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THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL 
 
 (LA GUREE). 
 A REALISTIC NOVEU 
 

 -•\s 
 
 
 THE TABLEAUX VIVANTS AT SACCARD'S MANSION IN THE PARC 
 
 MONCEAUX, p. 236- 
 
THK 
 
 RUSH FOR THE SPOIL 
 
 (LA CUEEE). 
 
 
 MAXIME DISCOVERS HIS FATHEK AT THE MAISON DOKEE. 
 
 ' By EMILE ZOLA. 
 
 p. 120. 
 
 K 
 
THE 
 
 RUSH FOR THE SPOIL 
 
 (LA aUUEE). 
 
 A REALISTIC NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 EMILE ZOLA. 
 
 TRANSLATED WITHOUT ABRIDGMENT FROM THE 31TH illENCH EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 V IZETELLY df Co., 4.2 CATHERINE StREE7\ STRAND, 
 
 18S6. 
 
fjrth: 
 
 S. COWAN & CO., STRATHMORE PRINTING WORKS. 
 
i-^^Cp 
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 The public and the press have agreed that " L'Assommoir '*' 
 is M. Zola's chef d'oeitvre. Against this verdict I have no 
 objection to offer. I believe it will meet with posterity's 
 endorsement. But although " L'Assommoir " may lift 
 its head the highest, there are many other volumes in the 
 Rougon-Maequart series which stand on, and speak from 
 equally lofty platforms of art. In my opinion, these are 
 '' La Faute de TAbbe Mouret," " La Conquete de Plassans," 
 and " La Curde." 
 
 I have spoken before of Zola as an epic poet : he is this 
 more than he is anything, and as he is more epic in " La 
 Curee" than elsewhere (" L'Assommoir " and "La Faute 
 de TAbb^ Mouref always excepted), it follows that it 
 must be one of the best and most characteristic o£ his 
 works. The qualities that endow a book with im- 
 mortality exist independent of the artist's will, and the 
 process of penetrating, of animating the whole with life, 
 is accomplished as silently and unconsciously as the seed- 
 grain germinates in the earth, as the child quickens with 
 life in the womb. And, doubtless, Zola intended in the 
 beginning to write merely the passionate love story of a 
 
 A 
 
 636827 
 
ii PREFACE. \ 
 
 woman wLo, oppressed and wearied of luxury, is forced 
 to seek, in violent ways and fierce fancies, oblivion of 
 golden idleness, of an aimless and satiated existence. 
 This idea might have been worked out, and adequately 
 worked out, in the analysis of the mind of a duke's 
 daughter, who, after five years of husband hunting in 
 London drawing-rooms, runs away and lives with her 
 groom at Hampstead. And taken out of its setting, M. 
 Zola's story is quite as simple. Renee is a young girl of 
 the upper middle classes ; she has been seduced ; she is 
 enceinte ; it is necessary to find her a husband. Under 
 such circumstances, it would be vain to be too particular, 
 and an adventurer called Saccard is chosen. He is a 
 genius who is waiting for a few pounds to make a 
 million. Rente's fortune enables him to do this ; he 
 places her in a magnificent house in the Pare Monceaux ; 
 he gives her everything but an interest in life : to 
 gain this she falls in love with her step-son, Maxime 
 Saccard. The story of this incestuous passion becomes 
 the theme of the book; and when Maxime deserts 
 his step-mother to get married, she dies of consump- 
 tion. That is all ; but this slight outline soon began 
 to grow, to take gigantic proportions in Zola's mind ; 
 and it was not long before he saw that his story was 
 an allegory of the Second Empire. Renee became 
 Paris ; her dressmaker — -Worms — became the Emperor ; 
 her dresses, the material of which costs sixty, the making- 
 up of which, with the accumulated interest, costs six 
 hundred, are the boulevards and buildings with whicih 
 the city was adorned at ruinous expense. In the clamour 
 
PREFACE. iii 
 
 of the fetes in the Pare Monceaux, the demands of the 
 creditors are silenced, and when Renee dies her debts are 
 paid by her father — that is to say, by the Republic of 
 M. Thiers. 
 
 Rende is a Venus, but not the Greek Venus — the white- 
 breasted woman born of the sea foam and heralded by 
 cupids and tritons ; she is not even " the obscure Venus of 
 the hollow Hill " that Baudelaire describes as havino- ^rown 
 diabolic among ages that would not accept her as divine. 
 Renee is the Venus of the counting house. Her hair is 
 yellow as pale gold, her drawing-room is hung with 
 yellow draperies, and her golden head, seen thereon as 
 she leans back in her richly upholstered chairs, seems like 
 a setting sun that sinks little by little, drowned in a bath 
 of gold. But, unlike her earlier prototypes, she does not 
 find the flesh sufficient ; her sensualities are not the dark 
 desire of the animal, but the nervous erethism of a human 
 mind that, satiated with pleasure, longs and hungers for 
 some strange and acute note to break tlie cloying sweet- 
 ness — the monotonous melody of her life. Here there 
 is no touch of pagan or mediaeval thought. Maxime 
 fears no god, he knows not remorse nor even desire ; 
 he is the son of the capitalist ; he is the weed 
 sprung from, but not the intelligence that has built up, 
 the gold-heap, and he festers and rots like a weed in an 
 overpoweringly rich soil. Saccard is Mammon. Nothing 
 exists for him but gold. Thoughts, dreams, love, have 
 long since disappeared ; he is not even vicious : in the lust 
 of speculation all other passions have been submerged, 
 have sunk out of sight for ever. Men and things only 
 
iv PREFACE. 
 
 suggest to him ideas for the accumulation of wealth ; and 
 from the heights of Montmartre he looks down upon Paris 
 like a wolf upon its prey. His eyes flash with fierce light, 
 his lips twitch with a wild mental hunger that manifests 
 itself in physical actions : with his hand he divides Paris 
 into sections, he sees how he will distribute it into boule- 
 vards, squares, and streets; and he hears in vision the cries of 
 the hunstmen, and he longs to put himself at the head of 
 the hounds, and to descend with open jaws upon the 
 splendid quarry that even now run to death lies panting 
 and bleeding before him. 
 
 The book is Paris — Paris as she feasted and flattered 
 undep the Second Empire — a Paris of adventurers, of 
 courtezans — a Paris of debts — a Paris of women's 
 shoulders, cotillons, champagne, of violins and pianos — 
 a Paris of opera hats — a Paris of gold pieces, of fraud, of 
 liars, of speculation, of supper tables — a Paris sonorous 
 and empty as a wheel of fortune-^a Paris of sweetmeats, 
 rendezvous, bank-notes — a Paris of tresses of false hair 
 forgotten in hackney carriages. 
 
 Yes, a Paris of this and of little else. There is the 
 famous scene of the return from the Bois. Under the pale 
 October sky,in which, towards the Porte de la Muette, there 
 still floats the dim light of an autumn sunset, the carriages 
 are 'blocked ; and the uncertain rays dance through the 
 brightly painted wheels, touching with intense splendour 
 the buckles of the harness, the large buttons on the 
 liveries, and the burnished cockades. The artificial lake 
 lies still, reflecting in its crystal clarity the innumerable 
 oraces of the poplars and pine trees that gi'ow down to 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 the very banks of the trim island. The walks are as bits 
 of grey ribbon lost in the dark foliage. The scene looks 
 like a newly varnished toy. All Paris is there — courtezans, 
 diplomatists, and speculators. Renee is there ; she is with 
 Maxime, who is pointing out and telling her about his 
 father's new mistress. 
 
 She is the celebrated Laure, to whose house Renee goes 
 with Maxime, because she is anxious to know what a 
 cocotte's ball is really like. Afterwards they sup, in a 
 cabinet particnlier, at the Cafe Riche. Renee is sipping a 
 glass of chartreuse ; the gas is hissing, the room has grown 
 hot. They throw open the window. Paris rolls beneath 
 them. The Boulevard is alive with the flashing lights of 
 carriages, women go by in hundreds ; they pass into the 
 darkness of a traversing street ; they reappear again like 
 shadows thrown by a magic lantern. Groups of men sit 
 round the tables at the door of the cafe ; some are talking 
 to women; some sit smoking vacantly, watching the 
 interminable procession that passes and repasses before 
 them. One woman wears a green silk ; she sits with 
 her legs crossed. Renee feels strangely interested. 
 By-and-by, wearied of the Boulevard, she examines the 
 looking-glass, scratched all over with diamond rings; and 
 she asks Maxime questions concerning the women whose 
 names are scrawled thereon. Maxime pleads ignorance : 
 putting his cigar aside, he advances towards her ; 
 they look into each other's eyes ; she falls into his 
 arms. 
 
 There is the ball-room scene. Saccard is on the 
 brink of ruin, but he gives a fete that costs him four 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 tlioiisand pounds. He is anxious that his son should 
 marry a little hunchback, who has an immense fortune. 
 The tableaux vivants are over, and the dancers, in the 
 costumes of gods and goddesses, are dancing the cotillon. 
 Rende, who is cognizant of her husband's projects, is 
 AYandering about mad with nervous rage and despair. 
 She pursues Maxime, drags him with her into her 
 bedroom, and tells him that he must fly with her 
 to America, that she will never consent to give him 
 up. 
 
 And I must not forget that requisite bit of descrip- 
 tion — ten lines, not more — which, for rapidity of observa- 
 tion and precision and delicacy of touch, seems to me 
 unsurpassable ; indeed, to find anything that might be set 
 against it, I should have to turn to that supreme success, 
 that final vindication of the divine power of words-— 
 Flaubert's '' L'Education Sentimentale." The passage I 
 allude to is when Renee goes to the great fete at the 
 Tuileries. She wears a wonderful dress, composed 
 entirely of white muslin and black velvet. The bodice 
 is in black velvet, the skirt in white muslin, garnished 
 with a million flounces, and all cut up and adorned witli 
 bows made out of black velvet : no ornament but 
 one diamond in her fawn-coloured hair. Suddenly the 
 people draw into lines, and the corpulent Emperor 
 walks down the room on the arm of one of his generals. 
 Renee shrinks back : but she cannot get away — she is in 
 the front rank ; and, when Napoleon fixes his, all eyes are 
 fixed upon her. A heaven of lustres is above her hea<i, 
 a velvety carpet beneath her feet, and she heax's the 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 general whisper to the Emperor : " There's a carnation 
 that would suit our button-holes uncommonly well." The 
 rest of the fete is lost in this moment (fame; — is an 
 acute note that vibrates long in the monotonous melody 
 of her life. 
 
 Whether *' La Caree " is a faithful picture, true to the 
 smallest detail, of life under the Second Empire, I cannot 
 say. Nor do I care. I am content to take it for what 
 it seems to me to be — a gorgeous, a golden poem, 
 born of the author's contemplation of the scenes he 
 describes. Although a tyrant, Napoleon the Third 
 was a demagogue at heart. When he came into office 
 Paris was starving. To govern, he saw that he would 
 have to feed the people, and to do this the ingenious 
 plan of creating an immense debt, living upon it and giv- 
 ing the city as security, was adopted. He appeased his 
 enemies by calling new names to the front, he unchained, 
 and he gave them unlimited means of gratifying their 
 appetites. In a house of ill-fame politics do not occupy 
 men's mmds — why not turn Paris into a house of ill- 
 fame ? But what is true for individuals is true for 
 nations : Sedan was the suicide of the prostituted city. 
 This is the view M. Zola takes of the Second Empire. " La 
 Curee " is but a corner of it, but I do not know any corner 
 more beautifully finished, more perfectly proportioned. 
 Of course faults may be urged : it may be said, and 
 I admit with a certain show of reason, that the characters 
 are more representative of the classes to which they be- 
 long than individual men and women. The same 
 argument may be used, and with equal effect, against 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 Hamlet, against Orestes, against every beautiful drawing 
 of Hokousai and Hokkei : but when possible and im- 
 possible faults have been found, and all visible and 
 invisible flaws taken note of, I believe it will be admitted 
 by the blind, the dumb, and the lame that, when the last 
 page of " La Curee " is read, the impression left upon the 
 mind is one of intense artistic beauty. 
 
 GEORGE MOORE. 
 
THE EIISH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 {LA CUREE,) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On the return home, the carriage could only move slowly along 
 amidst the mass of vehicles winding round the lake of the Bois 
 de Boulogne. At one moment, the block became such that the 
 horses were even brought to a standstill. 
 
 The sun was setting in the faint grey October sky, streaked 
 with slender clouds on the horizon. A last ray, which came 
 from above the distant shrubbery of the cascade, streamed 
 across the roadway, bathing the long line of now stationary 
 carriages in a pale ruddy light. The golden glimmers, the 
 bright- flashes from the wheels, seemed to have become fixed 
 to the straw-coloured fillets, whilst the dark blue panels of 
 the carriage reflected portions of the surrounding landscape. 
 And, higher up, full in the ruddy light which illumined 
 them from behind, and which gave a sparkle to the brass 
 buttons of their overcoats folded over the back of the box- 
 seat, the coachman and the footman, dressed in a livery consist- 
 ing of dull blue coats, putty-coloured breeches, and black and 
 yellow-striped waistcoats, sat erect, grave and patient, like 
 well-trained lackeys, whose temper is above being ruffled by a 
 block of vehicles. Their hats, embellished with black cockades, 
 gave them a most dignified appearance. The superb bay 
 horses were alone snorting impatiently. 
 
 "Hallo ! " said Maxime, '^here's Laure d'Aurigny over there 
 in that brougham. Look, Renee." 
 
 Eenee raised herself slightly, and, blinking her eyes with that 
 exquisite pout which was caused by the weakness of her sight, 
 said : 
 
10 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 r 
 
 '^ I thought she was travelling. She has changed the colour 
 of her hair, has she not?" 
 
 "Yes/' replied Maxime, with a laugh, "her new lover detests 
 everything red." 
 
 Renee, bent forward, her hand resting on the low door of the 
 carriage, continued looking, awakened from the sad dream 
 which, for an hour past, had kept her silently reclhiing on the 
 back seat, as though in an invalid's easy-chair. Over a mauve 
 dress with an upper skirt and tunic, and trimmed with broad 
 plaited flounces, she wore a little white cloth jacket with mauve 
 velvet facings, which gave her a very dashing air. Her extra- 
 ordinary pale fawn-coloured hair, the hue of which recalled that 
 of the finest butter, was scarcely concealed beneath a slender 
 bonnet adorned with a cluster of crimson roses. She continued to 
 blink her eyes, in the style of an impertinent boy, her pure brow 
 crossed by one long wrinkle^ her upper lip protruding just 
 like a sulky child's. Then, as she was unable to distinguish 
 very well, she raised her double eye-glass, a regular man's eye- 
 glass with a tortoise-shell frame, and holding it up in her hand 
 without placing it on her nose, she examined stout Laure 
 d'Aurigny at her ease, in a perfectly calm manner. 
 
 The block still continued. Amidst the uniform, dull-coloured 
 patches caused by the long line of broughams — extremely 
 numerous in the Bois on that autumn afternoon — the glass of 
 a window, a horse's bit, a plated lamp-holder, or the gold or 
 silver lace on the livery of some lackey seated uj) on high, 
 sparkled in the sun. Here and there an open landau displayed 
 a glimpse of a dress, some woman's costume in silk or velvet. 
 Little by little a profound silence had succeeded the hubbub of 
 the now stationary mass. In the depths of the carriages one 
 could overhear the remarks of the pedestrians. There was an 
 exchange of speechless glances from vehicle to vehicle ; and 
 all conversation ceased during this deadlock, the silence of 
 which was only broken by the creaking of harness and the 
 impatient pawing of some horse. The confused murmurs of 
 the Bois were dying away in the distance. 
 
 In spite of the lateness of the season, all Paris was there : 
 the Duchess de Sternich, in a chariot ; Madame de Lauwerens, 
 in a victoria, drawn by some very fine cattle ; Baroness de 
 Meinhold, in a delicious dark brown private cab ; Countess 
 Vanska, with her piebald ponies ; Madame Daste and h3r 
 famous black steppers; Madame de Guende and Madame 
 
 / 
 
THE RUSH FOB THE SPOIL. 11 
 
 Teissiere, in a brougham ; little Sylvia, in a deep blue landau ; 
 and Don Carlos, too, in mourning, with his ancient and 
 solemn-looking livery j Selim Pasha, with his fez and without 
 his tutor; the Duchess de E-ozan, in her single-seated 
 brougham, and with her powdered lackeys ; Count de Chibray, 
 in a dog-ca^-t ; Mr. Simpson, on a well-appointed mail-coach ; 
 the whole of the American colony. Finally, two members of 
 the Academy in a cab. 
 
 The leading carriages were at length released, and the whole 
 line was soon able to move slowly onwards. It was like an 
 awakening. A thousand scintillations danced around, rapid 
 flashes played to and fro amidst the wheels, whilst the harness 
 shaken by the horses emitted a galaxy of sparks. Along the 
 ground and on the trees w^ere broad reflexions of fleeting 
 glass. This glistening of harness and of wheels, this blaze of 
 varnished panels all aglow with the red fire of the setting sun, 
 the bright touches of the gorgeous liveries perched up on high, 
 and of the rich costumes bursting from the confined space of 
 the equipages, passed along in the midst of a hollow, continuous 
 rumbling, timed by the pace of the thorough-breds. And the 
 procession continued, accompanied by the same sounds and the 
 same scintillations, unceasingly and at one spurt, as though the 
 leading vehicles had been dragging all the others after them. 
 
 Renee had yielded to the slight jolting of the carriage as it 
 once more started ofi", and, dropping her eye-glass, she had re- 
 sumed her half-reclining posture on the cushions. She shiver- 
 ingly drew towards her a corner of the bearskin which filled 
 the interior of the vehicle with a silky snow-white mass. Her 
 gloved hands became lost amidst the long soft curly hairs. The 
 north wind was beginning to blow. The warm October after- 
 noon which, in giving to the Bois an appearance of spring, had 
 brought out the most fashionable ladies in their open carriages, 
 •threatened to end in an evening of piercing chilliness. 
 
 For a while the young woman remained huddled up, enjoy- 
 ing the warmth of her corner, and abandoning herself to the 
 voluptuous lullaby of all those wheels turning before her eyes. 
 Then, raising her head towards Maxime, whose glances were 
 quietly unrobing the women displayed in the adjoining 
 broughams and landaus, she asked : 
 
 " Really now, do you think her pretty, that Laure d' Aurigny 1 
 You were praising her up so much the other day when some one 
 spoke of the sale of her diamonds ! By the way, you have not 
 
12 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 seen the necklace and the aigrette that your father bought me 
 at the sale." 
 
 ^^ Ah ! he does everything well," said Maxime with a spiteful 
 laugh, and without answering her question. " He manages to 
 pay Laure's debts, and to make his wife presents of diamonds." 
 
 The young woman slightly shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 '' Eascal ! " murmured she with a smile. 
 
 But the young man had leant forward, following with his eyes 
 a lady whose green dress interested him. Renee was resting 
 her head, her eyes half closed, idly glancing at both sides of 
 the avenue, but without seeing. On the right were copses and 
 low bushes, with slender branches and reddened leaves; now and 
 again, on the track reserved for riders, passed slim built gentle- 
 men whose galloping steeds raised little clouds of dust. On the 
 left, at the foot of the narrow sloping lawns, intersected by 
 flower-beds and shrubberies, the lake, as clear as crystal, reposed 
 without a ripple, as though neatly trimmed all round by the 
 spades of the gardeners ; and, on the opposite side of this limpid 
 mirror, the two islands, with the connecting bridge forming a 
 grey bar between them, displayed their pleasant shores, array- 
 ing against the pale sky the theatrical lines of their firs and of 
 their evergreens, the dark foliage of which, similar to the fringe 
 of curtains skilfully hung on the very edge of the horizon, was 
 reflected in the still w^aters. This corner of nature, having the 
 appearance of a piece of scenery freshly painted, was bathed in 
 a slight shadow, in a bluey vapour which finished giving an 
 exquisite charm to the background, an air of adorable falsity. 
 On the other bank, the Chalet des lies, looking freshly varnished, 
 shone like a new toy ; and those gravel contours, those narrow 
 garden walks, which wind in and out of the lawns and border 
 the lake, and are edged with cast-iron hoops imitating rustic 
 wood-work, stood out more curiouslj^ from the soft green of the 
 water and of the grass, at this last hour of daylight. 
 
 Used to the graces of these skilfully arranged points of view, 
 Eenee, again yielding to her feeling of weariness, had completely 
 lowered her eyelids, no longer observing aught but her tapering- 
 fingers as she twined around them the long hairs of the bear- 
 skin. But there came a kind of jerk in the even trot of the 
 line of carriages. And, raising her head, she bowed to two 
 young women reclining side by side, with amorous languor, in a 
 barouche which was noisily leaving the road that skirts thelaKe 
 to turn down one of the lateral avenues. The Marchioness 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SrOlL. 13 
 
 d'Espanet, whose husband, at that time one of the emperor's 
 aides-de-camp, had just rallied with a good deal of fuss to the 
 scandal of the sulkhig old nobility, was one of the most illustrious 
 society queens of the Second Empire; the other, Madame 
 Haffner, had married a famous manufacturer of Colmar, twenty 
 times millionaire, and whom the Empire w^as turning into a 
 political personage. Eenee, who had known at school the two 
 inseparables as they were slyly termed, always called them by 
 their Christian names, Adeline and Suzanne. As, after greeting 
 them with a smile, she was about to once more huddle herself 
 up in her wraps, a laugh from Maxime caused her to turn round. 
 
 ** No, really now, I feel sad, don't laugh, it's serious," said 
 she on seeing the young man looking at her mockingly, making 
 fun of her recumbent posture. 
 
 Maxime assumed a ludicrous tone of voice. 
 
 ^* We ai'e very much to be pitied, we are jealous 1 *' 
 
 She seemed quite astonished. 
 
 " I ! " said she. ** Jealous ! whatever about ? " 
 
 Then she added, with her disdainful pout, as though suddenly 
 recollecting : 
 
 '* Ah ! yes, big Laure ! See doesn't trouble me much, I can 
 assure you. If Aristide, as you all wish to make me believe, 
 has paid the creature's debts and thus saved her the necessity 
 of taking a trip to foreign parts, it merely shows that he loves 
 money less than I thought he did. This will make him quite 
 a favourite with the ladies again. The dear fellow, I never in- 
 terfere with him." 
 
 She smiled, she uttered "the dear fellow," in a tone of voice 
 full of friendly indifference. And all on a sudden, becoming 
 quite sad again, and casting around her that despairing glance 
 of women who know not how to amuse themselves, she 
 murmured : 
 
 " Oh 1 I should be only too delighted — But no, I'm not 
 jealous, not in the least jealous." 
 
 She stopped, hesitating. 
 
 "You see, I feel bored," she at length said abruptly. 
 
 Then she relapsed into silence, her lips pressed firmly to- 
 gether. The line of vehicles still wended its way round the 
 lake, with an uniform trot, and a noise greatly resembling that 
 of some distant cataract. Now, on the left, between the water 
 and the roadway, rose little clumps of evergreens with thin 
 straight stems, forming curious clusters of tiny columns. Ou 
 
14 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 the right, ,the copses and low bushes had come to an end ; the I 
 Bois had expanded into large lawns, immense carpets of turf, 
 with groups of tall trees planted here and there ; the green- 
 sward continued, with gentle undulations, as far as the Porte 
 de la Muette, the low iron gates of which, looking like a piece 
 of black lace drawn across the ground, could be seen far away 
 in the distance ; and, on the slopes, at the parts where the earth 
 I sank in, the grass had quite a bluey look. Renee gazed with 
 fixed eyes, as though this enlargement of the horizon, these 
 soft meads, all reeking with the night dew, had caused her to 
 feel more keenly than ever the emptiness of her existence. 
 
 At the end of a pause she repeated, with the accents of sub- 
 dued anger : 
 
 ^^ Oh ! I feel bored, I feel bored to death." 
 
 '^ You're not over lively, you know," said Maxime, quietly. 
 " It's your nerves, I'm sure." 
 
 The young woman threw herself back again on her cushions* 
 
 " Yes, it's my nerves," retorted she, sharply. 
 
 Then she became quite maternal. 
 
 ** I am growing old, my dear child; I shall soon be thirty. 
 It's terrible. I take pleasure in nothing: At twenty, you 
 cannot understand this." 
 
 *^ Did you ask me to come with you to listen to your con- 
 fession 1 " interrupted the young man. " It will be terribly 
 long." 
 
 She received this impertinent remark with a feeble smile, as 
 though dealing with a spoilt child to whom everything is 
 permitted. 
 
 ^^ You're a nice one to complain," continued Maxime ; " you 
 spend more than a hundred thousand francs a year on your 
 dress, you live in a splendid mansion, you possess some superb 
 horses, your caprices become law, and the newspapers mention 
 every new dress you wear as though they were relating some- 
 thing of the highest importance ; all the women are jealous of 
 you, every man would give ten years of his life just to kiss the 
 tips of your fingers. Is it not so 1 " 
 
 She nodded her head affirmatively, but did not otherwise 
 answer. With eyes cast down, she was again curling the hairs 
 of the bearskin. 
 
 '*Ah ! do not be modest," resumed Maxime ; ^' admit at once 
 that you are one of the pillars of the Second Empire. Between 
 ourselves, we can speak of these things. Everywhere, at the 
 
 I 
 
I 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 15 
 
 Tiiileries, at the ministries, at the mansions of the mere 
 millionaires, over the highest and the lowest, you reign with 
 sovereign power. There is not a pleasure you have not par- 
 taken of, and if I dared, if the respect I owe you did not 
 restrain me, I would say — " 
 
 He paused for a few seconds, laughing the while ; then he 
 cavalierly finished his sentence. 
 
 '^ I would say that you have tasted of every apple.'' 
 
 She did not wince. 
 
 ** And yet you feel bored ! " continued the young man with 
 ludicrous vivacity. "But it's downright suicide! What is it 
 you want"? whatever is it you are dreaming of? " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, by way of saying she did not 
 know. Though she held her head down, Maxime saw such a 
 serious, such a gloomy look on her face, that he left off speak- 
 ing. He watched the line of vehicles which, on reaching the 
 end of the lake, spread out, and filled the vast carrefour. The 
 carriages, no longer being so closely packed together, turned 
 round with a superb grace ; whilst the accelerated trot of the 
 horses resounded loudly on the hard ground. 
 
 On going the round to rejoin the line, the carriage oscillated 
 in a way which filled Maxime with a vague voluptuousness. 
 Then, yielding to a desire to overwhelm Kenee, he resumed : 
 
 ''^Ah! you deserve to never ride in anything better than a 
 cab ! It would serve you right ! Why, just look at this crowd 
 returning to Paris, this crowd ready to fall down and worship 
 you. You are hailed as a queen, and your dear friend Monsieur 
 de Mussy can scarcely restrain himself from blowing kisses 
 to you.'^ 
 
 And indeed, a rider was at that moment bowing to Renee. 
 Maxime had been speaking in a hypocritically mocking way. 
 But Renee scarcely turned round, and contented herself by 
 shrugging her shoulders. This time, the young man made a 
 despairing gesture. 
 
 " Really," said he, ^* is it as bad as all that ? But, good 
 heavens ! you have everything, what more do you want ? " 
 
 Renee raised her head. Her eyes had a warm bright look, 
 the ardent desire of unsatiated curiosity. 
 
 " I want something else," replied she in a low voice. 
 
 "But you have everything," resumed Maxime laughing, "some- 
 thing else is no answer. What is the something else you want '2 " 
 
 ** Ah ! what ? " repeated she. 
 
15 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 And she said nothing further. She had turned completely 
 round, and was contemplating the strange picture which was 
 disappearing behind her. It was now almost dark ; dusk was 
 gradually enveloping all like a fine dust. The lake, when looked 
 at front ways, in the pale light -vvhich still hovered over it, seemed! 
 to become rounder, and had the appearance of an immense plate | 
 of brass ; on either side, the plantations of evergreens, the slim 
 straight stems of which looked as though they issued from the 
 still water, assumed at this hour the aspect of violet tinted 
 colonnades, describing with their regular architecture the elabor- 
 ate curves of the shores ; then, right at the back, rose groups 
 of shrubs and trees, coifused masses of foliage, broad black 
 patches closing the horizon. Behind these patches there shone 
 a bright glimmer, an expiring sunset which merely lit up a very 
 small portion of the grey immensity. Above this motionless 
 lake and these low copses, this point of view so peculiarly flat, 
 the vault of heaven opened infinite, deeper and more expanded 
 still. This great extent of sky over this tiny corner of nature 
 caused a shudder, an undefinable sadness ; and there descended 
 from these pale altitudes such an autumnal melancholy, so sweet 
 and yet so heartbreaking a darkness, that the Bois, enveloped 
 little by little in a veil of obscurity, lost its worldly graces, and 
 breaking its bounds became filled with all the powerful charm 
 of a forest. The rumble of the vehicles, the bright colours of 
 which became lost in the dim light, sounded like the distant 
 murmurs of leaves and water-courses. Everything had an ex- 
 piring air. In the centre of the lake, amidst the universal evan- 
 escence, the Latin sail of the large pleasure boat stood out, vig- 
 orously defined, against the last glow of the sunset. And one 
 could no longer distinguish anything but this sail, this triangle 
 of yellow canvas, inordinately enlarged. 
 
 I In the midst of her satiety, Eenee experienced a singular sen- 
 ' sation of unavowable desires at the sight of this landscape she 
 no longer recognised, of this bit of nature so artistically worldly, 
 and which by its great shivering darkness seemed changed into 
 some sacred wood, one of those ideal glades in whose recesses 
 the gods of antiquity used to hide their giant loves, their divine 
 adulteries and incests. And as the carriage drove away, it 
 seemed to her that the twilight carried off behind her, hidden 
 in its trembling veil, the land of her dreams, the shameful and 
 unearthly alcove where she might at last have swaged her suffer- 
 ing heart, her wearied flesh. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOH.. 17 
 
 When the lake and the copses, rapidly vanishing in the 
 shades of night, merely appeared as a black bar against the 
 sky, the young woman turned abruptly round, and, in a voice 
 full of tears of vexation, she resumed her interrupted sentence : 
 
 '^What? why something else, of course ! I want something 
 else. How can I tell what 1 If I only knew — But, you see, 
 I'm sick of balls, of supper parties, of merry-makings. It's 
 always the same thing over again. It's mortal. Men are un- 
 bearable, oh ! yes, unbearable." 
 
 Maxime burst out laughing. Ardent desires pierced through 
 the fashionable beauty's aristocratic bearing. She no longer 
 blinked her eyes ; the wrinkle on her forehead became more 
 harshly accentuated ; her lip, like a sulky child's, stood out, 
 full of passion, in quest of those enjoyments for which she 
 longed though unable to name them. She beheld her com- 
 panion laughing, but she was too transported to stop; half 
 reclining and swayed by the motion of the carriage, she con- 
 tinued in short jerky sentences : 
 
 ^^ Yes, really, you are unbearable. I don't say that for you, 
 Maxime ; you are too young. But if I only told you how 
 Aristide wearied me in the early days ! And the others too ! 
 those who have loved me. You know, we are two good friends, 
 I don't stand on ceremony with you ; well ! really, there are 
 days when I am so tired of living my life of a rich, adored and 
 honoured woman, that I should like to be a Laure d'Aurigny, 
 one of those ladies who live like men." 
 
 And as Maxime laughed louder than ever, she laid more 
 stress upon her words : 
 
 ^^ Yes, a Laure d'Aurigny. It would surely be less insipid, 
 not so much always the same thing." 
 
 She kept silent a few minutes, as though she were conjuring 
 up the life she would lead, were she Laure. Then, she resumed 
 in a tone of discouragement : 
 
 *' After all, those ladies must have their troubles also. There 
 is decidedly nothing really amusing. It's enough to make one 
 sick of life. I was right when I said there was something else 
 wanting ; I can't guess what, you know ; but something else, 
 something which does not happen to every one, which one does 
 not meet with every day, which would give a rare, an unknown 
 enjoyment." 
 
 Her voice had softened. She uttered these last words as 
 though she were seeking something, gradually falling into a 
 
 B 
 
18 THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 deep reverie. The carriage was then ascending the avenue 
 which leads to the way out of the Bois. The darkness in- 
 creased ; the undergrowth, on either side, flew past them like 
 two grey walls ; the yellow painted iron chairs, on which the 
 holiday-making citizens lounge on fine evenings, sped along the 
 side-walks, unoccupied, and wrapt in that black melancholy 
 peculiar to garden furniture overtaken by winter ; and the 
 rumble, the dull and cadenced sound of the returning vehicles, 
 was wafted over the deserted way like some sad wail. 
 
 No doubt Maxime felt all the bad form there was in finding 
 life amusing. If he was still young enough to yield to an out- 
 burst of delighted admiration, he possessed an egotism too vast, 
 an indifference too scofi&ng, he already felt too much real weari- 
 ness, to do other than declare himself sick of everything, sati- 
 ated, done for. He was usually in the habit of glorifying in 
 this avowal. 
 
 He stretched himself out like Kenee, and assumed a doleful 
 tone of voice. 
 
 " Keally now ! you're right," said he ; *^ it's enough to kill 
 one. Ah ! I don't amuse myself any more than you, you may 
 be sure ; I too have often dreamed of something else. Nothing 
 is stupider than travelling. As for making money, I prefer far 
 more to spend it, though that is not always as amusing as one 
 would fancy at first. Then there's love-making, being loved, 
 one soon has more than enough of it, is it not so ? ah yes, one 
 soon has more than enough of it ! " 
 
 As the young woman did not answer, he continued, washing 
 to astonish her by something grossly impious : 
 
 " I should like to be loved by a nun. Eh ! perhaps there 
 would be some amusement in that ! Have you never dreamed 
 of loving a man of whom you could never think without com- 
 mitting a crime 1 " 
 
 But she remained gloomy, and Maxime, seeing that she still 
 kept silent, thought that she was not listening to him. 
 With the nape of her neck leaning against the padded edge of 
 the carriage, she seemed sleeping with her eyes open. She was 
 wrapt in thought, inert, full of the dreams w^hich kept her thus 
 depressed, and, at times, a nervous twinge passed over her lips. 
 She was softly overcome by the shadow of the twilight; all 
 that this shadow contained of undefined sadness, of discreet 
 voluptuousness, of unavowed hope, penetrated her, bathed her 
 in a sort of languid and morbid atmosphere. Whilst looking 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 19 
 
 fixedly at the round back of the footman on the box-seat, she 
 was thinking no doubt of those joys of former days, of those 
 parties she now found so dull, and for which she no longer 
 cared ; she looked back on her past life, the immediate satis- 
 faction of every whim, the fulsomeness of luxury, the crushing 
 monotony of similar affections and similar betrayals. Then, 
 like a hope, there arose in her, as she quivered with desire, the 
 thought of this ^' something else " which her overwrought mind 
 was unable to fix upon. There, her reverie wandered. She 
 made effort upon effort, but each time the sought-for word dis- 
 appeared in the gathering night, became lost in the continuous 
 rumble of the vehicles. The gentle motion of the carriage was 
 a hesitation the more which prevented her formulating her de- 
 sire. And an immense temptation ascended from out of this 
 vagueness, from these copses slumbering in the shadows on 
 either side of the avenue, from this noise of wheels and from 
 this soft oscillation which filled her with a delicious torpor. A 
 thousand little thrills passed over her flesh : unfinished dreams, 
 nameless ecstasies, confused wishes, all the grace and mons- 
 trosity which a return from the Bois, at the hour when the 
 heavens assume a pallid hue, can introduce into the wearied 
 heart of a woman. She kept her hands buried in the bearskin, 
 she felt quite hot in her white cloth jacket with mauve velvet 
 facings. On thrusting out her foot as she stretched herself with 
 bodily enjoyment her ankle rubbed against Maxime's warm leg, 
 but he did not even notice the contact of her flesh. A jerk 
 roused her from her lethargy. She raised her head, and her 
 grey eyes looked in a bewildered sort of way at the young man 
 who was seated in the most elegant attitude. 
 
 At this moment, the carriage left the Bois. The Avenue de 
 rimperatrice extended in a straight line in the twilight, witli 
 the two green borders of wooden fence w'hich seemed to meet 
 at the horizon. In the distance, a white horse, on the side- 
 path reserved for riders, appeared like a bright speck in the 
 midst of the grey shadow. Here and there, on the opposite 
 side of the roadwa}^, were groups of black dots, belated pedes- 
 trians, slowly wending their steps tow^ards Paris. And, right at 
 the top, at the end of the mixed and moving line of vehicles, 
 the Arc-de-Triomphe, placed sideways, stood out all white 
 against a vast stretch of sky the colour of soot. 
 
 Whilst the carriage ascended at a faster pace, Maxime, 
 /'harmed with the English appearance of the landscape, ex- 
 
20 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 amined the whimsically designed villas on either side of the 
 avenue, with their lawns sloping down to the footpaths; Renee, 
 still wrapt in reverie, amused herself by watching at the edge 
 of the horizon the gas-lamps of the Place de TEtoile as they 
 were lighted up one by one ; and as fast as their bright 
 glimmers speckled the expiring light with little yellow flames, 
 she fancied she could hear secret calls, it seemed to her that 
 the flaring Paris of a winter's night was being illuminated on 
 her account, and w^as preparing for her the unknown enjoyment 
 after which her satiated body hankered. 
 
 The carriage turned down the Avenue de la Reine-Hortense, 
 and drew up at the end of the Rue Monceaux, a few steps from 
 the Boulevard Malesherbes, in front of a grand mansion situated 
 between a courtyard and a garden. The two iron gates loaded 
 with gilt ornaments, which gave admittance to the courtyard, 
 were each flanked by a pair of lamps, shaped like urns and 
 also covered with gilding, in which flared great flames of gas. 
 Between the two gates, the doorkeeper occupied an elegant 
 lodge which vaguely resembled a little Greek temple. 
 
 At the moment the carriage was about to enter the courtyard, 
 Maxime jumped nimbly out. 
 
 *' You know," said Renee, as she caught hold of his hand to 
 detain him, '' we dine at half-past seven. You have more than 
 an hour to dress in. Don't keep us w^aiting." 
 
 And she added with a smile : 
 
 "We are expecting the Mareuils. Your father wishes you to 
 be very attentive to Louise." 
 
 Maxime shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What a bore ! " murmured he in a sullen tone of voice. " I 
 don't mind marrying, but as for courting, it's too stupid. Ah ! 
 it would be so nice of you, Renee, if you would deliver me from 
 Louise this evening." 
 
 He put on his most comical look, mimicking the grimace 
 and the accent of the actor Lassouche, as he did every time he 
 w^as about to make one of his funny remarks. 
 
 " Will you, my pretty darling mamma 1" 
 
 Renee shook hands with him as with a comrade. And 
 rapidly, with an audacity full of a nervous raillery, she 
 answered : 
 
 *^ Ah ! if I had not married your father, I really believe you 
 would court me." 
 
 Q bis idea must have struck the young man as highly com^' 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 21 
 
 cal, for he had turned the corner of the Boulevard Malesherbes 
 before he had done laughing. 
 
 The carriage entered and drew up at the foot of the steps. 
 
 These steps, which were broad and low, were sheltered by a 
 vast glass verandah edged with a scallop imitating golden fringe 
 and tassels. The two storeys of the mansion rose above the 
 domestic offices, the square windows of which, glazed with 
 ground glass, ^.ppeared almost on a level with the soil. At the 
 top of the steps, the hall-door stood out flanked by slender 
 columns fixed in the wall, forming thus a kind of fore-part 
 pierced at each floor by a round bay, and ascending as high as 
 the roof where it terminated in a point. On either side, each 
 storey had five windows, placed at regular intervals along the 
 fagade, and surrounded by a simple stone border. The roof, 
 with its attic windows, was square shaped, with broad sides 
 almost perpendicular. 
 
 But the fagade on the garden side was far more sumptuous. 
 A regal flight of steps led to a narrow terrace which extended 
 the whole length of the ground floor ; the balustrade of this 
 terrace, in the style of the railings of the Pare Monceaux, was 
 even more covered with gilt than the verandah and the lamps 
 of the courtyard. Above this rose the mansion with a wing at 
 either end, like two towers half inserted in the body of the 
 building, and which contained rooms of circular shape. In the 
 centre, another tower, even deeper inserted still, formed a slight 
 curve. The windows, tall and narrow in the wings, wider apart 
 and almost square on the flat portions of the fagade, had stone 
 balustrades on the ground floor, and gilded wrought-iron hand- 
 rails at the upper storeys. It was a display, a profusion, a 
 superabundance of riches. The mansion disappeared beneath 
 the carvings. Around the windows, along the cornices, were 
 scrolls of flowers and branches; there were balconies resembling- 
 masses of verdure supported by great nude women with strained 
 hips and protruding breasts ; then, here and there, were fantas- 
 tical escutcheons, bunches of fruit, roses, every blossom it is 
 possible to represent in stone or marble. As fast as one's 
 glance ascended, the building seemed to bloom the more. 
 Around the roof was a balustrade, bearing at equal distances 
 urns on which burnt flames of stone. And there, between the 
 oval windows of the attics, which opened amidst an incredible 
 medley of fruits and foliage, expanded the crowning portions of 
 this amazing ornamentation, the pediments of the two wings 
 
22 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 in the centre of which reappeared the great nude women, play- 
 ing with apples and standing in every conceivable posture 
 amongst sheaves of reeds. The roof, loaded with these orna- 
 ments, surmounted besides with galleries of carved lead, with 
 two lightning conductors and with four enormous symmetrical 
 chimney stacks sculptured like all the rest, seemed to be the 
 final flare up of this architectural firework. 
 
 To the right was a vast conservatory, fixed to the side of the 
 mansion, and communicating with the ground floor by means of a 
 French window opening out of a little drawing-room. The garden, 
 separated from the Pare Monceaux by a low iron railing hidden by 
 a hedge, sloped rather sharply. Too small for the house, and so 
 narrow that a lawn and a few clumps of evergreens occupied the 
 entire space, it simply formed a kind of knoll, a verdant pedestal, 
 on which, the mansion was proudly planted decked out in its gay- 
 est attire. Seen from the park, towering above the bright grass 
 and the shining foliage of the shrubs, this great building, look- 
 ing still new and quite sickly, had the sallow complexion, the 
 stupid and moneyed importance of some female upstart, with 
 its heavy head-dress of slates, its gilded balustrades, and its 
 flood of sculpture. I was a reproduction of the new Louvre 
 on a smaller scale, one of the most characteristic specimens of 
 the style of the Second Empire, that opulent bastard of every 
 style. On summer evenings, when the last ray a '6f the sun lit 
 up the gilt of xhe balustrades against the white fagade, the 
 strollers in the park would stop to look at the red silk curtains 
 hanging at the ground floor windows ; and, through panes so 
 large and clear that they seemed, like those of the great modern 
 emporiums, placed there to display the interior wealth to the 
 outer world, these families of modest citizens would catch 
 glimpses of articles of furniture, of portions of hangiugs, and of 
 corners of ceilings of dazzling splendour, the sight of which 
 would root them to the spot with admiration and envy right in 
 the centre of the pathways. 
 
 But, at this hour, the trees cast their shadows over the fagade 
 which was wrapt in gloom. In the courtyard on the other 
 side, the footman had respectfully assisted Eenee to alight from 
 the carriage. The stables, with red brick dressings, opened on 
 the right their wide doors of polished oak, at the end of a glass- 
 roofed yard. On the left, as though to counterbalance, was a 
 richly ornamented recess in the wall of the adjoining house, 
 with a fountain of water perpetually flowing from a shell which 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 23 
 
 two cupids supported in their outstretched arms. The young 
 woman stood a moment at the foot of the steps, gently tapping 
 her skirt to get it to hang right. The courtyard, through 
 which the noise of the return had just passed, resumed its soli- 
 tude, its aristocratic silence, broken by the eternal sing-song of 
 the dripping water. And as yet, amidst the great black mass 
 of the mansion — the chandeliers of which were so soon to be 
 illuminated on the occasion of the first of the grand dinner 
 parties of the autumn — only the lower windows were lighted 
 up, all aglow and casting the bright reflection of a conflagration 
 on the small paving-stones of the courtyard, as neat and regular 
 as a draught-board. 
 
 As Eenee pushed open the hall door, she found herself face to 
 face with her husband's valet, who was on his way to the servants' 
 quarters and carrying a silver kettle. Dressed all in black, tall, 
 strong, pale-faced, this man looked superb, with the whiskers of 
 an English diplomatist, and the grave and dignified air of a 
 magistrate. 
 
 '' Baptiste," inquired the young woman, " has your master 
 come in *? " 
 
 " Yes, madame, he is dressing," replied the valet with a bow 
 worthy of a prince acknowledging the plaudits of the crowd. 
 
 Eenee slowly ascended the staircase, withdrawing her gloves 
 the while. 
 
 The hall was fitted up most luxuriously. On entering, one 
 experienced a slightly su ffocating sensation. The thick carpets, 
 which covered the floor anH thestairs/the broad red velvet hang- 
 ings which hid the walls and the doors, made the atmosphere 
 heavy with the silence and the warm fragrance of a chapel. 
 The draperies hung from on high, and the lofty ceiling was or- 
 namented with salient arabesques on a golden trellis. The 
 staircase, with its double balustrade of white marble and hand- 
 rail covered with red velvet, opened out into two slightly wind- 
 ing branches between which was placed the entrance to the 
 grand drawing-room right at the back. An immense mirror 
 covered the whole of the wall on the first landing. Down be- 
 low, at the foot of the branching staircase, two bronze gilt 
 female figures, on marble pedestals and nude down to the waist, 
 supported gigantic lamp-posts carrying five burners, the brilliant 
 light from which was softened by ground glass globes. And on 
 either side was a row of splendid vases in majolica ware in which 
 blossomed the rarest plants. 
 
24 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Renee ascended, and at each step slie took her reflection in 
 the mirror increased in size ; she was asking herself, with that 
 doubt entertained by the most popular actresses, whether she 
 were really delicious, as every one told her. 
 
 Then, when she had reached her apartment, which was on 
 the first floor, and overlooked the Pare Monceaux, she rang for 
 Celeste, her maid, and had herself dressed for dinner. This 
 operation lasted a good three quarters of an hour. When the last 
 pin had been fixed, she opened the window as the room was very 
 close, and leaning out remained there wrapt in thought. Be- 
 hind her. Celeste was moving discreetly about, tidying the 
 room. 
 
 Down below, the park was immersed in a sea of shadow. 
 The inky coloured masses of the tails trees, shaken by sudden 
 gusts of wind, swayed to and fro like the tide, with that rustling 
 of dead leaves which recalls the breaking of the waves on a 
 shingly strand. Piercing now and again this ebb and flow of 
 darkness, the two yellow eyes of a carriage would appear and 
 vanish between the shrubberies bordering the road which con- 
 nects the Avenue de la Eeine-Hortense with the Boulevard 
 Malesherbes. In the face of all this autumnal melancholy 
 Renee's sad thoughts returned. She fanciejd iierself once more 
 a child in her father's house, in that silent mansion of the He 
 Saint-Louis,'wliere for' two centuries past the Beraud Du Chatels 
 had sheltered their gloomy magisterial gravityT*^ Then^'ire*' 
 thoughts turned to her su dden m arriage, to that widower who 
 sold himself to become her husbaQd, and^^o had tiucked his 
 name of Rougon for that of gaccard^, the two sharp syllables of 
 which had sounded in her ears^when first pronounced before 
 her, with all the brutality of two rakes gathering up gold ; he 
 took her, and cast her into this life of turmoil amidst whicl^^r 
 poor brain became a little more cracked every da^. ThensITe 
 set to dreammg with a childish joy of the happy games at 
 battledore and shuttlecock she had played in the old times with 
 her young sister Christine. And^ some morning, she would 
 awake from the dream of enjoyment she had been indulging for 
 ten years past, crazy, and befouled by one of her husband's 
 speculations, in which he himself would also sink. This passed 
 before her liKe a rapid presentiment. The trees were lamenting 
 in a louder tone. Troubled by these tTSughtC of shame and 
 punishment, Renee yielded to the old and worthy middle-class 
 instmcts slumbering within her ; she promised the black night 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 25 
 
 she would reform, that she would no longer spend so much on 
 her dress, and that she would seek some innocent occupation to 
 amuse her^ like in the happy school days, when she and her 
 playmates sang beneath the plane-trees and danced in a 
 ring. 
 
 At this moment, Celeste, who had been downstairs, returned 
 and murmured in her mistress's ear : 
 
 " Master would be glad if madame would go down. There 
 are already several persons in the drawing-room." 
 
 Kenee started. She had not felt the chilly air which was 
 freezing her shoulders. As she passed before her looking-glass, 
 she stopped and glanced at herself mechanically. With an in- 
 voluntary smile she went down. 
 
 And, indeed, most of the guests had__arrived. There were 
 her sister Christine, a young ladyT^ft'^ggEity, very simply dressed 
 in white muslin; her aunt_Elisabeth, the widow of the notary 
 Aubertot, in black satin, a little old woman of sixty, of most 
 exquisite amiability : her husband's sister, Sidonie Eougon, a 
 gentle, scraggy woman, of no pal'trcuTar age, with a face like 
 soft wax, and whose dull-coloured dress effaced still further ; 
 then the Mareuils, the father. Monsieur de Mareuil, who had 
 just gone out of mourning for his wife, a tall handsome man, 
 empty-headed and serious, bearing a striking resemblance to 
 the valet Baptiste ; and the daughter, that poor Louise as peopile 
 called her, a young girl of seventeen, puny and slightly hump- 
 backed, who wore with a sickly grace a soft white silk dress 
 with red spots ; then quite a group of serious men, gentlemen 
 wearing many decorations, official personages with pale and 
 solemn faces ; and, farther off, another group, young men with 
 an air of vice about them, and wearing low cut waistcoats, 
 surrounding five or six ladies of the greatest elegance, amongst 
 whom throned the_Jn^fiparahles, the little Marchioness 
 d'JEspajiet, in yellow, and the fah^ Madame Haffner, in violet. 
 Monsieur de Mussy, the cavalier whose bow Renee had ignored, 
 was also there, with the uneasy look of a lover expecting to 
 receive, his dismissal. And, in the midst of the long trains 
 spread out over the carpet, two contractors, masons who had 
 made their fortunes, named Mignon and Charrier, with whom 
 Saccard had some business to settle on the morrow, were 
 moving heavily about on their big feet, holding their hands 
 behind their backs and fteliug most uncomfortable in their dress 
 suits. 
 
26 THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 Standing near the door, Ari^tide^^Saccard managed to greet 
 each new arrival, whilst holding forth to the group of serious 
 men with all his southern animation and snuffling. He shook the 
 guest's hand and spoke7new~amiable words. Short, and piti- 
 ful-looking, he bobbed up and down like a puppet; and of all 
 his puny, dark and crafty person, the most prominent object 
 was the'l'on tow of his ribbon of the Legion of^Honour which 
 he wore very large. 
 
 When Eenee entered, there rose a murmur of admiration. 
 She was truly divine. Over a lower skirt of tulle, trimmed 
 behind with a mass of flounces, she wore a tunic of pale green 
 satin, edged with a broad border of English lace, and gathered 
 up and fastened by large bunches of violets ; a single flounce j 
 adorned the front of the skirt over which was a light muslin 
 drapery kept in its place by more bunches of violets joined 
 together by garlands of ivy. The gracefulness of the head and 
 bust were adorable, above thi»3 skirt of royal amplitude and 
 slightly overdone richness. Uncovered at the neck as low as 
 the breast, her arms bare with tufts of violets on her shoulders, 
 the young woman seemed to be emerging all naked from her 
 sheath of tulle and satin, similar to one of those nymphs whose 
 busts issue from the sacred oaks ; and her white neck, her 
 supple frame, appeared so delighted with this semi-freedom^ 
 that one expected at every moment to see the bodice and the 
 skirts slip down like the costume of a bather in love with her 
 flesh. Her tall head-dress, her fine yellow hair gathered up in 
 the form of a helmet, and amidst which twined a sprig of ivy 
 held in its place by a bunch of violets, increased still more her 
 ai^_of nudity by displaying the nape of her neck, slightly shaded 
 by little downy hairs resembling threads of gold. Eound her 
 neck she wore a diamond necklace with pendants of the first 
 water, and on her brow an aigrette formed of stems of silver 
 set with the same precious stones. And she stood thus for a 
 few seconds on the threshold of the room, erect in this magni- 
 ficent costume, her shoulders shining in the warm glow. As 
 she had come down quickly she was rather out of breath. Her 
 eyes, which the darkness of the Pare Monceaux had filled with 
 shadow, blinked in that sudden flood of light, and gave her that 
 hesitating air of short-sighted people, which with her was full of 
 gracefulness. 
 
 On perceiving her, the little marchioness rose hastily from 
 her seat, and running up to her, seized hold of her hands ; 
 
THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. ^7 
 
 whilst examining her from her head down to her feet she 
 murmured in a fluty tone of voice : 
 
 "Ah ! pretty darling, pretty darling." 
 
 Then there was considerable commotion, all the guests came 
 to pay their respects to the beautiful Madame Saccard, as 
 Eenee was called in society. She shook hands with nearly all 
 the men. After which she embraced Christine, and inquired 
 after her father* who never visited the maEsion in the Pare 
 Monceaux. And she remained standing, smiling and still bow- 
 ing, with her arms held indolently open, before the circle of 
 ladies who were examining with carious eyes the diamond 
 necklace and aigrette. 
 
 Fair Madame Haffner could not resist the temptation ; she 
 drew nearer, and after looking a long while at the jewels, said 
 in a jealous tone of voice : 
 
 " They are the necklace and the aigrette, are they not '? " 
 
 Renee nodded her head affirmatively. Then all the women 
 gave vent to their praise ; the jewels were enchanting, divine ; 
 then they began to speak, with an admiration full of envy, of 
 Laure d'Aurigny's sale at which Saccard had bought them for 
 his wife ; they cojjaplaiiied that those frail creatures always 
 secured the best things, <:^ere would soon be no diamonds at 
 all for virtuous women:^, ^^^ out of their complaints pie'rced 
 the desire to feel on their bare skin one of those jewels 
 which all Paris had beheld on the shoulders of some illustrious 
 courtesan, and which would perhaps whisper in their ear the 
 alcove scandals on which the thoughts of these grand ladies 
 loved to linger. They knew the high prices realised, they 
 quoted a superb cashmere, some magnificent lace. The aigrette 
 had cost fifteen thousand francs, the necklace fifty thousand. 
 Madame d'Espanet was quite enthusiastic about these figures. 
 She called Saccard, exclaiming : 
 
 " Come and be congratulated ! You are a good husband ! " 
 
 Aristide Saccard went up to the ladies, bowed and did the 
 modest. But his grimacing features betrayed a great delight. 
 And out of the corner of his eye he watched the two contractors, 
 the two masons who had made their fortunes, who were stand- 
 ing a few paces oft' listening with visible respect to the mention 
 of such sums as fifteen thousand and fifty thousand francs. 
 
 At this moment, Maxime, who had just entered the room, 
 looking adorable ]n his well-cut dress-coat, leant familiarly on 
 his father's shoulder, and spoke to him in a low tone, as though 
 
28 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 to a comrade, calling his attention to the masons with a glance.!] 
 Saccard smiled discreetly like an applauded actor. 
 
 A few more guests arrived. There were quite thirty persons \ 
 in the drawing-room. The conversations were resumed ; during ] 
 the pauses, one could hear, on the other side of the wall, a jiug-i( 
 ling of crockery and plate. At length Baptiste opened the fold-|] 
 mg doors, and majestically uttered the sacramental phrase : ,j 
 
 " Madame is served." j. 
 
 Then, the procession slowly formed. Saccard gave his arm toj, 
 the little marchioness ; Eenee took an old gentleman's, a sen- 
 ator. Baron Gouraud, before w^hom everyone bowed down withi 
 great humility; as for Maxime, he was obliged to offer his arm 
 to Louise de Mareuil; then followed the rest of the guests, in! 
 couples, and right at the end the two contractors swinging their 
 arms. 
 
 The dining-room was a vast square apartment with a high 
 dado all round of stained and varnished pear-tree ornamented 
 with thin fillets of gold. The four large panels had probably; 
 been intended to be filled with paintings of inanimate objects ; 
 but they had remained empty, the owner of the mansion having . 
 no doubt hesitated before a purely artistical outlay. They had 
 simply been covered over with dark green velvet. The furni- 
 ture, the curtains and the door-hangings of the same material, ■ 
 gave to the room a grave and sober appearance calculated to 
 concentrate on the table all the splendour of the illumination. I 
 
 And indeed, at this hour, in the centre of the vast sombre | 
 Turkey carpet w^hich deadened the sound of the footsteps, be- 
 neath the glaring light of the chandelier, the table, surrounded 
 by chairs, the black backs of which relieved by fillets of gold 
 framed it with a dark line, appeared like an altar, like some il- 
 luminated chapel, as the bright scintillations of the crystal glass 
 and the silver plate sparkled on the dazzling whiteness of the 
 cloth. In the floating shadow beyond the carved chair backs, 
 one could just catch a glimpse of the wainscotting, of a large 
 low sideooard, and of portions of velvet hangings trailing about. 
 One's eyes forcibly returned to the table, and became filled with 
 all this splendour. An admirable unpolished silver epergne 
 glittering with chased work occupied the centre ; it represented 
 a troop of fauns oearing away some nymphs ; and, issuing from 
 an immense cornucopia above the group, an enormous bouquet of 
 natural flowers hung down in clusters. At either end of the table 
 were some vases also containing bunches of flowers ; two cande- 
 
) THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 29 
 
 abra matching the centre group, and each consisting of a satyr 
 n full flight bearing on one arm a swooning woman, whilst with 
 :he other he grasped a ten-branched candelabrum, added the 
 Dright light of their candles to the radiance of the central 
 ibandelier. Between these principal objects the hot dishes, both 
 arge and small, bearing the first course, were symmetrically ar- 
 [:'anged in lines, flp^nked by shells filled with the hors-d'oeuvre, 
 iind separated by china bowls, crystal vases, flat plates and tall 
 bomports, containing all of the dessert placed upon the table. 
 Along the line of plates, the army of glasses, the water-botMes, 
 bhe decanters, the tiny salt-cellars, in fact the whole of the 
 ^lass was as thin and slender as muslin, uncut and so transpar- 
 3nt that it did not cast the least shadow. And the epergne, 
 and the other large ornaments looked like fountains of fire ; the 
 polished sides of the dishes sparkled ; the forks, the spoons, and 
 the knives with mother-of-pearl handles were so many bars of 
 flame ; rainbows illuminated the glasses ; and,, in the midst of 
 this shower of sparks, of this incandescent mass, the decanters 
 of wine cast a ruby glow over the cloth which seemed heated 
 to a white heat. 
 
 On entering, an expression of discreet beatitude overspread 
 the countenances of the gentlemen who were smiling to the 
 ladies on their arms. The flowers gave a freshness to the w^arm 
 atmosphere. Slight fumes from the dishes hung about and 
 mingled with the perfume of the roses. And the tart smell of 
 crawfish with the sourish odour of lemons dominated all. 
 
 Then, when everyone had found his name written on the backs 
 of the bills of fare, there was a noise of chairs, a great rust- 
 ling of silk dresses. The bare shoulders studded with diamonds, 
 and flanked by black dress coats which set off their paleness, 
 added their milky whiteness to the radiance of the table. The 
 dinner commenced in the midst of smiles exchanged between 
 neighbours, in a semi-silence as yet only broken by the gentle 
 rattling of the spoons. Baptiste performed the duties of butler 
 with the grave manners of a diplomatist; he had under his or- 
 ders, besides the two footmen, four assistants whom he engaged 
 only for the grand dinner parties. At each dish which he took 
 to cut up on a side-table at the end of the room, three of the 
 servants passed noiselessly behind the guests, dish in hand, and 
 offering in a low voice the viands by name. The others poured 
 out the wines, attended to the bread and the decanters. The 
 relevis and the entrees were thus slowly discussed and removed, 
 
30 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 without the ladies' pearly laughter becoming a whit more 
 shrill. 
 
 The guests were too numerous for the conversation to easily 
 become general. Yet, at the second course, when the roasts 
 and the side-dishes had replaced the releves and the entrees, and j 
 the grand Burgundy wines, Pomard and Chambertin, had 
 succeeded to the Leoville and Chateau-Lafitte, the sound of the ! 
 voices swelled, and bursts of laughter caused the slender 
 glasses to tinkle. Eenee, seated at the middle of the table, 
 had Baron Gouraud on her right, and on her left Monsieur I 
 Toutin-Laroche, a retired candle manufacturer, at that time a | 
 municipal councillor, a director of the Credit Yiticole and 
 member of the board of supervision of the Societe Generale of 
 the ports of Morocco, a scraggy and important individual, 
 whom Saccard, seated opposite between Madame d'Espanet and 
 Madame Haffner, addressed at one moment in flattering tones 
 as, "My dear colleague,'' and at another as, "Our great ad- 
 ministrator." Then came the politicians : Monsieur Hupel de 
 la None, a prefect who spent eight months of the year in Paris; 
 three deputies, amongst whom Monsieur Haifner displayed his 
 broad Alsatian countenance; then Monsieur de Saifre, a charm- 
 ing young man, secretary to a cabinet minister; and Monsieur 
 Michelin, the liead of the commission of public ways; and 
 other heads of department besides. Monsieur de Mareuil, a 
 perpetual candidate for the Chamber of Deputies, faced the 
 prefect, at whom he kept casting sheep's-eyes. As for Monsieur 
 d'Espanet, he never accompanied his wife into society. The 
 ladies of the family were placed between the most distinguished 
 of these personages. Saccard had however reserved his sister 
 Sidonie, whom he had seated farther away, between the two 
 contractors — Monsieur Charrier being on the right and Mon- 
 sieur Mignon on the left — as though at a post of trust where it 
 was a question of vanquishing. Madame Michelin, the wife of 
 the head of the commission of public ways, a pretty plump 
 brunette, found herself beside Monsieur de SafFre with whom she 
 was carrying on an animated conversation in a low voice. 
 Then, at either end of the table were the young people, 
 auditors attached to the Council of State, the sons of influ- 
 ential fathers, little sprouting millionaires, Monsieur de Mussy 
 who kept casting despairing glances in the direction of Eenee, 
 and Maxime who seemed fast succumbing to Louise de Mareuil 
 seated on his right. Little by little, they had taken to laugh- 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 31 
 
 ing very loudly. It was from their corner that the first gay 
 notes were heard. 
 
 Meanwhile Monsieur Hupel de la Noue was gallantly inquir- 
 ing : 
 
 " Shall we have the pleasure of seeing his excellency this 
 evening?" 
 
 " I'm afraid not," answered Saccard with an important air 
 which hid a secret annoyance. "My brother is so busy ! He 
 has sent us his secretary to excuse him." 
 
 The young secretary, whom Madame Michelin was most 
 decidedly monopolizing, raised his head on hearing his name 
 uttered, and thinking some one had spoken to him, exclaimed : 
 
 " Yes, yes, there is to be a meeting of the cabinet this even- 
 ing at nine o'clock at the residence of the keeper of the seals." 
 
 During this time, Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, who had been 
 interrupted, was continuing gravely, as though he were deli- 
 vering a speech amidst the attentive silence of the Municipal 
 Council : 
 
 " The results are indeed superb. This city loan will remain 
 as one of the finest financial operations of the epoch. Ah ! 
 gentlemen — " 
 
 But here again his voice was smothered by the laughter 
 which suddenly broke out at one end of the table. In the 
 midst of this outburst of mirth one could hear Maxime's voice 
 as he concluded some anecdote : 
 
 " Wait a bit. I haven't finished yet. The poor rider was 
 picked up by a road-labourer. It is said she is having him 
 brilliantly educated as she intends to marry him later on. 
 She wull not allow that any other man than her husband can 
 flatter himself that he has seen a certain brown mole situated 
 somewhere above her knee." 
 
 The laughter redoubled ; Louise laughed heartily, louder 
 even than the men. And noiselessly in the midst of all this 
 -mirth, just as though deaf, a lackey at this moment thrust his 
 pale grave face between the guests, offering some slices of wild 
 duck in a low tone of voice. 
 
 Aristide Saccard was annoyed at theiittle attention paid to 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche. To show him that he had been lis- 
 tening, he resumed : 
 
 '' The city loan—" 
 
 But Monsieur Toutin-Laroche was not the man to lose tho 
 thread of an idea. 
 
82 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 '^ All ! gentlemen," continued he when the laughter had sub-i 
 sided, *• yesterday was a great consolation to us whose adminis-| 
 tration is exposed to such vile attacks. The council is accused' 
 of bringing the city to ruin, and yet you see, the moment the, 
 city opens a loan, every one brings us -their money, even those! 
 who cry out." i 
 
 ^' You have performed miracles," said Saccard. "Paris has 
 become the capital of the world." 
 
 ^^ Yes, it is really prodigious," interrupted Monsieur Hupel 
 de la Noue. " Just fancy that I, who am an old Parisian, can 
 no longer find my way about Paris. I lost myself yesterday, 
 when going from the Hdtel de Ville to the Luxembourg. It is i 
 prodigious, prodigious ! " 
 
 A short pause ensued. All the serious people were listening 
 now. I 
 
 '^ The transformation of Paris," continued Monsieur Toutin-| 
 Laroche, '^ will be the glory of the reign. The low^er classes are' 
 ungrateful : they ought to kiss the emperor's feet. I was say- 
 ing only this morning at the council, where the great success 
 of the loan was being discussed: 'Gentlemen, let those brawlers 
 of the opposition say what they like , to upset Paris is to fer- 
 tilize it.' " 
 
 Saccard smiled and closed his eyes, as though the better to 
 relish the smartness of the dictum. He leant behind Madame 
 d'Espanet's back, and said to Monsieur Hupel de la None, loud 
 enough to be heard : 
 
 "He is most adorably witty." 
 
 Now that the conversation had turned on the alterations 
 being made in Paris, Monsieur Charrier was stretching his 
 neck as though to take part in it. His partner Mignon was 
 fully occupied with Madame Sidonie, who was giving him 
 plenty to do. Ever since the beginning of the dinner, Saccard 
 had been watching the two contractors from out of the corner 
 of his eye. 
 
 " The administration," said he, ^' has met with so much de- 
 votion ! Every one has wished to contribute to the great work. 
 Without the rich companies which came to its assistance, the 
 city would never have done so well nor so quickly." 
 
 He turned round, and added with a sort of brutal flattery : 
 
 *' Messieurs Mignon and Charrier know something of this, 
 they who have had their share of labour, and who will have 
 their share of glory." 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 33 
 
 The two masons who had made their fortune received this 
 compliment beatifically full in the chest. Mignon, to whom 
 Madame Sidonie was saying in a lackadaisical manner, 
 " Ah ! sir, you flatter me ; no, I am too old to wear pink — " 
 interrupted her in the middle of her sentence, to reply to 
 Saccard : 
 
 " You are too kind ; we merely did our business." 
 
 But Charrier*was more polished. He finished his glass of 
 Pomard and fouad means to make an observation. 
 
 ^* The works about Paris," said he^ *' have enabled the work- 
 man to live." 
 
 ^^ Say also," resumed Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, " that they 
 have given a magnificent spurt to all financial and industrial 
 undertakings." 
 
 " And don't forget the artistic side of the question ; the new 
 thoroughfares are majestic," added Monsieur Hupel de la JSToue, 
 who flattered himself on his good taste. 
 
 ** Yes, yes, it is a fine piece of work," murmured Monsieur de 
 Mareuil, for the sake of saying somethmg. 
 
 " As for the cost," gravely declared the deputy Haffner, who 
 only opened his mouth on grand occasions, '^ our children will 
 pay it, and that is only justice." 
 
 And as, when saying that, he looked at Monsieur de Saffre, 
 who had not seemed to be getting on so well with the pretty 
 Madame Michelin for the last few minutes, the young secretary, 
 wishing to appear thoroughly acquainted with what was being 
 said, repeated : 
 
 '^ That is indeed only justice." 
 
 Every one had had his say in the group formed by the serious 
 men at the middle of the table. Monsieur Michelin, the head 
 of department, smiled and wagged his head; it was his usual 
 Avay of joining in a conversation; he had smiles for greeting, 
 for answering, for approving, for thanking, for wishing good-bye, 
 quite a pretty collection of smiles which enabled him to dispense 
 almost entirely with the use of his tongue, an arrangement he 
 no doubt considered far more polite and more favourable to his 
 own advancement. 
 
 Another personage also had remained silent — that was Baron 
 Gouraud, who was slowly chewing like a drowsy ox. Up till 
 then he had appeared absorbed in the contemplation of his 
 plate. Eenee, full of little attentions towards him, only obtained 
 faint grunts of satisfaction. Therefore every one was surprised 
 
 c 
 
34 THE KUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 to see liim raise his head and to hear him observe, as he wiped 
 his greasy lips : 
 
 " I am a landlord, and when I do up and re-decorate any 
 apartments, I raise the rent." 
 
 Monsieur HafFner's remark : ^^ Our children will pay," had 
 succeeded in awakening the senator. They all discreetly ap- 
 plauded, and Monsieur de SafFre exclaimed : 
 
 ^' Ah ! charming, charming ! I shall send that to-morrow to the 
 newspapers." 
 
 '^ You are quite right, gentlemen, we live in good times," 
 said the worthy Mignon by way of conclusion amidst the smiles 
 and the praise which the baron's observation had called forth. 
 ** I know more than one who have nicely built up their fortunes. 
 Everything is lovely, you see, when it enables one to make 
 money." 
 
 These last w^ords quite froze the grave men. The conversation 
 stopped short, and each one seemed to avoid looking at his 
 neighbour. The mason's remark unfortunately might have 
 been applied to all these gentlemen. Michelin, who was just 
 than looking at Saccard in a most agreeable manner, suddenly 
 ceased smiling, greatly afraid of having appeared for a moment 
 to apply the contractor's words to the master of the house. The 
 latter glanced at Madame Sidonie, who once more monopolised 
 Mignon, saying : "So you are fond of pink, sir" — Then Saccard 
 paid Madame d'Espanet a long compliment ; his dark, mean- 
 looking face almost touched the milky shoulders of the young 
 woman as she leant back in her chair and laughed. 
 
 They had now arrived at the dessert. The lackeys turned 
 more quickly round the table. There was a slight pause whilst 
 the cloth was being covered with the rest of the fruit and the 
 sweetmeats. At Maxime's end the laughter was becoming more 
 silvery ; one could hear Louise's shrill voice saying : "I assure 
 you that Sylvia wore a blue satin dress in her part of Dindon- 
 nette;" and another childish voice added : "Yes, but the dress 
 was trimmed with white lace." The air was laden with the 
 warm fumes from the dishes. The faces of the guests had as- 
 sumed a rosier hue, and seemed softened by an internal beati- 
 tude. Two lackeys made the round of the table, filling the 
 glasses with Alicant and Tokay. 
 
 Ever since the commencement of the dinner, Eenee had 
 seemed absent-minded. She fulfilled her duties as mistress of 
 the house with a mechanical sort of smile. At each burst of 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE Sl^OlL. 35 
 
 mirth T;vhich came from the end of tlie table where Maxime and 
 Louise were sitting side-by-side joking like two comrades, she 
 cast a glistening glance in their direction. She felt dreadfully 
 bored. The serious men were too much for her. Madame 
 d'Espanet and Madame Haffner looked at her in despair. 
 
 ^'And the coming elections, how do they promise to turn 
 outr' suddenljr inquired Saccard of Monsieur Hupel de la 
 None. 
 
 " Very well indeed," replied the latter, smiling ; '' only as 
 yet no candidates have been decided upon for my department. 
 The minister is hesitating, it appears." 
 
 Monsieur de Mareuil, who had thanked Saccard with a glance 
 for having introduced this subject, looked as though lie were 
 sitting on red-hot cinders. He blushed slightly and made a 
 few awkward bows when the prefect, addressing him, continued : 
 
 ^M have heard a great deal about you in the country, sir. 
 Your vast estates have won you a great many friends there, and 
 it is known how devoted you are to the Emperor. You have 
 every chance in your favour." 
 
 "Papa, is it not true that little Sylvia sold cigarettes at 
 Marseilles in 1849 r' cried Maxime at this moment from his 
 end of the table. 
 
 And as Aristide Saccard pretended not to hear, the young 
 man continued in a low^er tone of voice : 
 
 " My father knew her very intimately." 
 
 A few smothered laughs greeted this statement. Whilst 
 Monsieur de Mareuil was still bowing. Monsieur Haffner had 
 sententiously resumed : 
 
 " Devotion to the Emperor is the only virtue, the only 
 patriotism, in these days of interested democracy. AVhosoever 
 loves the Emperor loves France. We would see Monsieur de 
 Mareuil become our colleague with most sincere joy." 
 
 ^^ You will succeed, sir," said Monsieur Toutin-Laroche in his 
 turn. " All the great fortunes should gather round the throne." 
 
 Renee could stand it no longer. Opposite to her the 
 marchioness was stifling a yawn. And as Saccard was again about 
 to join in, his wife said to him with a delightful smile : 
 
 *' For goodness sake, my dear, take compassion upon us. J)i» 
 try and forget your horrid politics." 
 
 Then Monsieur Hupel de la None, gallant as a prefect should 
 be, protested, saying that the ladies were right. And he forth- 
 with commenced the story of a rather smutty affair which had 
 
36 THE HUSH FOU THE SPOIL. 
 
 occurred in the chief town of his department. The miarchioness, 
 Madame HafFner and the other ladies laughed immensely at 
 some of the details. The prefect related in a very piquant 
 style^ interspersed with hints, reticences, and inflections of the 
 voice, which gave a very naughty meaning to the most innocent 
 expressions. Then they talked of the duchess's first Tuesday at 
 home, of a burlesque that had been produced the night before, 
 of the death of a poet, and of the last of the autumn races. 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, who at certain times could be very 
 amiable, compared women to roses, and Monsieur' de Mareuil, 
 amidst the confusion in which his electoral hopes had plunged 
 him, was able to make some profound remarks respecting the 
 new shape for bonnets. Renee continued absent-minded. 
 
 The guests w^ere no longer eating. A warm breath seemed 
 to have passed over the cloth, clouding the glasses, scattering 
 the bread, blackening the fruit parings in the plates, and up- 
 setting all the beautiful symmetry of the table. The flowers 
 were fading in the great chased silver cornucopia. And the 
 guests lingered there a moment in presence of the remnants of 
 the dessert, full of contentment, and lacking the courage to rise 
 from their seats. One arm on the table, and bending slightly 
 forward, they had a vacant look in their eyes, and showed the 
 vague depression of that measured and decent inebriation of 
 fashionable people who become intoxicated by degrees. The 
 laughter had subsided and the conversation flagged. A great 
 deal had been eaten and drank, and that gave a still deeper 
 gravity to the group formed by the decorated men. In the close 
 atmosphere of the apartment, the ladies felt a moisture about 
 their necks and temples. They were awaiting the moment to 
 adjourn to the drawing-room, looking serious and slightly pale, 
 as though they felt a swimming in their heads. Madame 
 d'Espanet was quite rosy, whilst Madame Hafl*ner's shoulders 
 had assumed a waxy whiteness. Monsieur Hupel de la None 
 was examining the handle of a knife ; Monsieur Toutin-Laroche 
 was still addressing a few disconnected remarks to Monsieur 
 Hafl'ner who nodded his head in reply ; Monsieur de Mareuil 
 was musing as he looked at Monsieur Michelin, who was slyly 
 smiling upon him. As for the pretty Madame Michelin, she 
 had not been talking for a long while ; she was very red in the 
 face, whilst the cloth hung over one of her hands which Monsieur 
 de Saffre was no doubt holding in his, for he was leaning awk- 
 wardly on the edge of the table, with his brows knit, and grimac- 
 
THE KUSH FOR TITE SPOIL. 87 
 
 ing like a man trying to solve some problem in algebra. 
 Madame Sidonie also had conquered ; the Messieurs Mignon and 
 Charrier, both turned towards her and with their elbows on the 
 table, appeared delighted at being taken into her confidence ; 
 she was owning that she had a great liking for milky things, 
 and that she was afraid of ghosts. And Aristide Saccard him- 
 self, with his e^jes half closed, and plunged in that beatitude of 
 the master of a house conscious of having honestly intoxicated 
 his guests, had no thought of leaving the table ; he was con- 
 templating with respectful aflPection Baron Gouraud painfully 
 digesting, with his right hand stretched over the white cloth, a 
 sensual old man's hand, short and thick, studded with purple 
 blotches and covered with reddish hairs. 
 
 Eenee slowly drank up the few drops of Tokay w^hich remained 
 in her glass. Her face tingled ; the little light hairs on her 
 temples and at the nape of her neck were rebelliouSj^and would 
 not remain in their p'iaces, as though moistened by ome damp 
 breath. Her lips and her nose were contracted nervously, her 
 face bore the expression of a child who has drank pure wine. 
 If good middle-class thoughts had come to her whilst in the 
 presence of the shadows of the Pare Monceaux, these thoughts 
 had now succumbed to the excitation of the viands, of the wines 
 and of the lights, of these disturbing surroundings impregnated 
 with noisy mirth and warm breaths. She was no longer ex- 
 changing quiet smiles with her sister Christine and her aunt Elisa- 
 beth, both of them modest and retiring, and scarcely uttering a 
 word. With a harsh look she had forced poor Monsieur de Mussy 
 to lower his eyes. In her apparent absent-mindedness, though, 
 she was careful to avoid turning round and remained leaning 
 against the back of her chair, whilst the satin of her dress body 
 gently crackled, she allowed an almost imperceptible shudder of 
 the shoulders to escape her each time a burst of laughter reached 
 her from the corner where Maxime and Louise were joking, still 
 as loudly as ever, in the expiring buzz of the conversations. 
 
 And behind her, just on the edge of the shadow — his tall 
 person dominating the satiated guests and the disordered table — 
 stood Baptiste, looking pale and grave, in the disdainful attitude 
 of a lackey who has feasted his masters. He alone, in the atmos- 
 phere heavy with drunkenness, beneath the vivid light, now turn- 
 ing to a yellowish hue, of the chandelier, remained faultless, with 
 his silver chain around his neck, his cold eyes in which the sight 
 of the women's bai-e shoulders did not even kindle a spark, and 
 
38 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 his air of an eunuch waiting on some Parisians in the time of 
 their dechne and maintaining his dignity. 
 
 At length Renee rose with a nervous movement. Everyone 
 followed her example. They adjourned to the drawing-room 
 where coffee awaited them. 
 
 The principal drawing-room of the mansion was a vast oblong 
 apartment, a sort of gallery going from one of the wings to the 
 other, and occupying the whole of the fagade on the garden 
 side. A large French window opened on to the steps. This 
 gallery was resplendent with gilding. The ceiHng which was 
 slightly arched was covered with fanciful scrolls winding about 
 enormous gilded medallions, which glittered like shields. Ara- 
 besques and dazzling garlands formed the border ; fillets of gold, 
 like jets of molten metal, were scattered about the walls, fram- 
 ing the panels hung with red silk ; clusters of roses crowned 
 with tufts of full blown blossoms trailed down the sides of the 
 mirrors. An Aubusson carpet displayed its purple flowers over 
 the flooring. The furniture upholstered in red damask silk, the 
 door hangings and the curtains of the same material, the enor- 
 mous rock -work clock on the mantle, the China vases standing 
 on the consoles, the legs of the two long tables ornamented wath 
 Florentine mosaics, even the flower-stands placed in the window 
 recesses, were so to say reeking and dripping with gold. At the 
 four corners were four great lamps standing on red marble pedes- 
 tals to which they were attached by chains of gilded bronze 
 which himg with symmetrical gnace. And from the ceiling were 
 suspended three crystal lustres streaming with pink and blue 
 scintillations, and the ardent glare from which was dazzlingly 
 reflected by all the gilding in the apartment. 
 
 The men soon withdrew to the smoking-room. Monsieur de 
 Mussy, w^ho, though six years older, had known Maxime at 
 college, took him familiarly by the arm. He led him out on to 
 the terrace, and, after they had lighted their cigars, he com- 
 plained bitterly of Eenee. 
 
 " But, tell me, whatever is the matter with her ? When I 
 saw her yesterday she w^as most charming. And now to-day 
 she treats me as though all were over between us. What crime 
 can I have been guilty of? It would be so kind of you, my dear 
 Maxime, to ask her, and to tell her how she makes me suff'er." 
 
 *' Not if I know it 1 " replied Maxime laughing. *' Eenee's 
 nerves are upset, I've no wash to receive the bn nt of her ill- 
 humour. Settle your differences between yourselves." 
 
THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 39 
 
 And after slowly puffing out the smoke of liis havanna, he 
 added : 
 
 " It's a pretty part you want me to play ! " 
 
 But Monsieur de Mussy talked of his great friendship, and 
 assured the young man he was only awaiting an opportunity to 
 show him how devoted he was to him. He was very miserable, 
 he loved Eenee^so ! 
 
 i( Very well ! it's agreed," said Maxime at length, " I will 
 speak to her ; but, you know, I can promise nothing ; she is 
 pretty sure to send me about my business." 
 
 They re-entered the smoking-room, and stretched themselves 
 out in two capacious easy-chairs. And during a good half hour 
 Monsieur de Mussy related all his tribulations to Maxime ; he 
 told him for the tenth time how it was he had fallen in love 
 with the young man's stepmother, and how she had been 
 gracious enough to notice him ; and whilst finishing his cigar 
 Maxime gave him some advice, explaining Renee's nature to 
 him, and showing him how he should set to work to overcome 
 her. 
 
 Saccard having taken a seat a few steps away from the young 
 men. Monsieur de Mussy lapsed into silence, and Maxime said 
 in conclusion : 
 
 '^ Were I in your place, I would treat her very cavalierly. 
 She likes it." 
 
 The smoking-room occupied, at one end of the principal 
 drawing-room, one of the round apartments formed by the 
 towers. It was fitted up in a style both very rich and very 
 sober. Papered with a material imitating Cordovan leather, it 
 had Algerian curtains and door hangings, and a Wilton carpet 
 of Persian design. The furniture was upholstered with shag- 
 reen leather the colour of wood, and comprised settees, easy- 
 chairs and a circular divan which went nearly all round the 
 room. The little chandelier, the ornaments of the table and of 
 the fire-place, were of pale green Florentine bronze. 
 
 There had only remained with the ladies a few young fellows, 
 and some pale and flabby-faced old men, w^ho held tobacco in 
 horror. In the smoking-room, there was a great deal of laugh- 
 ing going on and some very broad jokes were being bandied 
 about. Monsieur Hupel de la Noue diverted the gentlemen 
 immensely by again relating the story he had told during 
 dinner, but completing it this time by some most indecent de- 
 tails. He had a specialty for this sort of thing ; he always had 
 
40 THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 two versions of an anecdote, one for ladies, the other for men. 
 Then, x^ristide Saccard entered and was at once surrounded and 
 complimented ; and as he pretended not to understand what it 
 was all about, Monsieur de Safire told him, in a greatly ap- 
 plauded speech, that he had deserved well of his country for 
 having prevented the beautiful Laure d'Aurigny from going- 
 over to the English. 
 
 "No, really, gentlemen, you are mistaken," stammered Sac- 
 card with false modesty. 
 
 " Oh! don't try to excuse yourself ! " cried Maxime chaffingly. 
 '' It's very meritorious at your age." 
 
 The young man who had just thrown away the stump of his 
 cigar returned to the drawing-room. A great number of visitors 
 had arrived. The gallery was full of men in evening dress 
 standing up and conversing in low tones, and of ladies in ample 
 skirts which they spread out on the couches. Some lackeys 
 were taking round some silver salvers bearing ices and glasses 
 of punch. 
 
 Maxime, who wished to speak to Renee, passed right through 
 the drawing-room, knowing very well where to find the ladies' 
 favourite spot. At the opposite end to the smoking-room was 
 another round ajDartment adorably fitted up as a boudoir. Its 
 curtains and hangings of satin, the colour of butter-cups, gave 
 it a voluptuous charm, of quite an original and exquisite taste. 
 The lights of the chandelier, which was of very delicate work- 
 manship, appeared quite pale amidst all this sun-like splendour. 
 The effect resembled a flood of the subdued rays from a sunset 
 on a field of ripe corn. The light expired at one's feet on an 
 Aubusson carpet strewn with dead leaves. An ebony piano in- 
 laid with ivory, two little cabinets the glass doors of which dis- 
 played a host of nicknacks, a Louis XYI. table, and a flower- 
 stand holding an enormous sheaf of flowers, sufficed to furnish 
 the room. The small couches, the easy-chairs and the settees, 
 were covered with padded butter-cup satin divided at intervals by 
 broad black bands of the same material embroidered with gay 
 coloured tulips. And there were also low seats, lounge-chairs, 
 and every variety of stool, both elegant and fantastical. Not a 
 glimpse of the woodwork of these articles was visible ; the satin 
 and the padding covered all. The backs were so curved as to 
 be as comfortable as bolsters. They were like so many dis- 
 creet beds on which one could sleep and love amidst the down, 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 41 
 
 to the accompaniment of the sensual symphony of the pale 
 yellow light. 
 
 lienee had an especial liking for this little room, one of the 
 French windows of which opened into the magnificent conser- 
 vatory fixed to the side of the mansion. During the day-time 
 she spent most of her leisure hours there. Instead of softening 
 her light hair, tjie yellow hangings gave it a strangely golden 
 hue ; her head stood out all pink and white in the midst of a 
 dawn-like glimmer, like that of a fair Diana awakening at the 
 break of day ; and this was no doubt why she loved this little 
 room which gave a heavenly setting to her beauty. 
 
 At this hour she was there with her intimate friends. Her 
 sister and her aunt had just departed. There were none but 
 madcaps m the sanctum. Leaning back in the depths of a 
 sofa, Renee was listening to the secrets of her friend Adeline, 
 who was whispering in her ear with feline playfulness and 
 sudden bursts of laughter. Suzanne Hajfner was in great re- 
 quest ; she was holding her own against" a group of young men 
 who were pressing her closely, without losing any of her German 
 languor, her provoking effrontery, as bare and cold as her 
 shoulders. In a corner, Madame Sidonie was enlightening in a 
 low voice a young woman with the eyes of a virgin. Farther 
 off, Louise was standing talking with a big timid fellow who 
 blushed violently ; whilst Baron Gouraud was dozing in an 
 easy-chair full in the light, displaying his flabby flesh, his pale 
 elephantine form, in the midst of the frail graces and the silk}^ 
 daintiness of the ladies. And all about the room, on the stiff 
 satin skirts shining like china, on the milky white shoulders 
 studded with diamonds, a light of fairy-land fell in a golden 
 dust. A soft voice, a laugh no louder than the cooing of a 
 dove, had as limpid a ring as crystal. It was very warm in 
 there. Fans were moving slowly to and fro like wings, dissemi- 
 nating at each breath in the sultry atmosphere the musked 
 perfumes of the bodices. 
 
 When Maxime appeared in the doorway, Renee, who was 
 listening to the marchioness in an absent-minded way, rose up 
 hastily, pretending to have to play her part as mistress of the 
 house. She passed into the principal drawing-room where the 
 yoidng man followed her. After smilingly taking a few steps 
 there and shaking hands with different people, she drew Maxime 
 aside. 
 
 "Well!" whispered she ironically, ^'the task seems an easy 
 
42 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 one ; you don't appear to find courting as stupid as you im- 
 agined." 
 
 " I don't understand you," replied the young man, vdio was 
 about to plead for Monsieur de Mussy. 
 
 *^"\Yhy I think I did well not to deliver you from Louise. 
 You don't waste any time, you two." 
 
 And she added with a sort of vexation : 
 
 "At table, too, it was quite indecent." 
 
 Maxime burst out -laughing. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, we were telling each other stories. I did not 
 know her. the chit. She's very fanny. She's just like a boy." 
 
 And as Renee's face still bore the irritated look of a prude, 
 the young man, who had never known her so indignant before, 
 resumed wuth smiling familiarity : 
 
 *^ Do you think, pretty mamma, that I pinched her legs 
 under the table 1 Hang it all, one knows how to behave to- 
 w^ards one's betrothed ! I have something far more serious to 
 tell you. Listen to me — you are listening, are you not?" 
 
 He lowered his voice still more. 
 
 *"' This is what's the matter. Monsieur de Massy is very 
 miserable ; he has just told me so. You know it's not for me 
 to bring you together again, if youS^e had a row. But, you 
 understand, I was at college with him, and as he really seems 
 to be in despair, I promised him 1 would speak to you." 
 
 He stopped. Renee was looking at him in a very strange 
 manner. 
 
 *' You don't answer]" continued he. '^Anyhow, I have done 
 what I promised. Settle the matter between you as you like. 
 But, really now, I cannot help thinking you crael. I quite feel 
 for the poor fellow. Li your place I would send him at least a 
 kind message." 
 
 Then Renee, who had not taken the bright, fixed look of her 
 eyes off Maxime, replied : 
 
 ^^ Go and tell Monsieur de Massy that he bores me." 
 
 And she resumed her slow walk amidst the groups, smiling, 
 bowing, and shaking hands. Maxime stood for a moment lost 
 in surprise ; then he quieth^ laughed to himself. 
 
 Not at all desirous of delivering the message to Monsieur de 
 Mussy, he took a turn round the principal drawing-room. The 
 party was drawing to a close, marvellous and common-place like 
 most parties. It was close upon midnight ; the guests were 
 slowly departing. Not wishing to retire with a feehng of un- 
 
THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 43 
 
 pleasantness, he decided to seek Louise. He was passing before 
 the hall door when he caught sight of the pretty Madame 
 Michelin being wrapt up by her husband in a little pink and 
 blue cloak. 
 
 " He was most charming, most charming," the young woman 
 was saying. ** We talked of you the whole of dinner. He will 
 speak to the mjnister ; only, it is not in his province — " 
 
 And as, close to them, a footman was assisting Baron Gouraud 
 on with a big fur coat : 
 
 " That's the old fellow who could settle the matter ! " added 
 she in her husband's ear, whilst he was tying the string of her 
 hood under her chin. '' He does just as he likes at the 
 ministry. At the Mareuils' to-morrow^ w^e must try — " 
 
 Monsieur Michelin smiled. He took his wife off with the 
 greatest care, as though he had on his arm a most fragile and 
 precious object. After assuring himself by a glance that Louise 
 was not in the hall, Maxime went straight to the little drawing- 
 room. She was still there, almost alone, and awaiting her 
 father, who had probably spent the evening in the smoking-room 
 with the politicians. The marchioness and Madame Halfner 
 had taken their departure. There only remained Madame 
 Sidonie telling the wives of some functionaries how much she 
 loved animals. 
 
 "Ah ! here's my little husband," exclaimed Louise. *' Come 
 and sit down and tell me in wdiat chair my father can have 
 fallen asleep. He must already be fancying himself in the 
 Chamber." 
 
 Maxime answered her in a similar strain, and the two young 
 people were soon again laughing as loud as during dinner. 
 Seated on a very low chair at her feet, he ended by taking hold 
 of her hands and by playing with her, just the same as with a 
 comrade. And in truth, with her high-made dress of soft white 
 silk studded with red spots, her flat chest, and her ugly and 
 cunning little urchin's head, she resembled a boy disguised as a 
 girl. But at times her puny arms, her crooked form, assumed 
 negligent postures, and gleams of passion would appear in the 
 depths of her eyes still full of childishness, without her blushing 
 the least in the world at Maxime's playfulness. And they both 
 laughed away, just as though they were by themselves, without 
 even noticing Renee, who w\as standing half hidden in the centre 
 of the conservatory watching them from a distance. 
 
 A moment ago, as she was crossing a path, the sight of 
 
44 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Maxime and Louise had suddenly brought the young woman to 
 a standstill behind a shrub. All about her, the warm conserva- 
 tory, similar to the nave of a church, and the glass arched roof 
 of which was supported on slender iron columns, displayed its 
 fertile vegetation, its masses of gigantic leaves, its clumps of 
 luxuriant verdure. 
 
 In the centre, in an oval tank on a level with the ground, 
 lived, in the mysterious manner of water plants, all the aquatic i 
 flora of the land of the sun. A border of Cyclanthese raising 
 their tall green plumes, surrounded with a monumental belt the 
 fountain which resembled the truncated capital of some Cyclo- 
 pean column. Then, at either end, two enormous Tornelias 
 reared their strange-looking bushes above the water, their dry, 
 bare stems twisted like agonizing serpents, and emitting aerial 
 roots which had an appearance of fishermen's nets hung up to 
 dry. Close to the edge, a Pandanus from Java expanded its 
 sheaf of greenish leaves streaked with white, as thin as swords, 
 prickly and serrated like Malay daggers. And floating amid 
 the warmth of the gently heated sheet of slumbering water, 
 some Nymphsea opened their rosy stars, whilst some Euryale 
 trailed their round and leprous-looking leaves over the surface, 
 appearing like the backs of so many monstrous toads covered 
 with pustules. 
 
 By way of carpeting, a broad edging of Selaginella surrounded 
 the tank. This dwarf fern formed a thick moss-like sward of a 
 tender green. And beyond the wide circular path, four enormous 
 groups of exotic plants shot right up to the arched roof; the 
 palms, slightly drooping in their gracefulness, spread out their 
 fan-like leaves, displayed their rounded heads, hung down their 
 branches like so many oars wearied by their eternal voyage in 
 the azure of the air ; the great bamboos from India ascended 
 erect, slender and hard, with their fine shower of leaves falling 
 from on high ; a Ravenala, the traveller's tree, held up its 
 bunch of immense Chinese screens ; and, in a corner, a Banana 
 tree loaded with fruit stretched out in all directions its long, 
 horizontal leaves, on which two lovers might easily recline pro- 
 viding they kept pretty close to each other. In the corners 
 were some Euphorbia from Abyssinia, those prickly, ill-shaped 
 torch-thistles covered with horrid excrescences and reeking with 
 poison. And the ground beneath the taller plants was carpeted 
 by dwarf ferns, including the Adiantum and the Pteris, with 
 fronds as delicate as the finest lace-work. A taller species, the 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 45 
 
 Alsophilas, tapered upwards with their rows of symmetrical and 
 sexangular foliage so regular that it had the a[)pearance of 
 enormous pieces of crockery intended to hold the fruits of some 
 gigantic dessert. Then an edging of Begonias and Caladiums 
 surrounded the beds ; the Begonias with their twisted leaves 
 superbly streaked with green and red ; the Caladiums, the 
 leaves of which, shaped like lance heads, white and veined with 
 green, resemble*the wings of some monstrous butterfly ; bizarre 
 plants which vegetate strangely with the sombre or palish glow 
 of noisome flowers. 
 
 Behind the beds a second path, a narrow^er one, wect right 
 round the conservatory. And there, on stages, half hiding the 
 pipes of the heating apparatus, bloomed Marantas, as soft to 
 the touch as velvet, Gloxinias, with their purple bell-shaped 
 flowers, Dracaenas, resembling blades of old lacquer. 
 
 But one of the charms of this winter garden consisted in 
 alcoves of verdure in the four corners, roomy arbours shut in 
 by tliick curtains of tropical creepers. Bits of virgin forests 
 had weaved in these spots their walls of leaves, their im- 
 penetrable medley of stems, of supple shoots, clinging to the 
 branches, traversing space by a bold leap, and hanging from 
 the arched roof like the tassels of some rich drapery. A root 
 of Vanilla, with its ripe pods exhaling a penetrating perfume, 
 trailed about the arch of a moss-covered porch, whilst the Indian 
 berry decked the little columns Avith its round leaves; Banhinias, 
 with their red bunches, and the Quisqualis, the flowers of 
 which hung like necklets of glass beads, glided, twined and 
 entangled themselves like slender snakes endlessly playing and 
 stretching amidst the depths of the foliage. 
 
 And beneath the arches placed here and there between the 
 beds, and held by wire chains, hung baskets filled with Orchids, 
 those bizarre plants of the air, which spread in all directions 
 their stunted and knotted shoots bent and twisted like crippled 
 limbs. There were Lady's-slippers, the flowers of which re- 
 semble a marvellous shoe adorned on the heel witli the wings 
 of a dragon-fly : iErides with their delicate perfume ; and Stan- 
 hopeas, the pale streaked flowers of which, like the bitter mouth 
 of some convalescent, exhale to a distance a strong and acrid 
 breath. 
 
 But that which, from every point of view, was the most con- 
 spicuous object, was a great Hibiscus from China, its immense 
 expanse of flowers and foliage covering the whole side of the 
 
46 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 mansion to whicii the conservatory was fixed. The large purple 
 flowers of this gigantic mallow are ever being renewed, and live 
 but a few hours. One could almost fancy them a woman's 
 sensual, opening mouths, the red solt moist lips of some giant 
 Messalina, bruised by kisses and yet ever reviving with their 
 eager and bleeding smile. 
 
 Renee stood near the tank^ and shivered in the midst of all 
 these superb blossoms. Behind her, a great black marble 
 sphinx, squatting on a block of granite, its head turned towards 
 the water, wore on its features the wary and cruel smile 
 of a cat ; and it looked like the dark Idol with shining thighs 
 of that land of fire. At this hour ground glass globes 
 cast a milky light over the surrounding foliage. Statues, 
 women's heads with the necks thrown back, and swelling with 
 mirth, stood out white from the recesses of the groups of shrubs, 
 with patches of shadow which contorted their mad laughter. 
 Strange rays played about the deep still water of the tank, 
 lighting up vague forms and glaucous masses resembling- 
 rough designs of monsters. Over the smooth leaves of the 
 Ravenala, on the glossy fans of the Latanias, streamed a flood 
 of white light ; whilst from the lace-work of the ferns fell a 
 gentle rain of sparks. Up above shone the reflections from the 
 glass roof amongst the sombre heads of the tall palms. Then, 
 all around, everything was wrapt in shadow ; the arbours, with 
 their drapery of tropical creepers, became lost in the darkness, 
 like the nests of slumbering reptiles. 
 
 And lienee stood musing in the bright light, as she watched 
 Louise and Maxime in the distance. It was no longer the float- 
 ing fancies, the vague temptation of twilight, in the chilly 
 avenues of the Bois. Her thoughts were no longer lulled and 
 sent to sleep by the trot of her horses along the fashionable 
 walks, and the glades in which middle-class families pic-nic on 
 a Sunday. Now it was a definite, a keen desire which filled 
 her whole being. 
 
 An immense love, a need of voluptuousness, floated about 
 this close nave, full of the ardent sap of the tropics. The young 
 woman was enveloped in these mighty bridals of the earth, 
 engendering around her this dark verdure, these colossal stems ; 
 and the acrid confinement of this candent mother, this forest- 
 like growth, this mass of vegetation all glowing with the en- 
 trails which nourished' it, surrounded her with perturbing 
 efiiuvia of most intoxicating power. At her feet, the tank^ tho 
 
RENEE WATC^I^'a :STAXU1V AND LOUJ^r IN THE TITTLE D^- VWING 
 
 E003L p. 46. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 47 
 
 mass of warm water, thickened by the juices of the floating 
 roots, steamed and wrapt her shoulders in a mantle of heavy 
 vapour, a mist which heated her skin like the contact of a hand 
 moist with voluptuousness. On her head she felt a breath from 
 the palms as the tall leaves sprinkled their aroma. And more 
 than the close warmth of the atmosphere, than the bright lights, 
 than the large dazzling flowers resembling faces laughing or 
 grimacing amongst "the foliage, the odours especially over- 
 powered her. An undefinable perfume, powerful and exciting, 
 hung about, composed of a thousand others : human perspira- 
 tion, women's breaths, the scent of hair ; and zephyrs sweet 
 and insipid almost to faintness, were blended with coarse and 
 pestilential smells loaded with poison. But amidst this strange 
 amalgamation of odours, the one which dominated all, stifling 
 the delicateness of the vanilla and the sharpness of the orchids, 
 was that penetrating, sensual, human odour, that odour of love 
 which escapes of a morning from the closed chamber of a young 
 married couple. 
 
 lienee had slowly leant against the granite pedestal. In her 
 green satin dress, with her face and shoulders of a rosy hue and 
 sparkling with the pure scintillations of her diamonds, she re- 
 sembled some great pink and green flower, one of the Nymphsea 
 of the tank, swooning from the heat. At this hour of clear vis- 
 ion, all her good resolutions vanished for ever, the intoxication 
 of the dinner regained possession of her faculties, imperious, tri- 
 umphant, and rendered mightier than before by the flames of the 
 conservatory. She no longer remembered the chill night air 
 which had calmed her, nor those murmuring shadows of the 
 park, the voices of which had counselled a happy peacefulness. 
 Her ardent woman's senses, her satiated woman's capriciousness, 
 were aroused. And, above her, the great black marble sphinx 
 laughed a mysterious laugh, as though it had read the at length 
 expressed desired which was galvanizing this dead heart, the de- 
 sire which had remained so long elusive, the *' something else " 
 so vainly sought by Renee amidst the oscillating motion of her 
 carriage, in the ashy gloom of the gathering night, and which 
 had been so abruptly revealed to her beneath the glaring light 
 of this garden of fire by the sight of Louise and Maxime, laugh- 
 ing and playing together, hand in hand. 
 
 At this moment a sound of voices issued from a neighbouring 
 arbour, where Aristide Saccard had led the Messieurs Mignon 
 and Gharri er. 
 
48 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " No, really, Monsieur Saccard/' the latter was saying in a 
 thick voice, '^ we cannot take it back from you at more than two 
 hundred francs the metre." 
 
 And Saccard retorted in his shrill tones : 
 
 " But in my share you valued it at tw^o hundred and fifty 
 francs." 
 
 *^Well, listen ! we will make it two hundred and twenty -five 
 francs." 
 
 And the voices continued, harsh, and ringing strangely be- 
 neath the drooping palms. But they merely traversed Eenee's 
 dream like some vain noise, as there rose "before her, conjured 
 up by her delirium, an unknown enjoyment, hot with crime, and 
 more vehement than all those she had already exhausted, the 
 last that remained to her to partake of. She no longer felt 
 weary. 
 
 The shrub behind which she remained half hidden was 
 an accursed plant, a Tanghinia from Madagascar, with broad 
 box-like leaves and whitish stems, the smallest veins of which 
 distil a poisonous juice. And, at one moment, as Louise's and 
 Maxime's mirth became louder, in the yellow reflection, in the 
 sunset of the little drawing-room, Renee, her mind wandering, her 
 mouth parched and irritated, took between her teeth a sprig 
 of the Tanghinia, which was on a level with her lips, and closed 
 them on one of the bitter leaves. 
 
49 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Aristide Eougon swooped down upon Paris on the morrow of 
 the Coup d'Etat, with that scent of birds of prey which sniff the 
 field of carnage from afar. He came from Plassaiis, a sub-pre- 
 fecture of the South, where his father had at length netted in 
 the troubled waters of events an ofhce of tax collector for which 
 he had long been angling. As for himself, still young, and 
 having compromised his position like a fool, with neither glory 
 nor profit, he could only feel very fortunate in issuing safe and 
 sound from the squabble. He came with a rush, enraged at 
 his mistake, cursing the country, speaking of Paris with a wolf- 
 like greed, and swearing " that he would never be caught nap- 
 ping again ; " and the keen smile with which he accompanied 
 these words assumed a terrible significance on his thin lips. 
 
 He arrived in the early days of 1852. He was accompanied 
 by his wife Angele, a fair and insignificant creature, whom he 
 placed in a small lodging in the Eue Saint- Jacques, like some 
 awkward piece of furniture he was anxious to be rid of. The 
 young woman had been unwilling to be separated from her 
 daughter, little Clo tilde, a child four years old, whom the father 
 would willingly have left behind to be taken care of by his rela- 
 tions. But he had only yielded to his wife's wish on condition 
 that the college at Plassans should retain their son Maxime, a 
 youngster of eleven, who would be looked after by the grand- 
 mother. Aristide wished to have his hands free ; a woman and 
 a child already seemed to him a crushing weight to encumber 
 a man decided to overcome all obstacles, though he grovelled 
 in the mud or perished in the attempt. 
 
 The very evening of his arrival, whilst Angele was unpacking, 
 he felt an eager longing to explore Paris, to hear his heavy 
 countryman's boots striking that burning pavement from which 
 he hoped to cause millions to spring forth. It was a regular 
 taking of possession. He walkedf or the sake of walking, following 
 the foot-paths, just as though iji a conquered country. He had 
 a very clear conception of the battle he was about to offer, and 
 
 X) 
 
50 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 it was not in the least repugnant to his feehngs to compare 
 ■limself to a skilful picklock who, by artifice or violence, was 
 about to take his share of the common wealth which had been 
 wickedly refused him until then. Had he felt the need of an 
 excuse, he would have invoked his every desire denied him for 
 ten years, his wretched country existence, his faults especially, 
 for which he held society at large responsible. But at this mo- 
 ment, in that emotion of a gamble]:, who at last places his eager 
 hands on the green baize of the gaming-table, he Avas filled with 
 joy, a joy of his own, in which blended the gratification of covet- 
 ousness and the expectation of an unpunished rogue. The at- 
 mosphere of Paris intoxicated him, he fancied he could hear, in 
 the rumbling of the vehicles, the voices from " Macbeth " calling 
 to him : " You will be rich ! " During close upon two hours 
 he wandered thus from street to street, enjoying the voluptu- 
 ousness of a man roaming amidst his own vice. He had not 
 been back in Paris since the happy year he had passed there as 
 a student. Night was falling ; his dream grew in the bright 
 lights which the shops and the cafes cast on the pavement ; he 
 lost himself. 
 
 When he raised his eyes, he found himself towards the mid- 
 dle of the Faubourg Saint-Honore. One of his brothers, Eugene 
 Eougon, lived in a street close by, the Eue de Penthievre. 
 In coming to Paris, Aristide had especially counted upon 
 Eugene who, after having been one of the most active agents 
 of the Coup d'Etat, had now become an occult power, a lawyer 
 of no particular standing but who was shortly to blossom into 
 a great political personage. But, superstitious as a gambler, 
 he was unwilling to knock at his brother's door on that evening. 
 He slowly retraced his steps to the Eue Saint-Jacques, inwardly 
 envying Eugene's lot, glancing down at his own shabby clothes 
 still coveTed with the dust of the journey, and seeking to con- 
 sole himself by resuming his dream of riches. Even this dream 
 had become bitter to him. Having started out through a neces- 
 sity for expansion, joyfully enlivened by the busy activity of 
 Paris trade, he returned home irritated at the happiness which 
 seemed to him to be rampant in the streets, feeling more fero- 
 cious than ever, imagining all kinds of desperate struggles in 
 which he would take pleasure in defeating and duping that 
 crowd which had jostled him on the pavement. Never before 
 had he felt so keen and vast an appetite, so immediate and ar- 
 dent a necessity for enjoying. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SrOIL. 51 
 
 On the morrow lie was at his brother's, almost at daybreak. 
 Eugene occupied two large cold rooms, very barely furnished, 
 and which quite chilled Aristide. He had expected to find his 
 brother sprawling in the lap of luxury. The latter was seated 
 working at a little black table. He merely said in his slow 
 voice, accompanying his words with a smile : 
 
 " Ah 1 it's *you, I was expecting your visit." 
 
 Aristide was very bitter. He accused Eugene of having left 
 him to vegetate, of not even having bestowed upon him so much 
 as a word of advice during the time he had been dabbling about 
 in his native province. He would never be able to forgive him- 
 self for having remained Kepublican up to the very day of the 
 Coup d'Etat ; it caused him the most poignant regret, and filled 
 him with eternal confusion. Eugene had quietly taken up his 
 pen again. When the other had finished speaking, he observed : 
 
 " Bah ! all mistakes can be rectified. You have a fine future 
 before you:." 
 
 He uttered these words in so clear a tone of voice, and with 
 so penetrating a glance, that Aristide bowed his head, feeling 
 that his brother was descending into the innermost depths of 
 his being. The latter continued with a sort of friendly bluntness : 
 
 " You've come to me to get you something to do, have you 
 not ? I've already thought of you, but I've found nothing as 
 yet. You see, I can't put you into the first position that offers. 
 You need an occupation that will enable you to carry on your 
 little game without danger either to yourself or to me. Don't 
 protest, Ave're alone here, and can say anything to each other." 
 
 Aristide thought it best to laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! I know that you're intelligent," continued Eugene, 
 " and that you're not likely to do anything foolish again without 
 you reap some benefit from it. So soon as a good opportunity 
 Offers, I will do something for you. Meanwhile, if you should 
 happen to be in want of a twenty-franc piece, come to me for 
 it." 
 
 They talked for a few minutes about the insurrection in the 
 South, through which their father had gained his appointment 
 of tax collector. Eugene dressed himself while talking. Just 
 as he was parting from his brother outside in the street, he de- 
 tained him a moment longer to say in a lower tone of voice : 
 
 " By-the-way, you'll oblige me by not loafing about, but by 
 quietly waiting at home for the berth I promise you. It would 
 annoy me to see my brother dancing attendance on any one." 
 
52 THE EUSH ¥011 THE SPOIL. 
 
 Aristide had a high respect for Eugene, who seemed to him 
 a wonderfully smart fellow. He did not how^ever forgive him 
 his mistrust, nor his ratlier rough frankness ; nevertheless he 
 obediently went and shut himself up in the Rue Saint-Jacques. 
 He had arrived wath five hundred francs which his wife's father 
 had lent him. After paying the expenses of the journey, he 
 made the three hundred francs that remained to him last a 
 month. Angele was a hearty eater ; moreover she thought it 
 necessary to re trim her best dress with some mauve ribbons. 
 This month of waiting appeared interminable to Aristide. He 
 w^as burning with impatience. Each time he leaned out of his 
 window and felt the gigantic labour of Paris beneath him, he 
 experienced a mad longing to throw himself into the furnace with 
 one Dound, so as to mould the gold with his quivering fingers, 
 as though it had been wax. He inhaled those still_vague 
 ^ vapours which rose from the great city, that~ breath of the 
 nascent Empire, laden already with the odours of alcoves and 
 financial hells, with the warm effluvia of every kind of enjoy- 
 ment. The faint fumes that reached him seemed to tell him 
 that he was on the right scent, that the quarry was scudding 
 along before him, that the grand imperial hunt, the pursuit of 
 adventures, of women, and of millions, was about to begin. 
 His nostrils quivered, his instinct of a famished beast caught 
 in a marvellous manner as they passed the slightest signs of 
 that fierce division of spoil of which the city w^as to be the 
 scene. 
 
 Twice he called on his brother to urge him to be more ex- 
 peditious. Eugene received him rather ungraciously, repeating 
 that he w^as not forgetting him, but that it was necessary to 
 wait patiently. At length Aiistide received a letter requesting 
 him to call in the Kue de Penthievre. He hastened thither, his 
 heart beating violently, as though he were on his w^ay to a 
 lovers' meeting. He found Eugene seated before the same 
 little black table, in the large cold room which he used as a 
 study. On his appearance the law^yer held a document towards 
 him, saying : 
 
 " There, I settled your matter yesterday. You are appointed 
 deputy trustee of roads at the Hotel de Yille. You wall be in 
 receipt of a salarv of U\o thousand four hundred francs." 
 
 Aristide had remained standing. He turned ghastly pale, 
 and did not take ttie document, thinking that his brother w^as 
 poking fun at him. He had at least expected an appointment 
 
THE BUSH Foil THE SPOIL. 53 
 
 worth six thousand francs a year. Eugene, guessing Nvliat Avas 
 passing within him, wheeled his chair round and folded his 
 arms. 
 
 " Are you a fool after all ] " he asked angrily. *' You've been 
 building castles in the air like a girl, have you not 1 You 
 would wish to have a grand establishment with footmen, to live 
 on the fat ofnhe land, sleep in silk, gratify your desires at once 
 in no matter whose arms, in a boudoir furnished in a couple of 
 hours. You and those like you, if we allowed you to have your 
 way, would empty the coffers even before they were full. Now, 
 in the name of all that's good ! do have a little patience ! 
 See how I live, and do at least take the trouble to stoop to pick 
 up a fortune." 
 
 He spoke with profound contempt of his brother's schoolboy 
 impatience. One could feel, in his rough speech, a loftier am- 
 bition, a longing for untarnished po^ver ; that naive appetite for 
 money no doubt appeared to him both paltry and puerile. He 
 continued in a gentler voice and with a crafty smile : 
 
 " No doubt your propensities are excellent, and I have not 
 the least desire to thw^art them. Men like you are precious. 
 We have every intention of choosing our friends from among 
 the most hungry. You may be quite easy, w^e shall keep open 
 hoase, and the greatest appetites will be satisfied. And this 
 is after all the easiest way of reigning. But, for goodness sake, 
 wait till the cloth is laid, and, if you'll accept my advice, just 
 go yourself and fetch your knife and fork from the kitchen." 
 
 Aristide continued to look very glum. Flis brother's plrasant 
 comparisons w^ere unable to bring a smile to his countenance. 
 Then the latter again gave w^ay to anger. 
 
 "Ah ! " he exclaimed, " my first opinion was the right one : 
 you're a fool ! What on earth did you expect, whatever did 
 you imagine I was going to do with your illustrious person ? 
 You didn't even have the courage to finish your reading for the 
 bar, you went and buried yourself for ten years in the wretched 
 berth of clerk at a sub-piefecture, and you come to me with the 
 detestable reputation of a Republican whom the Coup d'Etat 
 was alone able to convert. Do you think that with such a past 
 there is the making of a cabinet minister in you 1 Oh ! F know 
 that you have in your favour a ferocious desire to reach the 
 goal by any means possible. That is a great virtue, I admit, 
 and it w^as precisely on that account that I obtained your 
 admittance into the Hotel de Ville." 
 
54 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 And rising from his seat he placed the document containing 
 the appointment in Aristide's hands. 
 
 " Take it/' continued he, " you'll thank me some day. It's 
 I who chose the berth, I know what you'll be able to get out of 
 it. All you'll have to do will be to look about you and keep 
 your ears open. If you are intelligent, you'll soon understand 
 and know how to act. Now pay particular attention to what 
 I am about to say to you. Make piles of money, I permit it ; 
 only do nothing foolish, no noisy scandal, otherwise I shall 
 suppress you instantly." 
 
 This threat produced the effect his promises had been unable 
 to obtain. All Aristide's ardour was rekindled at the thought 
 of the fortune to which his brother alluded. It seemed to him 
 that he was at last let loose in the thick of the fray, authorised 
 to slaughter right and left, but legally, and without causing too 
 much commotion. Eugene gave him two hundred francs to 
 enable him to wait till the end of the month. Then he re- 
 mained wrapt in thought. 
 
 " I'm thinking of changing my name," said he at length ; 
 " you ought to do the same. We should interfere with each 
 other less." 
 
 " As you like," answered Aristide quietly. 
 
 " You need not trouble yourself about anything. I will 
 attend to the necessary formalities. How would you like to call 
 yourself by your wife's name Sicardot 1 " 
 
 Aristide glanced up at the ceiling, repeating the name, and 
 listening to the sound of the syllables. 
 
 " Sicardot — Aristide Sicardot — no, on my word, it's clownish 
 and has a suggestion of bankruptcy about it." 
 
 *' Think of something better then," said Eugene. 
 
 " I would prefer Sicard without the ot," resumed the other 
 after a pause ; " Aristide Sicard — that isn't bad, is it ? perhaps 
 a bit jaunty — " 
 
 He stood thinking a few moments longer, and then trium- 
 phantly exclaimed : 
 
 '« I've got it, I've found it at last ! Saccard, Aristide Saccard! 
 with a double c. Eh 1 there's money in such a name as that ; 
 it has a sound like the counting out of five franc pieces." 
 
 Eugene was rather brutal in his jokes. He dismissed his 
 brother, saying to him with a smile : 
 
 "Yes, a name that will make you a convict or a millionaire." 
 
 A few days later Aristide Saccard found himself at the Hotel 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 55 
 
 de Ville. He there learnt that his brother must have com- 
 manded considerable influence to get him appointed without 
 the customary examinations. 
 
 Then the couple began the monotonous Hfe of the underpaid 
 clerk. Aristide and his wife resumed their old Plassans ways. 
 Only they fell from a dream of sudden fortune, and their 
 poverty-stricken existence weighed heavier upon them, now that 
 they looked upon it as a time of probation, the duration of which 
 they were unable to fix. To be poor in Paris, is to be doubly 
 poor. Angele accepted the wretchedness of their position with 
 all the listlessness of a chlorotic woman. She spent days in her 
 kitchen, or else lying on the floor, playing with her daughter, 
 and never lamenting except when she reached her last twenty- 
 sou piece. But Aristide quivered with rage in the midst of this 
 poverty, of this narrow existence, out of which he sought an 
 issue like some caged beast. To him it was a period of ineffable 
 suffering ; his pride was wounded, his unsated cravings goaded 
 him furiously. And he suffered all the more on learning that 
 his brother had been elected to represent Plassans in Parliament. 
 He felt too much Eugene's superiority to be foolishly jealous ; but 
 he accused him of not doing all that he might have done for him. 
 On several occasions, absolute necessity forced him to knock at 
 his door for the purpose of borrowing a trifle. Eugene lent the 
 money, but at the same time roughly reproached him with being 
 destitute of both cou'-^age and will. Then Aristide took the bull 
 indeed by the horns. He swore to himself that he would never 
 again borrow so much as a sou from any one, and he kept his 
 oath. The last eight days of each month, Angele would eat dry 
 bread and sigh. This apprenticeship completed Saccard's 
 terrible education. His thin lips became narrower still ; he 
 wa^ no longer so stupid as to dream of millions out loud ; his 
 scraggy person became dumb, and no longer expressed but one 
 will, one fixed idea nursed at every hour of the day. When he 
 hurried along from the Hue Saint-Jacques to the Hotel de Ville, 
 his boots worn down at heel resounded harshly on the pavement, 
 and he buttoned himself up in his shabby old overcoat as though 
 in an asylum of hatred, while his weasel-like snout sniffed the 
 air of the streets. He was an angular figure of the jealous 
 misery that one sees roaming along the Paris side-Avalks, carry- 1 
 ing with him. his plan for conquering a fortune, and the dream 
 of the eventual gratification of his appetite. | 
 
 Early in 1853, Aristide Saccard was appointed trustee of 
 
56 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 roads. He now received a salary of four thousand five hundred 
 francs. This rise came at an opportune moment ; Angele was 
 slowly wasting away ; little Clotilde was looking quite pale. 
 He retained his small lodging of two rooms, the dining-room 
 furnished in walnut, and the bedroom in mahogany, continuing 
 to lead an austere life, carefully avoiding getting into debt, un- 
 willing to touch other people's money until he could bury his 
 arms into it to the elbows. He thus belied his instincts, dis- 
 daining the few extra sous he received, preferring to remain on 
 the watch. Angele felt completely happy. She bought herself 
 some new clothes, and had a joint to roast every day of the 
 week. She could no longer understand the reason of her hus- 
 band's suppressed passion, his gloomy ways of a man working 
 out the solution of some formidable problem. 
 
 Acting on Eugene's advice, Aristide was keeping his eyes and 
 ears open. When he went to thank his brother for his pro- 
 motion, the latter understood the revolution that had taken 
 place within him ; he complimented him on what he called his 
 good appearance. The clerk, whom envy was inwardly render- 
 ing inflexible, had outwardly become pliant and insinuating. 
 In a few months he was transformed into a marvellous comedian. 
 All his southern animation had awakened, and he carried the 
 art so far that his comrades at the Hotel de Ville looked upon 
 him as a jolly good fellow, whose near relationship to a deputy 
 designed beforehand for some grand appointment. This re- 
 lationship also secured him the good will of his chiefs. He thus 
 enjoyed a kind of authority superior to his position, which 
 enabled him to open certain doors, and to poke his nose into 
 certain portfolios, w^ithout his indiscretion appearing in the 
 least culpable. For two years he was seen roaming about all 
 the passages, lingering in all the rooms, getting up from his 
 seat twenty times a day to talk to a comrade, carry an order, or 
 take a stroll through the different departments, endless wander- 
 ings which caused his colleagues to say : 
 
 " That devil of a Southerner ! he can't keep still a minute ; he 
 must indeed have quicksilver in his legs." 
 
 His own particular friends took him for a lazy fellow, and the 
 w^orthy man laughed when they accused him of seeking to rob 
 the service of a few minutes. He never committed the mistake 
 of listening at key-holes ; but he had a bold way of opening- 
 doors, and croJiSing rooms, apparently deeply intent upon some 
 document or other in his hand, and with so slow and regular a 
 
THE RUSH rOPv THE SPOIL. 57 
 
 walk that he never lost a word of whatever was being said. 
 They were the tactics of a genius ; people ended by no longer 
 interrupting their conversation when this energetic clerk passed 
 by, gliding so to say in the shadow of the offices, and seemingly 
 so wrapt in his own business. He had yet another method ; he 
 w^as extremely obliging, and would offer to assist his comrades, 
 whenever they were behindhand with their work ; and then he 
 would study the registers and the documents that passed through 
 his hands with quite a meditative tenderness. But one of his 
 favourite peccadilloes was to form acquaintance with the mes- 
 sengers. He would even shake hands with them. For hours 
 together he would keep them talking in doorways, stifling little 
 bursts of laughter, telling them stories, and drawing them out. 
 These worthy fellows quite worshipped him, and were in the 
 habit of saying : 
 
 " There's a gentleman who isn't a bit proud 1 " 
 The moment there was the least scandal, he knew of it before 
 any one. It was thus that at the end of two years the Hotel 
 de Yille held no mysteries for him. He knew everybody em- 
 ployed there, even to the lamp cleaners, and was acquainted 
 with every paper the place contained, not omitting the washing 
 books. 
 
 At this time, Paris formed, for a man like Aristide Saccard, 
 a most interesting spectacle. The Empire had just been pro- 
 claimed, after that famous journey during which the Prince 
 President had succeeded in arousing the enthusiasm of some 
 Bonapartist departments. Silence reigned both at the tribune 
 and in the press. Society, saved once more, was congratulating 
 itself and indolently resting, now that a strong government was 
 protecting it and relieving it even of the trouble of thinking 
 and of attending to its own business. The great preoccupation 
 of society was to know in what way it should kill time. As 
 Eugene Rougon so happily expressed it, Paris was dining and; 
 anticipating no end of pleasure at dessert. Politics produced an 
 universal scare, like some dangerous drug. The wearied minds 
 turned to pleasure and money-making. Those who had any of 
 the latter brought it out, and those who had none sought in all 
 the out-of-the-way places for forgotten treasures. A secret 
 quiver seemed to run through the multitude, accompanied by a 
 nascent jingling of five-franc pieces, by the rippling laughter of 
 women, and the yet faint clatter of crockery and murmur of 
 kisses. Amidst the great silence of the reign of order, the pro- 
 
58 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 found peacefulness brought by the change of government, there 
 arose all sorts of pleasant rumours, gilded and voluptuous pro- 
 mises. It was as though one were passing in front of one of 
 those little houses, the carefully drawn curtains of which reveal 
 no more than the shadows of women, and where one can over- 
 hear the jingling of gold on the marble mantel-pieces. The 
 Empire was about to turn Paris into the bagnio of Europe. 
 The handful of adventurers who had just stolen a throne needed 
 a reign of adventure, of shadowy business transactions, of con- 
 sciences sold, of women bought, of furious and universal intoxi- 
 cation. And, in the city where the blood of December was 
 scarcely wiped away, there slowly uprose, timidly as yet, that 
 mad desire for enjoyment which was destined to bring the 
 country to the lowest dregs of corrupt and dishonoured nations. 
 
 From the very first days Aristide Saccard had felt the approach 
 of this rising tide of speculation, the foam of which was soon to 
 envelop the whole of Paris. He watched its progress with pro- 
 found attention. He found himself right in the very midst of 
 the warm downpour of silver crowns falling thick and fast on 
 to the roofs of the city. In his constant wanderings through 
 the Hotel de Ville, he had obtained an inkling of the vast pro- 
 ject for the transformation of Paris, of the plan of the demoli- 
 tions and of the new thoroughfares and the altered districts, of 
 the formidable jobbery with respect to the sale of the land and 
 the buildings, which was kindling all over the town the battle 
 of interests and the flare-up of unbridled luxury. From that 
 moment his activity had an object. It was at this epoch that 
 he became quite a jolly good fellow. He even grew a trifle stout, 
 he no longer hurried about the streets like a half starved cat in 
 search of something to devour. At his office he was more talk- 
 ative more obliging than ever. His brother, to whom he paid 
 occasional visits, in some measure official, congratulated him 
 on so happily putting his counsels into practice. In the early 
 days of 1854, Saccard confided to him that he had several affairs 
 in view, but that he would require some rather large advances 
 in the way of money. 
 
 " You should look about," said Eugene. 
 
 " You are right, I will look about," he replied without the least 
 trace of ill-humour, and without appearing to notice that his 
 brother declined xo furnish him with the necessary funds. 
 
 How to procure this money had now become his constant 
 thought. His plan was formed ; it grew maturer every day. 
 
THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 59 
 
 But he was as far as ever from obtaining the first few thousands 
 of francs he required. His faculties became keener ; he began 
 to look at people in a profound and nervous manner, as though 
 he were seeking a lender in every passer-by. Angele continued 
 to lead at home her secluded and happy existence. He was 
 for ever watching for an opportunity, and his laugh of a jolly 
 good fellow tu3came more bitter as this opportunity delayed 
 in presenting itself. 
 
 Aristide had a sister living in Paris. Sidonic Eougon had 
 married a solicitor's clerk at Plassans, who had come with 
 her to the Eue Saint-Honore to start business as a dealer in 
 Southern commodities. When her brother came across her, 
 the husband had disappeared, and the business had long ago 
 gone to the dogs. She occupied in the Rue du Faubourg- 
 Poissonniere, a small mezzanine floor consisting of three rooms. 
 She also leased the shop beneath, a narrow and mysterious 
 shop in which she pretended to carry on the business of a 
 dealer in lace. True enough, there was a display of Valencien- 
 nes and Maltese lace suspended from gilt rods in the window ; 
 but inside, the place had more the look of an anteroom, with 
 its polished wainscotting, and a total absence of goods of any 
 description. Light curtains hung before the glazed door and 
 the window, intercepting the glances of the passers-by, and 
 helping to give the shop the veiled and discreet appearance 
 of a waiting-room at the entrance to some strange temple. 
 It was very seldom that any customer was seen to call at 
 Madame Sidonie's ; the handle was even generally removed 
 from the door. She spread a report in the neighbourhood that 
 she went personally to offer her wares to ladies of fortune. 
 The convenient arrangement of the place, she would say, had 
 alone caused her to rent the shop and the floor above which 
 communicated by a staircase hidden in the wall. And indeed 
 the lace-dealer was constantly out of doors ; she might be seen 
 hurrying in or out at least ten times a day. 
 
 The lace trade, however, was not her only business; she 
 utilised her upper floor-cramming it full of merchandise of one 
 sort or another, bought up no one knew where. At different 
 times she had dealt there in gutta-percha goods, such as water- 
 proof coats, shoes, braces, &c ; then had followed a new oil to 
 promote the growth of the hair, various orthopedic instruments, 
 and an automatic coffee-pot, a patented invention, the working 
 of which gave her a great deal of trouble. The first time her 
 
60 THli: RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 brother came to see her, she had gone in for pianos, to such 
 an extent that her apartments were full of them ; they were 
 even in her bedroom, a very daintily decorated room, which 
 contrasted violently with the commercial untidiness of the 
 two others. She carried on her two businesses with perfect 
 method ; the customers who came for the goods on the mezza- 
 nine floor, entered and departed by means of a carriage entrance 
 which gave admittance to the house from the Rue Papillon ; 
 only those acquainted with the mysterious little staircase were 
 able to form an idea of the lace-dealer's underhand tradinjz. 
 Up in her apartments she was known as Madame Touche, which 
 was the name of her husband, whilst she had had only hei 
 christian name painted on the shop-door, which was the reason 
 for her being generally addressed as Madame Sidonie. 
 
 Madame Sidonie was thirty-five years of age, but she dressed 
 so carelessly, she had so little of the woman in her appearance, 
 that one would have taken her to be much older. . In truth, she 
 was a person whose age it would have been difficult to tell. 
 She was always seen in the same black dress, frayed at the edges, 
 rumpled and discoloured by constant wear, reminding one of a 
 lawyer's old gown become threadbare through years of daily 
 attendance in court. With a black bonnet which came as low 
 as her forehead and hid all her hair, and a pair of thick heavy 
 shoes, she skurried along the streets, carrying on her arm a 
 little basket the handles of which had been mended with pieces 
 of string. This basket, which never left her, was quite a little 
 world in itself. Whenever she raised the lid, samples of all 
 sorts issued forth, diaries, pocket books, and especially bundles 
 of stamped documents, the almost illegible writing of which she 
 deciphered with extraordinary dexterity. She comprised in lier 
 person something of the broker and of the man of law. She 
 lived amidst protests, writs, and orders of the court ; when she 
 had secured an order for ten francs' worth of pomatum or lace, 
 she would insinuate herself into the good graces of her 
 customer, and become her man of business, calling in her stead 
 on solicitors, barristers and judges. 
 
 She would thus carry for weeks together at the bottom of her 
 basket all the documents relating to a case, taking no end of 
 trouble about it, going from one end of Paris to the other, with 
 the same regular little trot-trot, never for a moment thinking of 
 riding to save her legs. It would have been difficult to say 
 what profit she obtained from such a business ; in the first place 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. Gl 
 
 she engaged in it throiigli an instinctive taste for questiona.ble 
 matters, a love for cavilling ; besides this, however, it enabled 
 her to secure a host of little profits ; invitations to dinner in every 
 
 , direction, innumerable franc pieces pocketed here and there. 
 But her clearest gain was undoubtedly the numerous secrets 
 confided to her wherever she went, which showed her where a 
 good stroke of business was to be done or a handsome windfall 
 to be obtained. Living in the homes of others and wrapt up in 
 their affairs, she had become a veritable repertory existing on 
 offers and demands. She knew w^here there was a daughter 
 ready to be married at once, a family in need of three thousand 
 
 • francs, an old gentleman willing to lend the three thousand 
 francs, but on substantial security and at a high rate of interest. 
 She knew of matters more delicate still : the sadness of a fair 
 lady whose husband did not understand her, and wdio longed to be 
 understood ; the secret desires of a good mother who dreamed 
 of settling her daughter advantageously ', the taste of a certain 
 baron for little supper-parties and very young girls. And 
 smiling faintly, she went about hawking these offers and these 
 demands, she would walk a couple of leagues to bring her clients 
 together ; she sent the baron to the good mother, prevailed 
 upon the old gentleman to lend the three thousand francs to 
 the needy family, obtained the necessary consolation for the 
 fair lady and a not over-scrupulous husband for the young girl 
 in a hurry to marry. 
 
 She was also engaged in some very important business, busi- 
 ness that there was no occasion to keep secret, and with which 
 she pestered whoever went near her : an interminable lawsuit 
 that a noble but ruined family had intrusted her with, and a 
 debt owing by the English to the French nation since the time 
 of the Stuarts, and which amounted with the compound interest 
 to nearly three milliards of francs. This debt of three milliards 
 was her hobby-horse ; she would explain the case with no end 
 of particulars, launching out into quite a course of history, and 
 a flush of enthusiasm would rush to her cheeks, usually yellow 
 and flabby like w^ax. At times, between a call on a lawyer 
 and a visit paid to a lady friend, she w^ould secure an order for 
 a cofFee-pot, a mackintosh, a piece of lace, or a piano on hire. 
 These were matters arranged in a moment. Then she would 
 hurry back to her shop, where a lady customer had an appoint- 
 ment with her to see a piece of Chantilly The customer ar- 
 rived and glided like a shadow into the discreet and veiled 
 
G2 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 shop. And it often happened that a gentleman, entering by 
 way of the carriage entrance in the Rue Papillon, called at 
 the same time to see Madame Touche's pianos on the floor 
 above. 
 
 If Madame Sidonie had not made a fortune, it was because 
 she often worked for love of the thing. With a great hank- 
 ering after legal business, forgetting her own affairs for those 
 of others, she allowed herself to be fleeced by the lawyers, 
 which procured her, however, an enjoyment unknown to any 
 but litigous persons. There was scarcely anything womanly 
 left about her ; she had become nothing more nor less than 
 a man of business, an agent ever bustling about the four 
 corners of Paris, carrying ia her legendary basket articles of 
 the most equivocal description, selling everything, dreaming of 
 milliards, and even going to the court-house for a favourite client 
 to plead in a case of a disputed ten francs. Short, skinny 
 and pale, dressed in that thin black garment which looked as 
 though it had been cut out of a barrister's gown, she seemed 
 to have shrivelled up, and. to see her scuttling along close 
 to tlie houses, one would have taken her for an errand-boy 
 disguised as a girl. Her complexion had the mournful wan- 
 ness of stamped paper. Her lips parted in a dim smile, whilst 
 her eyes seemed to be wandering amidst the hubbub of busi- 
 ness, matters of every description with which she loaded her 
 brain. Of discreet and timid ways, moreover, combined with 
 a vague odour of the confessional and a midwife's sanctum, 
 she always appeared as gentle and maternal as a nun who, 
 having renounced all the affections of this world, takes pity 
 on the sufferings of the heart. She never mentioned her hus- 
 band, neither did she allude to her childhood, her family, or 
 her affairs. There was only one thing she did not deal in^ and 
 that was herself ; not that she had any scruples about the 
 matter, but because the idea of such a bargain could never 
 occur to her. She was as dry as an invoice, as cold as a pro- 
 test, and at heart as brutal and indifferent as a "bumbailiff. 
 
 Saccard, all fresh from his province, could not at first fathom 
 the delicate depths of Madamie Sidonie's numerous callings. 
 As he had during tv\^elve months studied for the bar, she one 
 day spoke to him of the three milliards with a very grave air, 
 which gave him but a poor opinion of her intelligence. She 
 came and rummaged in all the corners of the lodging in the 
 Hue Saint- Jacques, weighed Angele at a glance, and never again 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 63 
 
 put in an appearance excepting when her own affairs brought 
 her into the neighbourhood, and when she felt a desire to 
 again discuss the question of the three milhards. Angele had 
 swallowed the bait of the story of the English debt. The 
 woman of business mounted her hobby, and made it rain gold 
 for an hour or more. It was the crack in this shrewd intel- 
 lect, the gentle myth with which she deluded her life wasted 
 in a wretched traffic, the magical lure that intoxicated not only 
 herself but the more credulous of her clients. Thoroughly con- 
 vinced, moreover, she ended by speaking of the three milliards 
 as of some private fortune, Avhich the judges would have to re- 
 
 - store to her sooner or later, and this shed a marvellous aureola 
 around her shabby black bonnet on which hung a few faded 
 violets attached to brass-wire stems bare of all covering. Angele 
 would open her eyes wide with amazement. On several occa- 
 sions, she spoke to her husband of her sister-in-law with great 
 respect, saying that Madame Sidonie would perhaps make them 
 all rich one day. Saccard merely shrugged his shoulders ; he 
 had gone and inspected the shop and floor above in the Rue du 
 Faubourg-Poissonniere, and the only impression he had taken 
 away with him was that of an approaching bankruptcy. He 
 wished to know Eugene's opinion of their sister ; but his brother 
 became grave and merely replied that he never saw her, 
 that he knew she was very intelligent, though perhaps rather 
 compromising. 
 
 However as Saccard was returning to the Eue de Penthievre 
 
 ^ some little while afterwards, he fancied he saw Madame Sidonie's 
 black dress leave his brother's abode and glide rapidly along 
 the houses. He hastened forward, but lost all trace of the 
 black garment. The woman of business had one of those spare 
 figures which so easily lose themselves in a crowd. This set him 
 thinking, and it was from this moment that he commenced to 
 study his sister more attentively. It w^as not long before he 
 began to understand the immense task performed by that pale 
 and shadowy little body, whose entire face seemed to squint and 
 melt away. He came to look upon her with respect. She had 
 the true Eougon blood in her veins. He recognised that appetite 
 for money, that longing for every kind of intrigue which was 
 characteristic of the family ; only, in her case, thanks to the 
 surroundings amidst which she had grown old, thanks to that 
 Paris where every morning she had been obliged to set forth to 
 
 ' seek her evening meal, the common temperament had deviated 
 
G4 THE PvUSI-I FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 from its usual course to produce this extraordinary herma- 
 plirodism of a woman changed into a being without a gender, 
 both man of business and procuress at the same time. 
 
 When Saccard, after having fixed upon his plan, was seeking for 
 the means for putting it into execution, he naturally bethought 
 him of his sister. She shook her head, and with a sigh alluded 
 to the three milliards. But the civil servant would not humour 
 her whim, he pulled her up rather roughly each time she 
 mentioned the debt connected with the Stuarts ; such a chimera 
 seemed to him to dishonour so practical an intelligence. 
 Madame Sidonie, who quietly swallowed the most cutting irony 
 without in any way allowing her convictions to be shaken, next 
 explained to him in a very lucid manner that he would never 
 raise a sou, having no security to offer. This conversation took 
 place opposite the Bourse, where she no doubt dabbled with her 
 savings. Towards three o'clock one was sure to find her leaning 
 against the railing to the left, near the post-office ; it was there 
 that she gave audience to individuals as fishy and shadowy as 
 herself. Her brother was on the point of leaving her, when she 
 murmured regretfully : " Ah ! if only you were not married ! " 
 This reticence, the full and exact sense of which he was un- 
 willing to ask, made Saccard singularly thoughtful. 
 
 Months passed by, the Crimean war had just been declared. 
 Paris, quite unaffected by a war so far away, was launching with 
 more ardour than ever into speculation and women ; whilst 
 Saccard stood by gnawing his fists as he assisted at this ever in- 
 creasing mania which he had long before foreseen. The 
 hammers in the gigantic forge beating the gold upon the anvil 
 made him quiver with rage and impatience. His intelligence 
 and his will were worked up to such a pitch that he lived as in 
 a dream, like a somnambulist walking along the edge of a roof 
 a prey to some fixed idea. He was therefore surprised and 
 annoyed one evening to find Angele ill and in bed. His home- 
 life, regulated like a clock, was getting out of order, and this 
 exasperated him like some intentional spitefulness of destiny. 
 Poor Angele complained in a gentle voice ; she had taken a 
 severe chill. When the doctor arrived, he appeared very anxious ; 
 he told the husband, outside on the landing, that his wife was 
 suff'ering from inflammation of the lungs and that he could not 
 answer for her life. From that moment the civil servant tended 
 the invalid without a vestige of anger j he no longer went to 
 his office, he remained beside her, watching her v/ith an in- 
 
THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 65 
 
 definable expression as she lay sleeping, flushed and panting 
 ;. with fever. 
 
 Madame Sidonie, in spite of the overwhelming business which 
 claimed her attention, found time to call each evening to make 
 diet drinks which she pretended were sovereign remedies. To 
 all her other trades she could add that of a sick-nurse by vocation, 
 taking an interest in suffering, in medicaments, and in the heart- 
 rending conversations which go on at the bedsides of those about 
 to depart this life. Besides this, she seemed to be full of a 
 tender friendship for Angele ; she loved women of amorous 
 natures, showing her affection by a thousand little caressing ways, 
 no doubt because of the pleasure they gave mankind ; she treated 
 them with the delicate attentions which dealers show towards 
 the more precious of their wares, calling them " My beauty, my 
 darling," cooing and almost swooning before them, like a lover 
 in the presence of his mistress. Though Angele was one of those 
 from whom she expected nothing, she petted her up like the 
 others, just by way of principle. When the young woman took 
 to her bed, Madame Sidonie's effusions became quite pathetic, 
 she filled the silent chamber with demonstrations of her devotion. 
 Her brother w^atched her moving about, his teeth tightly set, and 
 looking as though utterly wrapt up in a silent grief. 
 
 The disease took a turn for the worse. One evening the 
 doctor informed them that the patient would not live through 
 the night. Madame Sidonie had called early, with a preoccu- 
 pied air, and she kept looking at Aristide and Angele out of her 
 watery eyes, lighted up every now and then by sudden flashes 
 of fire. When the doctor had taken his departure, she turned 
 down the lamp, and a great silence enveloped all. Death was 
 slowly entering into this warm and dampish room, where the 
 irregular breathing of the dying woman resembled the spas- 
 modic ticking of a clock about to stop. Madame Sidonie had 
 given up the diet drinks, and now allowed the disease to go its 
 course. She had seated herself before the fire-place, at the side 
 of her brother, who was stirring the coals with a feverish hand, 
 and casting now and again an involuntary glance at the bed. 
 Then, as though enervated by the close atmosphere, and by the 
 sad spectacle, he withdrew into the adjoining room. Little 
 Clotilde had been shut in there, and was playing very quietly 
 with her doll on the edge of the rug. His daughter was smil- 
 ing up at him when Madame Sidonie, creeping to where he 
 stood, drew him into a corner, and commenced to speak in a 
 
G6 THE EUSH FOU THE SPOIL. 
 
 hushed voice. The door had remained ajar. One could hear 
 the faint rattle in Angele's throat. 
 
 " Your poor wife," sobbed the business woman. " I fear the 
 end is at hand. You heard what the doctor said ? '* 
 
 For all answer Saccard mournfully bowed his head. 
 
 " She was a good creature," continued the other, speaking as 
 though Angele were already dead and buried. '^ You may find 
 many richer women, and ones more used to the world, but you 
 will never meet with another heart like hers." 
 
 And as she stopped, and set to mopping her eyes, as though 
 seeking a means of bringing the conversation to the subject she 
 was driving at, 
 
 " You have something to tell me ? " asked Saccard, without 
 any beating about the bush. 
 
 " Yes, I have been busying myself about you, in reference to 
 the matter you spoke of, and I think I have found something — 
 but at such a moment — you see, my heart is bursting." 
 
 She mopped her eyes again. Saccard let her have her way, 
 and did not utter a word. Then she made up her mind to speak. 
 
 " It's a young girl, her relations wish to see her married at 
 once," said she. " The dear child has met with a misfortune. 
 There is an aunt w^ho will be willing to make any sacrifice — " 
 
 She interrupted herself, she was continuing to moan, drawl- 
 ing out her w®rds as though she were still pitying poor Angele. 
 She did this with a view of making her brother lose patience 
 and forcing him to question her, so as not to have the whole 
 responsibility of the offer she was about to make him. And, 
 indeed, an inward feeling of irritation began to work upon the 
 civil servant. 
 
 " Come, sa}^ what you have to say ! " said he. "■ Why do they 
 wish to see this young girl married ? " 
 
 *'She had just left school," resumed the woman of business 
 in a doleful voice, " and a man seduced her, down in the 
 country, at the home of one of her school-fellows where she was 
 staying. The father has just discovered her condition. He 
 wished to kill her. The aunt, to save the dear child, made her- 
 self her accomplice, and they have both of them told the father 
 a story, to the effect that the seducer was a worthy fellow who 
 was longing to redeem his momentary error." 
 
 '^ Therefore,^' said Saccard in a tone of surprise and as though 
 annoyed, " the man in the country is going to marry the young 
 liirl?" 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 67 
 
 " 'No, he cannot, he is already married." 
 
 A pause ensued. The rattle in Angele's throat resounded 
 more painfully in the quivering atmosphere. Little Clotilde 
 had ceased playing ; she was now looking at Madame Sidonie 
 and her father, with her great eyes of a thoughtful child, as 
 though she had understood their words. Saccard began to put 
 a few brief questions. 
 
 " How old is the young girl*?" 
 
 " Nineteen." 
 
 " How long has she been in her present condition?" 
 
 " Three months. There will no doubt be a miscarriage." 
 
 " And the family is a wealthy and honourable one *? " 
 
 " An old middle-class family. The father was a judge. A 
 very handsome fortune." 
 
 " What is the aunt prepared to give 1 " 
 
 " A hundred thousand francs." 
 
 Another pause ensued. Madame Sidonie was no longer 
 blubbering ; she was on business, her voice assumed the me- 
 tallic jingle of a second-hand dealer trying to drive a bargain. 
 Her brother took a covert glance at her, and added with come 
 slight hesitation : 
 
 ^' And you, what will you want *? " 
 
 " We'll talk of that later on," replied she. " You can do me 
 a service in your turn." 
 
 She waited a few seconds, and as he remained silent, she 
 asked him plainly : 
 
 " Well, what have you decided ? These poor women are in des- 
 pair; they wish to prevent a scandal. They have promised the 
 father to tell him to-morrow the name of the seducer. If you ac- 
 cept, I will send them one of your cards by a commissionaire." 
 
 Saccard seemed to awaken from a dream ; he started, and 
 turned with a frightened air towards the adjoining room, where 
 he fancied he had heard a slight noise. 
 
 " But I cannot," said he with anguish ; ^' you know very well 
 that I cannot." 
 
 Madame Sidonie looked at him fixedly, with a cold and dis- 
 dainful gaze. All the Eougon blood, all his ardent longings 
 came rushing back to his throat. He took a card from his 
 pocket-book and gave it to his sister, who, after carefully 
 scratching out the address, placed it in an envelope. She then 
 went out. It was barely nine o'clock. 
 
 Left alone, Saccard went and pressed his forehead against the 
 
68 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 icy cold window panes. He forgot himself so far as to beat tlie 
 tattoo on the glass with the tips of his fingers. But the night 
 was so black, the darkness outside hung about in such strange 
 masses, that he could not help experiencing a feeling of un- 
 easiness, and he mechanically returned to the room in which 
 Angele was dying. He had quite forgotten her, and received a 
 terrible shock on finding her half raised up in bed on her pil- 
 low^s ; her eyes were wide open, a flush of life seemed to have 
 returned to her lips and cheeks. Little Clotilde, still holding 
 her doll, was seated on the edge of the bed ; the moment her 
 father had turned his back she had quickly glided into that 
 chamber from which she had so long been kept, and to which 
 her gladsome childish curiosity attracted her. His head full of 
 what his sister had been saying to him, Saccard suddenly be- 
 held his dream dashed to pieces. A frightful thought must 
 have glared from out his eyes. Seized with terror, Angele tried 
 to bury herself in the bedclothes right up against the wall ; but 
 death was nigh, this awakening in the midst of the last agony 
 was the supreme flicker of the lamp going out. The dying 
 woman was unable to move, and as her last remnant of strength 
 left her, she continued to keep her w^ide open eyes fixed on her 
 husband, as though to watch his every movement. 
 
 Saccard, who for a moment had believed in some diabolical 
 resurrection, invented by destiny to keep him in poverty, be- 
 came reassured on seeing that the wretched woman had scarcely 
 another hour to live. His other feelings gave w^ay to one of 
 intolerable uneasiness. AngMe's eyes said plainly enough that 
 she had overheard the conversation between her husband and 
 Madame Sidonie, and that she feared he would strangle her if 
 she did not die quick enough. And her eyes were also full of 
 the horrible amazement of a gentle and inoffensive nature which 
 learns at the last moment the infamies of this world, and shud- 
 ders at the thought of having passed years side by side with a 
 bandit. By degrees her look became more kind ; she w^as no 
 longer frightened, she no doubt found excuses for the wretch as 
 she recollected the desperate struggle he had been maintaining 
 so long against fate. Followed by the dying w^oman's gaze, in 
 
 I which he read such bitter reproach, Saccard clung to the furni- 
 ture for support, and sought the darkest corner of the room. 
 Then, feeling on the point of fainting, he tried to drive away 
 
 I this nightmare which was maddening him, and advanced into 
 the light of the lamp. But Angele motioned him not to speak. 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 69 
 
 and she continued looking at him with that air of terror-stricken 
 anguish, to which w^as now joined a promise of pardon. Then 
 he stooped to take up Clotilde in his arms and carry her into 
 the other room. She again forbade him with a movement of 
 her lips. Slie insisted upon his remaining where he was. She 
 slowly passed away, Dot once removing her gaze from him, and 
 as he paled beneath it, this gaze grew more and more benign. 
 She forgave with her last sigh. She died as she had lived, 
 tamely ; her diffidence in life attending her till death. Saccard 
 stood shivering before the dead woman's eyes, which remained 
 wide open, and transfixed him by their very immobility. Little 
 Clotilde nursed her doll on the edge of the sheet, very gently 
 though, so as not to wake her mother. 
 
 When Madame Sidonie got back it was all over. Like a 
 w^oman in the habit of performing such operations, she deftly 
 closed Angele's eyes with a touch of her fingers, and this w^as 
 an immense relief to Saccard. Then, after putting the little 
 girl to bed, she quickly arranged the room as befits the chamber 
 of death. When she had lighted two candles on the chest of 
 drawers, and carefully drawn the sheet up to the chin of the 
 corpse, she cast a satisfied glance around her, and ensconced 
 herself in an easy-chair, where she dozed till daybreak. Saccard 
 passed the night in the adjoining room, writing letters announc- 
 ing his wife's death. He interrupted himself now and again, 
 musing and adding up columns of figures on odd bits of paper. 
 
 On the evening of the day of the funeral, Madame Sidonie 
 took Saccard to her apartment on the mezzanine floor, and 
 grand resolutions were formed there. The civil servant decided 
 that he would send little Clotilde to one of his brothers, Pascal 
 Eougon, a doctor at Plassans, who led a bachelor life, wrapt up 
 in the love of science, and who had often offered to take his 
 niece to live with him to enliven his silent home. Madame 
 Sidonie then made Saccard understand that he could no longer 
 sojourn in the Kue Saint- Jacques. She would take an elegantly 
 furnished apartment for him for a month, somewhere in the 
 neighbourhood of the Hotel de Ville ; she w^ould try to find 
 this apartment in a private house, so that the furniture shoukl 
 appear to belong to him. As to the chattels in the Kue Saint- 
 Jacques, they should all be sold, so as to efface every trace of 
 the past. He could use the money in buying himself a trous- 
 seau and some decent clothes. 
 
 Three days later^ Clotilde was handed over to an old lady who 
 
70 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 it so happened was just starting for the South. And Aristide 
 Saccard, triumphant and rosy-cheeked, looking fattened up in 
 three days by the first smiles of fortune, occupied in a quiet and 
 respectable house in the Hue Payenne, situated in the Marais 
 quarter, a charming floor of five rooms through which he wan- 
 dered with embroidered slippers on his feet. They were the 
 apartments of a young abbe w^ho had been suddenly called to 
 Italy, and who had instructed his servant to let the rooms 
 during his absence. This servant was a friend of Madame 
 Sidonie's, who rather fancied the cloth ; she loved priests with 
 the same love that she shov/ered on Avomen, through instinct, 
 no doubt establishing a certain nervous relationship between 
 cassocks and silk skirts. From that time Saccard was ready ; 
 he arranged the part he was to play w^ith exquisite art ; he 
 awaited without betraying the least emotion the difficulties and 
 niceties of the situation which he had accepted. 
 
 On the dreadful evening when Angele died, Madame Sidonie 
 had faithfully told in a few words the misfortune w^hich had 
 overtaken the Berauds. The father, J\Ionsieur Beraud Du 
 Chatel, a fine old man of sixty, was the last representative of an 
 ancient middle-class family, who could trace their origin much 
 farther back than rnany a noble house. One of his ancestors 
 Avas a companion of Etienne Marcel. In 1793 his father perished 
 on the scaffold, after saluting the Republic with all the enthu- 
 siasm of a Paris citizen, in whose veins flowed the revolutionary 
 blood of the city. He himself was one of those Spartan repub- 
 licans who dream of a government of full justice and wise liberty. 
 Grown old in the magistracy, where he had contracted quite a 
 professional stiffness and severity, he resigned his pest of pre- 
 siding judge in 1851, at the time of the Coup d'Etat, after refus- 
 ing to be a member of one of those mixed commissions which 
 dishonoured French justice. 
 
 Since that time he had been living, solitary and retired, in 
 his mansion on the He Saint-Louis, situated at the extremity 
 of the island, almost opposite the mansion of the Lamberts. 
 His wife had died young. Some secret drama, the wound from 
 which still remained unhealed, probably added to the gloom of 
 the judge's grave countenance. He was already the father of a 
 girl of eight, Benee, when his wife expired on giving birth to a 
 second daughter. This latter, w^ho was named Christine, was 
 taken care of by a sister of Monsieur Beraud Du Chiitel's, the 
 wife of Aubertot the notary. Renee was sent to a convent. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 71 
 
 Madame Aubertot, who had no child of her own, was filled with 
 '^ quite a maternal affection for Christine, whom she brought up 
 herself. Her husband dying, she took the little one back to 
 her father, and remained between the silent old man and his 
 smiling fair-haired daughter. Renee was forgotten at her school. 
 During the holidays she filled the house with such an uproar 
 that her aunt heaved a great sigh of relief when she at length 
 escorted her back to the ladies of the Visitation, where the child 
 had been a boarder since she w^as eight years old. She did not 
 leave the convent for good until she was nineteen, and then she 
 went to pass the summer at the home of her friend Adeline, 
 whose parents owned a beautiful estate^ in the Nivernais. When 
 she came back in October, her Aunt Elisabeth was surprised to 
 find her very grave and profoundly sad. One evening she dis- 
 covered her stifling her sobs in the pillow, writhing on her bed 
 in an attack of mad grief. In the misery of herdespair the child 
 told her a most heart-rending story : a man of forty, rich, married, 
 and whose wife, a young and charming person, was also staying 
 at the house, had violated her during her visit in the country, 
 w^ithout her daring or knowing how to defend herself. 
 
 This confession terrified Aunt Elisabeth ; she accused herself, 
 as though she had felt she were an accomplice ; she regretted 
 her preference for Christine, and could not help thinking that, 
 if she had also kept Eenee beside her, the poor child would not 
 have succumbed. Henceforw^ard, to drive away that bitter re- 
 morse which her tender nature still further exaggerated, she 
 did her best to sustain the erring one ; she bore the brunt of 
 the father's anger when they both apprised him of the horrible 
 truth by the very excess of their precautions ; in the bewilder- 
 ment of her solicitude she invented that strange project of 
 marriage which to her idea was to arrange everything, appease 
 the father and rehabilitate Eenee, and the shamefulness and 
 fatal consequences of which she was unwilling to see. 
 
 It was never known how Madame Sidonie had got wind of 
 this magnificent piece of business. The honour of the Beraud's 
 had been dragged about in her basket amongst the protested 
 bills of every dollymop of Paris. When she learned the story, 
 she almost forced theni to accept her brother, whose wife lay at 
 death's door. Aunt Elisabeth ended by thinking that she was 
 under an obligation to this lady, so gentle and humble, and 
 who w^as so devoted to poor Renee, that she even found her a 
 husband in her own family. The first interview between Sac- 
 
72 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 card and the aunt took place in the little apartment on the 
 upper floor of the Eue du Faubourg-Poissonniere, The civil , 
 servant, whcr had gained admittance through the carriage 
 entrance in the Eue Papillon, understood, on beholding 
 Madame Aubertot arrive by way of the shop and little 
 staircase, all the ingenious mechanism of the two entrances. 
 He was full of tact and good manners. He treated the mar- 
 riage as a matter of business, but like a man ^of the world 
 about to settle his gambling debts. Aunt Elisabeth was 
 by far the more trembling of the two ; she stammered, not 
 daring to mention the hundred thousand francs which she had 
 promised. It was he who first brought forward the money 
 question, in the manner of a solicitor discussing a client's case. 
 According to him, a hundred thousand francs was a ridiculous 
 fortune for Mademoiselle Eenee's husband to start housekeeping 
 upon. And he laid a gentle stress on the word " Mademoiselle. '^ 
 Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel would despise still more a poor son- 
 in-law ; he would accuse him of having seduced his daughter 
 for the sake of her money ; perhaps, it might even occur to 
 him to make some secret inquiries. Madame Aubertot, greatly 
 frightened, and scared by Saccard's calm and polite way of talk- 
 ing, lost her head and consented to double the sum when he 
 declared that he would not dare to ask for Eenee's hand for less 
 than two hundred thousand francs, not wishing to be considered 
 an infamous fortune-hunter. The worthy lady departed quite 
 confused, scarcely knowing what to think of a fellow who could 
 be so indignant and yet enter into such an arrangement. 
 
 This first interview was followed by an official visit which 
 Aunt Elisabeth paid Saccard at his apartments in the Eue 
 Payenne. This time, she came in the name of Monsieur Beraud. 
 The retired judge had refused to see " that man," as he called 
 his daughter's seducer, so long as he was not married to Eenee, 
 to whom he had also closed his door. Madame Aubertot had 
 full powers to arrange everything. She appeared delighted 
 with the civil servant's luxurious surroundings ; she had feared 
 that the brother of that Madame Sidonie, with the draggled.^ 
 skirts, might be a blackguard. He received her, arrayed iufi 
 delicious dressing-gown. It was at the time when the adven- 
 turers of the 2nd of December, after having paid their deb 's, 
 were pitching their worn-out boots and frayed coats into the 
 sewers, havhig their dirty chins shaved, and becoming respect- 
 able members of society. Saccard was at length joining the 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 73 
 
 band ; he took to cleaning his nails and using at his toilet the 
 most invaluable powder and perfume. He was quite gallant ; 
 he changed his tactics and showed himself most prodigiously 
 disinterested. When the old lady broached the subject of the 
 marriage contract, he made a gesture as though to say that it 
 was a matter of indifference to him. For a week past he had 
 been studying the Code, considering this grave question upon 
 which his future liberty of action in his underhand dealings 
 would depend. 
 
 " For goodness' sake," said he, " let's say no more about this 
 disagreeable money question. My opinion is that Mademoiselle 
 llenee should remain mistress of her fortune and I master of 
 mine. The notary will settle all that." 
 
 Aunt Elieabeth approved this arrangement ; she trembled 
 for fear this fellow, whose iron grip she could vaguely feel, 
 should wish to thrust his fingers into her niece's dowry. She 
 next gave the particulars of this dowry. 
 
 " My brother," said she, " possesses a fortune consisting 
 mainly of landed property and houses. He is not the man to 
 punish his daughter by reducing the share he intended for her. 
 He gives her an estate in Sologne, valued at three hundred 
 thousand francs, as well as a house in Paris said to be worth 
 about two hundred thousand francs." 
 
 Saccard w^as quite dazzled, he had not expected such an 
 amount ; he slightly turned away his head so as to hide the 
 rush of blood which dyed his face. 
 
 " That makes five hundred thousand francs," continued the 
 aunt ; " but I must not hide from you that the Sologne property 
 only yields two per cent." 
 
 He smiled and repeated his disinterested gesture, wishing to 
 imply that that could not affect him as he declined to meddle 
 with his wife's fortune. He was seated in his easy-chair 
 in an attitude of adorable indifference, with an absent-minded 
 air, his foot playing with his slipper, and he appeared to be 
 listening purely out of politeness. Madame Aubertot, with the 
 good nature of a worthy old soul, spoke with difficulty, choos- 
 ing her w^ords so as not to wound him. 
 
 "Besides that, however, I wish to make Eenee a present," 
 she resumed. " I have no child of my own, my fortune will 
 one day devolve to my nieces, and it is not because one of them 
 is in grief that I would now close my hand. The wedding pre- 
 sents for both of them have been long ready. Eenee's consists 
 
74 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 in some vast plots of ground near Charonne, which T have rea- 
 son to believe are worth two hundredthousand francs. Only — '' 
 
 At the word ground, Saccard slightly started. In spite of 
 his pretended indifference he was listening with profound at- 
 tention. Aunt Elisabeth became confused, at a loss for words 
 to express what she wished to say. Turning very red, she at 
 length continued : 
 
 " Only I wish that the ownership of this ground should be 
 settled on Renee's first child. You no doubt understand my 
 reason : I do not desire that this child should one day be an 
 expense to you. Should it die, the property will become sole- 
 ly Renee's." 
 
 He did not display the least sign of disappointment, but his 
 knit brow showed how deeply he was thinking. The plots of 
 ground at Charonne had awakened a host of ideas within him. 
 Madame Aubertot feared she had offended him by speaking of 
 Renee's child, and she remained abashed and quite unable to 
 continue the conversation. 
 
 " You have not told me in what street the house property 
 valued at two hundred thousand francs is situated," said he, 
 resuming his pleasant air. 
 
 " In the Rue de la Pepiniere," she replied, '' almost at the 
 corner of the Rue d'Astorg." 
 
 This simple answer produced a decisive effect upon him. He 
 could no longer conceal his delight ; he drew his easy-chair 
 nearer the lady, and with his southern volubility, and in coaxing 
 tones said : 
 
 " Dear madame, have we not said enough, must we still 
 continue to discuss this horrid money question ? Listen, I wish 
 to speak to you with all frankness, for I should be in despair 
 did I not merit your esteem. I lost my wife lately, I have tvv^o 
 children to look after, T am practical and sensible. By marry- 
 ing your niece I shall be doing every one a good turn. If you 
 have still any prejudice against me you will lose it later on, 
 when I shall have dried all your tears and made the fortunes of 
 all my descendants. Success is a golden flame which purifies 
 everything. I will force Monsieur Beraud himself to hold out 
 his hand to me and thank me." 
 
 He went rattling on, speaking for a long while in the same 
 strain with mocking impudence which showed at times beneath 
 his pleasant air. He talked of his brother the deputy, and of 
 his father the receiver of taxes at Plassans. He ended by com- 
 
^KE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 75 
 
 pletely ingratiating himself with Aunt Elisabeth, who beheld 
 with involuntary joy the drama through which she had been 
 suffering for a month past terminate almost in a merry comedy 
 in the hands of this clever man. It was settled that they 
 should see the notary on the morrow. 
 
 As soon as Madame Aubertot took her departure he went to 
 the Hotel de Ville, and spent the day there examining certain 
 documents with which he was acquainted. At the meeting at 
 the notary's he raised a difficulty, he said that as Renee's dowry 
 consisted solely in landed property he feared it would give her 
 no end of trouble, and he thouglrt it would be w^ise to sell at 
 least the house in the Eue de la Pepiniere and to invest the 
 money for her in the funds. Madame Aubertot wished to refer 
 the matter to Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel, who continued to shut 
 himself up in his room. Saccard went out again until the 
 evening. He visited the Rue de la Pepiniere, he hurried about 
 Paris with the thoughtful air of a general on the eve of a decisive 
 battle. The next morning Madame Aubertot stated that 
 Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel left everything to her. The 
 marriage contract was drawn up on the basis already discussed. 
 Saccard brought two hundred thousand francs, Renee's dowry 
 consisted of the Sologne property and the house in the Rue de 
 la Pepiniere, which latter she undertook to sell ; besides this, 
 she would, in the event of her first child dying, be sole owner 
 of the plots of ground at Charonne given by her aunt. The 
 contract was in accordance with the system of separate estates 
 which preserves to the husband and wife the entire administra- 
 tion of their respective fortunes. Aunt Elisabeth, who was 
 , listening attentively to th'e notary, appeared to be satisfied with 
 this arrangement which seemed to insure her niece's indepen- 
 dence by placing her fortune beyond the reach of any attempts 
 that might be made upon it. A vague smile played upon 
 Saccard's countenance as he saw the worthy lady approve each 
 clause with a nod. The marriage was fixed to take place at the 
 shortest possible date. 
 
 When everything was settled, Saccard went and paid a 
 ceremonious visit to his brother Eugene to announce to him 
 his union with Mademoiselle Renee Beraud Du Chatel. 
 This master stroke astonished the deputy. As he did not 
 attempt to conceal his surprise, the civil servant said : 
 
 *' You told me to look about ; I did so and I have found what 
 I wanted." 
 
76 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Eugene, quite at sea at first, then began to see the truth. 
 And in a charming tone of voice he observed : 
 
 '^ Come now, you're a clever fellow.^ You've called to ask me 
 to be your best man, have you not '? You may count upon me. 
 If necessary I will bring all the members of the right of the Corps 
 Legislatif to your wedding; that would be a famous thing for you.'' 
 
 Then as he had opened the door, he loivered his voice to add : 
 
 " But tell me 1 I must not compromise myself too much 
 just now, for we have a very difficult law to pass — The lady's 
 condition is not too apparent, is it ? " 
 
 Saccard gave him such a bitter look, that Eugene said to himself 
 as he closed the door : 
 
 " That is a joke that would cost me dear, were I not a Eou- 
 gon." 
 
 The marriage was performed at the church of Saint-Louis-en- 
 rile. Saccard and Eenee did not see each other until the eve 
 of the great day. The interview took place in the evening, just 
 at nightfall, in a low room of the Beraud mansion, l^hey ex- 
 amined each other with curiosity. Since arrangements had 
 been entered into for her marriage, Renee had regained her 
 giddy ways, her light-heartedness. She was a tall girl of an 
 exquisite though turbulent beauty, who had grown up at ran- 
 dom amidst her school-girl caprices. She found Saccard little 
 and ugly, but of a restless and intelligent ugliness which did 
 not displease her ; he was, moreover, perfect both in manners 
 and conversation. He made a slight grimace on first seeing 
 her ; she no doubt appeared to him too tall, taller than he was 
 himself. They exchanged a few words without embarrassment. 
 Had the father been present, he might indeed have thought 
 that they had known each other a long while, that they had 
 committed some grievous fault together. Aunt Elisabeth assis- 
 ted at the interview and blushed for them. 
 
 On the day after the wedding, which was quite an event in 
 the He Saint-Louis thanks to the presence of Eugene Rougon, 
 v/hom a recent speech had brought to the fore, the newly married 
 couple were at length admitted to the presence of Monsieur 
 Beraud Du Chat el. Benee wept on finding her father looking 
 older, graver and more mournful. Saccard^ whom nothing had 
 put out of countenance till then, was frozen by the chilliness 
 and the dim light of the apartment, by the sad austerity of the 
 tall old man, whose piercing eye seemed to him to search into 
 the very depths of his conscience. The retired judge slowly 
 
THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 77 
 
 kissed his daughter on the forehead, as though to tell her that 
 he forgave her, and then turning to his son-in-law : 
 
 " Sir,'' said he simply, '^ we have suffered much. I count 
 upon you to make us forget the wrong you have done us.'' 
 
 He held out his hand to him. But Saccard stood shivering. 
 He was thinking that if Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel had not 
 been bent low by the tragic grief of Eenee's shame, he would at 
 a glance, and without an effort, have seen through Madame 
 Sidonie's machinations. The latter, after having brought her 
 brother and Aunt Elisabeth together, had prudently made her- 
 self scarce. She had not even gone to the wedding. He made 
 a point of being very frank with the old man, having read in 
 his look his surprise at finding his daughter's seducer to be a 
 little ugly fellow forty years old. The newly married couple 
 were obliged to pass the first nights at the Beraud mansion. A 
 month before, Christine had been sent away, so that the child 
 of fourteen should have no suspicion of the drama that was 
 being enacted in that house as serene and undisturbed as a 
 cloister. When she returned home, she gazed with astonishment 
 at her sister's husband, whom she also thought old and ugly. 
 Eenee was the only one who did not seem to notice either her 
 husband's age or his sorry appearance. She treated him with- 
 out contempt as without affection, with an absolute tranquillity 
 through which occasionally gleamed a touch of ironical disdain. 
 Saccard strutted about and made himself at home, and really, 
 thanks to his frankness and good spirits, he little by little won 
 the friendship of one and all. When they took their departure 
 to occupy a superb suite of apartments in a new house in the 
 Eue de Eivoli, Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel's look no longer dis- 
 played any astonishment, and little Christine romped with her 
 brother-in-law as with an old friend. Eenee was at that time 
 four months gone in the family way ; her husband was on the 
 point of sending her into the country, when, in accordance with 
 Madame Sidonie's prophecy, she had a miscarriage. She had 
 laced herself up so tightly to hide her condition, which, more- 
 over, disappeared beneath the fulness of her skirts, that she was 
 obliged to keep her bed for several weeks. He was delighted 
 with the adventure ; fortune was at length smiling upon him 
 he had made a golden bargain, a magnificent dowry, a wife lovely 
 enough to have him decorated in six months, and not the least 
 encumbrance. He had been paid two hundred thousand francs 
 to give his name to a foetus which the mother would not even 
 
78 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 look at. From that moment his thoughts lovingly lingered on 
 the plots of ground at Charonne. But for the time being he 
 was giving all his attention to a speculation which was to form 
 the basis of his fortune. 
 
 NotAvithstanding the high position of his wife's family, he did 
 not at once resign his post at the Hotel de Ville. He talked of 
 work on hand to be finished, and of some other occupation to 
 be sought for. The truth was he wished to remain till the end 
 on the battle-field where he was playing his first cards. He was 
 so to say at home, and could cheat more at his ease. 
 
 His plan for making his fortune was simple and practical. 
 Now that he possessed more money than he had ever hoped for 
 to commence his operations, he intended to put his designs into 
 execution on a grand scale. He knew Paris by heart ; he knew 
 that the shower of gold which was already beating against the 
 walls would fall heavier every day. Clever people had only 
 to open their pockets. He had placed himself among the clever 
 ones by reading the future in the offices of the Hotel de Yille. 
 
 / His duties ha,d taught him what can be stolen in the buying 
 and selling of houses and groui d. He was fully acquainted with 
 all the classic swindles : he knew how to sell for a million that 
 which only cost five hundred thousand francs; how to pay the 
 right to ransack the cash boxes of the State, which smiles and 
 shuts its eyes ; how, by making a Boulevard pass over the en- 
 trails of some old neighbourhood, to jungle with six storey ed 
 houses, amidst the applause of all the dupes. And that which 
 in those still clouded days, when the chancre of speculation was 
 not beyond the period of incubation, made him a terrible gam- 
 bler was that he foresaw more than his chiefs themselves respect- 
 ing the future of stone and plaster reserved to Paris. He had 
 ferreted about so much, collected together so many clues, that 
 he might have prophesied the spectacle the new districts would 
 offer in 1870. At times, as he walked along the streets, he 
 would look at certain houses in a singular manner, as though 
 they were old friends whose destiny, known to him alone, 
 affected him deeply. 
 
 / Two months previous to Angele's death, he had taken her 
 one Sunday to the Buttes Montmartre. The poor woman de- 
 lighted in eating at restaurants ; she was never more pleased 
 than when, after a long walk, he would take her to dine at 
 some suburban eating-house. That day they had their dinner 
 right at the top of the hill, in a restaurant, with windows over- 
 
THE RUSH roil THE SPOIL 79 
 
 I looking Paris, that ocean of houses with bluey roofs, looking 
 like surging billows filling the immense horizon. Their table 
 was placed before one of the windows. The sight of the Paris 
 roofs enlivened Saccard. At dessert he called for a bottle of 
 Burgundy. He smiled at space, he was most unusually gallant. 
 And his look kept lovingly returning to that living, swarming 
 sea, from which issued the deep voice of the crowd. It was 
 autumn ; beneath the vast pale sky the city lay languishing, a 
 soft and tender grey in hue, studded here and there with dark 
 green foliage, which resembled great leaves of nenu23hars float- 
 ing on a lake ; the sun was setting behind a red cloud, and, 
 whilst the background was filled with a slight haze, a golden 
 dust, an auriferous dew was falling upon the city on the right 
 bank of the river, in the neighbourhood of the Madeleine and 
 the Tuileries. It Avas like the enchanted corner of some city of 
 the " Arabian Nights," with trees formed of emeralds, roofs of 
 sapphires, and weather-cocks of rubies. There came a moment 
 when a ray of sunshine, gliding between two clouds, was so re- 
 splendent that the houses seemed to flare up and melt away 
 like an ingot of gold in a crucible. 
 
 " Oh ! look," said Saccard, with a childish laugh, " a shower 
 of twenty-franc pieces has burst over Paris ! " 
 
 Angele began to laugh too, accusing these pieces of not being- 
 easy to gather up. But her husband had risen from his seat, 
 and leaning against the handrail of the window, he continued, 
 
 " That's the Vendome column shining over there, isn't it 1 
 There, more to the right, is the Madeleine — a fine neighbour- 
 hood, where there's plenty to be done. Ah ! this time, it'll all 
 be ablaze ! Do you see 1 One could almost fancy that the 
 whole neighbourhood was boiling in some chemist's still." 
 
 His voice was becoming grave and agitated. The comparison 
 he had drawn seemed to strike him immensely, he had drank a 
 few glasses of Burgundy and was musing; and he went on, 
 stretching out his arm to show the different sights of Paris to 
 Angele, who was also leaning over the handrail on her side of 
 the window. 
 
 " Yes, yes, what I said was riglit enough, more than one dis- 
 trict will be melted down, and gold will stick to the fingers of 
 those who heat and stir the copper. That great noodle Paris ! 
 see how immense he is and how innocently he slumbers ! 
 Such great towns are always fools ! He has no idea of the army 
 of picks that will attack him one of these fine mornings, and 
 
80 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 some of the mansions in the Eue d'Anjou would not shine so 
 brightly beneath the setting svm if they knew they had no more 
 than three or four years to live." 
 
 Angele fancied her husband was joking. He had at times a 
 taste for immense and disquieting jokes. She laughed, but with 
 a vague fear, at seeing the little man tower above the giant 
 crouched at his feet, and shake his fist at him while ironically 
 pursing his lips. 
 
 " It's already begun,'' continued he; ^^but nothing to speak of 
 as yet. Look over there, beside the Halles, Paris has been cut 
 into four." 
 
 And with his extended hand, open and sharp edged like a cut- 
 lass, he made a motion as though separating the city into four 
 portions. 
 
 ^' You're alluding to the Eue de Eivoli and the new Boulevard 
 they are making aren't you 1 " asked his wife. 
 
 ^^ Yes, the great window of Paris as it's called. They're 
 clearing away the buildings that hide the Louvre and the Hdtel 
 de Yille. But that's mere child's play ! It' 3 only good to rouse 
 the public's appetite. When the first improvements are com- 
 pleted the grand work will begin. The city will be pierced in 
 every direction to unite the suburbs to the main artery. The 
 houses will fall amidst clouds of plaster. Look, follow the direc- 
 tion of my hand a minute. From the Boulevard du Temple to 
 the Barriere du Trone will be one gap ; then, more this way, 
 from the Madeleine to the Plaine Monceaux will be another ; 
 and a third in this direction, another along here, another over 
 there, and still another farther away, in fact gaps everywhere, 
 Paris hacked about as with a sabre, its veins opened, feeding a 
 hundred thousand navvies and masons, traversed right and left 
 by splendid strategical ways which will bring the very forts 
 right into the heart of the old quarters of the city." 
 
 Night was coming on. His dry and nervous hand kept hack- 
 ing about in space. Angele slightly shuddered before this living 
 knife, these iron fingers mercilessly chopping up the boundless 
 mass of dusky roofs. For some little while past the haze of the 
 horizon had been slowly descending from the heights, and she 
 fancied she could hear, beneath the gloom that was gathering 
 in the hollows, a distant and prolonged sound of cracking, as 
 though her husband's hand had really made the openings he had 
 been speaking of, opening up Paris from one end to the other, 
 severing beams, crushing masonry, leaving in its wake long and 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 81 
 
 frightful wounds of demolished walls. The diminutiveness of 
 ^ this hand, implacably hovering over a giant prey, ended by be- 
 coming alarming, and whilst it tore open the entrails of the 
 enormous city without an effort, it seemed to assume a strange 
 shimmer of steel in the bluey twilight. 
 
 " There will be a third artery," continued Saccard, at the 
 end of a pause, as though speaking to himself; "but that one 
 is too distant, I see it less plainly. I have come across only a 
 few signs of it. But it will be pure madness, the infernal 
 gallop of millions, Paris intoxicated and overwhelmed !'^ 
 
 He again relapsed into silence, his eyes ardently fixed on the 
 city, where the shadows were gathering deeper and deeper. He 
 was probably interrogating that too distant future which 
 escaped him. Then night enveloped all, the city became lost 
 in a confused mass, one could hear it breathing plentifully, like 
 some sea, the crest of the pale waves of which is all the eye can 
 distinguish. Here and there, a few walls still preserved a 
 whitish hue ; and the yellow flames of the gas-jets pierced the 
 gloom one by one, similar to stars shining amidst the darkness 
 of a stormy sky. 
 
 Angele shook off her feeling of uneasiness and continued the 
 jest her husband had commenced at dessert. 
 
 "Ah! well," said she with a smile, "there's been a good 
 shower of those twenty-franc pieces ! The Parisians are count- 
 ing them now. Look at the fine piles they're making at our 
 feet ! " 
 
 She pointed to the streets which descend from the Buttes 
 Montmartre, with their double rows of lighted gas-lamps look- 
 ing like piles of gold. 
 
 " And over there," cried she, indicating a galaxy of lights, 
 " that is surely the treasury ! " 
 
 The remark made Saccard laugh. They remained a few 
 minutes longer at the window, delighted with this flood of 
 "twenty-franc pieces," which was ending by covering the whole 
 of Paris. On returning from Montmartre, the civil servant no 
 doubt regretted having gossiped so much. He put it down to 
 the Burgundy, and requested his wife not to repeat the " non- 
 sense " he had been saying; he wished, said he, to be considered 
 a serious person. 
 
 For a long time past, Saccard had been studying these three 
 lines of streets and Boulevards, the pretty correct plan of which 
 he had so far forgotten himself as to place before Angele. 
 
 F 
 
82 THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 When the latter died, he in nowise regretted that she carried 
 with her into the tomb the recollection of all he had said up on 
 the Buttes Montmartre. It was there that his fortune lay, in 
 those famous gaps which his hand had, so to say, opened in the 
 very heart of Paris, and he had made up his mind to share his 
 idea with no one, knowing well enough that on the day of the 
 sharing of the spoil there would be plenty of crows hovering 
 over the gutted city. 
 
 His original plan had been to purchase, on low terms, some 
 building or other which he knew beforehand was condemned to 
 shortly come down, and to realize an immense profit by obtain- 
 ing a substantial indemnity. He would, perhaps, have decided 
 to make the attempt without a sou, to buy the building on 
 credit and merely to pocket the difference afterwards, like 
 people do on the Bourse, when his second marriage, bringing 
 him in a premium of two hundred thousand francs, fixed and 
 developed his pla^n. He had now made his calculations : under 
 the name of an intermediary, and without appearing personally 
 in the matter, he would purchase the house in the Rue de la 
 Pepiniere from his wife, and treble his outlay, thanks to the 
 knowledge he had acquired in his perambulations through the 
 Hotel de Ville, and to his friendly relations with certain influ- 
 ential personages. 
 
 The reason he started when Aunt Elisabeth told him where 
 the house was situated, was because it happened to be in the 
 line of a contemplated thoroughfare, the piercing of which 
 was at that time kept secret outside the sanctum of the prefect 
 of the Seine. This thoroughfare, the Boulevard Malesherbes, 
 would necessitate the clearance of the entire house. It was 
 one of the first Napoleon's old projects which ifc was proposed 
 to put into execution, " to give a normal outlet," so said serious 
 people, " to districts lost behind a labyrinth of narrow streets, 
 on the slopes of the hills v/hich hem in Paris." This official 
 phrase did not, of course, admit the interest the Empire had in 
 the turning over of money, in those vast alterations about tht 
 city which left the working classes no time to think. One day 
 at the prefect's, Saccard had ventured to consult that famous 
 plan of Paris on which "an august hand" had marked, in red 
 ink, the principal thoroughfares of the second network of 
 streets. These gory-looking strokes from a pen cut deeper into 
 Paris even than did the civil servant's hand. 
 
 The Boulevard Malesherbes, which razed to the ground some 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL 83 
 
 superb mansions in the Kue d'Anjou and the Eue de la Ville- 
 I'Eveque, and which necessitated some very considerable level- 
 ling works, was to be laid out one of the first. When Saccard 
 went to inspect the building in the Rue de la Pepiniere, his 
 thoughts reverted to that autumn evening, to that dinner he 
 had eaten with Angele up on the Buttes Montmartre, and dur- 
 ing which, while the sun was setting, so thick a shower of gold 
 had seemed to fall about the neighbourhood of the Madeleine. 
 He smiled ; he fancied that the dazzling cloud had burst right 
 over his own courtyard, and that all he had to do was to go 
 and gather up the twenty-franc pieces. 
 
 Whilst Eenee, luxuriously installed in the apartments in the 
 Rue de Rivoli, in the very midst of that new Paris of which she 
 was about to become one of the queens, was meditating on her 
 future toilettes, and trying her hand at leading the life of a 
 great lady of fashion, her husband was devoutly nursing his 
 first great scheme. He first of all purchased of his wife the 
 house in the Rue de la Pepiniere, thanks to the intermediary of 
 a certain Larsonneau, whom he had come across prying like 
 himself into the secrets of the Hotel de Ville, but who had 
 been foolish enough to get caught one day that he was examin- 
 ing the contents of the prefect's drawers. Larsonneau had set 
 up in business as an agent at the end of a dark and dank 
 courtyard^ at the foot of the Rue Saint-Jacques. His pride and 
 his covetousness suffered cruelly there. He found himself in 
 the same position as Saccard before his marriage ; he had, he 
 would say, also invented " a machine for coining five franc 
 pieces ; " only he was minus the funds necessary to take advan- 
 tage of his invention. It needed only a few words for him to 
 come to an understanding with his former colleague, and he set 
 to work with so good a will that he obtained the house for a 
 hundred and fifty thousand francs. Renee was already, at the 
 end of a few months, in need of considerable sums of money. 
 The husband did not appear in the matter except to authorise 
 his wife to sell. When everything was settled she asked him 
 to invest a hundred thousand francs for her in the funds, and 
 'confidently handed him the money, no doubt as an appeal to 
 his feelings and to shut his eyes regarding the fifty thousand 
 francs she retained. He smiled in a knowing manner; it 
 formed part of his calculations that she should squander her 
 1 money ; these fifty thousand francs which were about to dis- 
 appear in jewellery and lace were to bring him in cent per 
 
84 THE PvUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 cent. He carried his honesty so far, for he was so well satisfied 
 with his first affair, as to really invest Renee's hundred thou- 
 sand francs and to hand her the certificates. His wife could 
 not realize upon them ; he was certain of finding them in the 
 nest if ever he happened to want them. 
 
 " My dear, this will do for your dress," said he gallantly. 
 
 "When he was in possession of the house, he was skilful enough 
 to sell it twice in a month to fictitious persons, increasing each 
 time the amount paid. The last purchaser gave no less than 
 three hundred thousand francs. Meanwhile, Larsonneau, who 
 alone appeared as representative of the successive landlords, 
 worked upon the tenants. He pitilessly declined to renew the 
 leases, unless they consented to a formidable increase of rent. 
 The tenants, who had an inkling of the approaching disposses- 
 sion, were in despair ; they ended by agreeing to the increase, 
 especially w^hen Larsonneau added in a conciliatory manner that 
 this increase should remain a fictitious one during the first five 
 years. As for the tenants who continued nasty, they w^ere re- 
 placed by persons to whom the apartments were let for nothing * 
 and wdio signed everything they were asked to ; there was thus 
 a double profit : the rent was raised, and the indemnity reserved 
 to the tenant for his lease w^as to go to Saccard. Madame 
 Sidonie was willing to assist her brother by starting a piano- 
 dealer's in one of the shops. It was then that Saccard and 
 Larsonneau were carried away by their greed for gain and 
 rather overreached themselves : they concocted the books of a 
 regular business, they falsified accounts, so as to establish a sale 
 of pianos on an enormous footing. During several nights they 
 sat scribbling aw^ay together. Worked in this skilful manner ' 
 the house increased in value threefold. Thanks to the last 
 sale, to the raising of the rent, to the false tenants, and to 
 Madame Sidonie's piano business, it might be considered w^orth 
 five hundred thousand francs when the indemnity commission 
 came to inquire into the matter. 
 
 The mechanism of the instrument of dispossession, of that 
 povf erful machine which during fifteen years turned Paris topsy- 
 turvy, breathing fortune and ruin the while, is of the simplest. 
 Directly a new thoroughfare is decided upon, the road inspectors 
 draw up the plan in separate portions and appraise the various 
 buildings to be removed. They generally, after making m- 
 quiries, arrive at the total amount of the rents and can thus 
 fix upon the approximate value. The indemnity commission. 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 85 
 
 consisting of members of the municipal council, always offers 
 something beneath this sum, knowing that the interested parties 
 "will be sure to demand more, and that there will be a mutual 
 concession. . When they are unable to come to terms, the matter 
 is brought before a jury which decides without ap^^eal between 
 the offer of the municipality and the claims of the dispossessed 
 landlord or tenant. 
 
 Saccard, who had remained at the Hotel de Ville for the 
 decisive moment, had at one time the impudence to wish to 
 be appointed to appraise his own house when the Boulevard 
 Malesherbes was commenced. But he feared by so doing to 
 paralyse his influence with the members of the indemnity com- 
 mission. He caused one of his colleagues to be chosen, a gentle 
 and smiling young man named Michelin, whose wife, an ador- 
 ably beautiful creature, came at times to offer her husband's 
 excuses to his chiefs when he absented himself through indis- 
 position. Saccard had noticed that pretty Madame Michelin, 
 who glided so humbly through the half closcrd doorways, was 
 all-powerful ; Michelin gained some advancement at each illness, 
 he made his way by taking to his bed. During one of his 
 absences, when his wife was calling nearly every morning at the 
 office to say how he w^as getting on, Saccard came across him 
 twice on the outer Boulevards, smoking his cigar with the 
 tender and delighted air which never left him. This filled 
 Saccard with sympathy for the good young man, for the happy 
 couple so ingenious and so practical. He had a great admira- 
 tion for all money-making machines cleverly worked. When 
 he had got Michelin appointed he called on his charming wife, 
 insisted on introducing her to Renee, and talked before her of 
 his brother the deputy, the illustrious orator. Madame Michelin 
 understood. From that day her husband kept his most select 
 smiles for his colleague. The latter, who had no intention of 
 taking the worthy fellow into his confidence, contented himself 
 by being present as if by chance on the day w^hen the other 
 proceeded to appraise the house in the Bue de la Pepiniere. 
 He assisted him. Michelin, who had the stupidest and emptiest 
 head it is possible to imagine, followed his wife's instructions, 
 which were to satisfy Monsieur Saccard in all things. More- 
 over, he had not the slightest suspicion of anything ; he im- 
 agined that his. friend was in a hurry to see him finish his work 
 so as to take him off to a cafe. The leases, the receipts for rent, 
 Madame Sidonie's famous books passed through his colleague's 
 
86 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 hands beneath his ejes, without his even having time to check 
 the figures which the other read out. Larsonneau was there 
 also, treating his accomplice as a perfect stranger. 
 
 " Come, put down five hundred thousand francs," Saccard 
 ended by saying. " The house is worth more. Hurry up, I 
 think there is going to be a change in the staff of the Hotel de 
 Yille, and I want to talk to you about it so that you may let 
 your wife know." 
 
 The business was thus carried through. But he still had 
 other fears. He was afraid that the sum of five hundred 
 thousand francs would appear rather excessive to the indemnity 
 commission, for a house which was notoriously only worth two 
 hundred thousand. The formidable rise in the value of build- 
 ings had not then taken place. An inquiry would have caused 
 him to run the risk of serious unpleasantness. He recalled his 
 brother's words : " No noisy scandal or I shall suppress you ; " 
 and he knew that Eugene was the man to put his threat into 
 execution. It was necessary to blindfold the gentlemen form- 
 ing the commission and to ensure their good will. He cast his 
 eyes on two influential men whom he had made his friends by 
 the way in which he saluted them in the passages whenever he 
 met them. The thirty-six members of the municipal council 
 were carefully selected by the Emperor himself from a list 
 drawn up by the prefect comprising the senators, deputies^ 
 lawyers, doctors, and great manufacturers who prostrated them- 
 selves the most devotedly before the power that w^as ; but 
 amongst them all Barou Gouraud and Monsieur Toutin-Laroche 
 especially deserved the good will of the Tuileries by their fervour. 
 
 All Baron Gouraud's history is contained in this short bio- 
 graphy : made a baron by Napoleon I. for supplying bad 
 biscuits to the grand army, he had successively been a peer 
 under Louis XYIII., Charles X., and Louis-Philippe, and he 
 w^as now a senator under Napoleon III. He w^as a w^orshipper 
 of the throne, of the four gilded boards covered with velvet ; 
 it mattered little to him w^ho the man w^as that sat upon it. 
 "With his enormous stomach, his ox-like countenance, his 
 elephantine manner, he boasted a delightful rascality; he w^ould 
 sell himself majestically and commit the greatest infamies in 
 the name of duty and conscience. But this man surprised one 
 still more by his vices. Stories w^ere told of him w^hich could 
 only be wiiispered from ear to ear. His seventy-eight years 
 flourished amidst the most monstrous debauchery. On two 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 87 
 
 J occasions it had been necessary to hush up some filthy adven- 
 tures so that his embroidered senator's coat should not be 
 dragged through the dock of the assize court. 
 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, who was tall and thin, and the 
 inventor of a mixture of suet and stearin for the manufacture 
 of candles, had a hankering to enter the senate. He stuck to 
 Baron Gouraud like a leech ; he rubbed up against him with 
 the vague idea that his doing so would bring him luck. In 
 reality he was thoroughly practical, and had he come across a 
 senator's chair to be sold he would have fiercely higgled over 
 the price. The Empire was about to bring out this greedy 
 nonentity, this narrow mind which had a genius for dabbling 
 in industrial affairs. He was the first to sell his name to a 
 bogus company, one of those associations which sprouted up 
 like poisonous toadstools on the dunghill of imperial specu- 
 lations. At that time one could have seen on all the walls a 
 poster bearing the following words in bold black letters : — 
 " Societe generale of the ports of Morocco," and beneath which 
 the name of Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, with his title of muni- 
 cipal councillor, appeared at the head of the list of directors, all 
 more or less unknown personages. This proceeding, which has 
 become' far more popular since, succeeded wonderfully; the 
 shares were snapped up, though the question of the ports of 
 Morocco was not very clear, and the worthy people who brought 
 their money were themselves unable to explain to what purpose 
 it was to be put. The poster announced in a superb manner 
 the project of establishing commercial stations along the 
 Mediterranean coast. For two years past certain newspapers 
 had been celebrating this magnificent undertaking, which they 
 declared to be more and more prosperous every three months. 
 Amongst the municipal council Monsieur Toutin-Laroche had 
 the reputation of being a first-class administrator ; he was one 
 of the strong minds of the neighbourhood, and his acrimonious 
 tyranny over his, colleagues was only equalled by his devout 
 platitude in the presence of the prefect. He was already en- 
 gaged in founding a great financial company, the Credit Yiticole, 
 a sort of loan office for vine growers, and to which he would 
 allude in a grave and reticent manner which aroused the 
 covetousness of the fools around him. 
 
 Saccard secured the protection of these two personages by 
 rendering them certain services, of the importance of which he 
 cleverly pretended to be ignorant. He brought his sister and 
 
88 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 the baron together, the latter being then compromised in a very 
 objectionable affair. He took her to him, under the pretence 
 of soliciting his support in the favour of the dear woman who 
 had been petitioning for a long time to obtain an order for the 
 supply of curtains to the Tuileries. But it so happened that, 
 when the road inspector left them together, it was Madame 
 Sidonie who promised the baron to enter into negotiations with 
 certain people who were stupid enough not to have felt 
 honoured by the attention that a senator had deigned to bestow 
 on their daughter, a little girl ten years old. Saccard took 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche in hand himself ; he manoeuvred so 
 as to obtain an interview with him in a corridor, and then 
 brought the conversation round to the famous Credit Yiticole. 
 At the end of five minutes, the great administrator, dazed and 
 astounded by the amazing things told him, took the civil service 
 clerk familiarly by the arm and detained him a full hour in the 
 passage. Saccard whispered in his ear some financial deals 
 which were prodigiously ingenious. When Monsieur Toutin- 
 Laroche took his departure, he shook his hand in an expressive 
 manner, and gave him the glance of a freemason. 
 
 " You shall belong to it," murmured he, " you must really 
 belong to it." 
 
 Saccard surpassed himself throughout this affair. He carried 
 his prudence so far as not to make Baron Gouraud and Monsieur 
 Toutin-Laroche accomplices. He visited them separately, 
 letting drop a word or two in their ear in favour of one of his 
 friends who was about to be dispossessed of his house in the 
 liue de la Pepiniere ; he was careful to tell each of his confed- 
 erates that he would mention the matter to no other member of 
 the commission, that it was all very uncertain, but that he 
 counted on his friendliness. 
 
 The road inspector had done right to fear and to take his 
 precautions. When the documents relating to his house came 
 before the indemnity commission, it so happened that one of 
 the members lived in the Eue d'Astorg, and knew the house. 
 This member protested against the sum of five hundred 
 thousand francs, which, according to him, should have been 
 reduced to less than half. Aristide had had the impudence to 
 have a claim sent in for seven hundred thousand francs. On 
 that day Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, who was usually very 
 disagreeable towards his colleagues, was even of a more detest- 
 able temper still. He became quite angry, and took the part 
 of the landlords. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 89 
 
 " We're all of us landlords, gentlemen/' cried he. " The 
 Emperor wishes to do grand things, don't let ns stick at trifles. 
 This house is no doubt worth the five hundred thousand francs ; 
 it's one of our own people, a city inspector, w^ho fixed this price. 
 Eeally, one w^ould almost fancy we were living amongst thieves ; 
 you'll see, we shall end by suspecting one another." 
 
 Baron Gouraud, sitting heavily on his chair, watched in a sur- 
 prised manner, from out of the corner of his eye, Monsieur 
 Toutin-Laroche storming away in favour of the owner of the 
 house in the Rue de la Pepiniere. He had a suspicion. But, 
 after all, as this violent outburst saved him the trouble of 
 speaking, he set to slowly nodding his head as a sign of his 
 complete approval. The member hailing from the Rue d'Astorg 
 indignantly resisted, determined not to yield to the two tyrants 
 of the commission in a matter in which he felt himself to be 
 more competent than they. It was then that Monsieur Toutin- 
 Laroche, noticing the baron's marks of ajoproval, hastily pounced 
 upon the documents relating to the case, and said curtly : 
 
 " Very well. We'll dispel your doubts. If you will allow it, 
 I'll take the matter in hand, and Baron Gouraud shall join me 
 in the inquiry." 
 
 '* Yes, yes," said the baron gravely, ^Hhere must be no under- 
 hand dealings to sully our decisions." 
 
 The documents had already disappeared inside Monsieur 
 Toutin-Laroche's capacious pockets. The commission had no 
 choice but to accept the arrangement. As they stood outside 
 upon the quay on leaving the meeting, the two cronies looked 
 at each other without smiling. They felt themselves to be con- 
 federates, and this added to their assurance. Two vulgar minds 
 would have sought an explanation ; they continued to plead the 
 case of the landlords, as though they could still be overheard, 
 and to deplore the spirit of mistrust w^hich was insinuating itself 
 everywhere. Just as they were about to separate, the baron 
 observed, with a smile : 
 
 " Ah ! I was forgetting, my dear colleague, I am just about to 
 leave for the country. You would be very kind to make this 
 little inquiry without me. And, above all, don't peach ; our col- 
 leagues are already complaining that I take too many holidays." 
 
 '' Be easy," replied Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, ''I will go at 
 once to the Rue de la Pepiniere." 
 
 He w^ent quietly home, with a certain feeling of admiration 
 for the baron, who so cleverly got out of the most ticklish posi- 
 
90 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 tions. He kept the documents in his pocket, and at the next 
 sitting of the commission he declared, in a peremptory tone of 
 voice, both in his own name and in the baron's, that between 
 the offer of five hundred thousand francs and the claim of seven 
 hundred thousand, they should take a medium course, and 
 award six hundred thousand francs. There was not the slight- 
 est opposition. The member hailing from the Rue d'Astorg, 
 having no doubt reflected, said, with great simplicity, that he 
 had been mistaken : he had thought it vras the next house. 
 
 It was thus that Aristide Saccard won his first victory. He 
 quadrupled his outlay, and secured two accomplices. One thing- 
 alone made him uneasy ; when he wished to destroy Madame 
 Sidonie's famous books, he was unable to find them. He has- 
 tened to Larsonneau, who boldly avowed that he had them, and 
 that he meant to stick to them. The other did not lose his 
 temper ; he inferred that he had only been anxious on his dear 
 friend's account, who was far more compromised than he by 
 these entries, which were almost entirely in his handwriting, but 
 that he was quite easy now that he knew they were safe. In 
 reality, he would willingly have strangled ^^ his dear friend ; " 
 he remembered averycompromisingdocument,a bogus inventory, 
 which he had been foolish enough to draw up, and which must 
 have been left in one of the ledgers. Handsomely remunerated, 
 Larsonneau started a business agency in the Eue de Rivoli, 
 where he had offices furnished as luxuriously as any courtesan's 
 apartments. On leaving the Hotel de Yille, Saccard, having a 
 considerable amount of funds at his disposal, launched madly 
 into sjDeculation, whilst Eenee, carried away by her intoxication, 
 filled Paris with the clatter of her equipages, the sparkle of her 
 diamonds, and the whirl of her noisy and adorable existence. 
 
 Now and again, the husband and wife, those two enthusiasts 
 of money and pleasure, penetrated into the chilly mists of the 
 He Saint-Louis. They felt as though they were entering a 
 dead cit}^ 
 
 The Beraud mansion, built in the early part of the seven- 
 teenth century, was one of those square buildings, gloomy and 
 severe-looking, with tall narrow windows, so numerous in the 
 Marais district, and which are let to schoolmasters, manu- 
 facturers of seltzer water, and bonders of wines and spirits. 
 The building, however, was in an admirable state of preserva- 
 tion. On the Hue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile side it consisted of only 
 three storeys, storeys fifteen and twenty feet high. The ground 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 91 
 
 floor, not near so lofty, had its windows protected by enormous 
 iron bars, windows which sunk dismally into the dreary thick- 
 ness of the walls, whilst the arched door, almost as broad as 
 high, and bearing a cast-iron knocker, was painted a deep green 
 and strengthened with enormous nails, forming stars and 
 lozenges on either panel. This door was typical, with blocks 
 of granite on each flank, half buried in the soil and protected 
 by broad bands of iron. One could s^e that formerly a gutter 
 had run under the centre of this door, the pavem^ent of the 
 porch sloping gently down on either side : but Monsieur 
 Beraud had decided to close up this gutter by having the 
 entrance laid with bitumen ; this was, moreover, the only 
 sacrifice he was ever willing to make to modern architecture. 
 The windows of the upper floors were ornamented with slender 
 handrails of wrought iron, which allowed a full view of the 
 colossal sashes of substantial brown wood frames and little 
 greenish panes of glass. Eight at the top, opposite the attics, 
 the roof came to an end, and the gutter alone continued on its 
 way to discharge the rain water into the pipes placed for the 
 purpose. And what tended to increase still further the austere 
 bareness of the frontage was the total absence of any blind or 
 shutter, for at no season of the year did the sun ever shine on 
 these pale and melancholy stones. This frontage, with its 
 venerable air, its middle-class severity, slumbered solemnly amid 
 the peacefulness of the neighbourhood, the silence of the street, 
 seldom disturbed by the passage of vehicles. 
 
 In the interior of the mansion was a square courtyard sur- 
 rounded by arcades, a kind of Place Eoyale on a reduced scale, 
 paved with enormous flags, which finished giving to this lifeless 
 abode the appearance of a cloister. Facing the porch a fountain, 
 a lion's head half worn away, the gaping jaws of which vv^ere 
 alone distinguishable, discharged from an iron tube a thick and 
 monotonous water into a trough all green with moss, its edges 
 polished by wear. This water was icy cold. Tufts of grass 
 sprouted up between the flagstones. In summer-time a narrow 
 ray of sunshine entered the coiu'tyard, and this occasional visit 
 had whitened a corner of the frontage on the south side, whilst 
 the three other walls, morose and blackish, were streaked with 
 mildew. There, in the depths of this courtyard as chilly and 
 silent as a well, lighted with the white glimmer of a wintry 
 day, one could have thought oneself a thousand leagues away 
 from that new Paris wherein was flaring every passionate en- 
 
92 THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 joyment, amidst the hubbub of the millions. The apartments 
 of the mansion possessed the sad calm, the cold solemnity of 
 the courtyard. Eeached by a broad staircase with an iron 
 handrail, where the footsteps and the coughing of visitors 
 resounded as in the aisle of a church, they extended in long 
 suites of vast and lofty rooms, in which the ancient furniture of 
 dark w^oodwork and squat design seemed lost ; and the pale 
 light was only peopled by the figures on the tapestries, whose 
 great colourless bodies were just vaguely distinguishable. All 
 the luxury pertaining to the old Parisian middle classes was 
 there, a stiff and wear-resisting luxury, chairs the oak seats of 
 which are scarcely covered with a handful of tow, beds of 
 inflexible material, linen chests in which the roughness of the 
 boards would peculiarly compromise the slender existence of" 
 modern dresses. Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel hai selected his 
 apartments in the darkest portion of the mansion, on the first 
 floor, between the street and the courtyard. He was there in a 
 marvellous surrounding of peacefulness, silence and shade. 
 When he pushed open the doors, traversing the solemnity of 
 the rooms with his slow" and serious step, one could have fancied 
 him one of those members of the old parliaments, whose por- 
 traits adorned the walls, returning home wrapt in reverie after 
 discussing and refusing to sign an edict of the king's. 
 
 But in this still house, in this cloister, there existed a w^arm 
 nest full of life, a corner of sunshine and gaiety, an abode of 
 adorable childhood, fresh air, and bright light. One had to 
 ascend a host of little staircases, pass along ten or twelve 
 corridors, go down and come up again ; in fact, make quite a 
 journey, and then one at last reached a vast chamber, a kind of 
 belvedere built up on the roof, at the back of the mansion, 
 right above the Quai de Bethune. It w^as in a full southern 
 aspect. The window^ opened so wide that the heavens, with all 
 their rays, fresh air, and azure blue, seemed 'to enter there. 
 Perched aloft like a pigeon-house, the apartment contained long 
 boxes full of flowers, an immense aviary, but not a single 
 article of furniture. There was simply some matting spread 
 over the floor. It was the "children's room." Throughout 
 the mansion it was known and called by this name. The 
 house was so cold, the courtyard so damp, that aunt Elisabeth 
 had dreaded some harm might come to Christine and Eenee 
 from this chill breath which hung about the walls ; more than 
 once had she scolded the children for running about the 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL 93 
 
 arcades, and taking a delight in dipping their little arms in the 
 icy water of the fountain. Then she had the idea to turn this 
 out-of-the-way garret to account for them, the only nook 
 wherein the sunshine had' been entering and rejoicing, all by 
 itself, for two centuries past, in the midst of the cobwebs. She 
 gave them some matting, some birds, and some flowers. The 
 little girls were delighted. During the holidays Renee lived 
 there, bathing in the yellow sunshine, which seemed pleased 
 with the embellishments made to its retreat, and with the two 
 fair heads sent to keep it company. The room became a 
 paradise, ever resounding with the chirping of the birds and the 
 chatter of the children. It had been given up to them entirely. 
 They called it " our room ; " it was their domain ; they even 
 went so far as to lock themselves in to prove to their satisfac- 
 tion that they were the sole mistresses of it. What an abode 
 of happiness ! A massacre of playthings lay expiring on the 
 matting in the midst of the bright sunshine. 
 
 And the great delight of the children's room was, after all, 
 the vast horizon. From the other windows of the mansion 
 there was nothing to gaze upon but black walls a few feet off. 
 But from this one, one could see all that portion of the Seine, 
 all that district of Paris which extends from the Cite to the 
 Pont de Bercy, flat and immense, and which resembles some 
 primitive city in Holland. Down below, on the Quai do 
 Bethune, were some tumble-down wooden sheds, accumulations 
 of beams and fallen roofs, amidst which the children often 
 amused themselves by watching enormous rats scamper about, 
 with a vague dread of seeing them crawl up the high walls. 
 But it was beyond this that the real delight of the view began. 
 The boom, with its tiers of timbers, its buttresses resembling 
 those of some Gothic cathedral, and the slender Pont de 
 Constantino swaying like a piece of lace beneath the footsteps 
 of passengers, crossed each other at right angles, and seemed to 
 dam up and keep in check the enormous mass of water. Eight 
 in fronts the trees of the Halle aux Yins, and further away, the 
 shrubberies of the Jardin des Plantes were a mass of green, and 
 spread out as far as the horizon ; whilst, on the other side of 
 the river, the Quai Henri IV. and the Quai de la Rapee 
 extended their low and irregular buildings, their row of houses 
 which, looked at from above, resembled the tiny wood and 
 card-board houses the little girls kept in boxes. In the back- 
 ground, to the right, the slate roof of the Salpetriere rose with a 
 
04 THE IIUSH Foil THE SPOIL. 
 
 bluish tinge above the trees. Then, in the centre, descending 
 right down to the Seine, the broad paved banks formed two 
 long grey tracks, streaked here and there by a row of casks, a 
 horse and cart, or an empty coal or wood barge lying stranded 
 high and dry. But the soul of all this, the soul which filled 
 the landscape, was the Seine, the living river; it came from 
 afar, from the vague and trembling border of the horizon, it 
 emerged from over there, as from a dream, to flow straight to 
 the children, in the midst of its tranquil majesty, its mighty 
 expansion Avhich spread and became a flood of water at their 
 feet, at the extremity of the island. The two bridges which 
 crossed it, the Pont de Bercy and the Pont d'Austerlitz, seemed 
 like necessary bonds placed there to keep it in check, and pre- 
 vent it rising to the room. The little ones loved the giant, 
 they filled their eyes w^ith its colossal flow, with that ever 
 murmuring flood which rolled towards them, as though to reach 
 to w^here they were, and which tliey could feel rive and disap- 
 pear to the right and left into the unknown, with the docility 
 of a conquered Titan. On fine days, mornings with a blue 
 sky overhead, they were charmed with the beautiful dresses 
 the Seine assumed ; varying dresses which changed from blue 
 to green, with a thousand infinitely delicate tints ; one could 
 have fancied them of silk, spotted with white flames, and 
 trimmed with frills of satin ; whilst the boats drawn up at 
 either bank formed an edging of black velvet ribbon. In the 
 distance, especially, the material became quite admirable and 
 precious, like some fairy's tunic of enchanted gauze ; beyond 
 the strip of dark green satin, with which the shadow of the 
 bridges girdled the Seine, were plastrons of gold and skirts of 
 some plaited material the colour of the sun. The immense sky 
 formed a vaulted roof above this water, these low rows of 
 houses, this foliage of the two parks. 
 
 Weary at times of this boundless horizon, Eenee, already a 
 big girl, and full of a carnal curiosity picked up at school, 
 would take a peep at Petit's floating swimming-baths moored to 
 the extremity of the island. She sought to catch a glimpse, 
 between the waving linen clothes hung up on lines in place of 
 a roof, of the men in their bathing drawers, and with their 
 chests all bare. 
 
05 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Maxime remained at the college of Plassans until the holidays 
 of 1854. He was thirteen years and a few months old and had 
 just passed through the fifth class. It was then that his father 
 decided that he should come to Paris, reflecting that a son of 
 Maxime's age would consolidate his position and establish him 
 for good in the part he played as a rich and serious re-married 
 widower. When he mentioned his plan to Eenee, towards 
 whom he prided himself upon being extremely gallant, she 
 negligently answered : 
 
 " Quite so, let the little fellow come. He will amuse us a 
 bit. One is bored to death of a morning." 
 
 The little fellow arrived a week afterwards. He was already 
 a tall, spare urchin with an effeminate face, a delicate, wide- 
 awake look, and pale flaxen hair. But how he was rigged out ; 
 good heavens ! Cropped to the ears, with his hair so short 
 that the whiteness of his skull was barely covered with a slight 
 shadow, he moreover wore a pair of trousers too short for his 
 legs, carter's shoes, and a frightfully threadbare tunic which 
 was much too full and made him almost look hunchbacked. 
 Thus accoutred, surprised by the new things he saw, he looked 
 around him, not at all timidly but with the savage, cunning air 
 of a precocious child who hesitates about trusting himself to 
 anyone at once. 
 
 A servant had just brought him from the railway station, and 
 he was in the large drawing-room, delighted with the gilding of 
 the furniture and the ceiling, completely happy at sight of this 
 luxury amid which he was going to live, when Renee, returning 
 from her tailor's, swept in like a gust of wind. She threw off 
 her hat and the white burnous which she had placed upon her 
 shoulders to shield her from the cold, which was already keen ; 
 and she appeared before Maxime — stupefied with admiration — 
 in all the glow of her marvellous costame. 
 
 The child thought she was disguised. Over a delicious skirt 
 
96 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 of blue faille with deep flounces, she wore a kind of garde 
 fran{aise habit in pale grey silk. The lappets of the habit, lined 
 with blue satin of a deeper shade than the faille of the skirt, 
 were coquet tishly caught up and secured with bows of ribbon ; 
 the cuffs of the tight sleeves, the broad facings of the bodice 
 expanded on either side trimmed with the same satin. And, as 
 a supreme seasoning, as a bold stroke of eccentricity, large 
 buttons imitating sapphires, and fastened on blue rosettes, 
 adorned the front of the habit in a double row. It was at once 
 ugly and adorable. 
 
 As soon as Kenee perceived Maxime, ^' It's the little fellow, 
 isn't it ? " she asked of the servant ; she was surprised to find 
 him as tall as herself. 
 
 The child was eating her with his eyes. This lady, w^ith so 
 white a skin, whose bosom could be seen through a gap of her 
 plaited chemisette, this sudden and charming apparition with 
 her hair raised high on her head, her gloved slender hands and 
 her little masculine boots with pointed heels, delighted him ; 
 she seemed to be the good fairy of this warm gilded room. He 
 began to smile, and he was just awkward enough in manner to 
 retain his urchin-like gracefulness. 
 
 ^* Why, he is funny ! " exclaimed Renee. " But how horrible ! 
 How they have cut his hair ! Listen, my little fellow, your 
 father will probably only come home for dinner and I shall be 
 obliged to settle you here. I'm your step-mamma, sir. Will 
 you kiss me % " 
 
 '* Willingly," answered Maxime without any fuss; and he 
 kissed the young wife on both cheeks, taking hold of her by the 
 shoulderSj'whereby \k\Q, garde fraiK^aise habit was a trifle crumpled. 
 
 She freed herself, laughing, and saying : ^' Dear me ! how 
 funny he is, the little shearling ! " Then again approaching 
 him and more serious: *'We shall be friends shaVt we? I 
 w^ant to be a mother to you. I reflected about it while I w^as 
 waiting for my tailor, who was engaged, and I said to myself 
 that I ought to be very kind and bring you up quite properly. 
 I will be very nice 1" 
 
 Maxime continued looking at her, w^ith his blue, minx-like 
 eyes, and suddenly : ''How old are you?" he asked. 
 
 " But that is a question one never asks 1 " she exclaimed, 
 clasping her hands together. '^ He doesn't know it, poor little 
 fellow 1 It will be necessary to teach him everything. Fortu- 
 nately I can still confess my age. I am twenty-one." 
 
"m 
 
 
 RENEE AND MAXIME MEETING FOR THE HR$T TIME.- 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 17 
 
 ** I shall soon be fourteen. You might be my sister—" 
 
 He did not finish his sentence, but his eyes added that he 
 had expected to find his father's second wife much older. He 
 was very near her and looked at her neck so attentively that 
 she almost finished by blushing. Besides, her giddy head was 
 turning, it could never dwell for long on the same subject ; and 
 she began to walk about and talk of her tailor, forgetting that 
 she was addressing a child. 
 
 ^' I ought to have been here to receive you. But, just fancy, 
 Worms brought me this costume this morning. I tried it on 
 and found it rather successful. It is very stylish, isn't if?" 
 
 She had placed herself before a mirror. Maxime was coming 
 and going behind her to examine her on all sides. 
 
 ** However as I put on the coat," she added, ^* I noticed there 
 was a large fold there on the left shoulder, do you see 1 That 
 fold is very ugly, it makes me look as if I had one shoulder 
 higher than the other." 
 
 He had approached and passed his finger over the fold as if 
 to smooth it down, and his vicious schoolboy hand seemed to 
 tarry on the spot wdth a certain amount of satisfaction. 
 
 *' Well," she continued, *' I couldn't wait. I had the horses 
 harnessed and I went to tell Worms what I thought of his 
 inconceivable carelessness. He promised me he would set it 
 right." 
 
 Then she remained in front of the mirror still looking at 
 herself, lost as it were in a sudden reverie. She ended by 
 placing a finger on her lips with an air of thoughtful impatience. 
 And in a low voice as if talking to herself she said : " There is 
 something wanting — yes, really, there is something wanting — " 
 
 Then, with quick motion, she turned and stationed herself in 
 front of Maxime and asked him : 
 
 " Is it really the thing*? Don't you think there is something 
 wanting, a trifle, a bow somewhere?" The schoolboy, reassured 
 by the young woman's familiarity, had regained all the 
 assurance of his forward nature. He drew back, drew near, 
 blinked his eyes and muttered : 
 
 " No, no, nothing's wanting, it's very pretty, very pretty — 1 
 rather think that there is something too much." 
 
 He shghtly blushed despite his audacity, drew still nearer, 
 and tracing with his fing3r-tip an acute angle on Renee's breast : 
 "In your place," he continued, "I should round that lace like 
 that and pat on a necklace with a large cross," 
 
 G 
 
98 THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 She clapped her hands and looked radiant. ^' That's it, that's 
 it," she cried, " I had the large cross on the tip ot my tongue." 
 
 She folded back her chemisette, disappeared for a couple of 
 minutes, and then returned with the necklace and the cross, 
 and placing herself again in front of the mirror with an air of 
 triumph : 
 
 '^Oh! that's the ticket, quite the ticket," she muttered. 
 ^' The little shearling isn't at all a fool. Did you dress women 
 in the country then *? I see that we shall really be good friends. 
 But you must listen to me. To begin with, you must let your 
 hair grow and you mustn't wear that frightful tunic any more. 
 Besides, you must pay proper attention to my lessons in good 
 manners. I want you to be a nice young man." 
 
 ^' Why, of course," said the child naively, '^as papa is rich at 
 present and as you are his wife." 
 
 She smiled and v;ith her usual vivacity : 
 
 '' Then let us begin by thee-and-thouing one another. I say 
 thou and you in the same breath. It's stupid. You will love 
 me a great deal ? " 
 
 '' I will love thee with all my heart," he answered with the 
 effusive manner of an urchin towards his sweetheart. 
 
 Such was Maxime and Kenee's first interview. The lad did 
 not go to school till a month later. During the earlier days his 
 ctepmother played with him as with a doll. She polished off 
 his countryfied air, and it must be added that he seconded her 
 with extreme willingness. When he ajDpeared, dressed from 
 head to foot iu new^ clothes supplied by his father's tailor, she 
 gave a cry of joyous surprise. He was as pretty as a heart, 
 such was her expression. The only thing w^as that his hair 
 grew^ with most annoying sluggishness. The young woman 
 frequently said that all one's face was in one's hair. She 
 tended her own devoutly. For a long while she had been greatly 
 worried by its colour, that particular pale yellow tint, which 
 reminded one of the best butter. But w^hen the fashion of 
 wearing yellow hair set in she was delighted, and to make 
 people believe that she did not follov/ the fashion by compulsion 
 she declared that she dyed her hair every month. 
 
 Maxime was already terribly knowing for his thirteen years. 
 His was one of those frail precocious natures in w^hich the senses , 
 assert themselves early. He practised vice even before he knew 
 desire. On two occasions he had all but been expelled from the 
 college. Had Eenee's eyes been accustomed to provincial 
 
Tliy. RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 99 
 
 graces she would have noticed that, despite his ill-fitting clothes, 
 the little shearling, as she called him, smiled, turned his neck 
 and extended his arms in a pretty way, with the feminine air of 
 those who serve as schoolboys' girls. He was very careful about 
 his hands, which were slight and long; and although his hair 
 remained cropped short by order of the principal, an ex-colonel 
 of engineers, he possessed a little looking-glass which he pulled 
 out of his pocket during lesson time, which he placed between 
 the pages of his book, and into which he gazed for whole hours, 
 examining his eyes, his gums, making pretty faces at himself, 
 and learning various kinds of coquetry. His schoolfellows hung 
 round his blouse as round a skirt, and he buckled his belt so 
 tightly that he had a grown woman's slimw^oist and undulation 
 of the hips. To tell the truth, he received as many blows as 
 caresses. The college of Plassans, a den of little bandits, like 
 most provincial colleges, thus proved to be a hotbed of contami- 
 nation in which Maxime's neutral temperament and childhood 
 fraught with evil owing to some mysterious hereditary cause, 
 were singularly developed. Fortunately age was about to alter 
 him. But the trace of his childish abandonments, the effcmi- 
 nation of his whole being, the time when he had thought him- 
 self a girl, were destined to remain in him and strike him for 
 ever in his virility. 
 
 Eenee called him " Mademoiselle," witliout knowing that six 
 months earlier she would have spoken the truth. To her he 
 seemed very obedient, very loving, and indeed his caresses often 
 made her ill-at-ease. He had a manner of kissing that heated 
 her skin. But what delighted her w\as his artfulness ; he was 
 exceedingly funny and bold, already speaking of women with a 
 smile and holding his own against llenee's friends, dear Adeline 
 who had just married M. d'Espanet, and fat Suzanne, married 
 quite recently to the great manufacturer HafFner. When he 
 was fourteen he had a passion for the latter. He had taken his 
 stepmother into his confidence and she was greatly amused. 
 
 ^' For myself I should have preferred Adeline," she said, 
 ^' she's prettier." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied the urchin, " but Suzanne is ever so 
 much fatter. I like fine women. It would be very kind of you 
 to speak to her for me." 
 
 lienee laughed. Her doll — this tall urcliin with a girl's 
 manners — seemed to her more amusing than ever since he was 
 in love. The time came when Madame HafFner seriously had 
 
100 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 to defend herself. Moreover the ladies encouraged Maxima 
 with their stifled laughter, their unfinished sentences, and the 
 coquettish attitudes which they assumed in his presence. There 
 was a touch of very aristocratic debauchery in all this, ^rhe 
 three of them, scorched by passion amid their tumultuous life, 
 lingered over the urchin's delightful depravity as over a novel 
 harmless spice which tickled their palates. They let him touch 
 their dresses, and pass his fingers over their shoulders when he 
 followed them into the ant^-room to help them on with their 
 wrappers ; they passed him along from hand to hand, laughing 
 like lunatics when he kissed their wrists near the veins, on the 
 spot where the slcin is so soft ; then they became maternal and 
 learnedly taught him the art of being a fine gentleman and 
 pleasing women. He was their toy, a little fellow of ingenious 
 mechanism who kissed and courted, who had the most delightful 
 vices in the world, but who remained a plaything, a little card- 
 board puppet whom they did not much fear, though just enough 
 to quiver very agreeably at the touch of his childish hand. 
 
 After the holidays, Maxime went to the Lycee Bonaparte. It 
 was the college of fashionable society, the one that Saccard was 
 bound to choose for his son. However soft and light headed the 
 little fellow might be, he still had a keen intelligence ; but he ap- 
 plied it to something very different to classical studies. However 
 he was a tolerably efficient pupil who never fell to the Bohemian 
 level of dunces, but remained among the well dressed and prop- 
 erly conducted young gentlemen of whom nothing was ever said. 
 All that remained to him of his early youth was a perfect worship 
 for dress. Paris opened his eyes, made him a swell young man, 
 tightly buttoned up in his clothes and following the fashions. 
 He was the Brummel of his class. He presented himself there 
 as he would have presented himself in a drawing-room, daintily 
 booted, tightly gloved, with prodigious neckties and ineffable hats. 
 There were some twenty pupils of the kind who formed a sort 
 of aristocracy, who in leaving school for the day offered each other 
 Havannah cigars contained in cases with gold mountings, and 
 who w^ere followed by servants in livery carrying their packets 
 of books. Maxime had persuaded his father to buy him a til- 
 bury and a little black horse which were the admiration of his 
 school fellows. He himself drove, while on the seat behind sat 
 a footman with folded arms, who carried on his knees the 
 collegian's copy book case, a perfect ministerial portfolio in brown 
 leather. And you should have seen how lightly, scientifically 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 101 
 
 and correctly Maxime came in ten minutes from the Kue de 
 Rivoli to the Rue du Havre, drew his horse up sharp before the 
 college door and said to the footman, "At half past four, Jacques, 
 eh 1 " The neighbouring shopkeepers were delighted with the 
 grace of this fair haired youngster whom twice a day at regular 
 hours they saw arrive and start off in his trap. On returning 
 home he sometimes gave a lift to a friend, whom he set down at 
 his door. The two children smoked, looked at the women and 
 splashed the passers-by as if they were returning from the races. 
 'Twas an astonishing little world, a conceited foolish brood, that 
 could be seen each day in the Rue du Havre, correctly attired 
 in masher's jackets, aping rich and wearied men, whilst the Bohe- 
 mian contingent of the college, the real schoolboys, arrived shout- 
 ing and shoving, stamping on the pavement with their heavy 
 shoes, and with their books hanging at the end of a strap over 
 their backs. 
 
 Kenee, who wished to consider the part she played as a mother 
 and a schoolmistress a serious one, was delighted with her pupil. 
 It is true that she neglected nothing to perfect his education. 
 She was then passing through a period full of mortification and 
 tears ; a lover had abandoned her, in scandalous style in sight 
 of all Paris, to attach himself to the Duchess de Sternich. She 
 dreamt that Maxime would be her consolation, she made herself 
 older, she endeavoured to be maternal, and became the most 
 eccentric mentor that can be imagined. Maxim e's tilbury often 
 remained at home ; it was Renee who came to fetch the collegian 
 with her roomy carriage. They hid the brown portfolio under the 
 cushion, and went to the Bois de Boulogne then in its freshness. 
 She there gave him a course of lectures on high elegance. She 
 pointed out to him the upper ten of imperial Paris, fat and happjy, 
 still ecstasied by the warm touch which changed the starvelings 
 and pigs of the day before into great lords and millionaires puff- 
 ing and fainting under the weight of their cash boxes. But the 
 youngster particularly questioned her about women, and as she 
 was very familiar with him, she gave him precise particulars : 
 Madame de Guende was stupid but admirably formed ; the 
 wealthy Countess Vanska had been a street singer before she 
 married a Pole who was said to beat her ; as for the Marchioness 
 d'Espanet and Suzanne Haffner they were inseparable ; and al- 
 though they were Renee's intimate friends, she added — com- 
 pressing her lips as if to prevent herself from saying any more — 
 that some very nasty stories were told about them ; beautiful 
 
102 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Madame de Lauwerens was also a very compromising woman, 
 but she had such pretty eyes, and after all everyone knew that 
 she herself was irreproachable, although somewhat too much 
 mixed up in the intrigues of the poor little women who frequented 
 her, Madame Daste, Madame Teissiere and the Baroness de 
 Meinhold. Maxime wished to have the ladies' portraits; and 
 with them he adorned an album which remained on the drawing- 
 room table. "With that vicious artfulness which was his predom- 
 inant characteristic he tried to embarass his stepmother by ask- 
 ing her for particulars concerning the fast women, at the same 
 time pretending to take them for women of society. Renee, be- 
 coming moral and serious, said that they were frightful creatures 
 and that he ought to carefully avoid them; then forgetting her- 
 self she talked about them as if they were people whom she had 
 known intimately. One of the youngster's great delights was 
 to set her talking about the Duchess de Sternich. Each time 
 that her carriage passed theirs in the Eois, he never missed 
 naming the duchess with cruel artfulness and an under glance 
 which proved that he was acquainted with Renee's last adventure. 
 Then she in a harsh voice tore her rival to pieces ; how old she 
 was looking, poor woman, she painted her face, she had lovers 
 hidden in all her cupboards, she had given herself to a chamber- 
 lain so as to be in the imperial bed. And Renee ran on and 
 on, while Maxime, to exasperate her, declared that he thought 
 Madame de Sternich charming. Such lessons singularly de- 
 veloped the collegian's intelligence, and this, all the more, as 
 his young teacher repeated them every where, in the Bois, at the 
 theatre, and in the drawing-rooms. The pupil thus became 
 very proficient. 
 
 Maxime adored living amid women's skirts, finery and rice 
 powder. He always remained somewhat girlish with his taper- 
 ing hands, his beardless face, and his white, fleshy neck. Renee 
 gravely consulted him about her dresses. He knew the good 
 costumiers of Paris and pronounced judgment upon each of 
 them in a word, he talked about the '* savour " of such a one's 
 bonnets and the ''" logic " of such a one's dresses. At seventeen 
 there was not a milliner whom he had not proved, not a bootmaker 
 whose heart he had not penetrated and studied. This strange 
 abortion who during the English lessons at college, read the pros- 
 pectuses that his perfumer sent him every Friday, would have 
 delivered a complete discourse on Parisian society, customers 
 and tradespeople included, at an age when country youngsters 
 
THE KUSII FOR THE SPOIL. 103 
 
 don't dare look a housemaid in the face. On his way home 
 he often brought a bonnet, a box of soap or an article 
 of jewellery that his stepmother had ordered the day before. 
 Some strip of musk-scented lace always lingered in his 
 pockets. 
 
 However his great affair was to accompany Renee when she 
 called on the illustrious Worms, the tailor of genius, before 
 whom the queens of the Second Empire fell on their knees. The 
 great man's waiting room was vast, square and furnished with 
 roomy divans. Maxime entered it with a feeling of religious 
 emotion. Dresses certainly have a special perfume ; silk, satin, 
 velvet, lace had there mingled their light aroma with that of 
 women's hair and amber-shaded shoulders ; and the atmosphere 
 of the room retained an odoriferous warmth, an incense of flesh 
 and luxury which transformed the apartment into a chapel con- 
 secrated to some secret divinity. It was often necessary for 
 Eenee and Maxime to dance attendance during hours ; a series 
 of feminine solicitors were there, waiting their turn, dipping 
 biscuits into glasses of Madeira, taking a snack on the large 
 central table covered with bottles and plates full of little cakes. 
 The ladies were at home, they talked freely, and when they 
 ensconced themselves around the room you would have thought 
 that a flight of Lesbian nymphs had alighted on the divans of a 
 Parisian drawing-room. Maxime, whom they put up with and 
 even liked on account of his girlish air, was the only man admit- 
 ted into the circle. He there tasted divine delight : he glided 
 along the divans like a supple snake ; he was discovered under 
 a skirt, behind a bodice, or between two dresses, where he 
 made himself as small as possible and kept very quiet, in- 
 haling the perfumed warmth of his feminine neighbours 
 
 " That youngster pokes himself everywhere," said the Baroness 
 de Meinhold tapping him on the cheeks. 
 
 He was so slightly built that the ladies did not think him 
 more than fourteen. They amused themselves by intoxicating 
 him with the illustrious Worms's Madeira, whereupon he said 
 some astounding things which made them laugh till they cried. 
 However it was the Marchioness d'Espanet who hit upon the 
 right remark for the circumstance. As Maxime was discovered 
 one day, in a corner of the divan, behind her back — 
 
 " That boy ought to have been a girl," she murmured, seeing 
 
104 THE KUSH FOB THE SPOIL. 
 
 him so rosy and blushing, so penetrated with the delight he had 
 experienced at being close to her. 
 
 Then when the great Worms finally received Eenee, Maxime 
 followed her into the study. He had ventured to speak two or 
 three times whilst the master became absorbed in contemplating 
 his customer, just like Leonardo da Vinci in presence of the 
 Joconde, according to the pontiffs of art. The master had deigned 
 to smile at the appropriateness of Maxime's remarks; He made 
 Eenee stand upright before a mirror, rising from the parquetry 
 to the ceih'ng, and he pondered with a contraction of the eyebrows, 
 whilst the young woman, affected, caught her breath so as not to 
 stir. And after a few minutes the master, as if seized and shaken 
 by inspiration, roughly and jerkily described the work of art 
 he had just conceived, exclaiming in curt phrases : 
 
 " Montespau dress in ash tinted silk — the train describing a 
 rounded skirt in front — large bow of grey satin catching it up 
 on the hips — finally an apron composed of puffs of pearl grey 
 tulle, the pufifs separated by bands of grey satin." 
 
 He again reflected, seemed to dive to the very depths of his 
 genius, and w^ith the triumphant grimace of a python seated 
 upon the tripod he concluded : 
 
 " In the hair, upon this smiling head, we will place the dreamy 
 butterfly of Pysche with wings of changeful blue." 
 
 But on other occasions, inspiration was sluggish. The illus- 
 trious Worms summoned it in vain and concentrated his facul- 
 ties to no purpose. He tortured his eyebrows, turned livid, 
 took his poor head, which he w^agged in despair, between his 
 hands, and conquered, throwing himself into an arm-chair : 
 
 ^'No," he would mutter in a sorrowful voice, "no, not to-day 
 — it isn't possible — These ladies presume too much. The source 
 is dried up." 
 
 And he would turn Eenee out of doors, repeating : 
 
 " Impossible, impossible, dear madame, you must call again 
 another day. I'm not in the vein to deal wuth your style this 
 morning." 
 
 The fine education that Maxime received had a first result. 
 At seventeen the youngster seduced his stepmother's maid. 
 The worst of the affair was that the girl found herself in the 
 family way. It was necessary to send her into the country with 
 the kid and make her a small allowance. Eenee was terribly 
 vexed by this adventure. Saccard occupied himself about it 
 merely to settle the pecuniary side of the question ; but the 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 105 
 
 young woman roundly scolded her pupil. To think he should 
 compromise himself with such a girl when she wanted to make 
 a gentleman of him ! What a ridiculous, shameful beginning, 
 what a disgraceful prank ! If he had at least only launched 
 forth with one of those ladies ! 
 
 **0h! quite so," he answered quietly, "if your dear friend 
 Suzanne had only chosen she could have gone into the country 
 instead of the maid." 
 
 ** Oh ! you naughty fellow," muttered Kenee, disarmed and 
 enlivened by the idea of seeing Suzanne retire into the country 
 with an allowance of twelve hundred francs a year. 
 
 Then a funnier thought occurred to her, and forgetting her 
 part as an irritated mother, bursting into pearly laughter which 
 she restrained with her fingers, she stammered, glancing at him 
 out of the corner of her eyes : 
 
 " I say, how angry Adeline would have been with you, and 
 what a scene she would have had with her — " 
 
 She did not finish. Maxime was laughing with her. Such 
 was the fine ending of Kenee's lecture on this occasion. 
 
 Meanwhile Saccard troubled himself but little concerning the 
 two children, as he called his son and his second wife. He left 
 them complete liberty, feeling happy at seeing them such good 
 friends, whereby the flat was filled with noisy gaiety. It was a 
 singular flat, this first floor in the Eue de Eivoli. The doors 
 were opening and shutting all day long, the servants talked aloud ; 
 through the fresh bright luxury of the place there constantly 
 swept a flight of huge skirts, and processions of tradespeople; and 
 in addition there was all the disorder occasioned by Renee's friends, 
 Maxime's chums, and Saccard's visitors. From nine till eleven 
 A.M. the last named received the strangest throng one could find, 
 senators and lawyers' clerks, duchesses and old clothes-dealers, all 
 the scum that the tempests of Paris landed of a morning at his 
 door ; silk dresses, dirty skirts, blouses,dress coats, all of which he 
 received with the same hasty language and the same impatient 
 nervous gestures. He settled a business afiliir in a couple of 
 minutes, dealt with tw^enty difiiculties at once and furnished 
 solutions on the run. One would have thought that this rest- 
 less little man, whose voice was very loud, was fighting in his 
 study with his visitors, with the furniture, turning somersaults, 
 knocking his head against the ceiling to make ideas flash forth 
 from it, and always falling victorious on his feet again. Then 
 at eleven o'clock he went out and was not seen again for the 
 
106 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 day; he lunched, and indeed, he often dined away from home. 
 Then the house belonged to Ren6e and Maxime. They took 
 possession of the father's study, they unpacked the tradespeoples' 
 cardboard boxes there, and articles of finery lay about among 
 the business papers. At times serious people waited for an hour 
 at the door of the study whilst the collegian and the young 
 w^oman seated at either end of Saccard's writing table, discussed 
 a bow of ribbon. Eenee had the horses put to ten times a day. 
 They seldom shared a meal together ; two of the three were 
 ever on the wing, forgetting time, and only returning home at 
 midnight. It was a dwelling of noise, business and pleasure, into 
 which modern life swept like a gust of wind, with a sound of 
 chinking gold and rustling dresses. 
 
 Aristide Saccard had found his vein at last. He had revealed 
 himself as a great speculator and juggled with millions. After 
 the masterly stroke of the Eue de la Pepiniere he boldly threw 
 himself into the struggle, which was beginning to scatter flashing 
 triumphs and shameful wrecks through Paris. At first he ex- 
 ecuted safe strokes, repeating his first success, buying up houses 
 which he knew to be threatened vv^ith the pickaxe, and utilising 
 his friends so as to obtain heavy indemnities. There came a 
 moment when he had five or six houses, those houses that he 
 had looked at so strangely in former times, as acquaintances of 
 his when he was merely a poor road inspector. But all that w^as 
 the mere infancy of art, it did not require much cunning to run 
 out leases, to plot with tenants, and to rob the State and private 
 people ; and he considered that the game was not sufiBciently 
 remunerative. For that reason he soon placed his genius at the 
 service of more complicated affairs. 
 
 Saccard at first invented the dodge of buying houses secretly 
 on behalf of the city of Paris. The latter's situation had 
 become a difficult one owing to a decision of the Council' of 
 State. The city authorities had purchased, by private contract, 
 a large number of houses in the hope of running out the leases 
 and getting rid of the tenants without the payment of an 
 indemnity. But these purchases were considered by the Council 
 of State to be real expropriations and the city had to pay. It 
 was then that Saccard offered to lend his name to the city ; he 
 bought houses, ran out the leases, and for a consideration 
 handed the property over to the authorities at the date agreed 
 upon. Indeed he finished by playing a double game ; he bought 
 property both for the city and for the prefect. When the affair 
 
THE PvUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 107 
 
 was too tempting he stuck to the house himself. The State paid. 
 In reward for his services he obtained the right to cut bits of 
 streets and open spaces which had been planned, a right which 
 he sold again to some one else before the new thoroughfare w^as 
 even commenced. It was a hot game ; people gambled with 
 the new streets just as w^ith stocks and shares. Certain ladies, 
 pretty prostitutes, intimate with high functionaries, were in the 
 swing; one of them, whose white teeth are famous, nibbled 
 whole streets on various occasions. Saccard grew more hungry 
 than ever, feeling his desires increase at the sight of the flood 
 of gold which glided between his fingers. It seemed to him as 
 if a sea of tv.enty-franc pieces expanded around him, swelling 
 from a lake to an ocean, filling the vast horizon with a strange 
 wave-like noise, a metallic music which tickled his heart; and 
 he grew adventurous, becoming each day a bolder swimmer, 
 diving, rising again to the surface, now on his back, now on his 
 belly, crossing this immensity in fair and foul weather alike, 
 and relying on his strength and skill to prevent him from ever 
 sinking to the bottom. 
 
 Paris was then disappearing in a cloud of plaster dust. The 
 times that Saccard had predicted on the heights of Montmartre 
 had come. The city was being slashed to pieces with sabre 
 strokes and he had a finger in every slash, in every wound. He 
 had piles of building materials derived from demolished houses 
 in the four corners of the city. In the Eue de Rome he was 
 mixed up in that astonishing story of a pit which a company 
 dug to carry off five or six thousand cubic metres of soil and 
 create a belief in a gigantic enterprise, and which had to be 
 filled up again by bringing soil from Saint-Ouen when the 
 company had failed. Saccard got out of the affair with his 
 conscience at ease and his pockets full, thanks to his brother 
 Eugene, who was kind enough to intervene. At Chaillot he 
 assisted in cutting through the heights and throwing them into 
 a hollow to make way for the boulevard running from the Arc- 
 de-Triomphe to the Alma bridge. In the direction of Passy it 
 was he who had the idea of scattering the refuse cleared away 
 from the Trocadero, upon the plateau, so that the good 
 soil is now-a-days two yards below the surface, and even 
 weeds refuse to grow amid the broken plaster. He might have 
 been found in twenty directions at once, at every spot where 
 there was some insurmountable obstacle, a mass of clearings 
 which no one knew what to do with, a hollow which it was 
 
108 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 difficult to fill up, a pile of soil mingled with plaster over which 
 the engineers in their feverish haste grew impatient, but which 
 he sifted with his own hands and in which he always finished 
 by finding some sop or other, or a speculation in his own peculiar 
 line. On the same day he ran from the works round about the 
 Arc-de-Triomphe to those of the Boulevard St. Michel, from the 
 clearings of the Boulevard Malesherbes to the embankments of 
 Chaillot, dragging with him an army of workmen, lawyers, 
 shareholders, dupes, and scamps. 
 
 But his purest glory was the Credit Yiticole, wdiich he had 
 established in conjunction with Toutin-Laroche. The latter 
 was the official director, he himself only figured as a member of 
 the board. In this circumstance Eugene had again done his 
 brother a good turn. Thanks to him the government authorized 
 the estabhshment of the company jand watched its operations 
 wuth great indulgence. On one difficult occasion, when an evil- 
 minded newspaper ventured to criticise one of the company's 
 operations, the " Moniteur " went so far as to publish a note 
 forbidding any discussion concerning so honourable an under- 
 taking, which the State deigned to patronize. The Credit 
 Yiticole was based on an excellent financial system; it lent 
 farmers half of the estimated value of their property, obtained a 
 mortgage as guarantee for the loan, and received interest from 
 the borrowers as well as an annual instalment of the principal. 
 No financial system was ever more dignified or proper. Eugene 
 had informed his brother with a sly smile that the Tuileries 
 washed people to be honest. M. Toutin-Laroche interpreted 
 this wish by letting the farmers' loan-machine work quietly, 
 and by annexing to it a banking-house which attracted capital 
 and gambled feverishly, launching forth into all sorts of 
 adventurous enterprises. The Credit Yiticole thanks to the 
 formidable impulsion it received from its director, soon enjoyed 
 a well-established reputation of solidity and prosperity. At the 
 outset, in view of offering at the Bourse, at one go, a mass 
 of shares freshly detached from their counterfoils, and to give 
 them the aspect of having long been in circulation, Saccard 
 ingeniously had them trodden on and beaten, during a whole 
 night, by the bank collectors provided with birch brooms. The 
 headquarters of the Credit Yiticole might have been taken for 
 a branch of the Bank of France. The house where the offices 
 w^ere located seemed to be the grave and dignified temple of 
 mammon, with its courtyard full of equipages, its solemn iron 
 
THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 109 
 
 railings, its broad flight of steps and its monumental staircase, 
 its suites of luxurious private rooms, and its world of clerks and 
 liveried lackeys ; and nothing could fill the public with more 
 religious emotion than the sanctuary, the cashier's office, 
 reached by a passage of sacred bareness, and where one 
 perceived the safe, the god, crouching, embedded in the wall, 
 squat and somniferous with its three locks, its massive flanks, 
 and its air of divine brutishness. 
 
 Saccard jobbed a big affair with the city of Paris. The latter, 
 hard-up, crushed by its debt, dragged into this dance of 
 millions which it had started to please the Emperor and fill 
 certain people's pockets, was now reduced to borrowing covertly, 
 not caring to own its violent fever, its stone-and-pickaxe mad- 
 ness. It had just begun to issue what it called delegation 
 bonds, real bills of exchange at a distant date, so as to pay the 
 contractors on the very days that the agreements were signed, 
 and thus enable them to obtain money by having these bonds 
 discounted. The Credit Yiticole had graciously accepted this 
 paper from the contractors ; and one day when the city was in 
 need of money Saccard went to tempt it. A considerable sum 
 was lent it on the security of delegation bonds which M. Toutin- 
 Laroche swore he had obtained from contracting companies, 
 and which he had dragged through all the gutters of speculation. 
 After that the Credit Viticole was above attack ; it held Paris 
 by the throat. The director now only talked v/ith a smile 
 about the famous Societe Generale of the Ports of Morocco ; and 
 yet it still existed, and the newspapers continued regularly 
 extolling the great commercial stations. One day when M. 
 Toutin-Laroche tried to persuade Saccard to take some shares 
 in this enterprise, the latter laughed in his face, asking him if 
 lie thought him fool enough to invest his money in the *^ General 
 Company of the Arabian Nights.'' 
 
 Saccard had so far speculated successfully, with safe profits, 
 cheating, selling himself, making money by contracts, deriving 
 some sort of gain from each of his operations. Soon, however, 
 this jobbing did not suffice him, he disdained gleaning, picking 
 up the gold which folks like Toutin-Laroche and Baron Gouraud 
 dropped behind them. He plunged his arms into the bag, up 
 to the shoulders. He went into partnership with Mignon, 
 Charrier & Co., the famous contractors, who were then just 
 starting, and who were destined to make colossal fortunes. 
 The city of Paris had already decided not to execute the works 
 
110 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 itself, but to have the boulevards laid out by contract. The 
 contracting companies agreed to deliver a thoroughfare complete, 
 ^Yith its trees planted, its benches and lamp-posts duly placed, 
 in exchange for a specified indemnity; at times they even 
 delivered the thoroughfare for nothing, finding themselves 
 amply remunerated by retaining the bordering building ground, 
 for which they asked a greatly enhanced price. The fever of 
 speculation in land, the furious rise in the value of house 
 property date from this period. Saccard, thanks to his connec- 
 tions, obtained a grant to lay out three lots of boulevard. He 
 was the ardent and somewhat muddling soul of the partnership. 
 Messieurs Mignon & Charrier, his dependents at the outset, were 
 fat, artful fellows, master masons, who knew the value of money. 
 They laughed slyly at sight of Saccard's equipages ; they 
 generally retained their blouses, never refused to shake hands 
 with a workman, and returned home covered with plaster dust. 
 They came from Langres both of tbem, and into this burning, 
 never satisfied Paris they brought their Champagnese prudence, 
 their calm brains, somewhat obtuse and deficient in intelligence, 
 but very quick in profiting of opportunities for filling their 
 pockets, free to enjoy themselves later on. If Saccard promoted 
 the afiair and infused life into it with his fire and rageous 
 appetite. Messieurs Mignon & Charrier by their plodding habits, 
 their narrow methodical management, prevented it a score of 
 times from being capsized by the astonishing imagination of 
 their partner. They would never consent to have superb ofl&ces 
 in a mansion which he wanted to build to astonish Paris. They 
 also refused to entertain the secondary speculations which 
 sprouted in his brain every morning, such as the erection of 
 concert halls and vast bathing establishments on the building 
 ground bordering their thoroughfare ; of covered galleries, which 
 would have doubled the rent of the shops and have allowed 
 people to circulate through Paris without getting wet. To put 
 a stop to these plans, which frightened them, the contractors 
 decided that the building ground should be divided between the 
 three partners, and that each should do what he pleased with 
 his share. They themselves wisely continued selling their lots 
 wdiile he built upon his. His brain boiled. He would, in all 
 seriousness, have proposed placing Paris under a huge bell-glass 
 to change it into a conservatory and grow pine apples and sugar 
 cine there. 
 
 Turning over money by the shovelful he soon had eight 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. Ill 
 
 houses on the new boulevards. He had four that were com- 
 pletely finished, two in the Rue de Marignan, and two on the 
 Boulevard Haussmann ; the four others, situated on the Boule- 
 vard Malesherbes, remained in progress, and indeed one of them, 
 a vast enclosure of planks where a magnificent mansion was to 
 rise, had only the flooring of the first floor laid. At this period 
 his affairs became so complicated, he had so many strings 
 attached to each of his fingers, so many interests to watch over 
 and puppets to set in motion, that he slept barely three hours 
 a night and read his correspondence in his carriage. The 
 marvellous thing was that his cash-box seemed inexhaustible. 
 He was a shareholder ia every company, built houses with a 
 kind of fury, turned himself to every trade and threatened to 
 inundate Paris like a rising tide, without once being seen to 
 realise a clear profit or pocket a large sum shining in the sun- 
 light. The river of gold, of unknown source, which seemed to 
 flow from his study in quickly recurring waves, astonished the 
 Parisian cockneys, and at one moment made him the prominent 
 man to whom the newspapers ascribed all the witticisms of the 
 Bourse. 
 
 With such a husband Renee was about as little married as she 
 could be. She remained for whole weeks almost without seeing 
 him. On the other hand he was perfect ; he threw his cash-box 
 wide open for her. In point of fact, she liked him as she would 
 have liked an obliging banker. When she went to the Beraud 
 mansion she praised him highly before her father, whose severity 
 and coldness did not abate on account of his son-in-law's fortune. 
 Her contempt had fled ; this man seemed so convinced that life 
 is a mere business affair, he was so plainly born to coin money 
 out of whatever fell into his hands, women, children, paving- 
 stones, sacks of mortar, and consciences, that she could not 
 reproach him for having made their marriage a bargain. Since 
 that bargain he in a measure looked upon her as upon one of 
 those fine houses which honoured him and from which he 
 expected to derive large profits. He liked to see her well 
 dressed, noisy, making all Paris turn the head. It consolidated 
 his position, doubled the probable figure of his fortune. By 
 his wife he seemed handsome, young, amorous, and giddy. 
 She was a partner, an accomplice without knowing it. A new 
 pair of horses, a dress costing two thousand crowns, a weakness 
 for a lover, facilitated, often ensured the success of his most 
 remunerative transactions. Moreover, he frequently pretended 
 
112 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 to be worn-out, and sent her to a minister's^ or some 
 functionary's, to solicit an authorisation or receive a reply. 
 ^' And be good ! " he said to her in a tone, at once jesting and 
 coaxing, Tvhich only belonged to himself. And when she 
 returned, when she liad succeeded, he rubbed his hands, 
 repeating his famous phrase, '^ And you were goodl" Eenee 
 laughed. He was too active to wish his wife to be a Madame 
 Michelin. He simply liked coarse witticisms and indecent 
 suppositions. Besides, if Eenee had *^not been good" he would 
 only have experienced the mortification of having really paid 
 for the minister's or functionary's compliance. To dupe people, 
 to give them less than their money's worth, was a feast for him. 
 He often said : ''If I were a woman I should perhaps sell 
 myself, but I should never deliver the merchandise; it's too 
 stupid." 
 
 This madcap Renee, who had appeared one night in the 
 Parisian firmament like the eccentric fairy of fashionable 
 sensuality, was the least analyzable of women. Xo doubt if 
 she had been brought up at home she would by means of 
 religion or some other satisfaction for the nerves have 
 attenuated the desires by which she was at times really 
 maddened. She belonged to the middle classes by her mind ; 
 she was perfectly upright, with a love for logical things, a fear 
 of heaven and hell and a huge dose of prejudices; she belonged 
 to her father's side, to the calm and prudent race among which 
 fireside virtues flourish. And yet it was in this nature of hers 
 that prodigious fancies, ever reviving inquisitiveness and 
 desires not to be confessed, sprouted and grew. While she was 
 with the ladies of the Visitation, free, her mind wanderin_ 
 amid the mystical voluptuousness of the chapel and the carnal 
 attachment of her young friends, she had framed for herself a 
 fantastic education, learning vice, throwing all the frankness of 
 her nature into it, unsettling her young brain to such a point 
 that she singularly embarrassed her confessor by owning to him 
 that she had felt a most unreasonable longing to get up and 
 kiss him one day during mass. Then she struck her breast, she 
 turned pale at the thought of the devil and his cauldrons. 
 The fault which, later on, had brought about her marriage with 
 Saccard, that brutal rape which she had experienced with a 
 kind of frightened expectation, made her despise herself and in 
 a great measure caused the abandonment of her whole life. 
 She thought that she no longer had to struggle against evil 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 113 
 
 that it was in her, that logic authorized her to follow the bad 
 science to the end. With her there was yet more curiosity 
 than appetite. Thrown into the society of the Second Empire, 
 abandoned to her imagination, provided with money, encouraged 
 in her loudest eccentricities, she gave herself, regretted it, and 
 finally succeeded in killing her expiring principles, always 
 lashed, always urged onward by her insatiable longing to learn 
 and feel. 
 
 Besides she was as yet only at the earlier pages. She willingly 
 talked in a low tone, and laughing, about the extraordinary cir 
 cumstances of the tender attachment between Suzanne Haffner 
 I and Adeline d'Espanet, of the questionable calling of Madame 
 I de Lauwerens, and of the kisses which the Countess Vanska gave 
 at a fixed price ; but she still contemplated these things from 
 afar off, with a vague notion of perhaps tasting them, and this 
 |l indeterminate desire which at evil moments rose within her, in- 
 creased her turbulent anxiety still more and urged her on in her 
 mad search for an unique exquisite enjoyment of which she alone 
 would partake. Her first lovers had not spoiled her ; she had 
 on three occasions fancied herself seized with a great passion ; 
 love burst forth in her brain like a cracker, the sparks of which 
 did not reach her heart. She was mad for a month, showed her- 
 self throughout Paris with her dear lord ; and then one morning, 
 amid all the racket of her love, she became conscious of depress- 
 ing silence and immense vacuity. The first, the young Duke 
 de Eozan, was barely more than a breakfast of sunshine ; Renee 
 who had noticed him on account of his gentleness and excellent 
 manners, found him altogether superficial, washed out, and plaguy 
 when they were alone together. Mr. Simpson, an attache of the 
 American embassy, who came next, almost beat her, and for that 
 reason remained with her for nearly a year. Then she smiled on 
 an aide-de-camp of the Emperor, the Count de Chibray, a vain 
 handsome man who was beginning to tire her when the Duchess 
 de Sternich took it into her head to fall in love with him and 
 carry him off from her ; thereupon she wept for him and let her 
 friends understand that her heart was crushed, and that she 
 should never love again. She thus progressed to the most insig- 
 nificant being in the world, Monsieur de Mussy, ayoung man who 
 was making his way in the diplomatic career by conducting cotil- 
 lons with especial gracefulness; she never exactly knew why she had 
 given herself to him but she retained him for a long time, feeling 
 lazy, disgusted with an unknown land which one discovers in half aa 
 
 H 
 
114 THi<: EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 hour, and deferring the worry attendant upon a change until she 
 had met with some extraordinary adventure. At twenty-eight 
 years of age she already felt terribly wearied. Ennui appeared 
 to her all the more insupportable, as her middle-class virtues 
 profited by the hours when she was bored to complain and worr^; 
 her. She closed her door, she had frightful headaches. Then 
 when the door opened again it was a flood of silk and lace that 
 swept forth with a great racket, a being of liDCury and joy with- 
 out a care or a flush upon the brow. 
 
 Still she had had a romance in her commonplace fashionable 
 life. One day, at sunset, after going on foot to see her father, 
 who did not like to hear the noise of carriages at his door, she 
 noticed, while passing along the Quai Saint-Paul on her way home, 
 that she was being followed by a young man. It was warm and 
 the daylight was waning with amorous softness. She, who was 
 usually only followed on horseback in the pathways of the Bois 
 de Boulogne, found the adventure spicy and was flattered by it 
 as by a new homage, somewhat brutal no doubt, but the verj' 
 coarseness of which titillated her. Instead of returning home 
 she took the Rue du Temple and promenaded her gallant along the 
 Boulevards. The man however grew bolder and became so press- 
 ing that Eenee, somewhat intimidated, lost her head, followed 
 the Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere, and took refuge in the shop 
 kept by her husband's sister. The man came in behind her. 
 Madame Sidonie smiled, seemed to understand, and 'left them 
 alone. And when Renee wished to follow her sister-in-law the 
 stranger retained her, spoke to her with feeling politeness and 
 won her forgiveness. He was a clerk called Georges whose sur- 
 name she never asked. She went to see him twice, going in by 
 the shop while he arrived by the Rue Papillon. This chance 
 love affair, found and accepted in the street, proved one of her 
 keenest pleasures. She always thought of it with a little shame, 
 but with a singular smile of regret. Madame Sidonie's profit in 
 the aflair was that she at last became the accomplice of her 
 brother's second wife, a part which she had been anxious to play 
 ever since the wedding-day. 
 
 Poor Madame Sidonie had experienced a deception. While she 
 was promoting the marriage she had hoped in a degree to espouse 
 Renee herself, make her a customer and derive a number of little 
 profits by her. She judged women at a glance like connoisseurs 
 judge horses. And so, after allowing the couple a month to 
 settle themselves, her consternation was great when, on perceiving 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 115 
 
 Madame de Lau wereiis en throned in the centre of the drawing-room , 
 she realised that she came too late. Madame de Lauwerens, a hand- 
 some woman of twenty-six, occupied herself with launching new- 
 comers into the swing. She belonged to a very old family and was 
 married to a man of the upper financial world, who had the fault of 
 refusing to settle tailors' and milliners' bills. His wife, a very intelli- 
 gent person, coined money and kept herself. She held men in hor- 
 ror, she said ; but she supplied all her female friends with them ; 
 there was always a full stock to choose from in the flat which she 
 occupied in the Rue de Provence, over her husband's ofl&ces. 
 Little collations took place there ; and one met one another in an 
 unforeseen charming manner. There was no harm in a girl going 
 to see her dear Madame de Lauwerens, and if chance brought 
 men there who were at all events very respectful and belonged 
 to the best society — why so much the worse. The lady of the 
 house was charming in her long lace wrappers. A visitor would 
 very often have chosen her in preference to her collection of 
 blondes and brunettes. Bat report asserted that she was alto- 
 gether well conducted. The whole secret of the affair lay in that. 
 She still held her high situation in society, had all the men for 
 her friends, retained her pride as a virtuous woman, and experien- 
 ced a secret joy in lowering the others and deriving a profit 
 by their fall. When Madame Sidonie had enlightened herself 
 as to the mechanism of the new invention she was sorely dis- 
 tressed. It was the classical school, the woman in an old black 
 dress, carrying love letters at the bottom of her basket, set in 
 front of the modern school, the lady of high degree, who sells 
 her friends in her boudoir while sipping a cup of tea. The 
 modern school triumphed. Madame de Lauwerens glanced 
 coldly at the shabby dress of Madame Sidonie in whom she 
 scented a rival ; and it was from her hand that Eenee received 
 her first worry, the young Duke de Rozan, whom the beautiful 
 financier found it difficult to dispose of. It was only later on 
 that the classical school won the day, when Madame Sidonie lent 
 her lodging to her sister-in-law so that she might gratify her 
 fancy for the stranger of the Quai Saint-Paul. She remained her 
 confidante. 
 
 Maxime however was one of Madame Sidonie's boon friends. 
 .When only fifteen years old he went on the prowl to his aunt's, 
 smelling the forgotten gloves which he found lying on the furni- 
 ture. She, who hated clear situations and never owned her little 
 services, ended by lending him the keys of her rooms, on certain 
 
116 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 days, saying that she would remain in the country until the 
 morrow. Maxime talked about some friends whom he wished 
 to entertain and whom he did not like to take to his father's. It 
 was in the rooms of the Eue du Faubourg-Poissonniere that he 
 \ spent several nights with the poor girl whom one was afterwards 
 obliged to send into the country. Madame Sidonie borrowed money 
 from her nephew, and went iato ecstacies before him, murmuring 
 in a soft voice that he was '^ without a hair, as rosy as a Cupid. ^' 
 Maxime had grown however. He was now a pretty, slightly 
 built young man who had retained the rosy cheeks and blue 
 eyes of childhood. His curly hair completed that girlish appear- 
 ance, which so delighted the ladies. He resembled poor Angele 
 with his soft eyes and blonde pallor. But he was not even the 
 equal of that indolent shallow woman. In him the race of the 
 Eougons had a tendency to refinement and became delicate and 
 vicious. The offspring of too young a mother, constituting a 
 strange, jumbled, and so to say unmingled combination of his 
 father's furious appetites and his mother's self-abandonment 
 and weakness, he was a defective offspring in whom the parental 
 failings were completed and aggravated. This family of the 
 Eougons lived too fast ; it was dying out already in the person 
 of this frail creature whose sex must have remained in suspense 
 during formation, and who no longer represented a will, eager 
 for gain and enjoyment like Saccard, but a species of cowardice, 
 devouring fortunes already made ; a strange hermaphrodite 
 ushered at the right time into a society that was rottening. 
 When Maxime went to the Bois de Boulogne, with his waist 
 tightly compressed like a woman's, lightly dancing in the saddle 
 on which he was swayed by the canter of his horse, he was the 
 god of the age, with his strongly developed hips, his long slender 
 hands, his sickly lascivious air, his correct elegance, and his slang 
 learnt at petty theatres. At tw^enty years of age he placed him- 
 self above all surprises and all disgusts. He had certainly 
 dreamt of the most unusual beastliness. But with him vice was 
 not an abyss, as it is with certain old men, but a natural external 
 bloom. It curled upon his fair hair, smiled upon his lips, and 
 dressed him like his clothes. However his great characteristic 
 was especially his eyes, two clear and smiling blue apertures, 
 true mirrors for a coquette, but behind which one perceived all 
 the emptiness of his brain. Those harlot eyes were never lowered ; 
 they courted pleasure, a pleasure without fatigue which one 
 summons and receives. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 117 
 
 The everlasting gust of wind which swept into the rooms in 
 the Kiie de Rivoli and banged their doors, blew stronger and 
 stronger while Maxime grew up, while Saccard enlarged the 
 sphere of his transactions, and Ren^e threw more fever into her 
 search for unknown enjoyment. These three beings ended by 
 leading an astonishing life of liberty and folly. It was the ripe 
 and prodigious fruit of a period. The street invaded the flat 
 with its rumble of vehicles, its elbowing of strangers, and its 
 licence of language. The father, the stepmother, the stepson, 
 acted, talked, and set themselves at ease just as if they had 
 each been alone living a bachelor life. Three boon friends, 
 three students sharing the same furnished room, would not have 
 disposed of that room more unceremoniously to install therein 
 their hobbledoy vices, loves, and noisy pleasures. The Saccards 
 met with hand-shakes, did not seem to suspect the reasons which 
 united them under the same roof, and behaved cavalierly and 
 joyously towards each other, each thus assuming absolute 
 independence. They replaced family ties by a kind of partner- 
 ship, the profits of which are divided in equal shares ; each one 
 drew his share of pleasure to himself, and it was tacitly under- 
 stood that each should dispose of that share as he thought fit. 
 They went so far as to take their enjoyment in presence of one 
 another, to display it, and describe it without awakening aught 
 but a little envy and curiosity. 
 
 Maxime now instructed Ren^e. When he went to the Bois 
 with her he told her stories about prostitutes which greatly 
 enlivened her. A new woman could not appear near the lake 
 without his setting forth on a campaign to ascertain the name 
 of her protector, the allowance he made her, and the style in 
 which she lived. He was acquainted with these ladies' homes, 
 and with the particulars of their private life ; indeed he w^as a 
 perfect living catalogue in which all the harlots were numbered, 
 with a complete description of each of them. This gazette 
 of scandal was Eenee's delight. On race-days at Longchamps, 
 when she passed by in her carriage, she listened eagerly, albeit 
 retaining her haughtiness as a woman of good society, to the 
 story of how Blanche Muller deceived her embassy attache with 
 a hair-dresser ; or how the little baron had found the count in 
 .'his drawers in the alcove of a skinny, red-haired notoriety who 
 was called the Crawfish. Each day brought its tattle. When 
 the story was rather too stiff Maxime lowered his voice, but he 
 nevertheless went on to the end. Renee opened her eyes wide, 
 
118 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 like a cliild to whom a good trick is related, restrained her 
 laughter, and then stifled it in her embroidered handkerchief, 
 which she gently pressed to her lips. Maxime also brought 
 these women's photogTaphs. He had portraits of actresses in 
 all his pockets and even in his cigar case. At times he had a 
 clearing out and placed these women in the album which was 
 always trailing over the furniture in the drawing-room, and 
 which already contained the portraits of Eonee's female friends. 
 There was also some men's photographs in it, Messieurs de 
 Rozan, Simpson, De Chibray, and De Mussy, as well as actors, 
 writers, and deputies who had come to swell the collection no 
 one knew how. It was a strangely mixed society, the prototype 
 of the jumble of ideas and personages that crossed Eenee's and 
 Maxime's lives. Whenever it rained, or whenever one was 
 bored, this album proved a great subject of conversation. It 
 always ended by falling under one's hand. The young woman 
 opened it with a sigh for the hundredth time perhaps. By-and- 
 by, however, her curiosity was awakened and the young fellow 
 came and leant behind her. Then long discussions began about 
 the Crawfish's hair, Madame de Meinhold's double chin, Madame 
 de Lauwerens's eyes, and Blanche Muller's bosom ; about the 
 Marchioness's nose, which was a trifle on one side, and about 
 the mouth of little Sylvia, who was notorious for her thick lips. 
 They compared the women with each other. 
 
 ''For myself, if I were a man," said Renee, "I should choose 
 Adeline." 
 
 ''That's because you don't know Sylvia," answered Maxime, 
 " she has such a funny style. For myself, I prefer Sylvia." 
 
 The pages were turned over ; at times the Duke de Rozan or 
 Mr. Simpson, or the Count de Chibray appeared, and Maxime 
 added, sneering : 
 
 " Besides, your taste is perverted, everyone knows it. Can 
 you see anything more stupid than these gentlemen's faces ? 
 Rozan and Chibray look like Gustavo, my barber." 
 
 Renee slirugged her shoulders as if to say that this irony did 
 not affect her. She still forgot herself in contemplating the 
 wan, smiling, or stern faces which the album contained ; she 
 tarried longer over the portraits of the fast women, and 
 inquisitively studied the exact microscopical details of the 
 photographs, the little wrinkles and the little hairs. One day 
 she even procured a strong magnifying glass, fancying she had 
 perceived a hair on the Crawfish's nose. And, indeed, the glass 
 
THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 119 
 
 revealed a slight golden thread which had strayed from the 
 eyebrows down to the middle of the nose. This hair amused 
 them for a long time. For a whole week the ladies who called 
 had to assure themselves in person of the presence of this hair. 
 Thenceforth the magnifying glass served to scrutinize the 
 women's faces. Eenee made some astonishing discoveries; she 
 found some unknown wrinkles, rough skins, cavities imperfectly 
 filled up with rice powder. And Maxime ended by hiding the 
 magnifying glass, declaring that one ought not to disgust 
 oneself with the human face like that. The truth was 
 that she scrutinized too closely the thick lips of Sylvia, for 
 whom he had a particular affection. They then invented a 
 new game. They asked this question : '' With whom would 
 I willingly spend a night T' and they opened the album, 
 which was entrusted with the duty of replying. This gave 
 rise to some strange couplings. Een^e's female friends played 
 at the game during several evenings, and Ren^e herself 
 was successively married to the Archbishop of Paris, to Baron 
 Goiiraud, to M. de Chibray, at which she greatly laughed, and 
 to her husband in person, at which she was greatly distressed. 
 As for Maxime, either by chance, or by the maliciousness of 
 Eenee, who opened the album, he always fell upon the 
 Marchioness. But there was never so much laughter as when 
 luck coupled two men or two women together. 
 
 The familiarity of Eenee and Maxime went so far that she 
 told him her private sorrows. He consoled her and gave her 
 advice. It seemed as if his father did not exist. Then later 
 on they began to tell each other about their childhood. It was 
 especially during their drives in the Bois de Boulogne that they 
 felt a vague langour, a longing to relate things which are 
 difficult to tell and are not told. The delight that children 
 take in whispering about forbidden things, the attraction that 
 exists for a young man and young woman to lower themselves 
 to sin, be it only in words, unceasingly brought them back 
 to suggestive subjects. They partook deeply of volup- 
 tuousness, for which they did not reproach one another, 
 but which they tasted together, lazily reclining in the two 
 corners of their carriage, like two comrades who recall their 
 past freaks. They ended by becoming perfect braggarts of 
 immorality. Eenee owned that the little girls at her school were 
 very immodest. Maxime improved upon that and made so bold 
 as to relate some of the shanieful doings of the college of Plassans. 
 
120 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 '* Ah ! I can't tell — " murmured Eenee. 
 
 Then she leant forward close to his ear, as if the sound of her 
 voice alone would have made her blush, and confided to him 
 one of those convent stories which appear in disgusting songs. 
 He, on his side, had too rich a collection of anecdotes of this 
 kind to remain behindhand. He hummed in her ear some 
 very indecent verses. And by degrees they found them- 
 selves in an especial state of beatitude, rocked by all the carnal 
 fancies that they stirred, titillated by little desires which were 
 not expressed. The carriage rolled gently on, and they 
 returned home deliciously fatigued, more tired indeed than after 
 a night of love. They had sinned, like two young fellows who, 
 wandering along the country lanes without any mistresses, might 
 content themselves with their mutual recollections. 
 
 Even greater familiarity and licence existed between the 
 father and the son. Saccard had realised that a great financier 
 ought to love women and do some foolish things for them. He 
 was a rough lover and preferred money; but it formed part of 
 his programme to hang about alcoves, scatter bank-notes on 
 certain mantel-shelves, and from time to time use some 
 notorious wench as a gilded signboard for his speculations. 
 When Maxime had left college he and his father met in the 
 same women's rooms and laughed over it. They were even 
 rivals in a degree. At times when the young fellow dined at 
 the Maison-d'Or with some noisy party, he would overhear 
 Saccard's voice in a neighbouring private room. 
 
 " Hallo, papa's next door," he would exclaim with a grimace 
 which he borrowed from the actors then in favour. 
 
 And he would go and knock at the door of the private room, 
 anxious to see his father's conquest. 
 
 ^^ Ah ! it's you'? " Saccard would say in a gay tone, ^'come in. 
 You make enough noise to prevent one from hearing oneself eat. 
 Who are you with then *? " 
 
 '^ Why, there's Laure d'Aurigny, Sylvia, the Crawfish, and 
 two others, I fancy. They are awfully funny. They poke their 
 fingers in the dishes and chuck handfuls of salad at our heads. 
 My coat is all greasy with oil." 
 
 The father would laugh, thinking this very funny. 
 
 " Ah ! young folks, young folks," he would mutter. ^^ That 
 isn't like us, is it, my little kitten? We have dined very 
 quietly and now we are going to by-by.'^' 
 
 And he would chuck the chin of the woman whom he had 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 121 
 
 beside him, and coo with his Provengal snuffle, which produced 
 strange music for a lover. 
 
 " Oh ! the old noodle ! " the woman would cry. " Good-day, 
 Maxime. Mustn't I love you, eh ! to consent to dine with your 
 scamp of a father — One never sees you now. Come early on the 
 day after to-morrow morning. No, really, I've something to 
 tell you." 
 
 Saccard would finish eating an ice or some fruit, beatifically, 
 taking small mouthfuls. Then he w^ould kiss the woman's 
 shoulder, saying humorously : 
 
 ^^ You know, my ducks^ if I'm in the way, I'll leave the room. 
 You can ring the bell when you are ready forme to come in again." 
 
 Then he would take the woman off, or, at times, go with her 
 to join in the racket in the neighbouring room. Maxime and 
 he shared the same shoulders ; their hands met round the same 
 waists. They called to one another on the divans, and repeated 
 to each other, aloud, the confidential statements which the wo- 
 men had whispered in their ears. And they carried their good 
 fellowship so far as to conspire together to carry off from the 
 gathering the blonde or brunette which one or the other of them 
 had chosen. 
 
 They were well known at Mabille. They went there arm in 
 arm, after some dainty dinner, strolled round the garden, nod- 
 ding to the women, and tossing them a remark as they passed 
 by. They laughed aloud, without unlocking their arms, and 
 came to each other's assistance whenever business was discussed. 
 The father, who was very expert on this point, negotiated his 
 son's love affairs advantageously. At times they sat down and 
 drank with a party of girls. Then they changed their table or 
 resumed their stroll. And they were seen till midnight with 
 their arms always linked like a couple of chums, following the 
 skirts along the yellow pathways under the glaring flame of the 
 gas jets. 
 
 ¥^hen they returned home they brought with them, from out- 
 of-doors, in their coats, a dash of the women they had just left. 
 Their loose attitudes, and the after-part of certain suggestive 
 remarks and low gestures, made the flat in the Rue de Eivoli 
 seem like a fast woman's lodging. The gentle wanton way in 
 which the father gave his hand to his son, of itself proclaimed 
 whence they came. It was in this atmosphere that Renee in- 
 haled her sensual caprices and longings. She chafled them ner- 
 vously ; 
 
122 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL 
 
 ^' Where can you have come from ? " she would say to them. 
 ^^ You smell of tobacco and musk. It's certain that I shall have 
 a headache." 
 
 And indeed, the strange smell profoundly disturbed her. It 
 was the regular perfume of this singular domestic hearth. 
 
 However, Maxime was smitten with a fine passion for little 
 Sylvia. He bored his stepmother with this girl during several 
 months. Eenee soon knew her from one end to the other, 
 from the soles of her feet to the tip of her hair. She had a 
 bluish mark on the hip ; nothing could be more adorable than 
 her knees ; and there was this peculiarity about her shoulders, 
 that only the left one w^as dimpled. Maxime evinced some 
 maliciousness in devoting his drives with Eenee to the descrip- 
 tion of his mistress's perfections. One evening, on returning 
 from the Bois, Rente's carriage and Sylvia's were caught in a 
 block, and had to draw up, side by side, in the Champs-Elys^es. 
 The two women eyed each other with acute curiosity, while 
 Maxime, whom this critical situation delighted, tittered on the 
 quiet. As his stepmother preserved gloomy silence, when the 
 carriage began to roll on again he thought she was in the sulks, 
 and expected one of those maternal scenes, one of those strange 
 scoldings with which she still, at times, occupied her moments 
 of lassitude. 
 
 " Do you know that person's jeweller?" she abruptly asked 
 him, at the moment when they reached the Place de la Con- 
 corde. 
 
 '' Alas, yes ! " he answered with a smile ; "I owe him ten 
 thousand francs — Why do ask me that % " 
 
 '' For nothing." 
 
 Then after a fresh silence : V 
 
 ^^ She had a very pretty bracelet, the one on the left wrist. 
 I should have liked to see it close to." 
 
 They reached home. She said no more on the matter then. 
 Only on the following day, just as Maxime and his father were 
 going out together, she took the young fellow aside, and spoke 
 to him in an undertone, with an embarrassed air, and a pretty 
 smile which courted indulgence. He seemed surprised and 
 went off, laughing in his wicked way. In the evening he 
 brought Sylvia's bracelet which his stepmother had begged him 
 to show her. 
 
 '^ There's what you wanted," said he. " One would thieve for 
 your sake, pretty mamma." 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 123 
 
 " She didn't see you take it ? " asked Renee who was eagerly 
 examining the bracelet. 
 
 '' I don't think so — She wore it yesterday, so she certainly 
 wouldn't put it on to-day." 
 
 Meantime the young woman approached the window. She 
 had put the bracelet on and she held her wrist somewhat raised 
 slowly turning it round, delighted and repeating : 
 
 " Oh ! very pretty, very pretty. There are only the emer- 
 alds that don't quite please me." 
 
 At this moment Saccard came in, and as she still held her 
 wrist up in the white light from the window : 
 
 " Hallo ! " he cried in astonishment^ *' Sylvia's bracelet ! " 
 
 " You know this jewel ? " said she, more embarrassed than he 
 was and not knowing what to do with her arm. 
 
 He had recovered himself, and he threatened his son with his 
 finger, muttering : 
 
 " That scamp always has some forbidden fruit in his pockets ! 
 One of these days he will bring us the lady's arm as well as her 
 bracelet." 
 
 *' Why ! it isn't my doing," replied Maxime with cunning 
 cowardice. " It's Renee who wanted to see it." 
 
 The husband contented himself with saying, " Ah ! " And 
 he looked at the bracelet in his turn, repeating like his wife, 
 "It is very pretty, very pretty." 
 
 Then he quietly went off and Renee scolded Maxime for hav- 
 ing betrayed her like that. But he declared that his father 
 did not care a fig about the matter ! Whereupon she returned 
 him the bracelet, adding : 
 
 *^ You must call on the jeweller, and order one exactly like 
 it for me ; only, you must have the emeralds replaced by 
 sapphires." 
 
 Saccard could not keep any living or inanimate object near 
 him for any length of time without trying to sell it, or derive 
 some profit by it. His son was not twenty when he already 
 thought of utilising him. A handsome fellow, the nephew of a 
 minister and the son of a great financier, ought to be invested 
 w^ell. He was certainly rather young, still one could always 
 seek a wife and a dowry for him, and, afterwards, one could have 
 the wedding deferred or hastened according to the financial po- 
 sition of the establishment. Saccard proved lucky. On a board 
 of directors, to which he belonged, he found a tall handsome 
 man, M. de Mareuil, who in a couple of days belonged to him. 
 
124 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 M. de Mareuil, rightly named Bonnet, was an ex-sugar refiner 
 of Le Havre. After amassing a large fortune he had married a 
 young girl of noble birth and also very rich, who was looking 
 out for a fool of stylish appearance. Bonnet obtained permis- 
 sion to assume his wife's name, which was a first satisfaction for 
 his pride ; but his marriage had made him madly ambitious, and 
 he dreamt of remunerating Helene for this noble name by ac- 
 quiring a high jDolitical position. From that time forward he in- 
 vested money in new newspapers, bought a large estate in the 
 depths of the Nievre, and by all known means prepared for him- 
 self a candidature to the Corps Legislatif. So far he had failed 
 but without losing aught of his solemnity. His was the most 
 incredibly empty brain that could be met with. He was of 
 superb stature, with the white pensive face of a great statesman ; 
 and as he listened marvellously well, with a deep look, and 
 majestic calmness of face, people could readily imagine that a 
 prodigious work .of comprehension and deduction was going on 
 in his mind. In reality he was thinking about nothing. But he 
 succeeded in disturbing people, who no longer knew whether 
 they had to deal with a man of superior attainments or a fooL 
 M. de Mareuil attached himself to Saccard as to a raft that 
 might save him. He was aware that an official candidature 
 would be vacant in the Nievre, and he ardently hoped that the 
 minister would select him ; it was his last card. So he handed 
 himself up, bound hand and foot, to the minister's brother. 
 Saccard, who scented a remunerative transaction, gradually set 
 him thinking of a marriage between his daughter Louise and 
 Maxime. De Mareuil then became most effusive, thought that he 
 himself had initiated this idea of a marriage, and considered 
 himself very fortunate to enter a minister's family and give 
 Louise to a young man who seemed to have such fine prospects. 
 Louise, said her father, would have a dowry of a million 
 francs. Deformed, ugly, and yet adorable, she was condemned 
 to die young ; a chest complaint was stealthily undermining 
 her, lending her nervous gaiety and caressing grace. Young 
 girls who are ailing quickly grow old, and become women before 
 their time. She was sensually ingenuous, she seemed to have 
 been born at fifteen years of age in full puberty. When her 
 father, a healthy brutified colossus, looked at her he could not 
 believe that she was his daughter. Her mother, during her 
 lifetime, had also been a strong well-built woman ; but stories 
 w^ere told about her which explained this child's stuntedness, 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 125 
 
 her manners of a millionaire Bohemian, and her vicious and 
 charming ugliness. People said that Helene de Mareuil had 
 died from the most shameful profligacy. Pleasure had eaten 
 into her like an ulcer, without her husband realising her lucid 
 madness, though he ought to have had her shut up in a private 
 asylum. Developed in this diseased form, Louise had left it 
 with impoverished blood and crooked limbs, with her brain 
 attacked and her memory already full of a dirty life. She 
 thought at times that she could confusedly remember another 
 existence, she saw strange scenes unfolded before her in a vague 
 dimness, men and women kissing one another, quite a carnal 
 drama with which her childish curiosity was amused. It was 
 her mother that spoke within her. This vice remained in her 
 throughout her childhood. As she gradually grew up, nothing 
 astonished her, she recollected everything, or rather she knew 
 everything, and she went to forbidden things, with a sureness 
 of hand that made her, in life, seem like a person returning 
 home after a long absence, and only having to stretch out his 
 hand to set himself at ease and partake of the comforts of his 
 abode. This singular girl, whose evil instincts flattered Maxime, 
 and who, moreover — in this second life which she lived as a virgin 
 with all the science and shame of a grown woman— possessed an 
 ingenuous effrontery, a spicy mixture of childishness and bold- 
 ness, was bound in the result to please the young fellow, and 
 seem to him very much funnier even than Sylvia, who, the 
 daughter of a worthy stationer, possessed a usurer's heart 
 and was horribly middle-class at bottom. 
 
 The marriage was arranged with a laugh, and it was decided 
 that "the youngsters " should be allowed to grow up. The two 
 families lived on a footing of close friendship. M. de Mareuil 
 promoted his candidature. Saccard watched his prey. It was 
 understood that Maxime should place his nomination as 
 an auditor of the Council of State among the marriage 
 presents. 
 
 Meanwhile the Saccards' fortune seemed to have reached its 
 culminating point. It blazed in the midst of Paris like a colossal 
 bonfire. It was the moment when the ardent sharing of the 
 hounds' fees fills a corner of the forest with the barking of dogs, 
 the clacking of whips and the blazing of torches. The appetites 
 let loose were at last satisfied in the impudence of triumph, 
 amid the racket of falling houses and of fortunes built up in 
 six months. The city was now but a great saturnalia of millions 
 
126 THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 and women. Vice, coming from above, flowed along the gutters, 
 spread itself out in the sheets of ornamental water, re-ascended 
 in the fountains of the public gardens to fall again on to the 
 roofs in a fine penetrating rain. And at night time, when one 
 passed over the bridges, it seemed as if the Seine drew along 
 with it, amid the sleeping metropolis, all the refuse of the city 
 — crumbs fallen from tables, bow^s of lace left on divans, false 
 hair forgotten in cabs, bank notes that had slipped out of 
 bodices, everything that the brutality of desire, and the imme- 
 diate satisfaction of instinct fling into the street broken and 
 soiled. Then amid the feverish sleep of Paris, and better still 
 amid its breathless hankering in the broad daylight, one realised 
 the unsettling of the brain, the golden and voluptuous night- 
 mare of a city, madly enamoured of its gold and its flesh. The 
 violins sounded till midnight ; then the windows became dark 
 and shadows descended over the city. It was like a colossal 
 alcove in which the last candle had been blow^n out, the last 
 virtue extinguished. In the depths of the shade there was no- 
 thing left save a great rattle of furious, wearied love ; while 
 the Tuileries, on the river bank^ stretched their arms out into 
 the night as if for a huge embrace. 
 
 Saccard had just had his mansion of the Pare Monceaux 
 built on some ground stolen from the city. He had reserved 
 for himself on the first floor, a superb private room, all violet 
 ebony and gold, with lofty glass doors to the book-cases, which 
 were full of business papers but where not a book was to be seen ; 
 the safe, embedded in the wall, had the depths of an iron alcove 
 large enough to accommodate the amours of a milliard. It was 
 here that his fortune bloomed, impudently displayed itself. 
 Everything seemed to succeed wdth him. When he left the Eue 
 de Eivoli, increasing his household, doubling his expenditure, 
 he talked to his friends about some considerable winnings. Ac- 
 cording to his account his partnership with Mignon and Charrier 
 brought him enormous profits ; his speculations on house pro- 
 perty w^ere more remunerative still; and as for the Credit Viticole, 
 it was an inexhaustible milch cov/. He had a w^ay of enume- 
 rating his riches that bewildered his listeners and prevented 
 them from clearly seeing the truth. His Provencal snuffling 
 increased, and, w^ith his curt phrases and nervous gestures, he let 
 off fireworks, in which millions rose like rockets, and which finished 
 by dazzling even the most incredulous. The reputation which 
 he had acquired as a lucky gamester was mainly due to this 
 
THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 127 
 
 turbulent pantomimic action. To tell the truth, no one knew 
 him to be possessed of a clear solid capital. His different 
 partners, who perforce were acquainted with his situation as 
 regarded themselves, explained his colossal fortune by believing 
 him to be invariably fortunate in other speculations, those which 
 they were not acquainted with. He spent a deal of money: the 
 effluence of his cash-box continued, without the sources of this 
 golden river having so far been discovered. It was pure mad- 
 ness, a frenzy for scattering money, handfuk of louis flung out 
 of window, the safe emptied every evening to its last copper, 
 but filling itself again during the night, no one knew how, and 
 never supplying such large sums as when Saccard pretended he 
 had lost the keys. 
 
 Renee's dowry was shaken, carried off and drowned in this 
 fortune which clamoured and overflowed like a winter-torrent. 
 The young wife, who had been distrustful in earlier days and 
 desirous of managing her fortune herself, soon grew tired of 
 business matters ; besides, she felt herself poor beside her hus- 
 band, and crushed by her debts, she was obliged to have re- 
 course to him, to borrow money from him, and place herself at 
 his discretion. At each fresh bill, which he paid with the smile 
 of a man who is indulgent towards human weakness, she sur- 
 rendered herself a little more, confided State bonds to him, and 
 authorized him to sell this or that. When they went to 
 live in the mansion in the Pare Monceaux she already found 
 herself almost completely stripped. He had taken the place 
 of the State and served her the interest of the hundred thousand 
 francs coming from the Rue de la Pepinnere ; on the other hand, 
 he had induced her to sell the estate in La Sologne to place the 
 proceeds in a great affair, a superb investment, he said. She 
 therefore had nothing left her excepting the property at 
 Charonne, which she obstinately refused to part with so as not to 
 sadden that excellent Aunt Elisabeth. And, in this respect again, 
 he was preparing a stroke of genius with the assistance of his 
 former accomplice Larsomieau. She certainly remained under 
 obligations to him ; if he had taken her fortune, he paid her 
 the income it would have furnished, five or six times over. The 
 interest on the hundred thousand francs, with the revenue of 
 the Sologne money, scarcely amounted to nine or ten thousand 
 francs, just enough to pay for her linen and boots. He gave 
 her or paid away for her fifteen and twenty times that paltry 
 sum. He would have worked for a week to rob her of a hundred 
 
128 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 francs, but he kept her in regal style. And thus like everybody 
 she held her husband's monumental safe in respect without 
 trying to penetrate the nihility of the river of gold which passed 
 under her eyes and into which she threw herself every morning. 
 At the Pare Monceaux there was a mad crisis, a flashing 
 triumph. The Saccards doubled the nuaiber of their carriages 
 and horses ; they had an army of servants, whom they dressed 
 in a dark-blue livery with putty-coloured breeches, and waiL^t- 
 coats striped black and yellow — somewhat quiet colours that 
 the financier had selected so as to seem altogether serious- 
 minded, w^hich was one of the dreams he had most caressed. 
 They displayed their luxury on the house top, and drew back 
 the curtains when they gave grand dinners. The breeze of con- 
 temporary life, which had banged the doors of the first floor in 
 the Ptue de Eivoli, became in the mansion a perfect whirlwind 
 that threatened to carry off the very partitions. In the midst 
 of these princely rooms, along the gilded balustrades, over the 
 fine woollen' carpets, in this fairy palace of the parvenu, there 
 trailed the smell of Mabille ; the fashionable quadrilles were 
 danced there with all their wriggling jactitance, the whole 
 period passed with its mad stupid laugh, its eternal hunger and 
 its eternal thirst. It was the suspicious abode of fashionable 
 pleasure, the pleasure which widens the windows so that passers- 
 by may see what is transpiring in the alcoves. The husband 
 and the wife lived there, freely, under the eyes of their servants. 
 They had divided the house between them, and they camped in 
 it, scarcely looking as though they were at home, but rather as 
 if tossed, at the end of a tumultuous bewildering journey, into 
 some regal hotel, where they had merely taken the time to oijen 
 their trunks, so as to hasten the more speedily to the delights - 
 of a fresh city. They lodged there by the night, only remain- 
 ing at homxC on the days when grand dinners were given, ever 
 carried away by a ceaseless peregrination through Paris, but 
 returning at times for an hour, as one returns into a room at an 
 inn between two excursions. Kenee felt herself become more ' 
 anxious, more neivous there; her silken skirts glided with 
 snake-like hisses over the thick carpets, past the satin of 
 the couches ; she was irritated by the stupid gilding which sur- 
 rounded her, by the high empty ceilings where after fete nights 
 there only lingered the laughter of young fools and the remarks^ 
 of old scoundrels ; and to fill this luxury, to- abide amidst this 
 effulgence, she longed for a supreme amusement which her 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SROIL. 129 
 
 curiosity vainly sought for in all the ,corners of the mansion, in 
 the little sun-tinted drawing-room, in the conservatory full of 
 luxuriant vegetation. As for Saccard he began to realise his 
 dream ; he received great financiers. Monsieur Toutiu-Laroche 
 and Monsieur de Lauwerens ; and great politicians also. Baron 
 Gouraud and Deputy HafFner; his brother the minister had even 
 condescended to come two or three times to consolidate his 
 position by his presence. And yet like his wife he experienced 
 \ nervous anxiety, a disquietude which lent a strange sound of 
 broken window panes to his laughter. He became so ungovern- 
 able, so scared, that his acquaintances remarked, " That devil of 
 a Sacc^^rd ! he makes too much money, it will end by driving 
 him mad!" In 1860 he had been decorated wath the Legion 
 of Honour, after rendering a mysterious service to the prefect, 
 by lending his name to a lady for the sale of some land. 
 
 It was about the time when they went to live near the Pare 
 Monceaux that an apparition crossed Renee's life, leaving her 
 an inefFacable impression. The minister had so far resisted the 
 supplications of his sister-in-law, who was dying with a longing 
 to be invited to the court balls. However, he gave way at last, 
 believing that his brother's position was definitely established 
 on a sound basis. For a month Renee did not sleep for thinking 
 of it. But the great evening arrived at last, and she sat trem- 
 bling all over, in the carriage which was taking her to the 
 Tuileries. 
 
 She wore a costume of prodigious grace and originality, a real 
 gem which she had lighted upon during a night of sleepless- 
 ness, and which three of Worms's workpeople had come to her 
 house to make up under her eyes. It was a simple dress of 
 white gauze, trimmed however with a multitude of little scal- 
 loped flounces edged with bands of black velvet. The black 
 velvet tunic was cut square, very low to show her bosom, framed 
 with some narrow lace, barely a finger broad. There was not a 
 flower, not a bit of ribbon ; but round her wrists, some bracelets 
 without the least chasing, and on her head a narrow diadem of 
 gold, a plain circlet which seemed to be an aureola. 
 
 When she reached the reception rooms, and her husband had 
 left her for Baron Gouraud, she experienced a momentary em- 
 barrassment. But the mirrors, in which she saw herself look 
 adorable, soon reassured her, and she was accustoming herself to 
 the warm atmosphere, to the murmur of voices, to the crush of 
 dress coats and white shoulders, when the Emperor appeared. 
 
 I 
 
130 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL 
 
 lie slowly crossed the room on the arm of a short, fat general, 
 who puffed as if he were troubled with a bad digestion. The bare 
 shoulders ranged themselves in two lines, whilst the diess coats, 
 with a discieet air, instinctively drew back a step. Renee found 
 herself pushed to the end of the line of shoulders near the second 
 door, the one that the Emperor was, approaching wdth a falter- 
 ing, unsteady step. She thus saw him come towards her from 
 one door to the other. 
 
 He wore a dress coat, with the red ribbon of the Grand 
 Cordon. Eenee, again seized with emotion, retained but imper- 
 fect vision, and to her this bleeding stain seemed to cast splashes 
 over the whole of the sovereign's breast. As a rule, she thought 
 him little, with swaying loins, and legs too short for the trunk 
 of his body ; but now she was delighted, and, as she saw him, he 
 looked handsome, despite his pale face and the heavy leaden 
 lids which fell over his lifeless eyes. Under his moustaches, his 
 lips were languidly parted, and his nose alone remained bony 
 amid the Avh'ole of his puffy face. 
 
 With a worn-out air, and vaguely smiling, the Emperor and 
 the old general continued to advance with short steps, seemingly 
 sustaining each other. They looked at the ladies bending for- 
 ward, and their glances, cast to the right and to the left^ glided 
 into the bodices. The general leant on one side, said a word to 
 his master, and pressed his arm in the manner of a gay companion. 
 And the Emperor, supine and nebulous, duller even than usual, 
 still approached with his lagging step. 
 
 They were in the middle of the room, when Renee felt their 
 glances fall upon her. The general gazed at her with a look of 
 surprise, while the Emperor, half raising his eyelids, let a sensual 
 gleam shoot from his grey, hesitating, bleared eyes. Eenee, 
 losing countenance, lowered her head, bowed, and saw nothing 
 more but the pattern of the carpet. Still, she -watched their 
 shadows, and she understood that they were pausing for a few 
 seconds before her. And she fancied that she heard the Em- 
 peror, that licentious dreamer, murmur, as he gazed at her, 
 immersed in her muslin skirt striped with velvet : 
 
 '^ Look there, general, a flower to be culled, a mysterious pink, 
 variegated white and black." 
 
 And the general answered in a more brutal voice : 
 
 " That pink would look awfullj' well in our button-holes, sire." 
 
 Eenee raised her head. The apparition had disappeared, the 
 crowd was throngiDg round about the doorway. After that even- 
 
THE EMPEROR AND THE OLD GENERAL OGLTNa BENEE AT THE BALL 
 AT THE TUTLERIE^J. p. 130. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 131 
 
 ing she often returned to the Tuileries, she even had the honour of 
 being comphmented by his majesty aloud, and of becoming a 
 little bit his friend ; but she always remembered the sovereign's 
 slow, heavy walk along the centre of the reception-room between 
 the two rows of shoulders ; and whenever she experienced any 
 new joy amid her husband's growing prosperity, she again saw 
 the Emperor overtopping the bowing bosoms, coming tow^ards 
 her, and comparing her to a pink which the general advised 
 him to place in his button-hole. For her this was the high note 
 of her life. 
 
132 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The well-defined, galling desire which had risen to Eenee's heart 
 amid the troublous perfumes of the conversatory, while Maxime 
 and Louise laughed on a couch of the little buttercup room, 
 seemed to die away like a nightmare of which naught remains 
 save a slight shudder. The young woman had retained the 
 bitterness of the Tanghinia on her lips all night ; and it had 
 seemed to her, on feeling the burning of the cursed leaf, that a 
 mouth of flame was pressing itself to hers^ blowing her a devour- 
 ing love. Then this mouth escaped her, and her dream was 
 immersed in vast waves of shade which rolled around her. 
 
 In the morning she slept a little, and when she awoke she 
 thought she was ill. She had the curtains drawn, spoke to her 
 doctor of nausea and headache, and for a couple of days actually 
 refused to go out. And as she pretended that she was being 
 besieged, she forbade her door. Maxime came and knocked at 
 it fruitlessly. He did not sleep in the house, as he preferred to 
 be able to dispose freely of his rooms ; indeed, he led the most 
 nomadic life in the world, lodging in his father's new houses, 
 selecting whatever floor suited him, and moving every month, 
 often out of sheer caprice, and at times to make room for serious 
 tenants. He dried the walls in the company of some mistress. 
 Accustomed to his stej^mother's whims, he feigned great com- 
 passion for her, and went upstairs four times a-day to inquire 
 after her, with a most distressed look, though, in point of fact, he 
 merely wished to tease her. On the third day he found her 
 in the little drawing-room, rosy and smiling, and with a calm 
 and rested look. 
 
 ^^ Well, did you amuse yourself very much with Celeste ? " 
 he asked her, alluding to the long tete-a-tete she had had with 
 her maid. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, ^^ she is a very useful girl. She 
 always has such cold hands ; she placed them on my fore- 
 head, and soothed my poor head a little." 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 133 
 
 " But that girl's a remedy then ! ^' cried the young fellow. 
 *' If I ever have the misfortune to fall in love, you'll lend 
 her to me, eh 1 so that she may place her two hands on my 
 heart." 
 
 They joked, and went for their usual drive to the Bois. 
 A fortnight passed by. Eenee had thrown herself more 
 madly than ever into her life of visits and balls ; her head 
 seemed to have turned once more, she no loDger complained 
 of lassitude and disgust. Still, one might have thought that 
 she had conmiitted some secret sin, which she did not speak 
 of, but which she confessed by a more strongly marked con- 
 tempt for herself and by increased depravity in her whims 
 as a fashionable woman. One evening she confessed to Maxime 
 that she longed to go to a ball which Blanche Muller, an 
 actress in vogue, meant to give to the princesses of the foot- 
 lights and the queens of the fast world. This avowal sur- 
 prised and embarrassed even the young man, and yet he 
 was not particularly scrupulous. He tried to catechise his step- 
 mother : really, that wasn't her place ; besides, she would see 
 nothing very funny there ; and then, if she were recognised, it 
 w^ould cause a scandal. She answered all these good reasons 
 with clasped hands, supplicating, and smiling. 
 
 " Come, my little Maxime, be kind. I'm determined on it. 
 I will put on a very dark domino ; we will only pass through 
 the rooms.'' 
 
 Maxime ahvays ended by giving way, and w^ould have taken 
 his stepmother to all the disreputable places in Paris had she 
 but begged him ever so little to do so. So he consented to 
 escort her to Blanche Muller's ball, whereupon she clapped her 
 hands like a child to whom an unhoped-for holiday is granted. 
 
 " Ah ! you are a dear fellow," said she. " It's for to-morrow, 
 isn't it 1 Come and fetch me very early. I want to see those 
 women arrive. You will name them to me, and w^e shall amuse 
 ourselves awfully well.'* 
 
 She reflected, and then added : 
 
 " No, don't come. Wait for me in a cab on the Boulevard 
 Malesherbes. I will go out by the garden." 
 
 This mysterious way of proceeding was a spice which she 
 added to her escapade, a simple refinement of pleasure, for had 
 she left the house at midnight by the front door, her husband 
 would not even have put his head out of window. 
 
 On the morrow, after telling Celeste to sit up for her, she 
 
134 THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 crossed the dark shadows of the Pare Monceaux with shudders 
 of exquisite fear. Saccard had profited by his good understand- 
 ing with the Hotel de Ville authorities to obtain a key to a Httle 
 gate of the park, and Renee had wished to have one for herself 
 as well. She almost lost her way, however, and only found the 
 cab, thanks to the tvro yellow eyes of the lamps. At that 
 period the Boulevard Malesherbes, scarcely finished, was still a 
 perfect solitude at night-time. The young woman glided into 
 the vehicle in great emotion, her heart beating as delightfully 
 as if she were going to some love meeting. Maxime was philo- 
 sophically smoking, half asleep, in one corner of the cab. He 
 wished to throw^ away his cigar, but she prevented him from 
 doing so, and, as she tried to restrain his arm in the darkness, 
 she placed her hand full on his face, which greatly amused them 
 both. 
 
 " I tell you that I like the smell of tobacco ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Keep your cigar. Besides, we're going on the spree to-night. 
 I'm a man, I am ! " 
 
 The Boulevard w^as not yet lighted up, and while the cab 
 rolled down it towards the Madeleine, it w^as so dark inside that 
 they could not see each other. Every now and then, when the 
 young fellow carried his cigar to his lips, a red point stood out 
 amid the dense obscurity. This red point interested Kenee. 
 Maxime, who was half covered by the folds of her black satin 
 domino, which hlled the inside of the vehicle, continued smok- 
 ing in silence, with a bored air. The truth was, that his step- 
 mothers whim had prevented him from following to the Cafe 
 Anglais a j^arty of women who had determined to begin and 
 finish Blanche Muller's ball there. He was crusty, and she dis- 
 cerned his sulkiness in the darkness. 
 
 ''Are you iin" she asked him. 
 
 " No, I am cold," he answered. 
 
 "Dear me. Why, I'm burning. I feel quite stifled here. 
 Take part of my skirts on your knees." 
 
 " Oh ! your skirts," he muttered, bad-hnmouredly. " I already 
 have them up to my eyes.'' 
 
 But this remark made him laugh himself, and by degrees he 
 grew lively. She told him of the fright she had had in the 
 Pare Monceaux. And then she confessed another of her long- 
 ings : she would like one night to go for a row in the boat whicJi 
 she could see from her window\s, moored at the edge of a path- 
 way. On hearing this, he considered that she was becoming 
 
THE RUSH FOlv THE SrOIL. 13$ 
 
 sentimental. The cab still rolled on, the darkness remained 
 profound, and they leaned towards one another to hear each 
 other amid the noise of the wheels, touching each other when 
 they moved their arms, and at times, when they approached too 
 closely, inhaling each other's warm breath. And at equal intervals 
 Maxime's cigar was revivified, setting a red Idur on the darkness, 
 and casting a pale rosy flash on Eenee's face. She looked ador- 
 able, seen by this fleeting glimmer ; so much so that the young 
 man was struck by it. 
 
 " Oh! oh!" said he. " We seem to be very pretty this even- 
 ing, step-mamma. Let's see a bit. " 
 
 He brought his cigar nearer, and precipitately drew a few 
 puff's. Eenee, in her corner was illumined by a warm and seem- 
 ingly panting light. She had slightly raised her hood. Her 
 bare head, covered with a mass of little curls, with a simple blue 
 ribbon, looked like that of a real urchin peering above the large 
 blouse of black satin Avhich rose to her neck. She thought it 
 \ ery funny to be i hus looked at and admired by the light of a 
 cigar, and she threw" herself back with little bursts of laughter, 
 while he added with an air of comic gravity, 
 
 '' The deuce ! I shall have to ^vatch over you, if I am to take 
 you back safe and sound to my father." 
 
 Meanwhile the cab turned round the Madeleine and went up 
 the Boulevards. Here it became filled with a leaping light, 
 with the reflection of the shops, the fronts of which were flaming. 
 Blanche Muller resided tw^o steps off, in one of the new houSs?s 
 which have been built on the raised ground of the Eue-Basse 
 du-Kempart. As yet there were only a few vehicles at the door , 
 it was barely more than ten o'clock. Maxime wanted to take a 
 turn on the Boulevards and wait an hour, but Eenee, whose 
 curiosity was becoming more acute, straightway declared to him 
 that she should go upstairs alone if he did not accompany her. 
 He followed her therefore, and felt glad on finding that there 
 was more company upstairs than he had expected. The young 
 woman had pu.t on her mask, and leaning on the arm of Maxime, 
 to w^hom she gave peremptory orders in a low voice, and who 
 submissively obeyed her, she ferreted about the rooms, raised 
 the corners of the door-hangings, examined the furniture, and 
 would perhaps have searched the drawers had she not feared 
 being seen. Although the rooms were richly upholstered, there 
 were corners suggestive of a Bohemian life, and in which one 
 scented the mummer. It w^as particularly in these spots that 
 
13G THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 Eenee's nostrils dilated, and that she compelled her companion 
 to walk slowly so as to lose nothing of the sight or the smell. 
 She especially forgot herself in a dressing-room, the door of 
 which haJ been left wide open by Blanche Muller, who, when 
 she entertained company, gave everything up to her guests, 
 even to her alcove in which the bed was pushed back to make 
 room for card tables. But the dressing-room did not satisfy 
 Renee : it seemed to her common, and even rather dirty, with 
 its carpet which incandescent cigar ash had pitted with little 
 round burns, and its blue silk hangings stained with pomatum 
 and splashed with soap-suds. When she had fully inspected 
 the rooms, and set every feature of the abode in her memory, 
 so as to be able to describe it, later on, to her intimate friends, 
 she passed on to the people who were present. As for the men 
 she knew them ; they were, for the most part, the same finan- 
 ciers, the same politicians, the same young fellows about 
 town who came to her Thursday at-homes. She fancied her- 
 self in her own drawing-room at certain moments, when she 
 found herself in front of a group of smiling dress coats, who, on 
 the previous evening, had worn the same smile in speaking to 
 the Marchioness d'Espanet, or to the fair Madame HafFner at her 
 house. And even when she looked at the women her illusion 
 was not completely dispelled. Laure d'Aurigny was in bright 
 yellow like Suzanne HafFner, and Blanche Muller, like Adeline 
 d'Espanet, wore a white dress which left her bare down to the 
 middle of her back. At last Maxime implored mercy, and 
 she consented to sit down on a couch beside him. They re- 
 mained there for a moment, the young fellow yawning, the 
 young woman asking him these ladies' names, undressing them 
 with a glance and counting the yards of lace that they wore 
 around their skirts. Seeing her absorbed in this serious 
 study he ended by slipping away in compliance with a 
 sign which Laure d'Aurigny made him with her hand. She 
 joked him about the lady whom he had on his arm, and then 
 made him swear to come and join her party at the Cafe Anglais, 
 at one o'clock. 
 
 " Your father will be there," she shouted to him at the mo- 
 ment when he joined Renee again. 
 
 The latter found herself surrounded by a group of women 
 who were laughing very loudly, while Monsieur de SafFre had 
 profited by Maxime leaving his seat vacant to glide beside her 
 and make gallant proposals in the style of a cab driver. Then 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 137 
 
 Monsieur de SafFre and the women all began to shout and 
 smack their hips to such a degree that lienee, fairly deafened, 
 and yawning in her turn, rose up, saying to her companion — 
 
 " Let us go, they are too stupid." 
 
 As they were leaving the room, Monsieur de Mussy came in. 
 He seemed delighted to meet Maxime, and without paying any 
 attention to the masked woman who was with him, 
 
 ^' Ah, my dear fellow," he murmured with a love-sick air, 
 " she will cause my death. I know that she is better, but she 
 still forbids me her door. Tell her you have seen me with 
 tears in my eyes." 
 
 " Be easy, your message shall be delivered," said the young 
 fellow, with a strange laugh. 
 
 And on the way downstairs — 
 
 " Well, pretty mamma, didn't that poor fellow touch you ? " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders without repl^ang. Outside, on 
 the pavement, she paused before getting into the cab which had 
 brought them, looking hesitatingly in the direction of the Made- 
 leine, and in the direction of the Boulevard des Italiens. It 
 was scarcely half-past eleven, and the Boulevard was still very 
 animated. 
 
 " So we are going home," she murmured regretfully. 
 
 " Unless you would like to take a drive along the Boulevards," 
 answered Maxime. 
 
 She assented. She had been disappointed in her feast of 
 feminine curiosity, and she was distressed at having to go home 
 like that, with an illusion the less, and a headache setting in. 
 She had long fancied that an actresses' ball was the height of 
 fun. 
 
 As often happens during the last days of October, it seemed 
 as if the spring had returned ; the night air had a May-like 
 warmth, and the occasional cold gusts that passed by lent an 
 additional zest to the atmosphere. Renee, with her head at the 
 window, remained silent, looking at the crowd, the cafes and 
 the restaurants, the interminable line of which stretched away 
 before her. She had become quite serious, absorbed in the 
 depth of the vague wishes which fill the reveries of women. 
 This broad side-walk, which was swept by the dresses of harlots, 
 and on which the men's boots rung with peculiar familiarity, 
 the grey asphalte over which, it seemed to her, the gallop of 
 facile love and pleasure was passing, awoke her slumbering 
 desires, and made her forget the idiotic ball that she had just 
 
138 THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 left to allow her to espy other delights of enhanced spiciness. 
 At the windows of Brebant's private rooms she perceived 
 women's shadows against the whiteness of the curtains. And 
 Maxime thereupon told her a very indecent story of a deceived 
 husband who had thus detected, on a curtain, the shadow of 
 his wife embracing the shadow of a lover. She scarcely 
 listened to him, but he, growing lively, ended by taking hold 
 of her hands and teasing her by talking about that poor Mon- 
 sieur de Mussy. 
 
 As they drove back and again passed in front of Brebant's — 
 
 " Do you know," she said abruptly, " that Monsieur de SafFre 
 invited me to supper this evening 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! you would have fared badly," replied Maxime laugh- 
 ing. *' SafFre doesn't possess the least culinary imagination. 
 He hasn't got beyond lobster salad." 
 
 " No, no, he talked of oysters and cold partridge. But he 
 thee-and-thou'd me, and that disturbed me." 
 
 She stopped short, looked again at the Boulevard, and, after 
 a moment's silence, added with a distressed air — 
 
 " The worst of it is that I'm awfully hungry." 
 
 ^' What ! you're hungry ! " exclaimed the young man. " It's 
 very simple, we'll sup together — Shall we ? '^ 
 
 He spoke quietly, but she refusd at first, declaring that 
 Celeste had prepared her a collation at home. However, 
 Maxime, who did not wish to go to the Cafe Anglais, had 
 stopped the cab at the corner of the Rue Le Pelle'ier, in front 
 of the restaurant of the Cafe Iliche ; he had even alighted, and 
 as his stepmother still hesitated. 
 
 " After all," said he, " if you're afraid that I shall compro- 
 mise you, say so. I'll get up beside the driver and take you 
 back to your husband." 
 
 She smiled and alighted from the cab with the manners of a 
 bird which is afraid of wetting its claws. She was radiant. 
 The side-walk which she felt under her feet warmed her heels, and 
 imparted to the surface of her skin a delightful quiver of fear 
 and contented caprice. Ever since the cab had been rolling along 
 she had had a mad longing to spring out upon this side-walk. 
 She crossed it with short steps, and furtively, as if she derived 
 a greater pleasure from the fear that she might be seen. Her 
 escapade was decidedly turning into an adventure. She cer- 
 tainly did not regret having declined Monsieur de Saffre's coarse 
 invitation. But she v/ould have gone home terribly out of sorts 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 130 
 
 if Maxime had not had the idea of letting her taste forbidden 
 fruit. He went quickly up the stairs as if he had been at home. 
 She followed him, rather short of breath. A slight fume of 
 game and fish was wafted about, and the carpet, secured to the 
 stairs with brass rods, had a smell of dust which increased her 
 emotion. 
 
 Just as they were reaching the first landing they met a dig- 
 nified looking waiter who drew back to the wall to let them 
 pass him. 
 
 " Charles," said Maxime, " you'll serve us, eh *? Give us the 
 white room." 
 
 Charles bowed, reascended to the landing and opened the 
 door of a private room. The gas was lowered, and it seemed to 
 Renee as if she were penetrating into the twilight of a suspici- 
 ous and charming spot. 
 
 A continuous rumble swept in through the window which 
 was wide open, and in the reflection cast on the ceiling by the 
 cafe below, the shadows of promenaders passed swiftly by. But 
 with a touch of the thumb the waiter turned on the gas. The 
 shadows on the ceiling vanished, and the room was filled with a 
 glaring light which fell full upon the young woman's head. 
 She had already thrown her hood back. The little curls had 
 become slightly disordered in the cab, but the blue ribbon had 
 not stirred. She began to walk about, abashed by the manner 
 in which Charles looked at her ; he blinked his eyes and screwed 
 up their lids the better to see her, in a way which plainly signi- 
 fied, " I don't know this one yet./' 
 
 " What shall I serve you, sir ] " he asked aloud. 
 
 Ma-xime turned towards Renee. 
 
 ''Monsieur de SafFre's supper, eh?" said he, "some oysters, a* 
 partridge — " 
 
 And seeing the young man smile, Charles discreetly imitated 
 him, murmuring — 
 
 " Then the same supper as last Wednesday, if that will suit ? " 
 
 " The supper of last Wednesday — " repeated Maxime. Then 
 suddenly remembering : " Yes, it's all the same to me, give us 
 Wednesday's supper." 
 
 When the waiter had retired Renee took her eye-glasses and 
 went inquisitively round the little room. It was a square apart- 
 ment all white and gold and furnished with boudoir-like co- 
 quetry. In addition to the table and the chairs, there was a low 
 dinner waggon and a large divan, a perfect bed, placed between 
 
140 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 the cliimney-piece and the window. A Louis XVI. clock and 
 candlesticks adorned the white marble mantel-shelf. But the! 
 curiosity of the room was the looking-glass, a handsome squat 
 looking-glass which women's diamonds had covered with names, 
 dates, murdered verses, prodigious sentiments and astounding 
 avowals. Renee fancied she espied something beastly but she 
 lacked the courage to satisfy her curiosity. She looked at the 
 divan, experienced fresh embarrassment at the sight, and to give 
 herself a countenance began gazing at the ceiling and the chan- 
 delier of gilt copper with five gas jets. However the uneasiness 
 she felt was delightful. While she raised her brow, as if to study 
 the cornice, looking grave and holding her eye-glasses in her 
 hand, she derived profound enjoyment from the ]3resence of the 
 equivocal furniture, which she knew to be around her ; that 
 clear cynical looking glass, the purity of which, being wrinkled 
 by those dirty scrawls, had proved useful in adjusting so many 
 false chignons ; that divan which shocked her by its breadth ; 
 the table and the carpet itself in which she found the same 
 smell she had detected upon the stairs, a vague, penetrating and 
 almost religious smell of dusL 
 
 Then, w^hen it was at last necessary for her to lower her eyes : 
 
 " What is this Wednesday supper 1 " she asked of Maxime. 
 
 '' Nothing," he answered, " a bet that one of my friends lost." 
 
 In any other spot, he would without any hesitation have 
 
 told her that he had supped there on Wednesday with a lady 
 
 whom he had met on the Boulevard. But since he had entered 
 
 the private room he had instinctively treated her like a woman 
 
 whom one has to please, and whose jealousy ought to be spared. 
 
 However she did not insist on the point, but went and leaned on 
 
 the rail of the window^, where he soon joined her. Charles came 
 
 in and went out behind them amid a noise of crockery and 
 
 plate. 
 
 It was not yet midnight. On the Boulevard below, Paris was 
 thundering and prolonging the ardent day before making up its 
 mind to go to bed. The rows of trees separated in a confused 
 line the whiteness of the foot walk from the vague darkness of 
 the roadway along which passed the rumble and the fleet lamps 
 of the vehicles. On either edge of this dim strip of ground, the 
 kiosks of the newspaper vendors shed their light here and 
 there, like great Venetian lanterns, tall and strangely variegated, 
 which had been set at regular intervals on the ground for some 
 colossal illumination. But at this time of nioht their subdued 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 141 
 
 brilliancy was lost in the glare of the neighbouring shop fronts. 
 Not a shutter was up, the foot walks stretched away without a 
 line of shadow under a stream of rays which lighted them with 
 a golden duet, with the warm brilliant glare of full daylight. 
 ,Maxime pointed out to Renee the < 'afe x\nglais, the windows of 
 which were shining in front of them. The lofty branches of 
 the trees somewhat, prevented them, however, from seeing the 
 houses and the footway across the Boulevard. They leaned for- 
 ward and looked below them. There was a continual coming 
 and going : promenaders passed by in groups, harlots in couples 
 trailed their skirts which they raised from time to time with a 
 languid gesture, casting wearied yet smiling glances around them. 
 Under the window itself the tables of the Cafe Eiche were spread 
 jut in the blaze of the gas-jets, the brilliancy of which pen- 
 trated half across the thoroughfare ; and it was especially in 
 he centre of this ardent focus that they saw the wan faces and 
 bale smiles of the- passers-by. Around the little tables men 
 md women were mingled together drinking. The girls were in 
 howy dresses with their hair down their necks ; they lounged 
 ibout on their chairs and made loud remarks which the noise of 
 he traffic prevented one from hearing. Eenee especially noticed 
 )ne woman who was dressed in a blue costume trimmed with 
 vhite Maltese lace, and who sat alone at a table, leaning back 
 vith her hands on her stomach ; she was waiting with a gloomy 
 •esigned look and leisurely sipping a glass of beer. Those who 
 vere walking, slowly disappeared among the crowd, (ind the 
 oung woman, who took an interest in their doings, let her eyes 
 ollow them, and gazed from one end of the Boulevard to the 
 ther, into the noisy confused depths of the thoroughfare 
 ull of the black swarm of promenaders and where the lights 
 )ecame mere sparks. And the endless procession, a strangely 
 ningled crowd always the same, passed by with fatiguing re- 
 gularity amid the bright colours and the dark depths, in the 
 airy-like confusion of the thousand leaping flames which swept 
 ike waves out of the shops, lending colour to the transparencies 
 f the windows and the kiosks, tracing fillets, letters and fiery 
 iesigns over the house fronts, studding the darkness with stars 
 .nd gliding along the roadway continually. Amid the deafening 
 loise which rose on high was a clamour, a prolonged monoton- 
 >us rumble like an organ note accompanying an eternal proces- 
 ion of little automatic dolls. At one moment Een6e thought 
 ' hat an accident had taken place. There was a stream of people 
 
142 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 in motion on tlie left, a little beyond the Passage de I'Opera. 
 But on taking her glasses she recognised the omnibus office ; 
 there were a great many people on the side-walk standing wait- 
 ing, and rushing forwards as soon as a vehicle arrived, bhe i 
 could hear the rough voice of the official calling out the num- 
 bers, and then the tinkle of the registering bell was wafted to 
 her like a crystalline ringing. Her eyes next lighted upon an \ 
 advertisement on a kiosk glaringly coloured like an Epinal print. 
 On the pane of glass, in a green and yellow frame, there was a 
 sneering devil's head, with hair on end, a hatter's advertisement 
 which she did not understand. Every five minutes the Batig- 
 nolles omnibus with its red lamps and yellow body passed by, 
 turning round the corner of the Rue Le Pelletier and shaking 
 the house with its din ; and she saw the men riding on the \ 
 linife-board, fellows with weary faces who rose up to look at them, 
 Maxime and herself, with the inquisitive glances of hungry people 
 peeping through a keyhole. 
 
 " Ah ! " said she, " the Pare Monceaux is quietly asleep by this | 
 time.'' 
 
 It was the only remark she made. They remained there for i 
 nearly twenty minutes, silent, and surrendering themselves to the 
 intoxication of the noise and illumination. Then, the table being- 
 laid, they went and sat down, and as she seemed inconvenienced i 
 by the waiter's presence Maxime dismissed him. 
 
 *^ Leave us — I will ring for dessert." 
 
 Renee had Httle flushes on her cheeks, and her eyes shone ; one ; 
 would have thought she had just been running. She brought 
 with her from the ^vindow some of the din and animation of 
 the Boulevard. She would not let her companion close thci 
 sashes. 
 
 " Why ! it's the orchestra," said she, when he complained of i 
 the noise. " Don't you think it a funny music 1 It will be a 
 fine accompaniment to our oysters and partridge." 
 
 The escapade lent youth to her thirty years. She had quick I 
 movements and a dash of fever, and this private room, this tete- 
 a-tete with a young man amid the din of the street, gave her the j 
 look of a fast girl. She attacked the oysters with resolution. 
 Maxime was not hungry and he watched her with a smile while 
 she devoured. 
 
 " The deuce ! " he muttered, "you would have made a good 
 supper companion." 
 
 She stopped short, annoyed that she had eaten so quickly. 
 
 " You think that I'm too hungry. What would you 1 It's 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. H3 
 
 the hour we spent at that idiotic ball which emptied me. Ah ! 
 my poor fellow, I pity you for living in such society as that ! " 
 
 "But you know very well," said he, "that I have promised 
 you to send Sylvia and Laure d'Aurigny to the right about on 
 the day that your friends consent to come and sup with me." 
 
 With a superb gesture she answered, " Of course ! I quite be- 
 lieve it. We are a good deal more amusing than those women, 
 confess it now — if one of us bored her lover like your Sylvia and 
 your Laure d'Aurigny must bore you, why the poor little woman 
 would not keep her lover a week ! You will never listen to mc, 
 but try it one of these days." 
 
 To avoid summoning the waiter Maxime rose, removed the 
 oyster shells and brought the partridge which had been placed 
 on the dinner waggon. The table had the luxurious aspect cus- 
 tomary in the fashionable restaurants. A breath of adorable 
 debauchery sped over the damask cloth, and. it was with little 
 :|uivers of contentment that Renee let her slender hands stroll 
 trom her fork to her knife, from her plate to her glass. She 
 vlio usually drank water barely tinged with wine, now drank 
 vvhite wine neat. As Maxime, standing with his napkin on his 
 irm, waited on her with comical complaisance, he resumed : 
 
 * What can Monsieur de SafFre have said to you to make you 
 ,0 furious ? Did he find you ugly ? " 
 
 Oh ! he," she answered, " he is a nasty man. I should never 
 lave thought that a gentleman of such distinguished bearing, 
 ind so polite w^hen he calls on me, could talk such language. 
 But I forgive him. It was the w^omen who irritated me. One 
 night have thought they were apple-stall keepers. There was one 
 vho complained of a boil on her hip, and, a little bit more, I be- 
 ieve she would have turned up her skirt to shew her sore to 
 very one." 
 
 Maxime was splitting wdth laughter. 
 
 "No, really now," she continued, growing more animated, 
 ;' I don't understand you men, those women are dirty and stupid. 
 Lnd to think that w^hen I saw you go to Sylvia's I imauined 
 rodiizious things, banquets in the ancient style, like one sees 
 Q paintings, with creatures crowned with roses, gold cups and 
 xtraordinary voluptuousness. What a sell ! You showed me 
 dirty dressing-room and some women wlio swore like carters. 
 Jnder such conditions it really isn't worth while to do 
 /rong.'^ 
 
 He wanted to protest, but she silenced him, and holding be- 
 
144 THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 tween her finger-tips a partridge bone which she was daintily 
 nibbling, she added in a lower tone : 
 
 " Sin ought to be something exquisite, my dear fellow, i, 
 who am a respectable woman, when I feel bored and commit the 
 sin of dreammg of impossibilities, I am sure that I devise much 
 nicer things than such as Blanche Muller could think of.^' 
 
 And with a grave air she concluded by a profound remark of 
 naive cynicism : 
 
 " It is a question of how one is brought up, do you see ? " 
 
 She gently laid the little bone on her plate. The rumble of 
 the vehicles continued without any louder sound rising above it. 
 She was obliged however to raise her voice so that he might 
 hear her ; and her cheeks became still redder. On the dinner 
 waggon there were still some truffles, a sweet entremets ; and 
 some asparagus, a curiosity for that time of the year. He set 
 everything on the table, so as to avoid having to disturb him- 
 self again ; and as the table was rather narrow he placed on the 
 floor, between them, a silver pail containing a bottle of champagne 
 surrounded by ice. The young woman's appetite had ended 
 by overtaking him too. They tasted all the dishes, and emptied 
 the bottle of champagne with brusque gaiety, launching out 
 into suggestive theories, with their elbows on the table like two 
 friends who ease their hearts after a drinking bout. The noise 
 on the Boulevard was diminishing ; but to Eenee's ears it in- 
 creased, and at times all those wheels seemed to be revolving in 
 her head. 
 
 When he spoke of ringing for dessert she rose up and shook 
 her long satin blouse to make the crumbs fall off, saying : 
 
 " That's it — You know you can light a cigar." 
 
 She felt somewhat giddy. Attracted by a peculiar noise which' 
 she could not explain to herself, she went to the window. The 
 shops were being shut up. 
 
 ''Dear me," said she, turning towards Maxime, ''the orchestra 
 is clearing off." 
 
 Then she leant out again. In the centre of the thorough- 
 fare the coloured eyes of the cabs and omnibuses, fewer and 
 moving faster, were still passing one another. Large pits of 
 darkness seemed to have opened in front of the closed shops — 
 along the footpaths on either side. The cafes alone were still 
 flaming, striping the asphalte with sheets of light. From the Rue 
 Drouot to the Rue du Helder she thus perceived a long row of 
 white and black squares, amid which the last promenaders sprang^ 
 up and vanished again strangely. The harlots, with the trains 
 
THE RUSH FOLl THE SPOIL. 145 
 
 of tlieir dresses, by turns glaringly illuminated and immersed in 
 darkness, seemed like apparitions, like pale marionettes crossin.u: 
 the limelight of some extravaganza. Renee amused herself 
 for a moment with the sight. There was no longer a full-shed 
 light; the gas was being turned off; the variegated kiosks 
 stood out more defined amid the darkness. From time to time 
 a rush of people who had just left some theatre, passed by. 
 But soon there was vacancy again, and then under the window 
 there lingered two or three men together whom a woman accosted. 
 They stood in a group and discussed terms. Some of their 
 remarks rose audibly in the subsiding din, and then it generally 
 happened that the woman went off with one of the men. Other 
 girls wandered from cafe to cafe, strolled round the tables, 
 pocketed the forgotten lumps of sugar ^ laughed with the waiters, 
 and gazed fixedly at the belated customers, with a silent, question- 
 ing, proffering look. And then, just after Renee had let her eyes 
 follow the all but unoccupied knifeboard of a Batignolles omnibus, 
 she recognised, at the corner of the foot-pavement, the woman in 
 the blue dress and white lace, who stood glancing about her, 
 still in search of a man. 
 
 When Maxime came to fetch Renee at the window, where she 
 was forgetting herself, he smiled as he looked at one of the 
 partly opened casements of the Cafe Anglais. The idea that his 
 father was there supping on his side seemed comical to him ; 
 but that evening a peculiar pudicity restrained his customary 
 banter. Renee only left the window-rail regretfully. An in- 
 toxication and langour rose from the vague depths of the Boule- 
 vard. There was a coaxing summons to self-indulgent sleep in 
 the attenuated rumble of the vehicles, and the obliteration of 
 the bright lights. The whispers that sped by, the groups as- 
 sembled in shadowy corners, transformed the side- walk into the 
 passage of some large inn, at the hour when travellers repair 
 to their chance beds. The gleam and the noise became 
 fainter and fainter, the city was falling asleep, and a breath of 
 love swept over the housetops. 
 
 When the young woman turned her head the light of the 
 little chandelier made her blink her eyes. She was now somewhat 
 pale and felt slight quivers at the corners of her mouth. Charles 
 was setting out the dessert ; he left the room, came in again, 
 swinging the door, slowly and phlegmaticallylike a well-bred man. 
 
 '' But I'm no longer hungry ! " exclaimed Renee, " take away 
 all those plates and bring us the coffee." 
 
 K 
 
148 THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 The waiter, accustomed to the whims of the women he served, 
 cleared the dessert away and poured out the coffee. He filled 
 the whole room with his importance. 
 
 ^'Pray do send him away," said the young woman — half 
 sickened by the sight of him — to Maxime. 
 
 Maxime dismissed him; but scarcely had he disappeared, 
 than he returned once more to draw the large curtains of the 
 window closely together with a discreet air. When he had at 
 last retired, the young fellow, w^ho, on his side, was beginning 
 to feel annoyed, rose from his seat and going to the door ; 
 
 "Wait a bit," he said, "I have the means of getting rid of 
 him." 
 
 And he pushed the bolt. 
 
 " That's it,'' she rejoined, " we shall at least be by ourselves." 
 
 Their confidential, friendly chatting began again. Maxime 
 had lighted a cigar. Renee sipped her coffee and even allowed 
 herself a glass of chartreuse. The room grew warmer and be- 
 came filled with bluish smoke. She ended by setting her el- 
 bows on the table and by resting her chin between her two half- 
 closed fists. Under this slight pressure her mouth grcAV smaller, 
 her cheeks were slightly raised, and her narrow eyes shone 
 more brightly. Thus unsettled, her little face looked adorable, 
 under the stream of golden curls which now fell down upon her 
 eyebrows. Maxime gazed at her through the smoke of his cigar. 
 He found she had an original look. At certain moments he was 
 no longer quite sure as to her sex ; the long wrinkle which 
 crossed her forehead, the pouting forwardness of her lips, the 
 undecided air imparted by her shortsightedness, made a tall young 
 man of her; the more so, as her long black satin blouse 
 rose so high that one barely espied a white fatty strip of neck 
 under her chin. She let herself be looked at with a smile, no 
 longer moving her head, but with her eyes lost in vacancy and 
 her lips closed. 
 
 Then suddenly she woke up, and went to look at the mirror, 
 towards which her dreamy eyes had turned since a few 
 moments. She raised herself on tip-toe, and leant her hands 
 on the edge of the mantelshelf to read the signatures, the 
 coarse remarks which had shocked her before supper. She 
 spelt the syllables with some little difficulty, laughed, and 
 then still read on, like a schoolboy who is turning over some 
 pages of Piron in his desk. 
 
 " ^Ernest and ClaraV said she, "and there is a heart under- 
 
RENEE AND IMAXDXE IX THE TOIYATE rvO0:\I AT THE BESTAUEANT. 
 
 p. UG. 
 
THE RUSH FOPv THE SPOIL. 147 
 
 neath, which looks like a funnel. Ah ! this is better, ^ I love 
 men because I like truffles .' Signed, ' Laure.' I say, 
 
 Maxime, was it that woman D'Aurigny who wrote that 1 
 
 Then here are the arms of one of these women, 1 fancy : a hen 
 smoking a big pipe. And more names, a perfect calendar of 
 saints : ' Victor, Amelie, Alexandre, Edouard, Marguerite, 
 Paquita, Louise, Ecnec ' — Ah, so there's one who is named like 
 me—" 
 
 Maxime could see her ardent face in the looking-glass. Slic 
 raised herself up still more, and her domino, drawn more closely 
 behind, outlined the curve of her figure, the development of her 
 hips. The young fellow's eyes followed the line of the satin 
 which moulded her form like a chemise. He rose up in his 
 turn and threw away his cigar. He was ill at ease and nervous. 
 Something usual and accustomed was lacking about him. 
 
 "Ah, here's your name, Maxime," exclaimed Kenee. "Listen 
 —' I love—' " 
 
 But he had seated himself on a corner of the divan, almost 
 at the young woman's feet. And after succeeding in taking 
 hold of her hands w^ith a prompt movement, and making her 
 turn away from the looking-glass, he said in a strange voice : 
 
 " Pray don't read that." 
 
 She struggled, laughing nervously. 
 
 " Why not 1 Am I not your conficlante 1 " 
 
 But he insisted in a more husky tone. 
 
 " No, no, not this evening." 
 
 He was still holding her, and she tried to free herself with 
 little jerks of the wrists. Their eyes had an expression they were 
 not acquainted with ; there was a touch of shame in their long, 
 constrained smile. She fell upon her knees at the edge of the 
 divan. They continued struggling although she no longer 
 made an effort to return to the mirror, and was already sur- 
 rendering herself. And as the young fellow caught her round 
 the body, she said with an embarra^ssed dying laugh : 
 
 ^'Come, leave me. You are hurting me — " 
 
 It w^as the sole murmur that came from her lips. Amid the 
 profound silence of the room where the gas seemed to shoot 
 up higher, she felt the ground tremble and heard the crash 
 of a Batignolles omnibus which must have been turning the 
 corner of the Boulevard. And it was all over. When they 
 again found themselves, seated side-by-side on the divan, he 
 stanunered out, amid their mutual embarrassment : 
 
148 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 ^* Bab ! it was bound to bappen one day or other." 
 
 She said nothing. With an overwhelmed air, she looked at 
 the pattern of the carpet. 
 
 " Were you thinking of it ? " continued Maxime, stammering 
 more and more. " I wasn't, not at all. I ought to have mis- 
 trusted the private room.'' 
 
 But in a deep voice, as if all the middle-class uprightness 
 of the Berauds Du Chatelhad been awakened by this supreme 
 sin : 
 
 ^'AVhat we have just done is infamous,'' she mu' mured, 
 sobered, her face aged and very grave. 
 
 She was stifling. She went to the window, drew back the 
 curtains, and leant over the rail. The orchestra was hushed ; 
 the sin had been committed amid the last quiver of the bases 
 and the distant chant of the violins, the vague soft music 
 of the Boulevard now sleeping and dreaming of love. The 
 road and the side-walks stretched away below in grey 
 solitude. AH the rumbling cab wheels seemed to have gone 
 of}', taking the lights and the crowd away with them. Below 
 the window, the Cafe lliche was closed, not a ray of light 
 glided from between the shutters. Across the way, brazen- 
 like gleams alone appeared upon the facade of the Cafe Anglais, 
 especially lighting up one window which was partly open and 
 whence a faint sound of laughter escaped. And all along 
 this ribbon of darkness, from the turn at the Hue Drouot to 
 the other end, as far as her eyes could reach, she no longer saw 
 aught save the symmetrical blurs of the kiosks tinging the < 
 night with red and green, without illuminating it, and looking 
 like night-lights spaced along some giant dormitory. She ^ 
 raised her head. The high branches of the trees stood out ^ 
 against a clear sky, while the irregular outline of the house 
 roofs died away till it seemed like a clustering heap of rocks on 
 the shore of a bluish sea. J>ut this strip of sky saddened her 
 all the more, and it was in the darkness of the Boulevard alone 
 that she found some consolation. What lingered of the noise 
 and vice of the evening onlt he surface of the deserted thorough- 
 fare excused her. She thought she could feel the heat of all these 
 men and women's footsteps ascend from the cooling footway. The 
 shames that had trailed there, the desires of a minute, the whisp- . 
 ered offers, the weddings of a night paid for in advance, w^ere 
 evaporatmg, floating about in a heavy mist rolled aAvay by the 
 breath of morning. Leaning out into the darkness she inhaled 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 149 
 
 this quivering silence, this alcove-like smell, as an encouragement 
 which came to her from below, as an assurance that her shame 
 was shared and accepted by a colluding city. And wdien her eyes 
 had grown accustomed to the obscurity she perceived the 
 woman in the blue dress trimmed with lace, standing in 
 the same place, alone in the grey solitude, w^aiting and 
 offering herself to the deserted darkness. 
 
 On turning, the young woman beheld Charles who was 
 looking around him, scenting like a dog. He ended by per- 
 ceiving Renee's blue ribbon, lying rumpled and forgotten on a 
 corner of the divan. And with his polite air, ho hastened to 
 take it to her. Then she realised all her shame. Standing in 
 front of the looking-glass she tried with clumsy hands to tie the 
 ribbon again. But her chignon had fallen, the little curls 
 were flattened on her temples, and she was unable to tie the 
 bow. Charles came to her help, saying, as if he were offering 
 Home iisual thing, a finger glass or some toothpicks : 
 
 ''If madame would like the combV 
 
 "Oh! no, there's no need," interrupted Maxime, giving tlie 
 waiter an impatient look. " Go and fetch us a cab." 
 
 Eenee made up her mind to pull the hood of her domino 
 over her head. And as she was about to leave the looking- 
 glass, she lightly raised herself in search of the words which 
 Maxime's grasp had prevented her from reading. Slanting 
 upwards towards the ceiling, and written in a large, abominable 
 hand there w^as this declaration signed Sylvia : " I love 
 Maxime." On reading it Renee bit her lip and drew her 
 hood rather lower. 
 
 They experienced a horrible constraint in the vehicle. They 
 had seated themselves one in front of the other as when they 
 left the Pare Monceaux. They could not think of a word to 
 say to each other. The cab was full of opaque darkness, and 
 Maxime's cigar didn't even dot it w^ith a red speck, a pink char- 
 coal-like glimmer. The young fellow, again hidden among 
 the skirts, "which he had up to his eyes," felt ill at ease 
 amid this darkness and silence, near this speechless woman, 
 whom he felt beside iiim, and whose eyes he imagined he 
 could see gazing wide open into the night. To seem less 
 foolish he ended by seeking her hand, and wdien he held it in 
 his own he felt relieved and found the situation tolerable. 
 Henee abandoned this hand of hers, languidly and dreamily. 
 
 Tlie cab crossed over the Place de la Madeleine. Kenee was re- 
 
150 THE RUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 fleeting that she was not guilty. She had not been bent or 
 incest. And the more she descended into herself, the more 
 innocent she considered she had been, at the outset of her 
 escapade, at her furtive departure from the Pare Monceaux^ at 
 Blanche Muller's, on the Boulevard, and even in the private room at 
 the restaurant. Why had she fallen on her knees at the edge of 
 that divan 1 She no longer knew. She had certainly not thought 
 of t/iat for a moment. She would have angrily refused. She 
 had made this excursion as a joke, she had been bent on 
 amusing herself, nothing more. Thus did she ponder, and in 
 the rumbling of the cab she seemed again to find the deafening 
 orchestra of the Boulevard, that coming and goino- of men and 
 women, while bars of fire burned her tired eyes. 
 
 Maxime was also musing, with some sense of worry, in his 
 corner. The adventure annoyed him. He laid the blame on 
 the black satin domino. Had one ever seen a woman rig her- 
 self out in that style ? You couldn't even see her neck. He 
 had taken her for a boy, he had played with her, and it wasn't 
 his fault if the game had become something serious. He cer- 
 tainly wouldn't have touched her with the tips of his fingers, 
 had she only shown her shoulders a bit. He would then have 
 remembered that she was his father's wife. Then, as he did 
 not care for disagreeable reflections, he forgave himself. So 
 much the worse, after all ! he would try not to begin again. 
 It was folly. 
 
 The cab stopped, and Maxime alighted the first, to help Renee 
 out. But at the little gate of the park he did not dare to kiss 
 her. They shook hands according to their wont. She was al- 
 ready on the other side of the railing, when, in view of sajang 
 something, and at the same time unwittingly confessing a pre- 
 occupation which had vaguely crossed her reveries since leaving 
 the restaurant : 
 
 " What was that comb," she asked, *^ which the waiter spoke 
 about r' 
 
 '^ That comb," repeated Maxime, embarrassed, " I'm sure I 
 don't know." 
 
 But Renee abruptly realised the truth. The room, no doubt, 
 had a comb which formed part of its appurtenances like the 
 curtains, the bolt, and the divan. And without waiting an ex- 
 jolanation, which did not come, she plunged into the darkness 
 of the Pare Monceaux, hastening her steps, and thinking she 
 could see behind her the tortoiseshell teeth in which Laura 
 
/ 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 151 
 
 d'Aurigny and Sylvia had left some of their fair and their dark 
 hairs. Eenee was very feverish, and it became necessary for 
 Celeste to put her to bed and watch her till the morning. On the 
 side- walk of the Boulevard Malesherbes, Maxime consulted him- 
 self for a moment as to whether he should go and join the joyous 
 party at the Cafe Anglais ; then, with the idea that he was 
 punishing himself, he decided that he ought to go home to bed. 
 
 On the morrow, Eenee awoke at a late hour from a heavy 
 dreamless sleep. She had a large fire lighted, and said that 
 she should spend the day in her room. This was her refuge 
 in serious moments. Towards noon, as her husband did not 
 see her come down to lunch, he asked her permission to speak 
 with her a moment. She was already refusing the request, with 
 a tinge of nervousness, when she decided otherwise. On the 
 day before she had sent Saccard Worms's bill, amounting to a 
 hundred and thirty-six thousand francs, a rather high figure, 
 and, no doubt, he wished to indulge in the gallantry of giving 
 her a receipt in person. 
 
 A thought came to her of the little curls of the day before ; and 
 she mechanicaJly looked in the glass at her hair, which Celeste 
 had knotted in large tresses. Then she ensconced herself in a 
 corner by the fire-place, burying herself in the lace of her dressing- 
 gown. Saccard, whose rooms also were on the first floor, corres- 
 ponding with his wife's, came to see her in his slippers, in the 
 true style of a husband. He barely set foot in Renee's room 
 once a month, and then only for some delicate pecuniary mat- 
 ter. That morning he had red eyes, and the wan complexion 
 of a man who has not slept. He kissed the young woman's 
 hand gallantly. 
 
 " You are not well, my dear ? '^ he said, as he sat down on 
 the other side of the chimney-piece. '^ A little headache, isn't 
 it? Excuse my coming to worry you with my business rigma- 
 roles, but the matter is somewhat serious." 
 
 From one of the pockets of his dressing-gown he drcAV forth 
 Worms's bill, the glazed paper of which Renee recognised. 
 
 " I found this bill on my table, yesterday," he continued, 
 " and I'm very sorry, but I really can't pay it just now." 
 
 Out of the corner of his eye he watched the effect that his 
 words produced on his wife, who seemed to be deeply astonished. 
 He resumed with a smile : 
 
 ** As 3^ou know, my dear, I'm not in the habit of looking into 
 your expenses. I don't say that certain items in this bill haven't 
 
152 THE r.USH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 surprised me a little. For instance, on the second jjage, I find 
 this : ^ Ball dress : material, 70 francs ; making up, 600 francs ; 
 money lent, 5000 francs ; perfumery, 6 francs/ 1 hat seventy franc 
 dress comes to rather a stiff figure. But you know very ay ell 
 that I understand all kinds of weaknesses. Your bill amounts 
 to a hundred and thirty-six thousand francs, and you have been 
 almost moderate, relatively speaking, 1 mean — Only, I must re- 
 peat it, I can't pay, I'm hard wp." 
 
 She stretched out her hand with a gesture of restrained mor- 
 tification. 
 
 " Very well," she said curtly, " hand me back the bill. I will 
 attend to it.'' 
 
 ^' I see that you don't believe me," muttered Saccard, enjoy- 
 ing his wife's hicredulity resjDecting his financial embarrassment, 
 as much as if it had been a triumph. '' I don't say that my 
 position is threatened, but business is very queer for the mo- 
 ment. I worry you, no doubt, but let me explain our position 
 to you. You confided your dowry to me, and I owe you com- 
 plete frankness." 
 
 He laid the bill on the mantel-shelf, took up the tongs, and 
 began to poke the fire. This mania for raking the cinders, while 
 he was talking about business matters, was a system which had be- 
 come a habit with him. Whenever he reached a figure or a re- 
 mark, which it bothered him to enunciate, he brought about some 
 downfall of the logs, which he began repairing laboriously, 
 bringing the logs closer together, collecting and piling the little 
 splinters of wood, one above the other. On other occasions he 
 almost disappeared into the fire-place in search of some stray- 
 ing embers. He spoke in a lower tone, you grew impatient, 
 you became interested in his skilful edification of incandescent 
 firewood, you no longer listened to him, and, as a rule, you 
 left his presence defeated but content. Even at other people's 
 houses he despotically took j)ossession of the tongs. In the 
 summer he toyed with a penholder, a paper or a pen-knife. 
 
 " My dear," said he, giving a blow which sent the fire flying, 
 " I must once again ask your forgiveness for entering into all 
 these details. I have punctually paid you the interest of tlie 
 funds which you placed in my hands. I can even say, without 
 wishing to hurt your feelings, that I merely looked upon that in- 
 terest as your pocket-money, paying your expenses, and never ask- 
 ing you to contribute your share of the household disbursements." 
 
 He paused. Eenee suffered as slie looked at him^ while he 
 
THE raiSH FOK THE SrOH^. 153 
 
 made a large hole in the cinders to bring tlie end of a log among 
 them. He was approaching a delicate matter. 
 
 " As you will understand, I was obliged to make your money 
 yield a high interest. The funds are in safe hands, be assured 
 of that. As for the amount coming from your property in 
 Sologne, it partly served to pay for the house we live in , the 
 remainder is invested in an excellent affair, the Societe Generale 
 of the Ports of Morocco. We are not settling accounts, are we 1 
 but I want to prove to you that very often we poor husbands 
 are not judged at oiu^ worth." 
 
 A powerful motive must have impelled him to lie a little less 
 than usual. The truth was that llenee's dowry had for a 
 long time ceased to exist ; it had simply become a fictitious 
 asset in Saccard's safe. Although he paid the interest at the 
 rate of two or three hiuidred per cent., he could not have pro- 
 duced a single security, or have found the smallest solid particle 
 of the original caj^ital. As he half confessed, the five hundred 
 thousand francs derived from t]ie Sologne property had served 
 to give something on account for the house and tlie furniture, 
 which between them had cost nearly two millions of francs. 
 Saccard still owed a million to the upholsterer and the builder. 
 
 "I don't claim anything from you," said Kenee at last, " I 
 know that I owe you a deal of money." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear," he exclaimed, taking hold of his wife's hand, 
 l)ut without relinquishing the tongs, " what a bad idea you 
 have of me ! In two words, now, I have been Tuilucky at the 
 Bourse, Toutin-Laroche has been playing some foolish pranks, 
 and Mignon and C harrier are a couple of brutes who have 
 swindled me. And that is why I can't pay your bill. You will 
 forgive me, won't you 1 " 
 
 He seemed really moved. He thrust the tongs between the 
 logs and made the sparks dart forth like rockets. Eenee re- 
 membered how nervous he had seemed for some time past. But 
 she was unable to penetrate the astonishing truth. Saccard 
 had reached the point that he had to accomplish a miracle 
 every day. He resided in a house which had cost two millions 
 of francs, he lived on the footing of a prince's civil list, and yet 
 on certain mornings he had not a thousand francs in his safe. 
 His expenditure did not seem to diminish, however. He lived 
 upon debt among a people of creditors who swallowed up, day 
 by day, the scandalous profits which he realised by certain trans- 
 actions. In the meantime, at the same moment indeed, com- 
 
154 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 panies crumbled around ; before him yawned fresh and deeper 
 pits, over which he had to spring, being unable to fill them up. 
 He thus went on over mined ground, amid a continuous crisis, 
 settling bills of fifty thousand francs, and not paying his coach- 
 man's wages, still marching on with an assurance which became 
 more and more regal, and emptying over Paris, more ragefully 
 than ever, his empty safe, whence the golden river of legendary 
 source still continued to flow. 
 
 The times were momentarily bad for speculation. Saccard was 
 the worthy offspring of the Hotel de Ville. Like Paris^ he had 
 been eager for transformation, feverishly bent upon enjoyment, 
 and blindly lavish in expenditure. And at this moment, like 
 the city itself, he found himself in the presence of a formidable 
 deficit which it was necessary he should make good secretly ; for 
 he would not hear speak of sobriet}^, economy, calm, and simple 
 life. He preferred to retain the useless luxury and real misery of 
 these new thoroughfares, whence he had derived that colossal 
 fortune ushered each morning into being, but always swallowed 
 up when evening came. Passing from adventure to adventure, 
 he now only possessed the gilded facade of an absent capital. 
 In that time of fierce madness, Paris herself did not engage her 
 future with less self-restraint, or march more straightly towards 
 every folly and every financial trickery. The liquidation threat- 
 ened to be a terrible one. 
 
 The finest speculations fell through in Saccard's hands. As 
 lie confessed, he had just experienced considerable losses on the 
 Bourse. M. Toutin-Laroche had almost capsized the Credit 
 Viticole by a " bulling '' game which had suddenly turned against 
 him ; fortunately the government, intervening secretly, had reset 
 the famous farmers' loan machine on its legs. Saccard — already 
 badly shaken by this double blow, warmly rated by his brother the 
 minister on account of the danger which had threatened the 
 delegation bonds of the city of Paris, compromised at the same 
 time at the Credit Viticole — was yet even unluckier in his specu- 
 lations in house property. Mignon and Charrier had altogether 
 ceased dealing with him. If he accused them it was because 
 he was secretly enraged to think that he had blundered by 
 building on his share of the land, whilst they prudently sold 
 theirs. While they were netting a fortune, he remained 
 hampered by his houses which he was often only able to dispose 
 of at a loss. Among others he sold a mansion in the Rue de Marig- 
 nan, on which he still owed three hundred and eighty thousand 
 
THE TvUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 155 
 
 francs, for three hundred tlionsand. He had certainly invented 
 a dodge worthy of him, which consisted in demanding ten 
 thousand francs for a fiat wortli eight thousand at tlie most. 
 The frightened tenant only signed a lease when the landlord 
 consented to make him a present of the first tw^o years' rent ; the 
 apartment was thus brought down to its real value, but the 
 lease enunciated the figure of ten thousand francs, and when 
 Saccard found a purchaser and capitalized the income of the 
 property the valuation proved most fantastic. He could not 
 apply this swindle on a large scale as his houses did not let ; 
 indeed he had built them too soon ; the clearings, amid wliich 
 they were so to say lost, in the mud and the winter cold, isolated 
 them and low^ered their value considerably. The afiair, which ' 
 affected Saccard the most, was the vulgar swindle of Messieurs 
 Miiinon and Charrier, who bought back from him the mansion 
 which he had been compelled to give up building on the Boule- 
 vard Malesherbes. The contractors were at last smitten w4th 
 the desire of residing on " their Boulevard." As they had sold 
 their share of the building plots at a profit, and scented the em- 
 barrassed circumstances of their ex-partner, they offered to rid 
 him of the enclosure in the centre of which the mansion rose 
 to the flooring of the first storey, where the iron girders were 
 partly placed. Only they talked of the solid foundations in 
 cut stone as " useless rubbish," saying that they w^ould have 
 preferred the soil to be bare so as to build upon it according to 
 their taste. Saccard had to sell, without taking the hundred 
 and odd thousand franc3 which he had already expended into 
 account. And what exasperated him the more w^as that tlie 
 contractors would never agree to take the ground back at the 
 rate of two hundred and fifty francs the metre, at w^hich figure 
 it had been valued when the plots were shared. They knocked 
 off twenty-five francs per metre, like those second-hand dealers 
 Avho will only give four francs for an object Avhich they sold for 
 five the day before. Forty-eight hours later, Saccard had the 
 grief of seeing an army of masons invade the enclosure and con- 
 tinue building upon the so called " useless rubbish." 
 
 He thus played the impecunious all the better before his wife, 
 as his affairs were becoming more and more muddled. He was 
 not the man to confess himself for the simple love of truth. 
 
 ^' But if you find yourself embarrassed," said Eenee with an 
 air of doubt, " why did you buy me that aigrette and necklace 
 which cost you, I believe, sixty-five thousand francs ^ I have no 
 
15G THE KUSH FOR THE SrOIL. 
 
 Tise for those jewels and I shall be obliged to ask your permission 
 to dispose of them so as to give Worms something on account." 
 
 '' Never do that ! " he exclaimed nervously. ^' If you were 
 not seen w^earing those jewels at the ball at the ministry to- 
 morrow people would gossip about my position." 
 
 He was good-natured that morning, so he ended by smiling 
 and muttering with a wink : 
 
 " We speculators, my dear, are like pretty women, we have our 
 little trickeries. Pray keep your aigrette and your necklace for 
 love of me." 
 
 He could not tell the story, for although a very amusing one, 
 it was in somewhat questionable taste. Saccard and Laure 
 d'Aurigny had entered into an alliance one night after supper. 
 Laure was head over heels in debt, and was trying to find some 
 nice young man who would kindly elope with her and take her 
 to London. Saccard on his side felt the ground giving way be- 
 neath him ; his failing imagination sought for an expedient which 
 would show him to the public w^allowing on a bed of gold and 
 bank notes. The harlot and the speculator came to an under- 
 standing amid the semi-intoxication of dessert. He hit upon 
 the idea of that sale of diamonds wdiicli attracted all Paris, 
 and where amid a great fuss he purchased some jewels for his 
 wife. Then with the product of the sale, some four hundred 
 thousand francs, he succeeded in satisfying Laure's creditors who 
 were owed about twice that amount. It may even be believed 
 that he recouped a part of his sixty-five thousand francs. AA^hen he 
 was seen liquidating the D'Aurigny's affairs, he was supposed to 
 be her protector, people thought that he had paid her debts hi 
 full, and that he was doing all sorts of foolish things for her. 
 Every hand was stretched out to him, and his credit returned, 
 formidable. At the Bourse he Avas joked about his passion with 
 smiles and allusions w^hich delighted him. Meanwhile, Laure 
 d'Aurigny, brought into notoriety by all this fuss, and with 
 wdiom he did not even spend a single night, pretended she w^as 
 deceiving him wdth eight or ten fools allured by the idea of 
 stealing her from a man of such colossal w^ealth. In one month 
 she obtained two sets of furniture and more diamonds than she 
 had sold. Saccard had fallen into the habit of going to smoke 
 a cigar at her place of an afternoon on leaving the Bourse ; 
 and he often perceived coat tails flying off in terror through 
 the doorways. When he and Laure Avere alone they could not 
 look at each other witliout lau^'hino:. He kissed her on the 
 
THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 157 
 
 forehead as if she were a perverse girl whose knavery de- 
 lighted him. He did not give her a copper ; on the contrary, 
 she once lent him some money to pay a gambling debt. 
 
 Kenee wished to insist, and spoke of at least pawning the 
 jewels ; but her husband made her understand that it was not 
 possible, that all Paris expected to see her wearing them on the 
 morrow. Thereupon the young woman who was greatly w^orried 
 about Worms's bill tried to devise another expedient. 
 
 " But mj Charonne affair," she suddenly exclaimed, " it is 
 progressing well, isn't it ? You told me only the other day 
 that the profits would be superb. Perhaps Larsonneau would 
 advance me the hundred and thirty-six thousand francs ] " 
 
 For a minute Saccard had forgotten the tongs between his 
 legs. He now hastily took hold of them again, leant forward 
 and almost disappeared into the fire-place, whence the young 
 Avoman heard his voice huskily muttering : 
 
 ^^ Yes, yes, Larsonneau might perhaps — " 
 
 She was at last coming of her own accord to the point to 
 which he had gently tried to lead her since the outset of the 
 conversation. For two years already he had been preparing his 
 masterly stroke in the direction of Charonne. His wife had 
 never consented to part with Aunt Elisabeth's projDcrty ; she 
 had sworn to the latter that she would keep it intact to be- 
 queath it to her children, should she become a mother. In 
 presence of this obstinacy^ the speculator's imagination had set 
 to work and had ended hj constructing something poetical — a 
 design of exquisite knavery, a colossal piece of trickery by 
 which the city of Paris, the State, his wife, and even Larsonneau 
 would be victimized. He no longer talked about selling the 
 ground ; only he every day deplored the folly of leaving it un- 
 ])rocluctive, of contenting oneself with an income of two per cent. 
 Eenee, always pressed for money, had ended by entertaining the 
 idea of a speculation. Saccard based his oj^eration on the cer- 
 tainty of an approaching expropriation for the cutting of the 
 Boulevard du Prince Eugene, the line of wdiich was not yet 
 clearly decided upon. And then it was that he brought forward 
 his old accomplice Larsonneau, as a partner who made an agree- 
 ment with his wife on the following basis. She on her side 
 brought the ground representing a value of five hundred thou- 
 sand francs ; and Larsonneau, on his side, undertook to expend 
 a similar sum in building upon this ground a popular music-hall 
 with a large garden where games of all kinds, swings, skittles, 
 
158 THE RUSH FOii;rHE SPOIL. 
 
 and bowls should be installed. The i^rofits were naturally 
 to be divided, just as the losses were to be equally shared. In 
 the event of one of the partners wishing to retire, he might do 
 so by claiming his share, according to the valuation which would 
 be made. Renee seemed surprised by this high figure of five 
 hundred thousand francs, when the ground was worth three 
 hundred thousand at the most. But Saccard made her under- 
 stand that it was a skilful plan for tying Larsonneau's hands 
 later on, for his buildings w^ould never represent such an amount. 
 Larsonneau had become an elegant man about town, well 
 gloved, with dazzling linen and astounding neckties. To go 
 about he had a tilbury as light as a piece of clock-work, with a 
 very high seat, and which he drove himself. His offices in the 
 Rue de Rivoli were a set of sumptuous rooms in which one 
 never saw the least portfolio or business paper lying about. His 
 clerks wrote on tables of blackened pear-wood adorned with 
 marquetry and ornaments of chased brass. He had assumed 
 the style and title of an expropriation-agent, a new calling which 
 the works of Paris had brought into being. By his connection 
 with the Hotel de Ville he was informed in advance of the cut- 
 ting of any new thoroughfares. , When he had induced a road 
 inspector to show him the proposed line of route of a new^ 
 Boulevard, he went to offer his services to the threatened house- 
 holders. And he brought forward his little plan for increasing 
 the indemnity by acting before the decree of public utility was 
 issued. As soon as a householder a'ccepted his proposals, he 
 took all the ex|)ense on himself, drew a plan of the property, 
 brought the affair before the courts and paid an advocate, the 
 whole for a percentage on the difference between the offer made 
 by the city and the indemnity awarded by the jury. To this 
 calling, which after all might be avowed, he annexed several 
 others. He especially practised usury. He w^as not the usurer 
 of the old school, ragged and dirty, with white expressionless 
 eyes like five franc pieces, and pale lips tightly drawn together 
 like the strings of a purse. He smiled, gave charming glances, 
 liad himself dressed by Dusautoy, and went to lunch at Bre- 
 bant's with his victim, whom he called " My dear fellow " when 
 he offered him an havannah at dessert. At bottom, despite 
 his waistcoats tightly buckled round his waist, Larsonneau w^as 
 a terrible fellow who, without losing aught of his amiability, 
 would have prosecuted a debtor for payment of a bill until the 
 unfortunate man was reduced to conmiit suicide. 
 
THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 159 
 
 ~ Saccard would willingly have chosen another partner. But he 
 still entertained anxiety respecting the false inventory which 
 Larsonneau preciously preserved. So he preferred to interest 
 him in the affair, hoping that he would be able to profit by 
 some circumstance to regain possession of this compromising 
 document. Larsonneau built the music-hall, an edifice in planks 
 and plaster, surmounted by little tin belfries w^hich he painted 
 red and yellow. The garden and the games proved successful 
 in the populous district of Charonne. At the end of a couple 
 of years the speculation seemed a prosperous one, although the 
 profits were in reality very small. So far, Saccard had always 
 spoken enthusiastically to his wife concerning the prospects of 
 such a fine idea. 
 
 On seeing that her husband did not make up his mind to 
 come out of the fire-place, where his voice was becoming more 
 and more indistinct, Eenee exclaimed : 
 
 " I shall go to see Larsonneau to-day. It is my only re- 
 source." 
 
 Thereupon he abandoned the log v>iih which he was strug- 
 gling. 
 
 ^' The errand's done, my dear," he said smiling. ^^ Don't I 
 forestall all your desires *? I saw Larsonneau last night." 
 
 ^' And he promised you the hundred and thirty-six thousand 
 francs ? " she asked anxiously. 
 
 Between the two flaming logs he was building a mountain of 
 live cinders, delicately taking up the smallest fragments with 
 the tongs, and looking with a satisfied air at the elevation which 
 he raised with infinite art. 
 
 ^' Oh ! how fast you go!" he muttered. ^'A hundred and 
 thirty-six thousand francs make a large sum. Larsonneau is a 
 good fellow, but his means are still limited. He is quite ready to 
 oblige you — " 
 
 He paused, blinking his eyes and rebuilding a corner of the 
 elevation which had fallen through. The pastime began to 
 confuse the young woman's ideas. Despite herself she watched 
 the w^ork of her husband whose clumsiness increased. She 
 felt inclined to give him advice. Forgetting Worms, the bill, 
 and her need of money, she ended by exclaiming : 
 
 "But place that large bit, there, underneath ; the others will 
 then keep up." 
 
 Her husband submissively obeyed her, and added : 
 
 '' He can only find fifty thousand francs. It will always 
 
160 THE KUSH FOll THE SPOIL. 
 
 make a nice instalment. Only, lie won't mix this affair up with 
 the Charonne one. He is but an intermediary, do you under- 
 stand, my dear ? The person who really lends the money de- 
 mands enormous interest. He wants a note of hand for eighty 
 thousand francs at six months' date." 
 
 And having crowned the height with a pointed cinder he 
 crossed his hands over the tongs and looked fixedly at his wife. 
 
 ^' Eighty thousand francs ! " she cried. "' But that's robbery ! 
 Do you advise me to do anything so foolish 'I " 
 
 '' No," he answered plainly. '^ But, if you are in absolute need 
 of money, I won't forbid it." 
 
 He rose up as if he meant to leave the room. Eenee, in a 
 state of cruel indecision, looked at her husband, and at the bill 
 which he laid upon the mantel-shelf. She ended by taking her 
 poor head in her hands and murmuring : 
 
 " Oh 1 these business matters ! My head is splitting, this 
 morning. Well, I shall sign this bill for eighty thousand francs. 
 If I didn't, I should become altogether ill. I know myself, I 
 should spend the day in frightful tortures — I prefer to be fool- 
 ish at once. It will relieve me." 
 
 And she spoke of ringing to have a bill stamp fetched. But 
 he insisted upon rendering her this service in person. No doubt 
 he had the bill stamp in his pocket, for his absence scarcely 
 lasted a couple of minutes. While she was writing at a little 
 table which he had drawn to the fireside, he examined her and 
 an astonished feeling of desire lighted up his eyes. It was very 
 warm in the room, which was still full of the young woman's 
 rising and the scent of her first toilet. Whilst speaking, she 
 had let the folds of the dressing-gow^n in which she had swathed 
 herself, fall down, and the eyes of her husband, who stood in 
 front of her, glided over her bent head from amid the gold of 
 her hair far down to the whiteness of her neck and bosom. He 
 smiled with a singular air ; this ardent fire which had burnt his 
 face, this closed room, the heavy atmosphere of w^hich w^as im- 
 pregnated with a scent of love, this yellow hair and this white 
 skin which tempted him with a kind of conjugal disdain, made 
 him droamy, enlarged the scope of the drama in which he had 
 just played a scene, and prompted some secret voluptuous de- 
 sign in his brutal jobber's flesh. 
 
 When his wife held him out the bill, begging him to finish 
 the affair for her, he took it, still looking at her. 
 
 ^' You are bewitchingiy beautiful/' he murmured. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 161 
 
 And as she leant forward to pusli the table aside, he roughly 
 kissed her on the neck. She gave a little cry. Then she 
 rose up, quivering, trying to laugh, thinking despite of herself 
 of the other's kisses the night before. But he regretted hav- 
 ing given her this cabman's kiss, and on leaving he simply 
 pressed her hand in a friendly manner and promised her that 
 she should have the fifty thousand francs that same evening. 
 
 Renee dozed all day in front of the fire. At hours of crisis 
 she experienced a creole-like languor ; all her turbulent nature 
 became lazy, chilly, benumbed. She shivered, she needed blazing 
 fires, a suffocating heat, which brought little drops of per- 
 spiration to her forehead, and tranquillized her. In this burning 
 atmosphere, in this bath of flames, she scarcely sufiered ; her 
 pain became like a light dream, a vague oppression, the very 
 ambiguity of wdiich ended by becoming voluptuous. It was 
 thus that, until the evening, she lulled her remorse of the 
 night before, in the red glow of the hearth, opposite a terrible 
 fire, which made the furniture around her crack, and at 
 moments deprived her of the consciousness of being. She was 
 able to dream of Maxime as of an inflamed enjoyment, the rays 
 of which burnt her. She had a nightmare of strange amours, 
 amid flaring logs, on beds heated white-hot. Celeste went to 
 and fro about the room with the calm face of a servant with 
 icy blood. She had orders not to admit anyone ; and she even 
 kept the door shut to those inseparables, Adeline d'Espanet and 
 Suzanne Hafliier, w^hen they called on returning from lunching 
 together at a villa which they had rented at Sainc-Germain. 
 However, tow^ards the evening, when Celeste came to inform 
 her mistress that her master's sister, Madame Sidonie, wished to 
 see her, she received orders to show her in. 
 
 As a rule Madame Sidonie only called at dusk. And yet her 
 brother had prevailed upon her to wear silk dresses. But no 
 one knew how it happened, although the silk she wore came fresh 
 from the shop, it never looked new ; it was shabby, destitute of 
 sheen, and seemed to be in tatters. She had also consented 
 not to bring her basket to Saccard's house, but by way of com- 
 pensation her pocket ahvays overflowed wath papers. She was 
 interested in Eenee, whom she w^as unable to transform into a 
 reasonable customer resigned to the necessities of life. She 
 visited her. regularly, wearing the discreet smile of a doctor 
 who does not like to frighten his patient by telling her the 
 name of her disease. She commiserated her little worries, as if 
 
 L 
 
162 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 they had been petty ailments which she could cure immediately | 
 if the young woman only chose. The latter, who was in one of 
 those moments when one feels the need of being pitied, simply 
 received her to tell her that she had intolerable pains in her I 
 head. 
 
 <^ Why, my beauty," muttered Madame Sidonie, as she 
 glided through the shade of the room, " why, you are stifling 
 here ! Still your neuralgic pains, eh? It's worry. You take 
 life too much to heart." 
 
 " Yes, I have a great deal of worry," replied Renee. 
 
 Night was coming on. She had not allowed Celeste to light 
 the lamp. The fire alone shed a grand red glow which fully 
 illuminated her, as she reclined in her white dressing-gown, the 
 lace of which had a pinkish tinge. At the edge of the shade 
 one could just see an end of Madame Sidonie's black dress, and 
 her two crossed hands encased in grey cotton gloves. • Her soft 
 voice emerged out of the darkness. 
 
 " Still worry about money ^ '' she said, in a tone full of gentle- 
 ness and pity, just as if she had spoken of the worries of the 
 heart. 
 
 Eenee lowered her eyelids, and made a gesture of avowal. 
 
 " Ah I if my brothers listened to me ! " said Madame Sidonie, 
 ^' we should all be rich. But they shrug their shoulders whenever 
 I speak to them about that debt of three milliards, you know. 
 Still I have good hopes. For the last ten years I have been 
 wanting to make a journey to England, but I have so little 
 time for myself. Anyhow I recently made up my mind to 
 write to London, and I am waiting for the answer." 
 
 And as the young woman smiled : 
 
 " I know you are incredulous as well. Still you would be 
 very pleased if I made you a present of a pretty million one of 
 these days. Oh ! the story is simple enough : it was a Paris 
 banker who lent the money to the son of the King of England, 
 and as the banker died without leaving any direct heirs, the 
 State can now-a-days claim the re-imbursement of the debt with 
 compound interest. I have calculated it — it amounts to two 
 milliards nine hundred and forty-three millions two hundred 
 and ten thousand francs. It will come, it will come ; never 
 fear ! " 
 
 " In the meantime," said the young woman with a dash of 
 irony, "you ought to obtain me a hundred thousand francs. I 
 could then pay my tailor, who is greatly worrying me ! " 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 163 
 
 " A hundred thousand francs can be found," replied Madame 
 Sidonie, quietly. ^' It is only a question of paying for them." 
 
 The fire was glowing. Kenee, feeling more and more languid, 
 stretched out her legs, and showed the tips of her slippers 
 at the edge of her dressing-gown, while the women of business 
 resumed in her commiserating voice : 
 
 " Poor dear, you are really not reasonable. I know a great 
 many women, but I have never seen a single one so careless 
 about her health as you are. For instance, that little Michelin, 
 there's one who knows how to manage. In spite of myself I 
 think of you when I see her so happy and well. Do you know 
 that Monsieur de SafFre is madly in love with her, and that he has 
 already given her presents worth nearly ten thousand francs ? 
 I believe that her dream is to have a country house." 
 
 Madame Sidonie was growing more animated, and fumbled 
 in her pocket. 
 
 " I still have about me a letter from a poor young woman. If 
 we had a light I would let you read it. Just fancy, her hus- 
 band doesn't provide for her. She had acce23ted some bills, and 
 she has been obHged to borrow from a gentleman I know. It 
 was I who rescued the promissory notes from the lawyer's 
 clutches, and it wasn't an easy matter. The poor children, do 
 you think they are wrong 1 I receive them at my place as if 
 they were my son and daughter." 
 
 " You know a money-lender '? " asked Renee negligently. 
 
 ^' I know ten. Between women one can say a number of 
 things, can't one? and it isn't because your husband is my 
 brother that I excuse his conduct in running after strumpets 
 and leaving a beautiful woman like you to mope at the fireside. 
 That Laure d'Aurigny costs him a fortune. It wouldn't 
 astonish me if he had refused you money. He /las refused 
 you, hasn't he 1 Oh, the wretch ! " 
 
 Eenee listened complacently to this voice whicli emerged 
 out of the shade like the vague echo of her own dreams. With her 
 eyelids half lowered, almost recumbent in her arm-chair, she 
 no longer realised that Madame Sidonie was there ; she fancied 
 she dreamt that evil thoughts had come to her and tempted 
 her with infinite gentleness ; meanwhile the other spoke on at 
 length, and her voice was like a monotonous flow of lukewarm 
 water. 
 
 " It was Madame de Lauwerens who spoilt your life," she 
 said. " You wouldn't believe me. Oh ! you wouldn't be reduced 
 
164 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 to cry by your fireside if you hadn't mistrusted me ; and I 
 love you like my eyes, my beauty. You have a bewitching foot. 
 You will no doubt laugh at me, but I must tell you my folly. 
 When I haven't seen you for three days I am absolutely im- 
 pelled to come and admire you. Yes, I lack something ; I feel 
 the need of feasting my eyes on your beautiful hair, your face 
 which is so white and delicate, and your slim waist. Eeally I 
 have never seen anyone else with such a figure." 
 
 Renee ended by smiling. Her lovers themselves had not 
 shown such warmth, such pious ecstasy in speaking to her of her 
 beauty. Madame Sidonie observed her smile. 
 
 "Come, it's agreed," she said, rising hastily. *^I run on and on 
 and forget that I make your head S23lit. You will come to-morrow, 
 won't you ? We will talk over money matters ; we will find a 
 lender. You hear me? I'm determined that you shall be 
 happy." 
 
 The young woman, still motionless and enervated by the heat, 
 answered after a pause, as if she had had to make a laborious 
 effort to understand what was being said around her : — 
 
 " Yes, yes, it's agreed, and Ave will have a chat ; but not 
 to-morrow. Worms will be satisfied with something on account. 
 When he worries me again, we will see. Don't talk to me about 
 all that now. Business has made my head split." 
 
 Madame Sidonie seemed greatly vexed. She was on the 
 point of sitting down again and resuming her coaxing monologue, 
 but Renee's weary attitude decided her to defer the attack till 
 another occasion. She drew a handful of papers out of her 
 pocket, searched among them, and ended by finding an object 
 enclosed in a kind of pink box. 
 
 " I came to recommend you a new soap," she said, resuming 
 her business voice. " I take a great interest in the inventor, 
 who is a charming young man. It is a very soft soap, very 
 good for the skin. You will try it, won't you ! And you will 
 speak of it to your friends — I will leave it there on your mantel- 
 shelf." 
 
 She had gone to the door when she returned again, and stand- 
 ing upright amid the rosy glow of the fire Avhich lighted up 
 her waxen face, she began to praise an elastic belt, an invention 
 intended to take the place of stays. 
 
 "It gives you a perfectly roimd waist, a true wasp's waist," 
 she said. " I saved it from bankrujDtcy. When you come, you 
 will try the specimens, won't you "? I had to rim about among 
 
THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 165 
 
 solicitors during a whole week. The documents are in my 
 pocket and I am now going to my lawyer to have the last at- 
 tachment raised — Good-bye for the present, pretty one. Ee- 
 member that I am waiting for you and tliat I want to dry your 
 beautiful eyes." 
 
 She glided away and disappeared. Kenee did not even hear 
 her close the door. She remained there, before the dying fire, 
 continuing her dream of the whole day, with her head full of 
 dancing cyphers, while in the distance she heard the voices of 
 Saccard and Madame Sidonie who offered her considerable 
 sums in the tone with which an auctioneer invites bids for a 
 lot of furniture. She felt her husband's rough kiss on ker neck, 
 and when she turned round she fancied the other was there 
 at her feet, w^ith her black dress and her flabby face, making 
 passionate speeches to her, praising her perfections, and beg- 
 ging for an appointment with the attitude of a lover past resig- 
 nation. This made her smile. The heat became more and more 
 stifling in the room. And the young woman's torpor, the 
 strange dreams she made, were but a light, an artificial sleep, 
 amid which she always beheld the little private room on the 
 Boulevard, and the broad divan against which she had fallen on 
 her knees. She no longer suffered at all. When she raised her 
 eyelids again Maxime's image passed through the rosy mass 
 of fire. 
 
 At the ministers' ball, on the morrow, beautiful Madame 
 Saccard looked marvellous. Worms had accepted the fifty 
 thousand francs on account, and she emerged from this 
 pecuniary worry with the laughter of convalescence. When 
 she crossed the reception rooms in her robe of pink faille with a 
 long Louis XIV. train, edged with deep white lace, there 
 was a murmur, and the men shoved one another aside to 
 see her. Her intimate friends bent low with a discreet, know- 
 ing smile, rendering homage to those beautiful shoulders with' \ 
 which all official Paris was so well acquainted, and which were / 
 indeed the firm columns of the Empire. She had bared her 
 bosom with such a contempt for^ other people's looks, she 
 walked by so tender and so gentle in her nudity, that it was al- 
 most not indecent. Eugene Eougon, the great politician, who 
 felt that his sister-in-law's bare bosom was even more eloquent 
 than his speeches in the chamber, softer and more persuasive in 
 making people appreciate the charms of the reign and convert- 
 ing sceptics, went to compliment her on her happy audacity 
 
166 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 in lowering her dress-body a conple of finger-breadths. Almost 
 all the Corps Legislatif was there, and by the way that the 
 deputies looked at the young woman, the minister made up his 
 mind that he should have a fine success on the morrow in the 
 delicate question of the loans of the cit}^ of Paris. People could 
 not vote against a power which, on the hotbed of millions, 
 reared such a flower as this Renee, so strange a flower of vqhip- 
 tuousness, with silken flesh and statuesque nudity, all vThgenjoy- 
 ment that left a scent of tepid pleasure behindr^ But- whatT 
 made the whole ball whisper were the necklace and the aigrette. 
 The men recognised the jewels and the women furtivel}?- called 
 each other's attention to them with their eyes. These 
 diamonds were the one subject of talk throughout the evening. 
 And in the Avhite light of the chandeliers, the reception rooms 
 stretched away, filled with a resplendent throng which looked 
 lil^e a jumble of stars huddled into too small a corner of 
 space. 
 
 At about one o'clock Saccard disappeared. He had enjoyed 
 his wife's success like a man whose clap-trap succeeds. He had 
 again consolidated his credit. A business matter required his 
 presence at Laure d'Aur.'gny's so he went off, begging Maxime 
 to take Renee home after the ball. 
 
 Maxime spent the evening soberly beside Louise de Mareuil, 
 both of them very much occupied in saying frightful things 
 about the women who passed by. And when they had said 
 something rather stronger than usual, they stifled their laughter 
 in their pocket handkerchiefs. Renee had to come to ask the 
 young fellow for his arm when she wished to leave. She 
 was nervously gay in the carriage ; she still quivered with all 
 the intoxication of the light, the perfumes, and the noise that 
 she had just left. She moreover seemed to have forgotten 
 their " nonsense " of the Boulevard as Maxime called it. She 
 only asked him in a strange tone of voice : 
 
 ^' Is that little hunchback Louise so very funny then ? " 
 
 " Oh ! very funny," replied the young man, beginning to 
 laugh again. "You saw the Duchess de Sternich with a yel- 
 low bird in her hair, didn't you ? Well, Louise pretends that it 
 is an automatic bird which flaps its wings every hour and cries : 
 * Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! ' to the poor duke." 
 
 This jest coming from a girl who had just left school seemed 
 very comical to Renee. When they reached the house, as 
 Maxime was about to take his leave, she said to him : 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 167 
 
 ^* Aren't you comiDg upl Celeste has no doubt prepared me 
 something to eat.'' 
 
 He ascended in his usual easy manner. Upstairs however there 
 was nothing to eat and Celeste had gone to bed. Renee had 
 to light the tapers in a little candelabrum. Her hand slightly 
 trembled. 
 
 " That foolish girl," she said, speaking of her maid. " She 
 must have misunderstood my orders — I shall never be able to 
 undress myself unhelped." 
 
 She passed into the dressing room. Maxime followed her to 
 relate another remark of Louise's which had just recurred to 
 his mind. He was as much at his ease as if he had stayed late at 
 a friend's and was looking for his cigar-case to light an havan- 
 nah. But when Renee had set the candelabrum down she 
 turned round and fell, speechless and portentous, into the young 
 man's arms, pressing her mouth upon his own. 
 
 Renee's private suite of rooms was a nest of silk and lace, a 
 marvel of coquettish luxury. A tiny boudoir preceded the 
 bedroom. The two apartments formed but one, or rather the 
 boudoir was scarcely more than the threshold of the bedroom, 
 a large alcove, furnished with couches and having a pair of cur- 
 tains instead of a door. The walls in both apartments were 
 hung with flax-tinted silken stuff', embroidered with huge 
 bouquets of roses, white lilac and buttercups. The curtains and 
 door-hangings were of Venetian lace over a silken lining formed 
 alternately of grey and pink bands. In the bedroom the white 
 marble chimney piece, a real jewel, displayed like a flower 
 bed its incrustations of lapis lazuli and precious mosaics re- 
 peating the roses, white lilac and buttercups of the hangings. 
 A large grey and pink bed, the padded and upholstered wood- 
 work of which was not seen, and the head of which stood against 
 the wall, filled quite one-half of the room with its flow of drapery, 
 lace and silk, brocaded with bouquets and falling from the 
 ceiling to the carpet. You would have taken it for a w^ Oman's 
 dress, rounded, scalloped, decked with puffs, bows, and flounces ; 
 and the large curtain swelling out like a skirt made you dream of 
 some tall lovesick wench, leaning back, fainting away, and al- 
 most sinking upon the pillows. Under the curtains it was quite 
 a sanctuary — plaited cambric, a snowy mass of lace, all sorts 
 of delicate transparent things^ enveloped in a church-like 
 dimness. Beside the bedstead, this monument the devout am- 
 plitude of which suggested a chapel adorned for some festival, 
 
168 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 the other articles of furniture, some low seats, a cheval glass six 
 feet high, and chiffoniers provided with a multitude of drawers, 
 subsided into nothingness. On the floor the bluish-grey carpet 
 was studded with pale full-blown roses. And on either side of the 
 bed lay two large black bearskins, edged with pink velvet, having 
 silver claws, and with their heads turned towards the window, 
 gazing fixedly at the empty sky through their glass eyes. 
 
 Soft harmony, muffled silence reigned in this room. No 
 high note, no metallic reflection or bright gilding broke into 
 the dreamy scale of pink and grey. Even the chimney orna- 
 ments, the frame of the mirror, the clock, the little candelabra, 
 were of old Sevres, and their mountings of gilt copper were 
 barely visible. These ornaments were marvels, the clock 
 especially, with its circle of podgy cupids, who descended and 
 leaned around the dial like a band of naked urchins careless to 
 the rapid flight of time. This discreet luxury, these colours 
 and objects which Eenee's taste had chosen soft and smiling, 
 lent a crepuscular appearance to the room, the dimness of an 
 alcove with the curtains drawn. It seemed as if the bed 
 stretched afar, as if the whole room, indeed, were one huge bed! 
 with its carpets, bearskins, stuffed seats and padded hangings' 
 prolonging the softness of the floor up the walls to the ceil- 
 ing. And, as in a bed, the young woman left the imprint, 
 the warmth and the perfume of her body upon all the things. 
 When one drew aside the double hangings screening the room 
 from the boudoir it seemed as if one raised some silken counter- 
 pane, and entered some vast couch still warm and moist, where 
 one found on the fine linen the adorable figure, the slumber 
 and dreams of a Parisian woman of thirty. 
 
 An adjoining spacious apartment, hung with old chintz, was 
 simply furnished all round with lofty w^ardrobes containing 
 Renee's army of dresses. Celeste, who was very methodical, 
 classified the dresses according to their age, ticketed them and 
 introduced arithmetic amid all her mistress's yellow or blue 
 caprices, and kept the apartment in a state of vestry-like im- 
 pressiveness and stable-like cleanliness. Beyond the wardrobes, 
 there was not an article of furnituie, and no finery was left 
 lying about. The wardrobe doors shone cold and clean like the 
 varnished panels of a brougham. 
 
 The marvel of the suite, however, the apartment that all 
 Paris talked about, was the dressing-room. Folks said : 
 " Beautiful Madame Saccard's dressing room," as one says; ^^The 
 
THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 169 
 
 Gallery of Mirrors at Versailles." This apartment was situated 
 in one of the towers of the mansion, just over the little butter- 
 cup drawing-room. On entering it one fancied oneself in a 
 large circular tent, a fairy-like tent, pitched in full phantasy 
 by some love-sick amazone. In the centre of the ceiling a 
 crown of chased silver held up the drapery of the tent, which 
 extended cupola-like to the walls, and then fell straight to 
 the floor. This drapery, these rich hangings, were formed of 
 pink silk covered with a muslin of a very open texture, which 
 was caught in plaits at intervals. A band of lace separated 
 the plaits, and silver fillets descended from the crown and 
 glided along the hangings on either side of each of these 
 bands. Here the pinkish grey of the bedroom grew brighter, 
 became a pinkish white, like naked flesh. And in this bower_pf 
 lace, beneath these curtains which hid all the^ceiling save a 
 bluish cavity inside the small circle described by the crown, 
 where Chaplin had painted a laughing cupid, looking down and 
 preparing his dart, one could have fancied oneself at the bottom 
 of a sweetmeat box, or in some precious jewel-case, enlarged and 
 made to display the nudity of a woman instead of the brilliancy 
 of a diamond. The carpet of snow^y whiteness stretched around 
 without the least flowery design. A wardrobe with plate glass 
 doors, and the two panels of which were mounted with silver ; 
 a couch, two arm-chairs, some white satin stools ; a large 
 toilet table^ with a slab of pink marble,- and the legs of which 
 where screened by flounces of muslin and lace, furnished 
 the room. The glasses, the vases, and the basin on the toilet 
 table, were of old Bohemian crystal, streaked pink and white. 
 And there was yet another table, incrusted with silver like the 
 wardrobe, and on which all the implements, the toilet utensils, 
 were ranged ; it was like a strange surgical case, displaying a 
 large number of little instruments, the purpose of which was 
 not readily guessed — back scrapers, shining brushes, files of 
 every dimension and every shape, straight and curved scissors, 
 every variety of pincers and pins. Each one of these objects in 
 silver and ivory was ma,rked w^ith Eenee's monogram. 
 
 But the dressing-room had one delightful corner, and to that 
 corner especially did it owe its fame. In front of the window 
 the folds of the tent parted, and in a kind of alcove, of con- 
 siderable length but limited breadth, one espied a bath, a 
 tank of pink marble, embedded in the flooring and with its 
 sides — chamfered like those of a large shell — rismg to a level 
 
170 THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 with the carpet. One descended into the bath by marble steps. 
 
 - Above the silver taps, shaped like swans' heads, a Venetian 
 
 mirror, frameless, but with curved edges and a design ground in 
 
 the crystal, filled the back of the alcove. Renee took a bath of 
 
 a few minutes' duration every morning, and this bath filled the 
 
 dressing-room with moisture, with a perfume of fresh^ wet flesh 
 
 for the whole day. At times an open scent bottle, a piece of 
 
 soap left; out of its dish, lent a dash of something stronger to 
 
 this rather insipid smell. The young woman liked to remain 
 
 there, almost in a state of nudity, until noon. The round 
 
 tent itself was also naked. The pink bath, the pink tables and 
 
 /]6asins, the muslin of the ceiling and the walls, beneath which 
 
 one seemed to see pink blood coursing, acquired the roundness 
 
 / of flesh, the curves of bare shoulders and bosoms ; and, 
 
 / according to the hour of the day, one would liken the apart- 
 
 ( ment to the snowy skin of a child or to the warm skin of a 
 
 \ woman. /^: It was one vast nudity. /When Renee left her bath 
 
 her fair form lent but a little more pink to all the rosy flesh of 
 
 the room^ 
 
 It was Maxime who undressed her. He understood that kind 
 of thing, and his nimble hands divined pins, and glided round 
 her waist with innate science. He let down her locks, took off 
 her diamonds, and then dressed her hair for the night. And 
 as he mingled jokes and caresses. with his duties of chamber- 
 maid atid hairdresser, Renee laughed with a greasy stifled 
 laugh, while the silk of her dress-body rustled and her petti- 
 coats were loosened one by one. When she saw herself naked, 
 she blew out the tapers of the candelabrum, caught hold of 
 Maxime round the body and all but carried him into the bed- 
 room. The ball had completed her intoxication, and in her 
 fever she was conscious of the previous day which she had spent 
 by the fireside, of that day of ardent torpor and vague and 
 smiling dreams. She still heard Saccard's and Madame Sidonie's 
 voices talking, calling out figures through their noses like 
 lawyers. It was these people who bored her, who drove her to 
 crime. And even now, when in the depths of the vast dark 
 bed she sought for Maxime's lips, she still saw him amid the 
 fire of the day before looking at her with scorching eyes. 
 
 The young fellow only went off at six o'clock in the morning. 
 She gave him the key of the little gate of the Pare Monceaux 
 and made him swear to come back every night. The dressing- 
 room communicated with the buttercup drawing-room by a 
 
THE BUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 171 
 
 little staircase hidden in the wall, and connecting all the apart- 
 ments of the tower. From the buttercup room it was easy to 
 pass into the conservatory and thence reach the park. 
 
 On going out at dawn, amid a thick fog, Maxime was some- 
 what stupefied by his good fortune. He accepted it, however, 
 with his usual complaisance as a neutral being. 
 
 " So much the worse ! " thought he, " it's she who wishes it, 
 after all. She's deucedly w-ell formed ; and she was quite 
 right, she's twice as funny in bed as Sylvia is." 
 
 They had glided to incest from the day when Maxime, in his 
 threadbare collegian's tunic, had hung on Renee's neck, creasing 
 her garde fran(^aise habit. From that time forward there had been 
 a prolonged perversion of every minute between them. The 
 strange education which the young woman gave the child ; the 
 familiarities which made them boon comrades ; later on the 
 smiling audacity of their confidential chats ; all this perilous j 
 promiscuity had ended by linking them together with a strange 
 bond, the joys of friendship almost becoming carnal satisfac- 
 tions. They had surrendered themselves to each other for 
 years ; the brutish act was but the acute crisis of this uncon- 
 scionable malady of passion. Amid the maddened society in 
 which they lived, their crime had sprouted as upon a rich dung- 
 heap full of impure juices ; it had developed itself with a strange 
 refinement amid a particular kind of debauchery. 
 
 When the roomy carriage conveyed them to the Bois, and rolled 
 them gently along the pathways, whispering smutty things into 
 each other's ears, diving back into their childhood in search of the 
 dirty practices of instinct — it was but a deviation, but an uncon- 
 fessed mode of satisfying their desires. They felt themselves 
 to be vaguely guilty, as if they had just slightly touched one 
 another ; and this original sin, this languor born of dirty con- 
 versation, though it wearied them with voluptuous fatigue, 
 titillated them even more softly than plain positive kisses. 
 Their familiarity was thus a slow lover's march which was 
 fatally destined to lead them some day or other to the private 
 room at the Cafe Riche and to Henee's large grey and pink 
 bed. When they found themselves in each other's arms they 
 did not even feel the shock of sin. One would have said that 
 they were lovers of long standing whose kisses were full of 
 recollections. And they had spent so much time in a contact 
 of their whole beings, that despite themselves they talked of 
 the past which w^as so full of their ignorant tenderness. 
 
172 THE RUSH FOU THE SPOIL. 
 
 ^' Do you recollect the day when I came to Paris ? " said 
 Maximo ; " you wore a funny costume ; and I traced an angle 
 on your bosom with my finger, and I advised you to open your 
 dress, in a point. I felt your skin under your chemisette, and 
 my finger embedded itself a little. It was very nice.'' 
 
 Renee laughed, kissing him and murmuring : 
 
 '^ You were already awfully vicious. How you did amuse us 
 at Worms's — do you recollect 'I We used to call you ^ our little 
 man.' 1 always believed that fat Suzanne would have readily 
 yielded to you, if the marchioness hadn't watched her with such 
 furious eyes." 
 
 — • ^' Ah ! yes, we had some good laughs," muttered the young 
 fellow. " The photographic album, eh 1 And all the rest, our 
 rambles through Paris, our snacks at the pastry cook's on the 
 Boulevard ; those little strawberry tarts which you liked so 
 much, you know "i For myself I shall always remember the 
 afternoon when you related to me Adeline's adventure at the 
 convent when she wrote letters to Suzanne, signing herself 
 ' Arthur d'Espanet,' like a man, and proposing to carry her 
 off." 
 
 The lovers again grew merry over this good story, and then 
 Maxime continued in his coaxing voice : 
 
 " When you came to fetch me at the college in your carriage, 
 we must have looked funny both of us. I w^as so small that I 
 disappeared under your skirts." 
 
 " Yes, yes," she stammered, quivering, and drawing the young 
 fellow towards her, *' it w^as very nice, as you say. We loved 
 each other without knowing it, eh *? I realised it before you 
 did. The other day, on returning from the Bois, my leg rubbed 
 against yours, and I started. But you didn't notice anything, 
 eh 1 You didn't think of me 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I did," he replied, a little embarrassed. " Only I 
 didn't know, you understand — I didn't dare — " 
 
 He lied. The idea of possessing Renee had never plainly 
 occurred to him. He had rubbed up against her with all his vice, 
 without really desiring her. He was too feeble for such an 
 effort. He accepted Eenee because she imposed herself upon 
 him, and he had glided to her couch without willing or fore- 
 seeing it. When he had rolled there, however, he remained 
 there, because it was warm, and because he habitually forgot 
 himself at the bottom of all the holes into which he fell. At 
 the outset he even tasted some satisfactions of self-love. She 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 173 
 
 was the first married woman that he had possessed. He did not 
 reflect that her husband was his father. 
 
 But Eenee brought with her, in sinning, all the ardour of a 
 heart which has lost caste. She also had slided down the slope. 
 Onlj she had not rolled as far as the bottom like a mass of 
 inert flesh. Desire had been kindled within her when it was too 
 late to resist it and when the fall had become inevitable. This 
 fall abruptly appeared to her as one of the necessities of her 
 boredom, as a rare extreme enjo3^ment which alone could rouse 
 her tired senses, her wounded heart. It was during that 
 autumnal promenade, in the twilight, when the Bois was falling 
 asleep, that the vague idea of incest came to her, like a titilla- 
 tion Avhich lent an unknown quiver to her skin ; and in the 
 evening, in the semi-intoxication of the dinner, this idea, 
 lashed by jealousy, became precise, rose up ardently before her, 
 amid the flames of the conservatory, as she watched Maxime and 
 Louise. At that hour she desired sin, the sin which no one 
 commits, the sin which would fill her empty life, and finally set 
 her in that hell of which she was still afraid, just as she had 
 been when she was a little girl. Then on the morrow, by a 
 strange sentiment of remorse and lassitude, she no longer wished 
 it. It seemed to her as if she had already sinnMptKaTiT^^VTt^ 
 not so nice as she had fancied, and that it would really be too 
 dirty. The crisis was bound to be fatal, to come from herself, 
 apart from those two beings, those comrades who were destined 
 to deceive each other one fine evening, and to couple them- 
 selves, thinking they were merely exchanging a hand-shake. 
 However, after this stupid fall, she returned to her dream of 
 a nameless pleasure, and then she took Maxime in her arms 
 again, inquisitive about him, inquisitive as to the cruel delights 
 of a love which she regarded as a crime. Her volition accepted 
 incest, required it, decided upon tasting it to the end, even to 
 remorse should that ever come. She was active, and conscious 
 of her doings. She loved with the fury of a great fashionable 
 lady, with the nervous prejudices she possessed as an offspring 
 of the middle classes, with all the struggles, joys, and disgusts 
 of a woman who drowns herself in self-disdain. 
 
 Maxime returned every night. He came by way of the 
 garden at about one o'clock. Benee usually awaited him in the 
 conservatory, which he had to cross to reach the little drawing- 
 room. They, moreover, displayed perfect audacity barely 
 concealing themselves, and forgetting the most classical pre- 
 
174 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 cautions of adultery. It is true that this corner of the house 
 belonged to them. Baptiste, the husband's valet, alone had a 
 right to enter it ; and Baptiste, like a serious man, took himself 
 off as soon as his duties were over. Maxime even pretended 
 with a laugh that he withdrew to go and write his memoirs. 
 One night, however, when the young fellow had just arrived, 
 Eenee shewed him Baptiste, who was solemnly crossing the 
 drawing-room with a candlestick in his hand. The tall valet, 
 with his minister-like figure, lighted by the yellow glow of the 
 wax, had a more dignified and severe physiognomy than usual. 
 As the lovers leaned forward, they saw him blow out his candle 
 and go towards the stables, where the horses and ostlers were 
 asleep. 
 
 "He is going his round," said Maxime. 
 
 Renee remained quivering. Baptiste usually alarmed her. 
 It often happened to her to say that, with his coldness and his 
 clear glances which never fell upon women's shoulders, he was 
 the only honest man in the house. 
 
 They then evinced some prudence in seeing each other. 
 They closed the doors of the little drawing-room, and were able 
 to dispose of this room, with the conservatory and Renee's 
 apartments, in all tranquillity. It was a little world. And 
 during the earlier months they there tasted the most refined, 
 the most delicately sought-for delights. They promenaded their 
 amours from the large grey and pink bed of the sleeping-room, 
 to the white and rosy nudity of the dressing-room, and to the 
 pale yellow symphony of the little drawing-room. Each 
 chamber, with its particular scent, its hangings, its special life, 
 lent them a different form of tenderness, and made Renee a 
 different lover. She was delicate and pretty on her padded 
 great lady's couch, in the warm aristocratic bedroom where 
 love underwent a tasteful attenuation ; she showed herself a 
 capricious, carnal female under the flesh-coloured tent, amid the 
 perfume and damp languor of the bath, on leaving which she 
 surrendered herself to Maxime, who preferred her thus ; then 
 downstairs, in the bright sunrise of the little drawing-room, 
 amid the yellow aurora which gilded her hair, she became a 
 goddess with her fair Diana-like head, her bare arms which 
 assumed chaste postures, her beauteous form which reclined 
 on the couches in attitudes revealing noble outlines of antique 
 gracefulness. But there was a spot which Maxime was almost 
 frightened of, and where Renee only led him on evil days, the 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 175 
 
 days when she felt the need of more bitter intoxication. Then 
 they lov^d in the conservatory. It was there that they tasted 
 incest. 
 
 One night, in an hour of anguish, the young woman had 
 compelled her lover to go and fetch one of the black bearskins. 
 Then they had stretched themselves on this inky fur, at the 
 edge of an ornamental basin in the large circular pathway. 
 Out of doors it was freezing terribly amid the limpid moon- 
 light. Maxime had arrived shivering, wdth frozen ears and 
 fingers, and the conservatory w^as heated to such a point that 
 he fainted on the bearskin. Coming from the dry biting cold, 
 he entered into so heavy a flame that he felt a smarting as if 
 he had been whipped with a rod. When he recovered himself, 
 he saw Renee kneeling, leaning over him with fixed eyes and 
 a brutish attitude which frightened him. With her hair down 
 and her shoulders bare, she was resting herself on her fists, wdtli 
 her figure stretched out, and looking like a huge cat with 
 phosphorescent eyes. Above the shoulders of this ador- 
 able, amorous animal gazing at him, the young fellow, lying on 
 his back, perceived the ii^arble sphinx, with her glistening hips 
 lighted by the moon. RenSeTiad the attitude and the smile of 
 the feminine-headed monster, and in her loosened skirts, she 
 looked like the white sister of this black deity. 
 
 Maxime remained supine. The heat was suffocating ; it was 
 a dull heat, w^hich did not fall from the sky in a rain of fire, 
 but trailed on the ground, like some unhealthy exhalation, 
 and its steam ascended like a storm-charged cloud. A warm 
 humidity covered the lovers with a kind of dew, an ardent 
 sweat. For a long time they remained motionless and sj)eech- 
 less in this bath of flame, Maxime flat and inert, Eenee 
 quivering on her wrists as on supple nervous hams. Outside, 
 through the little panes of the conservatory, one caught 
 glimpses of the Pare Monceaux, of the clumps of trees with 
 fine black outlines, of the grass lawns as white as frozen lakes 
 — quite a dead landscape, the delicate light tints of which re- 
 minded one of bits of Japanese engravings. And this spot of 
 burning soil, this inflamed couch on w^hich the lovers w^ere 
 stretched, boiled strangely amid the great mute cold. 
 
 They passed a night of mad love. Renee was the man, the 
 passionate acting w^ill. Maxime submitted. What with his 
 lank limbs, his graceful slimness, like that of a Roman youth, 
 this neutral, fair-haired pretty being, stricken in his virility since 
 
176 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 childhood, became a big girl in the young woman's inquisitive 
 arms. He seemed to have been born and to have grown up for 
 a perversion of love. Renee enjoyed her domination, and with 
 her passion she bent this creature, whose sexuality always seemed 
 indeterminate. For her it was a constant astonishment of desire, 
 a surprise of the senses, a strange sensation of uncomfortableness \ 
 and acute pleasure. She no longer knew what he was ; and she ' 
 thought doubtingly of his fine skin, his fleshy neck, his abandon- \ 
 ment and fainting fits. She then enjoyed an hour of repletion. | 
 By revealing to her an unknown ecstasy, Maxime completed her 
 foolish toilets, her prodigious luxury, her mad life. He set in 
 her flesh the high note which she already heard singing around 
 her. He was the lover w^ho matched the fashions and follies of 
 the period. This pretty young fellow whose puny figure was 
 revealed by his attire, this man who ought to have been a 
 girl, who strolled on the Boulevards, his hair parted in the 
 aiiddle, with little bursts of laughter and bored smiles, became 
 in Renee's hands the instrument of one of those debaucheries 
 suited to days of decline, and which among rotten nations, at 
 certain periods, use up flesh and unsettle intelligence. 
 
 And it was especially in the conservatory that Renee was the 
 man. That ardent night they spent there was followed by 
 several others. The conservatory loved and burnt with them. 
 Amid the heavy atmosphere, in the whitish moonlight, they saw 
 the strange world of plants around them, moving confusedly 
 and exchanging embraces. The black bearskin stretched right 
 across the pathway. At their feet the basin steamed full of a 
 swarming, a thick entanglement, of roots, while the rosy stars 
 of the Nympheea opened on the surface of the water like virgin 
 bodices, and the bushy Tornelias drooped like the hair of 
 languishing water nymphs. Then around them, the palms and 
 the lofty Indian bamboos rose up towards the arched roof, near 
 which they leaned and mingled their leaves together, assuming 
 the unsteady attitudes of tired lovers. Low^er down the ferns, 
 the Pteris, the Alsophilas looked like green ladies with ample 
 skirts trimmed with symmetrical flounces, and who, mute and 
 motionless at the edg^ of the pathway, aw^aited love. Beside 
 them the twisted red-spotted foliage of the Begonias, and the 
 w^hite leaves shaped like lance heads of the Caladiums, furnished 
 a vague suite of bruises and pallidities, which the lovers could 
 not explain to themselves, but amid which they at times dis- 
 cerned roundnesses like those of hips and knees wallowing on 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 177 
 
 Aie ground, beneath the brutality of bleeding caresses. And the 
 mnanas, bending with the weight of their bunches of fruit, 
 ipoke to them of the rich fertility of the soil, while the 
 ^bj^ssinian Euphorbia, the prickly, deformed, tapering stems of 
 vhich — covered with horrid excrescences — they could espy in 
 he darkness, seemed to perspire with sap, with the overflowing 
 lux of their fiery growth. But by degrees as the lovers' glances 
 lived into the corners of the conservatory, the darkness was 
 illed with a more furious debaiichery of leaves and stems; they 
 ;ould not distinguish on the stages the Marantas, soft like 
 velvet, the Gloxinias with violet bells, the Dracaenas resembling 
 blades of old varnished lacquer ; it was a round dance of living 
 slants pursuing each other with un quenched tenderness. At 
 lie four corners, at the point where the curtains of tropical 
 creepers formed arbours, their carnal fancy grew madder again, 
 md the supple shoots of the Yanillas, the Indian berries, the 
 Juisqualus and the Banhinias seemed to be the interminable 
 irms of lovers who could not be seen, but who distractedly 
 engthened their embrace to draw all scattered delights towards 
 ;hem. These endless arms drooped with lassitude, locked 
 together in a spasm of love, sought for each other, entwined 
 together like a crowd bent on copulation. It was, indeed, the 
 mmense copulation of the conservatory, of this bit of virgin forest 
 iblaze with the foliage and the flowers of the tropics. 
 
 Maxime and Eenee, with their senses perverted, felt themselves 
 jarried away amid these mighty nuptials of nature. The soil 
 3urnt their backs through the bear skin, and drops of heat fell 
 ipon them from the lofty palms. The sap which arose in the 
 :ree trunks penetrated them as well, and imparted to them mad 
 lesires of immediate growth, of gigantic procreation. They 
 :ook part in the copulation of the conservatory. It was then, 
 n the pale glimmer, that visions stupefied them, nightmares 
 imid which, during long intervals, they beheld the amours of 
 ^he palms and ferns ; the foliage assumed a confused, equivocal 
 ispect, which their desires transformed into something sensual ; 
 nurmurs, whispers were wafted to them from the clumps of 
 ihrubs, faint voices, sighs of ecstasy, stifled cries of pain, distant 
 laughter, all that was noisy in their own kisses and that echo 
 ,ent them back. At times they thought themselves shaken by 
 .n earthquake, as if the earth itself, in a crisis of satisfied desire, 
 lad burst forth into voluptuous sobs. 
 
 If they had closed their eyes, if the suffocating heat and the 
 
 M 
 
178 THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 pale light had not imparted to them a depravation of every 
 sense, the aromas alone would have sufficed to throw them into 
 an extraordinary state of nervous erethism. The basin en- 
 veloped them in a deep pungent aroma, amid which passed the 
 thousand perfumes of the flowers and the foliage. At times the 
 Vanilla sang with dove-like cooings ; then came the rough notes 
 of the Stanhopeas whose streaked mouths had the same strong- 
 smelling bitter breath as a convalescent. The orchids, in their 
 baskets secured by wire chains, also breathed like animated 
 incense burners. But the odour that predominated, the odour 
 in which all these vague breaths were mingled, was a human 
 odour, an odour of love, which Maxime recognised when he 
 kissed Renee on the nape of her neck, when he plunged his head 
 into her flowing hair. And they remained intoxicated by this 
 scent, the scent of an amorous woman, which trailed through the 
 conservatory as in an alcove where earth might be engaged in 
 procreation. 
 
 As a rule, the lovers lay down under the Tanghinia from 
 Madagascar, under the poisoned shrub, a leaf of which the 
 young woman once had bitten. Around them the white statues 
 laughed, gazing at the mighty coupling of foliage. The moon, 
 as it turned, displaced the groups, and animated the drama 
 with its changing light. They were a thousand leagues from 
 Paris, far from the easy life of the Bois de Boulogne and official 
 drawing-rooms, in a corner of some Indian forest, of some 
 monstrous temple, of which the black marble sphinx became 
 the deity. They felt themselves rolling to crime, to accursed love, 
 to wild-beast tenderness. All the pullulation which surrounded 
 them, the swarming of the basin, the naked immodesty of the 
 foliage, threw them fully into the dantesque hell of passion. It 
 was then, in the depths of this glass cage, boiling over with the 
 flames of summer, lost amid the clear coldness of December, 
 that they tasted incest, as though it had been the criminal fruit 
 of some over-heated soil, feeling the while a dim fear of their 
 terrifying couch. 
 
 And in the centre of the black bearskin Eenee's body seemed 
 whiter, as she crouched like a huge cat with her back stretched 
 out, and her wrists extended like supple nervous shins. She 
 was all swollen with voluptuousness, and the light outline^' 
 of her shoulders and loins stood out with feline angularity 
 against the inky stain which blackened the yellow sand of the 
 pathway with its fur. She watched Maxime, this prey extended^ 
 
 1 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 179 
 
 ^eneath her, who abandoned himself, and whom she possessed 
 completely. And from time to time, she abruptly leant forward 
 md kissed him with her irritated mouth. Her lips then parted 
 vith the greedy bleeding brilliancy of the Chinese Hibiscus, the ' 
 expanse of which covered the side of the mansion. She was 
 ;hen nothing but a burning daughter of the conservatory. Her 
 hisses bloomed and faded like those red flowers of the gigantic 
 nallow which last barely a few hours, and which ever spring to 
 ife again, like the bruised insatiable lips of a giant Messalina. 
 
180 
 
 V. 
 
 The kiss which Saccard had imprinted on his wife's neck pre- 
 occupied him. He had not availed himself of his marital 
 rights for a long time. The rupture had come quite naturally, 
 neither the one nor the other caring for a connection which 
 interfered with their habits. For Saccard to think of return- 
 ing to Renee's room, some good stroke of business must 
 necessarily be the object of his conjugal tenderness. 
 
 The Charonne affair, from which he hoped to derive a 
 fortune, was progressing favourably, though he had some 
 anxiety as to its termination. Larsonneau, with his dazzling 
 shirt-front, smiled in a manner that displeased him. The ex- 
 propriation agent was a simple go-between — a man of straw, 
 whom he intended to remunerate for his obligingness with a 
 commission of ten per cent on the ultimate profits. However, 
 although the agent had not invested a copper in the enter- 
 prise, and although Saccard had taken every precaution — such 
 as a deed of retrocession, letters, the dates of which had been 
 left in blank, and receipts given in advance — he nevertheless ex- 
 perienced an inward fear, a presentiment of some treachery. 
 He scented that his accomplice intended to blackmail him 
 with the help of that false inventory which he preciously pre- 
 served, and to which alone he was indebted for his share in the 
 enterprise. 
 
 . However, the two accomplices shook hands vigorously. Lar- 
 sonneau styled Saccard his " dear master." He had, at the 
 bottom of his heart, a real admiration for this equilibrist, and 
 watched his performances on the tight rope of speculation like 
 a connoisseur. The idea of duping him titillated him like 
 some rare and spicy voluptuousness. He caressed a plan which 
 was still vague, however, for he did not very well know how to 
 employ the weapon he possessed, and he feared wounding him- 
 self with it. Besides, he felt that he was at the mercy of his ex- 
 colleague The ground and the buildings, which carefully pre- 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. ^ 181 
 
 pared inventories already valued at nearly two millions of 
 francs, though they were not worth a quarter of that amount, 
 must end by being swallow^ed up in a colossal bankruptcy, 
 if the fairy of expropriation did not touch them with her golden 
 wand. According to the original plans which the two con- 
 federates had been able to consult; the new Boulevard, opened 
 in view of connecting the artillery depot of Yincennes with the 
 Prince Eugene barracks, and of bringing the guns and ammuni- 
 tion into the heart of Paris without passing through the Fau- 
 bourg Saint-Antoine, would cross a part of the ground ; but it was 
 still to be feared that only a corner of the latter might be cut 
 off, and that the ingenious speculation of the music hall would 
 fall through by reason of its very impudence. In that case 
 Larsonneau would remain with a delicate matter to deal with. 
 Still this peril did not prevent him, despite the secondary part 
 w^hich he played perforce, from feeling soul -sick when he 
 thought of the paltry ten per cent which he would pocket in 
 this colossal robbery cf millions. And at those moments he 
 could not resist the furious longing he felt to extend his hand 
 and carve out a larger share for himself. 
 
 Saccard had not even allowed him to lend money to his wife, 
 he had preferred to amuse himself with this big piece of 
 theatrical trickery, which delighted his partiality for compli- 
 cated transactions. 
 
 ^^No, no, my dear fellow," he said, with his Provengal accent, 
 which he exaggerated whenever he wished to impart additional 
 salt to a joke, " don't let us mix up our accounts. You are 
 the only man in Paris to whom I have sw^orn never to owe a 
 copper." 
 
 Larsonneau contented himself with insinuating that his 
 colleague's wife was a gulf. He advised him not to give her 
 another sou, so that she would then be compelled to transfer 
 her property to them immediately. He would have preferred 
 to have to deal with Saccard alone. He probed him at times, 
 and carried things so flir as to say, with the weary indifferent 
 air of a man about town : 
 
 " All the same, I must put my papers in a little order. Your 
 wife frightens me, my good fellow. I don't want justice to place 
 the seals on certain documents at my office." 
 
 Saccard was not the man to submit to such allusions 
 patiently, especially as he was w^ell acquainted with the frigid 
 meticulous order which prevailed in the agent's offices. The 
 
182 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 whole of his cunning, active little person revolted against the; 
 terror with which this coxcomb of a usurer in yellow kid gloves 
 tried to inspire him. The worst was that he felt himself seized! 
 with shudders when he thought of a possible scandal ; and he' 
 beheld himself brutally exiled by his brother, and living in 
 Belgium by some avocation not to be acknowledged. One day 
 lie grew angry and said to Larsonneau : 
 
 " Listen, my boy, you are a nice fellow, but it would be as 
 well for you to return me the document you know of. You'll 
 see, that scrap of paper will end by making us quarrel." 
 
 The agent feigned astonishment, pressed his ^' dear master's " 
 hand, and assured him of his devotion. Saccard regretted his 
 momentary hastiness. It was at this period that he began to 
 think seriously of drawing nearer to his wife. He might yet 
 have need of her against his accomplice, and he moreover said 
 to himself that business matters are discussed marvellously well 
 between man and wife in bed. That kiss on his wife's neck 
 gradually revealed to him quite a new system of tactics. 
 
 Besides, he was not in a hurry, he husbanded his resources. 
 He devoted the whole winter to ripening his plan, though 
 worried by a hundred different affairs, each of which was more 
 muddled than the other. It was a terrible winter for him, full 
 of shocks, a prodigious campaign during which he had to con- 
 quer bankruptcy daily. However, far from cutting down his 
 expenses at home, he gave fete after fete. But if he succeeded 
 in meeting every difficulty, he had to neglect Renee, whom he 
 reserved for a triumphal blow, when the Charonne transaction 
 became ripe. He contented himself with preparing the finish, 
 by continuing not to give her any money, save through the 
 intermediary of Larsonneau. When he was able to dispose 
 of a few thousand francs, and she complained of her poverty, he 
 took them to her, saying that Larsonneau's people required a 
 note of hand for double the amount. This comedy vastly 
 amused him, the stories connected with these promissory notes 
 delighted him by the touch of romance which they imparted to 
 the affair. Even at the period of his clearest profits he had 
 served his wife her income in the most irregular manner, at one 
 time making her princely presents, abandoning handfuls of 
 bank notes to her, and then leaving her in the lurch for a 
 paltry amount during weeks together. Now that he found 
 liimself seriously embarrassed, he talked about the expenses of 
 the household; and treated her like a creditor to whom one ia 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 183 
 
 unwilling to confess one's ruin, and whom one disposes to 
 patience by means of cock-and-bull stories. She scarcely 
 listened to him, however ; she signed whatever he chose, and 
 only pitied herself for not being able to sign more. 
 
 Already, however, there were two hundred thousand francs* 
 worth of promissory notes signed by her which barely cost 
 him one hundred and ten thousand. After having these bills 
 endorsed by Larsonneau to whose order they were made pay- 
 able, he placed them in circulation in a prudent manner, in- 
 tending to employ them as decisive w^eapons later on. He 
 would never have been able to hold out to the end of that 
 terrible winter, to lend, his wife money usuriously and keep 
 up his style of living, but for the sale of his ground on the 
 Boulevard Malesherbes, which Messieurs Mignon and Charrier 
 paid him for in hard cash, retaining, however, a formidable 
 discount. 
 
 For Ken^e this same winter was one long joy. Lack of money 
 was her only suffering. Maxime cost her very dear ; he still 
 treated her as a step-mother, and allowed her to pay everywhere. 
 But this hidden poverty was an additional delight for her. She 
 exercised her wits and racked her brain, so that her dear 
 chili should want for nothing ; and when she had prevailed 
 upon her husband to find her a few thousand francs, she and 
 her lover expended them in some costly folly, like two school- 
 boys let loose on their first escapade. When they were hard 
 up they remained at home and derived their enjoyment from this 
 large building of such new and insolently stupid luxury. The 
 father was never there. The lovers sat by the fireside more 
 frequently than formerly. The fact was, that Kenee had filled 
 the icy emptiness of the gilded ceilings with a warm enjoy- 
 ment. The suspicious abode of worldly pleasure had become 
 a chapel in which she secretly practised a new religion. Max- 
 ime did not merely lend to her nature that high note which 
 harmonized with her mad dresses. He w^as the very lover 
 fitted to this mansion, with broad windows like shop fronts, 
 and which a flood of sculpture inundated from garret to cellar. 
 He animated all this plaster, from the two podgy Cupids who 
 let a stream of water flow from their shell in the courtyard, to 
 the tall, naked women supporting the balconies, and playing 
 with apples and ears of corn, amid the pediments. He ex- 
 plained the unduly ornate hall, the tiny dimensions of the 
 garden, the dazzling rooms in which one saw too many arm- 
 chairs, and not one work of art. The young woman who 
 
184 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 had formerly felt bored to death in the house, suddenly began ! 
 to amuse herself there, and availed herself of it, just as she • 
 might have done with something, the use of which she had 
 not understood at first. And it was not only through her ovn 
 apartments, through the buttercup drawing-room, and the 
 conservatory that she promenaded her love, but through the 
 entire mansion. She even ended by finding an enjoyment 
 in lying on the divan of the smoking-room. She forgot herself 
 there, and declared that the vague smell of tobacco pervading the 
 apartment was very agreeable. 
 
 She appointed two reception days instead of one. On 
 Thursdays all the mere acquaintances called. But Mordays 
 were reserved to intimate female friends. Men were not ad- 
 mitted. Maxime alone was present at those choice gatherings, 
 which took place in the buttercup drawing-room. One evening 
 she had the astounding idea- of dressing him up as a woman, 
 and of presenting him as one of her cousins. Adeline, Suzanne, 
 the Baroness de Meinhold, and the other friends who were tiere, 
 rose up and bowed, astonished by the sight of this face which 
 they vaguely recognised. Then when they realized the truth, 
 they laughed a great deal, and absolutely refused to let the 
 young man go and change his clothes. They kept him with 
 them in his skirts, teasing him, and lending themselves to 
 equivocal jokes. When he had seen these ladies off by the 
 main gate he went round the park and returned into the house 
 by way of the conservatory. Eenee's dear friends never had 
 the slightest suspicion of the truth. Indeed the lovers could 
 not behave together more familiarly than they had previously 
 done, when they declared themselves to be boon comrades. 
 And if it happened that a servant saw them rather close 
 together behind a door, he expressed no surprise at it, being 
 used to the pleasantries of his mistress, and his master's son. 
 
 This complete liberty, this impunity emboldened them still 
 more. If they slipped the bolts at night-time, in the daylight 
 they kissed each other in every room of the house. They in- 
 vented a thousand little games on rainy days. But Eenee's 
 great delight was still to pile up a terrible fire, and doze in 
 front of the grate. Her linen was marvellously luxurious 
 that winter. She wore the most costly chemises and wrappers, 
 the cambric and inserted embroidery of which barely covered 
 her with a white cloud. And in the red glow of the fire she 
 looked naked, with rosy lace and skin, the heat penetrating 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 185 
 
 through the thin stuff to her flesh. Maxime, squatting at her 
 feet, kissed her knees, without even feeling the garment which 
 had the same warmth and colour as her lovely form. In 
 the dull cloudy weather a kind of twilight penetrated the bed- 
 room hung with grey silk, whilst Celeste went backwards and 
 forwards behind them, with a quiet step. She had naturally 
 become their accomplice. One morning when they had for- 
 gotten themselves in the bed, she found them there, and 
 retained all the coolness of a servant with icy blood. They 
 then ceased restraining themselves^ she came in at all hours 
 without the sound of their kisses making her turn her head. 
 They relied upon her to warn them in the case of alarm. They 
 did not purchase her silence. She was a very economical, 
 very honest girl, and was not known to have a single lover. 
 
 Ren^e, however, was not cloistered. Taking Maxime in 
 her train, like a fair-haired page in a dress-coat, she frequented 
 society, where she tasted even more acute pleasures. The 
 season was one long triumph for her. Never had her imagi- 
 nation been bolder as regards toilets and head-dresses. It 
 was then that she risked wearing that famous bush-tinted 
 robe, on which a complete stag hunt was embroidered with such 
 attributes as powder flasks^ hunting horns, and broad bladed 
 knives. It was then, also, that she set the fashion of wearing 
 the hair in the antique style ; Maxime having to go and sketch 
 patterns for her at the Campana Museum which had recently 
 been opened. She grew younger, she was in all the pleni- 
 tude of her turbulent beauty. Incest lent her a fire which 
 glowed in the depths of her eyes and heated her laughter. Her 
 eye- glasse s looked superbly insolent on the tip of her nose, and 
 she gazed at the other women, at the dear friends who basked 
 in the enormity of some vice, with the air of a bragging hobble- 
 dehoy, and with a fixed smile which signified " I also have my 
 crime.'"' 
 
 Maxime, on his side, declared that society was wearisome. 
 It was not merely for show that he pretended to be bored in 
 it, for he really did not amuse himself anywhere. At the 
 Tuileries, at the ministers' residences, he disappeared amid 
 Renee's skirts. But he became the master again as soon as 
 some freak was in question. Renee wished to see the private 
 room on the Boulevard again, and the breadth of the divan 
 made her smile. Then he. took her a little bit everywhere, to y 
 harlots' houses, to the operaT balT, to the stage boxes of petty ^ ^ 
 
186 THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 theatres, to all the equivocal places where they could elbo"w 
 br utal vi ce and taste the delights of remaining incognito, 'VC^jen 
 thev furtively returned to the house, worn out^^with fatigue, i 
 they fell asleep in each other's arms, sleeping off the drunken- 
 ness of obscene Paris, with snatches of smutty verses still ring- 
 ing in their ears. On the morrow Maxime imitated the actors, 
 and Ken^e, accompanying herself on the piano of the little 
 drawing-room, tried to recall the hoarse voice and the wriggling' 
 of Blanche Miiller in her part of the Belle Helene. The music 
 lessons she had taken at the convent now only served her to ' 
 murder the verses of the new burlesques. She had a religious 
 horror of serious airs. Maxime poked fun at German music > 
 with her, and he thought it his duty to go and hiss Tann- 
 hauser, both by conviction and to defend his step-mother's 
 sprightly refrains. 
 ^/^ One of their great enjoyments was skating ; it was fashionable 
 that winter^ the Emperor having beenoITe of the first to try 
 the ice on the lake in the Bois de Boulogne. Eenee ordered a 
 complete Polish costume, velvet and fur, of Worms ; and in- 
 sisted upon Maxime wearing high boots and a foxskin cap. 
 They reached the Bois in the intgnga-J^old which made their 
 noses and lips tingle as if the wind had blown fine sand into 
 their faces. It amused them to feel cold. The Bois was quite 
 l^rey, with threads of snow, like narrow lace, along the 
 branches of the trees. And under the pale sky, above the con- 
 gealed and bedimmed lake, only the pines of the islands still 
 displayed on the edge of the horizon their theatrical drapery, on 
 which the snow had also sewn broad bands of lace. The lovers 
 darted along together in the frozen air, with the rapid flight of 
 swallows skimming just above the ground. Setting one hand 
 behind their backs, and placing one upon each other's shoulder, 
 they went off, erect, smiling, side by side, and revolving roimd the 
 broad space, marked out by thick ropes. Loungers looked on 
 at them from the roadway. From time to time they came 
 to warm themselves at the braziers lighted at the edge of the 
 lake, and then they started off again. They enlarged the course 
 of their flight, with their eyes watering both with pleasure and 
 with cold. 
 
 Then when the spring came Renee remembered her old 
 elegiac fancy. She insisted upon Maxime strolling with her 
 in the Pare Monceaux at night time by moonlight. They 
 went into the grotto and sat down on the grass, in front of the 
 colonnade. But when she expressed a desire to row on the 
 
RENEE AND MAXIME SKATING IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 
 
 p. 186. 
 
THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 187 
 
 little lake they found that there were no oars in tlie boat, which 
 could be seen from the house, moored at the edge of a path- 
 way. They were evidently removed every evening. This was a 
 disappointment. Besides the vast shadows of the park made the 
 lovers nervous. They would have liked to have had a Venetian 
 fete given there, with red lanterns and an orchestra. They pre- 
 ferred it during the day-time, of an afternoon, and they then 
 often stationed themselves at one of the windows of the 
 mansion to w^atch the equipages following the graceful curve ot 
 the main avenue. They enjoyed themselves in gazing upon this 
 charming corner of new Paris, this clean smiling bit of nature, 
 these lawns looking like stripes of velvet, dotted with flower beds 
 and choice shrubs, and edged with magnificent white roses. 
 Carriages passed by each other, as numerous as on the Boulevard ; 
 lady promenaders carelessly trailed their skirts as if they had 
 not ceased treading the carpets of their drawing-rooms. And 
 athwart the foliage, Renee and Maxime criticised the dresses and 
 pointed out the epuipages to each other, deriving real enjoy- 
 ment from the soft tints of this largo garden. A scrap of gilded 
 railing shone between two trees, a party of ducks passed over the 
 lake, the little renaissance bridge looked white and new amid the 
 green stuff, whilst on either side of the main avenue, mammas 
 seated on yellow chairs forgot, in their chatter, the little boys 
 and girls who looked at one another with a pretty air, and 
 pouted like precocious children. 
 
 The lovers had a great liking for new Paris. They often 
 rambled through the city in their carriage, going out of their 
 way so as to pass along certain Boulevards for which they had 
 a personal affection. The lofty houses adorned with large 
 carved doors, loaded with balconies, whereon names and callings 
 glittered in large gold letters, delighted them. While the 
 brougham darted along, they followed with a friendly glance 
 the grey bands of interminable footways, with their seats, their 
 variegated columns and their scrubby trees. This bright gap 
 which extended to the limits of the horizon, growing narrower, 
 and opening upon a bluey parallelogram of space, the uninter- 
 rupted double row of large shops, where shopmen smiled at 
 female customers, the currents of the stamping swarming crowd, 
 filled them little by little with a feeling of absolute and complete 
 satisfaction, they realised that they beheld the perfection 
 of street life. They were enamoured even of the jets of the 
 watering hose, which passed like white smoke before their 
 
188 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 houses and then spread out and fell in a fine rain under the 
 wheels of the brougham, darkening the ground and raising a ; 
 slight cloud of dust. They still went on, and it seemed to ; 
 them that the vehicle was rolling over carpets along the 
 straight endless highway, which had been piei'ced solely so 
 that tliey might not have to pass through dark alleys. Each 
 Boulevard became some passage of their mansion. The gay 
 sunshine smiled upon the house fronts, lit up the window 
 panes, fell upon the verandahs of the shops and cafes and 
 heated the asphalt under the busy tread of the crowd. And 
 when they returned home, somewhat dazed by the bright con- 
 fusion of these long bazaars, they found enjoyment in the Pare 
 MonceauT, which was like the complementary plat-band of the new 
 Paris which displayed its luxury amid the first warmth of spring. 
 
 When the exigencies of fashionable life absolutely compelled 
 them to leave Paris, they went to the seaside, regretfully how- 
 ever, and thinking of the Boulevardian side-walks while on 
 the shores of the ocean. Then_ love itself grew dull there. 
 It was a h ot-house flow er which nee^djbhe spacious grey and 
 pink bed; the naked fleshy aspect of the dressing-room and 
 the^'^gilSed dawn of the little drawing-room. Alone of an 
 evening, in front of the sea, they no longer found anything 
 to say to each other. Renee tried to sing the airs she had 
 heard at the Variety Theatre, accompanying herself on an 
 old piano which was agonising in a corner of her room at the 
 hotel, but the instrument, damp with the breezes from the 
 open, had the dreary voice of the great waters. La Belle 
 Helene seemed lugubrious and fantastic. To console herself 
 Renee astonished the people on the sands by her prodigious 
 costumes. The whole band of fashionable women there was 
 yawning while waiting for the advent of winter, and trying 
 despairingly to invent some bathing dress which would not 
 make them look too ugly. Renee was never able to prevail 
 upon Maxime to bathe. He had an atrocious fear _o^__water, 
 he turned quite pale when the tide reached his boots, and for 
 nothing in the world would he have approached the edge of a 
 cliff ; he kept away from all pits^ and and made a long circuit 
 to avoid any steep part of the shore. 
 
 Saccard came to see ^^ the children " on two or three occasions. 
 He was overwhelmed with worry, he said. It was only about 
 October, when they all three found themselves again in Paris, 
 that he seriously thought of drawing nearer his wife. The 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 189 
 
 Charoniie affair was ripening. His plan was a simple and 
 brutal one. He relied upon capturing Eenee by the same de- 
 vices that he would have employed with a harlot. She lived 
 on amid an increasing need of money, and out of pride she 
 only applied to her husband at the last extremity. The latter 
 resolved to profit by her first request to shew his gallantry, and, 
 in the delight occasioned by the payment of some heavy debt, 
 to resume relations which had so long been severed. 
 
 Some terrible embarrassments awaited Eenee and Maxime in 
 Paris. Several of the promissory notes drawn to Larsonneau's 
 order had fallen due ; but as Saccard naturally left them slum- 
 bering at the lawyer's^ they did not cause the young wife much 
 worry. She was far more alarmed by her debts as regards 
 Worms, whose bill now amounted to nearly two hundred 
 thousand francs. The tailor demanded something on account, 
 and threatened to suspend all credit. Renee felt sudden shud- 
 ders when she thought of the scandal of a law-suit, and especi- 
 ally of a quarrel with the illustrious man milliner. Moreover, 
 she needed pocket money. She and Maxime would feel bored 
 to death if they did not have a few louis a-day to spend. The 
 dear boy w^as quite stumped since he had vainly rummaged 
 through his father's drawers. His fidelity and exemplary be- 
 haviour during the last seven or eight months were largely due 
 to the absolute emptiness of his purse. He did not always have 
 twenty francs in his pocket to invite some street-walker to 
 supper, and so he philosophically returned to the house. At 
 each of their freaks the young woman handed him her purse so 
 that he might defray the expenses in the restaurants, the balls 
 and petty theatres. She continued treating him maternally, 
 and, indeed, it was she who, with the tips of her gloved fingers, 
 settled at the pastry-cook's, where they stopped almost every after- 
 noon to eat little oyster patties. Of a morning he often found 
 in his waistcoat some louis which he had not known to be there, 
 and which she had placed there like a mother filling a school- 
 boy's pocket. And to think that this delightful life of snacks, 
 satisfied fancies and facile pleasure was about to end ! But 
 a yet more grievous worry came to alarm them. Sylvia's 
 je^^^gller, to whom Maxime^ OAved ten thousand francs, 'grew 
 angry and talked about Clichy, the debtors' prison. Such costs 
 had accumulated on the notes of hand which' he held, and had 
 long since protested, that the debt had increased by some three 
 or four thousand francs. Sacccird plainly declared that he 
 
100 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 could do nothing in the matter. The imprisonment of his son 
 at Clichy would increase his notoriety, and when he secured 
 the young fellow's release he would make a great noise over his 
 paternal liberality. Eenee was in despair ; she saw her dear 
 child in prison — in a perfect dungeon, sleeping on damp straw. 
 One evening, she seriously proposed to him not to leave her 
 rooms, but to live there unknown to everyone, and sheltered 
 from the bailiffs. Then she swore that she would procure the 
 money. She never referred to the origin of the debt, of that 
 woman Sylvia, who confided the secret of her affections to the 
 mirrors of private rooms. Some fifty thousand francs — that 
 was what she needed; fifteen thousand for Maxime, thirty 
 thousand for Worms, and five thousand as pocket money. 
 They would then have a fortnight's happiness before them. 
 She embarked on the campaign. 
 
 Her first idea was to ask her husband for these fifty thousand 
 francs, but it was only with a feeling of repugnance that she 
 decided to do so. On the last occasions that he had entered 
 her room to bring her some money he had printed fresh kisses 
 on her neck, taking hold of her hands and talking about his 
 affection. Women have acute powers of perception which en- 
 able them to guess men's feelings. So she expected some 
 demand on his side, some tacit bargain concluded with a smile. 
 And, indeed, when she asked him for the fifty thousand francs, 
 he cried out, declared that Larsonneau would never lend such a 
 sum, and that he himself was still too embarrassed. Then 
 changing his tone, as if conquered and seized with sudden 
 emotion : 
 
 '^ One cannot refuse you anything," he murmured ; " I will 
 run about Paris and accomplish the impossible. I want you 
 to be pleased, my dear." 
 
 And setting his lips to her ear and kissing her hair, he added, 
 in a slightly trembling voice — 
 
 " I will bring you the money to-morrow evening, here in your 
 room — without any note to sign." 
 
 But she hastily said that she was not in a hurry, that 
 she did not wish to trouble him so much. He, who had just 
 set all his heart in that dangerous, "without any note," which 
 had escaped him and which he regretted, did not appear to 
 have encountered a disagreeable refusal. He rose up 
 saying : 
 
 ^^ Very Avell, I am at your disposal. I will find you the sum 
 
THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 191 
 
 I when the moment arrives. Larsonneau will be for nothing in it, 
 you understand. It is a present which I mean to make you." 
 t He smiled with a good natured air. She remained in a state 
 ,1 of cruel anguish. She felt she would lose the little equilibrium 
 (i left her, if she surrendered herself to her husband. It was her 
 '1 last pride to be married to the father and to be only the son's 
 [I wife. Often, when Maxime seemed to her to be cold, she tried 
 ^j to make him understand the situation by very transparent 
 i allusions ; it is true that the young man, whom she expected to 
 I see Ml at her feet after this revelation, remained altogether in- 
 different, imagining, no doubt, that she merely wished to re- 
 • assure him as to the possibility of a meeting between his father 
 and himself in the grey silk room. 
 
 When Saccard had left her, she hastily dressed herself and 
 had the horses put to. While her brougham was conveying 
 ^ her towards the lie Saint-Louis, she prepared the manner in 
 j which she would ask_h_er_ father for the fifty thousand francs. 
 [ She flung herselTTnto this sudden idea, without consenting to 
 I discuss it, feeling very cowardly at the bottom of her heart and 
 seized with mvincible fright at the thought of such a step. 
 When she arrived, the courtyard of_the.^eraad mansion froze 
 her with its mournful, cloisterjiik e damp ness, and it was with a 
 desire to run away that she mounted the "broad stone staircase 
 on which her little high-heeled boots resounded terribly. She 
 liad been foolish enough in her haste to choose a costume of 
 dead-leaf tinted silk, with long flounces of white lace trimmed 
 with bows of ribbon and cut athwart by a plaited sash. This 
 toilet, which was completed by a little hat with a large white 
 veil, set such a singular note in the dark gloom of the stair- 
 case, that she herself became conscious of how strange she 
 looked there. She trembled as she crossed the austere suite of 
 spacious rooms, where the personages vaguely visible on the 
 tapestry seemed surprised, to see this stream of skirts pass by 
 in the semi-daylight of their solitude. 
 
 She found her father in a drawing-room looking on to the 
 courtyard, where he habitually remained. He was reading a 
 large book placed on a desk adapted to the arms of his chair. 
 In front of one of the windows Aunt Elisabeth sat knitting 
 with long wooden needles ; and in the silence~c)f the room the 
 tick-tack of these needles was the only sound one heard. 
 
 Kenee sat down, ill at ease, unable to make a movement 
 without disturbing the severity of the lofcy ceiling by a noise 
 
192 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 of rustling silk. Her laces looked crudely white against the 
 dark background of tapestry and old furniture. Monsieur 
 Beraud Du Chatel gazed at her with his hands resting on the 
 edge of the desk. Aunt Elisabeth talked about the approaching 
 wedding of Christine who was to marry the son of a very rich 
 attorney ; the young girl had gone to a tradesman's w^ith an old 
 family servant ; and the good aunt talked on alone, in her 
 placid voice, without ceasing to knit, gossiping about household 
 affairs, and casting smiling glances at Renee from above her 
 spectacles. 
 
 But, the young woman became more and more disturbed. 
 iVll the silence of the house weighed upon her shoulders, and 
 she would have given a great deal for the lace of her dress to 
 have been black. Her father's gaze embarrassed her to such a 
 point that she considered Worms really ridiculous to have 
 imagined such high flounces. 
 
 " How smart you are, my girl ! " suddenly said Aunt Elisabeth, 
 who had not yet even noticed her niece's lace. 
 
 She stopped knitting and settled her spectacles to see the 
 better. Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel gave a faint smile. 
 
 ^^ It is rather white," said he. "A woman must be greatly 
 embarrassed with that on the side-walks." 
 
 " But one doesn't go out on foot, father ! " cried Renee, who 
 immediately afterwards regretted these words from her heart. 
 
 The old gentleman seemed about to reply. Then he rose up, 
 straightened his high stature and began walking slowly, with- 
 out again looking at his daughter. The latter remained quite 
 pale with emotion. Each time that she exhorted herself to 
 take courage, and that she tried to find a transition that would 
 lead up to the request for money, she experienced a shooting 
 pain at the heart. 
 
 '' We never see you now, father," she murmured. 
 
 " Oh ! " replied her aunt, ^*your father hardly ever goes out 
 except at long intervals to stroll in the Jardin des Plantes. 
 And I even have to get angry to make him do that ! He pre- 
 tends that he loses himself in Paris, that the city is no longer 
 made for him. Ah ! you do right to scold him ! " 
 
 ^^ My husband would be so happy to see you at our Thursdays, 
 from time to time," continued the young woman. 
 
 Monsieur Beraud Du Chatel took a few steps in silence. 
 Then in a quiet voice: "You must thank your husband for 
 me," he said. " He is an active fellow, it appears, and I hope, 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 193 
 
 for your sake, that he conducts his eiitterprises honestly. But 
 we haven't the same ideas, and I feel ill at ease in your fine 
 house in the Pare Monceaux." 
 
 Aunt Elisabeth seemed vexed by this reply. 
 
 '' How wicked men are with their politics !" she said. '' Would 
 you like to know the truth? Your father is furious with you 
 because you go to the Tuileries.'' 
 
 But the old gentleman shrugged his shoulders, as if to 
 say that his dissatisfaction had far more grievous causes. He 
 began slowly walking again, with a dreamy air. Renee re- 
 mained for a moment silent, with the request for the fifty 
 thousand francs on the tip of her tongue. But seized with 
 even greater cow^ardice than before, she kissed her father and 
 went ofi^. ^ 
 
 Aunt Elisabeth insisted upon accompanying her to the stair- 
 case. As they crossed the suite of rooms, slie continued chat- 
 tering in her old woman's squeaky voice : 
 
 *' You are happy, my dear child. It pleases me very much to 
 see you looking beautitul and well ; for if your marriage had 
 turned out badly I should have thought myself guilty ! Your 
 husband loves you, you have all you need, haven't you 1 " 
 
 " Of course," replied Renee compelling herself to smile though 
 feeling sick at heart. 
 
 Her aunt still detained her, with her hand on the balustrade 
 of the staircase. 
 
 " Do you see, I have only one fear, that you may become 
 intoxicated with all your happiness. Be prudent, and above all 
 don't sell anything. If you had a child some day, you would 
 have a little fortune all ready for him." 
 
 When Renee was in her brougham again she heaved a sigh 
 of relief. She had drops of cold perspiration on her forehead ; 
 she wiped them off, thinking of the icy dampness of the Beraud 
 mansion. Then as the brougham rolled along amid the clear 
 sunlight of the Quai Saint-Paul she remembered the fifty thou- 
 sand francs, and all her suffering was revived again, acuter 
 than before. She, whom people thought so bold, how cowardly 
 she had just been! And yet it was a question of Maxime, of his 
 liberty, of their joint delights. Amid the bitter reproaches 
 wliich she addressed to herself, an idea suddenly sprung up 
 which brought her despair to a climax; she ought to have 
 spoken about the fifty thousand francs to Aunt Elisabeth on the 
 stairs. What had she been thinking about *? The Avorthy woman 
 
194 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 would perhaps have lent her the amount, or at all events have 
 helped her. She was already leaning forward to tell her coach- 
 man to drive back to the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, when she 
 thought she again beheld her father slowly crossing the solemn 
 darkness of the grand drawing-room. She would never have 
 the courage to return at once to that room. What could she 
 say to explain this second visit 1 And in the depth of her heart 
 she no ^longer even found the courage to speak of the afFan^ to 
 Aunt Elisabeth. So she told her coachman to drive her to the 
 Rue du Faubourg-Poissonniere. 
 
 Mijy^ame Sidonie uttered a cry of delight when she saw her 
 opening the~<3iscreetly curtained door of the shop. She was 
 there by chance, she was about to hasten to the magistrate's, 
 where she had summoned a customer. But she would not put in 
 an appearance, she could do so some other day ; she was so happy 
 that her sister-in-law had at length had the amiability to pay 
 her a little visit. Renee smiled wdth an embarrassed air. Madame 
 Sidonie would not by any means allow her to remain downstairs ; 
 she made her go up into her room, by the little staircase, after 
 removing the brass knob from the shop door. She removed 
 and refixed this knob, which was secured by a simple nail, at 
 least twenty times a day. 
 
 " There, my beauty," she said, making Renee sit down on a 
 couch, " we shall be able to chat nicely. Do you know that you 
 come in the very nick of time — I meant to go and see you this 
 evening." 
 
 Renee, who knew the room, experienced that vague feeling of 
 uneasiness, which a promenader feels on finding that a strip of 
 forest has been cut down in a favourite landscape. 
 
 "Ah !" she said at last, "you. have changed the position of 
 the bed, haven't you ? " 
 
 "Yes," quietly replied the lace-dealer, " one of my customers 
 thought it would be much better in front of the mantelpiece. 
 She also advised me to have red curtains." 
 
 " That's what I was thinking, the curtains used not to be of 
 that colour. Red is a very common colour." 
 
 She put on her ^^-glasses, and looked at this room which 
 displayed the kind ofTuxiiry one finds in a largejiotel. On the 
 mantelshelf she saw someTohg hair-pins which certainly did not 
 come from Madame Sidonie's meagre chignon. The paper of 
 that part of the wall, against which the bed had formerly stood, 
 was all torn, discoloured and dirtied by the mattresses. The 
 
THE KUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 195 
 
 agent had certainly tried to hide this sore with the backs 
 of two arm chairs, but these backs were rather low, and Eenee's 
 glance remained fixed on this worn strip of paper. 
 
 " You have something to say to me ? " she asked at last. 
 
 "Yes, it's quite a story," said Madame Sidonie, joining her 
 
 hands and assuming the expression of a glutton who is about to 
 
 i relate what she has eaten at dinner. " Just fancy, Mojjisieur do 
 
 { ^B^re is in love with the beautiful Madame Saccard. Yes, wTtE 
 
 I yourself, m^pretty one." 
 
 Eenee did not vouchsafe even a gesture of coquetry. 
 
 " Indeed ! " she remarked, " but you said he was so smitten 
 with Madame Michelin." 
 
 " Oh ! that's finished, quite finished — I can prove it to you 
 if you like. Don't you know then that little Michelin has 
 pleased Baron Gouraud 1 It's incredible. Every one who knows 
 the baron is amazed. And now she's on the way to obtaining 
 j the red ribbon for her husband ! Ah, she's a woman of spirit. 
 I She isn't faint-hearted, she doesn't need any one to steer her 
 i boat." 
 
 Ij Madame Sidonie said this with an air of some little regret 
 mingled with admiration. 
 
 I ^'But to return to Monsieur de SafFre — It would seem 
 that he met you at an actresses' ball, muffled up in a domino, 
 and he even accuses himself of having somewhat cavalierly 
 ofifered you a supper. Is it true 1 " 
 
 The young woman was quite surprised. 
 
 "Perfectly true," murmured she; "but who could have told 
 him ? " 
 
 "AYait a bit, he pretends that he recognised you. later on, 
 when you were no longer in the room, and that he remembered 
 having seen you leave on Maxime's arm. Since then he has 
 been madly in love. It has grown in his heart, you under- 
 stand, been a sudden fancy. He came to see me to beg me to 
 make you his apologies — " 
 
 "Well, tell him that I forgive him," interrupted Eenee negli- 
 gently. 
 
 And again assailed by all her worries, she continued : 
 
 " Ah ! my good Sidonie, I am awfully bothered. It is abso- 
 lutely necessary that I should have fifty thousand francs to-mor- 
 row morning. I came to speak to you about the matter. You 
 know some money-lenders, you told me." 
 
 The agent, vexed by the abrupt manner in which her sister- 
 
lOG THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 in-law had iiiterruped her story, made her wait some time for 
 an answer. 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; only, I advise you, first of all to try and ob- 
 tain the money from a friend. If I were in your place I know 
 very well what I should do. I should simply apply to Monsieur 
 de Saffre." 
 
 Renee smiled in a constrained manner. 
 
 " But it would hardly be proper," she answered, "since you 
 pretend that he is so much in love." 
 
 The old woman looked at her with a fixed stare ; then her 
 flabby face gently softened into a smile of tender pity. 
 
 " Poor dear," she muttered, " you have been crying ; don't deny 
 it, I can see it by your eyes. You must be strong and accept 
 life. Come, let me arrange tlie little matter in question." 
 
 Renee rose up, twisting her fingers, and making her gloves 
 crack. And she remained standing, quite shaken by a cruel in- 
 ternal struggle. She was opening her mouth, to accept perhaps, 
 when a gentle ring at the bell resounded in the next room. 
 Madame Sidonie hastily went out, leaving the door ajar, so that 
 a double row of pianos could be seen. The young woman then 
 heard a man's step, and the stifled sound of a conversation carried 
 on in an undertone. She mechanically went to ex amine m ore 
 closely th eyellowish sta inAvith which the mattresses^had streaked 
 the wall. This stain~dis^ir^bedjier, made her ill at ease. For- 
 getting everything, Maxime, the fifty thousand francs, and 
 Monsieur de Saffre, she stepped back to the front of the bed, 
 reflecting ; this bed had been much better placed, as it had 
 formerly stood ; some women were really wanting in taste ; of 
 a certainty when one lay down one must have the light in one's 
 eyes. And in the depths of her memory she vaguely saw the 
 figure of the stranger of the Quai Saint-Paul rise up, her novel 
 in two assignations, that chance amour which she had partaken 
 of, there, at that other place. The wearing away of the wall 
 paper was all that remained of it. Then the room filled her 
 with uneasiness, and the hum of voices which continued in the 
 next apartment made her feel impatient. 
 
 When Madame Sidonie returned, opening and closing the 
 door with due precaution, she made repeated signs with the 
 tips of her fingers, to recommend Renee to speak low. Then, she 
 whispered in her ear : 
 
 *^ You don't know, the adventure's a good one : it's Monsieur 
 de Saffre who's there." 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 197 
 
 '^You didn't tell him though that I was hcrer' asked the 
 young woman anxiously. 
 
 The agent seemed surprised, and with an air of great sim- 
 plicity answered : 
 
 " But I did — He is waiting for me to tell him to come in. 
 Of course I didn't speak about the fifty thousand francs — " 
 
 Renee, who was quite pale, had drawn herself up as if she 
 had been struck with a whip. A great pride again rose to her 
 heart. That creaking of boots, which she heard growing louder 
 in the next room, exasperated her : 
 
 " I am going,'' she said curtly. " Come and open the door 
 for me." 
 
 Madame Sidonie tried to smile. 
 
 "Don't be childish," she said. "T can't be left with that 
 fellow on my hands, since I have told him you are here — You 
 really compromise me — " 
 
 But the young woman had already descended the little stair- 
 case. She repeated, in front of the closed shop door : 
 
 "Open it, open it." 
 
 When the lace-dealer withdrew the brass knob, she had the 
 habit of putting it in her pocket. She wished to continue 
 parleying. Finally seized with anger herself, and displaying 
 in the depths of her grey eyes the tart acridity of her nature, 
 she cried : "But come, what shall I say to the man 1 " 
 
 " That I^ not for sal e," replied Eenee, who already had 
 one foot on the side-walk. 
 
 And it seemed to her that she could hear Madame Sidonie 
 muttering as she banged the door : " Eh ! get off, you jade ! 
 yon^s hall pay me for th is 1 " 
 
 "By heavens," thought Eenee as she again entered her 
 brougham, ^' I prefer my husband to that." 
 
 She returnedr^raigEfTiome. In the evening she told 
 Maxime not to come ; she was poorly, she needed repose. 
 And, on the morrow, when she handed him the fifteen thousand 
 francs for Sylvia's jeweller, she remained embarrassed in presence 
 of his surprise and his questions. Her husband, she said, had 
 done a good stroke of business. From that day forth, how- 
 ever, she became more capricious, she often changed the hour 
 of the appointments which she gave the young fellow, and 
 even she frequently watched for him in the conservatory to 
 send him away. He did not worry himself much about these 
 changes of humour ; it pleased him to be an obedient thing in 
 
198 THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 women^s hands. What bored him a great deal more was the 
 moral turn which their lovers' meetings took at times. She! 
 became quite sad; and it even happened that she had big 
 tears in her eyes. She left off singing the refrain about the 
 ** handsome young man" in the Belle Helene, she played the 
 hymns she had learnt at school and asked her lover if he did 
 not til ink that sin was always punished, sooner or later. 
 
 " She's decidedly growing old," he thought. " It will be the 
 utmost if she's funny for another year or two." 
 
 The truth was that she suffered cruelly. She would now have 
 preferred to deceive Maxime with Monsieur de Saffre. She had 
 revolted at Madame Sidonie's, she had given way to instinctive 
 l^ride, to disgust for such a low bargain. But on the following 
 days, when she endured the anguish of adultery, everything 
 in her foundered ; and she felt herseTfsodespicable that she 
 would have surrendered herself to the first man who pushed 
 open the door of the room containing the pianos. The thought 
 of her husband had, at times, formerly passed before her, amid 
 her incest, like a touch of voluptuous horror ; but henceforth 
 the husband, the man himself, entered into it with a brutality 
 that transformed her most delicate sensations into intolerable 
 sufferings. She, who had enjoyed the refinement of her 
 sin, and had willingly dreamt of a corner of a superhuman 
 paradise where the gods partook of their amours together, was now 
 descending to vulgar debauchery, to being shared by two men. 
 In vain did she try to derive enjoyment from EeiTnfainyr Tier 
 lips were still warm with Saccard's kisses when she offered 
 them to Maxime's. Her inquisitiveness descended to the 
 depths of these accursed pleasures. She went as far as to 
 mingle the two affections, and to seek for the son amid the 
 father's hugs. And she emerged yet more alarmed and more 
 bruised from this journey into unknown evil, from this ardent 
 darkness in which she confounded the person of her double 
 lover, with a terror which was like the death-rattle of her 
 enjoyment. 
 
 She kept this drama to hojrself alone, and increased the 
 suffering it occasioned by the feverishness of her imagination. 
 She would have preferred to die rather than own the truth to 
 Maxime. She had an inward fear that the young man might 
 revolt and leave her ; she had such an absolute belief in the 
 monstrosity of her sin and in eternal damnation, that she would 
 have more willingly crossed the Pare Monceaux naked than 
 
i • 
 
 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 199 
 
 have confessed her shame aloud. On the other hand, she still 
 remained the madcap who astonished Paris by her extravagant 
 conduct. Ne rvous ga iety seized l iold_ofJicr, prodigious caprices 
 which the newspap"ers talked alioiit, designating her by her 
 initials. It was at this period that she seriQiisly_5vislied to 
 fio-ht a duel •witlinistols with the Ducliess de Sternich who had, 
 
 intentionally, so she said, upset a glass of punch" over her dress. 
 To calm her, it was necessary for her brother-in-law, the 
 minister, to get angry. On another occasion she bet with 
 Madame de Lauwerens that she would make the round of the 
 Longchamps racecourse in less than ten minutes, and it was 
 only a question of costume that deterred her from doing so. 
 Maxime himself began to feel afraid of this head, in which mad- 
 ness lurked ; and on the pillow at night-time he thought he 
 could hear all the hubbub of a city bent on enjoying itself. 
 
 One evening they went together to the Theatre-Italien. 
 They had not even looked at the bill. They wished to see the 
 great Italian tragedian, Histori, who then attracted all Paris, 
 and in whom, by the command of fashion, they were bound to 
 interest themselves. The play was P/iedre. Maxime remem- 
 bered his classical repertory sufficiently^ and Eenee knew 
 enough Italian to follow the performance. And indeed they 
 derived an especial emotion from this drama, performed in a 
 foreign language, the sonority of which seemed to them at 
 times to be a simple orchestral accompaniment supporting the 
 pantomime of the actors. Hippolytos was a tall, pale fellow, a 
 very poor actor, who whimpered his part. 
 
 '' What a ninny ! " muttered Maxime. 
 
 However, Ristori, with her broad shoulders shaken by her 
 sobs, wuth her tragical face and fat arms, moved Renee deeply. 
 Phasdra was of Pasiphae's blood, and she asked herself of 
 what blood she was, the incestuous step-mother of modern 
 times. She saw nought of the piece save this tall woman 
 dra^gging-Jie__micimtcnme__^^ When Phsedra 
 
 confides her criininartoideiTLess~to (Enone in the first act ; 
 when, all on fire, she declares herself to Hippolytos in the second ; 
 and later on, in the fourth act, when the return of Theseus 
 overwhelms her and she curses herself, in a crisis of gloomy 
 fury, she filled the house with such a cry of savage passion, 
 with such a yearning for superhuman voluptuousness, that the 
 young woman felt every shudde^ o^er desire and remorse pass 
 through her ownHesh, 
 
200 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " Wait," murmured Maxime in her ears, " you are going to 
 hear Theramene's narrative. The old fellow has a funny head ! " 
 And he muttered in a hollow voice : 
 
 ''Scarce had we passed the gates of Trezene, 
 He on his chariot mounted — " 
 
 But while the old fellow spoke, Eenee neither looked nor 
 listened any more. The light blinded her, and stifling heat 
 came to her from all the pale faces stretched out towards the 
 stage. The monologue continued, interminable. She imagined 
 herself in the conservatory under the ardent foliage, and she 
 dreamt that her husband came in and surprised her in the arms 
 of his son. She suffered horriby, she was losing consciousness, 
 when the death-rattle of PliEedra, repentant and dying in the con- 
 vulsions caused by the poison, made her open her eyes again. 
 The curtain fell. Would she have the strength to poison her- 
 self some day] How petty and shameful her drama was 
 beside the ancient epopoeia ! And while Maxime fastened her 
 opera cloak under her chin, she still heard, growling behind her, 
 Eistori's rough voice to which (Enone's complacent murmur 
 replied. 
 
 In the brougham, the young fellow talked on alone. He con- 
 sidered tragedies sickening as a rule, and preferred the pieces 
 performed at the Bouffes. However, PJiedre was spicy. He 
 had taken an interest in it, because — And he pressed Eenee's 
 hand to complete his meaning. Then a funny idea darted 
 through his head, and he gave way to an impulse to say some- 
 thing witty. 
 
 '^It was I," he murmured, "who did right not to approach 
 the sea at Trouville.'^ 
 
 Eenee, lost in the depths of her painful dream, remained silent. 
 It was necessary for him to repeat his phrase. 
 
 " Why % " asked she, astonished and failing to understand. 
 
 '^ But the monster — " 
 
 And he gave vent to a little titter. This joke froze the 
 young woman. Everything was upset in her head. Eistori 
 was no longer aught, but a big puppet who tucked up her 
 peplum and poked out her tongue to the public like Blanche 
 Midler in the third act of the Belle Ilelene ; Theramene danced 
 the cancan, and Hippolytos eat bread and jam while stuffing 
 his fingers into his nose. 
 
 When a more galling remorse made Eenee shudder, she evinced 
 
THE RUSH FOFv THE SrOIL. 201 
 
 superb revolt. What was her crime after all, and why should 
 she blush*? Did she not every day tread upon greater in- 
 famies ? Did she not elbow at the ministers', at the Tuileries, 
 everywhere in fact, wretches like herself who had millions on 
 their flesh, and who were adored on both knees ! And she 
 thought of the shameful friendship of Adeline d'Espanet and 
 Suzanne HafFner, at which one smiled, at times, at theEmpress's- 
 Mondays. And she recalled to herself the traffic of Madame de 
 Lauwerens, whom husbands celebrated for her good conduct, 
 her order, and her exactitude in settling her tradesmen's bills. 
 She named Madame Daste, Madame Teisseire, the Baroness de 
 Meinhold, those creatures whose luxury was paid for by their 
 lovers, and who were quoted in society like shares are quoted 
 upon change. Madame de Guende was so stupid and so well 
 formed, that she had three superior officers for her lovers at the 
 same time, and was unable to distinguish them from each other 
 on account of their uniforms. This made that demon of a 
 Louise say that she first of all made them strip to their 
 shirts so as to know which of the three she was talking to. As 
 for the Countess Vanska, she remembered the courtyards in 
 which she had sung, the side-walks on which people pretended 
 they had again seen her, dressed in printed calico, and prowling 
 about like a she- wolf. Each of these women had her shame, 
 her triumphant, displayed sore. And, overtopping them all, the 
 Duchess de Sternich rose up, ugly, old, worn out, with the glory 
 of having passed a night in the Imperial bed ; she typified 
 official vice, from which she derived the majesty of debauchery 
 land a kind of sovereignty over this band of illustrious hussies. 
 I The incestuous step-mother accustomed herself to her sin, as 
 to a gala robe the stiffiiess of which might at first have incon- 
 venienced her. She followed the fashions of the period, she 
 dressed and undressed herself in the style of others. She 
 ended by believing that she lived amid a circle above common 
 morality, in which the senses became more acute and developed, 
 and in which one was allowed to strip oneself naked for the joy 
 (jf all Olympus. Sin became a luxury, a flower set in the hair, 
 I diamond fastened on the brow. And she again saw, like a 
 justification and redemption, the Emperor passing on the 
 L^eneral's arm, between two rows of inclined shoulders. 
 
 Only one man, Baptiste, her husband's valet, continued to 
 listurb her. Since Saccard showed himself gallant, this tall, 
 [jaie, dignified valet, seemed to walk around her with the 
 
202 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 solemnity of mute censure. He did not look at her, his cold 
 glances passed higher, above her chignon, with the modesty of 
 a beadle who refuses to defile his eyes by letting them rest on 
 a hair of a sinner. She imagined that he knew everything, and 
 she would have purchased his silence had she dared. Then 
 feelings of uneasiness took possession of her, she experienced a 
 kind of confused respect when she met Baptiste, and said to her- 
 self that all the honesty of her household had withdrawn and 
 hidden itself under this lackey's dress- coat. 
 
 One day she asked Celeste : 
 
 ^'Does Baptiste joke in the servants' hall? Do you know if 
 he has had any adventure, if he has any mistress 1 " 
 
 '' What a question ! " was all the maid replied. 
 
 '' Come, he must have paid you some attentions ? " 
 
 << Why ! he never looks at women. We barely see him. He 
 is always in master's rooms or in the stables. He says that he is 
 very fond of horses." 
 
 Kenee was irritated by this respectability, for she Avould 
 have liked to be able to despise her servants. Although she 
 had taken a liking to Celeste, she would have rejoiced to learn 
 that she was someone's mistress. 
 
 " But you, Celeste," she continued, " don't you think that 
 Baptiste is a good-looking fellow 1 " 
 
 ^' I, madame ! " cried the chambermaid with the stupefied air 
 of a person who has just heard something prodigious. '^ Oh ! 
 I've very different ideas in my head. I don't want a man. 
 I've my plan. You will see later on. I'm not a fool, no." 
 
 Renee could not draw anything more precise from her. 
 Moreover, her worries were growing. Her noisy life, her mad 
 rambles, met with numerous obstacles which she had to over- 
 come, and against which she at times bruised herself. It was 
 thus that Louise de Mareuil rose up one day between herself 
 and Maxime. Renee was not jealous of the " hunchback/^ as 
 she disdainfully called her ; she knew her to be condemned by 
 the doctors, and could not believe that Maxime would ever 
 marry such an ugly chit, even at the price of a dowry of a 
 million. In her fall she had retained a middle- class naivete 
 respecting the people around her ; although she despised her- 
 self, she readily believed that they were superior and very 
 estimable. But whilst rejecting the possibility of a marriage 
 which would have seemed to her a piece of sinister debauchery 
 and a theft, she suffered from the young folks' familiai-ities and 
 
THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 203 
 
 friendliness. When she spoke of Louise to Maxime, he laughed 
 with satisfaction, he repeated the child's sayings to her, and 
 said : 
 
 " The urchin calls me her little man, you know." 
 
 And he displayed such freedom of mind that she did not dare 
 to tell him that this urchin was seventeen, and that their play- 
 fulness with their hands, and their eagerness when they met in 
 drawing-rooms to find out some shady corner to poke fun at 
 everybody, grieved her and spoilt her most pleasant evenings. 
 
 An incident occurred which imparted a strange character to 
 the situation. Eenee often felt the need of acting boastingiy, 
 and she had whims of brutal boldness. She dragged Maxime 
 behind a curtain, behind a door, and kissed him at the risk of 
 being seen. One Thursday evening, when the buttercup 
 drawing-room was full of people, she was seized with the fine 
 idea of calling the young fellow who was talking with Louise, 
 she advanced from the depths of the conservatory where she 
 was to meet him, and abruptly kissed him on the mouth be- 
 tween two clumps of shrubbery, thinking that she was suffi- 
 ciently concealed. But Louise had followed Maxime, and when 
 the lovers raised their heads, they saw her a few paces off, 
 looking at them with a strange smile, without the least 
 blush or astonishment, but with the quiet friendly air of a 
 companion in vice, who is learned enough to understand and 
 appreciate such a kiss. 
 
 Maxime felt really frightened that day, and it was Eenee 
 who showed herself indifierent and almost joyful. It was 
 all over. It was now impossible for the hunchback to take her 
 lover from her. She thought : 
 
 *' I ought to have done it on purpose. She now knows that 
 her ^ little man ' belongs to me." 
 
 Maxime felt reassured when he again found Louise as gay 
 and as funny as before. He considered her to be " very acute 
 and a very good-natured girl." And that was all. 
 
 There was good reason, however, for Renee to be disturbed. 
 For some little time past Saccard had been thinking of his son's 
 marriage with Mademoiselle de Mareuil. There was a dowry 
 of a million francs to be had, which he did not wish to let 
 escape, meaning to get his hands into this money later on. As 
 Louise remained in bed during nearly three weeks at the be- 
 ginning of the winter, he was so afraid of seeing her die before 
 the projected union was accomplished, that he decided the 
 
201 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 children should marry at once. He certainly thought them 
 rather young ; but the doctors feared the month of March for 
 the consumptive girl. Monsieur de Mareuil on his side was in 
 a delicate position. He had eventually succeeded in getting 
 himself returned as a deputy at the last poll. Only the Corps 
 Legislatif had just quashed his election, which had provoked a 
 great scandal when the Chamber deliberated on the validity of 
 the returns. This election was quite a heroi-comical poem, on 
 which the newspapers lived for a whole month. Monsieur 
 Hu|)el de la None, the prefect of the department, had displayed 
 such' vigour that the other candidates had not even been able 
 either to placard their addresses to the electors, or to distribute 
 their voting papers. At his advice. Monsieur de Mareuil 
 covered the constituency with tables at which the peasants ate 
 and drank for a week. He, moreover, promised a railway line, 
 the erection of a bridge and three churches, and on the eve of 
 the poll he forwarded to the influential electors the portraits of 
 the Emperor and Empress, two large engravings covered with 
 glass and set in gold frames. This gift met with tremendous 
 success, and the majority in Monsieur de Mareuil's favour w^as 
 overwhelming. But when the Chamber, in presence of the 
 bursts of laughter which came from all France, found itself 
 compelled to send Monsieur de Mareuil back to his electors, 
 the minister flew into a terrible passion with the prefect and 
 the unfortunate candidate who had really shown themselves too 
 '^ zealous." He even spoke of choosing someone else as the 
 official candidate. Monsieur de Mareuil was terrified, he had 
 spent three hundred thousand francs in the department, he 
 owned there some large estates where he felt bored, and which 
 he w^ould have to sell at a loss. So he came to beg his dear 
 colleague to appease his brother, and to promise him in his 
 name a most properly conducted election. It was on this 
 occasion that Saccard again spoke of the children's marriage 
 and that the two fathers finally decided upon it. 
 
 When Maxime was sounded on the subject he felt embarras- 
 sed. Louise amused him, and the dowry tempted him still 
 more. He said yes, he accepted all the dates that Saccard 
 named to avoid the worry of a discussion But, at heart, 
 he owned to himself that matters would unfortunately not be 
 arranged with such charming facility. Renee would never con- 
 sent, she would cry, she w^ould upbraid him, she was capable of 
 provoking some great scandal to astonish Paris. It was very 
 
THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 205 
 
 disagreeable. She now frightened him. She watched him with 
 alarming eyes, and she possessed him so despotically that he 
 thought he could feel claws digging into his shoulder whenever 
 she laid her white hand on it. Her turbulence became rough- 
 ness, and there w\as a cracked sound in the depths of her 
 laughter. He really feared that she would go mad one night 
 in his arms. With her, remorse, fear of being surprised, the 
 cruel joys of adultery did not manifest themselves as wdth other 
 women, by tears and dejection, but by greater extragavance, 
 and a more irresistible longing for noise. And amid her grow- 
 ing affrightment one began to hear a rattling, the derangement 
 of this adorable, astonishing machine which was breaking 
 up. 
 
 Maxime passively awaited an occasion which would rid him 
 of this troublesome mistress. He again said that they had 
 been very stupid. If their comradeship had at first lent addi- 
 tional voluptuousness to their love, it now prevented him from 
 breaking off as he would certainly have done from any other 
 woman. He would not have returned ; that was his mode of 
 bringing his amours to a finish so as to avoid any effort or any 
 quarrel. But he felt himself incapable of a row, and he 
 still even willingly forgot himself in Renee's embraces ; 
 she behaved maternally, she paid his expenses, and she would 
 pull him out of embarrassment if any creditors became angry. 
 Then the thought of Louise, the thought of the dowry of a million 
 of francs returned to him, and made him reflect — even amid the 
 young woman's kisses — " that it was all very charming and 
 nice, but that it wasn't serious and must come to an end." 
 
 One night Maxime was so rapidly stumped at the house of a 
 woman where one often gambled till daylight, that he exper- 
 ienced one of those mute attacks of anger familiar to the game- 
 ster whose pockets are empty. He would have given every- 
 thing in the Avorld to have been able to fling a few more louis 
 on the table. He took up his hat, and with the mechanical 
 step of a man who is impelled by a fixed idea, he repaired to the 
 Pare Monceaux, opened the little gate, and found himself in the 
 conservatory. It was past midnight. Renee had forbidden 
 liim to come that night. When she now closed her door to him 
 she did not even try to invent an explanation, while he merely 
 thought of profiting of his holiday. He only clearly remem- 
 bered the young woman's prohibition when he was in front 
 of the glass door of the little drawing-room which was closed. 
 
206 THE KUSII FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 As a rule when he was to come, Eenee undid the fastening of 
 this door in advance. 
 
 " Bah ! " said he on seeing that the window of the dressing- 
 room was lighted up, " I will whistle and she will come down. 
 I sha'n't disturb her ; if she has a few louis, I will go off at once." 
 
 And he whistled gently. He indeed often employed this sig- 
 nal to announce his arrival. But that evening he fruitlessly 
 whistled several times. He grew obstinate, raising the key, and 
 unwilling to abandon his idea of an i mmediate l oan. At last 
 he saw the glass door opened wltKliiFmte precaution and with- 
 out his having heard the least sound of footsteps. In the dim 
 light of the conservatory Eenee appeared to him, with her hair 
 down, and scarcely dressed, as if she w^ere going to bed. She 
 was barefooted. She pushed him towards one of the arbours, 
 descending the steps and walking over the gravel of the pathways, 
 without seeming to feel the cold or the roughness of the ground. 
 
 '^ It's stupid to whistle as loud as that,'' she muttered with 
 restrained anger. '' I told you not to come. What do you want 
 with me '? " 
 
 *' Eh ? Let's go up," said Maxime, surprised by this reception. 
 ^* I will tell you upstairs. You will catch cold here." 
 
 But as he stepped forw^ard she held him back and he then 
 perceived that she was horribly pale. Mute fright bent her 
 form. Her clothes, the lace of her linen, hung down like tragic 
 shreds upon her shuddering skin. 
 
 He examined her with growdng astonishment : 
 
 ** What is the matter with you % You are ill ? " 
 
 And instinctively he raised his eyes and looked through the 
 glass panes of the conservatory at the window of the dressing- 
 room where he had seen a light. 
 
 " But there's a man in your room," he said suddenly. 
 
 " JSTo, no, it isn't true," she stammered, supplicating, dis- 
 tracted. 
 
 '' Pooh, my dear, I see his shadow." 
 
 Then, for a minute they remained there face to face, not 
 knowing what to say to each other. Eenee's teeth chattered 
 with terror, and it seemed to her as if some one v/ere throwing 
 bucketsful of iced water over her bare feet. Maxime experi- 
 enced more irritation than he would have believed ; but he still 
 remained sufficiently possessed to reflect, and say to himself 
 that the occasion was a good one, and that he would now break 
 off the connection. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 207 
 
 " You won't make me believe that Celeste wears a coat," he 
 continued. ** If the glass panes of the conservatory were not so 
 thick I should perhaps recognize the gentleman." 
 
 She pushed him deeper into the shadow of the foliage, say- 
 ing, with her hands clasped, and seized with growing terror : 
 
 " I beg of you, Maxime — " 
 
 But all the young fellow's teasing faculties were aroused, a 
 ferocious malice which sought for vengeance. He was too weak 
 I to ease himself by anger. Spite compressed his lips ; and, 
 instead of striking her, as he had at first had the impulse of 
 I doing, he sharpened his voice and rejoined : 
 I " You ought to have told me of it, I shouldn't have come to 
 disturb you — It happens every day that one no longer cares for 
 one another. I myself was beginning to have enough of it — 
 Come, don't be impatient. I will let you go up again ; but not 
 before you have told me the gentleman's name — " 
 
 " Never, never ! " murmured the young woman, forcing back 
 her tears. 
 
 " It isn't to call him out, it's to know — The name, tell me the 
 name, quick, and off I go." 
 
 He had caught hold of her wrists and he looked at her, laugh- 
 ing his wicked laugh. She struggled, distracted, bent upon not 
 opening her lips again, so that the name he asked for might 
 not escape from them. 
 
 ^'We shall make a noise, you will be nicely placed then. 
 Why are you frightened 1 Aren't we good friends ? I want to 
 know who replaces me, it's legitimate — Come, I will help you — 
 It's Monsieur de Mussy whose grief has touched you." 
 
 She did not answer. She bowed her head beneath such an 
 interrogatory. 
 
 " It isn't Monsieur de Mussy 1 The Duke de Eozan, then ? 
 Eeally, nor he either 1 Perhaps the Count de Chibray 1 Not 
 even heV 
 
 He stopped short, he reflected. 
 
 **The devil, I can't think of any one else. It can't be my 
 father after what you told me — " 
 
 Renee quivered as if she had been burnt, and said huskily : 
 
 ^* No. You know very well that he no longer comes. I 
 shouldn't accept, it w^ould be ignoble." 
 
 "Then who is it r' 
 
 And he pressed her wrists still more tightly. The poor wo- 
 man struggled for a few moments longer. 
 
208 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " Oh, Maxime, if you knew ! I can't, however, tell you — '' 
 
 Then conquered, crushed, looking with afFriglit at the lighted; 
 window : ^^ It is Monsieur de Saffre," she stammered in a very; 
 low voice. 
 
 Maxime, whom the cruel game had amused, turned extremely 
 pale on hearing this confession which he had asked for so per- 
 sistently. He was irritated by the unexpected pain which this 
 man's name caused him. He violently threw back Eenee's 
 wrists, drawing near to her, and saying to her full in the face, 
 and with clinched teeth : 
 
 " Well, do you want to know you are a — ! '■ 
 
 He said the word. And he was going off, when she hastened 
 to him, sobbing, taking him in her arms, murmuring tender 
 things, requests for pardon, swearing that she still adored him, 
 and that she would explain everything to him on the morrow. 
 But he disengaged himself, and banged the door of the conser- ' 
 vatory, replying : 
 
 ^' No ! all's over, I've had quite enough of it." 
 
 She remained crushed. She watched him crossing the gar- 
 den. It seemed to her that the trees of the conservatory re- 
 volved round her. Then she slowly dragged her bare feet over 
 the gravel of the pathways, she reascended the steps^ her skin 
 discoloured by the cold, and more tragical than ever amid the 
 disorder of her lace. Upstairs she answered, in reply to the 
 questions of her husband who was waiting for her, that she had 
 thought she could recollect where she had dropped a little note- 
 book she had lost since the morning. And when she was in 
 bed, she suddenly felt immense despair on reflecting that she 
 ought to have told Maxime that his father, after returning home 
 with her, had followed her into her room to talk to her about 
 some money matter. 
 
 It was on the morrow that Saccard decided to hasten the fin- 
 ish of the Charonne matter. His wife belonged to him ; he had 
 just felt her, soft and inert in his hands, like something that 
 surrenders itself. On the other hand, the line which the Boule- 
 vard du Prince Eugene was to follow was about to be decided 
 upon, and it was necessary that Benee should be despoiled be- 
 fore the approaching expropriation was noised about. Saccard 
 displayed an artist's love in all this affair ; it was with devotion 
 that he watched his plan ripen, and he set his traps with the 
 refinement of a sportsman who prides himself on capturing his 
 game in skiKul fashion. He felt the satisfaction of an expert 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 209 
 
 gamester, of a man who derives a special enjoyment from stolen 
 gain ; he wished to obtain the ground for a crust of bread, and 
 then to give his wife a hundred thousand francs' worth of jewel- 
 lery, amid the joy of the triumph. The simplest operations 
 grew complicated, became black dramas, as soon as he dealt 
 with them ; he became impassioned, he would have beaten his 
 father for five francs. But afterwards he scattered gold in 
 TC^al fashion. However, before obtaining from Renee the ces- 
 sion of her share in the property, he prudently went to probe 
 Larsonneau as to the black-mailing intentions which he had 
 scented in him. His instinct saved him on this occasion. The 
 expropriation agent had imagined, on his side, that the fruit 
 was ripe and that he could pluck it. When Saccard entered 
 the office in the Eue de Rivoli he found his compeer overcome, 
 and showing signs of the most violent despair. 
 
 "Ah ! my friend," murmured Larsonneau, tafimg hold of his 
 hands, " we are lost. I was about to hasten to your place so 
 that we might consiiit together and get out of this horrible 
 scrape." 
 
 While he wrung his arms and tried to sob, Saccard noticed 
 that he had been engaged in signing letters prior to his arrival, 
 and that the signatures were penned with admirable precision. 
 He accordingly looked at him quietly, saying : 
 
 " Bah ! what has befallen us then 1 " 
 
 But the agent did not reply at once ; he had thrown himself 
 into his arm-chair in front of his writing table, and there, with 
 his elbows on the blotting pad and his brow between his hands, 
 he furiously shook his heai. Finally in a husky voice : 
 
 "I have been robbed of the ledger containing the inventory, 
 you know." 
 
 And he related that one of his clerks, a scamp worthy of the 
 galleys, had abstracted a large number of papers among which 
 the famous inventory figured. The worst was that the thief 
 had realized to what use he might turn the document in ques- 
 tion, and he wished to sell it back for a hundred thousand francs. 
 
 Saccard reflected. The story seemed to him altogether too 
 clumsy. Plainly enough Larsonneau did not much care at 
 heart whether he was believed or not. He sought for a simple 
 pretext to make Saccard understand that he wanted a hundred 
 thousand francs in the Charonne affair ; and indeed, that he 
 would, on this condition, return the compromising papers which 
 were in his possession. The bargain seemed too onerous to Sac- 
 
 o 
 
210 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 card. He \^'oul(i willingly have allowed his ex-colleague a share, 
 but he was irritated by the setting of this snare, by this preten- 
 sion to make a dupe of him. On the other hand he was not with- 
 out his apprehensions ; he knew the personage he had to deal 
 with, he knew that he was quite capable of taking the docu- 
 ments to his brother, the minister, w^ho w^ould certainly have 
 paid a price for them so as to stifle any scandal. 
 
 ^' The devil ! " he muttered, sitting down in his turn, " this 
 is a nasty story. And can one see the scamp in question ? " 
 
 *' I will have him sent for," said Larsonneau. ^* He lives close 
 by, in the Eue Jean-Lantier." 
 
 Ten minutes had not elapsed when a little young fellow with 
 a squint, light hair, and a face covered with freckles,, stepped 
 softly intt) the room, taking care that the door should not make 
 a noise. He wore an old black frock coat, too large for him and 
 hoiTibly thread-bare. He remained standing at a respectful 
 distance, quietly looking at Saccard out of the corner of his eye. 
 Larsonneau, who called him Bapti^in, made him undergo an in- 
 terrogatory, to which he replied in monosyllables without hum- 
 bling himself the least in the world; indeed he accepted with 
 the utmost indifference the epithets of thief, swindler and scoun- 
 drel, w^hich his master thought ^fit to adjoin to each of his 
 questions. 
 
 Saccard admired this w^retched fellow's coolness. At one mo- 
 ment the expropriation agent sprang from his arm-chair as if to 
 strike him ; and he contented himself with retreating a step, 
 squinting with still more humility. 
 
 '' That will do, leave him alone," said the financier. 
 " And so, sir, you demand a hundred thousand francs for the 
 papers." 
 
 " Yes, a hundred thousand francs," replied the young man. 
 
 And he went off. Larsonneau seemed unable to calm himself. 
 
 "What a blackguard, eh*?" he stammered. "Did you see 
 his underhand looks ? Fellows of that stamp have a timid air, 
 but they would murder a man for twenty francs." 
 
 Saccard however interrupted him, saying : 
 
 " Pooh ! he isn't terrible. I think one will be able to arrange 
 matters with him — I came to see you about a much more worry- 
 ing affair — You were right in mistrusting my wife, my dear 
 friend. Just fancy, she's gding to sell her share of the property 
 to Monsieur Haffner. She needs money, she says. Her friend 
 Suzanne must have influenced her." 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 211 
 
 The other abruptly ceased despah'hig ; he listened, rather 
 pale, readjusting his stick-up collar, which had become bent 
 during his fit of anger. 
 
 " This sale," continued Saccard, '^ means the ruin of our hopes. 
 If Monsieur HafFner becomes your fellow-partner, not only will 
 our profits be compromised, but I am dreadfully afraid that we 
 shall find ourselves in a most disagreeable position towards that 
 over-scrupulous fellow^ who will want to go over the accounts." 
 
 The expropriation agent began walking about wdth an agi- 
 tated step, his patent leather boots creaking on the carpet. 
 
 " You see," muttered he, ^^ in what a position one puts one- 
 self to oblige people ! But, my dear fellow, if I were in your 
 place, I should absolutely prevent my wife from doing anything 
 so foolish. I would beat her sooner." 
 
 " Ah ! my friend 1 " said the financier with a wily smile, *' I 
 have no more power over my wife than you seem to have over 
 that blackguard of a Baptistin." 
 
 Larsonneau stopped short in front of Saccard, who was still 
 smiling, and gazed at him w^ith a profound air. Then he resumed 
 walking up and down, but with a slow measured step. He ap- 
 proached a looking glass, pulled up the bow of his necktie, and 
 then walked on again, regaining his usual elegant manner. 
 And suddenly : 
 
 '^ Baptistin ! " he cried. 
 
 The little young fellow who squinted came in, but by another 
 door. He no longer carried his hat, but twisted a pen between 
 his fingers. 
 
 '^ Go and fetch the ledger," said Larsonneau to him. 
 
 And when the clerk was no longer there, the agent discussed 
 the sum that was to be given him. 
 
 ^' Do it for me," he ended by plainly saying. 
 
 Thereupon Saccard consented to give thirty thousand francs 
 out of the future profits of the Charonne affair. He considered 
 that he still escaped cheaply from the usurer's gloved hand. 
 The latter had the promise made out in his name, prolonging 
 the comedy to the end, and stating that he w^ould be account- 
 able to the young man for the thirty thousand francs. It was 
 with a laugh of relief that Saccard burnt the ledger page by 
 page at the fire flaming in the grate. Then, this operation 
 over, he exchanged vigorous hand shakes with Larsonneau, and 
 left him saying : 
 
 *' You are going to Laure's this evening, aren't youl Wait 
 
212 • THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 for me there. I shall have arranged everything with my wife, 
 we will decide on our final plans." 
 
 Laure d'Aurigny, who often moved, then resided in a large 
 apartment on the Boulevard Haussmann, in front of the Expia- 
 tory Chapel. She had just fixed one day a week to be at home, 
 like a lady of real society. It was a manner of assembling on 
 the same occasion, the men Avho saw her, one by one, during 
 the week. Aristide Saccard triumphed on Tuesday evenings ; 
 he was the acknowledged protector; and he turned his head 
 with a vague laugh whenever the mistress of the house betrayed 
 him between two doors, by giving one of the gentlemen an ap- 
 pointment for the same night. When he remained there, the 
 last of the set, he lit another cigar, talked business, and joked 
 about the gentleman who was dancing attendance in the street, 
 waiting until he left ; then after calling Laure his '^ dear child," 
 and giving her a little pat on the cheek, he quietly went off 
 by one door while the gentleman came in by another. The 
 secret treaty of alliance which had consolidated Saccard's credit 
 and procured the D'Aurigny two sets of furniture in a month, 
 still continued to amuse them. But Laure wanted a finish to the 
 comedy. This finish, a predetermined one, w^as to consist in a 
 public rupture, to the profit of some fool who would pay dearly 
 for the right of being the serious protector, known as such to 
 all Paris. The fool was found. The Duke_de Kozan, tired of 
 uselessly boring the women of the same social standing as him- 
 self, dreamt of acquiring the reputation of a debauchee, so as to 
 lend some relief to his insipidjDersoiiality. He was very as- 
 siduous at the Tuesday at homes of Laure, w^hom he had con- 
 quered by his absolute simplicity. Unfortunately, although 
 thirty-five years old, he was still dependent upon his mother, to 
 such a point that he could at the most dispose of merely 
 ten louis at a time. On the evenings when Laure deigned 
 to take his ten louis, pitying herself, and talking of the hun- 
 dred thousand francs she needed, he sighed, and promised 
 her the amount on the day when he would be the master. 
 It was then that she had the idea of putting him on friendly 
 terms with Larsonneau, who was one of her good friends. The 
 two men went to lunch together at Tortoni's ; and at des- 
 sert Larsonneau, while relating his amours with a delicious 
 Spanish beauty, pretended that he knew some money-lenders ; 
 but he strongly advised Bozan never to let himself pass into 
 their hands. This confidential announcement inflamed the 
 
THE RUSH Foil THE SPOIL. 213 
 
 duke, who ended by wringing from his dear friend a promise 
 that he would occupy himself about his ** little affair." He 
 occupied himself about it so well that he was to bring the 
 money on the very evening that Saccard was to meet him at 
 Laure's. 
 
 When Larsonneau arrived, the D'Aurigny's large white and 
 gold drawing-room only contained some fiye or six women, 
 who took hold of his hands, and clung to his neck with a 
 furious outburst of affection. They called him "that big 
 Lar ! " a caressing nickname which Laure had invented. And he 
 in a fluty voice exclaimed : 
 
 "There, that'll do, my little kittens; you will crush my hat." 
 
 They calmed down, and gathered close around him on a couch, 
 while he told them about an attack of indigestion which had be- 
 fallen Sylvia, with whom he had supped the night before. Then 
 drawing a sweetmeat box from the pocket of his dress-coat he 
 offered them some burnt almonds. Meanwhile, Laure came out 
 of her bedroom, and as several gentlemen arrived, she drew 
 Larsonneau into a boudoir 'situated at one end of the drawing- 
 room, from which it was separated by double hangings. 
 
 " Have you got the money 1 " she asked him when they were 
 alone. 
 
 Larsonneau, without replying, bowed in a jocular manner 
 and tapped the inner pocket of his coat. 
 
 "Oh 1 you big Lar ! " murmured the delighted young woman. 
 
 She took him round the waist and kissed him. 
 
 " Wait a bit," she said, " I want the flimsies— Eozan is in 
 my room, I will go and fetch him." 
 
 But he detained her, and, in his turn, kissing her shoulders : 
 
 " You know what commission I asked of ^ou." 
 
 "Why, yes, you big stupid, it's agreed." 
 
 She came back bringing Rozan. Larsonneau was dressed 
 more correctly than the duke, with better fitting gloves, and a 
 more artistic bow to his necktie. They negligently touched 
 hands, and talked about the races of two days before, at which 
 one of their friends had had a horse beaten. Laure stamped 
 impatiently. 
 
 "Come, never mind all that, my darling," said she to 
 Eozan. "Big Lar has the money, you know. The affair 
 had better be settled." 
 
 Larsonneau pretended to remember. 
 
 " A.h, yes, it's true," he said, " I have the amount— But how 
 
214 THE HUSK FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 mucli better you would have done had you listened to me, my 
 dear fellow ! To think that these rogues demanded fifty per 
 cent of me. However I agreed to it all the same, as you told 
 me that it didn^t matter." 
 
 Laure d'Aurigny had procured some bill stamps during the 
 day. But when it was a question of a pen and an inkstand, 
 she looked at the two men with an air of consternation, doubt- 
 ing whether these objects would be found in the place. She 
 wanted to go and look in the kitchen, when Larsonneau drew 
 from his pocket, the pocket containing the sweetmeat box, two 
 marvels, a silver pen-holder which lengthened by means of a 
 screw, and a steel and ebony inkstand, of jewel-like finish and de- 
 licacy. And as Rozan sat down : 
 
 *' Draw the notes to my name," the agent said. *^ I didn't 
 wish to compromise you, you understand 1 We will arrange 
 matters together. Six notes of twenty-five thousaAd francs 
 each, ehV 
 
 Laure counted the flimsies on a corner of the table. Eozan 
 did not even see them. When he had signed and raised his 
 head, they had already disappeared in the young w^oman's pocket. 
 However she came to him and kissed him on both cheeks, which 
 appeared to delight him. Larsonneau looked at them philoso- 
 phically while folding the promissory notes, and replacing the 
 inkstand and pen-holder in his pocket. 
 
 The young woman still had her arms round Eozan's neck, 
 when Aristide Saccard raised a corner of the door-hanging, 
 
 " Well, don't disturb yourselves," he said, laughing. 
 
 The duke blushed. But Laure went to shake the financier's 
 hand, exchanging a wink of intelligence with him. She was 
 radiant. 
 
 "It's done, my dear,'' said she. '^ I warned you of it. You 
 are not too angry with me ? " 
 
 Saccard shrugged his shoulders with a good-natured air. He 
 pulled back the hanging, and drawing aside to allow Laure and 
 the duke to pass, he cried out in an usher's yelping voice : 
 
 ^'The duke, the duchess ! " 
 
 This witticism met with tremendous success. On the mor- 
 row the newspapers repeated it, plainly naming Lauro 
 d'Aurigny, and designating the two men^ by extremely trans- 
 parent initials. The rupture between Aristide Saccard and fat 
 Laure, caused even more of a stir than their pretended amours 
 had done 
 
THE KUSII FOR THE SPOIL. 215 
 
 Saccarcl had let the door curtain fall again amid the burst 
 of gaiety which his jocularity had occasioned in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 '* Ah ! what a good girl ! " said he, turning towards Lar- 
 sonneau. *• She is vicious ! It's you, you scamp, who no 
 doubt profits by all this. What are you to have 1 " 
 
 But the agent protested, with smiles, and pulled down his 
 shirt-cuffs, which had caught up under the sleeves of his coat. 
 At last he w^ent and sat down near the door, on a couch to 
 which Saccard motioned him : 
 
 " Come here, I don't want to confess you, dash it all ! Let us 
 now deal with serious matters, my dear fellow. I have bad a 
 long talk with my wife this evening. Everything is decided." 
 
 ^' She consents to cede her share in the property T' asked 
 Larsonneau. 
 
 " Yes, but it wasn't without trouble on my part — Women are 
 so obstinate ! My wife, you know, had promised an old aunt not 
 to sell the ground. There was no end to her scruples. Luckily, 
 however, I had prepared quite a decisive story." 
 
 He rose up to light a cigar at the candelabrum which Laure 
 had left on the table, and returning and stretching himself 
 languidly on the couch : 
 
 " I told my wife," he continued, ^^ that you were completely 
 ruined — You had gambled at the Bourse, spent your money 
 with harlots, dabbled in bad speculations ; in fact you are on 
 the point of ending by a frightful bankruptcy — I even let it 
 be understood that I did not consider you perfectly honest — 
 Then I explained to her that the Charomie affair would be 
 wrecked in your fall, and that the best course would be for her 
 to accept the proposal you had made to me to disengage her, 
 by buying her share, for a crust of bread, it's true." 
 
 " It isn't an able story," muttered the expropriation agent. 
 " Do you fancy your wife will believe such trash 1 " 
 
 Saccard smiled. He was in a disposition to be communi- 
 cative. 
 
 '^ You are simple, my dear fellow," he resumed. '' The basis 
 of the story is of little consequence ; the details, gestures and 
 tone of voice are everything. Call Eozan and I bet I will per- 
 suade him that it is broad daylight. My wife has scarcely any 
 more brains than Eozan — I let her have a glimpse of a preci- 
 pice. She hasn't the least idea of the coming expropriation. 
 As she was astonished, that in the midst of a catastrophe, 
 
210 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 you could thiiilv of taking a still heavier burden on your 
 shoulders, I told her that no doubt she hampered you in deal- 
 ing some ugly blow intended for your creditors. Finally, I ad- 
 vised the transaction as the only means of avoiding being 
 mixed up in interminable law suits, and of deriving some 
 money from the ground." 
 
 Larsonneau still considered tlie story somewhat brutal. His 
 method was less dramatic ; each of his operations was con- 
 cocted and unravelled with the elegance of a drawing-room 
 comedy. 
 
 " I should have imagined something different," he said. 
 " However, everyone his own system. So all we have to do now 
 is to pay — " 
 
 ^^ It is on this point," replied Saccard, " that I want to make 
 arrangements with you. To-morrow I will take the deed of 
 sale to my wife, and she will simply have to send you this 
 deed to receive the stipulated amount. I prefer to avoid any 
 interview." 
 
 He had indeed never allowed Larsonneau to visit them on a 
 footing of intimacy. He did not invite him to his entertain- 
 ments, and he accompanied him to Eenee's on the days when it 
 w^as absolutely necessary that they should meet ; this had 
 happened on three occasions at the utmost. He almost always 
 transacted matters with a power of attorney from his wife, 
 not wishing to let her see too closely into his affairs. 
 
 He now opened his pocket-book, adding : 
 
 " Here are the two hundred thousand francs' worth of bills 
 accepted by my wife ; you will give them her in payment, and 
 you will add to them a hundred thousand francs which I will 
 bring you to-morrow morning. I am bleeding myself, my dear 
 friend. This business will cost me a fortune." 
 
 '^ But that will only make three hundred thousand francs," 
 remarked the expropriation agent. "Will the receipt be for 
 that amount 1 " 
 
 " A receipt for three hundred thousand francs ! " rejoined 
 Saccard, laughing. ' ' Ah ! in that case w^e should be nicely placed 
 later on ! According to our inventories, the property must now 
 be estimated at two millions five hundred thousand francs. 
 The receipt will naturally be for half that amount." 
 
 " Yom wife will never sign it." 
 
 " Yes, she will. I tell you that it is all agreed. Why, dash 
 it all ! I told her that that was your first condition. You present 
 
THE RUSH roil THE SPOIL. 217 
 
 a pistol at our heads with your bankruptcy, do you understand ? 
 And it was for that reason that I appeared to doubt your honesty, 
 and accused you of wanting to dupe your creditors. Do you 
 think my wife understands anything of all that *? " 
 
 Larsonneau shook his head, muttering : 
 
 " No matter, you ought to have devised something simpler." 
 , "But my story is simplicity itself ! " said Saccard, very much 
 astonished. '' How the devil do you find it complicated'? " 
 
 He was not conscious of the incredible number of devices 
 which he tacked on to the most ordinary transaction. He de- 
 rived real enjoyment from the cock-and-bull story which he had 
 just told Eenee ; and what delighted him was the impudence of 
 the lie, the piling up of impossibilities, the astonishing complicacy 
 of the plot. He would long since have had the ground if he 
 had not imagined all this drama ; but he would have experi- 
 enced less enjoyment had he obtained it easily. Besides, he 
 displayed the utmost simplicity in making the Charonne specu- 
 lation quite a financial melodrama. 
 
 He rose up, and taking Larsonneau's arm, walked towards 
 the drawing-room : 
 
 " You have perfectly understood me, eh 1 " he said. ^^ Con- 
 tent yourself with following my instructions, and you will 
 applaud me later on. Do you know, my dear fellow, you do 
 wrong to wear yellow gloves, they quite spoil your hands." 
 
 The expropriation agent contented himself with smihng 
 and murmuring : 
 
 "Oh! gloves have their value, dear master : one can touch 
 anything without dirtying oneself.'' 
 
 As they returned into the drawing-room, Saccard was sur- 
 prised and somewhat alarmed to find Maxime on the other side 
 3f the door curtains. He was seated on a couch beside a fair- 
 haired woman, who w^as telling him, in a monotonous voice, a 
 [ong story, no doubt her own. The young fellow had, in point 
 3f fact, overheard the conversation between his father and 
 Larsonneau. The two accomplices seemed to him to be a pair 
 )f sharp blades. Still vexed by Eenee's betrayal, he tasted a 
 cowardly enjoyment in learning the theft of which she was about 
 )0 be the victim. It avenged him a little. His father came 
 ind shook his hand with a suspicious air ; but Maxime, showing 
 aim the fair-haired woman, whispered in his ear : 
 
 ^^ She isn't bad looking, is she ^ I mean to have her this 
 ivening." 
 
218 THE TvUSIT FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Thereupon Saccard attitudinized, and showed himself gallant. 
 Laure d'Aurigny came and joined them for a moment. She 
 complained that Maxime scarcely paid her one visit a month. 
 But he pretended that he had been very much occupied, which 
 statement made everybody laugh. He added that in future he 
 should be here, there and everywhere. 
 
 ^' I have written a tragedy," said he, " and I only hit on the 
 fifth act last night — I now mean to rest myself at the abodes of 
 all the pretty w^omen in Paris.'' 
 
 He laughed and enjoyed his allusions which he alone could 
 understand. However, the only other persons now re- 
 maining in the drawing-room w^ere Kozan and Larsonneau, on 
 either corner of the "mantel-piece. The Saccards rose up, as 
 well as the fair-haired woman who lived in the house. The 
 D'Aurigny then went to speak in a low tone to the duke. He 
 seemed surprised and vexed. Seeing that he did not make up 
 his mind to leave his arm-chair : 
 
 "No, really, not this evening," she said in an undertone, 
 "I've a headache ! To-morrow evening, I promise you." 
 
 Kozan had to obey. Laure waited till he was on the landing 
 and then said quickly in Larsonneau's ear : 
 
 " Eh ! big Lar, I keep my word. Shove him into his 
 carriage." 
 
 When the fair-haired w^oman took leave of the gentlemen to 
 return to her rooms on the floor above, Saccard was surprised 
 that Maxime did not follow her. 
 
 " Well ? " he asked him. 
 
 '^ Well, no," replied the young fellow. " I've reflected — " 
 
 And he had an idea which he thought a very funny one : 
 
 " I abandon my rights to jpu, if you like. Make haste, she 
 hasn't yet shut her door." 
 
 But his father gently shrugged his shoulders, saying : 
 
 "Thanks, youngster, I've something better than that for the 
 time being." 
 
 The four men went down. Outside, the duke absolutely 
 wished to take Larsonneau wdth him in his carriage. His 
 mother lived in the Marais, and he would have dropped the ex- 
 propriation agent at his door in the Eue de Eivoli. The 
 latter refused, however, shut the carriage door himself, and 
 told the coachman to drive off. And he then lingered on the 
 side-walk of the Boulevard Haussmann, talking with the two 
 others instead of going away. 
 
THE RUSH FOU THE SPOIL. 219 
 
 '^ All, poor Kozan ! " said Saccard, who suddenly understood 
 the truth. 
 
 Larsonneau swore that it was not so, that he didn't care a 
 fig for all that, that he w^as a practical man. And as the other 
 two continued joking, and the cold was very keen, he finished 
 by exclaiming : 
 
 '^ Ton my word, so much the w^orse ; I'm going to ring ! 
 You are indiscreet, gentlemen." 
 
 " Good night ! " called Maxime, as the door closed again. 
 
 And taking his father's arm he went up the Boulevard with 
 him. It was one of those clear, frosty nights when it is so agree- 
 <ih\Q to walk on the hard ground, in the icy atmosphere. 
 Saccard remarked that Larsonneau was wrong, that it was pre- 
 ferable to be simply the D'Aurigny's comrade. He started from 
 this point to declare that the love of these women was really 
 pernicious. He showed himself moral, and hit upon sentences 
 and advice of astonishing wisdom. 
 
 **You see," said he to his son, "all that only lasts for a 
 time, my good fellow. A man loses his health at it, and doesn't 
 taste real happiness. You know that I'm not a puritan. All 
 the same^ I've had quite enough of it ; I'm going to settle 
 down." 
 
 Maxime chuckled ; he stopped his farther and gazed at him by 
 the moonlight, declaring that he had a fine head. But Saccard 
 became still more grave. 
 
 " Joke as much as you like. I repeat to you that there is 
 nothing like married life to preserve a man and make him 
 happy." 
 
 Thereupon he spoke of Louise. And he began walking more 
 slowly so as to settle that matter, he said, since they were 
 talking of it. Everything was fully arranged. He even in- 
 formed Maxime that he and Monsieur de Mareuil had fixed the 
 signing of the contract for the Sunday following the Mid-Lent 
 Thursday. On that Thursday there was to be a grand party at 
 the mansion in the Pare Monceaux, and he could profit by the 
 occasion to make a public announcement of the marriage. 
 Maxime considered all this to be very satisfactory. He had 
 rid himself of Renee, he saw no more obstacles, and he surren- 
 dered himself to his father, as he had surrendered himself to 
 his step-mother. 
 
 " Well, it's understood," said he. " Only don't talk about it 
 to Benee. Her friends would twit and tease me, and I prefer 
 
220 THE KUSII KOK THE SPOIL. , 
 
 that tlicy should know the news at the same time as everyone 
 else." 
 
 Saccard promised him to keep silent. Then, as they ap-- 
 preached the top of the Boulevard Malesherbes he again gave 
 him a quantity of excellent advice. He told him how he ought 
 to act to make his home a paradise. 
 
 " Above everything never break off with your wife. It's folly, 
 A wife with whom you no longer have connection costs you a! 
 fortune. In the first place a man has to pay some harlot, 
 hasn't he "? Then the expenditure is much greater at home : 
 there are dresses, madame's private pleasures, her dear friends, 
 the devil and all his train." 
 
 He was in a moment of extraordinary virtue. The success of' 
 his Charonne affair had set idyllic tenderness in his heart. 
 
 *^ I," he continued, "was born to live happy and ignored 
 in the depths of some village with all my family around me. 
 People don't know me, my little fellow\ I seem to be very 
 flighty. But in reality not at all, I should adore remaining 
 near my wife, I w^ould willingly abandon my affairs for a modest 
 income which would enable me to retire to Plassans. You are 
 about to become rich, make yourself a home with Louise in 
 which you will live like two turtle-doves. It's so nice ! I will go 
 to see you. It will do me good." 
 
 He ended by having sobs in his voice. Meanwhile they had 
 reached the iron gate of the mansion, and stood talking on the 
 curb of the side-walk. A sharp north-east wind swept over 
 these Parisian heights. Not a sound arose in the pale night, --I 
 white with frost. Maxime, surprised by his father's sentimen- 
 tality, had for a moment past had a question on his lips. 
 
 ''" But you," he said at last, " it seems to me — " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " As regards your wife ! " 
 
 Saccard shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Eh ! quite so ! I was a fool. That's why I speak to you 
 by experience — However we have become husband and wife 
 again, oh ! quite so. It happened nearly six weeks ago. I go 
 and join her of an evening when I don't return home too late. 
 To-night however the poor ducky must dispense with me ; I have 
 to work till daylight. She has such an awfull}^ fine figure ! " 
 
 As Maxime held out his hand to his father the latter de- 
 tained him, and added in a lower key, in a confidential tone : 
 
 *^You know Blanche Mtiller's figure, well, it's that, but ten 
 
THE KIJSH FOR THE SPOIL, 221 
 
 times more supple. And such hips ! They have a curve, a 
 dehcacy — " 
 
 And then he concluded by saying to the young fellow who 
 'was going off : 
 
 " You are like me,, you have a heart, your wife will be happy. 
 Good-bye youngster ! '* 
 
 When Maxime had at last rid himself of his father, he went 
 rapidly round the park. What he had just heard surprised him 
 so much, that he experienced an irresistible desire to see Eenee. 
 He wished to ask her forgiveness for his brutality, to find out 
 why she had lied to him in naming Monsieur de SafFre, and 
 to learn the story of her husband's tenderness. He thought of 
 all this confusedly, however, with but the one distinct wish 
 to smoke a cigar in her room and renew their comradeship. 
 Providing she were well disposed he would even announce his 
 marrriage to her, so as to make her understand that their amours 
 must remain dead and buried. When he had opened the little 
 door, the key of which he had fortunately retained, he ended by 
 saying to himself that after his father's confidential revelations, 
 his visit was necessary and quite proper. 
 
 In the conservatory he whistled as he had done the night 
 before ; but he did not have to wait. Renee came to open the 
 glass door of the little drawing-room, and went upstairs before 
 him without speaking a word. She still wore a dress of white 
 tulle forming puffs and covered with satin bows; the tails 
 of the satin body were edged with a broad band of white jet 
 which the light of the candelabra tinged with blue and pink. When 
 Maxime looked at her upstairs he was touched by her pallor and 
 the deep emotion which deprived her of her voice. She could 
 not have been expecting him, she still quivered all over at seeing 
 him arrive as quietly as usual, with his coaxing air. Celeste 
 returned from the wardrobe, where she had gone to fetch a 
 night-gown, and the lovers remained silent, deferring their ex- 
 planation until the girl had withdrawn. As a rule they did not 
 inconvenience themselves in her presence; but the things which 
 they felt upon their lips filled them with a kind of shame. 
 Renee would have Celeste undress her in the bed-room, where 
 there was a large fire. The chamber-maid removed the pins, 
 took off each article of finery, one by one, without hurrying 
 herself. And Maxime, feeling bored, mechanically took up the 
 chemise which was lying on a chair beside him, and warmed it 
 in front of the flames, leaning forward with his arms apart. It 
 
222 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 was lie who used to render Ilenee this little service in happy timesj 
 and she felt moved when she saw him delicately holding the 
 gown to the fire. Then as Celeste show^ed no signs of finishing! 
 the young fellow asked : 
 
 '• Did you enjoy yourself at the ball 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! no, it's always the same thing you know," answered[ 
 Eenee. "^ A great deal too many people, a perfect crush." 
 
 Maxime turned the night-gown, which was now warm on one! 
 side. 
 
 " What did Adeline wear 1 " he asked. 
 
 ^^ A mauve dress, rather awkwardly devised. Although she m 
 short she is mad on flounces." 
 
 They then talked about the other w^omen. Maxime was now] 
 burning his fingers with the gown. 
 
 " But you will scorch it," said Renee whose voice was mater- 
 nally caressing. 
 
 Celeste took the gown from the young fellow's hands. He 
 rose up, and went to look at the large pink and grey bed, fixing 
 his eyes upon one of the bouquets embroidered on the curtains,! 
 so as to be able to turn his head, and not see Renee's bare 
 bosom. It was instinctive. He no longer considered himself' 
 her lover, so he no longer had the right to look. Then he drew I 
 a cigar from his pocket and lighted it. Renee had given him | 
 permission to smoke in her apartments. At last Celeste retired, 
 leaving the young woman by the fireside, quite white in her 
 night attire. 
 
 Maxime walked about for a few moments longer^ silent, and^ 
 looking out of the corner of his eye at Renee who seemed to be 
 again seized with a shudder. Then stationing himself in front 
 of the mantel-piece with his cigar between his teeth, he asked 
 in a curt voice : 
 
 ^' Why didn't you tell me that it w^as my father who was with ^ 
 you last night ? " 
 
 She raised ber head, his eyes dilated with supreme anguish 
 then a rush of blood crimsoned her face, and, overwhelmed with : 
 shame, she hid it wath her hands and stammered : 
 
 " You know that ? you know^ that *? " 
 
 Regaining her self-possession she tried to lie ; 
 
 " It's not true—Who told it you 1 " 
 
 Maxime shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 '^ Why my father himself, who considers you nicely formed, 
 and talked to me about your hips." 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 223 
 
 He had allowed a little vexation to show itself while saying 
 this ; but he now began walking about again, continuing in a 
 chiding but friendly voice, between two puffs of smoke : 
 
 '^ Eeally now I don't understand you. You are a singular 
 woman. It was your fault if I was rude yesterday. If you 
 had told me that it was my father, I should have gone off quietly, 
 you understand ? I have no right — But you go and name 
 Monsieur de SafFre to me ! " 
 
 She was sobbing, with her hands over her face. He drew 
 near, knelt down before her, and forcibly drew her hands aside. 
 
 '' Come, tell me why you named Monsieur de SafFre?" he said. 
 
 Then, still averting her head, she answered in a low tone, 
 amid her tears : 
 
 " I thought that you would leave me, if you knew that your 
 father—" 
 
 He rose to his feet, took up his cigar which he had laid on a 
 corner of the mantel-shelf, and contented himself with muttering : 
 
 ^' Ycu are very funny, really ! '' 
 
 She no longer cried. The flames of the grate and the 
 fire of her cheeks were drying her tears. Her astonish- 
 ment at seeing Maxime so calm in presence of a revelation 
 which, she had thought, was bound to crush him, made her 
 forget her shame. She looked at him as he walked about ; she 
 listened to him speaking, as if she had been in a dream. 
 Without abandoning his cigar, he repeated to her that she was 
 unreasonable, that it was quite natural she should have con- 
 nection with her husband, and that he really could not think of 
 resenting it. But to go and confess that she had a lover when 
 it was not true ! And he constantly returned to that point, 
 which he could not understand, and w^hich seemed really 
 monstrous to him. He talked about women's *'mad imagi- 
 nations. '^ 
 
 ^* You are a little bit cracked, my dear," he said, '"'you must 
 take care." 
 
 Then he ended by asking inquisitively : 
 
 " But why Monsieur de SafFre rather than anyone else ? " 
 
 " He courts me," said Eenee. 
 
 Maxime restrained an impertinent remark ; he had been on 
 the point of saying that she had fancied herself a month older 
 on owning that Monsieur de Saffre was her lover. However, he 
 merely gave expression to the evil smile which this spiteful idea 
 prompted, and throwing his cigar into the fire, he went and sat 
 
224 THE RUSH FOR THE >SP01L. 
 
 down on the other side of the mantel-shelf. There he talked 
 reason, and gave Renee to understand that they ought to 
 remain good friends. The young woman's fixed gaze certainly 
 embarrassed him somewhat; he did not dare to announce his 
 marriage to her. She contemplated him for a long time, her 
 eyes still swollen by her tears. She found him petty, narrow- 
 minded, despicable, but she still loved him with the same i 
 tenderness that she felt for her lace. He looked pretty in 
 the light of the candelabra placed on the corner of the mantel- 
 shelf beside him. As he threw his head back, the light of 
 the candles gilded his hair and glided over his face, amid the 
 soft down of his cheeks, with a charming aurulent effect. 
 
 "All the same I must be off," said he several times. 
 
 He had quite decided not to stop. Besides, Renee would not 
 have allowed it. They both thought it, and said it : they were 
 now nothing more than two friends. When Maxime had at 
 last pressed the young woman's hand, and was on the point of 
 leaving the room, she detained him for another moment by 
 speaking to him about his father, upon whom she bestow^ed 
 great praise. 
 
 " You see, I felt too much remorse," she said. " I prefer 
 that this should have happened. You don't know your father : 
 I was astonished to find him so kind, so disinterested. The 
 poor fellow has such great worries just now ! " 
 
 Maxime looked at the tips of his boots without replying, and 
 with an embarrassed air. She dwelt on the subject. 
 
 " As long as he did not come into this room, it was all the « 
 same to me. But afterwards — When I saw^ him here so 
 affectionate, bringing me money which he must have picked up 
 in all the corners of Paris, ruining himself for me without a 
 
 murmur, I felt ill If you knew how carefully he has 
 
 watched over my interests ! " 
 
 The young fellow returned softly to the mantel-piece, and 
 leant against it. He remained embarrassed, with bowed head 
 and a smile gradually rising to his lips. 
 
 " Yes," muttered he, " my father is very skilful in watching 
 over people's interests." 
 
 His tone of voice astonished Renee. She looked at him, and 
 he, as if to defend himself, added : 
 
 " Oh ! I know nothing. I only say that my father is a skilful 
 man." 
 
 " You would do wrong to speak ill of him," she rejoined. 
 
THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 225 
 
 " You must judge him rather superficially. If I acquainted you 
 with all his worries, if I repeated to you what he confided to 
 me again this evening, you would see how mistaken people are, 
 when they think he cares for money." 
 
 Maxime could not restrain a shrug of the shoulders. He 
 interrupted his step-mother with an ironical laugh. 
 
 " Ah, I know him, I know him well," he said. '^ He must 
 have told you some very pretty things. Eelate them to me." 
 
 This tone of raillery wounded her. She then enlarged upon 
 her praises ; she considered her husband quite a great man ; she 
 talked about the Charonne affair, that piece of jobbery of which 
 she had understood nothing, as about a catastrophe in which 
 Saccard's intelligence and kindness had been revealed to her. 
 She added that she should sign the deed of cession on the 
 morrow, and that if this affair were really a disaster, she 
 accepted it in punishment for her sins. Maxime let her go on, 
 sneering and looking at her slyly ; then he said, in an under- 
 tone : 
 
 " That's it ; that's just it." 
 
 And raising his voice, and settling his hand on Eenee's 
 shoulder : 
 
 ^* Thanks, my dear, but I already know the story. You are 
 of nice composition ! " 
 
 He again seemed to be on the point of leaving, but he felt 
 a furious itching to tell Kenee everything. She had exas- 
 perated him with her praises of her husband, and he forgot that 
 he had promised himself not to speak, so as to avoid anything 
 disagreeable. 
 
 ^' What ! what do you mean 1 " she asked. 
 
 *' Why, that my father has * done ' you in the prettiest way 
 in the world. 1 really pity you— you are too much of a 
 simpleton ! " 
 
 And he then cowardly, craftily, related to her what ne had 
 heard at Laure's — tasting a secret delight in descending into 
 these infamies. It seemed to him that he was taking his 
 revenge for a vague insult which some one had just addressed 
 to him. With his harlot's temperament he lingered beatifically 
 over this denunciation, over this cruel chatter of what he had 
 overheard behind a door. He spared Eenee nothing, neither 
 the money which her husband had lent her usuriously nor 
 that which he meant to steal from her, with the help of 
 ridiculous stories fit to send children to sleep. The young 
 
 P 
 
226 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 woman listened to him, very pale and with chnched teeth. 
 Standing in front of the chimney-piece, she sHghtly lowered her 
 head, and looked at the fire. Her night dress, the gown which 
 Maxime had warmed, spread out, revealing the motionless, 
 statue-like wliiteness of her limbs. 
 
 ^^ I tell all this," continued the young man, " so that you 
 may not seem to be a fool. But you would do wrong to get 
 angry with my fatlier. He isn't wicked. He has his failings 
 like every one. Till to-morrow, eh ? " 
 
 He still advanced towards the door. But Een^e stopped him 
 with a sudden gesture : 
 
 " Stay ! " she cried, imperiously. 
 
 And taking hold of him, drawing him to her, almost seating 
 him on her knees in front of the fire, she kissed him on the 
 lips, saying: 
 
 " Ah, well ! it would be too stupid to put ourselves to in- 
 convenience now. Don't you know that my head has no longer 
 seemed to belong to me since yesterday, since you wanted to 
 break ofi"? I am like an idiot. At the ball to-night I had a 
 fog before my eyes. It is because I cannot now live quite with- 
 out you. When you leave me I shall be done for. Don't laugh ; 
 I tell you what I feel." 
 
 She looked at him with infinite tenderness, as if she had not 
 seen him for a long time. 
 
 "You found the word," she continued. "I was a simpleton. 
 Your father would have made me see stars in broad daylight. 
 Did I know anything about it ? While he was telling me his 
 story, I only heard a loud buzzing, and I was so crushed that, 
 if he had chosen, he could have made me go down on my knees 
 to sign his papers. And I fancied to myself that I felt remorse- 
 ful — I was really as stupid as that ! " 
 
 She burst out laughing, and gleams of folly shone in her eyes. 
 Pressing her lover still more tightly, she went on : 
 
 "Do we sin, we two? We love each other, we amuse our- 
 selves as it pleases us. Everyone has come to that, . i "^ You 
 see your father doesn't put himself out. He likos iPi ; ey, and 
 he takes it wherever he finds it. He's right, it sets m j at my 
 ease. In the first place, I sha'n't sign anything, and then, you 
 will come here every evening. I was afraid that yoa wouldn't, 
 you know, on account of what I told you. But as you don't 
 mind it — Besides, I shall close my door to him now, you 
 understand?" 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 227 
 
 She rose up and lighted the night-light. Maxime hesitated 
 in despair. He realised what a piece of folly he had perpetrated, 
 and he harshly reproached himself for having said too much. 
 How could he announce his marriage now 1 It w^as his fault. 
 The rupture had been accomplished, there had been no need for 
 him to go up into that room again, or especially to prove to the 
 young woman that her husband deceived her. Maxime's anger 
 with himself was increased, as he no longer knew what feeling 
 he had first obeyed. But if for a moment he thought of being 
 brutal a second time, of going away, the sight of Renee, who 
 was letting her slippers fall, lent him invincible cowardice. 
 He felt frightened. He remained. 
 
 On the morrow, when Saccard came to his wife's apartments 
 to make her sign the deed of cession, she quietly answered him 
 that she should not do so, that she had reflected. She did not, 
 however, allow herself even an allusion to the truth ; she had 
 sworn that she would be discreet, for she did not want to create 
 worries for herself, but rather wished to taste the renewal of her 
 amours in peace. The Charonne affair would finish as it could ; 
 her refusal to sign was merely an act of vengeance ; she did not 
 care a fig for the rest. Saccard was on the point of flying into 
 a passion. All his dream crumbled. His other affairs were 
 going from bad to worse. He found himself at the end of his 
 resources, and merely sustained himself by performing miracu- 
 lous feats of equilibrity ; that very morning he had been unable 
 to pay his baker's bill. This did not prevent him, however, 
 from preparing a splendid entertainment for the Mid-Lent 
 Thursday. In presence of Renee's refusal he experienced the 
 white rage of a vigorous man impeded in his work by a child's 
 whim. With the deed of cession once in his pocket, he had 
 relied upon raising funds pending the award of the indemnity. 
 When he had slightly calmed down, and his intelligence had 
 become clear again, his wife's sudden change astonished him ; 
 she must, imdoubtedly, have been advised. He scented a lover. 
 This w^as so clear a presentiment, that he hastened to his sister's 
 to question her, to ask her if she did not know anything about 
 Ilenee's private life. Sidonie showed herself very bitter. She 
 had not forgiven her sister-in-law for the affront she had given 
 her by refusing to see Monsieur de Saffre. So when, by her 
 brother's questions, she understood that the latter accused his 
 wdfe of having a lover, she cried out that she was certain of it. 
 And of her own accord she offered to spy upon 'Hhe turtle 
 
228 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 doves." In that way, the haughty thing would see who it 
 was she had to deal with. Saccard did not habitually seek 
 after disagreeable truths ; his interest alone compelled him to 
 open his eyes, which, as a rule, he wisely kept closed. He 
 accepted his sister's offer. 
 
 " Oh ! be easy, I shall learn everything," said she to him in a 
 voice full of compassion. " Ah ! my poor brother ! Angele 
 would never have betrayed you ! So good, so generous a hus- 
 band ! These Parisian dolls have no hearts. And to think that 
 I never cease giving her good advice ! " 
 
229 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 There was a fancy dress ball at tlie Saccards' on the Mid-Lent 
 Thursday. The great curiosity, however, was the poem of the 
 . " Amours of handsome Narcissus and the nymph Echo " in three 
 tableaux^ which the ladies w^ere to perform. For more than a 
 month the author of this poem, Monsieur Hupel de la None, 
 had been travelling from his Prefecture to the mansion of 
 the Pare Monceaux, so as to superintend the rehea.rsals, and 
 give his opinion on the costumes. He had at first thought of 
 writing his work in verse, but later on he had decided in favour 
 of tableaux vivants ; it was more noble, he said, nearer to antique 
 beauty. 
 
 The ladies no longer slept. Some of them changed their 
 costumes no fewer than three times. There were some inter- 
 minable conferences, over which the prefect presided. The person- 
 age of Narcissus was at first discussed at length. Should a man or 
 a woman personate him ? At last, at the instance of Renee, it 
 was decided that the part should be confided to Maxime, but he 
 \ w^as to be the only man in the tableaux ; and, indeed, Madame 
 de Lauwerens declared that she would never have consented to 
 Lt if "little Maxime had not been so like a real girl." Renee 
 I was to be the nymph Echo. The question of the costumes was 
 I far more complicated. Maxime gave a good lift up to the prefect, 
 { who w^as quite tired out amid nine women, whose mad imagina- 
 tions threatened to grievously impair his conception's purity of 
 lines. If he had listened to them, his Olympus would have 
 worn powder. Madame d'Espanet absolutely wished a dress 
 with a long skirt to hide her somewhat large feet, while Madame 
 Hafiner dreamt of dressing herself in a wild beast's skin. Mon- 
 sieur Hupel de la Noue w^as energetic, and he even turned angry 
 on one occasion ; he was convinced, and he said that if he had 
 renounced versification it was to WTite his poem " in cleverly 
 combined stufis and attitudes selected among the best.'' 
 
 *'The harmony, ladies," repeated he at each fresh exigency, 
 
230 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " you forget the harmony. I can't, however, sacrifice the entire 
 work to the flounces you ask me for." 
 
 The conferences took place in the buttercup drawing-room. 
 Entire afternoons were spent there, deciding on the cut of a 
 skirt. Worms was summoned several times. At last every- 
 thing was settled, the costumes decided on, the positions learnt, 
 and Monsieur Hupel de la Noue declared himself satisfied. 
 The election of Monsieur de Mareuil had given him less 
 trouble. 
 
 The performance of the ^^ Amours of handsome Narcissus and 
 the nymph Echo," was to begin at eleven o'clock. The large 
 drawing-room was already full at half-past ten, and as there was 
 to be a ball afterwards, the ladies were there in costumes, seated 
 in arm-chairs ranged in a semi-circle in front of the improvised 
 stage — a platform, hidden by two broad curtains of red velvet 
 with golden fringe, running on iron rods. The gentlemen 
 stood behind, or moved to and fro. At ten o'clock, the uphol- 
 sterers had struck the last nails home. The platform rose up 
 at the end of the drawing-room, occupying a portion of this 
 long gallery. Access to the stage was obtained by the smoking- 
 room, converted into a green-room for the artistes. In addition, 
 the ladies had at their disposal several apartments on the first 
 floor, where an army of maids prepared the costumes of the 
 different tableaux. 
 
 It was half-past eleven, and the curtains were not yet drawn 
 aside. A loud buzz filled the drawing-room. The rows of arm- 
 chairs were occupied by a most astonishing crowd of marchion- 
 esses, noble dames, milk-maids, Spanish beauties, shepherdesses, 
 and sultanas ; while the compact mass of dress-coats set a large 
 dark stain beside the glistening of light stuffs and bare shoulders, 
 glowing with the bright sparkle of jewellery. The women alone 
 were in costume. It was already warm. The three chandeliers 
 lit up the golden sheen of the drawing-room. 
 
 At last Monsieur Hupel de la None was seen to emerge from 
 an opening on the left hand side of the platform. He had been 
 assisting the ladies since eight o'clock in the evening. His 
 dress-coat bore on the left sleeve the mark of three white fingers — 
 a woman's little hand which had rested there after dabbling in 
 a box of rice powder. But the prefect had something else than 
 the mishaps of his attire to think about ! He had huge eyes, 
 and a swollen and somewhat pale face. He did not seem to see 
 anyone. And advancing towards Saccard, whom he recognised 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 231 
 
 among a group of grave-looking men, he said to him in an under- 
 tone : 
 
 '^Dash it all ! Your wife has lost her girdle of foliage. We 
 are in a pretty pickle ! " 
 
 Re swore, and felt inclined to beat the people around him. 
 Then, without waiting for a reply, without looking at anything, 
 he turned his back, plunged under the draperies again and dis- 
 appeared. The singular apparition of this gentleman made the 
 ladies smile. 
 
 The group amid which Saccard found himself had gathered 
 behind the last row of seats. One arm-chair had even been 
 drawn out of the row for Baron Gouraud whose legs had for 
 some time begun to swell. Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, whom the 
 Emperor had just raised to the Senate, was there with Monsieur 
 de Mareuil, whose second election the Chamber had deigned to 
 accept, and Monsieur Michelin, decorated the day before ; and a 
 little in the rear were Mignon and Charrier, one of whom had a 
 large diamond on his era vat, while the other displayed a still larger 
 one on his finger. The gentlemen chatted together. Saccard 
 left them for a moment to go and exchange a few words with 
 his sister, who had just come in and seated herself between 
 Louise de Mareuil and Madame Michelin. Madame Sidonie 
 was dressed as a sorceress; Louise jauntily wore a page's 
 costume which gave her the air of an urchin ; little Michelin, 
 made up as an alme, smiled in a love-sick manner amid her 
 veils embroidered with golden threads. 
 
 " Do you know anything ] " Saccard softly asked his 
 sister. 
 
 '^ No, nothing as yet," she replied. " But the swain must be 
 here. I will catch them to-night, you may be sure." 
 
 " Inform me at once, eh ] " 
 
 And then Saccard, turning to the right and to the left, com- 
 plimented Louise and Madame Michelin. He compared the 
 latter to one of Mahomet's houris and the former to a mignon 
 of Henri IIT. His Provengal accent seemed to make the whole 
 of his spare strident figure sing with delight. When he re- 
 turned to the group of grave-looking men. Monsieur de Mareuil 
 drew him on one side and spoke to him about the marriage of 
 their children. Nothing was altered, the contract was still to 
 be signed on the following Sunday. 
 
 ** Quite so," said Saccard. " I even mean to announce the 
 marriage to our friends this evening, if you see no impediment — 
 
232 THE RUSH FOB THE SPOIL. 
 
 I am only waiting for my brother, the minister, who has pro- 
 mised to come." 
 
 The new deputy was delighted. However, Monsieur Toutin- 
 Laroche was raising his voice as if he were a prey to lively in- 
 dignation. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen," he was saying to Monsieur Michelin and 
 the two contractors who drew nearer, ^'I was simple enough to 
 let my name be mixed up in such an aifair." 
 
 And as Saccard and De Mareuil joined the group, he added : 
 
 *^I was telling the gentlemen about the deplorable adventure of 
 the Societe Generale of the ports of Morocco, you know, Saccard?" 
 
 The latter did not flinch. The company in question had 
 just collapsed amid a frightful scandal. Over-inquisitive share- 
 holders had wished to know what progress had been made with 
 the establishment of the famous commercial stations on the 
 shores of the Mediterranean, and a judicial inquiry had demon- 
 strated that the ports of Morocco only existed on the plans of 
 the engineers, very handsome plans, hung on the walls of the 
 company's ofiices. Since then. Monsieur Toutin-Laroche cried 
 out even louder than the shareholders, growing indignant and 
 demanding that his name should be restored to him spotless. 
 And he made so much noise, that the government, to calm and 
 rehabilitate this useful man in the eye of public opinion, had 
 decided to send him to the Senate. It was thus that he fished 
 up the much-coveted seat, in an affair which had almost brought 
 him to the police court. 
 
 "You are really too good to occupy yourself about that," 
 said Saccard. " You can show jour great work, the Credit 
 Viticole, an establishment which has come victorious out of 
 every crisis." 
 
 . '' Yes/' murmured De Mareuil, " that is an answer to every- 
 thing." 
 
 Indeed the Credit Viticole had just emerged from great and 
 skilfully concealed embarrassments. A minister who was very 
 kindly disposed towards this financial institution which held the 
 city of Paris by the throat, had brought about a rise on 'change, 
 which Monsieur Toutin-Laroche had turned to advantage mar- 
 vellously well. Nothing titillated him more than the praise 
 bestowed on the prosperity of the Credit Viticole. He usually 
 provoked it. He thanked Monsieur de Mareuil with a glance, 
 and leaning towards Baron Gouraud, on whose arm-chair he 
 was familiarly leaning, he asked him : 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 233 
 
 " You are all right 1 You are not too warm 1 " 
 
 The baron gave a slight grunt. 
 
 "He is breaking up, he breaks up more every day," added 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche turning towards the other gentlemen. 
 
 .'lonsieur Michelin smiled, and from time to time gently 
 lowered his eyelids to look at his red ribbon. Mignou and 
 Charrier, firmly planted on their large feet, seemed much more 
 at ease in their dress-coats since they wore diamonds. How- 
 ever, it was nearly midnight, and the assemblage was growing 
 impatient ; it did not venture to murmur ; but the fans flut- 
 tered more nervously, and the noise of conversation increased. 
 
 At length. Monsieur Hupel de la Noue reappeared. He had 
 just passed one shoulder through the narrow opening when he 
 perceived Madame d'Espanet at length mounting on to the stage; 
 the other ladies already in position for the first tableau had 
 only been waiting for her. The prefect turned round, showing 
 the spectators his back, and he could be seen talking with the 
 marchioness whom the curtains concealed. He lowered his 
 voice, and making complimentary gestures with the tips of his 
 fingers, said : 
 
 " My congratulations, marchioness, your costume is de- 
 licious." 
 
 '* I have a much prettier one underneath ! " cavalierly rejoined 
 the young woman, who laughed in his face, so funny did she 
 find him, buried in this manner among the draperies. 
 
 The audacity of this witticism momentarily astonished the 
 gallant Monsieur Hupel de la Noue ; but he recovered himself, 
 and enjoying the repartee more and more as he gradually 
 fathomed its depths : 
 
 " Ah ! charming ! charming ! " he murmured with a delighted 
 air. 
 
 He let the corner of the curtain fall, and went to join the 
 group of grave looking men, wishing to enjoy his work. He 
 was no longer the scared man running after the nymph Echo's 
 girdle of foliage. He was radiant and panting, wiping his 
 forehead. .He still had the little white hand marked on the 
 sleeve of his coat ; and in addition the glove of his right hand 
 was stained with red at the tip of the thumb ; he had no doubt 
 dipped his thumb into one of the ladies' pots of colour. He 
 smiled, fanned himself with his handkerchief and stammered : 
 
 "She is adorable, lavishing, stupefying — " 
 
 ''Who?" asked Saccard. 
 
234 THE RUSH I^OR THE S1*0IL. 
 
 " The marchioness. Fancy, she just said to me—" 
 
 And he repeated the witticism. It was considered extremely 
 smart. The gentlemen repeated it to one another. Even 
 worthy Monsieur HafFner, who had approached, could not pre- 
 vent himself from applauding. However, a piano which few 
 people had seen, began to play a waltz. There was then deep 
 silence. The waltz had a capricious, interminable roll ; and a 
 very soft phrase ever ascended the keyboard, finishing in a 
 nightingale's trill ; then deeper notes resounded more slowly. 
 It was very voluptuous. The ladies smiled with their heads 
 slightly inclined. The piano had, however, suddenly put a stop 
 to Monsieur Hupel de la Noue's gaiety. He looked at the red ^ 
 velvet curtains with an anxious air, he said to himself that he% 
 ought to have placed Madame d'Espanet in position as he had 
 placed the others. 
 
 The curtains slowly opened, the piano again began the 
 sensual waltz in a minor key. A murmur sped through the 
 drawing-room, the ladies leaned forward, the gentlemen stretched 
 out their necks, whilst admiration displayed itself here and 
 there by a remark, made in too loud a voice, by a spontaneous 
 sigh, or a stifled laugh. This lasted for five long minutes, beneath 
 the blaze of the three chandeliers. 
 
 Monsieur Hupel de la Noue, now reassured, smiled beatifi- 
 cal ly at his poem. He could not resist the temptation of re- 
 peating to the people around him, what he had already been 
 saying for a month past : 
 
 ''^I thought of doing it in verse. But the lines are more 
 noble, eh]" 
 
 Then, while the waltz came and went in an endless lullaby, 
 he gave some explanations. Mignon and Charrier had drawn 
 near and were listening attentively. 
 
 *• You know the subject of coarse 1 Handsome Narcissus, 
 son of the river Cephise and the nymph Liriope, scorns the 
 love of the nymph Echo — Echo belonging to the suite of Juno 
 whom she amused with her speeches while Jupiter visited the 
 world — Echo, daughter of the Air and the Earth, as you 
 know — " 
 
 And he went into transports over the poetry of mythology. 
 Then in a more confidential tone : 
 
 '*I thought I might give rein to my imagination. The; 
 jiymph Echo leads handsome Narcissus before Yenus, in a j 
 marine grotto, so that the goddess may inflame him with her ' 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SROIL. 235 
 
 fire. But the goddess remains powerless. The young man in- 
 dicates by his attitude that he is not touched." 
 
 The explanation was not out of place, for few of the spectators 
 in the drawing-room understood the real meaning of the groups. 
 When the prefect had named the personages in an undertone, 
 the admiration increased. Mignon and Charrier continued 
 staring wdth wide open eyes. They had not understood. 
 
 A grotto was shown on the platform, between the red velvet 
 curtains. The scenery was formed of silk with large irregular 
 plaits imitating rocky anfractuosities on which shells, fish and 
 large sea plants were painted. The broken ground rose up like 
 a hillock, covered with the same silk, on which the scene 
 painter had depicted fine sand constellated with pearls and 
 silver spangles. It was a fitting retreat for a goddess. On the 
 summit of the hillock stood Madame de Lauwerens figuring Venus ; 
 somewhat stout, w^earing her pink tights with the dignity of a 
 duchess of Olympus, she depicted the sovereign of love with 
 large severe, all devouring eyes. Behind her, showing merely 
 her malicious face, her wings and quiver, little Madame Daste 
 lent her smile to that amiable personage Cupid. Then, on one 
 side of the hillock, the three Graces, Mesdames de Guende, 
 Tessiere, and de Meinhold, all in muslin, smiled and entwined 
 each other as in Pradier's group ; whilst on the other side the 
 Marchioness d'Espanet and Madame Hafiiier, enveloped in the 
 same flow of lace, their arms round each other's waists and 
 their hair mingled, lent something suggestive to the tableau, a 
 souvenir_of,Le^os which Monsieur Hupel de la None explained 
 in a lower voice and for the gentlemen only^ saying that he had 
 wished by this to show the full extent of the power of Venus. 
 Below the mound the Countess Vanska personated Voluptuous- 
 ness ; she stretched herself out, twisted by a last spasm, with 
 her eyes half closed and languishing, as if weary ; very dark, 
 she had unloosened her black hair, and her tunic, spotted with 
 tawny flames, was cut so as to allow glimpses of her glowing 
 skin. The scale of colour which the costumes furnished, from 
 the snowy whiteness of Venus's veil to the dark red of Voluptu- 
 ousnesses tunic, was soft, generally pink, and of a fleshy tinge. 
 And under the electric ray, ingeniously cast upon the stage 
 from one of the garden windows, the gauze, the lace, all the 
 light transparent stuffs mingled so well with the shoulders 
 and the lights, that these pinky whitenesses seemed alive, 
 and one no longer knew whether the ladies had not carried 
 
236 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 plastic accuracy to the point of stripping themselves naked. 
 This was but the apotheosis ; the drama was enacted in the 
 foreground. On the left side, Eenee, the nymph Echo, stretched 
 out her arms towards the great goddess, her head half turned 
 in supplicating fashion in the direction of Narcissus, as if to 
 invite him to look at Venus, the mere sight of whom kindles 
 terrible fires ; but Narcissus, on the right, made a 
 gesture of refusal, hid his eyes with his hand and 
 remained icily cold. The costumes of these two personages 
 especially had cost Monsieur Hupel de la Noue's imagination in- 
 finite trouble. Narcissus, as a wandering demi-god of the forests, 
 wore the attire of an ideal huntsm an : greenish tights, a short 
 close-fitting jacket, and a branch of oak in his hair. The dress 
 of the nymph Echo was a complete allegory in itself alone ; it par- 
 took of the higtlrees and lofty mountains, of the resounding 
 spots where tlie'voices of the Earth and Air reply to each other ; 
 it was a rock by the white satin of the skirt, a thicket by the 
 foliage of the girdle, a pure sky by the cloud of blue gauze form- 
 ing the body. And the groups retained the stillness of statues, 
 the carnal note of Olympus resounded in the blaze of the broad 
 ray, while the piano continued its complaint of acute love. 
 
 It was generally considered that Maxime was admirably 
 formed. In making his gesture of refusal he developed his 
 left hip, which was much remarked. But all the praises were 
 for Eenee's expression of face. As Monsieur Hupel de la None 
 remarked, it typified " the pangs of unsatisfied desire. '^ Her face 
 wore an acute smile which tried to become humble, she begged 
 her prey with- the supplication of a hungry she- wolf who lialf 
 hides her teeth. The first tableau went off" very well, save that 
 that madcap of an Adeline moved, and only with difficulty re- 
 strained an intense desire to laugh. At last the curtains closed 
 again and the piano became silent. 
 
 Then the audience applauded discreetly and the conversation 
 was resumed. A great breath of love, of restrained desire, had 
 come from the nudities of the platform, and darted about the 
 drawing-room where the women leaned more languidly on their 
 seats, while the men spoke in low voices in each other's ears, 
 and smiled. There was a whispering as in an alcove, a semi- 
 silence as suited to good society, a longing for voluptuousness, 
 barely expressed by a quiver of lips ; and in the mute looks ex- 
 changed amid this well-mannered delight, there was the brutal 
 boldness of love off'ered and accepted with a glance. 
 
THE HUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 237 
 
 There was no end to the judgments passed on the perfections 
 of the ladies. Their costumes acquired almost as great import- 
 ance as their shoulders. When Mignon and Charrier wished to 
 question Monsieur Hupel de la None, they were greatly sur- 
 prised to see him no longer beside them ; he had already 
 plunged behind the platform again. 
 
 " I was telling you then, my beauty," said Madame Sidonie, 
 resuming a conversation which the first tableau had interrupted, 
 *^ that I had received a letter from London, you know, about 
 the affair of the three milliards. The person whom I had 
 charged to make inquiries writes to me that she thinks she has 
 discovered the banker's receipt. England must have paid in that 
 case. It has made me feel ill all day." 
 
 She was indeed more yellow than usual, in her sorceress's robe 
 dotted with stars. And as Madame Michelin did not listen to 
 her, she continued in a lower voice, muttering that it was im- 
 possible that England could have paid, and that she should de- 
 cidedly go to London herself. 
 
 ** Narcissus's costume is very pretty, isn't it ?" said Louise to 
 Madame Michelin. 
 
 The latter smiled. She looked at Baron Gourand, who seemed 
 quite cheerful again in his arm-chair. Madame Sidonie, per- 
 ceiving the direction of her glance, leant forward and whispered 
 in her ear, so that the child might not hear : 
 
 " Has he kept his engagement % " 
 
 " Yes," replied the young woman, languishing, playing the 
 part of an alme delightfully. '' I have chosen the house at 
 Louveciennes, and I have received the title deeds of it from his 
 man of business. But we have broken off, I no longer see him." 
 
 Louise had particularly sharp ears to catch what one wanted 
 to hide from her. She looked at Baron Gouraud with a page's 
 boldness, and said quietly to Madame Michelin : 
 
 " Don't you think that the baron is frightful ? " 
 
 Then bursting out laughing she added : 
 
 " I say, he ought to have been entrusted with the part of 
 Narcissus. He would be delicious in apple-green tights ! " 
 
 The sight of Yenus, of this voluptuous comer of Olympus, 
 had indeed revived the old senator. He rolled his eyes with 
 delight and turned half round to compliment Saccard. Amid 
 the buzz which filled the drawing-room the group of grave-look- 
 ing men continued talking business and politics. Monsieur 
 Haffner said that he had just been named president of a jury 
 
238 THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 
 
 charged with settling questions of indemnities. Then the con- ; 
 versation turned upon the works of Paris, on the Boulevard du 
 Prince-Eugene, of which the public was beginning to talk ' 
 seriously, Saccard seized the opportunity and spoke of a ' 
 person he knew^, a proprietor who would no doubt be expropriated. 
 The baron softly wagged his head. Monsieur Toutin-Laroche 
 went so far as to declare that there was nothing so disagreeable • 
 as to be expropriated ; Monsieur Michelin assented, and squinted 
 still more in looking at his decoration. 
 
 "The indemnities can never be too high," sententiously con- 
 cluded Monsieur de Mareuil who wished to please Saccard. 
 
 They had understood each other. But Mignon and Charrier 
 now brought their private affairs forward. They meant to re- 
 tire soon, no doubt to Langres, they said, keeping an occasional 
 lodging in Paris. They made the gentlemen smile when they 
 related that after completing the building of their magnificent 
 mansion on the Boulevard Malesherbes, they had found it so 
 handsome that they had not been able to resist the desire to sell 
 it. Their diamonds must have been a consolation which they 
 had offered themselves. Saccard laughed with a bad grace ; 
 his old partners had just realized enormous profits from an 
 affair in which he had played the part of a dupe. And as the 
 interval between the tableau grew longer, phrases of praise about 
 y onus's bosom, and the nymph Echo's dress, were heard amid 
 the conversation of the grave-looking men. 
 
 At the end of a long half hour Monsieur Hupel de la Noue 
 reappeared. He was on the high road of success and the dis- 
 order of his attire increased. As he regained his seat he met 
 Monsieur de Mussy. He shook hands with him in passing; 
 and then he retraced his steps to ask him : 
 
 " You don't know the marchioness's remark ^ " 
 
 And he related it to him, without waiting for his reply. Tt 
 penetrated him more and more ; he criticised it, he ended by 
 finding that it was of exquisite naivete. " I have a much prettier 
 one underneath." It was a cry from the heart ! 
 
 But Monsieur de Mussy was not of this opinion. He con- 
 sidered the remark indecent. He had just been attached to the 
 embassy in England, w^here^ so the minister had told him, the 
 greatest propriety was necessary. He refused to lead the cotillon 
 any more, made himself old, and no longer spoke of his love for 
 Eenee, to whom he bowed gravely when he met her. 
 
 Monsieur Hupel de la Noue was again joining the group, 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 239 
 
 formed behind the baron's arm-chair, when the piano struck up 
 a triumphal march. A loud burst of harmony, produced by bold 
 strokes on the keys, preluded a melody of great amplitude, 
 amid which a metallic clang resounded at intervals. Each phrase 
 as soon as finished was repeated in a louder strain, accentuat- 
 ing the rhythm. It was at once brutal and joyous. 
 
 ''You will see,'' muttered Monsieur Hupel de la None. "I 
 have, perhaps, carried poetical licence rather far ; but I think 
 that my audacity has answered. The nymph Echo, seeing that 
 Venus is powerless over the handsome Narcissus, conducts him 
 to Plutus, the god of wealth and precious metals. After the 
 ten^^ion of the flesh, the temptation of gold." 
 
 " That's classical," replied the lean Monsieur Toutin- 
 Laroche with an amiable smile. " You are well acquainted with 
 your period, my dear prefect." 
 
 The curtains parted, the piano played louder. The effect was 
 dazzling. The electric ray fell upon a flaming splendour, 
 which the spectators at first thought was a brazier in which bars 
 of gold and precious stones seemingly melted. A new grotto 
 was presented, but this one was not the cool retreat of Venus, 
 bathed by the waters which eddied on fine pearl besprinkled 
 sand ; it must have been situated in the bowels of the earth, in 
 some deep fiery stratum, it seemed a fissure of the ancient 
 Hades, a crevice amid a mine of liquescent metals inhabited by 
 Plutus. The silk, simulating the rock, displayed broad metallic 
 lodes, layers which looked like the veins of the old world, 
 teeming with incalculable wealth and the eternal life of the soil. 
 On the ground, by a bold anachronism, w^hich Monsieur Hupel 
 de la None had decided on, there was an avalanche of twenty- 
 franc pieces, louis spread out, louis piled up, a pullulation of 
 ascending louis. On the summit of this heap of gold sat 
 Madame de Guende as Plutus, a female Plutus, a Plutus show- 
 ing her bosom, amid the broad streaks of her dress imitating 
 all the metals. Around the god, erect or reclining, united in 
 bunches, or blooming apart, were grouped the fairy-like efflores- 
 cences of this grotto into which the caliphs of the '' Arabian 
 Nights" had seemingly emptied their treasure. There was 
 Madame Haff'ner as Gold, with a stiff" skirt as resplendent as the 
 robes of a bishop; Madame d'Espanet as Silver, shining like 
 moon-light ; Madame de Lauwerens in warm blue as a Sapphire, 
 having beside her little Madame Daste, a smiling Turquoise, of 
 a tender shade of blue ; then were spread out the Emerald, 
 
240 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Madame de Meinhold, and the Topaz, Madame Teissiere; and 
 lower down, Countess Vanska, lending her dark ardour to 
 Coral, was stretched out with her arms raised and loaded with 
 red drops, similar to some monstrous and adorable polype, 
 which displayed a woman's flesh amid the pink and pearly open- 
 ings of her shell. These ladies wore necklaces, bracelets, complete 
 sets of jewels formed of the precious stone they represented. 
 
 The audience particularly noticed the original jewellery of? 
 Mesdames HafFner and d'Espanet, exclusively composed of 
 little gold and little silver coins, fresh from the mint. In the 
 foreground the drama remained the same : the nymph Echo 
 tempted handsome Narcissus who again refused with a gesture. 
 And the eyes of the spectators grew accustomed with delight to 
 this yawning cavity opening amid the inflamed entrails of the 
 earth, to this pile of gold on which the wealth of a world was 
 wallowing. 
 
 This second tableau met with still more success than the first) 
 one. The idea appeared particularly ingenious. The boldness ' 
 of the twenty-franc pieces, this stream from some modern safe, 
 w^hich had fallen into a corner of Grecian mythology, delighted 
 the minds of the ladies and the financiers who were present. 
 The words, " What a number of coins ! what a quantity of 
 gold ! " sped by, amid smiles and long quivers of satisfaction ; 
 and assuredly, each of the ladies, each of the gentlemen dreamt 
 of having all this money to her or himself, in a cellar. 
 
 " England has paid, those are your milliards," maliciously 
 murmured Louise in Madame Sidonie's ear. 
 
 And Madame Michelin, her mouth slightly parted by delighted 
 desire, threw back her aimers veil and fondled the gold with a 
 sparkling glance, while the group of grave-looking men went into 
 transports. Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, beaming, murmured a 
 few words in the ear of the baron whose face was becoming spotted 
 with yellow stains. But Mignon and Charrier, less discreet, 
 said with brutal simplicity : 
 
 " Dash it all ! there would be enough there to demolish all 
 Paris and rebuild it." 
 
 The remark seemed a profound one to Saccard, who was be- 
 ginning to think that Mignon and Charrier trifled with people 
 in passing themselves off" as fools. When the curtains closed 
 again and the piano finished the triumphal march with a loud 
 noise of notes throw^n one upon the other, like final shovelfuls 
 of crownS; the applause burst forth, louder and more prolonged. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 241 
 
 However, in the middle of the tableau, the minister accom- 
 panied by his secretary, Monsieur de Saffre, had appeared at 
 the door of the drawing-room. Saccard, who was impatiently 
 watching for his brother, wished to dart to meet him. But the 
 latter requested him by a gesture not to stir. And he softly 
 approached the group of grave-looking men. When the cur- 
 tains had closed again, aiid people had perceived him, a long 
 whisper travelled through the drawing-room and all heads were 
 turned round. The minister counterbalanced the success of the 
 " Amours of handsome Narcissus and the nymph Echo." 
 
 '' You are a poet, my dear prefect," he said, smiling to 
 Monsieur Hupel de la None. - " You once published a 
 volume of verse, ' The Convolvuli,' I believe ^ I see that the 
 cares of office have not exhausted your imagination." 
 
 The prefect detected the point of an epigram in this compli- 
 ment. The sudden advent of his superior put him out of coun- 
 tenance, the more as, on giving himself a glance to see if his 
 attire were correct, he perceived on his coat sleeve the little 
 white hand which he did not dare to rub off. He bowed and 
 stammered. 
 
 " Really," continued the minister, addressing himself to 
 Monsieur Toutin-Laroche, Baron Gouraud, and the other per- 
 sonages who were there, '^ all that gold was a marvellous spec- 
 tacle. We should do great things if Monsieur Hupel de la 
 None coined money for us." 
 
 In ministerial language, this was the same remark as Mignon's 
 and Charrier's. Thereupon Monsieur Toutin-Laroche and the 
 others paid their court, and played on the minister's last phrase : 
 the Empire had already accomplished marvels ; there was no 
 lack of gold, thanks to the great experience of those in power ; 
 France had never occupied such a splendid position in the eyes 
 of Europe ; and the gentlemen ended by becoming so servile, 
 that the minister himself changed the conversation. He listened 
 to them with his head erect and the corners of his mouth slightly 
 raised, whereby an expression of doubt and smiling disdain was 
 imparted to his fat, carefully shaven, white face. 
 
 Saccard, who wished to bring about the announcement of the 
 marriage of Maxime and Louise, manoeuvred so as to find a 
 skilful transition. He affected great familiarity, and his brother 
 played the good-natured, and consented to do him the service 
 of seeming to be very fond of him. He was really a superior 
 man, with his clear look, his evident contempt of petty rascali- 
 
242 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 ties, his broad shoulders which could have overturned all these 
 folks with a mere shrug. When the marriage at last came into 
 question he showed himself charming, he let it be understood : 
 that he had his wedding gift ready; he spoke of Maxime's 
 appointment as an auditor of the Council of State. He went 
 so far as to repeat twice to his brother, in a tone of good 
 fellowship : 
 
 " Tell your son that I wish to be his witness." 
 
 Monsieur de Mareuil blushed with delight. Saccard was con- 
 gratulated. Monsieur Toutin-Laroche offered himself as a second 
 witness. Then the group abruptly began talking about divorce. 
 A member of the opposition had just had " the sad courage," 
 said Monsieur Haffner, to defend this social shame. And every 
 one protested. Their sense of propriety furnished them with 
 profound remarks. Monsieur Michelin smiled delicately at the 
 minister, while Mignon and Charrier observed with astonish- 
 ment that the collar of his dress-coat was worn. 
 
 In the meantime Monsieur Hupel de la Noue remained em- 
 barrassed, leaning on the arm-chair of Baron Oouraud, who had 
 contented himself with exchanging a silent hand-shake with the 
 minister. The poet did not dare to leave the spot. An inde- 
 inable feeling, the fear of appearing ridiculous, the fear of los- 
 ing the good-will of his superior, detained him despite his furious 
 desire to go and set the ladies in position on the stage for the 
 last tableau. He waited for some happy remark to occur to 
 him and reinstate him in favour ; but he could think of no- 
 thing, and he was feeling more and more ill at ease when he 
 perceived Monsieur de Saffre; he took his arm and clung to him 
 as to a saving plank. The young man had just arrived, he was 
 quite a fresh victim. 
 
 ^' You don't know the marchioness's remark •? " the prefect 
 asked him. 
 
 Monsieur Hupel de la Noue was so disturbed, however, that 
 he no longer knew how to present the anecdote in a spicy 
 manner ; he floundered : 
 
 *^ I said to her ; ' You have a charming costume/ and she 
 answered — " 
 
 " * I have a much prettier one underneath/ " quietly added 
 Monsieur de Saffre. '' It's old, my dear fellow, very old." 
 
 Monsieur Hupel de la Noue looked at him in consternation. 
 The remark was old, and he had meant to sift his commen- 
 tary on the naivete of this cry from the heart 1 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 243 
 
 " Old, as old as the world/^ repeated the secretary. " Madame 
 d'Espanet has said it twice already at the Tuileries.'^ 
 
 This was the last blow. After that the prefect no longer 
 cared a fig for the minister or the whole drawing-room. He 
 was proceeding towards the platform when the piano began a 
 prelude, in a saddened tone, with trembling notes which seemed 
 bo weep ; then the complaint expanded, dragged on at length, 
 ind the curtains parted. Monsieur Hupel de la Noue, who had 
 dready half disappeared, returned into the drawing-room on 
 bearing the slight grating of the rings. He was pale, exaspe- 
 rated ; he made a violent effort to restrain himself from apos- 
 trophizing the ladies. What 1 they had taken up their positions 
 unassisted ! It must be that little d'Espanet who had fomented 
 1 plot to hasten the change of costume and dispense with him. 
 rhat wasn't it, that was worth nothing at all ! 
 
 He returned, mumbling indistinct words. He looked on to 
 bhe platform, shrugging his shoulders, and murmuring : 
 
 " The nymph Echo is too near the edge — And that leg of 
 [landsome Narcissus, nothing noble in its attitude, nothing 
 aoble at all.^' 
 
 Mignon and Charrier, who had approached him to hear " the 
 explanation,'* ventured to ask "what the young man and the 
 ^oung woman were doing there, lying on the ground." But he 
 iid not answer, he refused to explain any more of his poem ; 
 xnd as the contractors insisted : 
 
 " Why," he said, " it no longer concerns me, since the ladies 
 set themselves in position without me ! " 
 
 The piano softly sobbed. On the platform a clearing, on 
 rvhich the electric ray set a stretch of sunlight, revealed a vista 
 )f leaves. It was an ideal glade with blue trees, and large red 
 ind yellow flowers which rose as high as the oaks. Venus 
 ind Plutus stood on a grassy mound side by side, and sur- 
 ouDded by nymphs who had hastened from the neighbouring 
 hickets to serve as their escort. There were the daughters of 
 he trees, the daughters of the springs, the daughters of the 
 leights, all the laughing naked divinities of the forest. And 
 he god and the goddess triumphed, and punished the apathy 
 i the proud young fellow who had scorned them, while the 
 ;TOup of nymphs looked inquisitively and with religious fright 
 t the vengeance of Olympus displayed in the foreground, 
 ^he drama was there being uTiravelled. Handsome Narcissus, 
 y'mg on the margin of a brook which came down from the 
 
244 thp: hush for the spoil. 
 
 back of the stage, was looking at himself in the clear mirror ; 
 and exactitude had been carried to the point of placing a strip 
 of looking-glass, at the bottom of the brook. But he was no 
 longer the free young fellow, the forest wanderer; death sur- 
 prised him amid his delighted admiration of his own figure, 
 death enervated him, and Venus with her outstretched finger, 
 like a fairy in a transformation scene, consigned him to his 
 deadly fate. He was becoming a flower. His limbs became 
 verdant and longer, in his tight-fitting costume of green satin ; 
 the flexible stalk, figured by his slightly bent legs, sank into 
 the ground to take root there, while his bust, decked with 
 broad lappets of white satin, expanded into a marvellous corolla. 
 Maxime's fair hair completed the illusion, and set, with its long 
 curls, yellow pistils amid the whiteness of the petals. And the 
 large, nascent flower, still human, inclined its head towards the 
 spring, with its eyes bedimmed, and smiling with voluptuous 
 ecstasy, as if handsome Narcissus had at length satisfied in death 
 the passion which he had felt for himself. A few paces off the 
 nymph Echo was dying also, dying of unquenched desires ; she 
 found herself gradually caught in the rigidity of the soil, she 
 felt her burning limbs congeal and harden. She was not a vul- 
 gar rock, soiled by moss, but white marble, by her shoulders 
 and arms, by her long snowy robe from which the girdle of foli- 
 age and the blue drapery had glided. Sunk down amid the 
 satin of her skirt, which formed large plaits, similar to a block 
 of Paros, she threw herself back, with nought alive, in her 
 statue-like congealed body, save her woman's eyes, eyes which 
 glistened as they remained fixed on the flower of the waters, 
 languidly leaning above the mirror of the spring. And it al- 
 ready seemed as if all the love sounds of the forest, the pro- 
 longed noises of the thickets, the mysterious quivers of the 
 leaves, the deep sighs of the old oaks, came and beat upon the 
 marble flesh of the nymph Echo, whose heart, still bleeding 
 amid the block, resounded protractedly, repeating afar the 
 slightest complaints of the Earth and of the Air. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! how they have muffled up poor Maxime ! " murmured 
 Louise. " And Madame Saccard, you would say a dead 
 woman ! " 
 
 ^* She is covered with rice powder," said Madame Michelin. 
 
 Other scarcely complimentary remarks circulated. This 
 third tableau did not meet with the same unqualified success as 
 the two others. And yet it was this tragical ending which 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 245 
 
 made Monsieur Hupel de la Noue enthusiastic about his own 
 talent. He admired himself in it, as his Narcissus did in his 
 strip of looking-glass. He had set a number of poetical and 
 philosophical allusions in it. When the curtains had closed 
 again for the last time, and the spectators had applauded like 
 people of good breeding, he experienced mental regret at having 
 given way to anger and not having explained the last page of 
 his poem. He then wished to give the people around him the 
 key to the charming, grand, or simply suggestive things which 
 handsome Narcissus and the nymph Echo represented, and he 
 even tried to say what Yenus and Plutus were doing in the 
 depths of the clearing ; but the gentlemen and ladies, whose 
 clear practical minds had understood the grotto of flesh and the 
 grotto of gold, had no inclination to descend into the prefect's 
 mythological complications. Only Mignon and Charrier, who 
 absolutely wished to inform themselves, were good-natured 
 enough to question him. He took possession of them, and kept 
 them during nearly two hours, standing in the embrasure of a 
 window, relating to them the "Metamorphoses " of Ovid. 
 
 The minister now withdrew. He apologised for not being 
 able to wait for the beautiful Madame Saccard to compliment 
 her on the perfect gracefulness of the nymph Echo. He had 
 just been three or four times round the drawing-room on the 
 arm of his brother, giving a few shakes of the hand and bowing 
 to the ladies. He had never before compromised himself so 
 much for Saccard. He left him radiant, when, on the threshold, 
 he said to him in a loud voice : 
 
 " I shall expect you to-morrow morning. Come and breakfast 
 with me." 
 
 The ball was about to begin. The servants had ranged the 
 ladies' arm-chairs along the walls. The large drawing-room now 
 displayed from the little yellow room to the platform, its bare 
 carpet the large purple flowers of which opened under the drip- 
 ping light which fell from the crystal of the chandeliers. The 
 heat was increasing ; the reflection of the red hangings bright- 
 ened the gilding of the furniture and the ceiling. To open the 
 ball one waited until the ladies, the nymph Echo, Venus, Plutus, 
 and the others, had changed their costumes. 
 
 Madame d'Espanet and Madame Haflher appeared the first. 
 They had reassumed their costumes of the second tableau ; the 
 first as gold, the other as silver. They were surrounded and 
 congratulated ; and they recounted their emotions. 
 
246 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 "As for me I nearly burst out," said the marchioness, ^'whenj 
 I saw Monsieur Toutin-Laroche's big nose looking at me in the 
 distance ! " 
 
 "I think that I have a stiff neck," languidly remarked the 
 fair-haired Suzanne. "No, really, if it had lasted a minute 
 longer I should have replaced my head in a natural position, 
 my neck hurt me so much." 
 
 From the embrasure into which Monsieur Hupel de la None 
 had pushed Mignon and Charrier, he cast nervous glances at : 
 the group formed around the two young women ; he was afraid ' 
 that people were poking fun at him. The other nymphs arrived 
 one after the other ; they had all resumed their costumes as 
 l^recious stones ; the Countess Vanska, as coral, met with pro- 
 digious success when one was able to closely examine the in- 
 genious details of her dress. Then Maxime entered, correct in 
 his dress coat and with a smiling air ; and a flow of women ; 
 enveloped him, he was placed in the centre of the circle, he w^as 
 joked about his part as a flower, and his passion for looking- 
 glasses. Without any embarrassment, as if delighted with his 
 part, he continued smiling, answered the jokes, confessed that 
 he adored himself, and that he was sufficiently cured of women 
 to prefer himself to them. People laughed the louder at this, 
 the group grew larger, and took possession of the whole centre 
 of the drawing-room, while the young man, drowned amid this 
 people of shoulders, this medley of bright costumes, retained 
 his perfume of monstrous love, his vicious fair flower's gentle- 
 ness. 
 
 When Renee, however, at last came down, there was semi- 
 silence. She had attired herself in a new costume of such orgi- 
 inal grace and such audacity that the gentlemen and the ladies, 
 although accustomed to the young woman's eccentricities, at 
 first gave a movement of surprise. She was dressed as an 
 Otaheitian. This costume, it appears, is most primitive : as 
 she wore it, it comprised soft tinted tights which rose from her 
 feet to her bosom, leaving her shoulders and arms bare ; and 
 over these tights a simple muslin blouse, short and trimmed 
 with two flounces so as to slightly hide the hips. In her hair 
 a wreath of wild flowers ; and gold rings round her ankles and 
 her wrists. Nothing more. She was^iiajved. The tights had 
 the suppleness of flesh under 'tlie~paleness of the blouse ; the 
 pure line of her nudity could be detected from her knees to herNj 
 arm-pits, vaguely bedimmed by the flounces, but reappearing 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 247 
 
 at the slightest movement, and becoming more distinct between 
 the threads of the lace. She was an adorable savage, a bar- 
 barous, voluptuous girl scarcely hidden by a white vapour, a 
 patch of sea fog, amid which her whole body could be divined. 
 
 With rosy cheeks Renee advanced at a rapid step. Celeste 
 had made the first tights burst ; but the young woman had 
 fortunately foreseen the eventuality and taken her precautions. 
 These torn tights had delayed her. She seemed to care little 
 about her triumph. She smiled, however, and briefly answered 
 the men who stopped and complimented her on the purity of 
 her attitudes in the tableaux vivants. Behind her she left a 
 trail of dress coats astonished and charmed by the transparency 
 of her muslin blouse. When she had reached the group of 
 women who surrounded Maxime, she gave rise to curt exclam- 
 ations, and the marchioness began to look at her from head to 
 foot, with a tender air, and murmuring : 
 
 *'She is adorably formed." 
 
 Madame Michelin, whose alme's costume became horribly 
 heavy beside this simple veil^ pursed her lips, while Madame 
 Sidonie, shrivelled up in her black sorceress's dress, murmured 
 in her ear : 
 
 '^ It's the height of indecency, isn't it, my beauty V 
 
 ^* Ah! yes indeed," said the pretty brunette at last, '^ Monsieur 
 Michelin would be angry if I undressed myself like that." 
 
 " And he would be quite right," concluded the agent. 
 
 The band of serious men were not of this opinion. It went 
 into ecstacies at a distance. Monsieur Michelin, whom his wife 
 so inappropriately brought into question, showed himself trans- 
 ported so as to please Monsieur Toutin-Laroche and Baron 
 Gouraud whom the sight of Renee enraptured. Saccard was 
 greatly complimented on the perfection of his wife's figure. 
 He bowed and professed to be very touched. The evening 
 was a good one for him, and but for a preoccupation w^hich 
 darted from his eyes at moments when he cast a rapid glance 
 at his sister, he would have been supremely happy. 
 
 " I say, she has never shown us so much," jokingly said 
 Louise in Maxime's ear, and indicating Renee by a glance. 
 
 She paused, and then with an undefinable smile : 
 
 " At least, to me." 
 
 The young fellow looked at her with a nervous air ; but 
 she continued smiling, strangely, like a schoolboy delighted 
 with some bit of fun rather too strong. 
 
24S THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 The ball began. The platform of the tableaux vivants bad 
 been utilized to accommodate a little orchestra in which brass in- 
 
 struments predominated, and the bugles and the cornets -a-piston 
 launched forth their clear notes, amid the ideal forest with blue 
 trees. First came a quadrille, "Ah ! he has boots, he has boots, 
 Bastion ! '^ w^hich then constituted the delight of public balls. 
 The ladies danced. P,^lkas, waltzes, mazurkas alternated with 
 quadrilles. The swinging couples came and went, filled the 
 long gallery, leaping under the lash of ^_the_ brass instru- 
 ments, swaying amid the lullaby of the violins. The cos- 
 tumes, this flood of women of all countries and all periods, 
 displayed a swarming medley of bright stuffs. After mingling 
 the colours and carrying them off in cadenced confusion, the 
 rhythm at certain touches of the bows abruptly brought back 
 the same tunic of pink satin, the same dress body of blue vel- 
 vet beside the same black coat. Then another touch of the 
 bows, a blast of the cornets, pushed the couples on, made them 
 travel in files around the drawing-room, with the swinging 
 motion of a bark floating away under a gust of wind which 
 had severed the fast that moored it. And so on, always, end- 
 lessly, for hours together. At times, between two dances, a lady 
 approached a window, stifling, inhaling a little icy air; a couple 
 rested on a couch in the little buttercup drawing-room, or de- 
 scended into the conservatory, going slowly round the paths. 
 Skirts, only the edges of which could be seen, seemed to laugh 
 languidly under the arbours of tropical creepers, in the depths 
 of the tepid shade, where the loud notes of the cornets were 
 wafted during the quadrilles of *' Hallo ! the little lambs," and 
 ^' I've a foot on the move." 
 
 When the servants opened the door of the dining-room, trans- 
 formed into a refectory with sideboards against the walls, and 
 a long table laden with cold meats in the centre, there was a 
 shove, a crush. A tall handsome man, who had timidly kept 
 his hat in his hand, was so violently flattened against the wall 
 that the unfortunate hat burst wdth a dull moan. This made 
 people laugh. The guests rushed upon the pastry and the 
 truffled poultry, briitally'Sngging^tlT^ another's 
 
 ribs. It was a pillage, hands met amid the viands, and the 
 lackeys did not know whom to answer, in. the midst of this band 
 of well-bred men whose extended arms expressed the sole fear 
 of arriving too late and finding the dishes empty. An old 
 gentleman became angry because there was no Bordeaux 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 249 
 
 wine, and champagne, so he affirmed, prevented him from 
 sleeping. 
 
 ^^ Softl y, gentlemen," said Bgptiste in his grave voice. 
 " There wiilBe'^ongh for everyone. ' 
 
 Bat he was not listened to. The dining-room was already 
 full, and yet more anxious dress-coats rose up at the door. In 
 front of the sideboards, stood groups eating quickly and pressing 
 closely together. A good many swallowed without drinking, 
 not having been able to set their hands on a glass. Others, on 
 the contrary, drank after fruitlessly running about for a morsel of 
 bread. 
 
 ^^ Listen," said Monsieur Hupel de la None, whom Mignon 
 and Charrier, weary of mythology, had led to the buffet, ^' we 
 sha'n't get anything if we don't help each other. It's much 
 worse at the Tuileries, and I have acquired some experience 
 there. You look after the wine^ and I'll see to the meat." 
 
 The prefect was watching a leg of mutton. He stretched 
 out his hand, at the right moment, through a break in the 
 surrounding shoulders, and quietly carried it off, after filling 
 his pockets with little rolls. The contractors returned from 
 their side, Mignon with one bottle, and Charrier with two 
 bottles of champagne; but they had only been able to secure two 
 glasses ; they said, however, that it did not matter, that they 
 would drink out of the same. And the party supped on the 
 corner of a flowerstand at the end of the room. They did not 
 even take off their gloves, but put the slices of mutton already 
 cut between their bread, and kept the bottles under their 
 arms. And standing up, they talked with their mouths full, 
 stretching out their chins in advance of their waistcoats so that 
 the gravy might fall on to the carpet. 
 
 Charrier, having finished his wine before his bread, asked a 
 servant if he could not have a glass of champagne. 
 
 ^'You must wait, sir," angrily replied the scared servant, 
 losing his head and forgetting he was no longer in the kitchen. 
 " Thr ee hund redLbottles have already been drunk." 
 
 However, one could hear the notes of the orchestra swell- 
 ling with sudden gusts. Couples were footing the polka 
 called " The Kisses," famous at public balls, and the rhythm of 
 which each dancer had to mark by kissing his partner. Madame 
 d'Espanet appeared at the door of the dining-room, flushed, 
 her hair slightly disordered, and trailing her silver robe with 
 charming lassitude. People barely drew aside, and she had to 
 
250 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 sliove with her elbows to obtain a passage. She made the round 
 of the table, hesitating, a pout on her lips. Then she went 
 straight to Monsieur Hupel de la Noue who had finished, and 
 who was wiping his mouth with his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " You would be very amiable, sir," she said to him with an 
 adorable smile, ^^ if you would find me a chair ! I have been 
 roimd the table fruitlessly — " 
 
 The prefect had a spite against the marchioness but his 
 gallantry did not hesitate; he hastened, found a chair, installed 
 Madame d'Espanet and remained behind her, serving her. She 
 would only take a few shrimps with a little butter and two 
 thimblefuls of champagne. She eat in a delicate manner amid 
 the gluttony of t he-men. The table and the chairs were exclu- 
 sively reserved for the ladies. However an exception was always 
 made in favour of Baron Gouraud. He was there seated at ease, 
 in front of a bit of pastry the crust of which he crunched with 
 his jaws. The marchioness re-conquered the prefect by telling 
 him that she should never forget her emotions as an artiste in 
 the " Amours of handsome Narcissus and the nymph Echo." 
 She even explained to him why they had not waited for him at the 
 last tableau in a manner which completely consoled him : the 
 ladies on learning that the minister was there had thought that 
 it would hardly be proper to prolong the interval. She ended 
 by begging him to go in search of Madame HafFner who was 
 dancing with Monsieur Simpson, a brute of a man who displeased 
 her, she said. And when Suzanne was there she no longer looked 
 at Monsieur Hupel de la Noue. 
 
 Saccard, followed by Messieurs Toutin-Laroche, De Mareuil 
 and Haifner, had taken possession of a sideboard. As there 
 was no room at the table and Monsieur de SafFre passed by 
 with Madame Michelin on his arm he detained them, and in- 
 sisted that the pretty brunette should share with his party. 
 She nibbled some pastry, smiling, raising her clear eyes on the 
 five men who surrounded her. They leaned towards her, 
 touched her alme's veils embroidered with threads of gold, 
 brought her to bay between themselves and the sideboard, 
 against which she ended by leaning, taking cakes from every 
 hand, very gentle and very caressing, and showing the 
 loving docility of a slave amid her masters. All by himself, 
 at the other end of the room, Monsieur Michelin was 
 finishing a terreen of goose's liver which he had succeeded in 
 capturing. 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 251 
 
 Madame Sidonie, who had been prowling about the ball 
 since the first bow strokes, now entered the dining-room and 
 summoned Saccard with a glance. 
 
 '' She isn't dancing," she said to him in a low voice. " She 
 seems anxious. I think she is meditating some bit of follj. 
 But I have not yet been able to discover the swain. I am 
 going to eat something and then return to the watch.'' 
 
 And standing like a man, she eat a chicken's wing, which 
 she procured, thanks to Monsieur Michelin who had finished 
 his terreen. She poured herself out some Malaga in a large 
 champagne glass ; then, after wiping her mouth with the tips 
 of her fingers, she returned to the drawing-room. The train 
 of her sorceress's robe already seemed to have gathered up all 
 the dust of the carpets. 
 
 The ball was languishing, and the orchestra gave signs of 
 being blown, when a murmur sped about : " The cotillon ! the 
 cotillon ! " and revived the dancers and the brass instruments 
 alike. Couples came from all the clumps of plants in the con- 
 servatory; the large drawing-room grew as full as when the 
 first quadrille was danced ; and there was a discussion among 
 the awakened crowd. It was the last flash of the ball. The 
 men who did not dance looked with sluggish good nature out 
 of the depths of the embrasures at the talkative group swell- 
 ing in the middle of the room ; while the supper-eaters at the 
 sideboards stretched out their necks to see, but without letting 
 go of their bread. 
 
 *^ Monsieur de Mussy won't," said one lady. '^ He swears that 
 he no longer Teads it. Come, once more, Monsieur de Mussy, 
 only this once. Do it for us." 
 
 But the young embassy j,ttache remained stiff in his high 
 collar turned down at thLe^points. It was~really impossible, 
 he had sworn. There was a disappointment. Maxime also 
 refused, saying that he couldn't, that he was tired out. Mon- 
 sieur Hupel de la None did not dare to offer himself ; he only 
 descended as far as poetry. On a lady speaking of Monsieur 
 Simpson she was silenced; Monsieur Simpson was the strangest 
 cotillon leader one over saw ; he gave himself up to fantastic 
 and malicious devices ; it was related that in one drawing- 
 room where the guests had been so imprudent as to choose 
 him, he had compelled the ladies to jump over the chairs, and 
 one of his favourite figures was to make everyone go round the 
 room on all fours. 
 
252 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " Has Monsieur de SafFre left 1 " asked a childish voice. 
 
 He was leaving, he was saying good-bye to the beautiful 
 ^Madame Saccard with whom he was on the best possible terms, 
 since she would not have him. This amiable sceptic admired 
 other people's caprices. He was triumphantly brought back 
 from the hall. He tried to escape, and said with a smile that 
 be was being compromised, that he was a serious man. Then, 
 in presence of all the white hands that were stretched out 
 towards him : 
 
 *' Well," said he, " take your places. But I warn you that 
 I'm classical. I haven't a copper's worth of imagination." 
 
 The couples sat down round the drawing-room, on all the 
 seats that could be gathered together; some young fellows 
 even went to fetch the iron chairs of the conservatory. It was 
 a monster cotillon, Monsieur de Saffre, who had the solemn air 
 of an ofhciat[ng^j3riest, chose, as his partner, the Countess 
 Vanska, whose costume as Coral preoccupied him. When 
 everyone was in position, he cast a long glance at this circular 
 row of skirts, each flanked by a dress-coat. And he made a 
 sign to the orchestra, the brass instruments of which resounded. 
 Heads leaned forward along the smiling band of faces. 
 
 Een^e had refused to take part in the cotillon. She had 
 been nervously gay since the beginning of the ball, scarcely 
 dancing, but mingling with the groups, unable to remain still. 
 Her friends found her strange. Dming the evening she had 
 talked of making a balloon journey with a celebrated aeronaut 
 with whom all Paris was occupied. When the cotillon began 
 she was vexed not to be able to walk about at her ease, so she 
 stationed herself at the hall-door, shaking hands with the 
 gentlemen who left and talking with her husband's intimate 
 friends. Baron Gouraud, whom a lackey carried off in his fur 
 cloak, paid a final eulogium to her Otaheitian's costume. 
 
 Meanwhile Monsieur Toutin-Laroche shook hands with Saccard. 
 
 ^^Maxime relies on you," said the latter. 
 
 " Quite so," replied the new senator. 
 
 And turning towards Eenee : 
 
 "I haven't congratulated you, madame. So the dear boy 
 is now settled ! " 
 
 And as she gave an astonished smile : 
 
 " My wife doesn't yet know," observed Saccard, " We have 
 decided this evening on Mademoiselle de Mareuil's marriage 
 with Maxime," 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOH^. 253 
 
 She coiitiiiLied smiling, bowing to Monsieur Toutin-Laroche 
 who went off saying : 
 
 " You sign the contract on Sunday, eh 1 I am go- 
 ing to Nevers about a mining affair, but I shall be back in 
 time." 
 
 Eenee remained for a moment alone in the middle of the hall. 
 She no longer smiled, and as she gradually dived into what she 
 had just learnt, she was seized with a great shudder. She 
 looked at the red velvet hangings, the rare plants, the pots of 
 majolica with a fixed stare. Then she said aloud : 
 
 " I must^peakjtahim." 
 
 And she returned to the drawing-room. But she had to 
 remain near the entry. A figure of the cotillon biirred the way. 
 The orchestra was playing a waltz air in a low key. TheTadies, 
 holding each other hands, formed a circle, one of those circles 
 that are formed by little girls singing, " Girofle girofla,'' and 
 they spun round as quickly as possible, pulling one another's 
 arms, laughing and sliding. In the centre, a gentleman — it 
 was the malicious Monsieur Simpson — held a long pink scarf in 
 his hand ; he raised it with the gesture of a fisherman who is 
 about to cast a net ; but he did not hurry, he no doubt thought 
 it funny to let these ladies turn round and tire themselves. 
 They breathed hard and asked for mercy. Then he threw the 
 scarf, and he threw it with such skill that it went and wound 
 around the shoulders of Madame d'Espanet and Madame Haffner 
 who were turning side by side. It was one of the Yankee's bits 
 of fun. He then wished to waltz with both ladies at once, and 
 he had already taken them both by the waist, one with his left 
 arm and the other with his right, when Monsieur De Saffre, in 
 i the severe tone of the king of the cotillon, said : 
 I " You can't dance with two ladies." 
 
 I But Monsieur Simpson would not let go of the two waists. 
 
 I Adeline and Suzanne threw themselves back in his arms laughing. 
 
 The point was argued, the ladies grew angry, the hubbub was 
 
 ' prolonged, and the dress-coats in the embrasures of the windows 
 
 [ asked themselves how Saffre would extricate himself from this 
 
 delicate dilemma to his glory. He, indeed, seemed perplexed 
 
 for a moment, seeking by what refinement of gracefulness he 
 
 might win the laughers over to his side. Then he smiled, he 
 
 took Madame d'Espanet and Madame Haffner by the hand, 
 
 whispered a question in their ears, received their replies, and 
 
 afterwards addressing himself to Monsieur Simpson : 
 
254 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 " Do you pluck the verbena^ or do you pluck the periwinkle 1 " . 
 he asked. 
 
 Monsieur Simpson, looking rather foolish, said that he plucked ; 
 the verbena, whereupon Monsieur de Saffre gave him the 
 marchioness saying : 
 
 " Here is the verbena," 
 
 There was discreet applause. It was found very pretty. 
 Monsieur de SafFre was a cotillon leader 'Svho never remained 
 embarrassed," such was the ladies' remark. In the meanwhile 
 the orchestra had resumed the \^ltz air with all its instruments, 
 and Monsieur Simpson, after making the round of the room, 
 waltzing with Madame d'Espanet, reconducted her to her seat. 
 
 Eenee was able to pass. She had bit her lips till they bled 
 at- sight of all this foolishness. She considered these women 
 and men stupid to throw scarfs and take the names of flowers. 
 Her ears rung, a furious impatience lent her a brusque desire 
 to throw herself forward, head first, and open a passage. She 
 crossed the drawing-room with a rapid step, jostling the belated 
 couples who were regaining their seats. She went straight to 
 the conservatory. She had not seen either Louise or Maxime 
 among the dancers, and she said to herself that they must be 
 there, in some nook formed by the foliage, united by that 
 partiality for drollery and impropriety which made them seek 
 out little corners as soon as they found themselves anywhere 
 together. But she fruitlessly explored the dimness of the 
 conservatory. She only perceived, in the depths of an arbour, 
 a tall young fellow who was devoutly kissing the hands of little 
 Madame Daste and murmuring : 
 
 "Madame de Lauwerens told me right: you are an angel." 
 
 This declaration in her house, in her conservatory, shocked 
 Eenee, Madame de Lauwerens ought really to have taken her 
 traffic elsewhere ! And Eenee would have felt relieved could 
 she have chased all these people who bawled so loud out of her 
 apartments. Standing in front of the basin, she looked at the 
 water and asked herself where Louise and Maxime could well 
 have hidden themselves. The orchestra still played that waltz, 
 the slow undulation of which made her feel sick. It was in- 
 supportable, one could no longer reflect in one's own abode. 
 She became confused. She forgot that the young folks were 
 not yet married, and she said to herself that it was simple 
 enough, that they had gone to bed. Then she thought of the 
 dining-room, and quickly reascended the conservatory staircase. 
 
THE EUSH ^OU THE SPOIL. 255 
 
 But at the door of the drawing-room she was stopped for the 
 second time by a figure of the cotillon. 
 
 " These are the ^black specks,' ladies," gallantly said Monsieur 
 de SafFre. " This is an invention of mine, and I inaugurate it 
 for you." 
 
 There was a great deal of laughter. The gentlemen ex- 
 plained the allusion to the young women. The Emperor had 
 just delivered a speech, which recorded the presence of certain 
 black specks " on the political horizon. These black specks 
 had • met with great success, no one knew why. Parisian wits 
 Ihad appropriated the expression, and to such a point that for a 
 week past the black specks had been introduced into everything. 
 Monsieur de Saflfre placed the masculine dancers at one end of 
 the drawing-room, making them turn their backs to the ladies 
 who were left at the other end. Then he ordered the men to 
 turn up their coats in such a way as to hide the backs of their 
 heads. This operation was accomplished amid tremendous 
 merriment. Hump-backed, with their shoulders hidden by the 
 bails of their coats which now only fell to their waists the 
 gentlemen looked really frightful. 
 
 "Don't laugh, ladies," cried Monsieur de SafFre with most 
 omical gravity, " or I shall make you put your lace flounces 
 3n your heads." 
 
 The merriment increased. And the leader energetically 
 availed himself of his sovereignty over some of the gentlemen 
 who would not hide the napes of their necks. 
 
 " You are the * black specks,' " said he ; " hide your heads, 
 Dnly show your backs, it is necessary that the ladies should only 
 iee so much black. Now, walk, mingle together, so that you 
 nay not be recognized." 
 
 The hilarity was at its height. The " black specks " went to 
 md fro on their skinny legs with the undulatory motion of 
 leadless ravens. One gentleman's shirt was seen with a bit of 
 Draces. Then the ladies begged for mercy, they were stifling, 
 md Monsieur de Saflre was pleased to order them to go and 
 'etch the " black specks." They went ofl* like a covey of 
 T-oung partridges amid a loud rustle of skirts. Then, each of 
 /hem, at the end of her trip, seized hold of the gentleman who 
 ;ame within her grasp. It was an undescribable medley. 
 Ind the improvised couples disengaged themselves in a file, 
 ,nd made the round of the drawing-room, waltzing, amid the 
 ouder strains of the orchestra. 
 
256 THE RUSH FOR THE SROIL. 
 
 Keiiee had leant against the wall. Pale, and with com- 
 pressed lips, she looked on. An old gentleman came and asked 
 her gallantly why she was not dancing. She had to smile and; 
 give some kind of answer. Escaping at last, she entered the 
 dining-room. It looked empty, but amid the pillaged side- 
 boards and the trailing bottles and plates, Maxime and Louise, 
 seated side by side, were quietly supping at one end of the table, 
 on a napkin which they had spread out. They seemed to be at 
 their ease, they laughed amid the disorder, the dirty glasses, 
 the dishes soiled with grease, the remnants, which testified to 
 the gluttony of the supper-eaters with white gloves. They had 
 contented themselves with brushing off the crumbs around 
 them. Baptiste gravely w^alked round the table without a 
 glance for the room, through which a band of wolves seemed to 
 have passed ; he was waiting for the other servants to come 
 and set the sideboards in a little order. 
 
 Maxime had still been able to gather a very fair supper 
 together. Louise adored hardbake with pistachio nuts, a 
 plateful of which had remained on the top of a sideboard. 
 They had three partially emptied bottles of champagne before 
 them. 
 
 " Papa has perhaps gone off," said the young girl. 
 
 "So much the better," replied Maxime, "I will see you 
 home." 
 
 And as she laughed : 
 
 "You know that they really want me to marry you," he 
 added. " It's no longer a joke, it's serious. But what shall 
 we do with ourselves when we are married 1 " 
 
 "Why, we'll do what others do, of course.'^ 
 
 This repartee escaped her rather quickly, and as if to with^ I 
 draw it, she hastily added : 
 
 " We will go to Italy. It will do my chest good. I am very 
 ill. Ah ! my poor Maxime, what a sorry wife you will have ! 
 I am not bigger than two sous of butter." 
 
 She smiled, with a shade of sadness, in her page's costume. 
 A dry cough brought red gleams to her cheeks. 
 
 " It's the hardbake," said she. " At home I'm forbidden to 
 eat it. Pass me the plate, I will put the rest in my pocket." 
 
 And she was emptying the plate when Renee entered the 
 room. She went straight to Maxime, making unheard-of efforts 
 not to swear, not to beat the hunchback whom she found there' 
 at table with her lover. 
 
THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 257 
 
 " I wish to speak to you," slie stammered in a husky voice. 
 He hesitated, frightened, dreading to be with her. 
 " To you alone, at once," repeated Kenee. 
 " Go then, Maxime," said Louise^ with her undefinable look. 
 " At the same time you might try to find my father. I lose him 
 at every party." 
 
 He rose up, he tried to stop the young woman in the middle 
 'of the dining-room by asking her what she could have of so 
 [urgent a nature to say to him. But she resumed between her 
 keeih : 
 I ^' Follow me, or I shall speak out before every one ! " 
 
 He turned very pale and followed her with the docility of a 
 beaten animal. She thought that Baptiste was looking at her ; 
 3ut at this moment she cared nought for the valet's clear 
 l^aze ! At the door, the cotillon detained her for the third 
 iime. 
 
 ^' Wait," she murmured. '^ These fools will never have done." 
 
 Monsieur de Saffre was placing the Duke de Eozan with his 
 
 )ack against the w^all, in one corner of the drawing-room, beside 
 
 he dining-room door. He stationed a lady in front of him, 
 
 hen a gentleman back to back with the lady, then another 
 
 ady in front of the gentleman, and this in a line, couple by 
 
 ;ouple, forming as it were a long serpent. As the dancers 
 
 alked together and tarried behind : 
 
 " Come, ladies," he cried, ^Ho your places for the ' columns.'" 
 
 They came, and '' the columns " were formed. The indecency 
 
 f finding oneself thus caught, pressed between two men, lean- 
 
 ig against the back of one of them, with the chest of the other 
 
 1 front of one, made the ladies very gay. The tips of the 
 
 romen's bosoms touched the facings of the men's dress-coats, the 
 
 entlemen's legs disappeared amid the ladies' skirts ; and when- 
 
 ver any sudden merriment made a w^oman's head lean forward, 
 
 ae moustaches in front were obliged to draw back, so as not to 
 
 krry matters as far as kissing. At one moment a joker must 
 
 ave given a slight push, for the line closed up, the dress-coats 
 
 llunged deeper into the skirts, there were little cries and laughs, 
 
 .ughs which did not end. The Baroness de Meinhold was 
 
 bard saying, " But you are stifling me, sir ; don't squeeze me so 
 
 ! " this seemed so funny, and gave the whole line such an 
 
 tack of hilarity, that the shaken " columns " staggered, 
 
 ashed together and leaned upon one another to avoid falling. 
 
 'onsieur de Saifre waited with his hands raised ready to clap. 
 
 R 
 
2r)S THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Then lie clapped. At this signal every one abruptly turned 
 round. The couples who were face to face took each other 
 by. the waist, and the file dispersed waltzing round the room. 
 The only one left was the poor Duke de Eozan, who on turning 
 round found his nose against the wall. He was derided by 
 everybody. 
 
 ^' Come," said Eenee to Maxime. 
 
 The orchestra was still playing* the waltz. This soft music, 
 the monotonous rhythm of which at last became insipid, in- 
 creased the young woman's exasperation. She gained the little 
 drawing-room holding Maxime by the hand ; and pushing him 
 to the staircase which led to the dressing-room : 
 
 " Go up," she ordered. 
 
 She followed him. At this moment Madame Sidonie, who, 
 throughout the evening, had been prowling round about her 
 sister-in-law, astonished by her continual promenades through 
 the rooms, just reached the conservatory steps. She saw 
 a man's leg disappear amid the darkness of the little staircase. 
 A pale smile lit up her waxen face, and catching up her 
 sorceress's skirt to v;alk the quicker, she sought her brother, 
 upsetting a figure of the cotillon and questioning all the servants 
 she met. She at last found Saccard with Monsieur de Mareuil 
 in an apartmeilt which adjoined the dining-room, and which 
 had been turned provisionally into a smoking-room. The two 
 fathers were talking about the dowry and the contract. But 
 when Saccard's sister had said a word in his ear, he rose up, 
 apologised, and disappeared. 
 
 Upstairs, the dressing-room was in complete disorder. Over 
 the chairs trailed the costume of the nymph Echo, the torn 
 tights, bits of crumpled lace, under-garments thrown aside in a 
 bundle, everything that a woman, expected elsewhere, leaves in 
 her haste behind her. The little ivory and silver tools lay 
 about a little bit everywhere ; there were brushes and files 
 fallen on the carpet ; and the towels still damp, the soap for- 
 gotten on the marble slab, the scent bottles left open, emitted a 
 strong penetrating perfume in the flesh-tinted tent. To take 
 the white off her arms and shoulders the young woman had 
 dipped herself in the pink marble bath after the tableaux vivants. 
 Iridescent scales expanded on the sheet of water now grown cold. 
 
 Maxime stepped on some stays,, narrowly missed falling, and 
 tried to laugh. But he shivered at sight of Eenee's stern face. 
 She approached him, pushing him, and saying in a low voice : 
 
 i 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 259 
 
 " So you are going to marry the hunchback 1 " 
 
 " Not a bit of it," he murmured. " Who told you so ? " 
 
 " Oh ! don't he. It's useless." 
 
 He was prompted to rebeL She alarmed him, he wished to 
 finish matters with her. 
 
 ^' Well, yes, I am to marry her. What of it ? Am I not 
 the master?" 
 
 She came towards him, with her head somewhat lowered, and 
 with an evil laugh, and taking hold of his wrists : 
 
 " The master ! you, the master ! You know very well it isn't 
 so. It is I who am the master. I could break your arms if I 
 were cruel ; you have no more strength than a girl." 
 
 And as he struggled, she twisted his arms, with all the 
 nervous violence that angei* imparted to her. He utt^ed a 
 slight cry, and she then let go of him, resuming : 
 
 "Dbh^t let us fight, I should jjrove the stronger." 
 
 He remained pale, with the shame of the pain which he felt 
 at his wrists. He watched her coming and going about the 
 room. She pushed back the furniture, reflecting, deciding on 
 the plan which had been revolving in her head siuce her husband 
 had apprized her of the marriage. 
 
 '' I am going to shut you up here," she said at last ; " and 
 when it is daylight we will start fox Havre." 
 
 He grew still paler with alarm and stupor. 
 
 ^* But this is madness ! " he cried. '^ We can't go off together. 
 You are going crazy — " 
 
 "Perhaps so. At all events it's you and your father who 
 are making me so. I need you and I take you. So much 
 the worse lor fools ! " 
 
 Eed gleams shone in her eyes. Again approaching Maxime 
 and scorching his face with her breath, she continued : 
 
 " What would become of me if you married the hunchback 1 
 You would deride me, and I should perhaps be forced to take 
 back that big simpleton De Mussy, who would not even warm 
 my feet — When people have done what we have done they re- 
 main together. Besides, it's clear enough, I feel bored when 
 you are not there, and as I'm going off, I take you with me. 
 You can tell Celeste what you want her to go and fetch at your 
 place." 
 
 The unfortunate fellow held out his hands and supplicated. 
 
 " Come, my little Eenee, don't commit such folly. Become 
 yourself again. Think a little of the scandal." 
 
2G0 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOH.. 
 
 ^* I don't care a fig for the scandal ! If you refuse, I shall go 
 down into the drawing-room and cry out that I have slept 
 with you, and that you are now cowardly enough to want to 
 marry the hunchback." 
 
 He bowed his head and listened to her, already giving way, 
 and accepting this will so roughly imposed upon him. 
 
 " We will go to Havre," she resumed in a lower tone, 
 caressing her dream, " and from there we can reach England. 
 No one will bother us any more. If we are not far enough off, 
 we will start for America. T, who always feel cold, I shall be 
 comfortable there. nTh ave o ften envied crepes." 
 
 But while she enlarged the scope of her project, terror again 
 seized hold of Maxime. To leave Paris, to go so far away with 
 this woman who was certainly mad, to leave behind him a story 
 the shameful character of which would exile him for ever 1 it 
 was like some atrocious nightmare stifling him. He sought in 
 despair for a means of escaping from this dressing-room, this 
 pink retreat where the bell of the lunatic_a§ylum of Charenton 
 seemed to toll. At last he thought lie had found airexpedlenF.^^ 
 
 " But I have no money," he said gently, so as not to exaspe- 
 rate her. " If you shut me up I cannot procure any." 
 
 " I have some money, though,'^ she replied with an air of 
 triumph. " I have a hundred thousand francs. Everything 
 tallies perfectly well — " 
 
 She took out of the w^ardrobe the deed _of^ cession which her 
 husband had left with her in the vague hope that she might 
 change her mind. She laid it on the toilet table, compelled 
 Maxime to give her a pen and an inkstand which were in the 
 bedroom, and pushing back the soap, and signing the act : 
 
 " There," she said, ^' the folly's done. If I'm robbed it is 
 because I choose to be. We_will call on Larsonneau before going 
 to the station. Now, my little Maxime, I am going to shut you 
 lip, and we will escape by way of the garden, when I have 
 turned all these people out of the house. We don't even need 
 to take any luggage." 
 
 She became gay again. This wild freak delighted her. It 
 was a piece of supreme eccentricity, a finish which, amid her 
 fever, seemed to her mind altogether original. It surpassed 
 her desire to make a balloon journey by a great deal. She 
 went and took Maxime in her arms, murmuring : 
 
 " I hurt you a little while ago, my poor darling ! But then 
 you refused. You will see how nice it will be. Would your 
 
SACCARD SURPRISES RENEE AND MAXIME. 
 
 p. 261. 
 
THE EUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 261 
 
 hunchback ever love you as I do *? That little blackamoor isn't 
 a woman 1 " 
 
 She was laughing — she was drawing him to her and kissing 
 him on the lips, when a sound made them both turn their 
 heads. Saccard was standing on the threshold of the room. 
 
 Terrible silence followed. Renee slowly withdrew her arm 
 from Maxime's neck, but she did not lower her brow, she con- 
 tinued gazing at her husband with her big eyes, which stared 
 fixedly like those of a corpse ; while the young fellow, over- 
 whelmed and terrified, staggered, with bowed head, now that 
 he was no longer sustained by her embrace. Sac^caxd,..stiinned 
 by this supreme blow which, at last, made the husband and the 
 father cry out within him, did not advance, but, livid, he 
 scorched them from afar with the fire of his glances. In the 
 moist, odoriferous atmosphere of the room, the three tapers 
 flared very high, their flames erect, with the stillness of fiery 
 tears. And, alone breaking the silence, the terrible silence, 
 a breath of music ascended the narrow staircase; the w^altz, 
 with its snaJieJike__undulations, glided, coiled, and dSTaway 
 on the snowy carpet, amid the split tights and the fallen 
 skirts. 
 
 Then the husband advanced. The impulse which he felt to 
 resort to brutality brougnt blotches to his face ; he clinched his 
 fists to knock down the guilty jDair. Anger, in this restless 
 little man, burst forth like the report of fire-arms. He gave a 
 strangled titter, and, still advancing : 
 
 " You were announcing your marriage to her, eh 1 " 
 
 Maxime retreated and leant against the wall. 
 
 " Listen," he stammered, " it was she — " 
 
 He was about to accuse her like a coward, to cast the odium 
 of the crime upon her, to say tnat she wanted to carry him off, 
 to defend himself with the numility and the shudders of a 
 child detected in fault. But he did not have the strength, the 
 words expired in his throat. Renee retained her statue-like 
 rigidity, her air of mute defiance. Then Saccard, no doubt in 
 view of finding a weapon, gave a rapid glance around him. 
 And, on the corner of the toilet table, among the combs and 
 nail-brushes, he perceived the deed of cession, the stamped 
 paper of which set a yellow stain on the marble. He looked at 
 the deed ; he looked at the guilty pair. Then, on leaning for- 
 ward, he saw that the deed was signed. His eyes went from 
 the open inkstand to the pen still wet, which had been left on 
 
262 THE KUSn FOR THP] SPOIL. 
 
 the foot of tlic candelabrum. He remained erect in front of 
 this signature, reflecting. 
 
 The silence seemed to increase, the flames of the candles 
 shot up higher, tl^e^waltz resounded in a softer lullaby along the 
 hangings. Saccard gave an imperceptible shrug of the 
 shoulders. He again looked at his ^Yife and his son Avith a 
 profound air, as if to wring from their faces an explanation 
 which he could not divine. Then he sloj\dy; folded jup the deed 
 and placed it in the pocket of his dress-coat. His cheeks had 
 become extremely pale. 
 
 " You have done well to sign, my dear,'' he said gently to 
 his wife. '^ You gain a hundred thousand francs by doing so. 
 I will give you the money this evening." 
 
 He almost smiled, and his hands alone, retained a trem- 
 bling. He took a few steps, adding — 
 
 " It's stifling in here ! What an idea to come and plot one 
 of your jokes in this vapour batljj _' 
 
 And then addressing himself to Maxime, who had raised his 
 head, surprised by his father's appeased voice : 
 
 " Here come with me," he^esumed: "^^Xsaw you go up, and 
 I came to fetch you so that yQu_might wish Monsieur de 
 !^Ial:£liil and his daughter go od nig ht." 
 
 The two men went down talking together. Kenee remained 
 alone, standing in the middle of the dressing-room, looking at 
 the yawning cavity of the little staircase, in which she had just 
 seen the shoulders of the father and the^^son disappear. She 
 could not take her eyes off this cavity. ^^A^liat,. they had gone 
 off, quietly, amicably 1 These two menTiad not murdered each 
 other. She lent an ear ; she listened to ascertain if some atro- 
 cious struo'oie did not make their bodies roll down the stairs. 
 Nothing ! In the tepid darkness, nothing but a noise of danc- 
 ing — a long lullaby. She thought she could hear in the dis- 
 tance the marchioness's laughter and Monsieur de SafFre's clear 
 voice. Then the drama was ended 1 Her crime, the kisses in 
 the large grey and pink bed, the wdld nights in the conserva- 
 tory, all the accursed love that had consumed her during months, 
 had led to this mean, ignoble ending ! Her husband knew, 
 all and did not even beat her. And the silence around 
 her — this silence through which trailed .the endless -^altz — 
 terrified her even more than the sound of murder." She felt 
 afraid of this peacefulness, afraid of this soft-tinted, discreet 
 dressing-room, full of the scent of love. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 263 
 
 She perceived herself m the high glass-door of the wardrobe. 
 She approached, astonished to see herself, forgetting her hus- 
 band, forgetting Maxime, and altogether pre-occupied by the 
 strange woman whom she beheld before her. Madness was 
 rising to her brain. Her yellow hair, caught up off the 
 temples and the neck, seemed to her a nudity — an obscenity. 
 Th3 wriiikle_of_ her forehead, deepened to such a degree that it 
 set a darkj3ar.,abQveLher eyes, the thin bluish scar of a lash 
 with a whip. "Who had marked her like that ] Her husband 
 had certainly not raised his hand. And her lips astonished her 
 by their pallor, her myops' eyes seemed dead to her. How old 
 she looked ! She inclined her brow, and when she beheld herself 
 in her tights, in her slight ganze blouse, she gazed at herself 
 Avith lowered eyelashes and sudden blushes. Who had stripped 
 her naked ? What was she doing there, bare-breasted, like a 
 harlot w^ho uncovers herself down to the belly 1 She no longer 
 knew. She looked at her thighs which the tights rounded, at 
 her hips, the supple lines of which she discerned under the 
 gauze, at her bust broadly displayed ; and she was ashamed of 
 herself, and contempt _f or her flesh filled her with inflexible 
 anger against those who had left her thus, with simple circlets 
 of gold round her ankles and wrists to hide her skin. 
 
 Then trying, with the fixed idea of drowning intelligence, to 
 remember what she was doing there, quite naked in front of 
 that glass, she went back by a sudden leap to her childhood. 
 She again saw herself, as she had been when seven years old, 
 in the solemn gloom of the Beraud mansion. She remembered 
 a day when Aunt Elisabeth had dressed them — herself and 
 Christine — in woollen dresses, with a little red check pattern 
 on a grey ground. It was Christmas-time. How pleased they 
 were with those tw^o dresses exactly alike ! Their aunt spoiled 
 them, and she carried matters so far as to give each of them a 
 bracelet and a necklace of coral. The sleeves were long, the 
 dress-bodies rose up to their chins, the jewellery displayed 
 itself on the stuff', and this seemed very pretty to them. Renee 
 also remembered that her father was there, and that he smiled 
 with his sad air. That day, instead of playing, her. sister and 
 herself had walked about the nursery like grown-up persons for 
 fear of soiling themselves. Then at the Convent of the Visita- 
 tion her schoolfellows had joked her about "her clown's dress," 
 which came down to her finger tips and rose up over her ears. 
 She had begun to cry during lessons ; and when play-time 
 
2G4 THE TvUSII FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 came she turned up her sleeves, and tucked in her neckband, 
 !io that she might not be derided any longer. And the coral 
 necklace and bracelet seemed to her much prettier on the skin 
 of her neck and arm. Was it on that day that she had 
 begun to strip herself ? 
 
 Her life unrolled^ iis§l| before her. She recalled her long 
 bewilderment, the hubbub oT^goIdTand flesh which had risen 
 within her, which had mounted first to her knees, then to her 
 stomach, then to her lips, and the flood of which she now felt sweep- 
 ing over her head, striking her skull, with swiftly repeated blows. 
 It was like a bad sap ; it had wearied her limbs, set excres- 
 cences of shameful affection in her heart, and made whims, Pit 
 for a sick person or an animal, sprout in her brain. This sap 
 had impregnated the soles of her feet while they rested on her 
 carriage rug and on other carpets too, on all the silk and all tLe 
 velvet over which she had walked since her marriage. The foox- 
 steps of others must have left these seeds of poison, now yield- 
 ing fruit in her blood, and circulating in her veins. She well 
 remembered her childhood. She had merely been inquisitive 
 when she was little. Later on even, after that rape which 
 had cast evil into her, she had not wished for so much shame. 
 She would certainly have become better had she remained 
 knitting beside Aunt Elisabeth. And while she gazed fixedly 
 into the looking-glass to read therein the peaceful future she 
 had missed, she could hear the regular tick tick of her aunt's 
 needles. But she only saw^ her own pink thighs, her pink hips, 
 the strange woman of pink silk whom she had before her, and 
 whose skin of fine stuff, of close texture, seemed made for the 
 amours of puppets and dolls. She had come to that — to be a 
 I big doll from whose torn bosom but a thread of sound escaped. 
 ■ Then, at thought of the enormities of her life, the blood of 
 her father, that middle-class blood which tormented her during 
 hours of crisis, cried out within her and revolted. She who 
 had alwa,ys trembled at the thought of hell, she ought to have 
 lived in tFeTTeptTis of the black severity"6f the Beraud mansion. 
 "VVho was ft then that had stiiiDpedher^iaked ? 
 \ And, in "the bluish shade of the glass, she thought she could 
 \ see the figures of gaccard juid_ Ma^^^^ rise up. Saccard, black 
 J \ and sneering, with a hue of iron, and pincer-like laughter, 
 /f standing on his skinny legs. That man was a will. For ten 
 '^"■^^ years she had seen him at Jhe forge, amid the shivers of the 
 reddened metal, with his flesh burnt, breathless, but still 
 
THE PvUSH FOR THE SPOIL. tlQo 
 
 striking, raising hammers twenty times too heavy for his arms, 
 at the risk of crushing himself. She understood him now ; he 
 seemed to her to have been made taller by this superhuman 
 effort, this huge rascality, this fixed idea of an immense, 
 Jmmediate fortune. She remembered him springing over 
 obstacles, rolling in the mud, and not taking the time to wipe 
 himself, so bent was he upon arriving early at the goal, 
 not even tarrying to enjoy himself on the road, but munching 
 his gold pieces while he ran. Then Maxime's fair, pretty 
 head appeared behind his father's rough shoulders ; he had his 
 clear harlot's smile, his empty strumpet's eyes which were 
 nevertDwefed;"lTis"3Tarting in the middle of his hair showing the 
 whiteness of his skull. He derided Saccard, he considered him 
 vulgar to give himself so much trouble to earn money, which 
 he, Maxime, expended with such adorable laziness. He was 
 kept. His long soft hands testified to his vices. His hairless 
 body had the wearied attitude of a satisfied woman^ Not even 
 a flash of curiosity as to sin shone in all his cowardly, sluggish 
 being, through which vice gently coursed like so much warm 
 water. He did not initiate, he underwent. And Eenec, 
 looking at the two apparitions emerge from the slight shade 
 of the mirror, retreated a step, and saw that Saccard had 
 thrown her like a stake, like an investment, and that Maxime 
 had chanced to be there to pick up this louis fallen from the 
 ^speculator's pocket. She had been an asset in her husband's 
 pocket-book; he had urged her on to the toilettes of a night, to 
 the lovers of a season ; he had twisted her in the flames of his 
 forge, employing her, as though she had been a precious metal, 
 to gild the iron of his hands. Little by little the father had 
 'thus rendered her jnad enoug h, depraved enough for tlie kisses 
 of the^som ITMaxime were Saccard's impoverished bIoocr,^he 
 felt that she herself was the product, the worm-eaten^ruit _pf 
 th^se two men, the p it of infa my which they had dug together, 
 and inlo^Tiich they 'both rolled. 
 
 •^-«- She knew it now. Itwas "these men who had stripped her 
 naked. Saccard had unhooked her dress-body, and Maxime 
 had loosened her skirt. Then, between them, they had just 
 torn off her chemise. At present she was without a rag, merely 
 with golden rings, like a slave. They had looked at her a little 
 \vhile before, but the}^ had not said to her, " You are naked." 
 The son had trembled like a coward, had shuddered at the 
 thought of carrying his crime to the end, had refused to follov/ 
 
2r.n THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 Iier ill her passion. The father, instead of kiUiiig her, had 
 robbed her; this man punished people by emptying thei^ 
 pockets ; a signature fell like a sunray amid the brutality of 
 his anger, and, by way of vengeance, he carried the signature off. 
 Then she had seen their shoulders retreat into the darkness. 
 No blood upon the carpet, not a cry, not a moan. They were 
 cowards. They had stripped her naked. 
 
 'And she said to herself that on one sole occasion she had 
 read the future — on the day when, in sight of the murmuring 
 shadows of the Pare Monceaux, the thought that her husband 
 would soil her, and bring her one day to madness, had come 
 und frightened her growing desires. Ah ! how her poor head 
 suffered 1 how she realised now the fallacy of the idea 
 which had made her believe that she lived in a happy sphere of 
 divine enjoyment and impunity ! She had lived in the land of 
 shame, and she was chastised by the abandonment of her whole 
 body, by the death of her agonizing being. She wept that she 
 had not listened to the loud voices of the trees. 
 
 Her nudity irritated her. She turned her head, she looked 
 around her. The dressing-room retained its musky heaviness, 
 its warm silence, whither stilL-came the phrases of thejs¥^tz, 
 like the last expiring circfes on a s heet of water. This low 
 laughter of distant voluptuousness passed over her with intoler- 
 able raillery. She stopped up her ears, so as to hear it no 
 longer. Then she beheld the luxury_jQf.. the, room. She raised 
 her eyes to the pink tent, even to the silver crown, within 
 which one perceived a Cupid preparing his arrows; she dwelt 
 on the furniture, on the marble slab of the toilet-table, 
 encumbered with pots and tools which she no longer recognised; 
 she went to the bath, still full of slumbering water ; she 
 pushed back with her foot the stuffs trailing over the white 
 satin of the arm-chairs, the costume of the nymph Echo, the 
 petticoats, the forgotten towels. And from all these things 
 voices of shame arose : the robe of the nymph Echo spoke to 
 her of the pastime she had shared because she had thought it 
 original to offer herself to Maxime in public ; the bath exhaled 
 the scent of her body, the water in which she had dipped 
 herself filled the room with the feverishness of a sick woman ; 
 the table, with its soaps and oils, the furniture, with its bed- 
 like roundnesses, reminded her brutally of her flesh, her 
 amours, all the filth that she wished to forget. She returned 
 into the middle of the room, her face purple, not knowing 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 267 
 
 where to fly from this alcove perfume, this luxury ^^hicjpi bared 
 itself with a harlot's immodesty, which displayed all this pink. 
 The ro^i^ was naked like herself; the pink bath, the rosy skin 
 of the hangings, the pink marble of the two tables became 
 animated, stretched themselves, coiled themselves up, and 
 surrounded her with such a display of living voluptuousness 
 that she closed her eyes, lowering her forehead, overwhelmed 
 amid the lace of the ceiling and the walls which crushed 
 her. 
 
 But in the blackness she again saw that flesh-tinted spot 
 the dressing-room, and she also beheld the grey softness of the 
 bedroom, the soft aurulent lustre of the little drawing-room, 
 the crude greenness of the conservatory, all the wealth that had 
 been her accomplice. It was there that her feet had become 
 impregnated with the evil sap. She would not have slept with 
 Maxime on a pallet in the depth of a garret. It would have 
 been too igiioble. The silk around her had made her crime 
 coquettish. And she dreamt of tearing down this lace, of 
 spitting upon this silk, of breaking her large bed to pieces with 
 kicks, of dragging her luxury into some gutter, whence it would 
 emerge worn-out and dirtied like herself. 
 
 When she re-opened her eyes she approached the mirror, 
 looked at herself again, and examined herself closely. She was 
 done for. She saw herself dead. Her whole face told her that 
 the cerebral cracking was being completed. Maxime, that last 
 perversion of her senses, had finished his work, exhausted her 
 flesh, and unhinged her intelligence. She had no more joys to 
 taste, no hope of an awakening. At this thought a savage rage 
 was rekindled within her, and in a last crisis of desire she 
 dreapit of retaking possession of h er 'prey , of agonizing in 
 Maxime's arms, and carrying him off with her. Louise could 
 not marry him ; Louise knew very well that he did not 
 belong to her, since she had seen them kissing each other on 
 the lips. Then she threw a fur mantle over her shoulders, so 
 as not to pass naked through the ball, and she went down- 
 stairs. 
 
 In the little drawing-room she came face to face with Madame 
 Sidonie. The latter, in view of enjoying the drama, had again 
 stationed herself on the steps of the conservatory. But she 
 no longer knew what to think when Saccard reappeared with 
 Maxime, and brutally replied to her whispered questions that 
 she was dreaming, that there was " nothing whatever." Then 
 
268 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 she scented the truth. Her yellow face grew pale, she cons] ^' 
 dered this really too strong. And she softly went and place [ 
 her ear against the staircase door, hoping that she would be abl 
 to hear Renee crying upstairs. When the young womai 
 opened the door, it almost smacked her sister-in-law in the face 
 
 " You are playing the spy on me ! '' Eenee angrily said. 
 
 But Madame Sidonie replied with fine disdain : 
 
 " Do I occupy myself with your filth '? " 
 
 And catching up her sorceress's dress, and retiring with i 
 majestic look : * 
 
 '^ It isn't my fault, little one, if accidents befall you. But ] 
 have no spite, do you hear '? And understand that you woulc' 
 have found, and would still find, a second mother in me. '. 
 shall expect you at my place whenever you please." 
 
 Ren^e did not listen to her. She entered the large drawing- 
 room, and passed through a very complicated figure of the 
 cotillon without even remarking the surprise which her fui 
 mantle occasioned. In the middle of the room there were 
 groups of ladies and gentlemen who mingled waving bandrols, 
 and Monsieur de SafFre's fluty voice called out : ! 
 
 " Come, ladies^ / the Mexican War.' The ladies who figure 
 the bushes must spread thelF~skirts out around them and re- 
 main on the ground — Now, the gentlemen must turn round the 
 bushes — Then when I clap my hands each of them must waltz 
 with his bush." 
 
 He clapped his hands. The brass instruments resounded,] 
 the waltz once more sent the coup1^s""revoTving round the] 
 room. The figure had not been very successful. Two ladies- 
 had remained on the carpet entangled in their dresses. Madame 
 Daste declared that the only thing that amused her in the 
 ^^ Mexican War," was making a " cheese '*' of her dress, as she 
 had done at school. 
 
 Eenee on reaching the hall found Louise and her father, 
 whom Saccard and Maxime were accompanying. Baron Gouraud 
 had left. Madame Sidonie withdrew with Mignon and Charrier, 
 while Monsieur Hupel de la None escorted Madame Michelin, 
 whom her husband followed discreetly. The prefect had spent 
 the rest of the evening courting the pretty brunette. He had 
 just persuaded her to spend a month of the fine weather in the 
 chief town of his department where " some really curious 
 antiquities w^ere to be seen." 
 
 Louise, who was nibbling on the sly the hardbake which she 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 269 
 
 i^d in her pocket, was seized with a fit of coughing at the 
 Qbment of leaving the house. 
 
 ^' Cover yourself up well,'' said her father. 
 I And Maxime hastened to tighten the strings of the hood of 
 ler opera-cloak. She raised her chin and let herself be 
 waddled. But when Madame Saccard appeared, Monsieur de 
 vlareuil retraced his steps and bid her good-bye. For a moment 
 hey all remained there together talking. Renee, wishing to 
 !xplain her pallor and her shudders, said that she had felt 
 old, and had gone upstairs to throw the fur over her shoulders. 
 \.nd she watched for the moment when she might speak in a 
 ow voice to Louise, who was looking at her with inquisitive 
 ranquillity. While the gentlemen again shook hands she leant 
 brward and murmured : 
 
 ''You won't marry him, will you"? It isn't possible. Yon 
 mow very well — " 
 
 But the child interrupted her, rising on tiptoe and speaking in 
 ler ear : 
 
 '' Oh ! be easy, I shall jake him^off — It is of no consequence 
 iince we are going to Italy." 
 
 And she smiled with the vague smile of a vicious sphinx, 
 ilenee remained stammering. She did not understand, she 
 ancied that the hunchback w^as deriding her. Then when 
 he Mareuils had gone off, repeating several times : " Till 
 5unday ! " she looked at her husband and at Maxime with her 
 rightened eyes, and on beholding them, with quiet flesh and 
 latisfied attitudes, she hid her face in her hands, fled, and 
 sought a refuge in the deptlis o f the conservatory. 
 
 The pathways were deserted. The large leaves were asleep, 
 md on the heavy sheet of water of the basin two budding 
 ^ymphsea slowly unfolded. Renee would have liked to cry ; 
 Dut the damp warmth, the strong perfume which she recognised, 
 :aught her at the throat and strangled her despair. She 
 ooked at her feet, at the edge of the basin, at the spot of 
 yellow sand where she had stretched the bearskin the winter 
 Defore. And when she raised her eyes she again saw between 
 the two open doors a figure of the cotillan being, danced right 
 xway in the back-ground. 
 
 There was a deafening noise, a confused mass in which she 
 at first only distinguished flying skirts and black legs, footing 
 xnd turning. Monsieur de Safifre's voice cried out : '* Change 
 70ur ladies ! change your ladies ! " And the couples passed by 
 
270 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 amid a fine yellow dust; each gentleman, after three or foi^^ 
 turns in the waltz, threwjiis__pariiier into_t^h^_ arms of his 
 neighbour, who, in turn, threw him his. Baroness de 
 ^/lemhold, in her costume as the Emerald, fell from the hands 
 of the Count de Chibray into the hands of Monsieur Simpson ; 
 he caught her as he could by a shoulder, while the tip of his 
 gloves glided under her dress body. Countess Yanska, 
 very red and making her coral drops jingle, went with a bound 
 fi'om the chest of Monsieur de Saffre on to the chest of the 
 Duke de Eozan, whom she entwined and compelled to pirouette 
 for five turns, when she hung herself on the hips of Monsieur 
 Simpson who had just thrown the Emerald to the leader of the 
 cotillon. And Madame Teissiere, Madame Daste, Madame de 
 Lauwerens, shining like large living jewels, with the fair pallor 
 of the Topaz, the soft blue of the Turquoise, the fiery blue of 
 the Sapphire, abandoned themselves for a minute, vaulted under 
 the extended wrist of a waltzer, then started off again, came 
 frontwards or backwards into a fresh embrace, visiting one 
 after the other all the masculine embraces of the drawing-room. 
 However Madame d'Espanet had, in full view of the orchestra, 
 succeeded in catching hold of Madame Haffner as she passed ; 
 by, and now waltzed with her, refusing to let go her hold. 
 Gold and Silver danced lovingly together. 
 
 Eenee then understood this whirling of skirts, this stamping 
 of legs. Standing oil a lower surface she could see the fury of the 
 feet, the patent-leather boots and white ankles mingling pell-mell. 
 At intervals it seemed to her as if a gust of wind were about to 
 blow off the dresses. The bare shoulders, the bare arms, the 
 bare heads w^hich flew past and revolved, now seized hold of, 
 now thrown off, and again caught at the end of the gallery 
 where the waltz of the orchestra grew madder, w^here the red 
 hangings seemed thrown into a transport amid the final fever 
 of the ball, appeared to her like the tumultuous i^rjiage of her 
 ojvvn life, of her nudities and abandonments. And she experienced 
 such a pang, at the thought that Maxime, to take the hunch- 
 back in his arms, had just cast her there, on the spot where 
 they had loved each other, that she dreamt of plucking a stalk 
 of the Tanghinia v;hich grazed her cheek, and of chewing it 
 till the sap w^as exhausted. But she was cowardly, and she 
 remained in front of the plant shivering under the fur w^hich 
 her hands drew over her with a tight clutch, and a great gesture 
 of terrified shame. 
 
271 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 I Three months later, on one of those gloomy spring mornings 
 jwhich bring back into Paris the dimness and dirty dampness of 
 : winter, Aristide Saccard alighted from his carriage at the Place 
 du Chateau-d'Eau, and turned with four other gentlemen into 
 the gorge of demolitions opened by the future Boulevard du 
 Prince-Eugene. The party formed a committee of inquiry 
 ; which the expropriation jury had despatched to the spot to 
 i estimate the value of certain property, the owners of which had 
 not come to an amicable arrangement with the city of Paris. 
 
 Saccard was renewing his Rue de la Pepeniere stroke of 
 fortune. So that his wife's name might completely disappear 
 from the affair, he had at first devised a mock sale of the ground 
 and the music-hall. Larsonneau relinquished the whole to a 
 I supposed creditor. The deed of sale enunciated the colossal 
 figure of threeinillions of francs. The, sum was so exorbitant, 
 that when the expropriation agent, in the name of the imaginary 
 owner, claimed the amount of the purchase money as an indem- 
 inity, the commission of the Hotel-de-Ville would not grant 
 more than two millions five hundred thousand francs, despite 
 the underhand endeavours of Monsieur Mich elin, and the speeches 
 of Monsieur Toutin-Laroche and Baron Gouraud. Saccard had 
 expected this repulse ; he refused the offer, and let the case 
 go before the expropriation jury, of which he happened to be a 
 member, together with Monsieur de Mareuil. by a chance he had 
 no "Soubt assisted. And it was thus that, with four of his col- 
 leagues, he found himself deputed to make an inquiry respecting 
 his own ground. 
 
 Monsieur de Mareuil accompanied him. Of the three remain- 
 ing jurors one was a doctor, who smoked a cigar without caring 
 the least in the world for the stones and mortar he climbed over, 
 and the others, two commercial men, one of whom, a manu- 
 facturer of surgical instruments, had once turned a grindstone 
 in the streets. 
 
-72 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 The path which the gentlemen took was in a frightful state. 
 It had rained all night. The soaked ground was becoming a 
 river of mud between the fallen houses, beside this road, 
 traced out over loose soil, w^herein the transport carts sank 
 up to the naves of their wheels. On either side fragments 
 of the walls, shattered with pick-axes, remained standing ; lofty 
 eviscerated buildings, displaying their pallid entrails, opened in 
 mid-air their empty staircase frames, their suspended gaping 
 rooms, which appeared like the broken drawers of some great ugly 
 piece of furniture. Nothing could look more lamentable than 
 the wall-papers of these rooms, blue or yellow squares, falling 
 in tatters, and indicating, at the height of a fifth or sixth floor, 
 just under the roofs, the place occupied by some poor little 
 garrets, narrow holes, in which perhaps a man's whole life had 
 been confined. The ribbons of the chimney flues rose side by 
 side on the bare walls, lugubriously black and with abrupt 
 bends. A forgotten weathercock grated at the edge of a roof, 
 whilst some half-detached water-spouts hung down like rags. 
 And the gap still deepened amid these ruins, like a breach 
 opened by cannon ; under the grey sky, amid the sinister 
 pallidity of the falling plaster dust, the roadw^ay, barely 
 marked out, covered with refuse, with piles of earth and deep 
 pools of water, stretched away, edged with the black marks of 
 chimney flues, as with a mourning border. 
 
 The genltemen, with their well-blackened boots, their frock- 
 coats, and their tall silk hats, set a singular note in this muddy 
 landscape, of a dirty yellow tint, and across which there only 
 passed some pale workmen, some horses splashed to the chine, 
 and some carts, the woodwork of which disappeared beneath a 
 coat of dust. The jurors followed each other in Indian file, 
 jumping from stone to stone, avoiding the pools of flowing filth, 
 at times sinking in up to their heels, and then shaking their feet, 
 and swearing. Saccard had talked about taking the Eue do 
 Charonne, by which they would have avoided this promenade 
 over broken ground, but they unfortunately had several bits of 
 property to visit on the long line of the Boulevard, and, impelled 
 by curiosity, they had decided to pass right through the works. 
 Besides, the sight greatly interested them. At times they 
 stopped, balancing themselves on some bit of plaster which had 
 fallen into a rut, raising their noses, and calling each other to 
 point out some perforated floor, some chimney-pot which had 
 remained in the air, some joist which had fallen on to a neigh- 
 
THE Cu.MJiibfeiuNERS FOR THE PARIS IMRROVEMENTS INSPECTING 
 THE DEMOLITIONS. p. 272. 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. ?7S 
 
 bouring roof. This bit of a destroyed city, seen on leaving the 
 Eue du Temple, seemed altogether funny to them. 
 
 " It is really curious/' said Monsieur de Mareuil. ^^ Look 
 there, Saccard, look at that kitchen up there. An old frying- 
 pan has remained hanging over the stove. I can distinguish 
 it perfectly." 
 
 However, the doctor, with his cigar between his teeth, had 
 set himself in front of a demolished house, of which there only 
 remained the rooms of the ground floor, filled with the remnants 
 of the other storeys. A single fragment of wall ros© up above 
 the pile of materials ; and to overthrow it at one effort, it had been 
 girt round with a rope, at which several workmen were tugging. 
 
 ^' They won't manage it," muttered the doctor. ** They are 
 pulling too much to the left." 
 
 The four other jurors had retraced their steps to see the wall 
 tumble. And all five of them, with their eyes stretched out, 
 and with bated breath, waited for the fall with a quiver of 
 delight. The workmen, giving way, and then suddenly stiffen- 
 ing themselves, cried out, ^' Oh ! heave oh ! " 
 
 ^*They won't manage it," repeated the doctor. 
 
 Then after a few seconds of anxiety : 
 
 "It is moving, it is moving," joyfully cried one of the com- 
 mercial men. 
 
 And when the wall gave way at last, and fell with a frightful 
 crash, raising a cloud of plaster, the gentlemen looked at each 
 other with smiles. They were delighted. Their frock-coats 
 became covered with a fine dust, which whitened their arms and 
 shoulders. 
 
 Eesuming their prudent march amid the puddles, they now 
 began to talk j.bout the woxkmen. There were not many good 
 ones. They were all idle_fellows, prodigals, and withal most 
 obstinate, only dreaming of their masters' ruin. Monsieur de 
 Mareuil, who for a moment had been looking with a shudder at 
 two poor devils perched on the comer of a roof demolishing a wall 
 with their pick-axes, expressed, -however, the opinion that, all the 
 same, these men really possessed great courage. The other ju-rors 
 again paused and raised their eyes to the workmen who balanced 
 themselves, leaning and striking with all their strength ; they 
 pushed the stones down with their feet, and quietly looked at 
 them shattering below. If the pick-axes had missed striking, 
 the mere impulsion of the men's arms would have precipitated 
 them into space. 
 
274 THE KUSH FOK THE SPOIL. 
 
 *^Bah! it's habit," said the doctor, setting his cigar in his 
 mouth again. ^' They are brutes ! '' 
 
 The jurors had now reached one of the houses which they 
 had to visit. They finished their work in a quarter of an hour, 
 and then resumed their walk. By degrees they no longer felt 
 so much disgust for the mud ; they walked in the middle of the 
 pools, abandoning the hope of keeping their boots clean. When 
 they had passed the Rue Menilmontant one of the commercial 
 men, the ex-knife-grinder, became nervous. He examined the 
 ruins about him, and no longer recognised the neighbourhood. He 
 said that he had lived in that j)art, on his arrival in Paris more 
 than thirty years previously, and that he should be very pleased 
 to find the house again. He continued searching with his eyes, 
 Avhen suddenly the sight of a house which ibhe workmea's 
 picks had already cut in twain, made him stop short in the 
 middle of the road. He studied the door and the windows. 
 Then, pointing upward with his finger to a corner of the par- 
 tially demolished building : 
 
 " There it is," he cried ; " I recognise it ! " 
 
 " What, pray % " asked the doctor. 
 
 '' My room, of course ! That's it ! " 
 
 It was a little room, situated on the fifth floor, and it must 
 have formerly overlooked a courtyard. A breach in the wall 
 showed it, quite bare, already demolished on one side, with a 
 broad torn band of its wall paper^ of a large yellow flowery 
 pattern, trembling in the wind. On the left hand, one could 
 still see the recess of a cupboard, lined with blue paper, and 
 beside it was an aperture for a stove-pipe, with a bit of piping 
 in it. 
 
 The ex-workman was seized with emotion : 
 
 '^ I spent five years in there," muttered he. *^ My means were 
 small in those times, but no matter, I was young. You see the 
 cupboard ; it was there that I put by three hundred francs, 
 copper by copper. And the hole for the stove-pij^e, I can still 
 remember the day when I made it. The room had no fire 
 place, and it was bitter cold, all the more so as we were no' 
 often two together." 
 
 '* Come, come," interrupted the doctor, joking, " we don't 
 ask you for your secrets. You played your games like every 
 one else." 
 
 " That's true," naively resumed the worthy man. ^^ I still 
 remember an ironing girl who lived over the way. You see 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 275 
 
 the bed was over there, on the right hand side near the 
 window. Ah ! my poor room, how they've knocked it about." 
 
 He was really very sad. 
 
 " Come," said Saccard, " no harm's done by throwing those old 
 cabins down. Handsome houses in freestone will be built in 
 place of them. Would you still live in such a den while 
 you might very well lodge yourself on the new Boulevard 1 " 
 
 " That's true," again replied the manufacturer, who seemed 
 qnite consoled. 
 
 The commission of inquiry halted again at the two other 
 houses. The doctor remained at the door smoking and looking 
 at the sky. When they reached the Rue des Amandiers the 
 houses became fewer; they now passed through large inclosures 
 and over uncultivated land, where some half fallen buildings 
 straggled. Saccard seemed delighted with this promenade 
 through ruins. He had just remembered the dinner he had 
 once shared with his first wife on the heights of Montmartre, 
 and he well recollected having indicated with his hand 
 the cut across Paris from the Place du Chateau-d'Eau to the 
 Barriere du Trone. The realisation of this far distant pre- 
 diction delighted him. He followed the cut, with the secret 
 joys of authorship, as if he himself had with his iron fingers 
 struck the first blows with a pickaxe. And he jumped over the 
 puddles, reflecting that three millions awaited him under 
 building materials, at the end of this river of greasy filth. 
 
 Meanwhile the gentlemen fancied themselves in the country. 
 The road passed through some gardens, the walls of which had 
 been felled. There were large clumps of budding lilac, with 
 foliage of a very delicate light green. Each of these gardens, look- 
 ing like a retreat hung with the leaves of the shrubs, displayed a 
 narrow^ basin or a miniature cascade, with bits of wall on which to 
 deceive the eye, arbours, in perspective and bluish landscape 
 backgrounds had been painted. The buildings, scattered and dis- 
 creetly hidden, resembled Italian pavilions and Grecian temples, 
 and moss was wearing away the feet of the plaster columns, 
 whilst w^eeds had loosened the mortar of the pediments. 
 
 *' Those Sire petites maisons,^^ said the doctor, with a wink. 
 
 But as he saw that the gentlemen did not understand what 
 he meant, he explained that under Louis XV. the nobility had 
 retreats of this kind for their pleasure parties. It w^as then 
 the fashion. And he added : 
 
 " They were called petites maisons (little houses). This neigh- 
 
27G THE RUSH FOU THE SPOIL. 
 
 boTirhood was full of them. Some stiff things took place in 
 them, and no mistake ! '' 
 
 The commission of inquiry had become very attentive. The 
 two commercial men's eyes were shining, and they smiled and 
 looked with great interest at these gardens and pavilions, on 
 which they had not bestowed a glance prior to their colleague's 
 explanations. A grotto detained them for a long time. But 
 when the doctor, seeing a house already attacked by the pick, 
 said that he recognised it as the Count de Sayign y's pe tite 
 viaison, well known on account of that nobleman's ofgies,'the 
 whole commission left the Boulevard to go and visit the ruins. 
 They climbed on to the fallen materials, entered the ground 
 floor rooms by the windows, and as the workmen ^vere away at 
 their mid-day meal, they were able to linger there quite at 
 their ease. They indeed remained there for a good half hour, 
 examining the rosettes of the ceilings, the paintings above the 
 doors, the strained mouldings of the plaster grown yellow with 
 age. The doctor reconstructed the building. 
 
 "Do you see," said he, "this room must be the banqueting 
 hall. There was certainly an immense divan in that recess of 
 the wall. And, indeed, I'm sure that a looking-glass sur- 
 mounted the divan. See, there are the holdfasts of the glass. 
 Oh ! those fellows were scamps who knew deucedly well how to 
 enjoy themselves ! " 
 
 The jurors would never have left these old stones which 
 tickled their curiosity, if Aristide Saccard, growing impatient,' 
 had not said to them, laughing: 
 
 "You may look as much as you like, the ladies are no 
 longer here. Let's get to our business." 
 
 Before leaving, however, the doctor climbed on to a mantel- 
 shelf, to delicately detach, with one blow of a pick, a little 
 painted head of cupid, which he slipped into the pocket of his 
 frock-coat. 
 
 They at length reached the end of their journey. The land 
 which had formerly belonged to Madame Aubertot was very vast; 
 the music-hall and the garden occupied barely more than half 
 of the surface ; a few unimportant houses were scattered abou.t 
 the rest of it. The new Boulevard cut obliquely across this 
 large parallelogram, and this circumstance had quieted one of 
 Saccard's fears ; he had long imagined that only a corner of 
 the music-hall would be removed by the new thoroughfare. 
 Larsonneau therefore had received orders to open his mouth, as 
 
! THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 277 
 
 the bordering plots ought to at least quintuple in value. He was 
 already threatening the city of Paris to avail himself of a recent 
 decree authorising landowners to deliver up only the ground 
 necessary for works of public utility. 
 
 It was the expropriation agent who received the jurors. 
 He took them over the garden, made them visit the 
 'X usic-hall and showed them a huge pile of papers. But the 
 two commercial men had gone down again accompanied by the 
 doctor, whom they were still questioning about Count de 
 Savigny's petite maison, of which their minds were full. They 
 listened to him with gaping mouths, standing all three beside 
 Sijeu de tonneau. And he talked to them about La Pompadour, 
 and related the amours of Louis XV., while Monsieur de 
 Mareuil and Saccard continued thelnquiry alone. 
 
 ^'It's all finished," said the latter on returning into the 
 garden. ''If you will allow me, gentlemen, I will myself draw 
 up the report." 
 
 The surgical-instrument maker did not even hear. He was 
 deep in the Eegency. 
 
 '' What funny times, all the same ! " he muttered. 
 
 Then they found a cab in the Rue de Charonne and they 
 went off, muddy to the knees, but as satisfied with their pro- 
 menade as with a pleasure trip in the country. In the cab 
 the conversation changed — they talked politics, they said that 
 the Emperor did great things. The like of what they had just 
 seen had never been witnessed before. This long, perfectly 
 straight street would be superb when the houses were erected. 
 
 It was Saccard who drew up the report and the jury granted 
 the three millions. The speculator was at the end of his tether, 
 he could not have waited a month longer. This money saved 
 him from ruin, and even a little from the assize court. He gave 
 five hundred thousand francs on the million which he owed to 
 his upholsterer and his contractor for the mansion in the 
 Pare Monceaux. He stopped up other holes, rushed into new 
 companies, and deafened Paris with the noise of the real crowns 
 which he flung by the shovelful on to the shelves of his iron 
 safe. The golden_nveriiAd_a source at last. But this was not 
 yet a solid, entrenched fortune flowing with a regular, continu- 
 ous gush. Saccard, saved from a crisis, thought himself pitiful 
 with the crumbs^ ofjiis three millions, and naively said that he 
 was still too poor, and could not stop there. And soon the 
 Of round ao-ain cracked beneath his feet. 
 
278 THE RUSH FOE THE SPOIL. / 
 
 Larsonneau had behaved so admirably in the Charonne ai'Fai: 
 that Saccard, after a slight hesitation, carried honesty- to the 
 jooint of giving him his ten per cent, and his bonus of th^irty 
 thousand francs. The expropriation agent thereupon opened a 
 banking-house. When his accomplice accused him in a snappish 
 tone of being richer than himself, the coxcomb with yellow 
 gloves replied, laughing : 
 
 ^' You see, dear master, you are very clever in making 
 money rain down, but you don't know how to pick it up." 
 
 Madame Sidonie profited by her brother's stroke of fortune 
 to borrow ten thousand francs from him, with which she went 
 to spend a couple of months in England. She returned with- 
 out a copper, and it was never known what had become of the 
 ten thousand francs. 
 
 ^' Well, it costs," she replied when she was questioned. -^ I 
 ransacked all the libraries. I had three secretaries to assist me 
 in my researches." 
 
 And when she was asked if she at length had any positive 
 information about her three milliards, she at first smiled with a 
 mysterious air, and then ended by muttering : 
 
 ^*You are all incredulous. I have found nothing, but no 
 matter. You will see, you will see some day." 
 
 She had not, however, lost all the time she spent in England. 
 Her brother the minister profited by her journey to entrust her 
 w4th a delicate commission. When she returned she obtained 
 large orders from the ministry. It was a fresh incarnation. 
 She made contracts with the government, and charged herself 
 with supplying it every imaginable thing. She sold it provisions 
 and arms for the troops, furniture for the prefectures and public 
 departments, fire wood for the offices and the museums. The money 
 she made did not induce her to set aside her eternal black 
 dresses, and she retained her yellow, doleful face. Saccard then 
 reflected that it was really she whom he had seen once long ago 
 furtively leaving their brother Eugene's house. She must 
 at all times have kept up a secret connection with him, for 
 matters^with which no one was acquainted. 
 ' Benee was agonizing amid these interests, these ardent thirsts 
 
 whTclTTould not satisfy themselves. Aunt Elisabeth was dead ; 
 Christine had married and left the Beraud mansion, where her 
 father alone remained erect in the gloomy shade of the large 
 rooms. Ren6)e exhausted what she inherited from her aunt in 
 one season. She ganibled__no\v. She had found a drawing- 
 
\ THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 279 
 
 room where ladies sat at table till three o'clock in the morning, 
 losing hundreds of thousands of francs in a night. She tried 
 to drink, but she could not, she experienced invincible qualms of 
 disgust. Since she had found herself alone again, abandoned 
 to the worldly flood which carried her off, she surrendered her- 
 self all the more, not knowing how to kill time. She ended by- 
 tasting of everything. And nothing touched her amid the im- 
 mense bQjiedom which was crushing her. She grew^older, 
 blue circles appeared round her eyes, her nose became thinner, 
 her pouting lips parted in sudden and causeless laughter. It 
 was the endj)f a^w-oman. 
 
 When Maxime had married Louise, and the young folks had 
 started for Italy, she no longer troubled herself about her lover ; 
 she even seemed to forget him completely. And when Maxime 
 returned alone six months later, having buried the "hunch- 
 back " in the cemetery of a little town in Lombardy, it was 
 hat:t:§d that she displayed tow^ards hmu. She remembered 
 Phe(b:*e, she no doubt recollected that poisoned love to which / 
 she had heard Ristori lend her sobs. Then, so as never 
 more to meet the young fellow in her home, to dig an abyss of 
 shame between the father and the son for ever, she compelled 
 her husband to take cognisance of the incest, she told him that 
 on the day when he had surprised her with Maxime, the latter, 
 who had long pursued her, was seeking to assault her. Saccard 
 was horribly worried by the insistance she evinced in wishing 
 to open his eyes. He was obliged to quarrel with his son and 
 cease to see him. The young widower, rich with his wife's 
 dowry, went to live a bachelor's life in a little house of the 
 Avenue de I'lmperatrice. He had renounced the Council of 
 State, and kept a racing stable. Renee derived one of her last 
 satisfactions from this" rupture. She revenged herself, she flung 
 the infamy which these two men had set on her back in their own 
 faces, and she said to herself that now she would never more see 
 them making game of her, arm-in-arm, like a couple of comrades. 
 
 Amid the crumbling of Renee's affections there came a 
 moment when she had no one left to love her but her maid. 
 She had by degrees been taken with a maternal affection for 
 Celeste. Perhaps this girl, who was all that remained near her 
 of Maxime's love, reminded her of the hours of enjoyment for- 
 ever dead. Perhaps Eenee was simply touched by the fidelity 
 of this servant, of this brave heart the quiet solicitude of which 
 nothing seemed to shake. From the depth of her remorse she 
 
 /> 
 
280 THE EUSII FOll THE SrOH.. 
 
 
 N 
 
 thanked Celeste for having witnessed her shame without lea-vii^g 
 her in disgust ; and she pictured all kinds of abnegation, a 
 whole life of renunciation to arrive at understanding the calm- 
 ness of the chambermaid in the presence of incest, her icy hands, 
 her respectful, quiet attentions. And the girl's devotion made 
 llenee all the happier as she knew her to be honest and econo- 
 mical, without a lover, without a vice. 
 
 At times in her sad moments she w^ould say to her : 
 
 *^ Ah ! my girl, it is you who will close my eyes." 
 
 Celeste never answered, but she gave a singular smile. One 
 morning she quietly informed her mistress that she was going 
 to leave, that she meant to return into the countrj-. Renee 
 remained trembling all over on hearing this, as if some great 
 misfortune had befallen her. She cried out, and plied Celeste 
 with questions. Why would she leave her when they got on 
 so well together ? And she offered to double her wages. 
 
 But the maid, in answer to all her kind words, made a gesture 
 meaning no, in a quiet, obstinate manner. 
 
 '^ You see, madame," she ended by replying, ^^ you might 
 offer me all the gold of Peru, but I could not remain a week 
 longer. Ah ! you don't know me — I've been with you for eight 
 years, haven't I *? Well, on the very first day I said to myself : 
 'As soon as I have collected five thousand francs together, I 
 will return to my village ; I will buy Lagache's house, and I 
 shall live very happily ! ' It's a promise I made to myself, you 
 understand. And the five thousand francs were completed 
 yesterday, when you paid me my wages." 
 
 Eenee feU a chill at her heart. She saw Celeste passing 
 behind her and Maxime while they were kissing each other, and 
 she saw her with her indifference, in a perfect state of abstraction, 
 dreaming of her five thousand francs. However, she still tried 
 to retain her, frightened by the void in which she would have 
 to live, longing, despite everything, to keep near her this 
 obstinate animal whom she had thought devoted, and who was 
 merely egotistical. The girl smiled, still shaking her head and 
 muttering : 
 
 " No, no, it isn't possible. Even if it were my mother I 
 should refuse. I shall buy two cow^s. I shall perhaps start a 
 little haberdasher's business. It is very pretty down our way. 
 Oh! for the matter of that, I am willing you should come and 
 see me. It is near Caen. I wall leave yon the address. '^ 
 
 Eenee then no lon^-er insisted. She shed liot tears when she 
 
THE HUSH FOR THE SrOIL. 281 
 
 viras alono. On the morrow, with a sick person's whimsicality, 
 s|he decided to accompany Celeste to the Western Railway 
 gitation, in her own Jorougham. She gave her one of her 
 i;ravelling rugs and made her a present in money, and showed 
 >tAer the attentions of a mother whose daughter is about to start 
 upon some long difficult journey. In the brougham she looked 
 f..t her with moist eyes. Celeste chatted and said how pleased 
 ehe was to go away. Then emboldened, she spoke out and 
 gave some advice to her mistress. 
 
 " I shouldn't have understood life like you, madame. I often 
 said to myself when I found you with Monsieur Maxime : ' Is 
 it possible one can be so foolish for men ! ' It always ends 
 badly — Ah ! for my part I always mistrusted them ! " 
 
 She laughed and threw herself back in the corner of the 
 brougham : 
 
 ^' My money would have danced! " she continued, *' and now-a- 
 days I should be destroying my eyes with crying. So whenever I 
 saw a man I took up a broomstick — I never dared to tell you 
 all that. Besides, it didn't ccaicern me. You were free to do 
 as you liked, and I only had to earn my money honestly." 
 
 At the railway station Eenee insisted upon paying her fare 
 and took her a first class ticket. As they had arrived before the 
 time, she detained her, pressing her hands and repeating : 
 
 " And take good care of yourself, don't neglect your health, 
 my good Celeste.'^ 
 
 The latter allowed herself to be caressed. She stood look- 
 ing happy, with a fresh smiling face, before her mistress's tear- 
 ful eyes. Eenee again spoke of the past, and the maid abruptly 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " I was forgetting : I didn't tell you the story of E apiiste, 
 master's valet. Probably no one has liked to tell you.'' 
 
 The young woman owned that she indeed knew nothing. 
 
 " Well, you remember his grand dignified airs, his disdainful 
 glances, you yourself spoke to me about them. It was all so 
 much acting. He didn't care for women, he never came down 
 to the servants' hall when w^e were there ; I can repeat it 
 now, he even pretended that it was disgusting in the drawing- 
 room, on account of all the low-neck dresses. I well believe 
 that he didn'tijara for w^ omen ! " 
 
 And she leant towards Eenee's ear, and made her blush, 
 though she herself retained all her honest placidity. 
 
 "When the new stable boy," she continued, "^told every- 
 
282 THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 thing to master, master preferred to dismiss Baptiste rathe 
 than send him to jail. It seems that these disgusting thing 
 had been going on for years in the_si.ables. And to think tha 
 the big scamp pretended he was fond of horses ! It was th 
 groom s.iJiatJi£Lliked.! " 
 
 The bell interrupted her. She hastily took up the eight 
 ten packages which she had not wished to part with. She le 
 herself be kissed ; and then she went olf, without looking rouncl j 
 
 Renee remained in the station until the engine whistled 
 And when the train had gone off, she was overcome with deg 
 pair, she no longer knew what to do ; her days seemed to stretcl) 
 before her as empty as the vast waiting hall where she haa 
 been left alone. She again entered her brougham and told the 
 coachman to drive her home. But on the way she changed 
 her mind, she was afraid of her room, of the boredom__awaiting 
 her there. She no longer felt the necessary courage to return 
 home and change her dress for her usual drive round the lake. 
 She felt a longing for sunlight, a longing to mingle with the 
 crowd. 
 
 She ordered the coachman to drive ^o the Bois. 
 
 It was four o'clock. The Bois was awaEening from the 
 drowsiness of a warm afternoon. Clouds of dust flew along the 
 Avenue de I'lmperatrice, and one could see, spread out afar, 
 the expanse of verdure which the slopes of Saint-Cloud and 
 Suresnes, crowned by the grey v/alls of Mont Yalerien, limited. 
 High above the horizon the sun shed its rays, filling the reces- 
 ses of the foliage with golden dust, lighting up the tall 
 branches, and changing the ocean of leaves into an ocean of 
 light. Past the fortifications, in the avenue of the Bois lead- 
 ing to the lake, the ground had just been watered; and the 
 vehicles rolled over the brown soil as over a carpet, amid a rising 
 freshness and an odour of damp earth. Mingled with the low 
 bushes on either side, the little trees of the copses reared their 
 crowed of young trunks, growing indistinct in the greenish dim- 
 ness which flashes of light pierced here and there with yellow 
 glades ; and, by degrees, as one ajDproached the lake^ the 
 chairs on the side-walks became more numerous, families sat, 
 gazing with quiet silent faces at the interminable procession of 
 wheels. Then, on reaching the open space in front of the lake, 
 there was adazzlement, the oblique sun transformed the round 
 expanse of water into a huge mirror of polished silver reflecting 
 the brilliant disk of the planet. All eyes blinked, one could 
 
THE KUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 283 
 
 )iily distinguish the dark form of the pleasure boat on the left 
 
 iihand side near the bank. The parasols in the vehicles were 
 
 gjnclined with a gentle and uniform movement towards this 
 
 i splendour, and only rose erect again on reaching the roadway 
 
 Vl.^virting the sheet of water, w^hich, from the summit of the bank, 
 
 mow assumed a metallic blackness, streaked with golden 
 
 r.Ipurnishings. On the right hand side the clumps of fir trees 
 
 ,>i lined the road with their colonnades of straight slender stems, 
 
 1 Ifhe soft violet tinge of which was reddened by the flames of the 
 
 :jsky ; on the left the lawns, bathed in light and similar to fields 
 
 of emeralds, stretched away as far as the distant lace-like iron- 
 
 "vork of the gate of La Muette. And on approaching the cas- 
 
 cade, while the dimness of the copses again presented it- 
 
 sielf on one side, the islands at the end of the lake rose up 
 
 into the blue air, with the sunshine playing over their banks, 
 
 and bold shadows darting from their pines, at the feet of which 
 
 the chalet looked like some child's plaything lost in a corner of 
 
 a virgin forest. The whole wood laughed and quivered in 
 
 the sunshine. 
 
 The weather was so magnificent that Renee felt ashamed of 
 her closed brougham and her costume of flea-tinted silk. She 
 drew back a little, and, with the windows open, looked at 
 this flow of light stretching over the water and the verdure. 
 At the bends of the avenues she perceived the line of wheels 
 revolving like golden stars amid a long train of blinding gleams. 
 The varnished panels, the flashing steel and brass mountings, 
 the bright colours of the dresses passed on, at the even trot of 
 the horses, and set against the background of the wood a long 
 moviag bar, a ray fallen from the sky, stretching out and 
 following the bends of the roadway. And in this ray, as the 
 young w^oman blinked her eyes, she saw every now and then the 
 light chignon of a w^oman, the black back of a footman, the 
 white mane of a horse, stand out. The arched parasols of 
 Y^atered silk shone like moons of metal. 
 
 Then, in presence of this broad daylight, this expanse of sun- 
 S'hine, Eenee thought of the fine dust of twilight which she had 
 seen one evening falling on the tawny foliage. Maxime had 
 been with her. It was at the period when her desires for that 
 child were dawning in her. And she again saw the lawns 
 dampened by the evening air, the darkened underwood, the 
 deserted pathways. The line of vehicles had gone by with a 
 sad sound past the unoccupied chairs, whilst now the rumble 
 
284 THE EUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 of the wheels, the trot of the horses, resounded with the joyful} 
 ness of a flourish of trumpets. Then the recollection of all hel 
 drives in the Bois returned to her. She had lived there- 
 Maxime had grown up there, at her side^ on the cushion of he 
 carriage. It had been their garden. Eain had surprised then 
 there, sunshine had brought them back, the fall of night ha, 
 not always driven them away. They had been there in ever 
 kind of weather, they had there tasted the worries and the joy 
 of their life. Amid the emptiness of her being, the melanchol; 
 imparted by Celeste's departure, these memories gave Renee bitte 
 joy. Her heart said : " Never again ! never again ! " and she wa 
 like frozen when she evoked the image of the winter landscaped 
 the congealed, dull-tinted lake on which they had skated; thC 
 sky then was of a sooty colour, the snow had set white lace oi h 
 the trees, the wind had thrown fine sand in their eyes and o:. 
 their lips. 
 
 However, on the left hand side, on the side reserved to 
 equestrians, she had already recognised the Duke de Epzan, 
 Monsieur de Mussy, and Monsieur de SafFre. Larsonneau hf;^ 
 killed the duke's mother by presenting her the hundred arid 
 fifty thousand francs' worth of bills accepted by her son, andtl}^ 
 duke was devouring his second half million with Blanche Mulli'r 
 after leaving the first fiye hundred thousand francs in the lianas; 
 of Laure d'Aurigny. Monsieur de Mussy, who had left the 
 embassy in England for the embassy in Italy, had become 
 gallant again ; and he led cotillons with newly acquired grace- 
 fulness. As for Monsieur de SafFre, he remained the most 
 amiable sceptic and fast-liver in the world. Eenee saw himt 
 urging his horse towards the carriage of the Countess Yanska, 
 w^ith whom he was said to be madly in love since the evening; 
 when he had seen her as Coral at the Saccards'. 
 
 All the ladies were there, moreover ; the Duchess de Sternich, 
 in her sempiternal eight-springed carriage ; Madame de Lavi- 
 werens in a landau, with the Baroness de Meinhold and little 
 Madame Daste seated in front of her; Madame de Teissierc; 
 and Madame de Guende in a victoria. Amid these ladies, 
 Sylvia and Laure d'Aurigny displayed themselves on the 
 cushions of a magnificent calash. Madame Michelin evep 
 passed by in the depths of a brougham ; the pretty brunetll 
 had been to visit the chief town of Monsieur Hupel de la Noud 
 dejDartment ; and on her return she had made her appearan 
 in the Bois in this brougham, to which she hoped to soon ac 
 
THE EUSH FOK THE SPOIT. 285 
 
 ,n open carriage. Eenee also perceived the Marchioness 
 'ji'Espanet and Madame Haffner, the inseparables hidden nnder 
 their parasols, stretched out side by side, laughing tenderly, 
 [[ind gazing into each other's eyes. 
 
 h^ Then the gentlemen passed by : Monsieur de Chibray driving 
 'I mail-coach ; Monsieur Simpson in a dog-cart ; Messieurs 
 .';VIignon and Charrier, more eager than ever for work, despite 
 ttheir dream of approaching retirement, in a brougham which 
 :>.hey left at the corner of an avenue, to go a bit of the way on 
 ( ^'oot ; Monsieur de Mareuil, still in mourning for his daughter, 
 ]Keeking bows for his first interruption launched forth the day 
 v)efore at the Corps Legislatif, and airing his political im- 
 
 )ortance in the carriage of Monsieur Tout in Laroche, who had 
 
 >nce more saved the Credit Yiticole, after placing it within two 
 
 ingers' length of ruin, and whom the Seriate made thinner and 
 
 11 ore influential than ever. 
 
 ( And, to close the procession, like a final majesty. Baron 
 jUouraud showed his inert heaviness in the sunlight, on the 
 ^.pillows with which his carriage was provided. Renee felt 
 >^;iirprised and disgusted on recognising Baptiste seated, with a 
 f^k^hite face and solemn air, beside the coachman. The tall 
 
 junkey had entered the baron's service. 
 ]i The copses continued to stretch away, the water of the 
 f^|,ike grew iridescent under the sunrays now become more 
 
 ; blique, the line of carriages spread out its dancing gleams, 
 ^lind the young woman, herself seized and carried away by 
 iibhis enjoyment, vaguely divined all the appetites rolling along 
 4n the midst of the sunlight. 'She did^not feel Indignant with 
 fihese sharers of the spoil. But she ha ted them for their joy, 
 j^'or this triumphal march, which showed'them to her fuirTnTlie 
 
 I;olden dust from the sky. They w^ere superb and smiling; the 
 vomen displayed themselves white and plump, the men had 
 ,he rapid glances, the delighted deportment of favoured lovers. 
 i\nd she, in the depth of her empty heart, found nothing more 
 :han lassitude and covert envy. Was _she J better than the 
 3thers, then, that she thus bent under ^the_weighF~bf pl easure ? 
 or was it the others w^ho were praiseworthy for havmg stronger 
 loins than her own. She did not know, she was just longing 
 for new desires with w^hich to begin life anew, when, on turnmg 
 ler HeadT'she perceived beside her, on the footway bordering 
 :he underwood, a sight which rent her heart like a supreme blow. 
 Saccard and Maximo were walking along slowly, arm-in-ai'm. 
 
286 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 The father must have paid a visit to the son, and they ha 
 both come down from the Avenue de I'lmperatrice to the lak^^ 
 chatting. 
 
 "Listen to me," repeated Saccard, "you are a simpletoL 
 When a man has money like you have, he doesn't let it slumbe 
 at the bottom of a drawer. There is a hundred per cent to b 
 gained in the affair I mention. It is a safe investment. Yoi 
 know very well that I wouldn't let you in ! " 
 
 HoAvever, the young fellow seemed bored by his father' 
 insistance. He smiled with his pretty air, and looked at th 
 carriages. 
 
 " Do you see that little woman over there, the one in mauve, 
 he suddenly said. ^' She's a washerwoman, whom that beast D 
 Mussy has brought out.' i 
 
 They looked at the woman in mauve ; after which Saccarv 
 drew a cigar from his pocket, and addressing himself to Maximt 
 who was smoking : 
 
 " Give me a light," he said. | 
 
 Then they stopped for a moment in front of each othei 
 drawing their faces near together. When the cigar wa 
 lighted : i 
 
 " You see," continued the father, again taking his son; 
 arm, and pressing it tightly under his own ; " you would be , 
 fool if you didn't listen to me. Is it agreed, eh ? Will yo : 
 bring me the hundred thousand francs to-morrow *? " 
 
 " You know very well that I no longer go to your house, 
 replied Maxime, compressing his lips. 
 
 " Pooh ! A lot of bosh ! It's time there was an end to al 
 that." 
 
 And while they took a few steps in silence, just at th^ 
 moment when Renee, feeling as though she would swoon, hio 
 her head in the padding of the brougham, so as not to be seen^ 
 a growing buzz swept along the line of vehicles. The pedes.i 
 trians on the footways halted, and turned round with gaping,] 
 mouths, watching something that approached. There was \t 
 louder rumble of w^heels, the equipages respectfully drew asidci 
 and two postilions appeared, clad in green, with round caps, or^' 
 which golden tassels jolted with their cords spread out; 
 Leaning slightly forward, they hastened on at the trot of theii 
 tall bay horses. Behind them they left an empty space ; ancj^ 
 then, in this empty space, the Emperor appeared. : 
 
 He occupied alone the back seat of a landau. Dressed in blacl^[ 
 
THE KUSH FOE THE SPOIL. 287 
 
 with his frock-coat buttoned up to his chin, he wore, shghtly on 
 one side, a very tall hat, the silk of which glistened. In front 
 jbf him, on the other seat, two gentlemen, dressed with that 
 jfcorrect elegance which was favourably looked upon at the 
 Tuileries, remained grave, with their hands on their knees, and 
 the silent air of two wedding guests promenaded amid the 
 curiosity of a crowd. 
 
 Een£e_fpund the Emperor aged. His mouth was parted more 
 languidly under his thi^kn^^axedT^oustaches. His eyelids had 
 ;^TOwn heavy to the point that they half covered his dim eyes, 
 the yellow greyness of which had become yet more cloudy. 
 And his nose alone still looked like a dry bone set in his vague 
 face. 
 
 Meantime, while the ladies in the carriages smiled discreetly, 
 :he people on foot pointed the sovereign out to one another. 
 i fat man declared that the Emperor was the gentleman who 
 .urned his back to the coachman on the left side. Some hands 
 
 E^ere raised to salute. But Saccard, who had taken off his hat, 
 ven before the postilions had passed, waited till the imperial 
 -.arriage was exactly in front of him, and then he cried out in 
 lis thick Provengal voice : 
 
 " Long live the Emperor ! " 
 
 The Emperor, surprised, turned, recognised the enthusiast, 
 doubt, and returned the bow smiling. And everything then 
 isappeared in the sunlight, the equipages closed up, and 
 le.nie could only perceive, above the manes of the horses, and 
 between the backs of the footmen, the postilions caps jolting 
 ith their golden tassels. 
 
 She remained for a moment with her eyes wide open, full of 
 :his apparition, which reminded her of another hour of her life, 
 t seemed to her as if the Emperor, by mingling with the line 
 if carriages, had set the last necessary ray therein, and given a 
 neaning to this triiimphaLmarch. Now, it was a glory. All 
 hese wheels, all these decorated men, all these women languidly 
 tretched out, disappeared amid the flash and the rumble of the 
 mperial landau. This sensation became so acute and so pain- 
 ul that the young woman experienced an imperious need of 
 scaping from this triumph, from Saccard's cry, which was still 
 inging in her ears, from the sight of the lather and the son 
 lowly walking along, and chatting with their arms linked, 
 he reflected, with her hands on her breast, as if burnt by an 
 jternal fire : and it was with a sudden hope of relief and 
 
288 THE KUSH FOll THE SPOIL. 
 
 salutary coolness that she leant forward, and said to th 
 coacliman : 
 
 '* To the Beraud mansion/' 
 
 The courtyard retained its cloister-like coldness. Eenee wen 
 round the arcades, made happy by the dampness w^hich-fel 
 upon her shoulders. She approached the fountain, gree 
 with moss, and polished by wear at the edges ; she looked a 
 the lion's head, now half effaced, which, with parted jawi 
 emitted a gush of water by an iron pipe. How many times ha( 
 she a.nd Christine taken this head between their girlish arms t 
 lean forward to reach the stream of water, the icy flow of whic 
 they liked to feel upon their little hands. Then she mounte 
 the great silent staircase ; she perceived her father at the en\ 
 of the suite of spacious rooms ; he drew up his tall figure^ an 
 silently went deeper into the shade of the old residence, of th 
 haughty solitude in which he had absolutely cloistered himse 
 since his sister's death ; and Eenee thought of the men of t 
 Bois, of that other old man, Baron Gouraud, w^ho had his fle^ 
 rolled about on pillows in the sunlight. She went up highi 
 she followed the passages, the servants' stairs, she was bou: 
 for the nursery. When she reached the top landing she foun' 
 the key hanging on the usual nail ; a large rusty key it was, c 
 which spiders had woven webs. The lock gave a plaintive cr/ 
 Ho.w sad the nursery was ! She felt a pang at her heart C 
 fiming it so empty, so grey, so silent. She closed the ope 
 door of the abandoned aviary, with the vague idea that it mua 
 have been by that door that the joy^sof her childiiogd had flow) 
 away. In front of the flower-boxes, still full of soil hardene 
 andJcracked all over like dry mud, she stopped and broke off*, 
 rhododendron stem ; this skeleton of a plant, shrivelled an 
 white with dust, was all that remain*, d of their living clumps ^ 
 verdure. And the matting, the matting itself, faded, gnawi 
 by rats, displayed itself with the melancholy aspect of a shroir 
 which has for years awaited a promised corpse. In one corne 
 amid this mute despair, this silent weeping abandonment, Rene 
 found one of her old dolls ; all the bran had floAved out of \ 
 by a hoIe71SvrTts~porcelain head continued smiling with i' 
 enamelled lips, above the tabid body, which a doll's follies seem(l 
 to have exhausted. 
 
 Reneefelt stifled in the tainted atmosphere of the abode of h 
 childhood. She opened the window and gazed on the immeni 
 view. Nothing there was soiled. She aiiain found the eternj 
 
THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 289 
 
 delights, the eternal juvenescence of the open air. The sun 
 must have been sinking behind her ; but she only saw the rays 
 of the setting planet, as they lent, with infinite softness, a 
 yellowish tinge to this corner of the city wbich she knew so 
 well. It was like the last lay of daylight, a gay refrain, which 
 slowly subsided on all things. There were gleams of tawny fire 
 about the boom below, while the lacework of the iron cables 
 of the Pont de Constantino stood out above the whiteness of the 
 pillars. Then, on the right hand, the umbrage of the Halle aux 
 Vins and the Jardin des Plantes seemed like a great mere with 
 stagnant, mossy water, the greenish surface of which blended in 
 the distance with the mist of the sky. On the left, the Qua! 
 Henri IV. and the Quai de la Eapee were lined with the same 
 rows of houses, those houses which, as girls, twenty years before, 
 they had seen there, with the same brown patches of sheds, 
 the same ruddy factory chimneys. And, above the trees, the 
 slate roof of the Salpetriere hospital, made blue by the sun's 
 good-bye, suddenly appeared to her like an old friend. 
 
 But what calmedjier, and imparted coolness to her bosom, were 
 
 the long gre}^ banks, and especially tjie^eine, the giantess, w^hich 
 
 > she saw coming from the limits of the horizon straight towards 
 
 1 her, just as in those happy times when she had feared to see it 
 
 ! swell and rise up to the very window. She remembered their 
 
 i aifection for the river, their love for its_.colossal_flow, for this 
 
 quivering of noisy water, spreading out in a sheet at their feet, 
 
 parting around and behind them in two arms, the ends of which 
 
 they could not see, though they still felt the great pure caress. 
 
 I They were then already coquettish, and on the days when the 
 
 sky was clear they said that the Seine had put on her beautiful 
 
 dress of green silk, flecked with white flames ; and the eddies 
 
 w^here the water curled, set frills of satin on the dress, while 
 
 afar ofl", beyond the belt of bridges, a play of light spread 
 
 strips of stuff the colour of the sun. 
 
 And Eenee, raising her eyes, looked at the vast expanse of 
 
 soaring sky of a pale blue, fading little by little in the 
 
 obliteration of twilight. She thought of the accomplice city, 
 
 of the blazing nights of the Boulevard, of the hot afternoons 
 
 of the Bois, of the pallid, crude day, of the grand new mansions. 
 
 Then, when she lowered her head, when she again saw at a 
 
 I glance the peaceful horizon of her childhood, this corner of a 
 
 j city, inhabited by the middle and working classes, where she 
 
 ' had dreamt of a life of peace, a final bitterness mounted to 
 
 T 
 
200 THE RUSH FOR THE SPOIL. 
 
 her lips. With her hands clasped, she sobbed in the gathering 
 night. 
 
 The following winter, when Eenee died of acute in^ningitisj 
 it was her father who paid her debts. W orms's bill amounted 
 to two hundred and fifty-seven thousand francs. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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