half 
 Louis XVI, half Empire, with bronze heads on 
 the upright lines of the marble chimneypieces. 
 People were hot and at the same time cold, as 
 if, one might believe, the terrible frost outside, 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 165 
 
 changed by the thick walls and the wadding of 
 the hangings, had been converted into moral cold. 
 From time to time the rushing about of De Lap- 
 para and De Rochemaure to find seats for the 
 ladies broke in upon the monotonous strolling 
 about of bored men, or else a stir was made by 
 the sensational entrance of the beautiful Mme. 
 Hubler, her hair dressed with feathers, her pro- 
 file dry like that of an indestructible doll, with a 
 smile like a stamped coin drawn up to her very 
 eyebrows — a wax doll in a hair-dresser's window. 
 But the cold soon returned again. 
 
 " It is the very devil to thaw out these rooms of 
 the Public Instruction. I am sure the ghost of 
 Frayssinous walks here at night." 
 
 This remark in a loud tone was made by one of 
 a group of young musicians gathered obsequiously 
 round Cadaillac, the manager of the opera, who 
 was sitting philosophically on a velvet couch with 
 his back against the statue of Moliere. Very fat, 
 half deaf, with a bristling white moustache, his 
 face puffy and impenetrable, it was hard to find in 
 him the natty and politic young impresario under 
 whose care the *' Nabob " had given his entertain- 
 ments ; his eyes alone told of the Parisian joker, 
 his ferocious science of life, his spirit, hard as a 
 blackthorn with an iron ferule, toughened in the 
 fire of the footlights. But full and sated and con- 
 tent with his place and fearful of losing it at the 
 end of his contract, he sheathed his claws and 
 talked little and especially httle here; his only 
 criticism on this official and social comedy being 
 
1 66 Niima Roumestan, 
 
 a laugh as silent and inscrutable as that of Leather- 
 Stocking. 
 
 '* Boissaric, my good fellow," he asked in a low 
 voice of an ambitious young Toulousian who had 
 just had a ballet accepted at the opera after only 
 ten years of waiting — a thing nobody could believe 
 — ''you who know everything, tell me who that 
 solemn-looking man with a big moustache is who 
 talks familiarly to every one and walks behind his 
 nose with as thoughtful an air as if he were going 
 to the funeral of that feature: he must belong to 
 the shop, for he talked theatre to me as one having 
 authority." 
 
 " I don't think he is an actor, master, I think he 
 is a diplomat. I just heard him say to the Belgian 
 Minister that he had been his colleague a long 
 time." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Boissaric. He must be a 
 foreign general; only a moment ago I heard him 
 perorating in a crowd of big epaulettes and he 
 was saying : ' Unless one has commanded a large 
 body of men — ' " 
 
 " Strange ! " 
 
 They asked Lappara, who happened to pass; 
 he laughed. 
 
 " Why, it 's Bompard ! " 
 
 " Quh aco Bompard f (Who is this Bompard?) 
 
 " A friend of Roumestan's. How is it you have 
 never met him?" 
 
 " Is he from the South ? " 
 
 " T^ ! I should say so ! " 
 
 In truth, Bompard, buttoned tightly into a grand 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 167 
 
 new suit with a velvet collar, his gloves thrust into 
 his waistcoat, was really trying to help his friend 
 in the entertainment of his guests by a varied but 
 continuous conversation. Quite unknown in the 
 official world, where he appeared to-day for the first 
 time, he may be said to have made a sensation as 
 he carried his faculty for invention from group to 
 group, telling his marvellous visions, his stories of 
 royal love affairs, adventures and combats, tri- 
 umphs at the Federal shooting-matches in Switzer- 
 land, all of which produced the same effects upon 
 his audience — astonishment, embarrassment and 
 disquiet. Here at least there was an element of 
 gayety, but it was only for a few intimates who 
 knew him. Nothing could dispel the cloud of 
 en7mi that penetrated even into the concert room, 
 a large and very picturesque apartment with its two 
 tiers of galleries and its glass ceiling that gave the 
 impression of being under the open sky. 
 
 A decoration of green palms and banana-trees, 
 whose long leaves hung motionless in the light 
 of the chandeliers, made a fresh background to 
 the toilettes of the women sitting on numberless 
 rows of chairs placed close together. It was a 
 wave of white moving necks, arms and shoulders 
 rising from their bodices like half-opened flowers, 
 heads dressed with jewelled stars, diamonds flash- 
 ing against the blue depths of black tresses or 
 waves of gold from the locks of blondes ; a mass 
 of lovely figures in profile, full of health, with 
 lines of beauty from waist to throat, or fine slender 
 forms, from a narrow waist clasped by a little jew- 
 
1 68 Nunta Roumestan, 
 
 elled buckle up to a long neck circled with velvet. 
 Fans of ail colors, bright with spangles, shot with 
 hues, danced in butterfly lightness over all and 
 mingled the perfumes of *' white rose " or opopo- 
 nax with the feeble breath of white lilacs and 
 natural fresh violets. 
 
 The bored expression on the faces of the guests 
 was deeper here as they reflected that for two mor- 
 tal hours they must sit thus before the platform on 
 which was spread out in a semicircular row the 
 chorus, the men in black coats, the women in 
 white muslin, impassive as if sitting in front of a 
 camera, while the orchestra was concealed behind 
 copses of green leaves and roses, out of which the 
 arms of the bass-viols reared themselves like in- 
 struments of torture. Oh, the torment of the 
 ** music stocks " ! All of them knew it, for it was 
 one of the crudest fatigues of the season and of 
 their worldly burden. That is why, looking every- 
 where, the only happy, smiling face to be found in 
 the immense room was that of Mme. Roumestan — 
 not that ballet-dancer's smile, common to profes- 
 sional hostesses, which so easily changes to a look 
 of angry fatigue when no one is watching. Hers 
 was the face of a happy woman, a woman loved, 
 just starting on a new life. 
 
 O, the endless tenderness of an honest soul which 
 has never throbbed but for one person ! She had 
 begun to believe again in her Numa; he had been 
 so kind and tender for some time back. It was 
 like a return ; it seemed as if their two hearts were 
 closely knit again after a long parting. Without 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 169 
 
 asking whence came this renewal of affection in 
 her husband, she found him loverlike and young 
 once more, as he was the night that she showed 
 him the panel of the hunt ; and she herself was 
 still the same fair young Diana, supple and charm- 
 ing in her frock of white brocade, her fair hair 
 simply banded on her brow, so pure and without 
 an evil thought, looking five years younger than 
 her thirty summers ! 
 
 Hortense was very pretty to-night also; all in 
 blue — blue tulle that enveloped her slender figure 
 like a cloud and lent a soft shade to her brunette 
 face. She was much preoccupied with the debut 
 of her musician. She wondered how the spoiled 
 Parisians would like this music from the provinces 
 and whether, as Rosalie had said, the tabor-player 
 ought not to be framed in a landscape of gray 
 olive-trees and hills that look like lace. Silently, 
 though very anxious in the rustle of fans, conver- 
 sations in low voice and the tuning of the instru- 
 ments, she counted the pieces that must come 
 before Valmajour appeared. 
 
 A blow from the leader with his bow on his 
 desk, a rustling of paper on the platform as the 
 chorus rises, music in hand, a long look of the vic- 
 tims toward the high doorway clogged with black 
 coats, as if yearning to flee, and the first notes of 
 a choral by Gliick ring through the room and soar 
 upward to the glassy ceiling where the winter's 
 night lays its blue sheets of cold. 
 
 ^* Ah^ dans ce bois funeste et sombre* . . ." 
 
 The concert has begun. 
 
170 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 The taste for music has increased greatly in 
 France within the last few years. Particularly in 
 Paris, the Sunday concerts and those given during 
 Holy Week, and the numberless musical clubs, 
 have aroused the public taste and made the works 
 of the great masters known to all, making a musi- 
 cal education the fashion. But at bottom Paris is 
 too full of life, too given over to intellect, really to 
 love music, that absorbing goddess who holds you 
 motionless without voice or thought in a floating 
 web of harmony, and hypnotizes you like the 
 ocean; in Paris the follies that are done in her' 
 name are like those committed by a fop for a 
 mistress who is the fashion ; it is a passion of chic, 
 played to the gallery, commonplace and hollow to 
 the point of ennui / 
 
 Ennui ! 
 
 Yes, boredom was the prevailing note of this 
 concert at the Ministry of Public Instruction. 
 Beneath that forced admiration, that expression of 
 simulated ecstasy which belongs to the worldly 
 side of the sincerest woman, the look of boredom 
 rose higher and higher; there soon appeared un- 
 mistakable signs that dimmed the brilliant smile 
 and shining eyes and changed completely their 
 charming, languishing poses, like the motion of 
 birds upon the branches or when sipping water 
 drop by drop. On the long rows of endless chairs 
 these fine ladies, one woman after the other, would 
 make their fight, trying to reanimate themselves 
 with cries of " Bravo ! Divine ! Delicious ! " and 
 then, one after another, would succumb to the ris- 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry. 171 
 
 ing torpor which ascended Hke the mists above a 
 sounding sea, driving far away into the distance 
 of indifference all the artists who defiled before 
 them one by one. 
 
 And yet the most famous and illustrious artists 
 of Paris were there, interpreting classical music 
 with all the scientific exactness it demands, which, 
 alas, cannot be acquired save at the expense of 
 years. Why, it is thirty years now that Mme. 
 Vauters has been singing that beautiful romanza 
 of Beethoven *' L'Apaisement," and yet never has 
 she done it with more passion than this evening. 
 But it seems as if strings were lacking to the 
 instrument ; one can hear the bow scraping on the 
 violin. And behold ! of the great singer of for- 
 mer days and of that famous classical beauty there 
 remains nothing else but well studied attitudes, an 
 irreproachable method and that long white hand 
 which at the last stanza brushes aside a tear from 
 the corner of her eye, made deep with charcoal — 
 a tear that translates a sob which her voice can no 
 longer render. 
 
 What singer save Mayol, handsome Mayol, has 
 ever sighed forth the serenade from *' Don Juan" 
 with such ethereal delicacy — that passion which is 
 like the love of a dragon-fly? Unfortunately peo- 
 ple don't hear it any longer. There is no use for 
 him to rise atiptoe with outstretched neck and 
 draw out the note to its very end, while accom- 
 panying it with the easy gesture of a yarn-spinner 
 seizing her wool with two fingers — nothing comes 
 out, nothing ! Paris is grateful for pleasures which 
 
172 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 are past and applauds all the same; but these 
 used-up voices, these withered and too well-known 
 faces, medals whose design has been gradually 
 eaten away by passing from hand to hand, can 
 never dissipate the heavy fog which infests the 
 Minister's party. No, notwithstanding every effort 
 which Roumestan makes to enliven it, notwith- 
 standing the enthusiastic bravos which he hurls 
 in his loudest voice into the phalanx of black 
 coats, nor the " Hush ! " with which he frightens 
 people who attempt to converse two apartments 
 away, and who thereafter prowl about silent as' 
 spectres in that strong illumination and change 
 their places with every precaution in the hopes of 
 finding some distraction, their backs rounded and 
 their arms swinging — or fall completely crushed 
 upon the low arm-chairs, their opera hats suspended 
 between their legs — idiotic and with faces empty 
 of expression ! 
 
 At one time, it is true, the appearance of Alice 
 Bachellery on the stage wakes up and enlivens the 
 audience; a strugghng bunch of curious people 
 assails each of the two doors of the hall in order to 
 see the little diva in her short skirt on the platform, 
 her mouth half open and her long lashes quiver- 
 ing as if with surprise at seeing all this multitude. 
 
 " Chatid! chaiid ! les ftits pains d' gruauf' 
 hum the young club-men as they imitate the low- 
 lived gesture that accompanies the end of her 
 refrain. Old gentlemen belonging to the Univer- 
 sity approach, trembling all over, and turning their 
 good ear toward her, in order not to lose a bit 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 173 
 
 of the fashionable vulgarity. So there is a dis- 
 appointment when, in her somewhat shrill and 
 limited voice, the little pastry-cook's boy begins 
 to produce one of the grand airs from " Alceste," 
 prompted by Mme. Vauters, who is encouraging 
 her from the flies. Then the faces fall and the 
 black coats disperse and begin once more their 
 wandering with all the more freedom, now that the 
 Minister is not watching them ; for he has slipped 
 off to the end of the last drawing-room on the arm 
 of M. de Boe, who is quite stunned by the honor 
 accorded him. 
 
 Eternal infancy of Love ! What though you may 
 have twenty years of law at the Palace of Justice 
 behind you and fifteen years on the Bench; what 
 though you may be sufficiently master of yourself 
 to preserve in the midst of the most agitated 
 assemblies and most ferocious interruptions the 
 fixed idea and the cold-bloodedness of a gull that 
 is fishing in the heart of a storm — nevertheless, if 
 passion shall once enter into your life, you will find 
 yourself the feeblest among the feeble, trembling 
 and cowardly to the point of hanging desperately 
 to the arm of some fool, rather than listen bravely 
 to the slightest criticism of your idol. 
 
 *' Excuse me — I must leave you — here is the 
 entr'acte — " and the Minister hurries away, cast- 
 ing the young maitre des requites back into that 
 original obscurity of his from which he shall 
 never emerge again. The crowd struggles toward 
 the sideboards; the relieved expression on the 
 faces of all these unfortunate listeners, who have at 
 
174 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 last regained the right to move and speak, is suffi- 
 cient to make Numa believe that his little prot^gie 
 has just won a tremendous success. People press 
 about him and felicitate him — " Divine ! Deli- 
 cious ! " But there is nobody to talk positively to 
 him about the thing that interests him, so that at 
 last he grabs hold of Cadaillac, who is passing near 
 him, walking sidewise and splitting the human 
 stream with his enormous shoulder as a lever. 
 
 "Well? well? How did you like her?" 
 
 " Why, whom do you mean? " 
 
 " The little girl," said Numa in a tone which he' 
 tries to make perfectly indifferent. The other man, 
 who is good enough at fencing, comprehends at 
 once and says without blenching; 
 
 ''A revelation ! " 
 
 The lover flushes up as if he were twenty years 
 old — as when, at the Cafe Malmus, " everybody's 
 old girl " pressed his foot under the table. 
 
 ** Then — you think that at the opera — ? " 
 
 ** No sort of question ! — but she would have to 
 have a good one to put her on the stage," said 
 Cadaillac with his silent laugh. And while the 
 Minister rushes off to congratulate Mile. Alice, 
 the *' good one to put her on the stage " con- 
 tinues his march in the direction of the buffet 
 which can be seen, framed by an enormous mirror 
 without a border, at the end of a drawing-room which 
 is all brown and gilded woodwork. Notwithstand- 
 ing the severity of the hangings and the impudent 
 and pompous air of the butlers, who are certainly 
 chosen from University men who have missed 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry. 175 
 
 their examination, at this spot the nasty tempers 
 and boredom have disappeared in front of the 
 enormous counter crammed with delicate glasses, 
 fruits and pyramids of sandwiches ; humanity has 
 regained its rights and these evil looks give way to 
 attitudes of desire and voracity. Through the 
 narrowest space that remains open between two 
 busts or between two heads bending over toward 
 the bit of salmon or chicken wing on their little 
 plate, an arm intrudes, attempting to seize a 
 tumbler or fork or roll of bread, scraping off rice 
 powder on shoulders or on a black sleeve or a 
 brilliant, crude uniform. People chatter and grow 
 animated, eyes glitter, laughter rises under the 
 influence of the foaming wines. A thousand bits 
 of speech cross each other — interrupted remarks, 
 answers to questions already forgotten. In one 
 corner one hears little screams of indignation: 
 " What a brute ! How disgusting ! " about the 
 scientist Bechut, that enemy of women, who is 
 going on reviling the weaker sex. Then a quarrel 
 among musicians. " But, my dear fellow, beware 
 — you are denying altogether the increase of the 
 quhiter 
 
 " Is it really true she is only sixteen? " 
 
 " Sixteen years of the cask and some few extra 
 years of the bottle." 
 
 *' Mayol ! — O, come now ! Mayol ! — finished, 
 empty! and to think that the opera gives two 
 thousand francs every night to that thing ! " 
 
 " Yes, but he has to spend a thousand francs of 
 seats to get his auditorium warm, and then, on the 
 
176 Numa Roumesfan, 
 
 sly, Cadaillac gets all the rest of it away from him 
 playing ^cart^." 
 
 '' Bordeaux ! — chocolate ! — champagne ! — '* 
 
 " — will have to come and explain himself before 
 the commission." 
 
 '' — by raising the ruche a little with bows of 
 white satin." 
 
 In another part of the house Mile. Le Ques- 
 noy, closely surrounded by friends, recommends 
 her tabor player to a foreign correspondent with 
 an impudent head as flat as that of a choumacre 
 and begs him not to leave before the end of the- 
 play; she scolds Mejean, who is not supporting 
 her properly, and calls him a false Southerner, a 
 franciot and a renegade. In the group near by a 
 political discussion has started. One mouth opens 
 in a hateful way with foam about the teeth and says, 
 chewing on the words as if they were musket balls 
 and he would like to poison them : 
 
 "Whatever exists in the most destructive of 
 demagogies — " 
 
 " — Marat the conservative ! " said a voice — but 
 the rest of the sentence was lost in a confused 
 noise of conversations mixed with clattering of 
 plates and glasses, which the coppery tones of 
 Roumestan's voice all of a sudden dominated: 
 *' Ladies ! hurry, ladies ! — or you will miss the 
 sonata \n fa f' 
 
 There is a silence as of the dead. Then the long 
 procession of trailing trains begins to cross the 
 drawing-room and settle itself once more into the 
 rows of chairs. The women have that despairing 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 177 
 
 face one sees on captives who are returned to prison 
 after an hour's walk in the open fields. And so 
 the concertos and symphonies follow each other, 
 note after note. Handsome Mayol begins again 
 to draw out that intangible note of his and Mme. 
 Vauters to touch again the loosened cords of her 
 voice. All of a sudden a sign of life appears, a move- 
 ment of curiosity, just as it was a little while ago 
 when the small Mile. Bachellery made her entrance. 
 It is the tabor-player Valmajour, the apparition of 
 that proud peasant, his soft felt hat over one ear, his 
 red belt around his waist and his plainsman's jacket 
 on one shoulder. It was an idea of Audiberte's, 
 an instinct in her natural feminine taste, to dress 
 him in this way in order to give him greater effect 
 in the midst of all the black coats. Well, well, at 
 last, this at least is new and unexpected — this long 
 tabor which hangs to the arm of the musician, the 
 Httle fife on which his fingers move hither and yon, 
 and the charming airs to the double music whose 
 movement, rousing and lively, gives a moire-like 
 shiver of awakening to the satin of those lovely 
 shoulders ! That worn-out public is delighted with 
 these songs of morning, so fresh and embalmed 
 with country fragrances — these ballads of Old 
 France. 
 
 " Bravo ! Bravo ! Encore ! " 
 
 And when, with a large and victorious rhythm 
 which the orchestra accompanies in a low note, he 
 attacks the " March of Turenne," deepening and 
 supporting his somewhat shrill instrument, the suc- 
 cess is wild. He has to come back twice, ten times, 
 
 12 
 
178 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 being applauded first of all by Numa, whom this 
 solitary success has warmed completely and who 
 now takes credit to himself for this '' fancy of the 
 ladies." He tells them how he discovered this 
 genius, explains the great mystery of the fife with 
 three holes and gives various details concerning 
 the ancient castle of the Valmajours. 
 
 *'Then he really is called Valmajour?" 
 
 "Certainly — belongs to the Princes des Baux 
 — he is the last of the line." 
 
 And so this legend starts, scatters, expands, 
 enlarges and becomes at last a regular novel by 
 George Sand. 
 
 " I have the parshemmts at my house," corrobo- 
 rates Bompard in a tone which permits of no 
 question. 
 
 But in the midst of all this worldly enthusiasm 
 more or less fabricated there is one little heart 
 which is moved, one young head wiiich is completely 
 intoxicated and takes all these bravos and fables 
 seriously. Without speaking a word, without even 
 applauding, her eyes fixed and lost, her long, supple 
 figure following in the balancing motion of a dream 
 the bars of the heroic march, Hortense finds her- 
 self once more down there in Provence on the high 
 terrace overlooking the sun-baked plain, whilst her 
 musician plays for her a morning greeting, as if to 
 one of those ladies in the Courts of Love, and then 
 sticks her pomegranate flower on his tabor with a 
 savage grace. This recollection moves her de- 
 lightfully, and leaning her head on her sister's 
 shoulder she murmurs very low: " O, how happy 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 179 
 
 I am ! " uttering it with a deep and true accent 
 which Rosalie does not notice at once, but which 
 later on shall become more definite in her memory 
 and shall haunt her like the stammered news of 
 some misfortune. 
 
 ''Eh! b^f My good Valmajour, didn't I tell 
 you? What a success! — eh?" cried Roumes- 
 tan in the httle drawing-room where a stand-up 
 supper was being served for the performers. As 
 to this success, the other stars of the concert con- 
 sidered it a bit exaggerated. Mme. Vauters, who 
 was seated in readiness to leave while she waited 
 for her carriage, concealed her spite in a great big 
 cape of lace filled with violent perfumes, while 
 handsome Mayol, standing in front of the buffet, 
 showing in his back his slack nerves and weariness 
 by a peculiar gesture, tore to pieces with the great- 
 est ferocity a poor little plover and imagined that 
 he had the tabor-player under his knife. But little 
 Bachellery did not stoop to any such bad temper. 
 In the midst of a group of young fops, laughing, flut- 
 tering and digging her little white teeth into a ham 
 sandwich, like a schoolboy assailed by the hunger 
 of a growing child, she played her game of infancy. 
 She tried to make music on Valmajour's fife. 
 
 '' Just see, M'sieur le ministre ! " 
 
 Then, noticing Cadaillac behind his Excellency, 
 with a sharp twirl of her feet she advanced her 
 forehead like that of a little girl for him to kiss. 
 
 "Howdy, uncle! — " 
 
 It was a relationship purely fantastic such as they 
 adopt behind the scenes. 
 
i8o Ntima Roumestan. 
 
 '* What a make-believe madcap ! " grunted the 
 " right man to put one on the stage " behind his 
 white moustache, but not in too loud a voice, be- 
 cause in all probability she was going to become 
 one of his pensioners and a most influential pen- 
 sioner. 
 
 Valmajour stood erect before the chimneypiece 
 with a fatuous air, surrounded by a crowd of women 
 and journalists. The foreign correspondent put 
 his questions to him brutally, not at all in that 
 hypocritical tone he used when interrogating 
 ministers in special audiences ; but, without being 
 troubled in the least thereby, the peasant answered 
 him with the stereotyped account his lips were 
 used to : ** It all come to me in the night while I 
 listened me to the nighthigawles singin' — " 
 
 He was interrupted by Mile. Le Quesnoy, who 
 offered him a glass of wine and a plate heaped up 
 with good things especially for him. 
 
 *' How do you do? You see this time I myself 
 am bringing you the grand-boirer She had made 
 her speech for a purpose, but he answered her 
 with a slight nod of the head, and, pointing to the 
 chimneypiece, said **A11 right, all right, put it 
 down there," and went on with his story. 
 
 " So, what the birrud of the Lord could do with 
 one hole . . ." Without being discouraged, Hor- 
 tense waited to the end and then spoke to him 
 about his father and his sister. 
 
 '* She will be very much delighted, will she 
 not?" 
 
 " O, yes ; it has gone pretty well." 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, i8i 
 
 With a silly smile he stroked his moustache 
 while looking about him with restless eyes. He 
 had been told that the director of the opera de- 
 sired to make him an offer and he was on the watch 
 for him afar, feeling even at this early moment 
 the jealousy of an actor and astonished that any- 
 body could spend so much time with that good- 
 for-nothing little singing-girl. Filled with his own 
 thoughts, he took no trouble to answer the beauti- 
 ful young girl standing before him, her fan in her 
 hand, in that pretty, half-audacious attitude which 
 the habit of society gives. But she loved him better 
 as he was, disdainful and cold toward everything 
 which was not his art; she admired him for accept- 
 ing loftily the compliments which Cadaillac poured 
 upon him with his off-hand roundness : 
 
 "Yes, I tell you . . . yes, indeed! ... I tell 
 you exactly what I mean . , . great deal of talent 
 . . . very original, very new; I hope no other 
 theatre save the Opera shall have your first appear- 
 ance ... I must find some occasion to bring you 
 forward. From to-day on, consider yourcelf as 
 one of the House ! " 
 
 Valmajour thought of the paper with the gov- 
 ernment stamp on it which he had in the pocket 
 of his jacket; but the other man, just as if he 
 divined the thought that possessed him, stretched 
 out his supple hand: "There, that engages us 
 both, my dear fellow ; " and pointing out Mayol 
 and Mme. Vauters — who were luckily occupied 
 elsewhere, for they would have laughed too loud 
 — he continued : 
 
1 82 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 "Ask your comrades what the given word of 
 Cadaillac means ! " At this he turned on his heel 
 and went back into the ball. 
 
 Now it had become a party which had spread 
 into less crowded but more animated rooms, and 
 the fine orchestra was taking its revenge for three 
 hours of classical music by giving waltzes of the 
 purest Viennese variety. The lofty personages 
 and solemn people having left, the floors now be- 
 longed to the young people, those maniacs of 
 pleasure who dance for the love of dancing and for 
 the intoxication of flying hair and swimming eyes 
 and trains whipped round about their feet. But 
 even then politics could not lose its rights and the 
 fusion dreamt of by Roumestan did not take place. 
 Even of the two rooms where they danced one of 
 them belonged to the Left Centre and the other 
 to the White, a flower de luce White without a 
 stain, in spite of the efforts Hortense made to 
 bind the two camps together ! Much sought out 
 as the sister-in-law of the Minister and daughter of 
 the Chief Judge, she saw about her big marriage 
 portion and her influential connections a perfect 
 flock of waistcoats with their hearts outside. 
 
 While dancing with her, Lappara, greatly ex- 
 cited, declared that His Excellency had permitted 
 him — but just there the waltz ended and she left 
 him without listening to the rest and came toward 
 Mejean, who did not dance and yet could not make 
 up his mind to leave. 
 
 "What a face you make, most solemn man, 
 man most reasonable ! " 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry, 183 
 
 He took her by the hand : " Sit down here ; I 
 have something to say to you — by the author- 
 ity of my Minister — '* 
 
 Very much overcome, he smiled, and while 
 noting the trembling of his lips Hortense under- 
 stood and rose very quickly. 
 
 ** No, no, not this evening — I can listen to 
 nothing — I am dancing — " 
 
 She flew away on the arm of Rochemaure, who 
 had just come to fetch her for the cotillion. He 
 too was very much taken; just in order to imitate 
 Lappara, the good young fellow ventured to pro- 
 nounce a word which caused her to break out in a 
 gale of gayety that went whirling with her round 
 the entire room, and when the shawl figure was 
 finished she went over toward her sister and whis- 
 pered in her ear: 
 
 ** Here we are in a nice mess ! Here is Numa, 
 who has promised me to each of his three secre- 
 taries ! " 
 
 " Which one are you going to take? " 
 
 Her answer was cut short by the rolling of the 
 tabor. 
 
 " The farandole ! The farandole ! " 
 
 It was a surprise for his guests from the Minis- 
 ter — the farandole to close the cotillion — the 
 South to the last go ! and so — zoii ! But how do 
 people dance it? Hands meet each other and 
 join and the two dancing-rooms come together 
 this time. Bompard gravely explains : " This is 
 the way, young ladies," and he cuts a caper. 
 
 And then, with Hortense at its head, the faran- 
 
184 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 dole unrolls itself across the long rows of rooms, 
 followed by Valmajour playing with a superb 
 solemnity, proud of his success and of the looks 
 which his masculine and robust figure in that origi- 
 nal- costume earn for him. 
 
 '* Is n't he beautiful ! " cried Roumestan, " is n't 
 he handsome ! a regular Greek shepherd ! " 
 
 From room to room the rustic dance, more and 
 more crowded and lively, follows and chases the 
 spectre of Frayssinous. Reawakened to life by 
 these airs from the ancient time, the figures on 
 the great tapestries, copied from the pictures of 
 Boucher and Lancret, agitate themselves and the 
 little naked backs of the cupids who are rolling 
 about along the frieze take on a movement in the 
 eyes of the dancers as of a rushing hunt as wild 
 and crazy as their own. 
 
 Away down there at the end of the vista Cadail- 
 lac has edged up to the buffet with a plate and a 
 glass of wine in his hand ; he listens, eats and 
 drinks, penetrated to the very centre of his scepti- 
 cism by that sudden heat of joy: 
 
 *' Just remember this, my boy," said he to Bois- 
 saric, *' you must always remain to the end at a 
 ball. The women are prettier in their moist 
 pallor, which does not reach the point of fatigue 
 any more than that little white line there at the 
 windows has reached the point of being daylight. 
 There is a little music in the air, some dust that 
 smells nicely, a semi-intoxication which refines a 
 sensation and which one ought to savor as one 
 eats a hot chicken wing washed down with chani- 
 
An Evening Party at the Ministry. 185 
 
 pagne frappe. — There ! just look at that, will 
 you. 
 
 Behind the big mirror without a frame the faran- 
 dole was lengthening out, with all arms stretched, 
 into a chain alternate of black and light notes soft- 
 ened by the disorder of the toilets and hair and the 
 mussiness that comes from two hours' dancing. 
 
 ''Isn't that pretty, eh? — And the bully boy 
 at the end there, is n't he smart ! " Then he 
 added coldly, as he put down his glass: 
 
 " All the same, he will never make a cent." 
 
1 86 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE NORTH AND THE SOUTH. 
 
 There never had been any great sympathy be- 
 tween President Le Quesnoy and his son-in-law. 
 The lapse of time, frequent intercourse and the 
 bonds of relationship had not been able to narrow 
 the gap between these two natures, or to vanquish 
 the intimidating coolness which the Provencal felt 
 in the presence of this big, silent man, with his pale 
 and haughty face, from whose height a steely-gray 
 look, which was the look of Rosalie without her 
 tenderness and indulgence, fell upon his lively 
 nature with freezing effect. Numa, with his mobile 
 and floating nature, always overwhelmed by his 
 own conversation, at one and the same time a fiery 
 and a complicated nature, was in a state of con- 
 stant revolt against the logic, the uprightness, the 
 rigidity of his father-in-law. And while he envied 
 him these qualities, he placed them to the credit 
 of the coldness of nature in this man of the North, 
 that extreme North which the President represented 
 to him. 
 
 "Beyond him, there's the wild polar bear — 
 beyond that, nothing at all — the north pole and 
 death." 
 
 All the same he flattered the President, endeav- 
 ored to cajole him with adroit, feline tricks, which 
 
The North and the South. 187 
 
 were his baits to catch the Gaul. But the Gaul, 
 subtler than he was himself, would not permit 
 himself to be taken in, and on Sunday, in the 
 dining-room at the Place Royale, at the moment 
 when politics were discussed, whenever Numa, 
 softened by the good dinner, attempted to make 
 old Le Quesnoy believe that in reality the two 
 were very close to an understanding, because both 
 wanted the same thing, namely, liberty — it was 
 a sight to see the indignant toss of the head with 
 which the President penetrated his armor. 
 
 " Oh ! Not at all, not the same by any means ! " 
 
 In half-a-dozen clear-cut, hard arguments, he 
 established the distances between them, unmasked 
 fine phrases and showed that he was not the man 
 to be taken in by their humbuggery. Then the 
 lawyer got out of the affair by joking, though 
 extremely angry at bottom and particularly on 
 account of his wife, who looked on and listened 
 without ever mixing herself up with political talk. 
 But then in the evening, while going home in the 
 carriage, he took great pains to prove to her that 
 her father was lacking in common-sense. Ah ! 
 if it had not been for her presence, how finely he 
 would have put the President to his trumps ! In 
 order not to irritate him, Rosalie avoided taking 
 part with either. 
 
 "Yes, it is unfortunate — you don't understand 
 each other ..." But in her own heart she agreed 
 with the President. 
 
 When Roumestan arrived at a Minister's port- 
 folio the coolness between the two men only be- 
 
1 88 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 came greater. M. Le Quesnoy refused to show 
 himself at his son-in-law's receptions in the Rue 
 de Crenelle and he explained the matter very 
 precisely to his daughter. 
 
 "Now, please tell your husband this — let him 
 continue to visit me here, and as often as possible ; 
 I shall be most delighted. But you must not 
 expect ever to see me at the Ministry. I know 
 well enough what those people are preparing for 
 us : I don't want to have the appearance of being 
 an accomplice." 
 
 After all, the situation between them was saved 
 in the eyes of society by that heartfelt sorrow, 
 that mourning of the heart, which had imprisoned 
 the Le Quesnoys in their own home for so many 
 years. Probably the Minister of Public Instruc- 
 tion would have been very much embarrassed to 
 feel the presence in his drawing-room of that 
 sturdy old contradictor, in whose presence he 
 always remained a little boy. Still, he made 
 believe to appear wounded by that decision ; he 
 struck an attitude on account of it, a thing which 
 is very precious to an actor, and he found a pre- 
 text for not coming to the Sunday dinners except 
 very irregularly, making as a plea one of those 
 thousand excuses, engagements, meetings, political 
 banquets, which offer so wide a liberty to husbands 
 in politics. 
 
 Rosalie, on the contrary, never missed a Sunday, 
 arriving early in the afternoon, delighted to find 
 again in the home circle of her parents that taste 
 of the family which her official life hardly permit- 
 
The North and the South. 189 
 
 ted her the leisure to satisfy. Mme. Le Quesnoy 
 being still at vespers and Hortense at church with 
 her mother, or carried off to some musical matinee 
 by friends, she was always certain to find her father 
 in his library, a long room crammed from top to 
 bottom with books. There he was, shut in with his 
 silent friends, his intellectual intimates, the only 
 ones with whom his sorrow had never found fault. 
 The President did not seat himself to read; he 
 passed the shelves in review, stopping in front of 
 some finely bound books; standing there, uncon- 
 scious what he did, he would read for an hour at 
 a time without recognizing the passage of time or 
 that he was weary. When he saw his eldest daugh- 
 ter enter, he would give a pale smile. After a few 
 words were exchanged, because neither one nor the 
 other was exactly garrulous, she also passed in 
 review her beloved authors, choosing and turning 
 over the leaves of some book in his immediate 
 neighborhood in that somewhat dusky light of the 
 big courtyard in the Marais, where the bells, sound- 
 ing vespers near by, fell in heavy notes amidst the 
 stillness that Sunday brings to the commercial 
 quarters of a city. Sometimes he gave her an 
 open book: 
 
 " Read that ! " and put his finger under a pas- 
 sage ; and when she had read it : 
 
 ** That 's fine, is it not? " 
 
 There was no greater pleasure for that young 
 woman, to whom life was offering whatever there 
 was of brilliant and luxuriant thincys, than the hour 
 passed beside that mournful and aged father in 
 
IQO Numa Roumestan, 
 
 whom her daughterly adoration was raised to a 
 double power by other and intimate bonds alto- 
 gether intellectual. 
 
 It was to him she owed the uprightness of her 
 thought and that feeling for justice which made 
 her so courageous ; to him also her taste for the 
 fine arts, her love of painting and of fine poetry — 
 because with Le Quesnoy the continuous petti- 
 foggery of the law had not succeeded in ossifying 
 the man in him. 
 
 Rosalie loved her mother and venerated her, not 
 without some little revolt against a nature which 
 was too simple, too gentle, annihilated as it were 
 in her own home; a nature which sorrow, that 
 elevates certain souls, had crushed to the earth 
 and forced into the most ordinary feminine occu- 
 pations — into practical piety, into housekeeping 
 in its smallest details. Although she was younger 
 than her husband, she appeared to be the elder of 
 the two, judged by her old woman's talk ; she was 
 like one rendered old and sorrowful, who searched 
 all the warm corners of her memory and all the 
 souvenirs of her infancy in a land hot with the sun 
 of Provence. But above all things the church had 
 taken possession of her; since the death of her 
 son she was in the habit of going to church in 
 order to put her sorrow to slumber in the silent 
 freshness and half-light and half-noise of the lofty 
 naves, as though it were in the peace of a cloister 
 barred by heavy double gates against the roar 
 of the outer life. This she did with that devout 
 and cowardly egotism of sorrows which kneel upon 
 
The North a7td the South. 191 
 
 ^ prie-Dieu and are released from all anxieties and 
 duties. 
 
 Rosalie, who was a young girl already at the 
 moment of their mishap, had been struck by the 
 very different way in which her parents suffered. 
 Mme. Le Quesnoy, renouncing everything, was 
 steeped in a tearful religion, but Le Quesnoy set 
 out to obtain strength from daily work accom- 
 plished. Her tender preference for her father arose 
 in her through the exercise of her reason. Marriage, 
 life in common with all the exaggerations, lies and 
 lunacies of her Southerner, caused her to feel the 
 shelter of the silent library all the more pleasantly 
 because it was a change from the grandiose, cold 
 and official interior of the Ministry. In the midst 
 of their quiet chat, the noise of a door was heard, a 
 rustling of silk, and Hortense would enter. 
 
 ** Ah, ha ! I knew I should find you here ! " 
 
 She did not love to read, Hortense did not. 
 Even novels bored her ; they were never romantic 
 enough to suit her exalted frame of mind. After 
 running up and down for about five minutes with 
 her bonnet on, she would cry: 
 
 " How these old books and papers do smell 
 stuffy! Don't you find it so, Rosalie? Come on, 
 come a little with me ! Papa has had you long 
 enough. Now it's my turn." 
 
 And so she would carry her off to her bedroom, 
 their bedroom ; for Rosalie also had used it until 
 she was twenty years old. 
 
 There, during an hour of delightful chat, she 
 saw about her all those things which had been a 
 
192 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 part of herself — her bed with cretonne curtains, 
 her desk, her etagere, her hbrary, where a bit of 
 her childhood still lingered about the titles of the 
 volumes and about the thousand childish things 
 preserved with all due devotion. Here she found 
 again her old thoughts lying about the corners 
 of that young girl's bedroom, more coquettish and 
 ornamented, it is true, than it was in her time. 
 There was a rug on the floor ; a night lamp in the 
 shape of a flower hung from the ceiling and fragile 
 little tables stood about for sewing or writing, 
 against which one knocked at every step ; there 
 was more elegance and less order. Two or three 
 pieces of work begun were hanging over the backs 
 of the chairs and the open desk showed a windy 
 scattering of note-paper with monograms. When 
 you entered there was always a minute or two of 
 trouble. 
 
 " O, it 's the wind," said Hortense with a peal 
 of laughter. " The wind knows I adore him ; he 
 must have come to see if I was at home." 
 
 " They must have left the window open," an- 
 swered Rosalie quietly. ** How can you live in 
 such an interior? For my part I am not able to 
 think if anything is out of place." 
 
 She rose to straighten the frame of a picture 
 fastened to the wall; it irritated her eyes, which 
 were as exact as her nature. 
 
 " O, well ! it 's just the contrary with me. It 
 puts me in form. It seems to me that I am 
 travelling." 
 
 This difl*erence in their natures was reflected 
 
The North and the South, 193 
 
 on the faces of the two sisters. Rosahe had regu- 
 lar features with great purity in their hnes, calm 
 eyes of a color changing constantly like that of a 
 deep lake ; the other's features were very irregular, 
 her expression clever, her complexion the pale tint 
 of a Creole woman. There were the North and 
 the South in the father and the mother, two very 
 different temperaments which had united without 
 merging together; each was perpetuating its own 
 race in one of the children, and all this, notwith- 
 standing the life in common, the similar education 
 ill a great boarding-school for young girls, where, 
 under the same masters, and only a few years later, 
 Hortense was taking up the scholastic tradition 
 which had made of her sister an attentive, serious 
 woman, always ready to the minute, absorbed in 
 her smallest acts. That same education had left 
 her tumultuous, fantastic, unsteady of soul and 
 always in a hurry. Sometimes, when she saw her 
 so agitated, Rosalie cried out: 
 
 " I must say I am very lucky ; I have no 
 imagination." 
 
 " As for me, I have n't anything else," said 
 Hortense; and she reminded her how at boarding 
 school, when M. Baudouy was given the task of 
 teaching them style and the development of 
 thought, during that course which he pompously 
 termed his imagination class, Rosalie had never 
 had any success, because she expressed every- 
 thing in a few concise words, whereas she, on the 
 other hand, given an idea as big as your nail, was 
 able to blacken whole volumes with print. 
 
 13 
 
194 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 " That's the only prize I ever got — the imagi- 
 nation prize ! " 
 
 Despite it all they were a tenderly united couple, 
 bound to each other by one of those affections 
 between an elder and a younger sister into which 
 an element of the filial and maternal enters. Rosa- 
 lie took her about with her everywhere, to balls, 
 to her friends' houses, on her shopping trips in 
 which the taste of Parisian women is exercised ; 
 even after leaving the boarding-school she re- 
 mained her younger sister's little mother. And 
 now she is occupying herself with getting her 
 married, with finding for her some quiet and trust- 
 worthy companion, indispensable for such a mad- 
 cap as she is, the powerful arm which is needed 
 to offset her enthusiasms. 
 
 It was plain that the man she meant was 
 M6jean; but Hortense, who at first did not say 
 no, suddenly showed an evident antipathy. They 
 had a long talk about it the day following the 
 ministerial reception, when Rosalie had detected 
 the emotion and trouble of her sister. 
 
 **0, he is kind and I like him well enough,'* 
 said Hortense, " he is one of those loyal friends 
 such as one would like to have about one all one's 
 life ; but that is not the sort of husband that will 
 do for me." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 ** You will laugh at me. He does not appeal to 
 my Imagination enough ; there it is ! A marriage 
 with him — why it makes me think of the house of 
 a burgher, right-angled and stiff, at the end of an 
 
The North and the South, 195 
 
 alley of trees which stand as straight as the letter 
 I ; and you know well enough that I love some- 
 thing else — the unexpected, surprises — " 
 
 *' Well, who then? M. de Lappara? " 
 
 *' Thank you ! In order that I should be just 
 a wee bit preferred to his tailor?" 
 
 *' M. de Rochemaure?" 
 
 " What, that model red-tapist? — and I who have 
 a perfect horror of red tape ! " 
 
 And when the disquiet which Rosalie showed 
 pushed her to the wall, for she wished to know 
 everything and interrogated her closely: 
 
 " What I should like to do," said the young 
 girl, while a faint flame like a fire in straw rose 
 into the pallor of her complexion, " what I should 
 like to do — " Then in a changed voice and 
 with an expression of fun: 
 
 " I should like to marry Bompard ! Yes, Bom- 
 pard ; he is the husband of my dreams — at any 
 rate he has imagination, that fellow, and some 
 resources against deadly dulness ! " 
 
 She rose to her feet and passed up and down 
 the room with that gait, a little inclined over, 
 which made her seem even taller than her figure 
 warranted. People did not recognize Bompard's 
 worth; but what pride and what dignity of ex- 
 istence were his, and, with all his craziness, what 
 logic ! 
 
 " Numa wanted to give him a place in the office 
 close to him; but he would not take it, he pre- 
 ferred to live in honor of his chimera. And 
 people actually accuse the South of France of 
 
196 Numa Roumesia7i. 
 
 being practical and industrious ! — but there is the 
 man to give that legend the lie. Why, look 
 here — he was telling me this the other night at 
 the ball — he is going to brood out ostrich eggs 
 — an artificial brood machine — he is positive 
 that he will make millions, — and he is far more 
 happy than if he had those millions ! Why, it 
 is a perpetual life in fairy-land with a man of that 
 sort. Let them give me Bompard ; I want nobody 
 but Bompard ! " 
 
 ''Well, well, I see I shall learn nothing more 
 to day either," said the big sister to herself, who 
 divined underneath these lively sallies something 
 deep down below. 
 
 One Sunday when she reached her old home 
 Rosalie found Mme. Le Quesnoy awaiting her in 
 the vestibule, who told her with an air of mystery: 
 
 "There's somebody in the drawing-room — a 
 lady from the South." 
 
 "Aunt Portal?" 
 
 " You shall see — " 
 
 It was not Mme. Portal, but a saucy Provencal 
 girl whose deep curtsy in the rustic way came to 
 an end in a peal of laughter. 
 
 " Hortense ! " 
 
 Her skirt reaching to the tops of her black 
 shoes, her waist increased by the folds of tulle 
 belonging to the big scarf, her face framed among 
 the falling waves of hair kept in place by a little 
 bonnet made of cut velvet and embroidered with 
 butterflies in jet, Hortense looked very like the 
 chatos whom one sees on Sunday practising their 
 
The North a^id the South, 197 
 
 coquetries on the Tilting Field at Aries, or else 
 walking, two and two, with lowered lashes, through 
 the pretty columns of St. Trophyme cloisters, 
 whose denticulated architecture goes very well 
 with those ruddy Saracen reds and with the ivory 
 color of the church in which a flame of a conse- 
 crated candle trembles in the full daylight. 
 
 *' Just see how pretty she is ! " said her mother, 
 standing in ecstasy before that lively personifica- 
 tion of the land of her youthful days. Rosalie, 
 on the other hand, shuddered with an inexplicable 
 sadness, as if that costume had taken her sister 
 far, far away from her. 
 
 " Well, that is a fantastic idea ! It is very be- 
 coming to you, but I like you far better as a 
 Parisian girl. And who dressed you so well?" 
 
 " Audiberte Valmajour. She has just gone out." 
 
 " How often she comes here ! " said Rosalie, 
 going into their room to take off her bonnet. 
 "• What a friendship it is ! I shall begin to get 
 jealous." 
 
 Hortense excused herself, a little bit embar- 
 rassed ; this head-dress from Provence gave so 
 much pleasure to their mother in the sober 
 house. 
 
 "Is it not true, mother?" cried she, going from 
 one room into the other. *' Besides, that poor girl 
 feels so outlandish in Paris and is so interesting 
 with her blind devotion to the genius of her 
 brother." 
 
 ''Oh! Genius, is it?" said the big sister, toss- 
 ing her head a bit. 
 
1 98 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 "What! You saw it yourself the other night 
 at your house, the effect it produced — every- 
 where just the same thing ! " 
 
 And when RosaHe answered that one must es- 
 timate at their real value these successes won in 
 the world of society and due to politeness, a ca- 
 price of an evening, the last fad : 
 
 " Well, I don't care, he is in the opera ! " 
 
 The velvet band on the little head-dress bristled 
 up in sign of revolt, as if it were really covering 
 one of those enthusiastic heads above whose pro- 
 file it floats, down there in Provence. Besides, the 
 Valmajours were not peasants like others, but the 
 last remnants of a reduced family of nobles. 
 
 Rosalie, standing in front of the tall mirror, 
 turned about laughing: 
 
 " What ! You believe in that legend? " 
 
 " Why, of course I do. They descend in direct 
 line from the Princes des Baux. There are the 
 parchments and there are the coats of arms at 
 their rustic doorway. Any day that they should 
 wish—" 
 
 Rosalie shuddered. Behind the peasant who 
 played the flute there was the prince besides. 
 Given a strong imagination — and that might 
 become dangerous. 
 
 " None of that story is true," and this time she 
 did not laugh any more. " In the district of Aps 
 there are ten families bearing that so-called princely 
 name. Anybody who told you otherwise told a 
 falsehood through vanity or through — " 
 
 " But it was Numa — it was your husband. The 
 
The North and the South, 199 
 
 other night at the Ministry he gave us all sorts of 
 details." 
 
 "O ! You know how it is with him — you have 
 got to consider the focus, as he says himself." 
 
 Hortense was not listening.' She had gone back 
 into the drawing-room, and, seated at the piano, 
 she began in a loud voice : 
 
 " Mount' as passa ta matinado, 
 Mourbieu, Marioun ..." 
 
 It was an old popular ballad of Provence, sung 
 to an air as grave as a church recitative, that Numa 
 had taught his sister-in-law; one that he enjoyed 
 hearing her sing with her Parisian accent, which, 
 sliding over the Southern articulations, made one 
 think of Italian spoken by an Englishwoman. 
 
 " Ou as-tu passd ta matinde, morbleu, Marion? 
 
 A la fontaine chercher de Teau, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Quel est celui qui te parlait, morbleu, Marion? 
 
 C'est une de mes camarades, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Les femmes ne portent pas les brayes, morbleu, Marion. 
 
 C'est sa robe entortillde, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Les femmes ne portent pas I'^pde, morbleu, Marion. 
 
 C'est sa quenouille qui pendait, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Les femmes ne portent pas les moustaches, morbleu, Marion, 
 
 C'est des mures qu'elle mangeait, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Le mois de mai ne porte pas de mures, morbleu, Marion. 
 
 C'etait une branche de I'automne, mon Dieu, mon ami. 
 
 Va m'en chercher une assiettee, morbleu, Marion. 
 
 Les petits oiseaux les ont toutes mangdes, mon Dieu, mon 
 
 ami. 
 Marion ! . . . je te couperai ta tete, morbleu, Marion. 
 Et puis que ferez-vous du reste, mon Dieu, mon ami? 
 Je le jetterai par la fenetre, morbleu, Marion, 
 Les chiens, les chats en feront fete, . . ." 
 
200 Numa Ronmestan, 
 
 She Interrupted herself In order to fling out his 
 words with the gesture and Intonation that Numa 
 used when he got excited. *' There, look you, me 
 children ! 't Is as folne as Shakespeare." 
 
 '' Yes, a picture of manners and customs," said 
 Rosalie, coming up to her, " the husband gross 
 and brutal, the wife catlike and mendacious — a 
 true household In Provence ! " 
 
 " Oh, my dear child," said Mme. Le Quesnoy, In 
 a tone of gentle reproof, the tone that Is used 
 when ancient quarrels have become the habit. 
 The piano-stool whisked quickly around and 
 brought face to face with Rosalie the cap of the 
 furious little Provence girl. 
 
 ** 'T Is really too much ! what harm has it ever 
 done to you, our South? as for me, I adore it! 
 I did not know it at the time, but that voyage you 
 made me take revealed to me my real country. 
 It Is no use to have been baptized at St. Paul's; 
 I belong down there, I do — I am a child of the 
 ' little square.' Do you know, Mamma, some one 
 of these days we will just leave these cold North- 
 eners planted right here, and we two will go down 
 to live In our beautiful South, where people sing 
 and dance — the South of the winds, of the sun, of 
 the mirage, of everything that makes one poetic 
 and widens one's life — 
 
 ' It is there I would wish to dw-e-e-11.' " 
 
 Her two agile hands fell back upon the piano, 
 scattering the end of her dream in a tumult of 
 resounding notes. 
 
The North and the South. 201 
 
 " And not one word about the tabor-player ! " 
 thought Rosalie. " That 's a serious thing ! " 
 
 It was a good deal more serious than she 
 imagined. 
 
 From the day when Audiberte had seen Mile. 
 Le Quesnoy fasten a flower on the tabor of her 
 brother, from that very moment there arose in 
 her ambitious soul a splendid vision of the future, 
 which had not been without its effect on their 
 transplantation to Paris. The reception which 
 Hortense gave her, when she came to complain 
 about her brother's obstination in running after 
 Numa, defined and strengthened her in her still 
 vague hope. And since then, gradually, without 
 opening her mind to her men-folks otherwise than 
 through half words, she prepared the path with the 
 duplicity of the peasant woman who is nearly an 
 Italian, gliding and crawling forward. From her 
 seat in the kitchen in the Place Royale, where she 
 began by waiting timidly in a corner on the edge 
 of a chair, she crept into the drawing-room and 
 installed herself, always neat and trig, in the posi- 
 tion of a poor relation. 
 
 Hortense was crazy about her, showed her to 
 her friends as if she were a pretty piece of bric-a- 
 brac brought from that land of Provence which 
 she always spoke of with enthusiasm. And the 
 other girl played herself off as more simple than 
 nature allows, exaggerated her savage rages, her 
 tirades of wrath with clenched fist against the 
 muddy sky of Paris, and would often use a charm- 
 ing little exclamation, Boiidiotiy the effect of which 
 
202 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 she arranged and watched like a kittenish girl on 
 the stage. The President himself had smiled at 
 this Boudiou, and just to think of having made the 
 President smile ! 
 
 But it was in the young girl's bedroom, when 
 they were alone, that she put all her tricks in 
 play. All of a sudden she would kneel at her 
 feet, would seize her hand, go into ecstasies over 
 the smallest points of her toilet, her way of mak- 
 ing a bow in a ribbon, her manner of dressing her 
 hair, letting slip those heavy compliments directly 
 in her face, which give great pleasure all the 
 same, so spontaneous and na'i've do they appear. 
 
 Oh, when the young lady stepped out of the 
 carriage in front of the mas [the farm-house], 
 she thought she saw the queen of the angels in 
 person ! and she was for a time speechless at the 
 sight, and her brother, peca'ire, when he heard 
 on the stones of the descending road the noise of 
 the carriage which took back the little Parisian, 
 he said it was as if those stones, one by one, were 
 falling on his heart. She played a great role with 
 regard to this brother, his pride and his anxieties 
 — his anxieties, now why? I just ask you why — 
 since that reception at the *'Menistry" he was 
 being talked about in all the papers and his por- 
 trait was seen everywhere and such invitations as 
 he got in the Faubourg Saint-Germoine — why he 
 could n't meet them all ! Duchesses, countesses, 
 wrote him notes on splendid paper— they had 
 coronets on their letters just like those on the 
 carriages which they sent to bring him in; and 
 
The North and the South. 20 
 
 still — well, no, he wasn't happy, the "pore" man! 
 All these things whispered in Hortense's ear gave 
 her some share of the fever and magnetic will- 
 power of the peasant girl. Then, without looking 
 at Audiberte, she asked if perhaps Valmajour did 
 not have down there in Provence a betrothed who 
 was waiting for him. 
 
 "He a betrothed? — avail you do not know 
 him — he has much too much belief in himself to 
 desire a peasant girl. The richest girls have been 
 on his track, the Des Combette girl, and then still 
 another, and a lot of gay ladies — you know what 
 I mean ! He did not even look at them. Who 
 knows what it is he is revolving in his head? Oh, 
 these artists — " 
 
 And that word, a new one for her, assumed on 
 her ignorant lips an expression hard to define, 
 somewhat like the Latin spoken at mass, or some 
 cabalistic formula picked up in a book of magic. 
 The heritage which would come from Cousin Puy- 
 fourcat returned again and again during the course 
 of this adroit gossip. 
 
 There are very few families in the South of 
 France, whether artisans or burghers, who do not 
 possess a Cousin Puyfourcat, an adventurer who 
 has departed in early youth in search of fortune 
 and has never written since, whom they love to 
 imagine enormously rich. He is like a lottery 
 ticket running for an indefinite time, a chimerical 
 vista opening up fortune and hope in the distance, 
 which at last they end by taking for a fact. Audi* 
 berte believed firmly in the fortune of that cousin 
 
204 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 and she talked about it to the young girl, less for 
 the purpose of dazzling her than in order to dimin- 
 ish the social gap which separated them. When 
 Puyfourcat should die, her brother was to buy 
 Valmajour back again, cause the castle to be re- 
 built and his patent of nobility acknowledged, be- 
 cause everybody said that the necessary papers 
 were extant. 
 
 At the close of such chats as these, which were 
 sometimes prolonged deep into the twilight, Hor- 
 tense remained for a long time silent, her forehead 
 pressed against the pane, and saw the high towers 
 of that reconstructed castle as they lifted them- 
 selves in the rose-colored winter sunset, the terrace 
 shining with torches and resounding with concerts 
 in honor of the chatelaine. 
 
 ** Boiidiou, how late it is," cried the peasant girl, 
 seeing that she had brought her to the point where 
 she desired, " and the dinner for my men is not 
 ready yet ! I must fly ! " 
 
 Very often Valmajour came and waited for her 
 downstairs ; but she never allowed him to come 
 upstairs. She felt that he was so awkward and 
 coarse, and cold, besides, toward any idea of flat- 
 tering. She had no use for him yet. 
 
 Somebody who was very much in her way, too, 
 but difficult to escape, was Rosalie, with whom her 
 feline ways and her false innocency did not take at 
 all. In her presence Audiberte, her terrible 
 black brows knit across her forehead, did not say a 
 single word ; and in that Southern silence there 
 rose up along with the racial hatred that anger of 
 
The North and the South, 
 
 205 
 
 the weak person, underhand and vindictive, which 
 turns against the obstacle most dangerous to its 
 projects. Her real grievance was Rosalie, but she 
 talked about quite other ones to her little sister. 
 For example, Rosalie did not like tabor-playing; 
 then ** she did not do her religious duties — and a 
 woman who does not do her religion, you know ..." 
 Audiberte did her religion and in the most tremen- 
 dous way; she never missed a single mass and 
 she went to communion on the proper days. But 
 all that did not hinder in any way her actions; 
 intriguer, liar and hypocrite as she was, violent to 
 the verge of crime, she drew from the Bible texts 
 nothing but excuses for vengeance and hatred. 
 Only she kept her honor in the feminine sense of 
 the word. With her twenty-eight years and her 
 pretty face, in those low quarters where the Valma- 
 jours were moving nowadays, she preserved the 
 severe chastity of her thick peasant's scarf, bound 
 about a heart which had never beat with any emo- 
 tion beside ambition for her brother. 
 
 ** Hortense makes me anxious — look at her 
 there." 
 
 Rosalie, to whom her mother whispered this 
 confidentially in a corner of the drawing-room at 
 the Ministry, thought that Mme. Le Quesnoy shared 
 her own anxiety, but the observation made by the 
 mother referred merely to the physical condition 
 of Hortense, who had not been able to cure her- 
 self of a bad cold. Rosahe looked at her sister; 
 always the same dazzling complexion, liveliness 
 
2o6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 and gayety ; she coughed a little, but what of that? 
 only as all Parisian girls do after the ball season ! 
 The summer would certainly put her back again 
 in good shape very quickly. 
 
 "And have you spoken to Jarras about her?" 
 
 Jarras was a friend of Roumestan, one of the 
 old boys of the Cafe Malmus. He assured her 
 that it was nothing and suggested a course at the 
 waters of Arvillard. 
 
 " All right, then ; you must get off quickly," said 
 Rosalie with vivacity, delighted with this pretext 
 of getting Hortense away. 
 
 " Yes, but there is your father, who would be 
 alone — " 
 
 " I will go and see him every day — " 
 
 Then, sobbing, the poor mother acknowledged 
 the horror which such a trip with her daughter 
 caused her. During an entire year it had been 
 necessary for her to run from one watering place 
 to another for the sake of the child they had al- 
 ready lost. Was it possible that she would have 
 to begin again the same pilgrimage, with the same 
 frightful results in prospect? And the other, too, 
 — the disease had seized him at the age of twenty, 
 in his full health, in his full powers — 
 
 '* Oh Mamma, do be quiet! " 
 
 And Rosalie scolded her gently: Come, now; 
 Hortense was not ill; the doctor said that the 
 trip would only be a pleasure party; Arvillard, 
 in the Alps of Dauphiny, was a marvellous coun- 
 try; she herself would like nothing better than 
 to accompany Hortense in her mother's place ; 
 
The North a7id the South. 207 
 
 unfortunately, she could not do it. Reasons most 
 serious — 
 
 *' Yes, yes. I understand — your husband, the 
 Ministry — " 
 
 " O, no. It is n't that at all ! " 
 
 And to her mother, in that nearness of heart 
 which they so seldom found affecting them: ** Lis- 
 ten, then, but for you alone — nobody knows it, 
 not even Numa . . ." she acknowledged a still very 
 fragile hope of a great happiness which she had 
 quite despaired of, the happiness which made her 
 wild with joy and fear, the entirely new hope of a 
 baby who might perhaps be born to them. 
 
2o8 Numa Rotimestan, 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A WATERING-PLACE. 
 
 ARVILLARD LES BAINS, 
 
 2d August^ '76. 
 
 \ 
 
 "Well, it is queer enough, this place from which 
 I am writing to you. Imagine a square hall, very 
 lofty, paved with stones, done in stucco work — a 
 sonorous hall, where the daylight falling through 
 two enormous windows is veiled down to the low- 
 est pane with blue curtains and further obscured 
 by a sort of floating vapor, having a taste of sul- 
 phur in it, which clings to one's clothes and tar- 
 nishes one's gold ornaments. In this hall are 
 people seated near the walls, on benches, chairs 
 and stools round little tables — people who look at 
 their watches every minute, get up and go out, 
 leaving their seats to others, letting one see each 
 time through the half-open door a mob of bathers 
 moving about in the brightly lit vestibule and the 
 flowing white aprons of the serving women who 
 dash here and there. In spite of all this move- 
 ment, no noise, but a continual murmur of con- 
 versation in low voices, newspapers being unfolded, 
 badly oxidized pens scratching on paper, a solem- 
 nity as in a church — the whole place bathed and 
 refreshed by the big stream of mineral water 
 
A Watering-Place, 209 
 
 arranged in the middle of the hall, the rush of 
 which breaks itself against a disk of metal, Is 
 crushed to pieces, separates in jets and turns to 
 powder above the great basins placed one upon 
 the other and all dripping with moisture. This is 
 the inhalation hall. 
 
 " I must let you know, my dear girl, that every- 
 body does not inhale in the same way. For In- 
 stance, the old gentleman who sits in front of me 
 at this moment follows the prescriptions of the 
 doctor to the letter, for I recognize them all. Our 
 feet placed upon a stool and our chest pushed 
 forward, let us pull in our elbows and keep our 
 mouth open all the time to make the inspiration 
 easy. Poor, dear man ! How he does inhale, with 
 what a confidence in the result ! What little round 
 eyes he has, credulous and devout, which seem to 
 be saying to the spring: 
 
 " ' O spring of Arvillard, cure me well ; see how 
 I Inhale you, see what faith I have in you — ' 
 
 " Then we have the skeptic, who inhales with- 
 out inhaling, his back bent, shrugging his shoulders 
 and rolling up his eyes. Then there are the dis- 
 couraged ones, the people who are really sick and 
 feel the uselessness and nothingness of all this. 
 One poor lady, my neighbor, I see putting her 
 finger quickly to her mouth every little while 
 to see if her glove is not stained at the tip with 
 a red blot. But, all the same, people find some 
 means to be gay. Ladies who belong in the same 
 hotel push their chairs near to each other, form 
 groups, do their embroidery, gossip In a low voice, 
 
 M 
 
2IO Numa Roufnestan, 
 
 discuss the newspaper of the baths and the h'st 
 of strangers just arrived. Young persons bring 
 out their EngHsh novels in red covers, priests 
 read their breviaries — there are a great many 
 priests at Arvillard, particularly missionaries with 
 big beards, yellow faces, voices hoarse from having 
 preached so long the word of God. As to me, 
 you know I don't care about novels, particularly 
 those novels of to-day in which everything happens 
 just like things in everyday Hfe. So for my part 
 I take up my correspondence with two or three 
 designated victims — Marie Tournier, Aurelie Dan- 
 saert and you, great big sister whom I adore ! 
 Look out for regular journals ! Just think, two 
 hours of inhalation in four times, and that every 
 day! Nobody here inhales as much as I do, 
 which is as much as saying that I am a real phe- 
 nomenon. People look at me a good deal for this 
 reason and I have no little pride in it. 
 
 " As to the rest of the treatment — nothing else 
 except the glass of mineral water which I go and 
 drink at the spring in the morning and evening, 
 and which ought to triumph over the obstinate 
 veil which this horrid cold has thrown over my 
 voice. There is the special point of the Arvillard 
 waters and for that reason the singers and song- 
 stresses make this place their rendezvous. Hand- 
 some Mayol has just left us, with his vocal cords 
 entirely renewed. Mile. Bachellery, whom you 
 remember — the little diva at your reception — 
 has found herself so well in consequence of the 
 treatment that after having finished three regular 
 
A Waterin<r-P lace, 2 1 1 
 
 «b 
 
 weeks she has begun three more, wherefore doth 
 the newspaper of the baths bestow upon her great 
 praise. We have the honor of dwelHng in the 
 same hotel with that young and illustrious person, 
 adorned with a tender Bordeaux mother, who at 
 the table </V2^/<?. advertises * good appetites' in the 
 salad and talks of the one-hundred-and-forty-franc 
 bonnet which her young lady wore at the last 
 Longchamps races — a delicious couple, and greatly 
 admired among us all ! We go into ecstasies over 
 the childish graces of Bebe, as her mother calls 
 her, over her laughter, her trills, the tossings of 
 her short skirt. We crowd together in front of 
 the sanded courtyard of the hotel in order to see 
 her do her game of croquet with the little girls 
 and little boys — she will play with none but 
 the little ones — to see her run and jump and 
 send her ball like a real street boy. 
 
 ** * Look out, I 'm going to roquet you, Master 
 Paul ! ' 
 
 "■ Everybody says of her, 'What a child she is ! * 
 As for me, I believe that those false childish ways 
 are a part of a role which she is playing, just like 
 her skirts with big bows on them and her hair 
 looped up postillon-style. Then she has such an 
 extraordinary way of kissing that great big Bor- 
 deaux woman, of suspending herself to her neck, 
 of allowing herself to be cradled and held in her 
 lap before all the world ! You know well enough 
 how caressing I am — well, honor bright! it makes 
 me feel embarrassed when I kiss mamma. 
 
 "A very singular family, too, but less amusing, 
 
212 Ntuna Roumestan, 
 
 consists of the Prince and Princess of Anhalt, of 
 Mademoiselle their daughter, and the governess, 
 chamber-women and suite, who occupy the entire 
 first floor of the hotel and are the grand person- 
 a^^^es thereof. I often meet the princess on the 
 stair going up step by step on the arm of her hus- 
 band — a handsome gallant, bursting with health 
 under his military hat turned up with blue. She 
 never goes to the bathing-hall except in a sedan 
 chair and it is heartrending to see that wrinkled 
 and pale face behind the little pane of the chair; 
 father and child walk at the side, the child very 
 wretched-looking, with all the features of her 
 mother and very likely also all of her malady. 
 This little creature, eight years old, who is not 
 allowed to play with the other children and who 
 looks down sadly from the balcony on the games 
 of croquet and the riding-parties at the hotel, 
 bores herself to death. They think that her blood 
 is too blue for such common joys and prefer to 
 keep her in the gloomy atmosphere of that dying 
 mother, by the side of that father who shows his 
 sick wife to the public with an impudent and worn- 
 out face, or give the child over to the servants. 
 
 "But heavens, it's a kind of pest, it's an 
 infectious disease, this nobility business ! These 
 people take their meals by themselves in a little 
 dining-room ; they inhale by themselves — because 
 there are separate halls for families — and you can 
 imagine the mournfulness of that companionship 
 — that woman and the little girl together in a 
 great silent vault ! 
 
A Watering' Place. 2 1 3 
 
 " The other evening we were together in con- 
 siderable number in the big room on the ground 
 floor where the guests unite to play little games, 
 sing and even occasionally to dance. Mamma 
 Bachellery had just accompanied Bebe in a 
 cavatina from an opera — you know * we ' want 
 to enter the opera ; in fact, we have come to 
 Arvillard to * cure up our voice for that' accord- 
 ing to the elegant expression of the mother. All 
 of a sudden the door opened and the princess 
 made her appearance, with that grand air which is 
 her own — near her end but elegant, wrapped in 
 the lace mantle which hides the terrible and signif- 
 icant narrowness of her shoulders. The little girl 
 and the father followed. 
 
 ** * Go on, I beg of you — * coughed the poor 
 woman. 
 
 *' And would you believe it? that idiot of a little 
 singer must choose out all of her repertory the 
 most harrowing, the most sentimental ballad 
 * Vorrei morir' something like our * Dying 
 Leaves ' in Italian, a ballad of a sick woman who 
 fixes the date of her death in autumn, in order to 
 give herself the illusion that all nature will die 
 along with her, enveloped in the first autumnal 
 fog as in a winding sheet ! 
 
 " ' Vorrei morir nella stagion deW anno!* 
 (Oh ! let me pass away when dies the year.) 
 
 " It is a graceful air, but with a sadness in it 
 which is increased by the caressing sound of the 
 Italian words ; and there in the middle of that big 
 
214 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 drawing-room, into which penetrated all sorts of 
 perfumes through the open window, the little 
 breezes, too, and the freshness of a fine summer 
 night, this longing to live on until autumn, this 
 truce and surcease asked of the malady took on 
 something too poignant to bear. Without saying 
 a word, the princess stood up and quickly left the 
 room. In the shadows of the garden I heard a 
 sob, one long sob, then the voice of a man scold- 
 ing, and then those tearful complaints which a 
 child makes when it sees its mother sorrowing. 
 
 " That is the mournfulness of such watering- 
 places : these miseries concerning health which meet 
 one everywhere, these persistent coughs scarcely 
 deadened by the hotel partitions, these precautions 
 taken with handkerchiefs pressed upon the mouth 
 in order to keep off the air, these chats and con- 
 fidences, the miserable meaning of which one 
 divines from the hand moving toward the chest or 
 toward the back near the shoulder-blade, from 
 the sleepy manner, the dragging gait and the 
 fixed idea of misfortune. 
 
 "■ Mamma, poor mamma, who knows the stages in 
 sickness of the lungs, says that at Eaux-Bonnes 
 or at Mont Dore it is a very diff"erent thing 
 from what it is here. To Arvillard people send 
 only convalescents like myself or else desperate 
 cases for which nothing can do any more good. 
 Luckily at our hotel Alpes Dauphinoises we have 
 only three sick persons of that sort, the princess 
 and two young Lyon people, brother and sis- 
 ter, orphans and very rich, they say, who 
 
A Watering- Place, 2 1 5 
 
 appear to be on their last legs ; especially the 
 sister, with that pallid complexion of the Lyon 
 women, as if seen under water ; she's wound up in 
 morning gowns and knit shawls, without one jewel 
 or ribbon — not a single glimpse of coquetry about 
 her! 
 
 *' She looks poverty-stricken, that rich girl ; she is 
 certainly lost and she knows it; she is in despair 
 and abandons herself to despair. On the other 
 hand, in the bent figure of the young man, tightly 
 squeezed into a fashionable jacket, there is a cer- 
 tain terrible determination to live, an incredible 
 force of resistance to the malady. 
 
 " ' My sister has no spring in her — but I have 
 plenty ! ' said he the other day at the table d 'hote, 
 in a voice quite eaten away, which is as difficult to 
 hear as the ut note of Vauters the diva when she 
 sings. And the fact i,s, he does have springs in the 
 most surprising way; he is the make-fun of the 
 hotel, the organizer of games, card-parties and 
 excursions ; he goes out riding and driving in sleds, 
 that kind of little sled laden with fagots on which 
 the mountaineers of this country toboggan you 
 down the steepest slopes ; he waltzes and fences, 
 shaken with the terrible spasms of coughing which 
 never stop him for a moment. 
 
 " We have, beside, a medical luminary here — 
 you remember him — Dr. Bouchereau, the man 
 whom mamma went to consult about our poor 
 Andrew. I do not know whether he has recog- 
 nized us, but he never bowed — a regular old 
 bear ! 
 
2i6 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 " I have just come from drinking my half-glass 
 of water at the spring. This precious spring is 
 ten minutes away, as one ascends in the direction 
 of the high peak, in a gorge where a torrent all 
 feathery with foam rolls and thunders, having 
 come from the glacier which closes the view, a 
 glacier shining and clear between the blue Alps 
 that seems to be forever crumbling and dissolving 
 its invisible and snowy base into that white mass 
 of beaten water. Great black rocks dripping con- 
 stantly among the ferns and lichens, the groves of 
 pine and a dark green foliage, a soil in which 
 spicules of mica glitter in the coal dust — that is 
 the place; but something that I cannot express to 
 you is the tremendous noise of the torrent 
 tearing among the stones and of the steam-ham- 
 mer of a lumber mill, which the water sets in action ; 
 and then, besides, in this narrow gorge, on its 
 single road, which is always crowded, there are coal- 
 carts, long files of mules, riding parties of excur- 
 sionists and the water drinkers going and coming. 
 I forgot to mention the apparition at the doors of 
 wretched dwellings of some horrible male or female 
 cretin, displaying a hideous goitre, a great big 
 idiotic face with an open and grumbling mouth ! 
 Cretinism is one of the products of the country; 
 it seems that Nature here is too strong for human 
 beings and that the minerals and the rest — cop- 
 per, iron and sulphur — seize, strangle and suffo- 
 cate them ; that that water flowing from the peaks 
 chills them as it does those wretched trees which 
 one sees growing all dwarfed between two crags. 
 
A Watering- P lace, 217 
 
 There's another of those impressions made upon 
 a new arrival, the mournfulness and horror of 
 which disappear in the course of a few days. 
 
 "■ For now, instead of flying from them, I have 
 my special pet sufferers from goitre, one in partic- 
 ular, a frightful little monster, perched on the 
 border of the road in a chair fit for a child of 
 three years old; but he is sixteen, exactly the 
 age of Mile. Bachellery. When I near him, 
 he dodders about his head, as heavy as a stone, 
 and gives forth a hoarse cry, a crushed cry without 
 understanding and without style ; and as soon as 
 he has received his piece of silver, he raises it in 
 triumph toward a charcoal-woman, who is watch- 
 ing him from the corner of a window. He is a piece 
 of good fortune envied by a great many mothers, 
 for this hideous creature takes in, by himself alone, 
 more than his three brothers do, who are at work 
 at the furnaces of La Debout. His father does 
 nothing at all; afflicted with consumption, he 
 passes the winter by his poor man's hearth and in 
 summer installs himself on a bench with other 
 unhappy ones in the warm mist which the hot 
 springs create as they pour forth. 
 
 ** The young lady of the springs, in her white 
 apron and with dripping hands, fills the glasses 
 which are held out to her, as they come along, 
 while in the courtyard near by, separated from the 
 road by a low wall, heads are seen, the bodies of 
 which one cannot perceive, heads thrown back- 
 ward, contorted with their efforts, grinning in the 
 sunshine, their mouths wide open; 'tis an illus- 
 
2i8 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 tration for the Inferno of Dante: the sinners 
 damned to gargling ! 
 
 " Sometimes, when we leave, we go the big 
 round while returning to the estabhshment and 
 descend by the country way. Mamma, whom the 
 noise of the hotel fatigues and who particularly 
 fears lest I should dance too much in the drawing- 
 room, had indulged the dream of hiring a little 
 house in Arvillard, where there is plenty of choice 
 at every door; on every story there are bills, 
 which flutter among the potted plants between 
 the fresh and tempting curtains. One asks one- 
 self what on earth becomes of the inhabitants dur- 
 ing the season; do they camp in bands on the 
 surrounding mountains, or do they go and live in 
 the hotel at fifty francs a day? It would surprise 
 me if it were so, for that magnet which they carry 
 in their eye when they look at the bather seems to 
 me terribly rapacious — there is something in it 
 which glitters and catches hold. 
 
 '' Yes, that same shining something, that sudden 
 gleam on the forehead of my little boy with the 
 goitre, reflected from his piece of silver — I find it 
 everywhere; on the spectacles of the little nerv- 
 ous doctor who auscults me every morning, in the 
 eyes of the good sugarly-sweet ladies who ask you 
 in to examine their houses, their most convenient 
 little gardens, crammed with holes full of water and 
 kitchens on the ground floor to serve the apart- 
 ments in the third story; in the eyes of carmen 
 with their short blouses and lacquered hats decked 
 with big ribbons, who make signs to you from the 
 
A Watering-P lace, 2 1 9 
 
 boxes of their carryalls ; in the look cast by the 
 donkey-boy standing in front of the wide-open 
 barn in which long ears switch to and fro ; yes, even 
 in the glances of these donkeys, in their long look 
 of obstinacy and gentleness, I have seen that me- 
 tallic hardness which the love of money gives; I 
 have seen it, it exists. 
 
 "After all, their houses are frightful, huddled 
 together and mournful, having no outlook, full of 
 disagreeable points of all kinds which are impos- 
 sible to ignore, because your attention has been 
 drawn to them in the house next door. Decidedly 
 we shall stick to our caravansary, the Alpes Dau- 
 phinoises, which lies hot in the sun on its height 
 and steeps its red bricks and uncountable green 
 shutters in the middle of an English park not yet 
 of age, a park with hedges, labyrinth and sanded 
 roads, the enjoyment of which it shares with five 
 or six other overgrown hotels of the country — La 
 Chevrette, La Laita, Le Breda, La Planta. 
 
 "All these hotels with Savoy names are in a 
 state of ferocious rivalry; they spy upon each 
 other, watch each other across the copses, and 
 there is a merry war as to which shall put on the 
 most style with its bells, its pianos, the whip-crack- 
 ing of its postilions, its expenditure of fireworks; 
 or which one shall throw its windows widest open 
 in order that the animation there, the laugh- 
 ter, songs and dances shall appeal to the visitors 
 lodged in the opposite hotel and make them say: 
 
 " * How they do amuse themselves down there ! 
 What a lot of people they must have ! ' 
 
220 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ** But the place where the hottest battle goes on 
 between the rival taverns is in the columns of the 
 Bathers Gazette, where those lists of new arrivals 
 are printed, which the little sheet gives with mi- 
 nute exactness, twice a week. 
 
 "What envious rage at the Laita or the Planta 
 when, for example, they read : 
 
 *' * Prhice and Princess of Anhalt and their suite ^ 
 . . . Alpes Daiiphinoises! 
 
 ** Everything becomes colorless in the light of 
 that crushing line. What response can there be? 
 They rack their brains ; they try their wits ; if you 
 are possessed of a de or some title, they drag it 
 out and flaunt it. Why, here 's La Chevrette has 
 been serving us up the very same Inspector of 
 Forests three times under as many different species, 
 as Inspector, as Marquis, and as Chevalier of Saints 
 Maurice and Lazarus ; but the Alpes Dauphinoises 
 is still wearing the cockade, though you may be 
 sure it is not on our account. Great heavens ! You 
 know how retiring mamma always is, and afraid of 
 her shadow; well, she took good care to forbid 
 Fanny saying who we were, because the position 
 of papa and that of your husband might have 
 drawn about us too much idle curiosity and social 
 riffraff. The newspaper said merely Mesdaines 
 Le Quesnoy de Paris y . . . Alpes Dauphinoises ; and 
 as Parisians are few and far between our incognito 
 has not been unveiled. 
 
 " We are very simply arranged, but comfortably 
 enough — two rooms on the second floor, the whole 
 valley lying before us, an amphitheatre of moun- 
 
A Watering- Place, 221 
 
 tains black with pine woods far below — mountains 
 which show various shades and get lighter and 
 lighter as they rise with their streaks of eternal 
 snow ; barren steeps close upon little farms which 
 look like squares in green and yellow and rose, 
 among which the haycocks look no larger than 
 bee-hives. 
 
 " But this beautiful landscape does little to keep 
 us in our rooms. In the evening there is the draw- 
 ing-room, in the day time we wander through the 
 park to carry out the treatment. In connection with 
 an existence so full and yet so empty, the treatment 
 takes hold of and absorbs you. The amusing 
 hour is the one after breakfast, when groups are 
 formed about the little tables for coffee under the 
 big lime-tree at the entrance of the garden ; this is 
 the hour for arrivals and departures. People ex- 
 change good-byes and shake hands about the car- 
 riage which is taking off the bathers; the hotel 
 people press forward, their eyes brilliant with that 
 shiny look, that famous sheen of the Savoyard ; 
 we kiss people whom we hardly know; handker- 
 chiefs are waved.; the horse-bells jangle, and then 
 the heavy and crowded wagon disappears, swaying 
 along the narrow road on the side of the hill, car- 
 rying off with it those names and faces which for a 
 moment have made a part of our life in common, 
 those faces unknown yesterday and to-morrow 
 forgot. 
 
 " Others come and install themselves after their 
 own fashion. I imagine that this is like the monot- 
 ony of packet-ships, with the change of faces at 
 
22 2 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 every port. All this going and coming amuses me, 
 but poor dear mamma continues to be very sorrow- 
 ful, very much absorbed, in spite of the smile which 
 she tries to give when I look at her. I can guess 
 that every detail of our lives brings with it for her 
 a heartrending souvenir, a memory of the gloom- 
 iest images. Poor thing, she saw so many of those 
 caravansaries of sick people during that year when 
 she followed her poor dying boy from stage to stage, 
 in the lowlands or on the mountains, beneath the 
 pines or at the edge of the sea, with hope always 
 deceived and that eternal resignation which she was 
 ever obliged to show during her martyrdom. 
 
 ^' I do think that Jarras might have arranged to 
 save her from the memory of this sorrow; for as 
 for me, I am not sick, I cough hardly at all, and 
 with the exception of my disgusting huskiness, 
 which leaves me with a voice fit for crying vege- 
 tables in the street, I have never been so well in 
 my life. A real devilish appetite, would you 
 believe it? fits of hunger so terrible that I can 
 hardly wait for a meal ! Yesterday, after a break- 
 fast with thirty dishes, with a menu more involved 
 than the Chinese alphabet, I saw a woman stem- 
 ming raspberries before our door. All of a sudden 
 a desire seized me ; two bowls full, my dear girl, 
 two bowls full of the great big fresh raspberries, 
 * the fruit of the country,' as our waiter calls 
 them, and there you have my appetite ! 
 
 ** All the same, my dear, how lucky it is that 
 neither you nor I have taken the malady of that 
 poor brother of ours, whom I hardly knew and 
 
A Watering- Place, 223 
 
 whose discouraged expression, which is shown on 
 his portrait in our parents* chamber, comes back 
 to me here, when I see other faces with their drawn 
 features ! And what an odd fish is this doctor who 
 formerly took care of him, this famous Bouche- 
 reau ! The other day mamma wanted to present 
 me to him ; in order to obtain a consultation with 
 him we prowled around the park in the neighbor- 
 hood of the old, long-legged fellow with his brutal 
 and harsh face. But he was very much surrounded 
 by the Arvillard doctors, who were listening to 
 him with all the humbleness of pupils. Then we 
 waited for him at the close of the inhalation ; all 
 our labor in vain ! The fellow set off walking at 
 such a pace that it seemed as if he wished to avoid 
 us. You know with mamma one does not get over 
 ground fast; so we missed him again this time. 
 Finally, yesterday morning, Fanny went on our 
 part to ask of his housekeeper if he could receive 
 us ; he sent back word that he was at the baths to 
 care for his own health and not to give medical 
 advice ! There 's a boor for you ! It is quite true 
 that I have never seen such a pallor as he pre- 
 sents; it is like wax; papa is a highly-colored 
 gentleman by the side of him. He lives only upon 
 milk, never comes down to the dining-room and 
 still less to the drawing-room. Our little nervous 
 doctor, the one whom I call M. That's-what-you- 
 need, will have it that he is the victim of a very 
 dangerous heart malady and it is only the waters 
 of Arvillard which have for the past three years 
 permitted him to stay alive. 
 
2 24 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 " * That 's what you need ! That 's what you 
 need ! ' 
 
 ** That is all that one can make out in the bab- 
 ble of this funny little man, as vain as he is gar- 
 rulous, who whirls round our apartments every 
 morning. 
 
 " ' Doctor, I don't sleep — I believe this treat- 
 ment agitates me' . . . *That'swhat you need!' 
 'Doctor, I am always so sleepy — I think it must 
 be that mineral water.* ... * That 's what you 
 need ! ' 
 
 " What he seems to need more than anything 
 else is that his tour of visits should be made quickly, 
 in order that he may be at his consultation office 
 before ten o'clock, in that little fly-box where the 
 patients are crammed together as far out as the 
 stairs and down the steps as far as the curb-stone. 
 And I can tell you he does n't loaf much, but whips 
 you off a prescription without stopping for one 
 moment his jumping and prancing, like a bather 
 who is trying to get his ' reaction.' 
 
 " O, yes, that reaction ! That 's another story, 
 too. As for me, I shall take neither baths nor 
 douches, so I don't make my reaction, but I 
 remain sometimes a quarter of an hour under 
 the lindens of the park, looking at the march up 
 and down of all these people who walk with long, 
 regular steps and a deeply absorbed look, passing 
 each other without saying one word. My old 
 gentleman of the inhalation hall, the man who 
 trys to propitiate the springs, carries on this exer- 
 cise with the same punctuality and conscientious' 
 
A Watering- Place. 225 
 
 ness. At the entrance to the shaded walk he 
 comes to a full stop, shuts his white umbrella, turns 
 down the collar of his coat, looks at his watch, 
 and — forward, march ! Each leg stiff, elbows to 
 his side, one, two ! one, two ! as far as the long 
 pencil of white light which the absence of a tree, 
 forming there an opening, throws across the alley at 
 that point. He never goes farther than that, raises 
 his arms three times as if he had dumb-bells in his 
 hands, then returns in the same fashion, brandishes 
 dumb-bells once more, and does this for fifteen 
 turns, one after the other. I have an idea that the 
 department for the crazy people at Charenton 
 must have somewhat the same features that 
 my alley presents about eleven o'clock in the 
 morning." 
 
 6 August. 
 " So it is true, after all, Numa is coming to 
 see us? O, how dehghted I am! how deHghted 
 I am! Your letter has just come by the one 
 o'clock mail which is distributed at the office of 
 the hotel. It is a solemn moment which is deci- 
 sive of the hue and color of the entire day. The 
 office is crammed and people arrange themselves 
 in a semicircle around fat Mme. Laugeron, who is 
 very imposing in her morning gown of blue flannel, 
 whilst in her authoritative voice with a bit of manner 
 in it, the voice of a former lady's companion, she 
 reads off the many-colored addresses of the mail. 
 At the call each one advances, and it is my duty 
 to tell you that we put a certain amount of personal 
 pride in having a big mail. In what does one not 
 
 15 
 
226 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 show some personal pride, for the matter of that, 
 during this perpetual rubbing shoulders of vanities 
 and of follies? Just to think that I should reach 
 the point of being proud of my two hours of 
 inhalation ! 
 
 " ' The Prince of Anhalt — M. Vasseur— Mile. Le 
 Quesnoy — * Deceived again ! it is only my fash- 
 ion journal. * Mile. Le Quesnoy — * I give a 
 glance to see if there is nothing more for me and 
 skip with your dear letter away down to the end 
 of the garden, where there is a bench surrounded 
 by big walnuts. 
 
 " Here it is — this is my own bench, the corner 
 where I go to be alone in order to dream and build 
 my Spanish castles ; for it is a singular thing that 
 in order to invent well and to develop oneself 
 intellectually according to the precepts laid down 
 by M. Baudouy, I do not need very wide horizons. 
 If my landscape is too big, I lose myself in it, I 
 scatter myself, t is all up with me. The only bore 
 about my bench is the neighborhood of the swing, 
 where that little Bachellery girl passes half her day 
 in letting herself be swung into space by the young 
 man who believes in having springs. I should 
 think he must have plenty of spring in order to 
 push her that way by the hour together; at every 
 moment come babyish cries and musical roulades : 
 * Higher, higher yet, a little more — ' 
 
 " Heavens ! How that girl does get on my 
 nerves I I wish that swing would pass her off and 
 up into a cloud and that she would never come 
 back again I 
 
A Watering-Place, 227 
 
 ** Things are so nice upon my bench, so far away, 
 when she is not there ! I have thoroughly enjoyed 
 your letter, the postscript of which made me utter 
 a cry of delight. 
 
 " O, blessed be Chambery and its new college 
 and that corner-stone to be laid, which brings the 
 Minister of Public Instruction into our district. 
 He will be very comfortable here for the prepara- 
 tion of his speech, either walking about our shady 
 alley, the * reaction alley,' (come, that was n't bad 
 for a pun !) or else beneath my walnuts, when Miss 
 Bachellery is not scaring them with her cries. My 
 dear Numa ! I get on so well with him ; he is so 
 lively, so gay ! How we shall chat together about 
 our Rosalie and the serious motive which prevents 
 her from travelling at this time — O great Heavens, 
 that was a secret ! — and poor mamma, who has 
 made me swear so often about it ! she is the one 
 who will be glad enough to see dear Numa again. 
 On this occasion she quite lost every sort of 
 timidity or modesty; you ought to have seen the 
 majesty with which she entered the office of the 
 hotel in order to take an apartment for her son-in- 
 law, the Minister! O, what fun, the face of our 
 landlady hearing this news ! 
 
 " < Why — what — my ladies, you are — you were 
 — ?' 
 
 ** * Yes, we were — yes, we are — ' 
 
 " Her broad face turned lilac and poppy-colored 
 — a very palette for an impressionist painter. And 
 so with M. Laugeron and the entire hotel service. 
 Since our arrival we have been demanding a(n extra 
 
228 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 candlestick in vain; now there are five on the 
 chimneypiece. I can promise you that Nnma will 
 be well served and installed ; they will give him 
 the first story, occupied by the Prince of Anhalt, 
 which will be vacant in three days. It appears 
 that the waters of Arvillard are bad for the prin- 
 cess ; and even the little doctor himself believes it 
 is better that she should leave as quickly as pos- 
 sible. That is what is best — because it a tragedy 
 should occur the Alpes Dauphinoises would never 
 recover from the blow. 
 
 *' It is really pitiable, the hurry there is about 
 the departure of these wretched people, the way 
 they edge them off, the way they shove them along 
 in consequence of that magnetic hostility which 
 places seem to exhale where a person is no longer 
 wanted. Poor Princess of Anhalt, whose arrival 
 here was made such a festival ! a little more an^ 
 they would have her conducted to the borders of 
 the department between two policemen — that is 
 the hospitality of watering places ! 
 
 "And by the way, how about Bompard? You 
 have n't told me whether he is coming too or not. 
 Dangerous Bompard ! If he should come I am 
 quite capable of eloping with him on some glacier. 
 What intellectual development might we not dis- 
 cover between us, as we approached the snowy 
 peaks ! I laugh, I am so delighted — and I go on 
 inhaling, a little embarrassed, it is true, by the 
 neighborhood of that terrible Bouchereau, v/ho has 
 just come in and seated himself two seats away 
 from me. 
 
A Watering- Place. 229 
 
 **What an obdurate air he has, that man, to be 
 sure ! His hands crossed on the knob of his cane 
 and chin resting on his hands, he talks away in a 
 high voice, looking straight ahead, without really- 
 speaking to anybody. Do you suppose that I 
 must take it as a lesson for me, what he says of the 
 lack of prudence among the ladies who bathe, 
 about their gowns of thin linen, about the folly of 
 going out of doors after dinner in a country where 
 the evenings are mortally cold ? Horrid man, one 
 would believe he is aware that I propose this even- 
 ing to beg for charities at the Arvillard church 
 in aid of the work of the propaganda! Father 
 Olivieri is to describe from the pulpit his mission- 
 ary trips into Thibet, his captivity and martyrdom, 
 while Mile. Bachellery will sing the * Ave Maria * 
 of Gounod, and I am going to have the greatest 
 fun on our return to the hotel, marching through 
 all the little dark streets by lantern-light, just like 
 a regular ' retreat ' with torches. 
 
 " If that is a consultation on my health which 
 M. Bouchereau was giving me, I don't want it; 
 it is too late. In the first place, my very dear 
 sir ! I have full permission from my little doctor, 
 who is far more amiable than you are and has 
 even allowed me to take a turn at a waltz in the 
 drawing-room at the close. Oh, only a little one, 
 of course ; besides, if I dance a little too much, 
 everybody goes for me ! They do not understand 
 that I am robust, notwithstanding a figure like a 
 long lead-pencil and that a Parisian girl never gets 
 ill from dancing too much. 'Look out now — 
 
230 Numa Roumesian. 
 
 don^t tire yourself too much.' This woman will 
 bring me up my shawl, that man will close the 
 window at my back for fear that I should catch 
 cold ; but the most interested of all is the youth 
 with springs, because he has discovered that I 
 have a devilish deal more springs than his sister. 
 
 " Poor girl, that would not be difficult ! Between 
 you and me, I believe that, rendered desperate by 
 the frigidity of Alice Bachellery, this young gentle- 
 man has retired upon me and proposes to make 
 love to me — but alas, how he loses his labor; for 
 my heart is taken, it is all Bompard's ! — O, well, 
 after all, no, it is not Bompard's, and you know 
 that too. The personage in my romance is not 
 Bompard, it is — it is — ha, ha ! so much the worse 
 for you ! my hour is up ; I will tell you some other 
 day, Miss Haughtiness ! " 
 
A Watering-Place, 231 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A WATERING-PLACE {continued). 
 
 The morning on which the Bathers' Gazette an- 
 nounced that his Excellency, the Minister of Public 
 Instruction, with his secretary Bompard and staff, 
 had taken quarters in the Alpes Dauphinoises, 
 great was the demoralization in the surrounding 
 hotels. It just happened that La Laita had been 
 keeping dark for two days a Catholic bishop from 
 Geneva in order to produce him at the proper 
 moment, as well as a Councillor-General from the 
 Department of the Isere, a Lieutenant-Judge from 
 Tahiti, an architect from Boston — in fact, a whole 
 cargo ; La Chevrette was on the point of receiving 
 also a " Deputy from the Rhone and family." But 
 the Deputy, the Lieutenant-Judge and all disap- 
 peared, lost in the illustrious mass of flame, the 
 flame of glory, which followed Numa Roumestan 
 everywhere ! 
 
 People talked only of him, occupied themselves 
 about him only. Any pretext was good enough 
 to introduce oneself into the Alpes Dauphinoises 
 in order to pass before the little drawing-room 
 on the ground floor looking into the garden where 
 the Minister took his meals with his ladies and his 
 secretary; to see him taking a hand in a game of 
 
232 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 bowls, dear to Southern Frenchmen, with Father 
 Olivieri of the Missions, a holy man and terribly 
 hairy, who, along of having lived among savages, 
 had taken unto himself their manners and customs, 
 uttering terrible cries when taking aim and brand- 
 ishing the balls above his head when letting fly as 
 if they were tomahawks. 
 
 The Minister's handsome features, the oiliness 
 of his manners, won him all hearts, but more 
 especially his sympathy for the poor. The day 
 after his arrival the two waiters who served on the 
 first floor announced at the hotel office that the 
 Minister was going to take them to Paris for his 
 personal servants. Now, as they were good work- 
 men, Mme. Laugeron pulled a very wry face, but 
 allowed nothing to be seen by his Excellency, 
 whose presence was of such great importance and 
 honor to her hotel. The prefect and the rector 
 made their appearance from Grenoble in full fig to 
 present their respects to Roumestan. The Abbot 
 of La Grande Chartreuse — for Roumestan made a 
 pleading on their side against the Premontres and 
 their liqueur — sent him with the greatest pomp a 
 case of extra-fine chartreuse; and finally the Pre- 
 fect of Chambery came to get his orders for the 
 laying of the corner-stone for the new college, a 
 good occasion for a manifesto in a speech and for 
 a revolution in the methods at the universities. 
 
 But the Minister asked for a little rest. The 
 labors of the session had wearied him ; he wanted 
 to have a chance to get a breath, to live quietly in 
 the midst of his family and prepare at leisure this 
 
A Watering-Place, 233 
 
 Chambdry speech, which had such a considerable 
 importance. And the prefect understood that per- 
 fectly well ; he only asked to be notified forty-eight 
 hours before in order that he might give the 
 necessary brilliancy to the ceremony. The corner- 
 stone had been waiting for two months and would 
 naturally wait longer for the good-will of the illus- 
 trious orator. 
 
 As a matter of fact, what kept Roumestan at 
 Arvillard was neither the necessity for rest nor the 
 leisure needed by that marvellous improvisator — 
 upon whom time and reflection had the same effect 
 as humidity upon phosphorus — but the presence 
 of Alice Bachellery. After five months of an impas- 
 sioned flirtation, Numa had got no further with his 
 little one than he was on the day of their first 
 meeting. He haunted the house, enjoyed the 
 savory bouillabaisse cooked by Mme. Bachellery, 
 listened to the songs of the former director of the 
 Folies Bordelaises, and repaid these slight favors 
 with a flood of presents, bouquets. Ministerial 
 theatre boxes, tickets to meetings of the Institute 
 and the Chamber of Deputies, and even with the 
 diploma of Officer of Academy for the song-writer 
 — all this without getting his love affair one bit 
 ahead. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was not one of those fresh hands 
 who are ready to go fishing at every hour without 
 having tried the water beforehand and thoroughly 
 baited it; only he was engaged in an affair with 
 the cleverest kind of trout, who amused herself 
 with his precautions, now and then nibbled at the 
 
234 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 bait and sometimes gave him the impression that 
 she was caught ; but then, all of a sudden, with 
 one of her bounds she would skip away, leaving 
 him with his mouth dry with longing and his heart 
 shaken by the motions of her undulating, subtle 
 and tempting spine. 
 
 Nothing was more enervating than this little 
 game. Numa could have caused it to stop at any 
 minute by giving the little girl what she demanded, 
 namely, a nomination as prima donna at the opera, 
 a contract for five years, large extras, allowance 
 for fire, the right to have her name displayed — all 
 that stipulated on paper bearing the government 
 stamp, and not merely by a simple clasp of the 
 hand, or by Cadaillac's " Here 's my hand on it! " 
 She believed no more in that than she did in the 
 expressions, " You may depend upon me for it" — 
 '' It 's just the same as if you had it " — phrases with 
 which for the past five months Roumestan had 
 been trying to dupe her. 
 
 Roumestan found himself between two pressing 
 demands. "Yes," said Cadaillac, "all right — if 
 you will renew my own lease." Now Cadaillac was 
 used up and done with ; his presence at the head 
 of the first musical theatre was a scandal, a blot, a 
 rotten heritage from the Imperial administration. 
 The press would certainly raise an outcry against 
 a gambler who had failed three times and was not 
 allowed to wear his officer's cross, against a cyn- 
 ical poseur who dissipated the public money with- 
 out any shame. 
 
 Finally, wearied out with not being able to allow 
 
A Watering- Place, 235 
 
 herself to be captured, Alice broke the fish-line and 
 skipped away, carrying the fish-hook with her. 
 
 One day the Minister arrived at the Bachellery 
 house and found it empty, except for the father, 
 who, in order to console him, sang his last popular 
 refrain for his benefit: 
 
 '"'■ Donne-moi (Vquoi q'fas, f auras cVquoi qu* faiT 
 (Gimme a bite o' yourn, my boy, I '11 gi' you a bite o' mine.) 
 
 He forced himself to be patient for a month, 
 and then went to see the fertile song-writer again, 
 who was good enough to sing him his new song 
 beginning — 
 
 " Quand le saucisson va, tout va^"* 
 (Sausage gone, all is gone,) — 
 
 and let him know that the ladies, finding them- 
 selves delightfully situated at the baths, had an- 
 nounced their intention to double the term of 
 their sojourn. 
 
 Then it was that Roumestan remembered that 
 he was expected for the laying of the corner-stone 
 of the college at Chambery, a promise he had 
 made off-hand and which probably would have re- 
 mained off-hand if Chambery had not been in the 
 neighborhood of Arvillard, whither, by a provi- 
 dential piece of chance, Jarras, the doctor and 
 friend of the Minister, had just sent Mile. Le 
 Quesnoy. 
 
 Immediately upon his arrival they met each 
 other in the garden of the hotel. She was tre- 
 mendously surprised to see him, just as if that 
 very morning she had not read the pompous 
 
236 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 announcement of his coming in the daily gazette, 
 just as if for eight days past, through the thousand 
 voices of its forests, its fountains, its innumerable 
 echoes, the whole valley had not been announcing 
 the arrival of his Excellency. 
 
 *'What! you here?" 
 
 Roumestan, with his Ministerial air, imposing 
 and stiff: 
 
 " I am here to see my sister-in-law." 
 
 Moreover he was surprised to find that Miss 
 Bachellery was still at Arvillard ; he had thought 
 her gone this long while. 
 
 " Well, come now, I have got to take care of 
 myself, have n't I ? since Cadaillac pretends that 
 my voice is so sick ! " 
 
 Then she gave him a little Parisian nod with 
 the ends of her eyelashes and waltzed off, uttering 
 a clear roulade, a delicious undersong like the 
 note of a blackbird, which one hears long after 
 one loses the bird from sight. 
 
 Only from that day on she changed her manner. 
 It was no longer the precocious child forever 
 bouncing about the hotel, roqueting Master Paul, 
 playing with the swing and other innocent games ; 
 it was no longer the girl who was only happy with 
 the children, disarmed the most severe mammas 
 and most morose ecclesiastics by the ingenuous- 
 ness of her laugh and her promptness at the 
 sacred services. In place of that appeared Alice 
 Bachellery, the diva of the Bouffes, the pretty 
 tomboy, lively in manners and setting the pace, 
 who surrounded herself with young whipper- 
 
A Watering-Place. 237 
 
 snappers, got up impromptu festivities, picnics 
 and suppers, whose doubtful reputation her mother, 
 who was always present, only partly succeeded in 
 making respectable. 
 
 Every morning a basket-wagon with a white 
 canopy bordered with fringed curtains drew up to 
 the front door an hour before these fine ladies 
 came downstairs in their light-toned gowns. Mean- 
 while about them pranced and caracoled a jolly 
 cavalcade consisting of everybody in the way of 
 a free and unmarried person in the Alpes Dau- 
 phinoises and the neighboring hotels — the Assist- 
 ant Justice, the American architect and more 
 especially the young man on springs, whom the 
 young diva seemed no longer to be driving to 
 despair by her innocent infantilities. The car- 
 riage well-crammed with cloaks against their 
 return, a big basket of provisions on the box, 
 they swept through the country at a sharp rate 
 on the road for the Chartreuse of St. Hugon. 
 Three hours were spent on the mountain along 
 zigzag, precipitous roads on a level with the 
 black tops of pines that scramble down precipices 
 toward torrents all white with foam ; or else in 
 the direction of Brame-farine, where one break- 
 fasts on mountain cheese washed down by a little 
 claret very lively in its nature, which makes the 
 Alps dance before one's eyes — Mont Blanc and 
 all that marvellous horizon of glaciers and blue 
 peaks which one discovers up there, together with 
 little lakes, fragments shining at the foot of the 
 crags like so many broken pieces of sky. 
 
238 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Then they came down ^^ a la ramasse,' seated 
 upon sledges of branches without any backs to 
 lean against, which made it necessary to grasp 
 the branches frantically, launched headlong as 
 they were down the declivities, steered by a moun- 
 taineer who goes straight ahead over the velvet 
 of the upland pastures and the pebbly bed of dry 
 torrents, and passing with the same swiftness a 
 section of rock or the big gap of a river. At last 
 it lands you down below overwhelmed, bruised 
 and suffocated, your whole body in a quiver and 
 your eyes rolling with the sensation of having 
 survived a most horrible earthquake. 
 
 And the day's trip was not complete unless the 
 entire cavalcade had been drenched on the way 
 by one of those mountain storms, bright with light- 
 ning flashes and streaks of hail, which frighten the 
 horses, make the landscape dramatic and prepare 
 a sensational return. Little Bachellery would be 
 seated on the box in some man's overcoat, the 
 tassel of her cap decorated with a feather of the 
 Pyrennean partridge. She would hold the reins, 
 whip the horses hard in order to warm herself 
 and, when once landed from the coach, recount 
 all the dangers of the excursion with the greatest 
 vivacity, a high sharp voice and brilliant eyes, 
 showing the lively reaction of her youthful body 
 against the cold downpour — all with a little 
 shudder of fear. 
 
 It would have been well if then at least she had 
 felt the need of a good sleep, one of those leaden 
 slumbers which trips in the mountains produce. 
 
A Watering- Place. 239 
 
 Not at all; till early morning, in the rooms of 
 these women, there were goings on without end 
 — laughter, songs, popping bottles, meals brought 
 up at improper hours, card-tables pushed around 
 for baccarat — and all this over the head of the 
 Minister, whose room happened to be just under- 
 neath. 
 
 Several times he complained of it to Mme. 
 Laugeron, who was very much torn between her 
 desire to be agreeable to his Excellency and fear 
 of causing clients with such good paying qualities 
 discontent. And besides, has any one the right 
 to be very exacting in these hotels at the baths 
 which are always being turned upside down by 
 departures and arrivals in the midst of the night, 
 by trunks that are dragged about, by big boots 
 and iron-bound Alpine sticks of mountain climbers, 
 who are engaged in making ready for the ascent 
 long before daybreak? And then, besides, the fits 
 of coughing of the sick people, those horrible, 
 incessant coughs which seem to tear people in 
 spasms, appearing to combine the elements of a 
 sob, a death rattle and the crowing of a husky 
 cock. 
 
 These giddy nights, heavy July nights, which 
 Roumestan passed turning and twisting on his 
 bed, filled with pressing thoughts, while upstairs 
 sounded clear in the night the laughter of his 
 neighbors, broken by single notes and snatches of 
 song — these nights he might have employed writ- 
 ing his speech for Chambery; but he was too 
 much agitated and too angry. He had to control 
 
240 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 himself not to run upstairs to the next floor and 
 drive off at the tips of his boots the young man 
 on springs, the American and that shameless 
 Assistant Justice, that dishonor to French juris- 
 prudence in the colonies, so as to be able to seize 
 that naughty little scoundrel by the neck, by her 
 turtle-dove's neck puffed out with roulades, and at 
 the same time say to her just once for all : 
 
 *' Is n't it about time that you ceased making 
 me suffer in this way?" 
 
 In order to quiet himself and drive off these 
 dreams and other visions even more vivid and 
 painful he lit his candle again, called to Bom- 
 pard, asleep in the adjoining room — his comrade, 
 his echo, always ready at command — and then 
 the two would talk about the girl. It was for that 
 very purpose he had brought him along, having 
 torn him away with no little trouble from the busi- 
 ness of establishing his artificial hatcher. Bom- 
 pard consoled himself by talking of his venture 
 to Father Olivieri, who was thoroughly acquainted 
 with the raising of ostriches, having lived at Cape 
 Town a long while. The tales told by the priest 
 interested the imaginative Bompard very much 
 more than Numa's affair with little Bachellery 
 — the Father's voyages, his martyrdorh, the differ- 
 ent ways in which the robust body of the man 
 had been tortured in different countries — that 
 buccaneer's body burnt and sawed and stretched 
 on the wheel, a sort of sample card of refinements 
 in human cruelty — and all that along with the 
 cool fan of silky and tickly ostrich plumes dreamt 
 
A Watering-Place, 241 
 
 of by the promoter. But Bompard was so well 
 trained to his business of shadow that even at that 
 time of night Numa found him ready to warm up 
 and be indignant in sympathy with him and to 
 express, with his magnificent head under the silken 
 ends of a night scarf, the emotions of anger, irony 
 or sorrow, according as the talk fell upon the false 
 eyelashes of the artificial little girl, on her sixteen 
 years, which certainly were equal to twenty-four, 
 or on the immorality of a mother who could take 
 part in such scandalous orgies. Finally, when 
 Roumestan, having declaimed and gesticulated 
 well and laid bare the weakness of his amorous 
 heart, put out his candle, saying " Let 's try to 
 sleep, come on," then Bompard would use the 
 advantage of the darkness to say to him before 
 going to bed : 
 
 " Well, in your place, I know well enough what 
 I would do." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 *' I would renew the contract with Cadaillac." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 And then he would plunge violently under the 
 bed-clothes in order to protect himself from the 
 rowdy-dow overhead. 
 
 One afternoon at the time for music, that hour 
 during life at the baths which is given over to 
 coquetry and gossip, whilst all the bathers, crowded 
 in front of the establishment as if on the poop of 
 a ship, came and went, slowly circled about, or 
 took their seats on the camp-chairs arranged in 
 three rows, the Minister had darted into an empty 
 
 16 
 
242 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 alley in order to avoid Mile. Bachellery, whom he 
 saw coming clad in a stunning toilet of blue and 
 red, escorted by her staff. There, all alone, seated 
 in the corner of a bench and with his pre-occupa- 
 tion strong upon him', infected by the melancholy 
 of the hour and that distant music, he was mechan- 
 ically stirring about with his umbrella the spots of 
 fire with which the alley was strewn by the setting 
 sun, when a slow shade passing across his sunlight 
 made him raise his eyes. It was Bouchereau, the 
 celebrated doctor, very pale and puffy, dragging 
 his feet after him. They knew each other in the 
 way that all Parisians at a certain height of society 
 know each other. It chanced that Bouchereau, 
 who had not been out for several days, felt in 
 a sociable frame of mind; he took a seat; they 
 fell to talking : ** Is it true that you are ill. 
 Doctor?" 
 
 " Very ill," said the other with his manner of 
 a wild boar, "a hereditary disease — a hypertro- 
 phy of the heart. My mother died of it and my 
 sisters also. Only, I shall last less long than they, 
 because of my horrible business ; I have about a 
 year to live — or two years at the most." 
 
 There was nothing except useless phrases with 
 which to answer this great scientist, this infallible 
 diagnoser who was talking of his death with such 
 quiet assurance. Roumestan understood it, as in 
 silence he pondered that there indeed were sor- 
 rows a good deal more serious than his own. 
 Bouchereau went on without looking at him, hav- 
 ing that vague eye and that relentless sequence of 
 
A Watering- Place, 243 
 
 ideas which the habit of the professorial chair and 
 his lectures give to a professor : 
 
 " We physicians, you see, are supposed not to 
 feel anything because we have such an air with 
 us. They think that in the sick person we are tak- 
 ing care of the sickness only, never the being, the 
 human creature suffering pain. What an error! 
 I have seen my master Dupuytren, who was sup- 
 posed to be a pretty tough chicken, weeping hot 
 tears before a poor little sufferer from diphtheria 
 who told him very quietly that it was an awful bore 
 to die . . , and then those heart-breaking appeals 
 from anguished mothers, those passionate hands 
 which clasp your arm : * My child, save my child ! * 
 . . . and then the fathers who stiffen themselves up 
 and say to you in a very masculine voice, but with 
 great big tears running down their cheeks : ' You 
 will pull him through, won't you, Doctor?' It 
 is all very well to harden oneself, but such despairs 
 break your heart, and that is a nice thing, is n't 
 it, when one's own heart is already attacked? 
 Forty years of practice and every day becoming 
 more nervous and sensitive — it is my patients 
 who have killed me ! I am dying from the suffer- 
 ings of other people ! " 
 
 ''But I thought you did not accept patients any 
 more. Doctor," said the Minister, who was deeply 
 moved. 
 
 "Oh, no; never any more, for nobody's sake! 
 I might see a man fall dead to the ground there 
 in front of me and I would n't even bend down. 
 You understand? It is enough to turn one's blood 
 
244 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 at last, this sickness of mine, which I have in- 
 creased by all the sicknesses of others ! Why, I 
 want to live; there is nothing else but life ! " 
 
 With all his pallor he excited himself and his 
 nostrils, pinched with a look of morbidness, drank 
 in the light air filled with lukewarm aromas, 
 vibrating musical instruments and cries of birds. 
 He continued with a heart-broken sigh : 
 
 " I do not practise any more, but I always 
 remain the doctor. I preserve that fatal gift of 
 diagnosis, that horrible second sight for the latent 
 symptom, for suffering which the sufferer hopes 
 to conceal, and which at a mere glance at the 
 passer-by I perceive in the person who walks and 
 talks and acts in the full force of his being, show- 
 ing me the man about to die to-morrow, the 
 motionless corpse. And all that just as clearly 
 as I see it advancing towards me, the fit which is 
 going to do for me, that last fainting-fit from which 
 nothing can ever bring me back." 
 
 " It is frightful ! " murmured Numa, who felt him- 
 self turning pale. A poltroon in the face of sick- 
 ness and death, like all Provencal people, those 
 people so crazy to live, he turned his face away 
 from the redoubtable scientist and did not dare 
 look him in the face for fear he might read on 
 his own rubicund features the warning signs of 
 his, Numa's, approaching end. 
 
 '* Oh ! this terrible skill at diagnosis, which they 
 all envy me, how sad it makes me, how it ruins the 
 little remnant of life which remains to me ! Why, 
 look here : I know a luckless woman here whose 
 
A Watering- P lace. 245 
 
 son died of laryngeal consumption ten or twelve 
 years ago. I had seen him twice and I alone 
 among all the physicians gave warning of the 
 seriousness of the malady. Well, to-day I come 
 across that same mother with her young daughter; 
 and I may say that the presence of those un- 
 fortunate ones destroys the good of my sojourn 
 at the baths and does me more harm than my 
 treatment will ever do me good. They pursue 
 me, they wish to consult me, and as for me I 
 absolutely refuse to do it. No good of ausculta- 
 ting that child in order to read her condemnation ! 
 It was enough the other day to have seen her 
 voracity while seizing a bowl of raspberries, and 
 during the inhalation to have seen her hand lying 
 on her knees, a thin hand, the nails of which are 
 puffed up and rise above the fingers as if they 
 were ready to detach themselves. That girl has 
 the consumption her brother had ; she will die 
 before the year is out. But let other people tell 
 them that ; I have given enough of those dagger- 
 stabs which have turned again to stab me. I want 
 no more." 
 
 Roumestan had got up, very much frightened. 
 
 " Do you know the name of those ladies, 
 Doctor?" 
 
 " No ; they sent me their card and I would not 
 even see them. I only know that they are at our 
 hotel." 
 
 And all of a sudden, looking down the alley, 
 he cried : 
 
 " By George, there they are ! — I am off — " 
 
246 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Away down there at the end of the alley, on the 
 little gravelled circle whence the band was sending 
 its last note, there was a movement of umbrellas 
 and light-colored gowns among the foliage, just 
 as the first strokes of the dinner bells were heard 
 from the hotels. The ladies Le Quesnoy de- 
 tached themselves from a group of lively, chatting 
 people, Hortense tall and slender in the sunlight, 
 in a toilet of muslin and Valenciennes, a hat 
 trimmed with roses and in her hand a bouquet of 
 the same kind of rose bought in the park. 
 
 "With whom were you talking just now, Numa? 
 We thought it was Dr. Bouchereau." 
 
 There she was before him, dazzling in her youth 
 and so brilliant, on that happy day, that her 
 mother herself began to lose her fears and allowed 
 a little of that infectious gayety to be reflected on 
 her ancient face. 
 
 " Yes, it was Bouchereau, who was recounting 
 to me his miseries ; he's pretty low, poor fellow ! " 
 
 And Numa, looking at her, reassured himself. 
 
 " The man is crazy; it is not possible; it's his 
 own death he is dragging about with him and 
 prognosticates everywhere." 
 
 At that moment Bompard appeared, walking 
 very quickly and brandishing a newspaper. 
 
 "What is up? " asked the Minister. 
 
 " Great news ! The tabor-player has made his 
 d6but — " 
 
 They heard Hortense murmur : " At last ! " and 
 Numa was radiant. 
 
 " Success, was it not? " 
 
A Watering- Place, 247 
 
 "Do you think so? I have not read the 
 article ; but here are three columns on the front 
 sheet of the Messenger ! " 
 
 " There 's one more whom I discovered ! " said 
 the Minister, who had seated himself again with 
 his thumbs in the armholes of his waist-coat. 
 " Come on, read it to us." 
 
 Mme. Le Quesnoy having called attention to 
 the fact that the dinner-bell had sounded, Hor- 
 tense hastily answered that it was only the first 
 bell, and, her cheek resting on her hand, she 
 listened in a pretty attitude of smiling expectancy. 
 Bompard read: 
 
 " Is it due to the Minister of the Fine Arts or 
 to the Director of the Opera that the Parisian 
 public suffered such a grotesque mystification as 
 that with which it was victimized last night? — " 
 
 They all started, with the exception of Bompard, 
 who, under the impetus of his gait as a fine reader, 
 lulled by the sonorous sound of his own voice and 
 without taking in what he was reading, looked from 
 one to the other, surprised at their astonishment. 
 
 " Well," said Numa, *' go on, go on ! " 
 
 ** In any case, it is the Honorable Roumestan 
 who must shoulder the responsibility. He it is 
 who has lugged up from his province this savage 
 and odd-looking piper, this goat-whistler — " 
 
 "Well, there certainly are some people who are 
 very mean," interrupted the young girl, who had 
 turned quite pale under her roses. The reader 
 continued, with eyes staring in horror at the dread- 
 ful things he saw coming: 
 
24S Ntima Roumestan, 
 
 ** — this goat whistler; to him is due that our 
 Academy of Music appeared for the space of an 
 evening Hke the return from the fair at Saint 
 Cloud. In truth it would take a very crack fifer 
 indeed to believe that Paris — " 
 
 The Minister rudely dragged the newspaper 
 from his hand. 
 
 *' I hope you don't intend to read us that idiocy 
 to the bitter end, do you? it is quite enough to 
 have brought it to us at all." 
 
 He ran down the article with his eye, with one 
 of those quick glances of the public man who is 
 used to reading the invectives of the daily press. 
 ''A provincial Minister — a pretty clog-dancer — 
 Valmajour's own Roumestan — hissed the Minis- 
 try and smashed his tabor — " 
 
 He had enough of it, thrust the virulent paper 
 down into the bottom of his pocket, then rose, 
 puffing with the rage that swelled his face, and 
 taking Mme. Le Quesnoy by the arm : 
 
 " Come, let 's go to dinner. Mamma — this should 
 teach me not to fret myself for the sake of a parcel 
 of nobodies." 
 
 All four marched along together, Hortense with 
 her eyes upon the ground in a state of conster- 
 nation. 
 
 " This is a matter concerning an artist of great 
 talent," said she, trying to strengthen her voice, a 
 little veiled in its tone. " One ought not to hold 
 him responsible for the injustice done him by the 
 public nor for the irony of the newspapers." 
 
 Roumestan came to a dead stop. 
 
A Watering- Place, 249 
 
 **Talent — talent! — be\ yes — I don't deny that 
 — but much too exotic — " and, raising his 
 umbrella : 
 
 "Let us beware of the South, little sister, let's 
 beware of the South — don't work it too hard — 
 Paris will grow weary." 
 
 And he resumed his walk with measured steps, 
 quiet and cool as if he were a citizen of Copen- 
 hagen. The silence was unbroken save for the 
 crackling of the gravel under his feet, which in 
 certain circumstances seems to indicate the crush- 
 ing or crumbhng effect of a fit of rage or of a 
 dream. 
 
 When they reached the front of the hotel, from 
 the ten windows of whose enormous dining-room 
 there came the noise of hungry spoons clattering 
 on bottoms of plates, Hortense stopped, and, rais- 
 ing her head : 
 
 ** So then, this poor boy — you're going to 
 abandon him ? " 
 
 "What is to be done? — there is no use fighting 
 against it — since Paris doesn't care for him." 
 
 She gave him an indignant glance which was 
 almost one of disdain. 
 
 "Oh, it is horrible, what you are saying; well, 
 as for me, I am prouder than you are ; I am true 
 to my enthusiasms ! " 
 
 She crossed the porch of the hotel with two 
 skips. 
 
 " Hortense, the second bell has sounded ! " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know — I am coming down." 
 
 She ran up to her room and locked the door in 
 
250 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 order not to be interfered with. Opening her 
 desk, one of those natty trifles by the aid of which 
 a Parisian woman can make personal to herself even 
 the chamber of an inn, she pulled out one of the 
 photographs of herself which she had had taken 
 in the head-dress and scarf of an Aries woman, 
 wrote a line underneath it and affixed her name. 
 Whilst she was putting on the address the bell in 
 the tower of Arvillard sounded the hour across the 
 sombre violet that filled the valley, as if to give 
 solemnity to what she had dared to do. • 
 
 " Six o'clock." 
 
 From the torrent the mist was rising in wander- 
 ing and flaky masses of white. In the amphi- 
 theatre of forests and mountains and the silver 
 plume of the glacier, in the rose-colored evening, 
 she took note of the smallest details of that silent 
 and reposeful moment, just as on the calendar one 
 marks some single date among all others ; just as 
 in a book one underscores a passage which has 
 caused one emotion; dreaming aloud she said: 
 
 " It is my life, my entire life I am risking at 
 this moment." 
 
 She took as witness the solemnity of the even- 
 ing, the majesty of nature, the tremendous repose 
 of everything about her. 
 
 Her entire life that she was engaging? Poor 
 little girl ! if she had only known how little that 
 was ! 
 
 A few days after this the Le Quesnoy ladies left 
 the hotel, Hortense's treatment having ended. 
 
A Watering-Place, 251 
 
 Although reassured by the healthy look of her 
 child and by what the little doctor said concern- 
 ing the miracle performed by the nymph of the 
 waters, her mother was only too glad to have 
 done with that life, which in its smallest details 
 recalled to her a past martyrdom. 
 
 "And how about you, Numa?" 
 
 O, as for him, he intended to stay a week or 
 two longer, finish a bit of medical treatment and 
 take advantage of the quiet which their departure 
 would afford him in order to write that famous 
 speech. It would make a tremendous row, the 
 news of which they would get at Paris. By George ! 
 Le Quesnoy would not like it much ! 
 
 Then all of a sudden, Hortense, though ready to 
 leave, and notwithstanding she was happy at return- 
 ing home to see the beloved absent ones whom 
 distance made even more dear to her — for her 
 imagination reached even to her heart — Hortense 
 suddenly felt sorrow at leaving this beautiful coun- 
 try and all the hotel society and her friends of 
 three weeks, to whom she had no idea she had 
 become so much attached. Ah, ye loving natures ! 
 how you give yourselves out! how everything 
 grasps you and then what pain ensues when 
 breaking these invisible yet sensitive threads ! 
 
 People had been so kind to her, so full of atten- 
 tion ; and at the last hour so many outstretched 
 hands pressed about the carriage, so many ten- 
 der expressions! Young girls would kiss her: 
 " We shall have no more fun without you." Then 
 they promised to write to each other and ex- 
 
252 Numa Roumestait, 
 
 changed mementos, sweet-smelling boxes and 
 paper-cutters made of mother-of-pearl with this 
 inscription in a shimmering blue like the lakes : 
 ^'Arvillard, 1876." And while M. Laugeron 
 slipped a bottle of superfine Chartreuse into her 
 traveUing-sack, she saw, up there behind the pane 
 of her chamber window, the mountaineer's wife 
 who had been her servant dabbing her eyes with 
 an enormous handkerchief of the color of wine- 
 lees and heard a husky voice murmur in her ear: 
 '* Plenty of spring, my dear young lady, always 
 plenty of spring ! " It was her friend the con- 
 sumptive, who, having jumped up on the wheel, 
 poured out upon her a look of good-bye from two 
 haggard and feverish eyes, but eyes sparkling with 
 energy, will and a bit of emotion besides. O, 
 what kind people ! what kind people ! . . . 
 
 Hortense could not speak for fear of crying. 
 
 " Good-bye, good-bye, all ! " 
 
 The Minister accompanied the ladies as far as 
 the distant railway station and took his seat in 
 front of them. Crack goes the whip, jingle go the 
 bells ! All of a sudden Hortense cries out: 
 
 " Oh, my umbrella ! " She had had it in her 
 hand not a moment before. Twenty people rush 
 off to find it: "The umbrella, the umbrella" — 
 not in the bedroom, not in the drawing-room; 
 doors slam; the hotel is searched from top to 
 bottom. 
 
 " Don't look for it ; I know where it is." 
 
 Always lively, the young girl jumps out of the 
 carriage and runs to the garden, toward the grove 
 
A Watering-Place, 253 
 
 of walnuts, where even that morning she had been 
 adding several chapters to the romance that was 
 being written in her crazy little head. There lay 
 the umbrella, thrown across the bench, a bit of 
 herself left in that favorite spot, something which 
 was very like her. What delicious hours had 
 been passed in this nook of rich verdure ! what 
 confidences had gone off on the wings of the bees 
 and butterflies ! Without a doubt she would 
 never return thither again. This thought caused 
 her heart to contract and kept her there. At 
 that moment she found everything charming, even 
 the long grinding sound of the swing. 
 
 " Get out ! you make me weary — " 
 
 It was the voice of Mile. Bachellery who was 
 furious at being left because of this departure 
 and, believing herself alone with her mother, was 
 talking to her in her habitual tongue. Hortense 
 thought of the filial flatteries which had so often 
 jarred upon her nerves and laughed to herself 
 while returning to the carriage. Then, at the 
 turn of an alley, she found herself face to face 
 with Bouchereau. She stepped aside, but he laid 
 hold of her arm. 
 
 " So you are going to leave us, my child? " 
 
 " Why, yes, sir." 
 
 She hardly knew what to answer, startled by 
 this meeting and surprised because it was the first 
 time that he had ever spoken to her. Then he 
 took her two hands in his own and held her that 
 way in front of him, his arms wide apart, and gazed 
 upon her fixedly from his piercing eyes under 
 
254 Numa Roumesta^t, 
 
 their brushy white brows. Then his lips and 
 hands, his whole body trembled, while a rush of 
 blood colored deeply his pallid face. 
 
 " Well, then, good-bye, happy journey ! " And 
 without another word he drew her to him and 
 pressed her to his breast with the tenderness of 
 a grandfather and then hastened away with both 
 hands pressed against his heart, which seemed 
 about to break. 
 
The Speech at Chambery. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SPEECH AT CHAMBERY. 
 
 " Non^ non, je me fats hironde — e — elle 
 Etje trCenvo — o — le d tire d^ai — le — " 
 
 The little Bachellery girl, clad in a fantastic cloak 
 with a blue silk capuchon, to go with a little toque 
 wound round with a great big veil, sang before her 
 glass while finishing the buttoning of her gloves ; 
 her clear, sharp voice had risen that morning in 
 full limpidity and in the best of humors. Spick 
 and span for the excursion, the gay little body of 
 her had a pleasant fragrance of fresh toilet and 
 new gown, very neat and trig in contrast with the 
 sloppy state of the hotel bedroom, where the re- 
 mainder of a late supper was to be seen on the 
 table, higgledy-piggledy with poker chips, cards 
 and candles — all this close to the tumbled bed 
 and a big bath-tub full of that gleaming " little 
 milk" of Arvillard, so fine for calming the nerves 
 and making the skin of the ladies bathing there 
 as smooth as satin. Downstairs the basket-wagon 
 was waiting, the horses shaking their bells and a 
 full escort of youths caracoling in front of the 
 porch. 
 
256 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Just as the toilet was finished a knock came at 
 the door. 
 
 " Come in ! " 
 
 Roumestan came In, much excited, and held out 
 to her a large envelope : 
 
 " There, Mile — O ! read — read — " 
 
 It was her engagement at the opera for five 
 years, with all the appointments she had wished, 
 with the right of having her name printed big, and 
 everything. When she had read it, article by arti- 
 cle, coldly and with perfect poise, down to the 
 great coarse signature of Cadaillac, then and only 
 then she took one step towards the Minister, and, 
 raising her veil, which was drawn closely about her 
 face to keep out the dust on the trip, standing very 
 close to him, her rosy beak in the air: 
 
 " You are very good — I love you — " 
 
 Nothing more than that was needed to make the 
 man of the public forget all the embarrassments 
 which this engagement was going to cause him. 
 He restrained himself, however, and remained stiff, 
 cold and frowning like a crag. 
 
 " Now, I have kept my promise and I with- 
 draw — I do not care to disarrange your picnic 
 party — " 
 
 " My picnic? Oh, yes, that 's so — we 're going 
 to Chateau Bayard." 
 
 And then, casting both her arms around his neck, 
 she said in a wheedling voice : 
 
 " You 've got to come with us ; yes — O, yes, I 
 tell you." 
 
 She brushed her long pencilled eyelashes across 
 
The Speech at Chambery, 257 
 
 his cheek and even nibbled a little at his statuesque 
 chin, but not very hard, with the ends of her little 
 teeth. 
 
 "What! with those young people? Why, it is 
 impossible. You cannot dream of it?" 
 
 "Those young people? Much do I care for 
 those young people! I will just let them rip — 
 Mamma will let them know — oh, they are used 
 to it! — You hear, Mamma?" 
 
 " I 'm going," said Mme. Bachellery, whom one 
 could see in the next chamber with her foot on 
 a chair, trying to force over her red stockings 
 a pair of cloth gaiters much too small for her. 
 She made the Minister one of her famous courte- 
 sies from the Folies Bordelaises and hurried down- 
 stairs to send the young gentlemen flying. 
 
 " Keep a horse for Bompard ; he will come with 
 us," cried the little girl after her; and Numa, 
 touched by this attention, enjoyed the delicious 
 pleasure of holding this pretty girl in his arms and 
 hearing all that impertinent gang of young people 
 walk off at a funeral pace with their ears drooping. 
 Many a time had their jumpings and skippings 
 caused his heart a lively time. One kiss applied 
 for a long moment on a smile which promised 
 everything — then she disengaged herself. 
 
 " Hurry up and dress yourself; I 'm in haste to 
 be on the way." 
 
 What a buzz of curiosity through the hotel, what 
 a movement behind the green blinds, when it was 
 known that the Minister had joined the picnic at 
 Chateau Bayard and that his big white waistcoat 
 
 17 
 
2^8 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 and the Panama hat shading his Roman face were 
 seen displayed in the basket-wagon in front of the 
 Httle singer ! After all, just as Father Olivieri who 
 had learned a lot during his voyages remarked, 
 what harm was there In It, anyhow? Did n't her 
 mother accompany them, and Chateau Bayard, a 
 historical monument, did It or did It not belong to 
 the public buildings under Ministerial control? 
 So let us not be so intolerant, great Heavens ! 
 especially In regard to men who give up their 
 entire life to the defence of the right doctrines and 
 our holy religion ! 
 
 ''Bompard Is not coming — what's the matter 
 with him?" murmured Roumestan, Impatient at 
 having to wait there before the hotel exposed to 
 all those plunging glances which volleyed upon 
 him notwithstanding the canopy of the carnage. 
 At a window In the first story an extraordinary 
 something appeared, a something white and round 
 and exotic, which spake in the voice of the former 
 chieftain of Circassians, " Go on ahead, I '11 rejine 
 you ! " 
 
 Just as if they had only been waiting for the 
 word, the two mules, low In shoulder but soHd in 
 hoof, got away shaking their travelling-bells, 
 crossed the park in three jumps and whirled 
 past the bathing establishment. 
 
 " Ware ! ware ! " 
 
 The frightened bathers and sedan-chairs hurried 
 to one side; the bathing-maids, the big pockets of 
 their aprons full of money and colored tickets, 
 appeared at the entrance of the galleries ; the 
 
The Speech at Chambery, 259 
 
 massage men, as naked as Bedoweens under their 
 woollen blankets, showed themselves up to the waist 
 on the stairway of the furnaces ; the blue shades of 
 the inhalation halls were thrust aside ; everybody 
 wished to see the Minister and the diva pass. 
 
 But already they are far away, whirled at rail- 
 way speed through the intersecting labyrinth of 
 Arvillard's little black streets, over the sharp cobble- 
 stones, close together and veined with sulphur and 
 fire, out of which the carriage strikes sparks as it 
 bounds along, shaking the low walls of the lep- 
 rous-colored houses and causing heads to appear at 
 the windows decked with placards. At the thresh- 
 olds of the shops where they sell iron-pointed 
 canes, parasols, climbing-irons, chalk stones, min- 
 erals, crystals and other catch-penny things for 
 bathers appear heads which bow and brows that 
 uncover at the sight of the Minister. The very 
 people affected with goitre recognize him and 
 salute with their foolish and raucous cries the 
 grand master of the University of France, while 
 the good ladies seated with him proudly draw 
 themselves up stiff and most worshipful oppo- 
 site, feeling well the honor which is being done 
 them. They only lounge at their ease when they 
 are quite clear of the village lands, on the fine 
 turnpike toward Pontcharra, where the mules stop 
 to blow at the foot of the tower of Le Truil, which 
 Bompard had fixed upon as a trysting-place. 
 
 The minutes pass, but no Bompard ! They 
 know he is a good horseman because he has so 
 often boasted of it ; they are astonished and irri- 
 
26o Numa Roumestan, 
 
 tated — particularly Numa — who is impatient to 
 get on down that even white road which seems 
 absolutely without an end, and get farther into 
 that day which seems to open up like a life full of 
 hopes and adventures. Finally, from a cloud of 
 dust out of which rises a frightened voice that 
 pants out Ho! la! Ho! la! emerges the head 
 of Bompard, covered by one of those pith helmets 
 spread with white cloth, having a vague look of a 
 life-boat, like those used by the British army in 
 India, which the Provencal had brought along 
 with the intention of dramatizing and making im- 
 posing his trip to the baths, having allowed his 
 hatter to believe that he was off for Bombay or 
 Calcutta. 
 
 '' Come on, my dear boy ! " 
 
 Bompard tosses his head with a tragical air. 
 Evidently at his departure things had taken place ; 
 the Circassian must have been giving the people 
 of the hotel a very queer idea of his powers of 
 equilibrium, because his back and arms are soiled 
 with large spots of dust. 
 
 " Wretched horse ! " said he, bowing to the 
 ladies, while the basket-wagon started once more, 
 ** wretched horse ! but I have forced him to a 
 walk ! " 
 
 He had forced him so well to a walk that now 
 the strange beast would not go ahead at all, pranc- 
 ing and turning about on one spot like a sick cat, 
 notwithstanding all the efforts made by his rider. 
 The carriage was already far away. 
 
 •'Are you coming, Bompard? " 
 
The Speech at Cha7nbery, 261 
 
 " Go on ahead, I '11 rejine you ! " cried he once 
 more in his finest Marseilles twang; then he made 
 a despairing gesture and they saw him rushing off 
 in the direction of Arvillard in a furious whirl of 
 hoofs. Everybody thought : " He must have for- 
 gotten something," and nobody thought about him 
 further. 
 
 The turnpike curved about the hills, a broad 
 highroad of France set with walnut-trees, having 
 to the left forests of chestnut and pines growing on 
 terraces and on the right tremendous slopes roll- 
 ing down as far as one could see, down to the 
 plain where villages appear crowded together in 
 the hollows of the landscape. There were the 
 vineyards, fields of wheat and corn, mulberries, 
 almond-trees and dazzling carpets of Spanish 
 broom, the seeds of which, exploding in the heat, 
 kept up a constant popping as if the very soil were 
 crackling and all on fire. One could readily sup- 
 pose it were so, considering the heavy air and the 
 furnace heat that did not seem to come from the 
 sun — which was almost invisible, having retired 
 behind a sort of haze — but appeared to emanate 
 from burning vapors of the earth; it made the 
 sight of Glayzin and its top, surmounted with 
 snows which one might touch, as it seemed, with 
 the end of one's umbrella, look dehciously re- 
 freshing to the sight. 
 
 Roumestan could not remember ever to have 
 seen a landscape to be compared with that one ; 
 no, not even in his dear Provence; and he could 
 not imagine happiness more complete than his 
 
262 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 own. No anxiety, no remorse. His wife faithful 
 and believing, the hope of a child, the prediction 
 Bouchereau had uttered concerning Hortense, the 
 ruinous effect which the appearance in ^kv^ Journal 
 Officiel of the decree as to Cadaillac would pro- 
 duce — none of these had any existence so far as 
 he was concerned. His entire destiny was wrapt up 
 in that beautiful girl whose eyes reflected his own, 
 whose knees touched his, and who, beneath her 
 blue veil turned to a rose-color by her blond 
 flesh, sang to him while pressing his hand : 
 
 " Maintenant je me sens aimie^ 
 Fuyons tous deux sous la ramie^ 
 (Now I trust my lover's vows, 
 Let us fly beneath the boughs.) 
 
 While they were rapidly whirling away in the 
 breeze made by their motion, the turnpike, grad- 
 ually becoming lonelier, widened out their horizons 
 little by little, permitting them to see an immense 
 plain in a semicircle with its lakes and villages 
 and then mountains differing in shade according 
 to their distance ; it was Savoy beginning. 
 
 " O ! how beautiful ! O ! how beautiful ! '* said 
 the little singer ; and he answered in a low voice : 
 " How I do love you ! " 
 
 At the last halt Bompard came up to them once 
 more, but very piteously, on foot, dragging his 
 horse after him by the bridle. 
 
 "This brute is most extraordinary," said he with- 
 out further explanation, and when the ladies asked 
 him if he had fallen : " No — it 's my old wound 
 which has opened again." 
 
The Speech at Chambery. 263 
 
 Wounded! where and when? He had never 
 spoken of it before. But with Bompard one had 
 to expect any surprise. They made him get into 
 the carriage; and with his very mild-mannered 
 horse quietly fastened behind they set off toward 
 Chateau Bayard, whose two pepper-box towers, 
 wretchedly restored, could be seen on a high piece 
 of ground. 
 
 A maid servant came to meet them, a quick- 
 witted mountaineer's woman in the service of an 
 old priest formerly in charge of parishes in the 
 neighborhood, who dwells in Chateau Bayard with 
 the proviso that tourists may enter freely. When 
 a visitor is announced the priest goes up to his 
 bed-chamber in a very dignified way, unless indeed 
 it is a question of personages of note; but the 
 Minister, sly fellow, took good care not to give his 
 title, so that it was in the guise of ordinary visit- 
 ors that they were shown by the servant — with her 
 phrases learned by heart and the canting tone of 
 people of this sort — all that is left of the old manor 
 of the chevalier sans penr et sans reproche^ whilst 
 the driver laid out breakfast under an arbor in the 
 little garden. 
 
 " Here you have the antique chapel where our 
 good chevalier morning and evening . . . Ladies 
 and gentlemen will kindly notice the thickness of 
 the walls." 
 
 But they did n't notice anything at all. It was 
 very dark and they stumbled against the broken 
 bits of wall which were dimly lit from a loophole, 
 the light of which fell through a hay-loft estab- 
 
264 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 lished above the beams of the ceiHng. Numa, his 
 Httle girl's arm under his own, made some fun of 
 the ChevaHer Bayard and of *' his worthy mother/' 
 dame Helene des AUemans. The odor of ancient 
 things bored them to death, and actually, at one 
 time, in order to try the echo of the vaulted ceil- 
 ing in the kitchen, Mme. Bachellery started to sing 
 the last ballad composed by her husband, but 
 really a very naughty one — 
 
 J'tiens qa a' papa . . . j''tie7is ga d'maman . , . 
 (That 's me legacy from Popper . . . that 's me legacy from 
 Mommer . . .) 
 
 and yet nobody was scandaHzed ; quite the con- 
 trary. 
 
 . But outside, when breakfast was served on a 
 massive stone table, and after their first hunger had 
 been appeased, the valley of the Graisivaudan, Les 
 Bauges, the severe buttresses of the Grande-Char- 
 treuse and the contrast made by that landscape 
 full of tremendous lines with the little terrace 
 grass-plot where this solitary old man dwelt — given 
 up entirely to prayer, to his tulip-trees and to his 
 bees — affected little by little their spirits with some- 
 thing sweet and grave which was akin to reflection. 
 At dessert the Minister, opening his guide-book 
 to refresh his memory, spoke about Bayard " and 
 of his poor dame mother who did tenderly weep " 
 on that day when the child, setting out for Cham- 
 b6ry to be page at the Court of the Duke of Savoy, 
 caused his little bay nag to prance in front of the 
 north gate, on that very place where the shadow 
 
The Speech at Chambery. 265 
 
 of the great tower was lengthening itself, slender 
 but majestic, like the phantom of the old vanished 
 castle. 
 
 And Numa, exciting himself, read to them the 
 fine sentiments of Madame Helene to her son at 
 the moment of his departure : 
 
 " Pierre, my friend, I recommend to thee that 
 before everything else thou shalt love, fear and 
 serve God without in any wise doing Him offence, 
 if that be possible." 
 
 Standing there on the terrace, sweeping off a 
 gesture which carried as far as Chambery: 
 
 *' That is what should be said to children, that is 
 what all parents, that is what all schoolmasters — " 
 
 He stopped short and struck his brow with his 
 hand.: 
 
 "My speech! — why, that is my speech! — I 
 have it I splendid ! the Chateau Bayard, a local 
 legend — for fifteen days have I been looking for 
 it — and here it is ! " 
 
 " Why, it is pure Providence," cried Mme. 
 Bachellery, full of admiration, but thinking all the 
 same that the breakfast was ending rather solemnly. 
 "What a man ! What a man ! " 
 
 The little girl seemed also very much excited, 
 but of this impression Roumestan took no heed ; 
 the orator was boiling in him, behind his brow 
 and in his breast ; so, completely absorbed with his 
 idea: 
 
 " The fine thing," said he, casting his eyes about 
 him, " the fine thing would be to date the speech 
 from Chateau Bayard — " 
 
266 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 " O, if Mr. Lawyer should want a little corner 
 in which to write — " 
 
 " Why, yes, only to jot down a few notes. 
 You '11 excuse me, ladies, just for the time that 
 will do to drink your coffee, and I will be back. 
 It 's merely to be able to put the date to my speech 
 without telling a lie." 
 
 The servant placed him in a little room on the 
 ground floor, most ancient in appearance, whose 
 domelike, vaulted ceiling still carries traces of 
 gilding; an ancient room which they pretend was- 
 Bayard's oratory, just as they present to you as his 
 bedroom the big hall to one side in which an 
 enormous peasant's bed, with a canopy and dark 
 blue curtains, is set up. 
 
 It was very nice to write between those thick 
 walls into which the heavy atmosphere of the day 
 could not penetrate, behind that half-open shutter 
 which threw a pencil of light across the page and 
 allowed the perfumes from the little garden to 
 enten At first the orator's pen was not quick 
 enough to keep pace with the flow of his ideas; 
 he poured out his phrases headlong, in a mass — 
 well worn but eloquent phrases of a Provencal 
 lawyer, filled with a hidden heat and the sput- 
 tering of sparks here and there, like the outflow 
 of molten metal. Suddenly he stopped, his head 
 emptied of words or rendered heavy by the fatigue 
 of the journey and the weight of the breakfast. 
 Then he marched up and down from the oratory 
 to the bedroom, talking in a high voice, lashing 
 himself, listening to his footsteps under the sono- 
 
The Speech at Chambery, 267 
 
 rous vaults as if they were those of some illustrious 
 revenant, and then he set himself down again with- 
 out the thoughts to put down a line. Everything 
 swam about him, the walls brilliantly white-washed 
 and that pencil of sunlight which seemed to hyp- 
 notize him. He heard the noise of plates and 
 laughter in the garden, far, far away, and pres- 
 ently, with his nose on the paper, he had fallen fast 
 asleep. 
 
 A tremendous thunder-clap made him start to his 
 feet. How long had he been there? His head a 
 little confused, he stepped out into the deserted 
 and motionless garden. The fragrance of the 
 tulip-trees made the air heavy. Under the vacant 
 arbor wasps were heavily flying about the heeltaps 
 in the champagne glasses and the bits of sugar left 
 in the cups, which the mountaineer's woman was 
 hurriedly clearing off, seized by the nervous fear 
 of an animal at the approach of a thunder-storm 
 and making the sign of the cross each time the 
 lightning flashed. She informed Numa that the 
 young lady had found herself with a bad headache 
 after breakfast and so she had taken her to Bayard's 
 chamber to sleep a little, closing the door " vary 
 gently " in order not to bother the gentleman at 
 his work. The two others, the fat lady and .the 
 man with the white hat, had gone down toward the 
 valley and without any doubt they would catch it, 
 because there was going to be a terrible . . . "just 
 look ! " 
 
 In the direction she indicated, on the choppy 
 crest of Les Bauges and the chalky peaks of the 
 
268 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 Grande-Chartreuse, which were enveloped In light- 
 ning flashes like some mysterious Mount Sinai, the 
 sky was darkened by an enormous blot of ink 
 that grew larger every instant, under which the 
 whole valley took on an extraordinary luminous 
 value, like the light from a white and obhque re- 
 flector, according as this sombre and growling 
 threat continued to advance. All the valley shared 
 in the change, the reflux of wind in the tops of the 
 green trees, the golden masses of grain, the high- 
 ways indicated by feathery clouds of white dust 
 raised by the wind and the silver surface of the 
 river Isere. In the far distance Roumestan per- 
 ceived the canvas pith helmet of Bompard, which 
 shone like a lighthouse reflector. 
 
 He went in again but could not take hold of his 
 work. For the moment sleep no longer paralyzed 
 his pen ; on the contrary he felt himself strangely 
 excited by the presence of Alice Bachellery in the 
 next chamber. By the way, was she still there? 
 He opened the door a little and did not dare to 
 shut it again for fear of disturbing the charming 
 slumber of the singer, who had thrown herself with 
 loosened clothes on the bed in a troubling disorder 
 of tumbled hair, open corset and white, half-seen 
 curves. 
 
 " Come, come, Numa, beware ! it is the bed- 
 room of Bayard; what the deuce!" 
 
 Positively he seized himself by the collar like a 
 malefactor, dragged himself back and forcibly 
 seated himself at the table. He put his head be- 
 tween his hands, closing his eyes and his ears in 
 
The Speech at Chambery, 269 
 
 order to absorb himself completely In the last 
 phrase, which he repeated in a low voice : 
 
 "Yes, gentlemen, the sublime advice of the 
 mother of Bayard, which has come down to us in 
 that mellifluous tongue of the middle ages — would 
 that the University of France . . ." 
 
 The storm was so heavy and depleting, like the 
 shade of certain trees in the tropics, it took away 
 his nerve. His head was swimming, intoxicated 
 by the exquisite perfumes given forth by the bitter 
 flowers of the tulip-trees or else by that armful of 
 blond hair scattered over the bed not far off. 
 Wretched Minister ! It was all very well to cling 
 to his speech and to invoke the aid of the chevalier 
 sans peur et sans reproche^ public instruction, relig- 
 ious culture, the rector of Chambery — nothing 
 was of any use. He had to return into Bayard's 
 bedchamber, and this time so close to the sleep- 
 ing girl that he could hear her gentle breathing 
 and touch with his hand the tassel stuff of the cur- 
 tains which framed this provoking slumber, this 
 mother-of-pearl flesh with the shadows and the 
 rosy undercolor of a naughty drawing in red chalk 
 by Fragonard. 
 
 But even there, on the brink of temptation, the 
 Minister still fought with himself and in a mechani- 
 cal murmur his lips continued to mumble that sub- 
 lime advice which the University of France — when 
 a sudden roll of thunder, whose claps came nearer 
 and nearer, woke the singer all of a jump. 
 
 "Oh, what a fear I was in — hello! is it you?" 
 She recognized him with a smile, with those clear 
 
270 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 eyes of a child which wakes up without the slight- 
 est embarrassment at its own disorder ; and there 
 they remained motionless and affected by the 
 silence and growing flame of their desire. But the 
 bedroom was suddenly plunged in a big dark 
 shadow by the clapping-to of the tall shutters, 
 which the wind banged shut one after the other. 
 They heard the doors slam, a key fall, the whirling 
 of leaves and flowers over the sand as far as the 
 lintel of the door through which the hurricane 
 plaintively moaned. 
 
 " What a storm ! " said she in a very low voice, 
 taking hold of his burning hand and almost drag- 
 ging him beneath the curtains — 
 
 *' Yes, gentlemen, this sublime advice of Bayard's 
 mother, which has come down to us in that mel- 
 lifluous tongue of the middle ages — " 
 
 It was at Chambery this time, in sight of the old 
 Chateau of Savoy and of that marvellous amphi- 
 theatre formed of green hills and snowy mountains 
 which Chateaubriand remembered when he saw 
 Mount Taygetus, that the grand m.aster of the Uni- 
 versity was speaking, thickly surrounded by em- 
 broidered coats, by palm decorations, by orders 
 with ermine, by epaulettes decked with big tassels ; 
 there he was, dominating an enormous crowd 
 excited by the power of his will and the gesture 
 of his strong hand that still grasped a little ivory- 
 handled trowel with which he had just spread the 
 mortar for the first stone of the new Lyceum. 
 
 *' Would that the University of France might 
 
The Speech at Chambery, ?.yi 
 
 speak those words to every one of its boys : * Pierre, 
 my friend, I recommend to thee before everything 
 else that . . . ' " 
 
 And whilst he quoted those touching words 
 emotion caused his hand, his voice and his broad 
 cheeks to tremble at the memory of that great 
 perfumed room in which, during the agitation 
 caused by a most memorable thunder-storm, the 
 Chambery speech had been composed. 
 
272 
 
 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE VICTIMS. 
 
 A MORNING at ten o'clock. The antechamber at 
 the Ministry of Public Instruction ; a long corri- 
 dor badly lighted, with dark hangings and an, 
 oaken wainscot. The gallery is full of a crowd of 
 office-seekers, seated or sauntering about, who 
 from minute to minute become more numerous; 
 each new arrival gives his card to the solemn clerk 
 wearing his chain of office, who receives it, ex- 
 amines and without a word deposits it by his side 
 on the slab of the little table where he is writing; 
 all this in the haggard light from a window drip- 
 ping from a gentle October rain. 
 
 One of the last arrivals, however, has the honor 
 of stirring the august impassiveness of this clerk. 
 He is a great big man, weather-beaten, sunburned 
 and of a tarry aspect, with two little silver anchors 
 in his ears for rings and with the voice of a seal 
 that has caught a cold — just such a voice as one 
 hears in the transparent early morning mists in 
 the seaports of Provence. 
 
 *' Let him know that it is Cabantous, the pilot — 
 he knows what is up; he expects me." 
 
 " You are not the only one," answers the clerk, 
 who smiles discreetly at his own joke. 
 
The Victims, 273 
 
 Cabantous does not appreciate the delicacy of 
 the joke ; but he laughs in good humor, his mouth 
 opening back as far as the silver anchors; and, 
 making use of his shoulders, he pushes through 
 the crowd, which falls aside before his wet um- 
 brella, and installs himself on a bench alongside 
 a sufferer who is almost as weather-beaten as 
 himself. 
 
 " Te ! v^ ! — why, it is Cabantous. Hello, 
 how are you ? " 
 
 The pilot begs his pardon — cannot recall who 
 it is. 
 
 " Valmajour, you remember; we used to know 
 each other down there in the arena." 
 
 ''That is true, by gad. — Be\ my good fellow, 
 you at least can say that Paris has changed 
 you — " 
 
 The tabor-player has now become a gentleman 
 with very long black hair pushed behind his ears 
 in the manner of the musical person, and that, 
 along with his swarthy complexion and his blue- 
 black moustache, at which he is constantly pulling, 
 makes him look like one of the gypsies at the 
 Ginger-bread Fair. On top of all this a constant 
 look of the village cock with its crest up, a con- 
 ceit like that of village beau and musician com- 
 bined, in which the exaggeration of his Southern 
 origin betrays itself and slops over, notwithstand- 
 ing his tranquil and ungarrulous appearance. 
 
 His lack of success at the opera has not fright- 
 ened him off; like all actors in such cases he 
 attributes his failure to a cabal, and for his sister 
 
2 74 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 and himself that word *' cabal " has taken on 
 barbark: and extraordinary proportions, and more- 
 over a Sanscrit spelling — the khabbala — a mys- 
 terious monster which combines the traits of the 
 rattlesnake and the pale horse of the Apocalypse. 
 
 And so he relates to Cabantous that he is about 
 to appear in a few days at a great variety show in 
 a cafe on the boulevard — " An eskating-rink I 
 would have you understand ! " where he is to 
 figure in some living pictures, at two hundred 
 francs the evening, 
 
 " Two hundred francs an evening ! " The eyes 
 of the pilot roll in his head. 
 
 ** And besides that, they will cry my bography 
 in the street and my portrait in life size will be on 
 all the walls of Paris, wid my costume of a trouba- 
 dour of the old times, which I shall put on 
 every evening when I do my music." 
 
 What flatters him most in all of this is the cos- 
 tume. What a bore that he is not able to put on his 
 crenelated cap and his long-pointed shoes in order 
 that he might show the Minister what a splendid 
 engagement he has, and this time on good gov- 
 ernment stamped paper which was signed without 
 Roumestan's aid ! Cabantous looks at the stamped 
 paper, smudged on both its faceS;, and sighs. 
 
 *' You are mighty lucky ; why, look at me — it 's 
 more than a year that I am 'oping for my medal. 
 Numa told me to send my papers on here and I 
 did send my papers here — after that I never heard 
 anything more about the medal, nor about the 
 papers, nor about anything else. I wrote to the 
 
The Victims, 275 
 
 Ministry of Marine; they don't know me at 
 the Marine. I wrote to the Minister himself; the 
 Minister did not answer. And what beats me is 
 this, that now, when I have n't my papers with 
 me and a discussion arises among the mercantile 
 captains as to pilotage, the port councilmen won't 
 listen to my arguments. So, finding that was the 
 way of it, I put my ship in dry dock and says I 
 to myself: Come, let's go and see Numa." 
 
 He was almost in tears about it, was this 
 wretched pilot. Valmajour consoles and reas- 
 sures him and promises to speak for him with the 
 Minister ; he does this in an assured tone, his 
 finger on his moustache, like a man to whom 
 people can refuse nothing. But after all the 
 haughty attitude is not peculiar to him ; all these 
 people who are waiting for an audience — old 
 priests of pious manners in their visiting cloaks; 
 methodical and authoritative professors ; dudish 
 painters with their hair cut Russian fashion ; thick- 
 set sculptors with broad ends to their fingers — 
 they all have this same triumphant air — special 
 friends of the Minister and sure of their business. 
 All of them, as they came in, have said to the 
 clerk: "He expects me." 
 
 Each one is filled with a conviction that if only 
 Roumestan knew that he was there ! — This it is 
 that gives a very particular physiognomy to the 
 antechamber of the Ministry of PubHc Instruction, 
 without a trace of those feverish pallors, of those 
 trembling anxieties, which one perceives in the 
 vv'aiting-rooms at other Ministries. 
 
276 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 *'Who is he engaged with?" asks Valmajour in 
 a loud voice, going up to the little table. 
 
 *' The Director of the Opera." 
 
 " Cadaillac — all right, I know — it is about my 
 business ! " 
 
 After the failure made by the tabor-player in 
 his theatre Cadaillac had refused to let him appear 
 again. Valmajour wished to bring suit, but the 
 Minister, who was afraid of the lawyers and the 
 little newspapers, had begged the musician to 
 withdraw his plea, guaranteeing him a round sum 
 as damages. There is no doubt whatever with 
 Valmajour that they are at this moment dis- 
 cussing these damages and not without a certain 
 animation, too, for every few moments the clarion 
 voice of Numa penetrates the double door of 
 his sitting room, which at last is rudely torn 
 open. 
 
 *' She is not my protegee, she is yours ! " 
 
 Big fat Cadaillac leaves the room, hurling this 
 taunt, crosses the antechamber with an angry gait 
 and passes the clerk who is coming up between 
 two lines of solicitors. 
 
 " You have only to give my name." 
 
 ** Let him only know that I am here." 
 
 " Tell 'im it's Cabantous." 
 
 The clerk listens to nobody, but marches very 
 solemnly on with a few visiting cards in his hand 
 and the door which he leaves partly open behind 
 him shows the Minister's sitting-room filled with 
 light from its three windows overlooking the 
 garden, all of one panel of the wall covered by 
 
The Victims, 277 
 
 the cloak turned up with ermine of M. de Fon- 
 tanes, painted standing at full length. 
 
 A trace of astonishment showing on his cadav- 
 erous face, the clerk comes back and calls : 
 
 " Monsieur Valmajour." 
 
 The musician is not at all astonished at passing 
 in this way over the heads of the others. 
 
 Since early morning his portrait has appeared 
 placarded on all the walls of Paris. Now he is a 
 personage and hereafter the Minister will no 
 longer cause him to languish among the draughts 
 in a railway station. Conceited and smiling, there 
 he stands in the centre of the luxurious bureau 
 where secretaries are occupied in pulling out 
 drawers and cardboard pigeon-holes in a frantic 
 search for something. Roumestan in a terrible 
 rage scolds, thunders and curses, both hands in 
 his pockets : 
 
 " Come now, be done with it ! those papers, 
 what the devil ! — So they have been lost, have 
 they, that pilot's papers? . . . Really, gentlemen, 
 there is an absence of order here ! . . ." 
 
 He catches sight of Valmajour: ''Ha, it's you, 
 is it?" and he springs upon him with one leap, the 
 while the backs of the secretaries are disappearing 
 by the side doors in a state of terror, each carry- 
 ing off an armful of boxes. 
 
 " Now look here, are you never going to stop 
 persecuting me with your dog-at-the-fair music? 
 Haven't you had enough with one chance at it? 
 How many do you require? Now they tell me 
 that there you are on all the walls in your hybrid 
 
278 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 costume. And what is all this bosh that they 
 have brought me here? — that your biography? 
 A mass of blunders and lies. You know perfectly 
 well that you are no more a Prince than I am and 
 that those parchments which are talked about 
 here have never existed save in your own imagina- 
 tion ! " 
 
 With the brutal gesture of the man who loves 
 argument he grabbed the wretched fellow by the 
 flap of his jacket with both hands and as he talked 
 kept shaking him. In the first place this " eskat- " 
 ing-rink" didn't have a penny — perfect fakirs! 
 They would never pay him and all he would get 
 would be the shame of this dirty advertisement 
 on the strength of his name, the name of his 
 protector. Now the newspapers could begin their 
 jokes again — Roumestan and Valmajour the fifer 
 for the Ministry; and, growing excited at the 
 memory ot these attacks, his big cheeks quivering 
 with the anger hereditary in his family, with a fit of 
 rage like those of Aunt Portal, more scaring in the 
 solemn surroundings of an office where the per- 
 sonality of a man should disappear before the 
 public situation, he screamed at the top of his 
 voice : 
 
 "■ But for God's sake get out of here, you 
 wretched creature, get out of here ! We have 
 had enough of your shepherd's fife ! " 
 
 Stunned and silly, Valmajour let the flood go 
 on, stuttering, " All right, all right," and appealed 
 to the pitying face of Mejean, the only man whom 
 the Master's rage had not sent into headlong flight, 
 
The Victims, 279 
 
 and then gazed piteously on the big portrait of 
 Fontanes, who looked scandalized at excesses of 
 this sort and seemed to accentuate his grand Min- 
 isterial air the more, in proportion as Roumestan 
 lost his own dignity. At last, escaping from the 
 powerful fist which clutched him, the musician was 
 able to reach the door and fly half-crazed with 
 his tickets for the '' eskating." 
 
 " Cabantous, pilot ! " said Numa, reading the 
 name which the impassive clerk presented to him, 
 " There 's another Valmajour ! But no, I won't 
 have it; I have had enough of being their tool —   
 enough for to-day — I am no longer in . . ." 
 
 He continued to march up and down his office, 
 trying to get rid of what remained of that furious 
 rage,, the shock of which Valmajour had very 
 unfairly received. That Cadaillac, what impu- 
 dence ! daring to come and reproach him about 
 the little girl, in his own office, in the Ministry 
 itself, and before Mejean, before Rochemaure ! 
 *' Well, certainly, I am too weak; the nomina- 
 tion of that man to the directorship of the opera 
 was a terrible blunder ! " 
 
 His chief clerk was entirely of that opinion but 
 he would have taken good care not to say so ; 
 for Numa was no longer the good fellow he used 
 to be, who was the first to laugh at his own 
 embarrassments and took railleries and remon- 
 strances in good part. Having become the practi- 
 cal chief of the cabinet in consequence of his 
 speech at Chambery and a few other oratorical 
 triumphs, the intoxication that comes with heights 
 
28o Numa Roumestan, 
 
 gained, that royal atmosphere where the strongest 
 heads are turned, had changed him quite, had 
 made him nervous, splenetic and irritable. 
 
 A door beneath a curtain opened and Mme. 
 Roumestan appeared, ready to go out, her hair 
 fashionably dressed and a long cloak concealing 
 her figure. With that serene air which for five 
 months back lit up her pretty face : '* Have you 
 your council to-day, my dear? Good-morning, 
 Monsieur Mejean." 
 
 ** Why, yes, council — a meeting — everything ! " 
 
 " I wanted to ask you to come as far as 
 Mamma's house; I am breakfasting there; Hor- 
 tense would have been so glad ! " 
 
 ** But you see it is impossible." He looked at 
 his watch : ** I ought to be at Versailles at noon." 
 
 '* Then I will wait for you and take you to the 
 station." 
 
 He hesitated a second, not more than a second: 
 
 ** All right, I will put my signature here and 
 then we will go." 
 
 While he was writing Rosalie was giving Mejean 
 news of her sister in a low tone. The coming of 
 winter affected her spirits; she was forbidden to 
 go out. Why did he not call upon her } She 
 had need of all her friends. Mejean gave a ges- 
 ture of discouragement and woe : " Oh, so far as I 
 am concerned . . ." 
 
 "But I tell you yes, there is a good deal more 
 chance for you. It is only caprice on her part; 
 I am sure that it cannot last." 
 
 She saw everything in a rosy light and wanted 
 
The Victims, 281 
 
 to have all the world about her as happy as she 
 was — O, how happy ! and glad with so perfect a 
 joy that she indulged in a certain superstition 
 never to acknowledge the fulness of her joy to her- 
 self. As for Roumestan, he talked about his affair 
 everywhere with a comical sort of pride, to indif- 
 ferent people as well as to his intimates : 
 
 " We are going to call it the child of the 
 Ministry ! " and then he would laugh at his joke 
 till the tears came. 
 
 And of a truth those who knew about his 
 existence outside, the household in the city impu- 
 dently established with receptions and an open 
 table, this husband who was so sensitive and 
 tender and who talked of his coming fatherhood 
 with tears in his eyes, appeared a character not to 
 be defined, perfectly at peace in his lies, sincere 
 in his expansiveness, putting to the rout the con- 
 clusions of those who did not understand the 
 dangerous complications of Southern natures. 
 
 " Certainly, I will take you there," said he to 
 his wife as they got into the carriage. 
 
 ** But if they are waiting for you? " 
 
 " Well, so much the worse for them ; let them 
 wait for me — we shall be together all the longer.'* 
 
 He took Rosalie's arm under his own and press- 
 ing against her as if he were a child : 
 
 " Te! do you know that I am happy only in this 
 place? Your gentleness rests me, your coolness 
 comforts me. That Cadaillac put me into such a 
 state of rage ! He 's a fellow without any con- 
 science, he 's a fellow without any morality — " 
 
282 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 "You did n't know his character, then? " 
 **The way he is carrying on that theatre is a 
 burning shame ! " 
 
 " It is true that the engagement of that Mile. 
 Bachellery . . . why did you let him do it? A 
 girl who is false in everything, her youth, her 
 voice, even her eyelashes." 
 
 Numa felt his cheeks reddening; it was he 
 himself who fastened them on, now, with his own 
 great big fingers, those eyelashes ! The little girl's 
 mamma had taught him how to do it. 
 
 " Whom does this little good-for-nothing belong 
 to, anyhow } The Messenger was talking the 
 other day of influences in high circles, of some 
 mysterious protection — " 
 
 " I don't know; to Cadaillac, undoubtedly." 
 He turned away in order to conceal his em.- 
 barrassment and suddenly threw himself back 
 horrified. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Rosalie, looking out of 
 the window too. 
 
 There was the placard of the skating-rink, enor- 
 mous, printed in crying colors which showed out 
 under the rainy and gray sky, repeating itself at 
 every street corner, on every vacant space of a 
 naked wall and on the planks of temporary fences. 
 It showed a gigantic troubadour encircled with 
 living pictures as a border — all blotches in yel- 
 low, green and blue, with the ochre color of the 
 tabor placed across the figure. The long hoard- 
 ing which surrounded the new building of the city 
 hall, past which their carriage was going at the 
 
The Victims, 283 
 
 moment, was covered with this coarse and noisy 
 advertisement, which was stupefying even to Pari- 
 sian idiocy. 
 
 " My executioner ! " said Roumestan with an 
 expression of comic dismay. Rosalie found fault 
 with him gently. 
 
 ** No — your victim ! and would that he were 
 the only one ! But somebody else has caught fire 
 from your enthusiasm — " 
 
 /'Who can that be?" 
 
 " Hortense." 
 
 Then she told him what she had finally proved 
 to be a certainty, notwithstanding the mysteries 
 made by the young girl — namely, her affection for 
 this peasant, a thing which at first she had be- 
 lieved a mere fancy, but which worried her now 
 like a moral aberration in her sister. 
 
 The Minister was in a state of indignation. 
 
 "■ How can it be possible ? That hobnail, that 
 bog-trotter ! " 
 
 •* She sees him with her imagination, and espe- 
 cially in the light of your legends and inventions 
 which she has not been able to put in the right fo- 
 cus. That is why this advertisement and grotesque 
 coloring which enrage you fill me on the con- 
 trary with joy. I believe that her hero will appear 
 so ridiculous to her that she will no longer dare to 
 love him. If it were not for that, I hardly know 
 what would become of us. Can you imagine the 
 despair of my father; can you imagine yourself 
 the brother-in-law of Valmajour? — oh, Numa, 
 Numa ! poor involuntary maker of dupes." 
 
20)4 
 
 Numa Roumestait, 
 
 He did not put up any defence, but indulged 
 in anger against himself, against his " cussed 
 Southernism " which he was not able to overcome. 
 
 *' Look here, you ought to stay always just as 
 you are, right up against my side as my beloved 
 councillor and my holy protection. You alone 
 are good and indulgent, you alone understand 
 and love me." 
 
 He held her little gloved hand to his lips and 
 said this with such a firm conviction that tears, 
 real tears, reddened his eyelids: then, warmed up 
 and refreshed by this effusion, he felt better; and 
 so, when they reached the Place Royale and with a 
 thousand tender precautions he had helped his 
 wife out of the carriage, it was with a joyous tone 
 and one free of all remorse that he threw the 
 address to his coachman: *' London Street, hurry, 
 quick ! " 
 
 Moving slowly, Rosalie vaguely caught this 
 address and it gave her pain. Not that she had 
 the slightest suspicion; but he had just said that 
 he was going to the Saint-Lazare station. Why 
 was it that his acts were never in accordance with 
 his words? 
 
 In her sister's bedroom another cause for anx- 
 iety met her: she felt on entering that there 
 had been a sudden stoppage of a discussion 
 between Hortense and Audiberte, who still kept 
 the traces of fury on her face while her peasant's 
 head-dress still quivered on her hair bristling with 
 rage. Rosalie's presence kept her in bounds, that 
 was clear enough from her lips and eyebrows 
 
The Victims, 285 
 
 viciously drawn together. Still, as the young wife 
 asked her how she did, she was forced to answer 
 and so began to talk feverishly of the eskatingy 
 of the advantageous terms which were offered 
 them, and then, surprised at Rosalie's calm, de- 
 manded in an almost insolent tone: 
 
 ''Aren't you coming to hear my brother? It is 
 something that is at least worth while, if for 
 nothing more than to see him in his costume ! " 
 
 This ridiculous costume as it was described by 
 her in her peasant dialect, from the dents in the 
 cap down to the high curving points of the shoes, 
 put poor Hortense in a state of agony; she did 
 not dare raise her eyes to her sister's face. Rosa- 
 lie asked to be excused from going; the state of 
 her health did not permit her to visit the theatre. 
 Besides, in Paris there were certain places of en- 
 tertainment where all women could not go. The 
 peasant woman stopped her short at the first 
 suggestion. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, I go perfectly well and I 
 hope I am as good as anybody else — I have 
 never done any wrong, I have not ; / have always 
 fulfilled my religious duties." 
 
 She raised her voice without a trace of her 
 old bashfulness, just as If she had acquired rights 
 in the house. But Rosalie was much too kind 
 and far too superior to this poor ignorant thing 
 to cause her humiliation, particularly as she was 
 thinking about the responsibility that rested on 
 Numa. So, with the entire Intelligence of her heart 
 and revealing as usual the uncommon delicacy of 
 
286 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 her mind, in those truthful words that heal although 
 they may sting a little, she endeavored to make 
 Audiberte understand that her brother had not 
 succeeded and never would succeed in Paris, the 
 implacable city, and that rather than obstinately 
 continue a humiliating struggle, falling into the 
 mire and mud of artistic existence, it would be far 
 better for them to return to their Provence and buy 
 their farm back again, the means to accomplish 
 which would be furnished them, and so, in their 
 laborious life surrounded by nature, forget the 
 unhappy results of their trip to Paris. 
 
 The peasant girl let her talk to the very end 
 without interrupting her a single moment, merely 
 darting at Hortense a look of irony from her 
 wicked eyes as though to challenge her to make 
 some reply. At last, seeing that the young girl 
 did not wish to say anything more, she coldly 
 declared that they would not go, because her 
 brother had all kinds of engagements in Paris — 
 all kinds which it was impossible for him to 
 break. Upon that she threw over her arm the 
 heavy wet cloak which had been lying on the 
 back of a chair, made a hypocritical curtsy to 
 Rosalie, "Wishing you a very good day, Madame, 
 and thanking you very much, I am sure," and left 
 the room, followed by Hortense. 
 
 In the antechamber, lowering her voice on 
 account of the servants : 
 
 "■ Sunday evening, qii^f half past ten without 
 fail ! " And in a pressing, authoritative voice : 
 '* Come now, you certainly owe that to your pore 
 
The Vic thus. 28 y 
 
 friend ! Just to give him a little heart . . . and to 
 start with, what do you risk, anyhow? I am 
 coming to get you and I am going to bring you 
 back ! " 
 
 Seeing that Hortense still hesitated, she added 
 almost aloud in a tone of menace : " Come now, 
 I would like to know: are you his betrothed or 
 not?" 
 
 " I '11 come, I '11 come," said the young* girl 
 greatly alarmed. 
 
 When she returned to the room, seeing that she 
 looked worried and sad, Rosalie asked her: 
 
 "What are you thinking about, my dear girl? 
 are you still dreaming the continuation of your 
 novel ? It ought to be getting pretty well forward 
 in all these months," added she, taking her gayly 
 around the waist. 
 
 " Oh, yes, pretty well forward — " 
 
 After a silence Hortense continued in an 
 obscure tone of melancholy: ''But the trouble is, 
 I can't see my way to the close of the novel." 
 
 She did n't care for him any more : it may be 
 that she never had loved him. Under the trans- 
 forming power of absence and that " tender 
 glory " which misfortune gave to the Moor Aben- 
 cerage he had appeared to her from a distance 
 as her man of destiny. It seemed a proud act on 
 her part to knit her own existence with that of one 
 who was abandoned by everything, success and 
 protectors together. But when she got back to 
 Paris, what a pitiless clearness of things I What 
 
288 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 a terror to perceive how absolutely she had made 
 a mistake ! 
 
 To start with, Audiberte's first visit had shocked 
 her because of the new manners of the girl, too fa- 
 miliar and free and easy, and because of the look 
 of an accomplice which she gave when telling her 
 in whispers : " Hush, don't say anything ! he 's 
 coming to get me . . ." 
 
 That kind of action seemed to her rather hasty 
 and rather bold, more especially the idea of pre- 
 senting this young man to her parents. But the 
 peasant girl wanted to hurry things. And then, 
 all at once, Hortense perceived her error when she 
 looked upon this artist of the variety stage with 
 his long hair behind his ears, full of stage move- 
 ments, denting in and shifting his sombrero of 
 Provence on his characteristic head — always 
 handsome, of course, but full of a plain preoccupa- 
 tion to appear so. 
 
 Instead of taking a lowly manner in order to 
 make her forgive him for that generous spirit of 
 interest which she had felt for him, he preserved his 
 air of a conqueror, his silly look of the victor, and 
 without saying a word — for he would hardly have 
 known what to say — he treated this finely organ- 
 ized Parisian girl just as he would in similar con- 
 ditions have treated her^ the Des Combette girl — 
 took her by the waist with the motion of a soldier 
 and troubadour and wanted to press her to his 
 breast. She disengaged herself with a sudden 
 repulsion and a letting go of all her nerves, leaving 
 him there looking foolish and astonished, while 
 
The Victims, 289 
 
 Audiberte quickly intervened and scolded her 
 brother violently. What kind of manners had he, 
 anyhow? It must have been in Paris that he 
 learned such manners, in the Faubourg Saint 
 Germoyne, without a doubt, among his duchesses? 
 
 '* Come now, wait at least until she is your 
 wife ! " 
 
 And turning to Hortense : 
 
 " O, he is so in love with you ; his blood is 
 parching with his \ovq, p^ca'ir^ T* 
 
 From that time on, when Valmajour came to get 
 his sister he considered it necessary to assume the 
 sombre and desperate air of an illustration to a 
 ballad: "'The ocean waits for me,' the Knight 
 hadjured!' In other conditions the young girl 
 might have been touched, but really the poor fel- 
 low seemed too much of a nullity. All he knew 
 how to do was to smooth the nap of his soft hat 
 while reciting the list of his successes in the fau- 
 bourg of the nobles, or else the rivalries of the 
 stage. One day he talked to her for a whole hour 
 about the vulgarity of handsome Mayol, who had 
 refrained from congratulating him at the end of a 
 concert; and all the while he kept repeating: 
 
 "There you are with your Mayol! . . . B^ ! 
 he is not very polite, your Mayol is n't ! " 
 
 And all this was accompanied by Audiberte's 
 attitudes of watchfulness, her severity of a police- 
 man of morals, and this in the face of these very 
 cold lovers ! O, if she had been able to divine 
 what a terror possessed the soul of Hortense, what 
 a loathing for her frightful mistake ! 
 
 19 
 
290 Numa Roumesfan, 
 
 " Ho ! what a capon — what a capon of a 
 girl — " she would sometimes say to her, trying to 
 laugh, with her eyes brimming with rage, because 
 she considered that this love-affair was dragging 
 too much and believed that the young girl was 
 hesitating for fear of meeting the reproaches and 
 anger of her parents. Just as if that would have 
 weighed a straw in the balance for such a free and 
 proud nature, had there been a real love in her 
 heart; but how can one say: "I love him," and 
 buckle on one's armor, rouse one's spirits and fight,- 
 when one does not love at all? 
 
 However, she had promised, and every day she 
 was harassed by new demands. For instance 
 there was that first night at the skating-rink, to 
 which the peasant girl insisted upon taking her, 
 whether or no, counting upon the singer's success 
 and the sympathy of the applause to break down 
 the last objections. After a long resistance the 
 poor little girl ended by consenting to skip out 
 secretly for that one night behind the back of her 
 mother, making use of lies and humiliating com- 
 plications. She had given way through fear and 
 weakness, perhaps also with the hope of getting 
 her first impression back again at the theatre — 
 that mirage which had vanished; of lighting up 
 again, in fact, that flame of love which was so 
 desperately quenched. 
 
The Skating- Ri7ik. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE SKATING-RINK. 
 
 Where was it? Whither was she being taken? 
 The cab had been going for a long, long time ; 
 seated at her side, Audiberte had been holding her 
 hands, reassuring her and talking to her with a fe- 
 verish violence. She did not look at anything, 
 she did not hear anything ; the noise of the wheels, 
 the sharp tones of that shrill little voice had no 
 sense for her mind whatever ; nor did the streets 
 and boulevards and house-fronts seem to her to 
 wear their usual aspect, but were discolored by the 
 lively emotion within, as if she were looking at 
 them out of the carriage in a funeral or marriage 
 procession. 
 
 Finally they brought up with a jerk and stopped 
 before a wide pavement inundated by white light 
 which carved the crowd of people swarming here 
 into black sharp-cut shadows. At the entrance 
 of the large corridor was a wicket for the tickets, 
 then a double door of red velvet, and right upon 
 that a hall, an enormous hall, which with its nave 
 and its side aisles and the stucco on its high walls, 
 recalled to her an Anglican church which she had 
 once visited on the occasion of a marriage. Only 
 
292 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 in this case the walls were covered with placards 
 and advertisements in every color, setting forth the 
 virtues of pith helmets, shirts made to measure for 
 four francs and a half and announcements of cloth- 
 ing-shops, alternating with the portrait of the tabor- 
 player, whose biography one could hear cried in 
 that voice of a steam-valve used by programme- 
 sellers. They were in the midst of a stunning 
 noise in which the murmur of the circulating 
 mob, the humming of the tops on the cloth of the 
 English billiard tables, calls for drinks, snatches 
 of music broken by patriotic gunshots coming 
 from the back of the hall, were dominated by a 
 constant noise of roller skates going and coming 
 across a broad asphalted space surrounded by 
 balustrades, the centre of a perfect storm of crush 
 hats and bonnets of the time of the Directory. 
 
 Hortense walked behind the Provengal girl, 
 anxious and frightened, now turning pale and now 
 turning red beneath her veil, following her with 
 difficulty through a perfect labyrinth of little round 
 tables at which women were seated two and two 
 drinking, their elbows on the table, cigarettes in 
 their mouths and their knees up, overwhelmed with 
 a look of boredom. Against the wall from point to 
 point stood crowded counters and behind each was 
 a girl standing erect, her eyes blackened with kohl, 
 her mouth red as blood and little flashes of steel 
 coming from a bang of black or russet hair plastered 
 over her brow. And this white and black of 
 painted skin, this smile with its painted vermilion- 
 point, were to be found on all the women, as if it 
 
The Skating- Rink, 293 
 
 were a livery belonging to nocturnal and pallid 
 apparitions which all were forced to wear. 
 
 Sinister also was the slow strolling of the men 
 who elbowed their way in an insolent and brutal 
 manner between the tables, puffing the smoke of 
 their thick cigars right and left with the insult of 
 their marketing as they pushed about to look as 
 closely as possible at the wares. And what gave 
 it still more the impression of a market was the 
 cosmopolite public talking all kinds of French, a 
 hotel public which had just arrived and run into 
 the place in their travelling clothes — Scotch bon- 
 nets, striped jackets, tweeds still full of the fog of 
 the Channel and Muscovite furs thawing fast in the 
 Paris air. And there were the long black beards 
 and insolent airs of people from the banks of the 
 Spree covering satyr grins and Tartar mugs ; there 
 too were Turkish fezzes surmounting coats without 
 any collars, negroes in full evening dress gleaming 
 like the silk of their tall hats and little Japanese 
 men dressed like Europeans, dapper and correct, 
 like tailors' advertisements fallen into the fire. 
 
 ** Boii Diotc ! How ugly he is," said Audiberte 
 suddenly, as they passed a very solemn Chinaman 
 with his long pigtail hanging down the back of 
 his blue gown ; or else she would stop and, nudg- 
 ing her companion with her elbow, cry ** V^ ! vi ! 
 see the bride ! " and show her some woman dressed 
 entirely in white lounging on two chairs — one of 
 which supported her white satin shoes with silver 
 heels — the waist of her dress wide open, the train 
 of her gown all which-way, and orange flowers fas- 
 
294 Numa Rotimestan, 
 
 tening the lace of a short mantilla In her hair. 
 Then, suddenly scandalized by certain words which 
 gave her the clue to these very chance bridal 
 flowers, the Provenc^al girl would add in a myste- 
 rious manner : " A regular snake, you know ! " 
 Then suddenly, in order to drag Hortense away 
 from a bad example, she would hurry her toward 
 the central part of the building where a theatre 
 rose far in the back, occupying the same place as 
 the choir in a church. The stage was there under 
 electric flames which came and went in two big' 
 glass spheres away up in the ceiling, like two 
 gleaming, starry eyes of an Eternal Father in a 
 book of holy images. 
 
 Here they could compose themselves after the 
 tumultuous wickedness of the lobbies. Families 
 of little citizens, the shopkeepers of the quarter, 
 filled the orchestra stalls. There were few women. 
 It might have been possible to believe oneself in 
 some kind of an auditorium, were it not for the 
 horrible noise all about, which was always being 
 overborne by the regular rolling of the skaters on 
 the asphalt floor, drowning even the brass instru- 
 ments and the drums of the orchestra, so that 
 really on the boards all that was possible was 
 the dumb-show of living pictures. 
 
 As they seated themselves the curtain went 
 down on a patriotic scene: an enormous Belfort 
 lion made of cardboard, surrounded by soldiers in 
 triumphant poses on crumbling ramparts, their 
 military caps stuck on the ends of their guns, 
 gesticulating to the measure of the Marseillaise, 
 
The Skating-Rink, 295 
 
 which nobody could hear. This performance and 
 this wild excitement stimulated the Provencal 
 girl; her eyes were bulging in her head; as she 
 found a place for Hortense she exclaimed : 
 
 '' Que ! we are nice here, que ! But do haul 
 up youi: veil — don't tremble so, there is no danger 
 wid me ! " 
 
 The young girl did not answer, still over- 
 whelmed by the impression of that slow, insulting 
 crowd of strollers where she had been confounded 
 with the rest, among all those livid masks of 
 women. And behold, right in front of her, she 
 found those horrible masks once more, with their 
 blood-stained lips — found them in the grimacing 
 faces of two clowns in tights who were dislocating 
 all their joints, a bell in each hand with which they 
 were sounding out, whilst they frolicked about, an 
 air from ''Martha" — a veritable music of the 
 gnomes, formless and stuttering, very much in its 
 place in the musical babel of the skating-rink. 
 Then the curtain fell again, and for the tenth time 
 the peasant girl stood up and sat down again, 
 fussed about, fixed her head-dress anew and sud- 
 denly exclaimed, as she looked down the pro- 
 gramme : " There, the Cordova Mount — the 
 summer locusts, the farandole — there, there, it is 
 beginning, v^y ve !'' 
 
 Rising once more, the curtain displayed upon 
 the background of the scenery a lilac mountain, 
 up which mounted buildings of stone most weird 
 in construction, partly castle, partly mosque, 
 here a minaret and there a terrace ; they rose in 
 
296 Ntima Roumestan, 
 
 oglval arches, crenelations and Moorish work, with 
 aloes and palm-trees of zinc rising at the foot of 
 towers sharply cut against the indigo blue of a 
 very crude sky. One may see just such absurd 
 architecture in the suburbs of Paris among villas 
 inhabited by newly enriched merchants. In spite 
 of all, in spite of the crying tones of the slopes 
 blossoming with thyme and exotic plants placed 
 there by mistake because of the word "■ Cordova," 
 Hortense was rather embarrassed at sight of that 
 landscape which held for her the most delightful- 
 recollections. And that palace of the Turk perched 
 upon the mountain all rose-colored porphyry, and 
 that reconstructed castle, really did seem to her 
 the realization of her dreams, but quite grotesque 
 and overdone, as it happens when one's dream is 
 about to slip into the oppression of a nightmare. 
 
 At a signal from the orchestra and from an 
 electric jet, long devil's-darning-needles, person- 
 ated by girls in an undress of tightly-fitting silks, 
 a sort of emerald-green tights, rushed upon the 
 stage waving their long membranous wings and 
 whirling their wooden rattles. 
 
 "What! those are locusts? Not much!" said 
 the Provencal girl indignantly. 
 
 Already they had arranged themselves in a half 
 circle, like a crescent-shaped mass of seaweed, all 
 the time whirling their rattles, which sounded very 
 distinctly now, because the row made by the 
 parlor skates was softened and for a moment the 
 noise of the lobby was hushed in a close wall of 
 heads leaning toward the stage, their eyes glaring 
 
The Skating- Rink, 297 
 
 under every kind of head-dress in the world. 
 The wretchedness which tore Hortense's heart 
 grew deeper when she heard coming, at first from 
 afar and gradually increasing, the low sound of 
 the tabor. 
 
 She would have liked to flee in order not to 
 have seen what was coming. In its turn the 
 shepherd's pipe sounded out its high notes and 
 the farandole, raising under the cadence of its 
 regular steps a thick dust the color of the earth, 
 unrolled itself with all the fantastic costumes imasf- 
 inable, short skirts meant to lure the eye, red 
 stockings with gold borders, spangled waists, head- 
 dresses of Arab coins, of Indian scarfs, of Italian 
 kerchiefs or those from Brittany or Caux, all worn 
 with a fine Parisian disdain of truth to locality. 
 
 Behind them, pushing forward on his knee a 
 tabor covered with gold paper, came the great 
 troubadour of the placards — his legs incased 
 in tights, one leg yellow with a blue shoe on 
 and one leg blue shod in yellow, with his satin 
 waistcoat covered with puffs and his crenelated 
 velvet cap overshadowing a countenance which 
 remained quite brown despite cosmetics, and of 
 which nothing could be seen well except a big 
 moustache stiffened with Hungarian pomade. 
 
 *' Ah ! " said Audiberte in perfect ecstasy. 
 
 When the farandole had taken up its place on 
 the two sides of the stage in front of the locusts 
 with their big wings, the troubadour, standing 
 alone in the centre, saluted with an air of assur- 
 ance and victory under the glaring eyes of the 
 
298 Numa Roumesfan, 
 
 Eternal Father whose rays poured a luminous 
 hoarfrost upon his coat. 
 
 The aubade began, rustic and shrill, yet it went 
 forward into the halls hardly farther than the foot- 
 lights ; there it lived a very short life, fighting for a 
 moment with the flamboyant banners on the ceiling 
 and the columns of the enormous interior, and then 
 fell flat into a great and bored silence. The public 
 looked on without the slightest comprehension. 
 Valmajour began another piece, which at the first 
 sounds was received with laughter, murmurs and' 
 cat-calls. Audiberte took Hortense's hand: 
 
 '' Listen ! that 's the cabal ! " 
 
 At this point the cabal consisted merely of a few 
 ** Heh ! louder!" and of jokes of this sort, which 
 were called out by a husky voice belonging to 
 some low woman on seeing the complicated dumb- 
 show that Valmajour employed : " Oh, give us a 
 rest, you chump ! " 
 
 Then the rink took up again its sound of parlor 
 skates and of English billiards and its ambulatory 
 marketing, overwhelming the shepherd's pipe and 
 the tabor which the musician insisted upon using 
 until the very end of the aubade. After this he 
 saluted again, marched forward toward the foot- 
 lights, always accompanied by that mysterious 
 grand air which never quitted him. His lips 
 could be seen moving and a few words came here 
 and there into ear-shot: "It came to me all of a 
 sudden . . . one hole . . . three holes . . . the 
 good God's biri^d . . ." 
 
 His despairing gesture was understood by the 
 
The Skating- Rink, 299 
 
 orchestra and gave the signal for a ballet in which 
 the locusts twined themselves about the odaHsques 
 from Caux and formed plastic poses, undulatory 
 and lascivious dances beneath Bengal flames 
 which threw their rainbow light as far as the 
 pointed shoes of the troubadour, who continued 
 his dumb-show with the tabor in front of the 
 castle of his ancestors in a great glory and 
 apotheosis. 
 
 There lay the romance of poor little Hortense ! 
 That is what Paris had made of it. 
 
 The clear bell of the old clock hanging on 
 the wall of her chamber sounded one as Hor- 
 tense roused herself from the arm-chair into which 
 she had fallen utterly crushed when she entered. 
 She looked around her gentle maiden's nest, 
 warm with the reassuring gleams of a dying fire 
 and of an expiring night-lamp. 
 
 "What am I doing here? Why did I not go 
 to bed?" 
 
 She could not remember at first what had hap- 
 pened, only feeling a complete sickness through 
 her entire being and in her head a noise which 
 made it ache. She stood up and walked a step 
 or two before she perceived that she still wore 
 her hat and mantle; then all came back to her. 
 She remembered then their departure after the 
 curtain fell, their return through the hideous 
 market, more brilliantly illumined than before, 
 among drunken book-makers fighting with each 
 other in front of a counter, through cynical voices 
 
300 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 whispering a sum of money as she passed — and 
 then the scene at the exit, with Audiberte who 
 wished her to come and felicitate her brother; 
 then Audiberte's wrath in the coach, the abuse 
 which the creature heaped upon her, only ended 
 by Audiberte humiliating herself before her, and 
 kissing her hands for pardon ; all that and still 
 other things danced through her memory along 
 with the horrible faces of the clowns, harsh noises 
 of bells, cymbals and rattles, and the rising up of 
 many-colored flames about that ridiculous trouba-' 
 dour to whom she had given her heart ! A terror 
 that was physical roused her at that idea : 
 ** No, no ; never ! I 'd far rather die ! " 
 All of a sudden, in the looking-glass in front ot 
 her, she caught sight of a ghost with hollow 
 cheeks and narrow shoulders drawn together in 
 front with the gesture of a person shuddering with 
 cold. The spectre looked a little like her, but much 
 more like that poor Princess of Anhalt who had so 
 roused her curiosity and pity at Arvillard that she 
 had described her sad symptoms in a letter. The 
 princess had just died at the opening of winter. 
 
 " Why, look — look ! " She bent forward, came 
 nearer to the glass and recalled the inexplicable 
 kindness that everybody down there had shown 
 her, the fright her mother evinced, the tenderness 
 of old Bouchereau at her departure — and under- 
 stood ! Now at last she knew what it was, she 
 knew the end of the game ! It was here without 
 any one to aid it. Surely it was long enough she 
 had been looking for its coming. 
 
"^/ the Products of the South'.' 301 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "Mlle. Hortense is very ill. Madame will 
 receive nobody." 
 
 For the tenth time during the ten days that had 
 passed Audiberte had received the same answer, 
 motionless before that heavy-timbered door with 
 its knocker, the like of which can scarcely be 
 found except beneath the arcades of the Place 
 Royale, a door which once shut seemed to her to 
 refuse forever an entrance to the old house of the 
 Le Quesnoys. 
 
 "Very well," said she, "I am not coming back; 
 it must be they now who shall call me back." 
 
 In great agitation she set out again through the 
 lively turmoil of that commercial quarter, where 
 drays laden with cases and barrels and iron bars, 
 noisy and flexible, were forever passing the push- 
 carts that rolled under the porches and back into 
 the courtyards where the coopers were nailing up 
 the cases for export. But the peasant girl was 
 not aware of this infernal row and of the rum- 
 bling of labor which shook the high houses to 
 their very topmost floors ; in her venomous head 
 a very different kind of row was going on, a 
 clashing of brutal thoughts and a terrible clangor 
 
302 Numa Roumestmi, 
 
 of foiled wishes. So she set forth, feeling no 
 fatigue, and in order to economize the 'bus fare 
 crossed on foot the entire distance from the Marais 
 to Abbaye-Montmartre Street. 
 
 After a fierce and lively peregrination from one 
 lodging to the other, hotels and furnished apart- 
 ments of all kinds, from which they were expelled 
 each time on account of the tabor-playing, they 
 had just recently made shipwreck in that quarter. 
 It was a new house which had allured, at the 
 cheap prices for housewarmers, a temporary horde 
 of girls, Bohemians and business agents, and those 
 families of adventurers such as one sees at the 
 seaports, a floating population which shows its 
 lack of work on the balconies, watching arrivals 
 and departures in hopes that there may be some- 
 thing to be gained for them in the flood. Fortune 
 is here the flood on which they cast their watchful 
 eyes. 
 
 The rent was very high for them to pay, espe- 
 cially now that the skating-rink had failed and it 
 was necessary to sue upon government stamped 
 paper for the price of Valmajour's few appear- 
 ances. But the tabor did not bother anybody in 
 that freshly -painted barrack whose door was open 
 at every hour of the night for the different crooked 
 businesses of the tenants — not to speak of all the 
 quarrels and rows that were going on. On the 
 contrary, it was the tabor-player who was both- 
 ered. The advertising on placards, the many- 
 colored tights and his fine moustaches had aroused 
 perilous interest among the ladies of the skating- 
 
*' ^/ the Products of the Souths 303 
 
 rink less coy than that prude of a girl down there 
 in the Marais. He was acquainted with actors 
 at the Batignolles, all that sweet-scented crowd 
 which met in a pot-house on the Boulevard Roche- 
 chouart called the Straw-Lair. This same Straw- 
 Lair, where people passed their time in loafing 
 fatly, playing cards, drinking lager beer and pass- 
 ing from one to the other the scandal of the little 
 theatres and the lowest class of gallantry, was the 
 enemy and the horror of Audiberte. It was the 
 cause of savage rages, under the stormy blows of 
 which the two Southerners bent their backs as under 
 a tempest in the tropics, merely revenging them- 
 selves by cursing their tyrant in a green skirt and 
 talking about her in that mysterious and hateful 
 tone which schoolboys and servants use: "What 
 did she say? how much did she give you?" and 
 playing into each other's hands in order to slip 
 away behind her back. Audiberte knew this well 
 and watched them ; she did her business outside 
 quickly, impatient to get home; and particularly 
 was it so that day, because she had left them 
 early in the morning. As she ascended the stairs 
 she stopped a moment, hearing neither tabor nor 
 shepherd's pipe. 
 
 " Oh, the beggarly wretch, he 's off again to his 
 Straw-Lair! " 
 
 But as she came in at the door her father ran 
 up to her and headed the explosion off. 
 
 "Now don't squeal, somebody's come to visit 
 you; a gentleman from the Munistry!'' 
 
 The gentleman was waiting in the drawing- 
 
304 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 room ; for, as it always happens in these build- 
 ings, cheaply built and made by machinery, with 
 every room on each floor exactly the same, one 
 above the other, they too had a drawing-room 
 hung with a cheap paper, creamy and waffled into 
 patterns till it looked like a dish of beaten eggs, 
 a drawing-room which made the peasant girl a 
 very proud woman. Mejean was passing in re- 
 view most compassionately the Provencal furni- 
 ture scattered about this dentist's waiting-room, 
 full of the crude light from two windows guilt- 
 less of curtains — the coco and the inoco (tumbler- 
 holder and lamp-holder), the kneading-trough, 
 the bread-basket much banged about by house- 
 movings and by travel — these showed their rural 
 rustiness alongside of the cheap gilding and wall 
 paintings. The haughty profile of Audiberte, 
 very pure in its lines, surmounted by her Sunday 
 head-dress, which seemed just as out-of-place in 
 the fifth story of a Parisian apartment house, 
 completed the feeling of pity which he had con- 
 cerning these victims of Roumestan ; and so he 
 introduced very gently the cause of his visit. 
 
 The Minister, wishing to spare the Valmajours 
 new misfortunes, for which up to a certain point 
 he felt himself responsible, sent them five thou- 
 sand francs to pay for their losses in having 
 changed their home and to carry them back again 
 to their own place. He took the bills from his 
 purse and laid them on the old dark kneading- 
 trou2:h of nutwood. 
 
 "So, then, we'll have to leave .^" asked the 
 
''At the Products of the Souths 305 
 
 peasant girl without budging an inch and ponder- 
 ing a while. 
 
 "The Minister desires that you should go as 
 soon as possible; he is anxious to know that you 
 have returned to your home as happy as you were 
 before." 
 
 Old Valmajour cast his eye around at the bank- 
 notes : 
 
 " As for me, that seems reasonable enough — • 
 de qii^ n r.n disesf 
 
 But she would not say anything and waited for 
 the sequel, which Mejean introduced by twisting 
 and turning his purse: 
 
 "And to those five thousand francs we will add 
 five thousand more which are here, in order to 
 get back again — to get back again — " 
 
 His emotion choked him. Cruel was the com- 
 mission which Rosalie had given him. Ah, how 
 often it costs a lot to be considered a quiet- 
 loving, strong man; much more is demanded 
 of such a one than of other people ! Then he 
 added very rapidly — "the photograph of Mile. 
 Le Quesnoy. " 
 
 " At last ! now we have got to it. The photo- 
 graph — didn't I know it, by heavens .-* " At every 
 word she bounded up like a goat. "And so you 
 really believe that you can make us come from 
 the other end of France, that you can promise 
 everything to us — to us who never asked for 
 anything — and then that you can put us out 
 of doors like so many dogs who have done their 
 worst and left their dirt everywhere.? Take 
 
3o6 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 back your money, gentleman ! You can be dead 
 sure that we sha'n't leave, and you can say 
 so there, and also that the photograph won't 
 be returned to them! That 's a paper and a 
 proof, that is. I keep it safe in my little bag; 
 it never leaves me and I shall show it about 
 through Paris and what is written upon it, so that 
 all the world may know that all those Roume- 
 stans are no better than a family of liars — of 
 liars — " 
 
 She was foaming with rage. 
 
 "Mile. Le Quesnoy is very, very ill," said 
 Mejean, with great solemnity. 
 
 ''Aval!'' 
 
 " She is leaving Paris, and in all probability 
 will never return — alive! " 
 
 Audiberte said not a word, but the silent laugh 
 of her eyes, the implacable no which was written 
 upon her classic brow, on which the hair grew 
 low beneath the little lace head-dress, were suffi- 
 cient to warrant the firmness of her refusal. Then 
 a temptation seized Mejean to throw himself upon 
 her, tear the little Indian bag from her girdle and 
 fly with it ; still, he restrained himself, attempted 
 a few useless expostulations, and then, quivering 
 with rage likewise, he said, "You will repent of 
 this," and to the great regret of Father Valmajour, 
 left the house. 
 
 " Look out, little girl, you are going to bring 
 us into some misfortune ! " 
 
 "Not much ! It 's them that we '11 give trouble 
 to J I am going to ask the advice of Guilloche." 
 
'' Ai the Products of the Souths 307 
 
 GUILLOCHE, CONTENTIEUX. 
 
 Behind the yellow card bearing those two 
 words, fastened on the door which was opposite 
 their own, was one of those terrible business men 
 whose entire instalment consists of an enormous 
 leather portfolio containing the minutes and 
 notes of rancid lawsuits, sheets of white paper for 
 secret denunciations and begging letters, bits of 
 pie-crust, a false beard and sometimes even a 
 hammer with which to strike milkwomen dead, 
 as was seen recently in a famous lawsuit. This 
 type of man, of whom many exist in Paris, would 
 not be worthy of a single line if said Guilloche, 
 a name which was as good as a signboard when 
 one considered his countenance divided up into 
 a thousand little symmetrical wrinkles, had not 
 added to his profession an entirely new and char- 
 acteristic department. 
 
 Guilloche did the business of penalties for 
 schoolboys and collegians. A poor devil of an 
 usher, when the classes came out from recitation, 
 went about collecting the penalties in the way of 
 copies to be turned in. He stayed awake far into 
 the night copying lines of the ^neid or the 
 various forms of the Greek verb luo. When there 
 was lack of regular business Guilloche, who was a 
 graduate of college, harnessed himself up for this 
 original work, which he found fairly profitable. 
 
 Audiberte's matter having been explained to 
 him, he declared that it was excellent. The 
 Minister might be legally held up and the news- 
 
3o3 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 papers might be made to come down ; the photo- 
 graph alone was worth a mine of gold; only it 
 was necessary to use time to go hither and thither 
 and he must have advances of money which must 
 be paid down in good coin ; as for the Puyfourcat 
 inheritance, that seemed to him a pure Fata Mor- 
 gana, a dictum which mortified terribly the peasant 
 girl's love of lucre already so terribly tried, all 
 the more because Valmajour, who had been much 
 asked to swell drawing-rooms during the first 
 winter, no longer set foot in a single house of the 
 Faubourg St. Germoyne. 
 
 " So much the worse ! I will work the harder, 
 I will economize — zou! " 
 
 That energetic little Arlesian head-dress flew 
 about in the great new building, ran up and down 
 stairs, carrying from story to story her tale of 
 adventure wid the Menister. She excited herself, 
 squealed, pounced about, and then in a myste-" 
 rious voice would say: "And thin there's the 
 photograph," and with a furtive and sidelong 
 glance, such as the sellers of photographs in the 
 arcades employ when old libertines call for tights, 
 she would show the picture : 
 
 " A pretty girl, at any rate ! And you have read 
 what is written there underneath ? " 
 
 This kind of thing happened in the bosom of 
 the temporary families and with the roller-skat- 
 ing ladies of the rink or at the Straw-Lair — 
 ladies whom she pompously called Mme. Malvina 
 or Mme. EloTse, being deeply impressed by their 
 velvet skirts, their chemises edged with holes for 
 
'^ At the Products of the Souths 309 
 
 ribbons and all the implements of their business, 
 without bothering herself otherwise as to what 
 that business might be. And thus the picture of 
 this lovely creature, so distinguished and deli- 
 cate, passed through these critical and curious 
 defilements; they picked her to pieces; they 
 read laughing the silly avowal of love, until 
 the Provencal girl took her treasure back again 
 and thrust it into the mouth of her money-bag 
 with a furious gesture and in a strangled voice 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " Well, I guess we have got them with that ! " 
 Zott! off she flew to the bailiff — the bailiff for 
 the affair of the skating-rink, the bailiff used to 
 hunt Cadaillac, the bailiff for Roumestan. And as 
 if that were not sufficient for her quarrelsome dis- 
 position, she had a host of troubles with janitors, 
 the unending fight about the tabor-playing, which 
 ended this time in the exile of Valmajour to one 
 of those basements leased by a wine merchant 
 where the sounding of hunting-horns alternate 
 with lessons in kicking and boxing. From that 
 time forth it was in this cellar, by the light of 
 a gas jet which cost them so much per hour, and 
 while looking about at the vests and fencing- 
 gloves and copper horns hung on the wall, that 
 the tabor-player passed his hours of exercise, pale 
 and lonely like a captive, sending forth from 
 below the pavement all kinds of variations on the 
 shepherd's pipe, not at all unlike the mournful 
 and piercing notes of a baker's cricket. 
 
 One day Audiberte received an invitation to 
 
3IO Numa Roumestan, 
 
 call upon the Commissary of Police in her quar- 
 ter. She ran thither quickly, quite certain that 
 it referred to her cousin Puyfourcat, and entered 
 smiling with her head-dress tossing; but after a 
 quarter of an hour she crept out, overwhelmed 
 by a very peasant-like horror of the policeman, 
 who, at his very first word, had forced her to 
 deliver up the photograph and sign a receipt for 
 ten thousand francs in which she absolutely re- 
 nounced all and any suits at law. All the same 
 she obstinately refused to leave, insisted upon 
 believing in the genius of her brother and kept 
 always alive in the depths of her memory the 
 delicious astonishment caused one winter evening 
 by that long file of carriages passing through 
 the courtyard of the Ministry, where all the 
 windows were alight. 
 
 When she came back she notified her two men, 
 who were much more frightened than she was, 
 that not another word was to be spoken about that 
 business; but she never piped a word about the 
 money. Guilloche, who suspected that there was 
 some money, employed every means in his power 
 to get a portion of it, and" having obtained only 
 the slenderest commission, felt a frightful rancor 
 in regard to the Valmajours. 
 
 "Well," said he one morning to Audiberte 
 while she was brushing on the staircase the finest 
 clothes belonging to the musician, who was still 
 in bed, "well, I hope you are satisfied at last. 
 He is dead!" 
 
 "Who is dead.?" 
 
^^ At the Products of the Souths 311 
 
 " Why, Puyfourcat, your cousin ; it is in the 
 paper. " 
 
 She gave a screech, rushed into the apartment, 
 calling aloud and almost in tears : 
 
 "Father! Brother! Hurry quick, the inheri- 
 tance ! " 
 
 As all of them clustered terribly moved and 
 panting in a circle about that infernal fellow 
 Guilloche, the latter slowly unfolded the Journal 
 Officiel and in a very leisurely manner read to 
 them as follows: 
 
 " 'On this first day of October 1876, the Court 
 at Mostaganem has ordered the publication and 
 advertisement of the following inheritances at the 
 order of the Ministry of the Interior. — Popelino 
 (Louis), day-laborer — ' No, it isn't that one 
 — ' Puyfourcat (Dosithee) — ' " 
 
 "Yes, that 's him," said Audiberte. 
 
 The old bird thought it was necessary to wipe 
 his eyes a bit. 
 
 " Peca'ire! Poor Dosithee — ! " 
 
 "   died at Mostaganem the 14th of January, 
 
 1874, born at Valmajour in the commune of 
 Aps — " 
 
 In her eagerness and impatience the peasant 
 girl asked : 
 
 "How much is it?" 
 
 " Three francs, thirty-five cintimes ! " cried 
 Guilloche in the voice of a fruit-peddler; and 
 leaving in their hands the paper, in order that 
 they might thoroughly verify the disappointment 
 which had come to them, he flew off with a roar of 
 
312 Numa RoM'mesta7i, 
 
 laughter which seemed infectious, for it rang 
 from story to story down into the street and 
 delighted all that great big village called Mont- 
 martre, where the legend of the Valmajours* 
 inheritance had been widely circulated. 
 
 The inheritance from Puyfourcat, only three 
 francs thirty-five! Audiberte pretended to laugh 
 at it harder than the others, but the frightful 
 desire for vengeance upon the Roumestans, who 
 were in her eyes responsible for all their troubles,, 
 burned within her and now only increased in 
 fury and looked about for some pretext or means, 
 for the first weapon that lay to hand. 
 
 Most singular was the countenance of papa 
 during this disaster. The while his daughter 
 pined away with weariness and fury, and the 
 captive musician became paler with every day 
 passed in his cellar, papa, expanding like a rose, 
 careless of what happened, did not even show his 
 old professional envy and jealousy; he seemed to 
 have arranged some quiet existence for himself 
 outside and away from his family. Hardly had 
 he stowed away the last mouthful of breakfast than 
 off he went ; and sometimes in the morning, when 
 she was brushing his clothes, she noticed that a 
 dried fig or a prune or some preserve or othar 
 would fall out of his pockets, and when she asked 
 how they came there, the old fellow had one story 
 or another for an explanation. 
 
 He had met a peasant woman from their country 
 in the street, or he had run across a man from 
 down there who was coming to see them. 
 
"^/ the Products of the Souths 313 
 
 Audiberte tossed her head: '^ Avai ! Wait 
 till I follow you once!" 
 
 The truth was that while strolling about Paris 
 the old man had discovered in the St. Denis 
 quarter a big shop of food-stuffs, where he had 
 entered, lured by the sign and by the temptations 
 of the exotic shop-front, which was full of colored 
 fruits and of silver and painted papers; it made 
 a brilliant bit of color in the foggy, populous 
 street. This shop, where he had ended by be- 
 coming a crony and friend of the family, was well 
 known to Southerners quartered in Paris and had 
 for its sign : 
 
 Aux Produits du Midi. 
 
 " At the products of the South " — never was a 
 sign more truthful. Everything in that shop was 
 the product of the South, from the shopkeepers, 
 M. and Mme. Mefre, who were two products 
 of the Fat South, having the prominent nose 
 of Roumestan, the flaring eyes, the accent, the 
 phrases and demonstrative welcome of Provence, 
 down to their shop-boys, who were familiar and 
 called people by their first names and did not 
 hesitate in their guttural voices to call out to 
 the desk : " I say, Mefre, where did youse put the 
 sausages.-* " — yes, down to the little Mefre chil- 
 dren, whining and dirty, who passed their lives 
 amid a constant menace of being disembowelled or 
 scalped or made into soup, but who nevertheless 
 kept right on sticking their little dirty fingers 
 into all the open barrels ; nay, even to the buyers, 
 
314 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 gesticulating and gossiping by the hour together 
 in order at last to buy a barquette (boat shaped 
 cake) for two cents, or taking their seats on chairs 
 in a circle in order to discuss the merits of garlic 
 sausage or of pepper sausage. Here one might 
 listen to the "none the less, at least, come now, 
 other ways" — the whole vocabulary, in fact, be- 
 longing to Aunt Portal, exchanged in the most 
 noisy voices, whilst the "dear brother" in a dyed- 
 over black coat, a friend of the family, haggled, 
 over some salt fish, and the flies, the vast horde 
 of flies, drawn hither by all the sugar of these 
 fruits and the candies and the almost Oriental 
 pastries, buzzed and boomed right in the middle 
 of the winter, kept alive by that steady heat. 
 And when some busy Parisian grew impatient at 
 the attendants all down at heel and the sublime 
 indifference these shop people showed, continuing 
 their gossip from one counter to the other whilst 
 weighing and doing up things all wrong, it was 
 a sight to see how that Parisian was put in his 
 place by some remark uttered in the strongest 
 country accent : 
 
 ^^ Te ! ve ! if you are in a hurry the door is 
 always open, you know, and the tram-cars are 
 passing in front of the shop." 
 
 Father Valmajour was received with open arms 
 by this gang of compatriots. M. and Mme. 
 Mefre remembered that they had seen him in 
 the old time at the Fair of Beaucaire in a com- 
 petition of tabor-players. 
 
 Between old people from the South that Fair at 
 
^^ Ai the Products of the Souths 315 
 
 Beaucaire, now no more and existing merely as a 
 name, has remained like a Masonic bond of 
 brotherhood. In our Southern provinces it was 
 the fairy-tale for the whole year, the one distrac- 
 tion for all those narrow lives; people got ready 
 for it a long time in advance, and for a long time 
 after they talked about it. It formed a reward 
 which could be promised to wife and children, and 
 if it was not possible to take them along, one 
 might bring them a bit of Spanish lace or a toy, 
 which took little place in one's bag. The Beau- 
 caire Fair, moreover, under pretext of business, 
 meant a whole month or a fortnight at least of the 
 free, exuberant and unexpected life of a camp of 
 gypsies. One got a bed here or there from the 
 citizens or in the shops or on top of desks, or else 
 in the open street under the canvas hood of 
 wagons or even below the warm light of the July 
 stars. 
 
 O, for the business without the boredom of the 
 shop, matters treated while one dines, or at the 
 door in shirt sleeves, or at the booths ranged 
 along the Pr/, on the banks of the Rhone ! The 
 river itself was nothing but a moving fair-ground, 
 supporting its boats of all shapes, its lahuts, lute 
 shaped boats with lateen sails which came from 
 Aries, Marseilles, Barcelona, the Balearic Islands, 
 filled with wines, anchovies, oranges and cork, 
 decorated with banners and standards and streamers 
 which sounded in the fresh wind and reflected 
 their colors in the swiftly flowing water. And 
 what a clamor there was in that variegated crowd 
 
3i6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 of Spaniards, Sardinians, Greeks in long tunics 
 and embroidered slippers, Armenians with their 
 furred hats and Turks with their befrogged 
 jackets, their fans and wide trousers of gray 
 linen ! All these were jammed together in the 
 open-air restaurants, the booths for children's 
 toys and canes and umbrellas, for jewelry and 
 Oriental pastils and caps. And then to think of 
 what was called the "fine Sunday," that is to say, 
 the first Sunday after the opening of the fair — 
 the orgies on the quays and the boats and in the 
 famous restaurants, such as La Vignasse or the 
 Grand Jardin or the Cafe Thibaut ! Those who 
 have once seen that fair have always felt a home- 
 sickness for it to the end of their days. 
 
 One felt free and easy at the shop of the Mefre 
 couple, somewhat as at the Beaucaire Fair. And 
 as a matter of fact, in its picturesque disorder 
 the shop did resemble an improvised grand fair 
 for the sale of foreign and southern products. 
 Here all full and bending were sacks of meal in 
 a golden powder, dried peas as big and hard as 
 buck-shot and big chestnuts all wrinkled and 
 dusty looking, like little faces of old female 
 charcoal-burners; there stood jars of black and 
 green olives preserved in the Picholini manner, 
 tin cans of red oil with the taste of fruit, barrels 
 of preserves from Apt made of melon rinds, of 
 figs, of quinces and of apricots — all the remains 
 of fruit from a fair dropped into molasses. Up 
 there on the shelves among the salted goods and 
 preserves, in a thousand bottles and a thousand 
 
''At the Products of the South!' 317, 
 
 tin boxes, were the special relishes belonging to 
 each city — the shells and little ships of Nimes, 
 the nougat of Montelimar, the ducklings and bis- 
 cuits of Aix — all in gilded envelopes ticketed 
 and signed. 
 
 Then there were the early vegetables, an out- 
 pouring of Southern gardens without shadows, in 
 which the fruits hanging in slender green foliage 
 have a factitious look of jewels — firm looking ju- 
 jubes with a fine sheen of newly lacquered walnut 
 side by side with pale azeroles, figs of every sort, 
 sweet lemons, green or scarlet peppers, great big 
 swelling melons, enormous onions with fiowerlike 
 hearts, muscat grapes with long berries so trans- 
 parent that the flesh of them trembles like wine in 
 a flask, rows of bananas striped black and yellow, 
 regular landslides of oranges and pomegranates 
 with their red gold tones, like little bombs made of 
 red copper with their fuses issuing from a small 
 crenelated crown. And finally, everywhere, on 
 the walls and ceilings, on both sides of the door, 
 in the tangle of burnt palms, chaplets of leeks and 
 onions and dried carobs, packages of sausages, 
 bunches of corn on the cob, there was a constant 
 stream of warm hues, there was the entire sum- 
 mer, there was the Southern sunshine fastened up 
 in boxes, sacks and jars radiating color out to 
 the very sidewalk through the muddiness of the 
 windows. 
 
 Old Valmajour would enter this shop with his 
 nostrils dilated, quivering and most excited. This 
 man, who refused the slightest work in the pres- 
 
3i8 Numa Rou^nestan, 
 
 ence of his children and would wipe his brow for 
 hours over a single button that he had to sew on 
 his waistcoat, boasting of having accomplished a 
 labor like one of " Caesar's," in this shop was 
 always ready to lend a helping hand, throw off his 
 coat to nail up or open cases, picking up here and 
 there an olive or a bit of berlingot candy and 
 lightening the labor with his monkey tricks and 
 stories. On one day in the week, indeed, the day 
 of the arrival of codfish a la brandade, he stayed 
 very late at the store in order to aid them in 
 sending out the orders. 
 
 Among them all this particular Southern dish, 
 codfish a la brandade, could hardly be found else- 
 where in Paris except at the Prodiiits du Midi ; 
 but it was the true article, white, carded fine, 
 creamy, with just a touch of garlic, the way it is 
 done at Nimes, from which city indeed the Mefres 
 had it forwarded. On Thursday evening it 
 reaches Paris at seven o'clock by the lightning 
 express and Friday morning it is distributed 
 throughout the city to all the good customers 
 whose names are on the big book of the store. 
 Nay, it is on that very commercial ledger with its 
 tumbled leaves, smelling of spices and soiled with 
 oil, that is inscribed the history of the conquest of 
 Paris by the Southerners ; there appear one after 
 the other all the big fortunes, political and indus- 
 trial posts, names of celebrated lawyers, deputies, 
 ministers, and among them all especially that of 
 Numa Roumestan, the Vendean of the South, the 
 pillar of the altar and the throne. 
 
'^ At the Products of the South!' 319 
 
 For the sake of that single line on which Rou- 
 mestan's name is written the Mefres would toss 
 the whole book into the fire. He it is who repre- 
 sents best their ideas in religion, politics and 
 everything. It is just as Mme. Mefre says, and 
 she is more enthusiastic than her husband : 
 
 " For that man, I tell you, anybody would im- 
 peril their eternal soul." 
 
 They are very fond of recalling the period when 
 Numa, already on the road to fame, did not dis- 
 dain to come there himself to buy his stores. And 
 how he did understand the way of choosing by the 
 touch a pasty ! or a sausage that sweats nicely 
 under the knife ! Then such kind-heartedness ! 
 and that imposing, handsome face ! and always a 
 compliment for Madame, a pleasant word for his 
 " dear brother," a caressing touch for the little 
 Mefres who accompanied him as far as the car- 
 riage bearing his parcels. Since his elevation to 
 the Ministry, since those scoundrels of Reds had 
 given him so much bother in the two Chambers, 
 they did not see anything more of him, p^caire ! 
 but he always remained faithful to the Produits, and 
 it was always he who got the first distribution. 
 
 One Thursday evening about ten o'clock, when 
 all the pots of codfish a la brandade had been 
 wrapped and tied and placed in fine alignment on 
 the counter, the whole M^fre family, the shop 
 boys, old Valmajour and all the products of the 
 South were in full number on hand, perspiring 
 and blowing. They were taking a rest with the 
 peculiar air of people who have accomplished a 
 
320, Numa Roumestait. 
 
 difficult task and were " dipping a bit " with lady- 
 fingers and biscuits steeped in thick wine or orgeat 
 syrup — " Come now, just something mild " — for 
 as to anything strong, Southerners do not care 
 for that at all. Among the townspeople as in the 
 country parts drunkenness from alcohol is almost 
 unknown. Instinctively this race has a fear and 
 horror of it; it feels itself intoxicated from its 
 birth — drunk without drinking. 
 
 For it is most certainly true that the wind and 
 the sun distil for them a terrible kind of natural alcor 
 hoi whose effect is felt more or less by all those 
 born down there. Some of them have only that 
 little drop too much which loosens the tongue and 
 gestures and causes one to see life rosy in color 
 and discover sympathetic souls everywhere, which 
 brightens the eye, widens the streets, sweeps away 
 obstacles, doubles audacity and strengthens the 
 timid ; others who are violently afiected, like the 
 little Valmajour girl or Aunt Portal, reach at any 
 minute the limits of a stuttering, stammering and 
 blind delirium. To understand it one must have 
 seen our festivals in Provence with the peasants 
 standing up on the tables yelling and pounding 
 with their big yellow shoes, screaming: ** Waiter, 
 dS gazeuse ! " (lemon soda) — an entire village rav- 
 ing drunk over a few bottles of lemonade. And 
 where is the Southerner who has not experienced 
 those sudden prostrations of the intoxicated, those 
 breakings-down of the whole being, right on the 
 heels of wrath or of enthusiasm — changes as sud- 
 den as a sunburst or a shadow across a March sky? 
 
^' At the Products of the Souths 321 
 
 Without possessing the delirious Southern qual- 
 ity of his daughter, Father Valmajour was born 
 with a pretty lively case of it. And that evening 
 his ladyfingers dipped in orgeat affected him with 
 a crazy jollity which made him reel off, standing 
 with his glass in his hand and his mouth all twisted 
 in the middle of the shop, all the farcical perform- 
 ances of an old sponge who pays his scot without 
 money. The Mefres and their shopmen were roll- 
 ing around on the flour sacks with delight: 
 
 '^ Oh ! de ce Valmajour, pas mains ! " (O ! that 
 Valmajour, what a fellow he is !) 
 
 Suddenly the liveliness of the old fellow stopped 
 short and his gesture, like that of a jumping-jack, 
 was brought to a dead pause by the apparition 
 before him of a Provencal head-dress trembling 
 with rage. 
 
 " What are you doing here, father? " 
 
 Madame M^fre raised her arms toward the saus- 
 ages suspended from the ceiHng : 
 
 "What! this is your young lady? And you 
 have never told us about her ! Well, how teeny- 
 weeny she is ! but a good girl, I '11 be bound. 
 Take a seat Miss, do ! " 
 
 Owing as much to his habit of lying as to a 
 desire to keep himself free, the old man had never 
 spoken about his children, but had given him- 
 self out as an old bachelor who lived on his in- 
 come ; but among Southern people nobody is at a 
 loss for one invention or another; if an entire 
 caravan of little Valmajours had marched in on 
 the heels of Audiberte the welcome would have 
 
 21 
 
322 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 been just the same, just as warm and demonstra- 
 tive ; they rushed forward and made a place for 
 her. 
 
 " Diff^remment, you must eat some dipped lady- 
 fingers with us, too." 
 
 The Provencal girl stood embarrassed. She had 
 just come from outside, from the cold and black- 
 ness of the night, a hard night of December, 
 where the feverish life of Paris continued to pul- 
 sate in spite of the late hour and could be felt 
 through the heavy fog torn in every direction by 
 swiftly moving shadows, the colored lanterns of 
 the omnibuses and the hoarse horns of the street 
 cars ; she arrived from the North, she arrived from 
 winter, and then all of a sudden, without transi- 
 tion, she found herself in the midst of Italian 
 Provence, in this shop of the Mefres glowing just 
 previous to Christmas with all kinds of toothsome 
 and sun-filled articles, in the midst of the well- 
 known accents and fragrances of home ! It was 
 her own country suddenly found again, a return to 
 the motherland after a year of exile, of struggles and 
 trials far away among the barbarians. A warmth 
 gradually invaded her and slackened her nerves, 
 the while she broke her barquette cake in a thim- 
 bleful of Carthagene and answered the questions 
 of all this kindly set of people, as much at ease 
 and familiar with her as if everybody had known 
 each other for twenty years or more. She felt a 
 return to her life and usual habits ; tears rose to 
 her eyes — those hard eyes with veins of fire which 
 never wept. 
 
"-^/f the Products of the Souths 323 
 
 The name "Roumestan " uttered at her side 
 dried up this emotion suddenly. It came from 
 Mme. Mefre, who was looking over the addresses 
 of her clients and was warning her shop-boys not 
 to make any mistake and especially not to take 
 the codfish a la brandade for Numa to Crenelle 
 Street, but to the Rue de Londres. 
 
 " Seems as if codfish is not in the odor of 
 sanctity in the Rue de Grenelle," remarked one of 
 the cronies at the Products. 
 
 '' Yes, indeed," said M. M^fre. " The lady be- 
 longs up North — just as northerly as possible 
 
 — uses nothing but butter in her kitchen, eh? 
 
 — while in the Rue de Londres there's the nicest 
 kind of South, jollity, singing and everything 
 cooked in oil — I understand why Numa enjoys 
 himself most there." 
 
 So they were talking in the lightest of tones of 
 this second household established by the Minister 
 in a very convenient little house quite close to the 
 railway station where he could repose after the 
 fatigues of the Chamber, free from visitors and 
 the greater botherations. You may be sure that 
 the excitable Mme. Mefre would have uttered 
 fine screeches if just the same sort of thing had 
 occurred in her family; but for Numa there was 
 something very attractive and natural in it. 
 
 He loved the tender passion; but didn't all 
 our kings, Charles X and Henry IV, play the gay 
 Lothario? Te ! pardi I He got that from his 
 Bourbon nose. 
 
 And mixed in with this light tone, this air of 
 
324 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 delight in spicy talk with which the South treats 
 all affairs of the heart, there was a race hatred, the 
 antipathy they felt against the woman of the North, 
 the strange woman and her food cooked with 
 butter. They grew excited, they went into a 
 variety of anidotes^ the charms of little Alice and 
 her successes in grand opera. 
 
 " Why, I knew Mother Bachellery in the old 
 time of the Fair at Beaucaire," said old Valmajour. 
 " She used to sing ballads at the Caf6 Thibaut." 
 
 Audiberte listened without breathing, neve'r 
 losing a single word and engraving in her mind 
 names and addresses ; her little eyes glittered with 
 a diabolical intoxication in which the Carthagene 
 wine had no part. 
 
The Baby Clothes, 325 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE BABY CLOTHES. 
 
 At the light knock heard on her chamber door 
 Mme. Roumestan trembled as if she had been 
 caught in a crime, and pushing in again the grace- 
 fully moulded drawer of her Louis XV bureau 
 over which she had been leaning almost on her 
 knees, she cried : 
 
 " Who 's there? What do you want, Polly? " 
 **A letter for Madame; there is great haste," 
 answered the Englishwoman. 
 
 Rosalie took the letter and closed the door 
 sharply. The writing was unknown and coarse, 
 traced upon wretched paper, and there was the 
 " urgent and personal " which accompanies beg- 
 ging letters. A Parisian chambermaid would 
 never have disturbed her for such a little thing as 
 that. She pitched it on the bureau, postponing 
 the reading of it till later, and returned quickly 
 to her drawer which contained the marvels of 
 the baby's old layette. For the last eight years, 
 ever since the tragedy, she had not opened it, 
 fearing to find her tears there again; nor even 
 since her new happiness had she done so owing 
 to a very maternal superstition, fearing lest she 
 should come to grief once more by means of a 
 
326 Numa Roumestan^ 
 
 premature caress given by way of its little layette 
 to the child that was yet to come. 
 
 This courageous lady had all the nervous feel- 
 ings of the woman, all her tremblings, all the 
 shivery drawing-together of the mimosa. The 
 world, which judges without understanding any- 
 thing, found her cold, just as the dull and stupid 
 suppose that flowers are not endowed with life. 
 But now, her happiness having endured for six 
 months, she must make up her mind to bring all 
 these little articles out from their mourning and 
 enclosure, shake out their pleats, go over and 
 perhaps change thern; for even in the case of 
 baby clothes fashion changes and the ribbons are 
 adjusted differently at different times. It was for 
 this most intimate work that Rosalie had carefully 
 locked herself in; throughout that big bustling 
 Ministry, rustling with papers and humming with 
 reports and the feverish flitting hither and thither 
 from offices to departments, there was assuredly 
 nothing quite so serious, nothing quite so mov- 
 ing as that woman on her knees before an 
 open drawer, her heart beating and her hands 
 trembling. 
 
 She took up the laces somewhat yellow with 
 time which preserved along with the perfume all 
 this white mass of innocent clothes — baby caps 
 and undershirts arranged according to age and 
 size, the gown for baptism, the robe full of little 
 pleats and the doll stockings. She recalled her life 
 down there at Orsay, gently languid and at work 
 for hours together in the shadow of the big catalpa 
 
The Baby Clothes, 327 
 
 whose white petals dropped into her work-basket 
 among her spools and delicate embroidery scis- 
 sors, her entire thought concentrated upon some 
 one point of tailoring which gave her the measure 
 of her dreams and the passage of time. What 
 illusions she had then had, what belief and trust! 
 What a delicious murmuring throughout the 
 foliage above her head and what a rising up of 
 tender and novel sensations in herself! In a 
 single day life had suddenly taken all that from 
 her. And so despair flowed back again to her 
 heart as little by little she pulled forth the lay- 
 ette — the treason of her husband, the loss of her 
 child. 
 
 The appearance of the first little dress all ready 
 to be pulled on, that which is laid on the cradle 
 at the moment of birth, the sleeves pushed one 
 within the other, the arms spread apart, the 
 little caps blown up to a round shape, made 
 her burst into tears. It seemed to her that her 
 child had lived and that she had known it and 
 held it to her heart. A son, O, certainly it was 
 a boy, a strong and beautiful one, and from his 
 very birth he had the mysterious and deep eyes 
 of his grandfather ! To-day he would have been 
 eight years old and have had long curls falling 
 round his shoulders ; at that age they still belong 
 to the mother, who takes them walking, dresses 
 them, makes them work. Ah, cruel, cruel life ! 
 
 But after a while, as she pulled out and twitched 
 into shape these little objects tied together with 
 microscopic bows, with their embroidered flowers 
 
328 Ntima Roumestan, 
 
 and snowy laces, she began to be calm. Well, 
 no ; after all, life is not so evil, and while it lasts 
 one must keep up one's courage. At that terrible 
 turn of her life she had lost all of hers, imagining 
 that the end had come, so far as she was con- 
 cerned, for believing, loving, being wife and 
 mother; thinking in fact that there only remained 
 for her the pleasure of looking back upon the 
 shining past and watching it disappear in the 
 distance like some shore which one regrets to, 
 leave. Then after gloomy years the spring had 
 shot out its fruits slowly beneath the cold snow of 
 her heart; lo and behold, it flowered again in this 
 little creature who was about to live and whom 
 she felt was already vigorous from the terrible 
 little kicks which it gave her during the night. 
 And then her Numa, so changed, so good, quite 
 cured of his brutality and violence ! To be sure 
 he still showed weaknesses which she did not like, 
 those roundabout Italian ways which he could 
 not help having, but, even as he said — " O, that? 
 — that is politics ! " Besides that, she was no 
 longer the victim of the illusions of her early 
 years; she knew that in order to live happily 
 one must be contented with coming near to what 
 one desires in everything and that complete hap- 
 piness can only be quarried from the half-happi- 
 nesses which existence affords us. 
 
 A new knock at the door. It is M. Mejean 
 who would like to speak to Madame. 
 
 ''Very good, I'm coming." 
 
 She found him in the little drawing-room which 
 
The Baby Clothes. 329 
 
 he was measuring from end to end with excited 
 steps. 
 
 " I have a confession to make to you," said he, 
 using a somewhat brusque tone of familiarity which 
 their old friendship authorized and which both of 
 them would have liked to have turned into a 
 relationship of brother and sister. "■ Some days 
 ago I put an end to this wretched affair — and did 
 not withhold the statement from you for the sake 
 of keeping this longer in my possession — " 
 
 He held out to her the portrait of Hortense 
 obtained from Audiberte. 
 
 **Well, at last! O, how happy she is going 
 to be, poor dear ! " 
 
 She softened at the sight of her sister's pretty 
 face, her sister sparkling with health and youth 
 in that Provencal disguise, and read at the bottom 
 of the picture in her fine and very firm writing: 
 " I believe in you and I love you — Hortense Le 
 Quesnoy." Then, remembering that the wretched 
 lover had also read it and that he must have been 
 intrusted with a very sorrowful commission in 
 procuring it, she grasped his hand affectionately: 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 ** No, do not thank me, Madame. — Yes, it was 
 hard — but for the last eight days I have lived 
 with that * I believe in you and I love you,' and 
 at times I could imagine that it was meant for 
 me." And then very low and timidly: ** How 
 is she getting on? " 
 
 "■ Oh, not well at all — Mamma is taking her 
 South. Now she is willing to do whatever any- 
 
330 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 body wishes — it is just as if a spring had broken 
 in her." 
 
 "Altered?" 
 
 Rosalie made a gesture : " Ah ! " 
 
 *' Till we meet again, Madame/' said Mejean 
 very quickly, moving away with hurried steps ; he 
 turned back again at the door and squaring his 
 solid shoulders beneath the half-raised curtain: 
 
 " It is the luckiest thing in the world that I 
 have no imagination. I should be altogether too, 
 unhappy ! " 
 
 Rosalie returned to her room deeply dejected. 
 There was no use in fighting against it by recall- 
 ing her sister's youth and the encouraging words 
 of Jarras, who persisted in looking upon it merely 
 as a crisis which it was necessary to cross ; black 
 thoughts invaded her which would not tally with 
 the festive white in the baby's layette. She has- 
 tened to tie up, lay in order and turn the key upon 
 these little scattered articles, and as she got up 
 she perceived the letter lying on the bureau, took 
 and read it mechanically, expecting to find the 
 commonplace begging statement which she re- 
 ceived every day from so many different hands, 
 and which would have come at a lucky moment 
 during one of those spells of superstition, when 
 charity seems a bringer of good luck. That was 
 why she did not understand it at first and was 
 obliged to read again these lines, which had been 
 written out as a copy by the ignorant pen of a 
 schoolboy, the boy employed by Guilloche : 
 
 "If you are fond of codfish a la brandadey 
 
The Baby Clothes, 331 
 
 delicious Is tliat which is eaten to-night at the 
 house of Mme. Bachellery in the Rue de Londres. 
 Your husband pays for the supper. Ring three 
 times and enter straight ahead." 
 
 From these foolish phrases, from this slimy and 
 perfidious abyss, the truth arose and appeared to 
 her, helped by coincidences and recollections -^ 
 that name ** Bachellery " pronounced so often dur- 
 ing the past year, enigmatical articles in the papers 
 concerning her engagement at the opera, that 
 address which she had heard Numa himself give, 
 and the long stay at Arvillard. In a second, 
 doubt crystallized itself in her to certainty. And 
 besides, did not the past throw a light for her upon 
 this present and all its actual horror? Lies and 
 grimace — he was not and could not be anything 
 but that. Why should this eternal maker of dupes 
 spare her? It was her fault; she had been the 
 fool to allow herself to be caught by his lying 
 voice and vulgar caresses. And in the same 
 second certain details came to her mind which 
 made her red and pale by turns. 
 
 This time it was no longer despair showing 
 itself with heavy, pure tears as in the early decep- 
 tions, but anger against herself for having been so 
 feeble and cowardly as to have been able to 
 pardon him, and against him who had duped her 
 in contempt of the promises and oaths in connec- 
 tion with the former crime. She would like to 
 have convicted him of his villainy there, on the 
 moment, but he was at Versailles in the Chamber 
 of Deputies. It occurred to her to call Mejean, 
 
332 Numa Roumesfan, 
 
 but then she felt a repugnance to force that honest 
 fellow to lie. And being thus reduced to crushing 
 down a swarm of contrary feelings, prevent her- 
 self from crying out and surrendering to the 
 terrible nerve-crisis which she felt rising in her, 
 she strode to and fro on the carpet, her hands 
 with a famihar action resting against the loosened 
 waist of her dressing-gown. All of a sudden she 
 stopped and shuddered, seized by a crazy fear. 
 
 Her child ! 
 
 He was suffering too and he was calling to his 
 mother with all the power of a life which is 
 struggling to exist. Oh, my God, if he also, if he 
 was going to die like the other one at the same 
 age, and under exactly similar conditions ! Des- 
 tiny, which people call blind, has sometimes savage 
 combinations, and she began to reason with her- 
 self in half-broken words and tender exclamations. 
 "Dear little fellow! — poor Httle fellow! — "and 
 attempted to look upon everything coldly as it 
 exists, in order to conduct herself in a dignified 
 way and above all not to destroy that solitary 
 good thing which remained to her. She even 
 took in hand some work, that embroidery of 
 Penelope which the Parisian woman keeps about 
 her, being always in action ; for it was necessary 
 to wait for Numa's return and have an explana- 
 tion with him, or rather to discover in his attitude 
 a conviction of his crime, before it came to the 
 irremediable scandal of a separation. 
 
 O, those brilliant wools and that regular and 
 colorless canvas — what confidences may they not 
 
The Baby Clothes, 333 
 
 receive, what regrets, joys and desires form the 
 complicated and knotted reverse of the canvas 
 full of broken threads in these feminine products, 
 with their flowers peacefully interwoven ! 
 
 Coming back from the Chamber of Deputies, 
 Numa Roumestan found his wife embroidering 
 beneath the narrow gleam of a single lighted 
 lamp, and this quiet picture, her lovely profile 
 softened by her chestnut-colored hair, in that 
 luxurious shade of cushioned furniture where the 
 lacquer screens and old bronzes, the ivories and 
 potteries, caught the warm and shooting rays from 
 a wood fire, overcame him by contrast with the 
 noise of the Assembly, where the brilliantly 
 lighted ceilings are swathed in a dust full of 
 movement that floats above the hall of debate like 
 the smoke from powder above a field where 
 military are manoeuvring. 
 
 "How do you do, Mamma; it's pleasant here 
 with you." 
 
 The day's meeting had been a hot one ; always 
 that wretched appropriation bill, and the Left 
 fastened for five hours on the coat tails of that poor 
 General d'Espaillon, who didn't know enough 
 to put two ideas together when he was n't saying 
 g — d — , etc., etc. Well, anyhow, the Cabinet 
 would get through this time ; but after the vaca- 
 tion at New Year's, when the Assembly would 
 reach the question of the Fine Arts — then was 
 the time to look out ! 
 
 " They are counting very much on the Cadaillac 
 business to upset me ! . . . Rougeot is the one 
 
334 N'uma Roumestan, 
 
 who will talk .... He 's no chicken, that Rou- 
 geot; he has a backbone!" 
 
 Then with his famous jerk of the shoulder: 
 " Rougeot against Roumestan — the North against 
 the South — all the better ! It will amuse me. It 
 will be a hand-to-hand fight." 
 
 Excited by his political matters, he talked on in 
 a monologue without noticing how silent Rosalie 
 was. Then he approached her and, sitting very- 
 near her on a footstool, made her stop her work 
 by trying to kiss her hand. 
 
 " You seem to be in a terrible hurry with what 
 you are embroidering. Is it for my New Year's 
 present? I have bought yours. Just guess what 
 it is!" 
 
 She pulled her hand gently away and looked 
 him steadily in the face in an embarrassing man- 
 ner without answering him. His features were 
 drawn and weary from his days of work in the 
 Assembly, showing that loosened look of the face 
 and revealing in the corners of the eyes and the 
 mouth a character at once weak and violent — 
 all the passions and nothing to resist them. Faces 
 down south are like the Southern landscape. It 
 is better not to look at them unless the sun is 
 shining. 
 
 ** Are you dining at home? " asked Rosalie. 
 
 "No, I'm sorry to say — I'm expected at 
 Durand's — a tiresome dinner — /// I'm already 
 late,'* added he as he rose. " Luckily it is not 
 necessary to dress there." 
 
 That fixed look in his wife's face followed 
 
The Baby Clothes, 335 
 
 him. "Dine with me, I beg of you — "and her 
 harmonious voice hardened into insistence and 
 sounded threatening and implacable. 
 
 But Roumestan was no observer. " And besides, 
 business is business, is it not so? O, this life of 
 a public man cannot be arranged as one would 
 wish ! " 
 
 " Well then, goodbye," said she gravely, com- 
 pleting that farewell within her own mind with a 
 ** since it is our destiny." 
 
 She listened to the coupe roll off beneath the 
 vaulted passage and then, having carefully folded 
 up her work, she rang. 
 
 ** A carriage, right away — a hackney-coach — 
 and you, Polly, give me my mantle and bonnet — 
 I 'm going out." 
 
 Quickly ready to start, she embraced in on6 
 look the chamber she was quitting, where she 
 neither regretted anything nor left behind her any 
 part of herself, for it was merely the room of a fur- 
 nished apartment-house despite all the pomp of 
 its cold yellow brocades. 
 
 " See that the big cardboard box is put in the 
 carriage." 
 
 Of what belonged to both, the baby's layette 
 was all that she carried off. 
 
 Standing at the door of the coach the mystified 
 Englishwoman asked if Madame was not going 
 to dine at home. No, she will dine at her father's 
 where probably she will also pass the night. 
 
 On the way a doubt overcame her, or rather 
 a scruple. Suppose nothing of all this were 
 
336 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 true? Suppose that Bachellery girl did not live 
 in the Rue de Londres. She gave the coachman 
 the address, but without much hope; still, she 
 must have certainty on this point. 
 
 The carriage stopped before a little house two 
 stories high, crowned by a terrace for a summer 
 garden ; it was the old home in Paris of a Cairo 
 man who had just died a bankrupt. There was 
 about it the look of a little house with shutters 
 closed and curtains drawn; a strong odor of the 
 kitchen rose from the brightly lit and noisy base-, 
 ment. Rosalie understood what it was just from 
 noting how the front door obeyed three strokes of 
 the bell and of itself seemed to turn upon its hinges. 
 A Persian tapestry caught up by heavy cords in the 
 centre of the antechamber allowed a glimpse of 
 the stair with its soft carpet and its lamps in which 
 the gas was burning at the highest point. She 
 heard laughter, took two steps forward and saw 
 what never more in her life she could forget. 
 
 At the turn of the stairs on the first floor Numa 
 was leaning over the banisters red and excited, 
 in his shirt sleeves, with his arm round the waist 
 of that girl, who was also very much excited, her 
 hair loosened and falling down her back upon the 
 frills of a rose-colored silk morning-gown. And 
 there he was, calling out in his violent way : 
 
 " Bompard, bring up the brandadef* 
 
 That was where he could be seen as he really 
 was, the Minister of Public Instruction and Relig- 
 ion, the great proclaimer of religious morality, 
 the defender of sound doctrines ! It was there he 
 
The Baby Clothes, 337 
 
 showed himself without mask or hypocritical 
 grimace — all his South turned outside for inspec- 
 tion ! — at ease and in his shirt-sleeves as if at the 
 Fair of Beaucaire. 
 
 ** Bompard, bring up the brandade! " repeated 
 the giddy girl, intentionally exaggerating Numa's 
 Provencal accent. Without a question that was 
 Bompard, the improvised cookshop boy who 
 came up from the kitchen, a napkin over his 
 shoulder and his arms surrounding a great big 
 dish. It was he who caused the sounding wing of 
 the door to turn on its hinges. 
 
338 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 NEW year's day. 
 
 " Gentlemen of the Central Administration ! " 
 ".Directors of the Academy of the Fine Arts ! "- 
 " Gentlemen of the Academy of Medicine ! " 
 In grand gala dress, with his short hose and 
 sword by his side, the chamberlain was announc- 
 ing the arrivals in a mournful voice that resounded 
 through the solemn drawing-rooms. As he called 
 out, lines of black coats crossed the immense hall 
 all red and gold and ranged themselves in a half- 
 circle before the Minister, who stood with his back 
 to the chimneypiece, having near him his Under- 
 Secretary of State, M. de la Calmette, and his chief 
 of cabinet, his foppish attaches and a few directors 
 belonging to the Ministry such as Dansaert and 
 Bechut. His Excellency addressed compliments 
 and congratulations for the decorations and aca- 
 demic palms granted to some of those present, 
 according as each organization arrived and was 
 presented by its dean or president; then the or- 
 ganization turned right about and gave way to 
 another set, some bodies retiring whilst others 
 arrived, causing no little confusion at the doors of 
 the hall. 
 
New Years Day, 339 
 
 For it was late; it was past one o'clock and 
 each man was thinking of the breakfast which was 
 waiting for him at home. In the concert hall 
 which had been turned into a vestiary, impatient 
 groups were looking at their watches, buttoning 
 their gloves, adjusting their white cravats below 
 their drawn faces ; gaping and weariness, bad tem- 
 per and hunger were on every side. Roumestan 
 himself felt the weariness of this important day. 
 He had lost his fine warmth of spirit shown at the 
 same time last year, his faith in the future and in 
 reform, and he let his little speeches off slowly, 
 pierced through to his very marrow by the cold, 
 despite the radiators and the enormous flaming 
 wood fire; indeed, that little flaky snow which 
 whirled about the panes of the windows seemed to 
 fall upon his light heart and congeal it even as it 
 fell upon the greensward of the garden. 
 ** Gentlemen of the Comedie-Frangaise ! " 
 Closely shaved and solemn, distributing bows 
 just as the fashion was in the grand epoch, they 
 posed themselves in majestic attitudes about their 
 dean, who in a cavernous voice presented the com- 
 pany, talked about the endeavors and vows the 
 company had made — "the" company, without 
 any epithet or qualifying word, just as we say 
 " God" or as we say *'the" Bible — exactly as if 
 no other company existed in the world except 
 that alone ! And it must be said that poor Rou- 
 mestan needs be very much enfeebled if this same 
 company could not excite his eloquence and grand 
 theatrical phrases, this company to which he him- 
 
340 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 self seemed to belong with his bluish chin, his jowls 
 and his distinguished but most conventional poses ! 
 The fact was that for the last eight days, since 
 the departure of Rosalie, he was like a gambler 
 who has lost his mascot; he was frightened and 
 suddenly felt himself inferior to his fortune and 
 thus ready to be crushed. Mediocrities who have 
 been favored by chance have such panics and 
 nervous crises and they were increased in him by 
 the terrible scandal which was about to break 
 out, the scandal of a lawsuit for separation which 
 the young wife insisted upon absolutely, notwith- 
 standing all his letters and visits, his grovelling 
 prayers and oaths. To keep up appearances it 
 was said at the Ministry that Mme. Roumestan 
 had gone to live with her father because of the 
 near departure of Mme. Le Quesnoy and Hor- 
 tense. But nobody was taken in by that, and the 
 luckless man saw his adventure reflected in pity or 
 curiosity or sarcasm from all these faces which 
 were defiling before him, as well as from certain 
 broadly marked smiles and from various shakes 
 of the hand, a little more energetic than usual. 
 There was not a single one of the lowest em- 
 ployees who had come to the reception in jacket 
 and overcoat who was not thoroughly posted in 
 this matter. Among the offices couplets were cir- 
 culating from mouth to mouth in which Chambery 
 rhymed with Bachellery; more than one porter 
 discontented with his pay was humming one of 
 these couplets within himself whilst making a 
 deep bow to his supreme chief. 
 
New Years Day, 341 
 
 Two o'clock ! Still the organized bodies kept 
 presenting themselves and the snow kept deepen- 
 ing whilst the man with the chains over his uni- 
 form introduced pell-mell and without any kind of 
 order : 
 
 ** Gentlemen of the School of Laws ! " 
 *' Gentlemen of the Conservatory of Music ! " 
 " Directors of the Subsidized Theatres ! " 
 By favor of seniority and his three failures 
 Cadaillac arrived at the head of this delegation. 
 Roumestan longed far more to fall with fist and 
 foot upon the cynical impresario whose nomina- 
 tion had occasioned such serious embarrassment to 
 him than to listen to the fine speech to which the 
 ferocious insolence of his look gave the lie and to 
 answer him with a forced compliment, half of which 
 stuck in the big folds of his cravat: 
 
 " Greatly touched, gentlemen . . . mn mn mn 
 . . . progress of art . . . mn mn m.7i . . . still 
 better in the future. . ." 
 
 And the impresario as he moved off: 
 " Poor old Numa — he 's got a charge of lead in 
 his wing this time ! " 
 
 When these had left, the Minister and his com- 
 rades did honor to the usual breakfast; but this 
 meal which had been so gay and full of effusion 
 the year before was weighted down by the gloom 
 of the chief and bad temper on the part of his inti- 
 mates, who were all of them enraged with him 
 on account of their own situations which he had 
 already begun to compromise. This scandalous 
 lawsuit coming just in the midst of the debate over 
 
34^ Numa Roumestait, 
 
 Cadaillac would be sure to make Roumestan im- 
 possible as a member of the cabinet. That very 
 morning at the reception in the Palace of the 
 Elysees the Marshal had said two words about it 
 with the laconic and brutal eloquence natural to 
 an old cavalryman : " A dirty business ! " 
 
 Without precisely having heard this speech from 
 an august mouth, which was murmured in Numa's 
 ear in an alcove, the gentlemen round him saw 
 very clearly their own fall coming behind that of 
 their chief. 
 
 ** Oil, women, women ! " grunted the learned 
 Bechut over his plate. M. de la Calmette with his 
 thirty years of official life grew melancholy as he 
 pondered over a retiring from office like unto 
 Tircis, and below his breath the long-legged Lap- 
 para amused himself by frightening Rochemaure 
 out of his wits : 
 
 " Viscount, we must look out for ourselves ; we 
 shall be decapitated before eight days are over ! " 
 
 After a toast had been given by the Minister to 
 the New Year and his dear collaborators, uttered 
 with a shaky voice in which one heard the tears, they 
 separated. Mejean, who stayed to the last, walked 
 two or three times up and down beside his friend 
 without having the courage to say a single word ; 
 then he too left. Notwithstanding his wish to keep 
 by his side during that day a man like Mejean 
 whose straightforward nature forced his respect 
 like a reproach uttered by his own conscience, but 
 at the same time sustained and reassured him, 
 Numa could not stand in the way of Mejean's duty, 
 
New Years Day, 343 
 
 which was to run his round of visits and distribute 
 good wishes and presents for the New Year, any- 
 more than he could prevent his chamberlain from 
 going back to his family and unburdening himself 
 of his sword and short-clothes. 
 
 What a howling solitude was that Ministry ! It 
 was like Sunday in a factory with the boiler cold 
 and silent. In all the departments upstairs and 
 downstairs, in his own cabinet, where he vainly 
 attempted to write, in his bed-chamber, which he 
 began once more to fill with his sobs, everywhere 
 that little January snow was whirling about the big 
 windows, veiling the horizon and increasing the 
 silence which was like that of the Eastern steppes. 
 
 Oh, the misery of men in lofty positions ! 
 
 A clock struck four and then another answered 
 and then still others replied through the vast 
 desert of the palace until it seemed as if there was 
 nothing alive there except the hour. The idea of 
 remaining there till evening face to face with his 
 wretchedness frightened him. He felt that he 
 must thaw himself a little with a bit of friendship 
 and tenderness. Steam radiators and warm-air 
 registers and half trees flaming in the chimney- 
 piece did not constitute a hearth ; for a moment 
 he thought of the Rue de Londres. But he had 
 sworn to his lawyer — for the lawyers were already 
 at work — to keep quiet until the suit was decided. 
 All of a sudden a name flashed across his mind : 
 " Bompard ! Why had he not come? " Generally 
 he was observed to arrive the first on mornings of 
 feast-days, his arms full of bouquets and paper 
 
344 Numa Roumestmi, 
 
 sacks with candles for Rosalie, Hortense and 
 Mme. Le Quesnoy, wearing on his lips a smile 
 which expressed his character of grandpapa or of 
 Santa Claus. Of course Roumestan paid the bill 
 of these surprises, but friend Bompard was pos- 
 sessed of imagination enough to forget that fact, 
 and, notwithstanding her antipathy, Rosalie could 
 not help being touched when she thought of the 
 privations which the poor devil must have under- 
 gone in order to be so generous. 
 
 '' Suppose I go and get him and we dine 
 together." 
 
 He was reduced to that. He rang, took off his 
 evening dress, all his medals and orders and went 
 out on foot by the Rue Bellechasse. 
 
 The quays and bridges were all white ; but when 
 he had crossed the courtyard of the Carrousel 
 neither ground nor air betrayed a trace of snow. 
 It disappeared under the wheels that crowded the 
 street, in the swarming myriads of the mob cover- 
 ing the sidewalks at the shop-fronts and pushing 
 round the offices of the omnibus lines. This tu- 
 mult of a feast-day evening, the calls of the coach- 
 men, the shrill cries of peddlers in the luminous 
 confusion of the shop-fronts, where the lilac- 
 colored jets from the Jablochkoff burners ex- 
 tinguished the twinkling yellow of the gas and the 
 last reflections from the pale afternoon, lulled the 
 despair of Roumestan and dissolved it, as it were, 
 by means of the agitation of the street. Mean- 
 time he directed his steps toward the Boulevard 
 Poissonniere where the old Circassian, very seden- 
 
New Years Day, 345 
 
 tary like all men of imagination, had lived for the 
 last twenty years, in fact since his arrival in Paris. 
 
 Nobody had ever seen the interior of Bompard's 
 home, of which nevertheless he talked a good 
 deal, as well as of his garden and his artistic fur- 
 niture, to complete which he haunted all the 
 auctions at the Hotel Drouot. 
 
 '* Do come to breakfast one of these days and 
 eat a chop with me ! " 
 
 That was the regular form of invitation which 
 he scattered right and left, but any one who took 
 him at his word never found anybody at home ; he 
 came up standing against signs left by the janitor, 
 against bells wrapped in paper or deprived of 
 their wire. During an entire year Lappara and 
 Rochemaure obstinately continued to try to reach 
 Bompard's rooms and overcome the extraor- 
 dinary stratagems of the Provencal who was 
 guarding the mystery of his apartment — but all 
 in vain. One day he even took out some of the 
 bricks near the front door in order to be able to 
 say across this species of barricade to the friends 
 he had invited : 
 
 "Awfully sorry, dear boys — we have had 
 an escape of gas — everything blown up last 
 night ! " 
 
 After having mounted numberless stories and 
 wandered through long corridors, tumbled over 
 invisible steps and intruded upon veritable assem- 
 blies of witches among the servants* bedrooms, 
 Roumestan, quite blown from that arduous ascent, 
 to which his legs of an illustrious man were no 
 
34^ Numa Roumestan. 
 
 longer equal, tumbled against a great big wash- 
 bowl fastened to the wall. 
 
 " Who 's there ? " spoke out a well-known voice 
 coming from far down the throat. 
 
 The door opened slowly, weighed down by a 
 clothes-rack upon which hung the entire ward- 
 robe of the lodger for winter and summer; the 
 room was small and Bompard did not lose the 
 benefit of an eighth of an inch and was compelled 
 to keep his toilet table in the corridor. His , 
 friend found him lying on a little iron bed, his 
 brow decorated with a scarlet head-dress, a sort 
 of Dantesque cap which rose up in astonishment 
 at sight of the distinguished visitor. 
 
 " It can't be you ! " 
 
 " Are you ill?" said Roumestan. 
 
 " 111 > not much ! " 
 
 *' Then what are you doing here? " 
 
 "You see I am taking stock of things," and 
 then he added, to explain his thought : ** I have 
 so many plans in my head, so many inventions ! 
 Now and then I get dispersed and lose myself; it 
 is only when I lie abed that I can gather myself 
 together a little." 
 
 Roumestan looked about for a chair, but none 
 was there except the single one in use as a night 
 table ; it was covered with books and newspapers 
 and had a candlestick wobbling on top of them all. 
 He sat down on the foot of the bed. 
 
 ** Why do we never see anything more of 
 you?" 
 
 *' Pshaw ! you must be joking. After what 
 
New Years Day. 347 
 
 happened I could not meet your wife face to face. 
 Just think a Httle ! There I was right before her, 
 the codfish a la brandade in my hand. It took ,a 
 mighty lot of coolness, I can tell you, not to let 
 everything drop." 
 
 " Rosalie is no longer at the Ministry," said 
 Numa quite overwhelmed. 
 
 " You astonish me ; do you mean to say that it 
 has not been arranged?" 
 
 And indeed it did not seem possible to him 
 that Madame Numa, a person of so much good 
 sense ... for after all, what was all this business 
 anyhow? " Come now, just a mere fancy ! " 
 
 The other interrupted him : 
 
 ** You don't understand her — she is an im- 
 placable woman — the perfect image of her father 
 — Northern race, my dear fellow — with them it 
 is not as it is with us, where the greatest anger 
 evaporates in gesticulations and threats and then 
 there is nothing left and we face about But 
 they keep everything in mind; it is terrible." 
 
 He did not say that she had already forgiven 
 him once before ; and then, in order to escape 
 from his sorrowful thoughts : 
 
 *' Get your clothes on ; you must come and dine 
 with me." 
 
 While Bompard was making his toilet out in 
 the corridor the Minister looked about the man- 
 sard room lit by a little window like a tobacco-box, 
 over which the melting snow was running. Pity 
 seized him face to face with this penury, these 
 damp rags, the whitewashed paper and little stove 
 
34^ Nunia Roumestan^ 
 
 worn with rust and fireless notwithstanding the 
 cold. And he asked himself, used as he was to 
 the sumptuousness of his palace, how people 
 could live in such a place? 
 
 ** Have you seen the gardeen f " cried Bompard 
 joyfully from his basin. 
 
 His garden was the leafless tops of three plane- 
 trees which could not be seen unless one stood 
 upon the solitary chair in the room. 
 
 " And my little museum? " 
 
 His museum he called a few ticketed knick- 
 knacks upon a board, a brick, a short pipe in 
 brierwood, a rusty knife-blade and an ostrich 
 Q^^ — but the brick came from the Alhambra, 
 the sword had been used in the vendettas of a 
 famous Corsican bandit, the short pipe bore an 
 inscription, *' Pipe of a Morocco criminal," and 
 finally the ostrich egg represented the vanishing 
 of a beautiful dream, all that remained — along 
 with a few laths and bits of plaster heaped in a 
 corner — of the famous Bompard Incubator and 
 the scheme for artificial hatching. But now, 
 my dear boy, there is something much better 
 on hand — a marvellous scheme — millions in 
 it — which he was not at liberty to explain at 
 present. 
 
 ** What is it you are looking at ? That ? — 
 That is my brevet of membership — ^/, yes, 
 membership in the Ai'oli." 
 
 This club of the Afoli had for its purpose the 
 bringing together once a month of all the Southern- 
 ers living in Paris, in order to eat a dinner 
 
New Years Day. 349 
 
 cooked with garlic, a way of never losing either 
 the fragrance or the accent of home. It was a 
 tremendous organization — a President of Honor, 
 Presidents, Vice-Presidents, Seniors, Questors, 
 Treasurers, all furnished with their diplomas as 
 members brave with silver streamers, and the 
 flower of the leek as decoration upon rose-colored 
 paper. This precious document was displayed 
 on the wall alongside of advertisements of every 
 sort of color, sales of houses, railway placards and 
 so forth, which Bompard liked to have always 
 under his nose, in order, as he ingenuously re- 
 marked, "■ to do his liver good." There might 
 one read : " Chateau to sell, one hundred and 
 fifty hectares, meadows, hunting, river, pond full 
 of fish . . . Lovely little property in Touraine, 
 vineyards, luzernes, mill-on-the-Cize . . . Round 
 trip through Switzerland, through Italy, to Lago 
 Maggiore, to the Borromean Islands . . ," These 
 things excited him just as much as if he had 
 had fine landscapes in oil hanging on the wall. 
 He believed he was in these places — and he was 
 there ! 
 
 ''By Jove!" said Roumestan with a shade of 
 envy of this wretched believer in chimeras, so 
 happy in his rags — " You have a tremendous 
 imagination. Come, are you ready? Let's get 
 down. It is frightfully cold up here." 
 
 After a few turns through the brilliant streets 
 across the jolly mob of the boulevards the two 
 friends settled themselves down in the heady, 
 radiating warmth of a little room in a big restau- 
 
350 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 rant, in front of oysters and a bottle of Chateau- 
 Yquem very carefully uncorked. 
 
 ** To your health, my comrade — I pray that it 
 may be good and happy forever." 
 
 *' Te ! why it 's a fact," said Bompard ; " we 
 have n't kissed each other yet." 
 
 Across the table they gave each other a hug 
 with moistened eyes and Roumestan felt himself 
 quite gay again, despite the wrinkled and swarthy 
 hide of the Circassian. Ever since morning he 
 had wanted to kiss somebody. Besides, think of 
 all the years they had known each other — thirty 
 years of their life in front of them on that table- 
 cloth — and through the vapor rising from delicate 
 dishes and over the straw wrappers of delicious 
 wines they recalled their days of youth, their fra- 
 ternal recollections, races and picnics, saw once 
 more their own boyish faces and interlarded their 
 effusions with words in dialect which brought them 
 still closer together. 
 
 '' T' en souvenes, digof (I say, do you re- 
 member ?) 
 
 In a room near by could be heard a noise of 
 high laughter and little screams. 
 
 " To the devil with females," said Roumestan ; 
 *' there is nothing worth while but friendship ! " 
 
 And then they drank to each other once more ; 
 nevertheless their talk turned in another direction : 
 "And how about the little girl? " asked Bompard, 
 winking his eye. " How is she getting on? " 
 
 " O, of course, I have not seen her again, you 
 know." 
 
New Years Day. 351 
 
 ** Of course not, of course not," said the other 
 turning suddenly very serious and putting on a 
 solemn face. 
 
 Presently a piano behind the partition began 
 to play scraps of waltzes, fashionable quadrilles 
 and bars of music from operettas, now crazy and 
 now languid. They stopped talking in order to 
 listen, puUing off the withered grapes, and Numa, 
 all of whose sensations appeared to have two 
 faces and to be swung upon a pivot, began to 
 think about his wife and his child and his lost 
 happiness. So he must needs unbosom himself 
 at the top of his voice with his elbows on the 
 table. 
 
 " Eleven years of intimacy, trust and tender- 
 ness — all that flashed away and vanished in 
 a minute ! how can it be possible? ah, RosaHe, 
 Rosalie — " 
 
 No one could ever know what she had been to 
 him, and he himself had not thoroughly under- 
 stood it until after her departure. Such an up- 
 right spirit, such a straightforward heart! And 
 what shoulders and what arms ! No little ginger- 
 bread doll like little Bachellery; something full 
 and amber-tinted and delicate — 
 
 " Besides, don't you see, my dear comrade, 
 there's no denying that when we are young we 
 need surprises and adventures — meetings in a 
 hurry, sharpened by the fear of being caught, 
 staircases one comes down on all fours with one s 
 boots in one's arms — all that is part of love. 
 But at our age what we desire above everything 
 
35^ Numa Roumestan, 
 
 else is peace and what the philosophers call 
 security in pleasure. It is only marriage which 
 can give you that." 
 
 He jumped up all of a sudden, threw down his 
 napkin : " Off with us, t^ / " 
 
 •* And we are going — ? " asked the impassible 
 Bompard. 
 
 " To walk by under her window just as I did 
 twelve years ago — to this, my dear boy, is he 
 reduced, the grand Master of the University — " 
 
 Under the arcaded way of the Place Royale, 
 whose square garden covered with snow formed 
 a white quadrilateral within its iron fence, these 
 two friends walked up and down for a long while, 
 spying out in the broken sky-line formed by the 
 Louis XIII roofs, chimneys and balconies the 
 lofty windows of the Hotel Le Quesnoy. 
 
 " To think that she is over there," sighed 
 Roumestan, " so near to me, and yet I may not 
 see her ! " 
 
 Bompard was shivering with his feet in the mud 
 and did not appreciate very greatly this senti- 
 mental excursion ; in order to bring it to a close 
 he used strategy, and knowing well that Numa was 
 a soft one, in deadly fear of the slightest illness : 
 
 " I 'm afraid you '11 catch cold, Numa," insinu- 
 ated he like the traitor he was. 
 
 The Southerner was struck with fear, and they 
 quickly returned to the carriage. 
 
 She was there indeed, in that same drawing- 
 room where he had seen her for the first time. 
 
New Years Day, 353 
 
 The furniture was just the same and held the 
 same place, having reached that age when fur- 
 niture, like temperaments, cannot be renewed. 
 Scarcely were there a few more faded folds in the 
 fawn-colored hangings and a film over the dull 
 reflections from the mirrors like that one sees on 
 deserted ponds which nothing ever touches. The 
 faces of the two old people under the two- 
 branched candlesticks at the card-table in com- 
 pany with their usual partners showed likewise a 
 little of the wear and tear of life. Madame Le 
 Quesnoy's features were puffy and drooping as 
 if the fibre had been taken out of them, and the 
 President's pallor was still more pallid and still 
 prouder was the revolt that he preserved in the 
 bitter blue of his eyes. Seated near a big arm- 
 chair, the cushions of which were still crushed 
 down by a light weight, her sister having gone to 
 bed, Rosalie continued in a low voice that read- 
 ing aloud which she had been giving a moment 
 before for -the benefit of her sister, reading on 
 in a low voice through the silence of whist bro- 
 ken by the half-words and interjections of the 
 players. 
 
 It was a book belonging to her youth, one of 
 those poets of nature whom her father had taught 
 her to love. And she perceived the whole past of 
 her life as a young girl rising up from the pure 
 white of the stanzas as well as the fresh and pene- 
 trating impression of the books one has read first 
 
 in life. 
 
 23 
 
354 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 La belle auraitpu sans souci 
 Manger ses /raises loin dHci 
 
 Au bord d''une claire fontaine 
 Avec unjoyeux 7noissonneur 
 Qui r aur ait prise sur son coeur^ 
 
 Elle aurait eu bien ?noins de peine, 
 
 (In happy ease that damsel fair 
 Her berries might have eaten where 
 
 A fountain plashes o'er a stone ; 
 Some harvester at noontide rest 
 Had clasped her to his stalwart breast — 
 
 Ah ! far less woe would she have known.) 
 
 The book slipped from her hands upon her 
 knees, the last two lines re-echoing their mournful 
 song to the very depths of her being, recalling to 
 her the wretchedness which for one moment she 
 had forgot. There lies the cruelty that poets 
 exercise ; they lull and appease you, but then with 
 one word they envenom again the wound which 
 they were by way of healing. 
 
 She saw herself as she was in that same place 
 twelve years before when Numa paid his addresses 
 to her with great big bouquets of roses; when, 
 clothed with her twenty years and the wish to be 
 beautiful for his sake, from that very window 
 she watched him coming, just as one watches one's 
 own destiny. In every corner of the house there 
 remained echoes of his warm and tender voice, so 
 ready to lie. If one looked a moment among the 
 music scattered about the piano one would find 
 the duos which they sang together; everything 
 which surrounded her seemed accomplices of the 
 
New Years Day, 35^ 
 
 disaster in her failure of a life. She thought of 
 what that life might have been by the side of 
 an honest man and loyal comrade, not brilliant 
 and ambitious, but enjoying a simple and hidden 
 existence in which they would have courageously 
 borne all bitternesses and all sorrow to the very 
 end of their days. 
 
 ** Elle aurait eu bien moins de peine'* (Ah, far 
 less woe would she have known.) 
 
 She had plunged so deep into her dream that 
 when the whist party ended and her parents' old 
 friends had left, almost without her remarking it, 
 answering mechanically the friendly and pitying 
 farewells that each one gave her, she failed to per- 
 ceive that the President, instead of conducting his 
 friends to the front door as had been his habit 
 every evening, no matter what the time or season, 
 was marching up and down the drawing-room. 
 At last he stopped before her and put a question 
 to her in a voice which caused her all of a sudden 
 to tremble : 
 
 ** Well, my child, where are you in this matter? 
 have you made up your mind?" 
 
 "Why, dear father,! am exactly where I was 
 before." 
 
 He seated himself beside her, took her hand and 
 attempted to do the persuasive : 
 
 " I have been to see your husband ... he con- 
 sents to everything . . . you can live here with me 
 the entire time that your mother and sister shall 
 be away, and even afterwards if your anger against 
 him still continues. But I tell you again, this 
 
35 6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 suit for separation is impossible ! I do hope that 
 you will not insist upon it." 
 
 Rosalie tossed her head. 
 
 " My dear father, you do not understand that 
 man. He will employ all his cunning to sur- 
 round me and get me back again, make me his 
 dupe, a voluntary dupe, who has accepted an un- 
 dignified and degraded existence. Your daugh- 
 ter is not a woman of that sort. I demand a 
 complete and irreparable rupture, openly an-, 
 nounced to all the world." 
 
 From the card-table where she sat ranging the 
 cards and markers Mme. Le Quesnoy, without 
 turning round, gently interposed: 
 
 '* Forgive, my child, forgive." 
 
 ** O yes, that is easy to say when one has a 
 husband as upright and loyal as yours, when one 
 never has known the suffocating effect of lies and 
 treason, drawing their plots about one. He is a 
 hypocrite, I tell you. He has his Chamb^ry 
 morality and his morality of the Rue de Londres. 
 His words and his acts are never in accord — two 
 ways of speech, two faces — all the seductive and 
 catlike nature of his race — in a word, the man of 
 the South ! " 
 
 And then, losing her head as her anger ex- 
 ploded, she said : 
 
 "Besides, I had already forgiven him once. 
 Yes, two years after my marriage. I never told 
 you about it, I have never spoken to a single per- 
 son. I was very unhappy; and then we only 
 remained together because of an oath he made 
 
New Years Day, 357 
 
 me. — But he only lives on perjuries! And now 
 it is completely at an end, completely at an 
 end ! " 
 
 The President did not insist further, but slowly 
 rose and went over to his wife. There was a 
 whispering together and something like a debate, 
 surprising enough between that authoritative man 
 and this humble, annihilated creature : " You 
 must tell her. . . . Yes, yes, I want you to tell 
 her. . . ." Without adding another word M. Le 
 Quesnoy left the room and his sonorous regular 
 step, his step of every evening, could be heard 
 mounting the solitary vaulted stairs, through all 
 the solemn spaces of the grand drawing-room. 
 
 " Come here," said her mother to the daughter 
 with a tender gesture, " nearer to me, still nearer." 
 
 She would never dare to tell her aloud; and 
 even when they were so close and heart was beat- 
 ing against heart, she still hesitated : 
 
 "Listen, dear; it is he who demands it — he 
 wants me to tell you that your destiny is the des- 
 tiny of all women, and that even your mother has 
 not escaped it." 
 
 Rosalie was overwhelmed with that secret con- 
 fided to her which she had divined in a flash at the 
 first words of her mother, whilst her old and very 
 dear voice broken with tears could hardly articu- 
 late the very sorrowful, very sorrowful story, similar 
 in every way to her own — the crime of her hus- 
 band from the earliest years of their housekeeping, 
 just as if the motto of these wretched coupled be- 
 ings must be '* Deceive me or else I deceive thee ! " 
 
358 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 — the man hastening to begin the evil in order to 
 maintain his superior rank. 
 
 " Enough, enough, Mamma. Oh, how you are 
 hurting me ! " 
 
 This father whom she so admired, whom she 
 placed far above any other man, this sterlingly 
 honest and firm magistrate ! But what kind of 
 creatures were men, anyhow? At the North and 
 down South, all were alike, traitors and perjurers. 
 She who had not wept a tear because of the 
 treason of her husband now felt herself invaded by 
 a flood of hot tears because of this humiliation of 
 her father. . . . And so they were counting upon 
 this, were they? to make her yield! No, a 
 hundred times no ; she would never forgive. Ha, 
 ha! so that was marriage, was it? Very well; dis- 
 honor and disdain upon marriage then ! What 
 cared she for fear of scandal and the proprieties of 
 the world, since it was a rivalry as to who should 
 treat them with the most contempt? 
 
 Her mother, taking her in her arms and pressing 
 her against her heart, endeavored to soften the re- 
 volt of this young conscience wounded in all its 
 behefs, in its dearest superstitions ; she caressed 
 her gently as if she were rocking a child : 
 
 " Yes, yes, you will forgive. You will do as 
 I did — you see it is our destiny. Ah, I also 
 had a terrible bitterness in me during the first 
 moments and a great longing to throw myself out 
 of the window. But I thought of my child, my 
 poor little Andrew who was just coming to life, 
 who since then grew up and died, loving and re- 
 
New Years Day. 359 
 
 specting all his family. So you too will pardon in 
 order that your child shall have the same happy 
 tranquillity which my own courage secured to you, 
 so that he shall not be one of those half-orphans 
 whom parents share between them, whom they 
 bring up in hatred and disdain to one and the 
 other. You will also remember that your father 
 and mother have already suffered tremendously 
 and that other bitter sorrows are menacing them 
 now — " 
 
 She stopped short, suffocated by feeling, and 
 then in a solemn accent : 
 
 , '' My daughter, all sorrows become softened and 
 all wounds are capable of being cured. There 
 is only one sorrow which is irreparable and that is 
 the death of the person we love." 
 
 In the failure of her agitated forces that followed 
 these last words Rosalie felt the figure of her 
 mother grow in grandeur by as much as her father 
 had lost greatness in her eyes. She even re- 
 proached herself for having so long misunderstood 
 the sublime and resigned self-abnegation con- 
 cealed beneath that apparent feebleness which was 
 the result of bitter blows. Thus it came about 
 that for her mother's sake, for her mother's sake 
 alone, she renounced the lawsuit in revenge of her 
 outraged rights, and renounced it in gentle words, 
 almost as if asking pardon : " Only do not insist 
 that I go back to him — I should be too ashamed. 
 I will accompany my sister to the South. After- 
 wards, later, we shall see." 
 
 The President came back again, and when he saw 
 
360 Numa RoMmestan, 
 
 the enthusiasm with which the old mother was 
 throwing her arms about the neck of her child he 
 understood that their cause was won. 
 
 ** Thank you, my daughter," he murmured, very 
 much touched. Then after a little hesitation he 
 approached Rosalie for the usual kiss of good- 
 night. But the brow which ordinarily was so ten- 
 derly offered moved aside and his kiss lost itself in 
 her hair. 
 
 " Good-night, father." 
 
 He said nothing in return, but went aw^ay hang- 
 ing his head with a convulsive shudder in his high 
 shoulders. He who during his life had accused so 
 many people, had condemned so many — he, the 
 First Magistrate of France, had found a judge in 
 his turn. 
 
Hortense Le Quesnoy, 361 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HORTENSE LE QUESNOY. 
 
 Through one of those sudden shiftings of the 
 scenery which are so frequent in the comedy of 
 Parliamentary government, the meeting of January 
 8th, during which it was to be expected that the 
 good luck of Roumestan would go all to pieces, 
 procured for him on the contrary a striking success. 
 When he marched up the steps of the platform in 
 order to answer the cruel sarcasms that Rougeot 
 had been getting off concerning the management of 
 the opera, the mess that the department of the 
 fine arts had got into, the emptiness of those re- 
 forms which had been trumpeted abroad by the 
 supporters of the clerical Ministry, Numa had just 
 learned that his wife had left Paris, having re- 
 nounced her lawsuit. 
 
 This happy news, which was known to him alone, 
 filled his answer with a confidence that radiated 
 from his whole being. He took a haughty air, 
 then a confidential, then a solemn one ; he alluded 
 to calumnies which are whispered in people's ears 
 and to some scandal that was expected: 
 " Gentlemen, there will be no scandal ! " 
 The tone with which he said this threw a lively 
 disappointment over the galleries crammed with 
 
362 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 all the sensation-loving, pretty women, mad for 
 strong emotions, who had come there in charming 
 costumes to see the conqueror devoured. The in- 
 terpellation by Rougeot was torn to bits, the South 
 seduced once more the North, Gaul for yet another 
 time was conquered ! — and when Roumestan ran 
 down the steps again, worn out, perspiring and 
 almost without voice, he had the proud satisfaction 
 of seeing his party — but a moment ago so cold 
 and even hostile — and his colleagues in the Cabi- 
 net, who had been accusing him of having com- 
 promised them, surround him with acclamations 
 and enthusiastic flatteries. And in the intoxica- 
 tion of his success the relinquKshment of her ven- 
 geance on the part of his wife kept returning to him 
 always in the light of a supreme salvation. 
 
 He felt himself relieved and gay and expansive, 
 so much so that on returning to the city the 
 thought passed through his mind to run around to 
 the Rue de Londres. O, of course, entirely as a 
 friend ! in order to reassure that poor little girl who 
 had been as anxious as he over the results of the 
 interpellation, who bore their common exile with 
 so much bravery, sending him in her unformed 
 writing, dryed with face-powder, delightful little 
 letters in which she related her existence day by 
 day and exhorted him to patience and prudence. 
 
 ** No, no; do not come here, poor darling — 
 write to me and think of me — I shall be brave." 
 
 It happened that the Opera was not open that 
 evening, and during the short passage from the 
 station to the little house in the Rue de Londres 
 
Hot tense Le Quesnoy, 363 
 
 Numa was thinking, while he clutched in his hand 
 that little key which had been a temptation to him 
 more than once for the last fortnight : 
 
 " How happy she is going to be ! " 
 
 Having opened the door and shut it noiselessly, 
 he suddenly found himself in deep obscurity, for 
 the gas had not been lit. This neglect gave to the 
 little house an appearance of mourning and widow- 
 hood which flattered him. The thick carpet on 
 the stair softening his tread as he ran up, he 
 reached without being in any way announced the 
 drawing-room hung with Japanese stuffs of the 
 most deliciously false shades just suited to the arti- 
 ficial gold in the tresses of the little girl. 
 
 "Who is there?" asked a pretty voice but an 
 angry one from the divan. 
 
 *' It is I, by Jove ! — " 
 
 He heard a cry and a sudden springing up, and 
 in the uncertain light of the evening by the white 
 light of her skirts, the little singing girl stood up 
 straight in the greatest fright, whilst handsome 
 Lappara in a crushed but motionless position 
 stood there looking hard at the flowers in the 
 carpet to avoid the eyes of his master. There was 
 no denying the situation. 
 
 " Gutter-snipes ! " roared Roumestan hoarsely, 
 seized by one of those suffocating rages during 
 which the beast growls inside the man with a 
 desire to tear in pieces and to bite far more than to 
 strike. 
 
 Without knowing how it was he found himself 
 outside the house, hurried away by fear of his own 
 
364 Nivma Roumestait, 
 
 frightful wrath. In that very place and at th^ 
 very hour some days before, his wife, just like him- 
 self, had received the blow of treachery, the vulgar 
 and the outrageous wound, but a far more cruel 
 and utterly unmerited one. But he never thought 
 of that for a moment, filled as he was with indigna- 
 tion at the personal injury. No, never had such a 
 villainy been seen beneath the sun ! This Lappara 
 whom he loved like a child ! This scoundrel of a 
 girl for whose sake he had gone the length of com- 
 promising his entire political fortune ! 
 
 '' Gutter-snipes ! — gutter-snipes ! " he repeated 
 aloud in the empty street as he hurried through a 
 fine, penetrating rain, which in fact calmed him far 
 better than the finest logic. 
 
 " Te ! why, I am all wet — " 
 
 He hurried to the cab-stand on the Rue d'Amster- 
 dam, and in the crowd which collects in that place 
 owing to the constant arrival of trains at the station 
 he came up against the hard and tightly buttoned 
 uniform of General the Marquis d'Espaillon. 
 
 " Bravo, my dear colleague ! I was not in the 
 Chamber ; but they tell me that you charged the 
 enemy like a and routed him, horse and foot." 
 
 As he stood as straight as a lath under his 
 umbrella, the old fellow had a devilish lively eye 
 and moustaches gallantly twisted to the correct 
 angle for the evening of a lucky love adventure. 
 
 ** G — d — • m — s — ! " he went on, leaning over 
 toward Numa's ear with a tone of confidence in 
 gallantry, " you at least can boast of understanding 
 women, by Jove ! " 
 
Horteiise Le Quesnoy, 365 
 
 And as the other looked at him sharply, suppos- 
 ing that he was speaking sarcastically: 
 
 " Why yes, don't you remember our discussion 
 about love? You were perfectly right. It is not only 
 the fops and dudes that please the women — I Ve got 
 one now on the string. Never swallowed a better 
 than this one — G — d — m — s — , not even when I 
 was twenty-five and had just left the Academy." 
 
 Roumestan listened to him with his hand on the 
 door of his cab and thought that he was smiling at 
 the old lovesick fool, but what he produced was 
 nothing more than a horrible grimace. His 
 theories about women were just then so extraordi- 
 narily upset. — Glory? genius? O, come now! 
 Those are not the things that make them care for 
 you. He felt himself outwitted and disgusted, 
 and had a desire to weep and then a longing to 
 sleep in order not to think any more, especially 
 not to recall further the frightened laugh of that 
 little rascally girl standing straight before him with 
 her waist in disorder and all her neck red and 
 trembling from the interrupted kisses. 
 
 But in the agitated course of our life, hours and 
 events link themselves together and follow each 
 other like waves. In place of the nice rest which 
 he hoped to obtain on returning home a new blow 
 was awaiting him at the Ministry, a telegraphic 
 despatch which Mejean had opened in his absence 
 and now handed him, deeply moved : 
 
 Hortense dying. She wishes to see you. Come 
 
 quickly. 
 
 Widow Portal. 
 
366 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 The whole of his frightful egotism broke from 
 him with the dismayed exclamation : 
 
 *' Oh, what devoted fidelity am I losing in 
 her ! " 
 
 Then he thought of his wife who was present at 
 that death-bed and had allowed Aunt Portal to 
 send the despatch. Her wrath had not yielded 
 and probably never would give way. Neverthe- 
 less, if she had been willing, how thoroughly would 
 he not have recommenced life at her side, giving up 
 all his imprudent follies and becoming a straight- 
 forward and almost austere family man ! And 
 then, never giving a thought to the harm that he 
 had done, he reproached Rosalie for her hardness 
 of heart, as if she were treating him unjustly. 
 
 He passed the night correcting the proofs of his 
 speech and interrupting work every now and then 
 to write bits of letters to that little scoundrel of an 
 Alice Bachellery, letters either raging or sarcastic, 
 scolding or abusive. Mejean was also up all night 
 in the Secretary's office ; overwhelmed with bitter 
 sorrow, he tried to find forgetfulness in unremit- 
 ting toil, and Numa, who was pleased with his 
 company, experienced a veritable pain because he 
 could not pour out to him in confidence the de- 
 ception he had met with. But then he would 
 have been forced to acknowledge that he had 
 gone back to her and stand the ridicule of the 
 situation. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was not able to hold out, and 
 in the morning whilst his chief of cabinet was ac- 
 companying him to the station he committed to 
 
Hor tense Le Quesnoy, 367 
 
 him amongst other orders the charge of giving 
 Lappara his walking-papers. " O, he is expect- 
 ing it, you may be sure! I caught him in the 
 very act of committing the blackest piece of in- 
 gratitude. — And when I think how kind I have 
 been to him, to the point of intending to make 
 him — "he stopped short; would it be believed 
 that he was on the point of telling the man in 
 love with Hortense that he had promised the 
 girl's hand to another person? Without going 
 further into details, he declared that he did not 
 wish to find on his return such a wretchedly 
 immoral person at the Ministry. But on general 
 principles he was heart-broken at the duplicity of 
 the world — all was ingratitude and egotism. It 
 was so bad, he would like to toss them into the 
 street, all his honors and business matters, in order 
 to quit Paris and become the keeper of a light- 
 house on a horrible crag in the midst of the 
 ocean. 
 
 *' You have slept badly, my dear Master," said 
 Mejean with his tranquil air. 
 
 "No, no, it is exactly as I tell you — Paris 
 makes me sick at my stomach . . ." 
 
 Standing on the platform near the cars, he 
 turned about with a gesture of supreme disgust 
 aimed at that great city into which the provinces 
 pour all their ambitions and concupiscences, all 
 their boiling and sordid overflow — and then 
 accuse it of degeneracy and moral taint He in- 
 terrupted his tirade and then, with a bitter laugh, 
 pointing to a wall : 
 
^68 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ** How he does dog me everywhere, that fellow 
 over there ! " 
 
 On a vast gray wall pierced with hideous little 
 windows at the angle of the Rue de Lyon, there 
 was the picture of a wretched troubadour. 
 Washed out by all the moisture of the winter and 
 the filth from a barrack of poor people, the adver- 
 tisement showed on the second story a frightful 
 mess of blue, yellow and green through which 
 one could still see the pretentious and victorious 
 gesture of the tabor-player. In Parisian adver- 
 tisements placards succeed each other quickly, 
 one concealing the other; but when they are of 
 enormous dimensions, some bit or end will stick 
 out; wherefore it happened that in every corner 
 of Paris during the last fortnight the Minister had 
 found before his eyes either a leg or an arm, or a 
 bit of the Provencal cap, or an end of the laced 
 peasant's boots of Valmajour. These remnants 
 threatened him even as in that Provencal legend 
 the victim of a murder with his various limbs 
 hacked and separated cries out against his mur- 
 derer from all the separate bits of his body. But 
 in this case he was there entire, and the horrible 
 coloring seen through the chill morning air, 
 forced as it was to receive unflinchingly all kinds 
 of filth before it dropped away and disappeared 
 under a final rush of wind, represented very well 
 the destiny of the unfortunate troubadour, driven 
 forever from pillar to post through the slums of 
 that Paris which he could no longer quit, and 
 conducting thQ farajidole for a mob recruited from 
 
Hortense Le Quesnoy. 369 
 
 the unclassed and exiled ones and the fools, those 
 persons thirsting for notoriety whose end is the 
 hospital, the dissection table and the potter's field. 
 
 Roumestan got into his coach frozen to the very- 
 bone by that morning apparition and by the cold 
 of his sleepless night, shivering at sight through 
 the car windows of those mournful vistas in the 
 suburbs, those iron bridges across streets that shone 
 with rain, those tall houses, barracks of wretched- 
 ness whose numberless windows were stuffed with 
 rags, and then those early morning figures, hollow 
 cheeked, sorrowful and sordid, those rounded backs 
 and arms clutching breasts in order to conceal 
 something or warm themselves, those taverns with 
 signs in endless variety and the thick forest of 
 factory chimneys vomiting smoke that falls at once 
 to earth. After that came the first gardens of the 
 outer suburb, black of soil, the coarse mortar in 
 the low farm buildings, villas closely shuttered in 
 the midst of their little gardens reduced by the 
 winter to copses as dry as the bare wood of the 
 kiosks and arbors, and then, farther on, the coun- 
 try roads broken up by puddles, where one saw 
 files of overflowing tanks — a horizon the color 
 of rust, and flights of crows over the deserted 
 fields. 
 
 He closed his eyes to keep out this sorrowful 
 Northern winter through which the whistle of the 
 locomotive passed with long wails of distress, but 
 his own thoughts under his lowered eyelids were 
 in no respect happier. So near again to that fool 
 of a girl — for the bond that held him to her 
 
 24 
 
370 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 still contracted his heart though it had broken! 
 — he pondered over all the different things he had 
 done for her and what the support of an oper- 
 atic star had cost him for the last six months. 
 In that life of the boards everything is false, but 
 especially success, which is only worth as much as 
 one buys. The demands of the claque, cost of 
 tickets at the office, of dinners, receptions, pres- 
 ents to reporters, publicity in all its varying forms, 
 all these have their price ; then the magnificent 
 bouquets at sight of which the singer grows red 
 and shows emotion, gathering them up against 
 her arms and nude neck and the shining satin of her 
 gown ; and then the ovations prepared beforehand 
 for the provincial tour, enthusiastic processions to 
 the hotel, serenades to the diva's balcony and all 
 the other things calculated to dispel the gloomy 
 indifference of the public — ah, all these must not 
 only be paid for but paid high ! 
 
 For six months he had gone along with open 
 pocketbook, never begrudging the triumphs ar- 
 ranged for the little girl. He was present at nego- 
 tiations with the chief of the claque and the 
 advertising agents of the newspapers, as well as 
 the flower-woman whose bouquets the diva and 
 her mother worked off on him three times without 
 his knowledge merely by decking them out with 
 fresh ribbons; for these Bordeaux Jewesses were 
 possessed of a vulgar rapacity and a love of trick- 
 ery and expedients which caused them at times to 
 remain at home for entire days, clad in rags, old 
 jackets over flowing skirts, with their feet in ancient 
 
Hot tense Le Quesnoy, 371 
 
 ball slippers. In fact it was thus that Numa found 
 them oftenest, passing their time playing cards 
 and reviling each other as if they were in a van of 
 acrobats at a fair. For a good many months past 
 they had no longer put on any restraint in his 
 presence. He knew all the tricks and grimaces of 
 the diva and the coarseness natural to an affected 
 and unneat woman of the South: also that she 
 was ten years older than her age on the boards 
 and that in order to fix upon her face that eternal 
 smile in a Cupid's bow she went to sleep each 
 night with her lips pulled up at the corners and 
 streaked with coral lip-paint. 
 
 At this point at last he himself fell asleep — but 
 I can assure you that his mouth was not like a 
 Cupid's bow; on the contrary his every feature 
 was haggard from disgust and fatigue, while his 
 entire body was shaken by the bumps and sway- 
 ings to and fro and by the shocks of the express 
 train whirled under full steam over the metals. 
 
 ** Valeince ! — Vale'ince ! " 
 
 He opened his eyes like a child called by his 
 mother. The South had already begun to ap- 
 pear; between the clouds, which the wind was 
 driving apart, deep blue abysses were dug, and 
 there was the sky ! A ray of sunlight warmed 
 the car window and among the roadside pines 
 one saw the grayness of a few thin olive-trees. 
 This produced a feehng of rest throughout the 
 sensitive nature of the Southerner and a complete 
 polar change of ideas. He was sorry that he had 
 been so harsh to Lappara. Think of having de- 
 
372 Ntima Roumestan, 
 
 stroyed the future of that poor boy and plunged a 
 whole family in grief — and for what? A ^^ foutaise^ 
 allons ! " as Bompard said. There was only one 
 way of repairing it and correcting its look of dis- 
 missal from the Ministry, and that was the Cross 
 of the Legion of Honor. And the Minister began 
 to laugh at the idea of Lappara's name appearing 
 in the Officiel with this addition, ** Exceptional 
 services." But after all it was an exceptional ser- 
 vice to have delivered his chief from that degrad- 
 ing connection. 
 
 Orange ! . . . Montelimar and its nougat ! . . . 
 Voices were already full of vibration and words 
 reinforced by lively gestures. Waiters from the 
 restaurant, paper sellers and station guards rushed 
 upon the train with their eyes sticking out of their 
 heads. Certainly this was quite a different people 
 from that which one met thirty leagues farther 
 North, and the Rhone, the broad Rh6ne, with its 
 waves like a sea, glistened under the sunshine that 
 turned to gold the crenelated ramparts of Avi- 
 gnon, whose bells — which have never stopped 
 ringing since the days of Rabelais — saluted the 
 big political man of Provence with their clear- 
 cut chimes. Numa took possession of a seat at 
 the buffet in front of a little white roll, a pasty 
 and a bottle of the well known wine from the 
 Nerte that had ripened between the rocks and 
 was capable of inoculating even a Parisian with the 
 accent of dwellers among the scrub-oak barrens. 
 
 But his natal atmosphere rejoiced his heart the 
 most — when he was able to leave the main line at 
 
Hortense Le Quesnoy, ^y^ 
 
 Tarascon and take a seat in a coach on the small 
 patriarchal railway with a single track which 
 pushes its way into the heart of Provence between 
 the branches of mulberries and olive-trees, while 
 tufts of wild rose scrape against the side doors. 
 People were singing in the coaches; at every 
 moment the train stopped in order to allow a 
 flock of sheep to pass or to pick up a belated 
 traveller or to ship some parcel which a boy from 
 a mas brought up at a full run. And then what 
 salutations and nice little bits of gossip between 
 the train hands and the peasant women in their 
 Aries head-dresses standing at their doors or 
 washing clothes on the stone near the well ! At 
 the station what cries and bustlings — an entire 
 village turning out to conduct to the cars some 
 conscript or some girl who was off to the town 
 for service. 
 
 " T^I v^ ! not good-bye, dear lass, . . . but be 
 very good, ait moinsf 
 
 Then they weep and embrace each other with- 
 out taking any notice of the hermit in his cowl ask- 
 ing alms as he leans against the station fence and 
 mumbles his pater-noster ; then, enraged at receiv- 
 ing nothing, turns to go as he throws his sack upon 
 his back. 
 
 " Well, there 's another pater gone to pot ! " 
 
 That phrase catches and is understood, all tears 
 are dried and the whole company roars with 
 laughter, the begging monk harder than the rest. 
 
 Hidden away in his coach in order to escape 
 ovations, Roumestan enjoyed immensely all this 
 
374 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 jollity., pleased with the sight of these countenances 
 all brown and hooked-nosed and alive with emo- 
 tion and sarcasm, these big fellows with their 
 smart air, these chatos as amber-colored as the long 
 berries of the muscat grape, who as they grow 
 older will turn into these crones, black and 
 dried by the sun, who seem to scatter a dust as 
 from the tomb every time they make one of their 
 habitual gestures. So zou then ! and allons ! and 
 all the en avants in the world ! Here he found 
 once more his own people, his changeable and 
 nervous Provence, that race of brown crickets 
 always at the door and always singing! 
 
 But he himself was certainly a type of them, 
 already recovered from his terrible despair of that 
 morning, from his disgust and his love — all swept 
 away at the first puff of the mistral which was 
 growling in a lively fashion through the valley of the 
 Rhone. It met the train midway, retarding its ad- 
 •vance and driving everything before it, the trees 
 bent over in an attitude of flight as well as the far- 
 away Alpilles, the sun shaken by the sudden 
 eclipses, whilst in the distance under a rapid gleam 
 of sunshine the town of Aps grouped its monu- 
 ments about the ancient tower of the Antonines, 
 just as a herd of cattle huddles on the wide plain 
 of the Camargue about the oldest bull in order to 
 break the force of the wind. 
 
 So it was that Numa made his entrance into the 
 station to the sound of that magnificent trumpet- 
 ing of the mistral. 
 
 The family had kept his arrival secret through a 
 
H or tense Le Quesnoy, 375 
 
 feeling of delicacy like his own, in order to avoid 
 the Orpheons and banners and solemn deputations. 
 Aunt Portal alone awaited him, majestically in- 
 stalled in the arm-chair belonging to the keeper 
 of the station, with a warmer under her feet. As 
 soon as she perceived her nephew the big rosy face 
 of the stout lady, which had expanded in her 
 reposeful position, took on a despairing expression 
 and swelled up under the white lace cap, and 
 stretching out her arms she burst into sobs and 
 lamentations : 
 
 ^^ Aie de nous, what a misfortune! . . . Such a 
 pretty little thing, p^chere ! . . .'and so good ! . . . 
 and so gentle ! . . . you would take your bread 
 from your mouth for her sake. . . .'* 
 
 "Great Heavens, is it all over?" thought Rou- 
 mestan as he reverted quickly to the real pur- 
 pose of his journey. 
 
 His aunt suddenly interrupted her vociferations 
 and said coldly and in a hard tone to the servant 
 who had forgotten the foot-warmer: 
 
 ** Menicle, the banquette ! " then she took up 
 again on the pitch of a frenzy of 'grief the story of 
 the virtues of Mile. Le Quesnoy, calling with loud 
 cries upon heaven and its angels to know why 
 they had not taken her in place of that child and 
 shaking Numa's arm with her explosions of sorrow; 
 for she was leaning on him in order to reach her 
 old coach at the slow gait of a funeral procession. 
 
 The horses advanced slowly under the leafless 
 trees of the Avenue Berchere in a whirlwind of 
 branches and dry bits of bark which the mistral 
 
2)^6 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 was scattering as a poor sort of welcome before the 
 illustrious traveller. At the end of the road 
 where the porters had formed the habit of taking 
 the horses out Menicle was obliged to crack his 
 whip many times, so surprised at this indifference 
 for the great man did the horses seem to be. As 
 for Roumestan, he was only thinking of the horrible 
 news which he had just learned, and holding the 
 two doll hands of his aunt, who kept constantly 
 drying her eyes, he gently asked : " When did it 
 happen? " 
 
 "What happen?" 
 
 "When did she die, the poor little dear?" 
 Aunt Portal bounced up on her thick cushions : 
 " Die? — Bou Diou / — who ever told you that 
 she was dead? " 
 
 Then she added at once with a deep sigh: 
 " Only, p^chere, she will not be here for long." 
 Ah, no, not for very long, for now she no longer 
 got up, never leaving the lace-covered pillows, on 
 which from day to day her little thin head became 
 less and less recognizable, painted as it was on the 
 cheek-bones with a burning red cosmetic, whilst 
 the eyes and nostrils were outlined in blue. With 
 her ivory-white hands lying on the linen of the bed- 
 clothes and a little hand-glass and comb near her 
 to arrange from time to time her beautiful brown 
 hair, she lay for hours without a word because 
 of the wretched roughness that had invaded her 
 voice, her look lost off there on the tips of the 
 trees and in the brilliant sky over the old garden 
 of the Portal mansion. 
 
H or tense Le Ques7toy. 2>77 
 
 That evening her dreamy immobility lasted so 
 long while the flames of the setting sun reddened 
 all the chamber that her sister grew anxious : 
 
 "Are you asleep?" 
 
 Hortense shook her head as if she wished to 
 drive something away : 
 
 *' No, I was not asleep, and yet I was dreaming 
 — I was dreaming that I am going to die. I was 
 just on the borders of this world and leaning 
 over into the other. Yes, leaning over enough to 
 fall. I could see you still and some parts of my 
 room, but all the same I was quite over on the other 
 side, and what struck me most was the silence of 
 this life in comparison with the tremendous sound 
 that the dead were making. A sound of a bee- 
 hive, of flapping wings and the low rustling of an 
 ant-heap — the murmur which the sea leaves in 
 the heart of its shells. It was just as if the realms 
 of death were far more thickly peopled and encum- 
 bered than life. And all this noise was so intense 
 that it seemed to me my ears heard for the first time 
 and that I had discovered in me a new sense." 
 
 She talked slowly in her rough and hissing 
 voice. After a silence she employed whatever 
 there was left in the way of strength in that broken 
 and wretched instrument: 
 
 " O ! my head is always on the journey. — First 
 prize for imagination — Hortense Le Quesnoy of 
 Paris." A sob was heard which was drowned in 
 the noise of a shutting door. 
 
 " You see," said Rosalie, " Mamma had to leave 
 the room. You hurt her feelings so." 
 
2,y8 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 "On purpose — every day a little — so that 
 she shall have less to suffer at the last," answered 
 the young girl in a whisper. The mistral was 
 galloping through the big corridors of the old 
 Provencal mansion, groaning under the doorways 
 and shaking them with furious blows. Hortense 
 smiled. 
 
 "Do you hear that? O, I love that, it makes 
 me feel as if I were far away — off in the country. 
 Poor darling," added she, taking her sister's hand 
 and carrying it with a weary gesture as far as 
 her mouth, " what a mean trick I have played 
 you without intending to — here is your little one 
 coming who '11 be a Southerner all through my 
 fault — and you will never forgive me for it, Fran- 
 ciotel " Through the clamor of the wind the whistle 
 of a locomotive reached her and made her shiver. 
 
 " Ah, ha, the seven o'clock train ! " 
 
 Like all sick people and prisoners, she knew 
 what the slightest sounds about her meant and 
 mingled them with her motionless existence, just 
 as she did the horizon before her, the grove of 
 pines and the old weather-beaten Roman tower on 
 the slope. From that moment on she became anx- 
 ious and agitated, watching the door at which at 
 Jast a servant appeared. 
 
 " That 's right," said Hortense, in a lively way, 
 and smiling at her big sister: "Just a minute, will 
 you? — I will call you again." 
 
 Rosalie thought it was a visit from the priest 
 bringing his parochial Latin and his terrifying con- 
 solations, so she went down into the garden, which 
 
Hor tense Le Quesnoy. 379 
 
 was a truly Southern enclosure without any flowers, 
 but with alleys of box sheltered by high cypresses 
 that withstood the wind. Ever since she had been 
 sick-nurse she had gone thither to get a breath of 
 air and to conceal her tears and to slacken a little 
 all the nervous contractions of her sorrow. Oh, 
 how well she understood that speech made by her 
 mother : 
 
 *• There is no sorrow which is irreparable but 
 one, and that is the loss of the person we love." 
 
 Her other sorrow, her happiness as a woman 
 all destroyed, was quite in the background; she 
 thought of nothing except that horrible and inevi- 
 table thing which was approaching day by day. 
 Was it the evening hour, that red and deepening sun 
 which left all the garden in shadow and yet lingered 
 on the panes of the house, or that mournful wind 
 blowing high up which she could hear without 
 feeling it? At that moment she felt a melancholy, 
 an anguish which could not be expressed in words. 
 Hortense ! her Hortense ! more than a sister for 
 her, almost a daughter . . . she had in Hortense the 
 first happiness of a premature mother's love. 
 
 Sobs oppressed her, sobs without tears; she 
 would have liked to cry aloud and call for help, but 
 on whom? The sky, toward which the despairing 
 raise their eyes, was so high, so far, so cold ; it was 
 as if polished off by the hurricane. Through that 
 sky a flight of migrating birds was hurrying, but 
 neither their cries nor their wings which made 
 as much noise as flapping sails could be heard 
 below. How then could a single voice from 
 
380 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 earth reach and attain those silent and indifferent 
 abysses ? 
 
 Nevertheless she made a trial and with her face 
 turned toward the light which moved ever upward 
 and was passing from the roof of the old house, 
 she made her prayer to Him who has thought fit to 
 conceal Himself and protect Himself from our 
 sorrows and lamentations — Him whom some adore 
 confidentially with their brows against the earth, 
 but others forlornly search for with their arms 
 wide apart, while others finally threaten Him with 
 their fists and revolt against Him, denying Him in 
 order to be able to forgive His cruelties. 
 
 And denial of this sort, blasphemy of this kind 
 — that also is prayer. 
 
 She was called to the house and ran in trembling 
 with fear because she had reached that nervous 
 terror when the slightest noise re-echoes from the 
 very depth of one's being. The sick girl drew her 
 near to her bed with her smile, for she had neither 
 strength nor voice, as if she had just been talking 
 a long time. 
 
 *' I have a favor to ask of you, my darling — you 
 know what I mean, that final favor which people 
 grant to one who is condemned to die — forgive 
 your husband ! He has been very wicked and 
 unworthy of you, but be indulgent and return to 
 his side. Do this for me, dear sister, and for our 
 parents, whom your separation grieves to death 
 and who will soon need greatly that all should close 
 round about them and surround them with tender 
 care. Numa is so lively, there is no one like him 
 
Hortense Le Quesnoy, 381 
 
 for putting a little spirit into them. ... It is all 
 over, is it not? You forgive?'* 
 
 Rosalie answered, "Yes, I give you my promise." 
 
 Of what value was this sacrifice of her pride be- 
 side this irreparable disaster? Standing straight 
 beside the bed she closed her eyes a moment, 
 keeping back her tears — a hand which trembled 
 rested upon hers. There he was in front of her, 
 trembling, wretched and overwhelmed by an effu- 
 sion of heart which he dared not show. 
 
 " Kiss each other," said Hortense. 
 
 RosaHe bent her brow forward and Numa kissed 
 it timidly. "No, no, not that way — both arms, 
 the way one does when one really loves." 
 
 Numa seized his wife and clasped her with one 
 long sob, whilst the twilight fell in the great cham- 
 ber as an act of pity for the girl who had thrown 
 them one upon the other's heart. 
 
 This was her last manifestation of life. From 
 that moment she remained absorbed, indifferent 
 and unaware of what passed about her, never 
 answering those disconsolate appeals of farewell to 
 which there is no answer, but still keeping upon 
 her young face that expression of haughty under- 
 lying anger which those show who die too early 
 for the ardor of the life that is in them — those to 
 whom the disillusions of existence have not had 
 time to speak their last word. 
 
;^82 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE BAPTISM. 
 
 The important day at Aps is Monday because it is 
 market day. 
 
 Long before daylight the roads that lead to the 
 city, the great solitary turnpikes from Aries and 
 Avignon, where the white dust lies as quiet as a 
 fall of snow, are enlivened by the slow grinding 
 noise of the carts and the squawking of chickens in 
 their osier crates and the barking of dogs running 
 alongside ; or by that rustling sound of a shower 
 which the passage of a flock of sheep produces, 
 accompanied by the long blouse of the shepherd 
 which one perceives as he is carried along by the 
 bounding wave of his beasts. Then there are cries 
 of the cow-boys panting in the rear of their cattle 
 and the dull sound of sticks falling upon humpy 
 backs and outlines of horsemen armed with cow- 
 punches in trident form. Slowly and gropingly 
 all these phantoms are swallowed up by the dark 
 gateways whose crenelations are seen in festoons 
 against the starry sky; thence it spreads wide 
 again into the corso which surrounds the sleepy 
 city. 
 
 At that hour the town takes on itself again its 
 character of an old Roman and Saracen city, with 
 
The Baptism. 383 
 
 its irregular roofs and pointed moucharabies above 
 the broken and dangerous stairways. This con- 
 fused murmur of men and sleepy beasts penetrates 
 with but little noise between the silvery trunks of 
 the big plane-trees, overflows upon the avenue and 
 even into the courtyards of the houses and stirs 
 up warm odors of litters and fragrances of herbs 
 and ripe fruit. When it wakes, therefore, the town 
 discovers that it has been captured in every quarter 
 by an enormous, lively and noisy market, just as if 
 the entire agricultural part of Provence, men and 
 beasts, fruits and seeds, had roused up and come 
 together in one great nocturnal inundation. 
 
 In truth it is a magnificent sight, a pouring forth 
 of rustic wealth that changes with the seasons. In 
 certain places set apart by immemorial usage the 
 oranges and pomegranates, golden colored quinces, 
 sorbs, green and yellow melons, are piled up near 
 the booths in rows and in heaps by the thousand ; 
 peaches, figs and grapes destroy themselves by 
 their own weight in their baskets of transportation 
 side by side with vegetables in sacks. Sheep and 
 silky pigs and little cabris (kids) show airs of 
 weariness within the palisades of their small reser- 
 vations. Oxen fastened to the yoke stride along 
 before the buyer, while bulls with smoking nostrils 
 drag at the iron ring which holds them to the wall. 
 And farther on, quantities of horses, the little 
 horses from the Camargue — dwarf Arabs — prance 
 about mingling their brown, white or russet manes ; 
 upon being called by name, "■ Te ! Lucifer — Ti! 
 TEsterel — " they run up to eat oats from the 
 
384 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 hands of their keepers, veritable Gauchos of the 
 pampas with boots above the knee. Then come 
 the poultry two by two, red and fastened by the 
 legs, guinea fowl and chickens lying, not without 
 much banging of the earth with their wings, at the 
 feet of their mistresses who are drawn up in a line. 
 Then there is the fish market, with eels alive on 
 fennel and trout from the Sorgue and the Durance, 
 mixing their shining scales in rainbow agonies with 
 all the rest of the color. And last of all, at the very 
 end, in a sort of dry winter forest are the wooden 
 spades and hay-forks and rakes, new and very 
 white, which rise between the plows and harrows. 
 
 On the other side of the corso against the ram- 
 part the unhitched wagons stand in line, with 
 their canopies and linen covers and high curtains 
 and dusty wheels, and all through the space left 
 vacant the noisy crowd circulates with difficulty, 
 with calls and discussions and chattering in all 
 kinds of dialects and accents — the Provencal 
 accent, which is refined and full of airs and graces 
 and requires certain movements of the head and 
 shoulder and a bold sort of mimicry, while that 
 of Languedoc is harder and heavier and almost 
 Spanish in its articulation. From time to time 
 this mass of felt hats and head-dresses from Aries 
 or the Comt^, this difficult circulation of a mob of 
 buyers and sellers, splits in two at the cries from 
 some lagging cart which comes slowly forward 
 with great difficulty at a snail's pace. 
 
 The burgesses of the city hardly appear, so full 
 of scorn are they at this invasion from the coun- 
 
The Baptism, 385 
 
 try, which nevertheless is the occasion of its 
 originality and the source of its wealth. From 
 morning to night the peasants are walking through 
 the streets, stopping at the booths, at the harness- 
 makers, shoemakers and watchmakers, staring 
 at the metal figures of the clock on the City Hall 
 and into the shop windows, dazzled by the gilding 
 and mirrors of the restaurants, just as the rustics 
 in Theocritus stood and stared at the Palace of the 
 Ptolemies. Some issue from the drug shops laden 
 with parcels and big bottles; others, and they 
 form a wedding procession, enter the jeweller's to 
 choose, after long and cunning bargains, ear-rings 
 with long pendent pieces and the necklace for the 
 coming bride. And these coarse gowns, these 
 brown and wild-looking faces and their eager, 
 businesslike manner make one think of some town 
 in La Vendee taken by the Chouans at the time of 
 the great wars. 
 
 That morning, the third Monday of February, 
 animation was very lively ; the crowd was as thick 
 as on the finest summer days, which indeed it 
 suggested through its cloudless sky warmed by a 
 golden sun. People were talking and gesticulat- 
 ing in groups, but what agitated them was 
 less the buying and selling than a certain event 
 which caused all traffic to cease and turned all 
 looks and heads and even the broad eyes of the 
 oxen and the twitching ears of the little Camargue 
 horses toward the Church of Sainte Perpetue. 
 The fact was that a rumor had just spread through 
 the market, where it occasioned an emotion that 
 
 25 
 
2,86 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ran to extraordinary height, to the effect that 
 to-day the son of Numa would be baptized — 
 that same Httle Roumestan whose birth three 
 weeks before had been received with transports 
 of joy in Aps and the entire Provencal South. 
 Unfortunately this baptism, which had been de- 
 layed because of the deep mourning the family 
 was in, had to preserve the appearance of incog- 
 nito for the very same reason, and it is probable 
 that the ceremony would have passed unperceived 
 had it not been for certain old sorceresses belong- 
 ing to the country about Les Baux who every 
 Monday install upon the front steps of Sainte 
 Perpetue a little market of aromatic herbs and 
 dried and perfumed simples culled among the 
 Alpilles. Seeing the coach of Aunt Portal stop- 
 ping in front of the church, the old herb-sellers 
 gave the alarm to the women who sell aiets (gar- 
 lic), who move about pretty much everywhere 
 from one end of the corso to the other with their 
 arms crammed with the shining wreaths of their 
 wares. The garlic women notified the fish dames 
 and very soon the little street which leads to the 
 church poured forth upon the little square all the 
 gossip and excitement of the market-place. They 
 pressed about Menicle, who sat erect on the box 
 in deep mourning with crape on his arm and hat 
 and merely answered all questions with a silent 
 and indifferent play of his shoulders. Spite of 
 everything, they insisted upon waiting, and in the 
 mercer's street beneath the bands of calico the 
 crowd piled itself up to suffocation while the bolder 
 
The Baptism, 2i^'j 
 
 spirits mounted the well-curb — all eyes fixed on the 
 grand portal of the church, which at last opened. 
 
 There was a murmur of " ah ! " as when fire- 
 works are let off, a triumphant and modulated 
 sound which was cut short by the sight of a tall 
 old man dressed in black, very much overwhelmed 
 and very melancholy, who gave his arm to 
 Madame Portal, who as far as she was concerned 
 was very proud to have served as godmother 
 along with the First President, proud of their two 
 names side by side on the parish register; but 
 she was saddened by the recent mourning and 
 the sorrowful impressions which she had just 
 renewed once more in the church. The crowd 
 had a feeling of severe deception at sight of this 
 austere couple, who were followed by the great 
 man of Aps, also entirely in black and with gloves 
 on — Numa, penetrated by the solitude and cold 
 of this baptism performed in the midst of four 
 candles without any other music than the wailing 
 of the little child, upon whom the Latin of the 
 function and the baptismal water dropping on a 
 tender little head like that of an unfledged bird 
 had caused the most disagreeable impression. 
 But the appearance of a richly fed nurse, large, 
 heavy and decked with ribbons like a prize at an 
 agricultural meet, and the sparkling little parcel of 
 laces and white embroidery which she carried like 
 a sash, dissipated the melancholy of the specta- 
 tors and roused a new cry that sounded like a 
 mounting rocket, a joy scattered into a thousand 
 enthusiastic exclamations : 
 
388 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ** Lou vaqui ! — there he is ! Ve ! v^ ! " 
 Surprised and dazzled, winking in the bright 
 sunHght, Numa stopped a moment on the high 
 porch in order to look at these Moorish faces, 
 this closely packed herding together of a black 
 flock from which a crazy tenderness mounted up 
 to where he stood. And although tired of ovations, 
 at that moment he had one of the most lively 
 emotions in his existence as a public man, a proud 
 intoxication which an entirely new and already 
 very lively sentiment of paternity ennobled. He 
 was about to speak and then remembered that this 
 platform in front of the church was not the place 
 for it. 
 
 "Get in, nurse," said he to the tranquil wet- 
 nurse from Bourgogne, whose eyes, like those of a 
 milch cow, were staring wide open in amazement. 
 And while she was bestowing herself with her 
 light burden in the coach he advised Menicle to 
 return quickly by the cross streets. But a tre- 
 mendous clamor answered him : 
 
 " No, no, the grand round — the grand round ! '* 
 They meant that he should pass the entire 
 length of the market place. 
 
 " Well then, the grand round be it ! " said 
 Roumestan after having consulted his father-in- 
 law with a look; for he wished to spare him this 
 joyful procession; and so the coach, starting with 
 many crackings of its ancient and heavy carcass, 
 entered the little street and debouched upon the 
 cor so in the midst of vivas from the crowd, which 
 grew excited over its own cries and culminated in 
 
The Baptism, 389 
 
 a whirl of enthusiasm so as to block the way of 
 horses and wheels at every moment. With the 
 windows open they marched slowly on through 
 these acclamations, raised hats, fluttering handker- 
 chiefs and all the odors and hot breaths which the 
 market exhaled as they passed. The women stuck 
 their ardent bronzed heads forward right into the 
 carriage and at seeing no more than the cap of 
 the little baby would exclaim : 
 
 '' Diou! lou bku drolef' (My God! what a 
 lovely child !) 
 
 *' He looks just like his father — qn^ ? " 
 
 ** Already has his Bourbon nose and his fine 
 manners ! " 
 
 ". Show it to us, my darling, show us your beau- 
 tiful man's face." 
 
 " He is as lovely as an ^%g ! " 
 
 " You could drink him in a glass of water ! " 
 
 " 7y / my treasure ! " 
 
 " My little quail ! " 
 
 " My lambkin — my guinea-hen ! " 
 
 " My lovely pearl ! " 
 
 And these women wrapped and licked him with 
 the brown flame from their eyes. But he, a child 
 but one month old, was not scared in the least. 
 Waked up by all this noise and leaning back on 
 the cushion with its bows of pink ribbon, he re- 
 garded everything with his little cat eyes, the 
 pupils dilated and fixed, with two drops of milk 
 at the corners of his lips. And there he lay, calm 
 and evidently pleased at these apparitions of heads 
 at the windows and these growing noises with 
 
390 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 which soon mingled the baaing, mooing and 
 braying of the cattle, seized as they were by 
 a formidable nervous imitation, all their necks 
 stretched out and mouths open and jaws yawning 
 to the glory of Roumestan and his offspring ! 
 Even then, at a time when everybody else in the 
 carriage was holding their stunned ears with both 
 hands, the Httle man remained perfectly impas- 
 sible, so that his coolness even broke up the 
 solemn features of the old President, who said : 
 
 " Well, if that fellow was not born for the 
 forum ! " 
 
 On leaving the market they hoped to be rid of 
 all this, but the crowd followed them, being joined 
 as they went by the weavers on the Chemin-neuf, 
 the yarn-makers in womanly bands and the porters 
 from the Avenue Berchere. The shopmen ran to 
 the threshold of their stores, the balcony of the 
 Club of the Whites was flooded with people and 
 presently with their banners the Orpheons de- 
 bouched from all the streets singing their choral 
 songs and giving musical bursts, just as if Numa 
 had arrived ; but along with it all there went 
 something gayer and more unhackneyed, some- 
 thing beyond the habitual merry-making. 
 
 In the finest room belonging to the Portal Man- 
 sion, whose white wainscots and rich silks belonged 
 to the last century, Rosalie was stretched upon an 
 invalid's chair, turning her eyes now upon the 
 empty cradle and then upon the deserted and sunny 
 street; she grew impatient as she waited for the 
 return of her child. On her fine features, pale 
 
The Baptism, 391 
 
 and creased with fatigue and tears, one might see 
 nevertheless something like a happy restfulness; 
 yet one could read there the whole history of her 
 existence throughout the last two months, her anx- 
 ieties and tortures, her rupture with Numa, the 
 death of her dear Hortense and at last the 
 birth of the child, which swept everything else 
 into insignificance. 
 
 When this great happiness really came to her 
 she did not believe it possible ; broken by so many 
 blows, she did not believe herself capable of giving 
 life to anything. During the last days she even 
 imagined that she no longer felt the impatient 
 movements of the little captive, and although 
 cradle and layette were all ready she hid them, 
 moved by a superstitious fear, and merely notified 
 the Englishwoman who took care of her: 
 
 ** If child's clothes are asked for, you will know 
 where to find them." 
 
 It is nothing to abandon oneself to a bed of tor- 
 ture with closed eyes and clenched teeth for many, 
 many long hours, interrupted every five minutes 
 by a terrible cry that tears and compels one ; it is 
 nothing to undergo one's destiny as a victim all of 
 whose happy moments must be dearly bought — 
 if there is hope at the end of it all. But what 
 horrible martyrdom in the final pain when, struck 
 by a supreme disillusionment, the almost animal 
 lamentations of the woman are mingled with the 
 deeper sobs of deceived maternity ! Half dead 
 and bleeding, she kept repeating from the bottom 
 of her annihilation : " He is dead — he is dead ! " 
 
392 Numa Roumestan. 
 
 — when she heard that trial of a voice, that 
 respiration and cry in one, that appeal for light 
 which the newborn infant makes. Ah, with what 
 overflowing tenderness did she not respond ! 
 
 '* My little one ! " 
 
 He lived and they brought him to her. So this 
 was hers after all, this little creature short of 
 breath, dazzled and startled — almost blind ! This 
 small affair in the flesh connected her again with 
 life, and merely by pressing it against her all the 
 feverishness of her body was drowned by a sensa- 
 tion of comfortable coolness. No more mourning, 
 no more wretchedness ! Here was her son, that 
 desire and regret which she had endured for ten 
 years and had burnt her eyes with tears whenever 
 she saw the children of other people, that very 
 same baby which she had kissed so often before- 
 hand upon so many other lovely little rosy cheeks ! 
 There he was, and he caused her a new ravish- 
 ment and surprise every time that she leaned from 
 her bed over his cradle and swept aside the 
 covers that hid a slumber that could hardly be 
 heard and the shivery and contracted positions of 
 a newly born child. She wanted to have him 
 always near her. When he went out she was anx- 
 ious and counted every minute. But never had 
 she experienced quite so much anguish as upon 
 this morning of the baptism. 
 
 "What time is it?" asked she every minute. 
 " How long they are ! Heavens, what a time 
 they take!" 
 
 Mme. Le Quesnoy, who had remained behind 
 
The Baptism, 393 
 
 with her daughter, reassured her, although she was 
 herself a little anxious ; for this grandson, the first 
 and only one, was very close to the heart of his 
 grandparents and lighted up their mourning with a 
 hope. A distant clamor which grew deeper as it 
 approached increased the trouble of the two 
 women. Running to the window they listened — 
 choral songs, gunshots, clamors, bells ringing like 
 mad ! And all of a sudden the Englishwoman 
 who is looking out on the street cries : " Madame, 
 it is the baptism ! " 
 
 And so it was the baptism, this noise like a riot 
 and these howlings as of cannibals around the 
 stake. 
 
 *' Oh, this South, this South ! " repeated the 
 young mother, now very much frightened, for she 
 feared that her little one would be suffocated in 
 the press. 
 
 But not at all ; here he was, very alive indeed, 
 in splendid case, waving his short little arms with 
 his eyes wide open, wearing the long baptismal 
 robe whose decorations Rosalie herself had em- 
 broidered and whose laces she herself had sewed 
 on ; it was the robe meant for the other ; and so it 
 is her two sons in one, the dead and the living 
 one, whom she owns to-day. 
 
 " He did not make a cry, or ask for milk a 
 single time the whole journey!" Aunt Portal af- 
 firms, and then goes on to relate in her picturesque 
 way the triumphal tour of the town, whilst in the 
 old hotel, which has suddenly become the old 
 house for ovations, all the doors slam and the ser- 
 
394 Numa Roumestan, 
 
 vants rush out into the porch where the musicians 
 are being regaled with gazeuse. The musical 
 bursts resound and the panes tremble in every 
 window. The old Le Quesnoys have gone out 
 into the garden to get away from this jollity which 
 overwhelms them with grief, and since Roumestan 
 is about to make a speech from the balcony, Aunt 
 Portal and Polly the Englishwoman run quickly 
 into the drawing-room to listen. 
 
 " If Madame would be so kind as to hold the 
 baby?" asks the wet-nurse, as consumed with 
 curiosity as a wild woman. And Rosahe is only 
 too happy to remain behind with her child upon 
 her knees. From her window she can see the 
 banners gHttering in the wind and the crowd 
 densely crushed together and spellbound by the 
 words of her great man. Phrases from his speech 
 reach her now and then, but more than all else 
 she hears the tone of that captivating and moving 
 voice, and a sorrowful shudder passes through her 
 at thought of all the evil which has come to her 
 by way of that eloquence, so ready to lie and to 
 dupe others. 
 
 At last it is all over ; she feels that she has 
 reached a point where deceptions and wounds can 
 hurt her no more ; she has a child, and that sums 
 up all her happiness, all her dreams ! And holding 
 him up like a buckler she hugs the dear little 
 creature to her breast and questions him very low 
 and very near by, as if she were looking for some 
 response, or some resemblance in the sketchy 
 features of this unformed little countenance, these 
 
The Baptism. 395 
 
 dainty lineaments which seem to have been im- 
 pressed by a caress in wax and already show a 
 sensual, violent mouth, a nose curved in search of 
 adventures and a soft and square chin. 
 
 "And will you also be a liar? Will you pass 
 your life betraying others and yourself, breaking 
 those innocent hearts who have never done you 
 other evil than to believe in and love you ? Will 
 you be possessed of a light and cruel inconstancy, 
 taking life like an amateur and a singer of cava- 
 tinas? Will you make a merchandise of words 
 without bothering yourself as to their real value 
 and their connection with your thought, so long as 
 they are brilliant and resounding?" 
 
 And putting her lips in a kiss upon that little 
 ear which the light strands of hair surround : 
 
 **Tell me, are you going to be a Roumestan?" 
 
 The orator on the balcony had lashed himself 
 up and had reached the moment of effusiveness 
 when nothing could be heard except the final 
 chords, accentuated in the Southern manner — 
 "my soul" — "my blood " — " morals " — " re- 
 ligion " — " our country " — punctuated by the ap- 
 plause of that audience which was made according 
 to his image and which he summed up in his own 
 self both in his qualities and his vices — an effer- 
 vescing South, mobile and tumultuous like a sea 
 with many currents, each of which spoke of him ! 
 
 There was a final viva and then the crowd was 
 heard slowly passing away. Roumestan came 
 into the room mopping his brow; intoxicated by 
 his triumph and warmed by this endless tender- 
 
39^ Numa Roumestan, 
 
 ness of the whole people, he approached his wife 
 and kissed her with a sincere effusion of sentiment. 
 He felt himself very kind to her and as tender as 
 on the first day of their marriage ; never a bit of 
 remorse and never a bit of rancor ! 
 
 '* Be ! just see how they make much of him ! 
 How they applaud your son ! " Kneeling before 
 the sofa the grand personage of Aps played with 
 his child and touched the little fingers that seized 
 upon everything and the little feet that kicked out 
 into the air. 
 
 With a wrinkle on her brow Rosalie looked at 
 him, trying to define his contradictory and inex- 
 plicable nature. Then suddenly, as if she had 
 found something: 
 
 ** Numa, what was that proverb you people use 
 which Aunt Portal repeated the other day? * Joie 
 de rue ' — how was it ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I remember : * Gau de carrieroy doti- 
 loii d'otistau! " (Happiness of the street, sorrow 
 of the home.) 
 
 "That is it," said she with an expression of 
 deep thought. And, letting the words fall one by 
 one as you drop stones into an abyss, she slowly 
 repeated, putting the while the sorrow of her life 
 into it, this proverb, in which an entire race has 
 drawn its own portrait and formulated its own 
 being: 
 
 " Happiness of the street, sorrow of the home." 
 
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 Old Curiosity Shop. By Dickens. 
 Oliver Twist. By Dickens. 
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 Pickwick Papers. By Dickens. 
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 Sylvandire. By Dumas. 
 Swiss Family Robinson. 
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 "Westward Ho ! By Kingsley. 
 Walton's Angler. 
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