SSi63^0^5^^S$2^ ^ ^^ RENEE MAUPERIN Edmond and Jules de Gongourt REPRESENTATIVE FRENCH FICTION. -: o :- Complete and accurate Translations, elegantly printed and bound, price 3/6. By Theophile Gautier. MADEMOISELLE DE MATJPIN, a Romance of Love and Passion. "The Golden Book of Spirit and Sense, the Holy Writ of Beauty." A. C. Swin- burne. "Gautier is an inimitable model. His manner is so light and true, so really creative, his fancy so alert, his taste so happy, his humour so genial, that he makes illusion almost as contagious as laughter." Mr. Henry James. By GusTAVE Flaubert. SALAMBO. Translated from the French " Edition definitive" BY J. S. CHARTRES. " The Translator has thoroughly understood the original, and has succeeded in putting it into good English. The type, paper, and material execution of the volume, inside and out, leave nothing to be desired." Westminster Revieiv. MADAME BOVARY : Provincial Manners. Translated bv E. Marx-Avei.ing. With an Introduction and Notes of the proceedings against the author before the " Tribunal Correctionnel " of Paris. [SHORTL Y. "'Madame Bovary' grips your very vitals with an invincible power, like some scene you ha-e really witnessed, some event which is actually happening before your eyes." Emile Zola. By E. and J. De Goncourt. RENEE MAUPERIN. One of the most pathetic romances of our day. Running through almost the whole gamut of human passion, it has the alternatives of sunshine and shade that exist in real life." Morning Post. GERMINIE LACERTEUX. " For myself, I can say that I could not lay the book down for a moment until I had finished it." Letters on Books in Truth. By Paul Bourget. A LOVE CRIME. From the i-jth French Editio7i. 1 " ^y^? could take up such books, by the way admirably translated, and not be simply and absolutely spellbound ? "Truth. RENEE MAUPERIN BY Edmond and Jules de Goncourt. LONDON n: jr. gibbtngs, is burf street w.c. 1892. NOTICE. Stack Annex Pa " Renee Maupertn" is more of a novel than any other of the Brothers de Goncourt's works of fiction. It is a some- what complicated story, the characters in which are studied with great knowledge of the surroundings and the period selected by the authors. For many people, those who prefer analysis to art, this is Messieurs de Goncourt's masterpiece. The authors' object has been to depict a phase of contemporary middle-class life. Their heroine, Renee, the most prominent personage of the story, is a strange girl, half a boy, who has been brought up in the chaste ignorance of virgins, but who has divined life. Spoilt by her father, she has grown upon the dunghill of advanced civilization with an artistic soul and a nervous, refined temperament. She is the most adorable little thing imaginable, she talks slang, she paints and acts, her mind is awake to every form of curiosity, and she is possessed of masculine pride, straightforwardness, and honesty. By her side there is her brother, who is also marvellously true to life : a serious young man, the type of properly regulated ambition, the outcome of the manners and customs which have resulted from Parliamentary rule. He is one of those very sharp fellows who make love to mothers in view of marrying their daughters. Then comes the whole gallery of middle-class folks of either sex, all delineated with one vi. NOTICE. . Stroke of the pen, with a delightfully fine touch and without any approach to caricature. These people are enriched and satisfied revolutionists who have become conservatives, and who, of all their hatreds, only retain their animosity for Jesuits and priests. Some chapters of the book are of a comic character attaining- to perfection, satirical without violence, extremely true to life. The tragedy begins in the second part of the work. Renee's brother has assumed a noble name in view of furthering his matrimonial plans. But a nobleman of that name is still living, and, having learnt through Renee of her brother's action, he challenges the young man and kills him. Then Renee, horrified by what she has done, slowly dies of heart disease, her dis- tressing agony lasting through nearly one-third of the volume. Never has the approach of death been studied with more painful patience ; and one finds here all the authors' literary art, all their power of happy expression employed to depict even the most fieeting tremors of the disease. I know of nothing that is more touching or more terrible. Emile Zola. RENEE MAUPERIN. I. " You do not like soriety, mademoiselle ? '' " You will not repeat what I say ? It chokes me. That is the effect the world has upon me. Perhaps it is that i have been unlucky. I have fallen among serious young men, friends of my brother ; young ' text books ' I call them. To the girls I meet I can only talk of the last sermon they have heard, of the last piece of music they have been studying, or of the last dress they have worn ; my conversation with my contemporaries is limited." " You spend all the year in the coiintry, do you not ? " "Yes. But we are so close to Paris. Have you seen the new piece at the Opera-Comique ? Is it pretty?" " Yes, mademoiselle, it is charming ; the music is admirably written. All Paris was there the first night. I ought to explain to you that I never go to a play except on a first night." " Could you believe that the Opera-Comique is the only theatre to which I am ever taken, besides the Fran9ais and only there when they play a masterpiece. They bore me to extinction those masterpieces ! To think that they will not allow me to go to the Palais-Royal ! But I read till the pieces that are played there, nevertheless. It took 8 RENEE MAUPERIN, me ever so long to learn ' Les Saltimbanques ' by heart. You are very fortunate ; you can g-o everywhere. A few evenings ago a great discussion was raised between my sister and my brother-in-law on the subject of the masked ball at the opera. Is it true that it is impossible to go there?" " Quite impossible. Good gracious ! " " Come now, if you were married, would you take your wife there ? just once only to see what it is like ? " " If I were married I would not even take there " " Your mother-in-law ? Is it really as bad as that ? " " Well, mademoiselle, you see that, firstly, the company is decidedly " " Miscellaneous ? Yes, I know that. But one finds that everywhere. But all the same one goes to La Marche, and one finds there a variegated company. Those ladies you know they are odd who drink champagne in their carriages and the Bois de Boulogne again ! Oh how dull it is to be a girl ; don't you think so ?" " Upon my word, mademoiselle ! I don't see why. On the contrary, I think " " I should like to see you turned into one ! You would soon find out then what a bore it is always having to behave 'properly.' I will give you an example. When we are dancing, do you suppose that we may talk to our partners ? * Yes, no,' ' no, yes ' that is all we may say. We have to keep to those monosyllables the whole time. That is being well behaved ! There is one of the charms of our existence! And it's all like that in everything. 'Proper' is another word for simpleton. And then to be condemned to chatter with one's own sex. When one has the misfortune to run away from them to the society of men I have been well scolded by mamma for that ! One RENEE MAUPERIN. 9 more thing which is not ' proper,' and that is reading. It is only two years since I have been allowed to read the stories published in the newspapers. Then I am made to skip all the crimes which are reported; they are not 'proper' reading for me! It is the same with the accom- plishments that we are allowed to have ; they must not go beyond a certain point. Beyond a duet and a lead pencil, everything is regarded as afifected and exaggerated. For instance, I paint in oils, and by so doing I make my family miserable. If they had their way, I should be only paint- ing roses in water colours. But what a stream there is here. It is diflScult to hold on." This conversation took place in an arm of the Seine, between La Briche and the island of St. Denis. The girl and the young man who were thus talking w^ere in the water. Tired of swimming, carried away by the stream, they had taken hold of a rope which fastened one of the barges anchored off the island. The strength of the water swung them about quite gently at the end of the tightened and quivering rope. They floated down a short distance, and then came up again against the stream. The water flowed round the chest of the girl, filled her woollen bathing-gown up to the neck, then threw behind her a little wavelet which became, a moment later, nothing but a drop of dew ready to fall from the tip of her ear. As she was holding on to the rope, a little above the young man, her arms were out of the water, her wrists turned back that she might the better grip the rope, her back against the black side of the barge. Some instinct of modesty made her body shrink at every moment from that of her companion which was pushed against her by the stream. In her hanging and shrinking attitude she some- what resembled one of those sea-goddesses who are some- 10 RENEE MAUPERIN. times twisted by carvers round the prows of ships. A slight tremor, caused by the movement of the river and the coldnpss of her bath, imparted to her something of the living undulation of the water. " By the way," she began again, " it must be very improper for me to be bathing with you. If we were at the sea-side it would be very different. We should never- theless be dressed exactly as we are now ; we should have come out of a hut exactly as we have come down from the house ; we should have walked over the shingle exactly as we walked across the bank ; we should be in the water up to our chins exactly as we are here; the waves would toss us about exactly as the current does here; but it would not be the same thing at all: the water of the Seine is not ' proper ! ' I am beginning to be very hungry. Are you ? " " Well, mademoiselle, I think I shall do honour to my dinner." " I must warn you, I do eat." " What do you mean, mademoiselle? " " Yes, at meal-times, I am absolutely without poetry. I should be only deceiving you if I hid from you the fact that I have a good healthy appetite. You belong to the same club as my brother-in-law, do you not ? " " Yes, I belong to the same club as Monsieur Davarande." " Have you many married men amongst the members ?" " Very many, mademoiselle." " It is extraordinary I never can understand why a man should marry. Had I been a man I should have never dreamed of marrying." " Happily you are a woman, mademoiselle." " Ah, yes ! There is another of our misfortunes ! We cannot remain bachelors, we poor women ; but will you RENEE MAUPERIN. 11 tell me why a man joins a club when he is married ? " " Well, a man must belong to some club in Paris at least every man who is in society must if it is only that he may have somewhere to smoke." " What! are there still in existence women. who refuse to make any allowances for smokers ? I would allow any- thing even a halfpenny pipe ! " " Have you any neighbours near you ? " " We are very unsociable, and make few friends. There are the Bourjots at Sannois, and we go there sometimes." " Ah, the Bourjots ! but here there is nobody to make friends with ? " " Yes, there is the priest. Ha, ha ! the first time he dined with us he drank the water out of his finger-glass ! But it is very naughty of me to say that. He is such a good man, and he always brings me flowers." " Riding would be a great distraction for you, I think. Are you fond of it? " " Oh, yes, I adore it ! It is my chief pleasure. 1 fancy I could not get on at all without it. What I like above everything is coursing. I was brought up to that in papa's country. I am mad about it. Do you know that one day I remained seven hours in my saddle without once getting down." " Oh, I know what it is, mademoiselle. I course a great deal every year in Le Perche, with Monsieur de Beaulieu's pack. Perhaps you have heard of it? It is a pack that he got over from England. Last year we had some splen- did sport there. The Chantilly hunt must be within reach of you here ? " " Papa and I never miss a day. We had a glorious day the last time we were out. At one moment we all met there were at least forty horses, and you know how ex- 12 RENEE MAUPERIN. cited they become when they are together ; we went away at full gallop I need say no more than that ! It was on that day that we saw the fine sunset over the pond. The air, the wind in one's hair, the hounds, the horns, the trees which seem to fly past one's eyes it is just as if one were tipsy. At those moments I am brave enough for anything."" " Only at those moments ? " " Yes, in truth, only on horseback. For I must acknow- ledge that I am not brave on foot, that I am very much afraid of the dark, that I don't at all like thunder, and that I am very glad that three people have failed us for dinner to-night." " And why, mademoiselle ? " " Because we should have been thirteen. You would have seen me commit any meanness to secure a fourteenth. Ah, here comes my brother with Denoisel in the boat. Look how beautiful all this is just at this moment ! " And, with a look, she made him notice the Seine, with its two banks and the sky. Little clouds, violet, grey, and silver, were tumbling and playing about on the horizon, some of them with flashes of light just touching their crests, and seeming to produce an effect of sea-foam in the far-off sky. Out of these clouds rose the sky itself, infinite and blue, splendid, and already beginning to pale, as at the hour when the stars are lighting themselves up behind the day. Right above their heads hung two or three clouds, hovering over them, solid and motionless, A bright light was poured down upon the water, sleeping here, twinkling there, lighting up the ripples of the river in the shadow of the boats, just touching here a mast, and there a rudder, catching as it passed the orange petticoat or the pink cap of a washer- woman. RENEE MAUPERIN. 13 The country and the outskirts and suburbs of the town all met on the two banks of the river. Long lines of pop- lars showed here and there between the detached houses, which marked the end of a town. One saw low cottages, hoardings, gardens, green shutters, wine-shops painted red, with acacias in front of their doors, old barrels lying on their side, and here and there blinding peeps of white walls ; then there came the hard lines of factories built of brick, with their roofs of tiles or zinc, and their large call bells. Smoke rose straight out of the mouths of their chimneys, and its shadow fell upon the river like the shadow of a column. On one chimney was written " Tobacco." On a plaster wall one saw the words, " Doremus, called Labiche, boat-builder." Over a canal, blocked up with barges, a revolving bridge raised its two black arms into the air. Fishermen were casting and drawing in their lines, wheels were creaking, carts were coming and going. Towing- ropes were being dragged along over the earth, which was rusty, hardened, blackened, dyed every colour by the coal- dust, the residuum from mineral works, and by deposits from chemical factories. A vague, indeterminate smell of grease and sugar, mixed with the emanations from the water and the smell of tar, rose from the candle factories, the glue factories, the tanneries, the sugar refineries, which were scattered about on the quay amongst thin, dried-up grass. The noise of foundries and the screams of steam-whistles broke, at every moment, the silence of the river. It was at once a picture of Asnieres, Saardam, and Puteaux, one of the Parisian landscapes of the banks of the Seine, such as Hervier loves to paint, which are dirty and bright, miser- able and gay, populous and full of life, where Nature passes every now and then between the buildings and the factories, as a blade of grass passes between the fingers of a man. U RENEE MAUPERIN. " Is not that view beautiful ? " " Well, frankly, mademoiselle, I cannot excite myself up to any pitch of enthusiasm over it it is fine up to a certain point." " Yes, it is beautiful. I assure you it is beautiful. Two years ag-o in the Exhibition there was a picture in exactly that style. I don't know how it is, but there are some thing-s that I feel." " You have an artist's nature, mademoiselle." " Pooh ! " was the only answer of the young lady, as she plunged into the water. When she reappeared on the surface, she began to swim towards the boat which was coming to meet her. Her hair, which had come undone, was goaked as it half floated behind her ; she shook it so as to scatter round her the drops of water. Evening was coming down. The sky was slowly ting- ing itself with pink. A breeze had sprung up over the river. On the tops of the trees the leaves were shivering. A little windmill, ^vhich served as a sign to an inn, began to turn its sails. As the swimmer reached the steps put out for her at the stern of the boat, one of the rowers said to her: " Well, Renee, and how did you find the water ? " " Very pleasant, thank you, Denoisel." " You are a nice young woman, upon my word," said the other; "you are going to the devil. I was getting quite uneasy about you. And what have you done with Keverchon? Ah ! here he comes." II. Charles Louis Mauperin was born in 1787. Son of a barrister, who was renowned and honoured in Lorraine and the Barrois, he entered upon a military career at the age of sixteen, as a cadet at the Military School of Fontainebleau. Appointed sub-lieutenant m the 35th regiment of line- infantry, afterwards lieutenant in the same corps, he dis- tinguished himself in Italy by his extraordinary bravery At the battle of Pordenona, when already wounded, he was surrounded by a body of the enemy's cavalry, who called upon him to lay down his arms. He replied to their de- mand by an order to charge, killed with his own hand one of the horsemen who threatened him, and opened a passage with his men ; finally, he succumbed to numbers, and, re- ceiving on his head two new sword cuts, he fell back in his blood, and was left for dead. From captain in the 2nd Mediterranean regiment he became chief aide-de-camp to General Roussel d'Hurbal, and with him went through the campaign in Russia, where he had his right shoulder broken by a shot the day after the battle of Moskova. At twenty- six years of age, in 1813, he was an officer of the Legion of Honour, and in command of a squadron. In the army he was considered to have the finest future before him of any of the young superior officers, when the battle of Waterloo came to break his sword and his hopes. Put on half-pay, he entered, with Colonels Sauset and Maziau, into the Bonapartist conspiracy, knovTn as the " Bazar Franqais.^* As a member of the directing committee, he was condemned 16 RENEE MAUPERIN. to death by default, but was concealed by some friends, who helped hhn to escape to America. During the voyage he did not know how to pass his time, and began to study for a travelling companion of his who was going to take his doctor's degree in America, and, on his arrival, he passed his examination in the other's place. He remained for two years in the United States, and at the end of that time, by the brotherly friendship and the high influence of some of his old comrades who had returned to active ser- vice, he obtained his pardon, and permission to return to i'rance. He came home, and took up his abode in the little town of Bourmont, in company of his mother, who in- habited a house there belonging to his family'. This mother was an excellent old woman, such as the 18th century produced in the provinces, who was always ready with a joke, and was not afraid of a little taste of wine. Her son adored her. He found her suffering from an illness, on account of which her doctors had forbidden her an}^ stimu- lants ; he gave up wine, liqueurs, and coffee, so as not to tempt her, and to alleviate her privation by sharing it. It was out of tenderness for her, ou.t of respect for her de- sires as an invalid, that he took a wife. He married, with- out any strong inclination, a cousin of his own, who was pointed out to his choice by his mother as possessing a little bit of property, some land which marched with his own ; in fact, by all the ties which, in the country, bind and unite families. After his mother's death, as nothing kept him in the little town where he felt his sphere was limited, and as he was forbidden to live in Paris, Monsieur Mauperin sold his house at Bourmont, and the property that he had in the neighbourhood, with the exception of a farm at Villacourt, j^nd went to live with his young wife on a large property RENEE MAUPERIN. 17 that he bought in the depths of the Bassigiiy, at Mori- mond. There were there some remains of the great abbey, a piece of ground worthy of the name which the monks had given it Mort-au-monde (Dead to the world) a corner of rural and magnificent nature, terminating in a lake of a hundred acres, and in a forest of oaks whose age was forgotten, fields enclosed in canals banked with freestone, where the fresh water ran embowered by trees, where there was a vegetation which had been abandoned since the Re- volution, and which was as luxuriant as that of the back- woods, where there were springs in the shade, wild flowers, paths made by animals, and ruins of gardens upon ruins of buildings. Here and there some stones survived. The door remained, and the bench at which the soup used to be given away to beggars ; here the apse of a chapel without a roof, there the seven stages of the walls, like those of Montreuil. The pavilion at the entrance, built at the be- ginning of last century, was alone still standing entire, almost intact : it was there that Monsieur Mauperin estab- lished himself. He lived there until 1830, solitary and lost in study, plunged in his books, and drawing therefrom an immense education, a vast store of learning of all kinds : filling his mind with the works of historians, philosophers, and politi- cians, and ransacking all the mechanical sciences. He never left his books but to take the air to freshen his head, or to fatigue his body by long walks of eighteen miles across the fields and woods. In the neighbourhood the people were accustomed to see him walk like this ; from afar off the peasants recognised his step, his long buttoned- up overcoat, his great cavalry officer's legs, his head, which was always slightly bent, and the branch broken off a vine which served him for a walking-stick, B 18 RENEE MAUPERIN. At election times only did Monsieur Mauperin leave his laborious and secluded life: then he appeared in every corner of the department. He drove about in a light cart, inflamed with the fire of his soldier's voice all meetings of electors, and ordered an onslaught upon all the Government candidates ; it was war over again to him. Then, the elec- tion over, he would leave Chaumont and come back to his daily avocations, and to the obscure tranquility of his studies. Two children were born to him, a boy in 1826, a girl in 1827. The Revolution of 1830 broke out; he was returned to Parliament. He came into his new life full of American theories, which gave him a point of resemblance with Armand Carrel. His speeches, which were excited, to the point, soldierly, and full of matter, created a sensa- tion. He became one of the inspirers of the National newspaper, of which he had been one of the founders, and primed it with articles attacking the budget and the man- agement of the finances. The Tuileries made advances to him ; some of his old comrades, who had become aides-de- camp of the new king, approached him with offers of a high military position, of an important command, of a future for which he was still young enough. He refused abso- lutely. In 1832 he signed the protest of the Opposition to the words, " subjects of the king," used by Monsieur de Montalivet, and he fought against the system until 1835. That year his wife gave him a child, a little girl, whose arrival disturbed his whole being. His two first children had only caused him a cold joy, a happiness without diver- sion. Something was wanting in them which makes the delight of a father and the merriment of a fireside. They had both made themselves loved by Monsieur Mauperin, without being adored by him. The hope of the father that be would be gladdened by them had been disappointed, RENEE MAUPERIN. 19 Instead of the son of his dreams, a real baby, a little scamp, a little rascal, one of those pretty little devils in whom old soldiers find once more their own youth, and seem to hear again, as it were, the noise of g-unpowder, Monsieur Mau- perin had had to do with an orderly, well-behaved, little boy " a young lady," as he said; and it had been to him a great cause of sadness, mixed with some shame, that his heir was this little man who never broke his playthings. He had the same trouble with his daughter : she was one of those little girls who are born women. She seemed to play with him in order to amuse him. She had scarcely had any childhood. At five years old, when a gentleman came to see her father, she ran away to wash her hands. One had to kiss her only in certain places, and one would have said that she had come into the world with the fear of being rumpled by the caresses and love of her father. All the tenderness of Monsieur Mauperin, which had been thus repressed, and which had been for a long time saving itself up and concentrating itself, went out to the cradle of the new-comer, whom he had christened Renee, after her mother, who bore that old Lorraine name. He passed his days in delicious nonsense with his little Rene'e. At every moment he took off her little cap to see her silky hair. He taught her to make little faces, which charmed him. He taught her to show how fat she was, by pinching with her little fingers the flesh of her little thighs. He would lie down with her on the carpet when she was rolling, half nakad, with the pretty indifference of childhood. At night he would get up to look at her asleep, and passed hours in listening to the first breath of life, which is like the breathing of a flower. When she awoke, he came to catch her first smile that smile of tiny girls which comes out of the night as out of Paradise. His 20 RENEE MAUPERIN. happiness momentarily increased to delig-lit : he seemed to love a little angel. What fun he had with her at Morimond ! He used to drag- her round the house in a little carriage, and would turn round, at every step, to see her lauj^hing until she cried, the sun shining on her cheeks, nursing in her hand her little pink, supple, and crumpled-up foot. Or else he would carry her away with him on his long walks. He would go into a village, and make the child kiss her hand to the people who touched their hats to him, or he would go into a farm-house to exhibit the beautiful teeth of his little daughter. Often the child would fall asleep in his arms as in the arms of a nurse. At other times he would carry her off into the forest, and there, under the trees full of nightingale*, at the hours of the end of the day, when the voices of the woods are louder than those of the roads, he experienced ineffable happiness in hearing his baby, penetrated with all the sounds through which he was walking, by her little voice, murmuring and cooing, as if to answer the birds and the heavens which were singing to her. Madame Mauperin, on the other hand, had not received this last daughter so warmly. She was a good woman and a good mother, but she was eaten up by the pride of provincial people the pride of money. She had arranged to have two children ; the third was one too many, and put out her calculations for the two others, and especially did her coming nibble away a little of the fortune of the son. This Uttle girl represented to her mother the division of the united lands, the necessity of sharing their wealth, and consequently a falling from their present posi- tion and a lessening of the importance of the family in the future. REn6e MAUPERIN. 21 Soon Monsieur Mauperin was allowed no rest: the mother of his children was perpetually assaulting the politician, reminding- the father that it was his duty to look after the fortune of his children. She tried to de- tach him from his friends, his party, his fidelity to his ideas. She laughed at him for a simpleton whose scruples prevented him from making the most of his position. Every day the same scenes were enacted attacks, entreaties, reproaches the terrible battle of the fireside against the conscience of a member of the Opposition. At last Monsieur Mauperin begged his wife to allow him two months' respite for reflection: he also wished his Renee to be rich. At the end of the two months he resigned his seat in Parliament, and came to La Briche to establish a sugar refinery. Twenty years had passed since then. The children had grown up and the business had prospered. Monsieur Mauperin was making money fast out of his refinery. His son had been called to the bar. His elder daughter was married. Renee's portion was ready. III. The party had returned to the ground-floor of the house In a corner of the drawing-room, hung with chintz and decorated with bouquets of wild flowers in little baskets fastened to the wall, Henry Mauperin, Denoisel, and Reverchon were talking. Near the chimney-piece, Madame Mauperin was receiving, with great demon- strations of affection, her son-in-law and her daughter. Monsieur and Madame Davaraade, who had just arrived. She fancied herself obliged, under existing circumstances, to put forth all her family tenderness, and to make an exhibition of her mother's heart. The rustling caused by the embraces of Madame Mau- perin and Madame Davarande was scarcely over, when a little, old gentleman, who had quietly entered the drawing- room, said, " How d'ye do ? " with his eyes to Madame Mauperin, as he passed before her, and went straight to the group to which Denoisel belonged. This little, old man wore a black coat. He had white whiskers, and carried a portfolio under his arm. "Do you recognise that?" said he to Denoisel, as he carried him off into a bow window, and half opened his portfolio under his eyes. " That ? I know nothing but that it is the ' Myste- rious Swing,' engraved after Lavreince." The little man smiled : " Yes, but look at it." And he again opened his portfolio, but only so that Denoisel could just get his nose into it. RENEE MAUPERIN. 23 " An artist's proof, too an artist's proof ! Do you understand ? " " Perfectly." " And with a margin, too ! It is a brilliant specimen eh? But you may be sure the scoundrels did not make me a present of it! They ran up the price! and it was a woman, too, who did it " " Nonsense ! " " Yes, a cocotte, too, who asked each time how much I had bid. That rascally auctioneer kept saying-, ' It is madame's.' At last, at a hundred and thirty-five francs oh, I would not have paid a penny more for it." " I believe you I wish I had known that, for I know a proof exactly like that at Spindler's the painter's, and with bigger margins, too. Spindler does not care about Louis XVI. I could have had it for the asking." " Upon my word ! and an artist's proof like mine ? Are you quite sure of that ? " " An artist's proof before even ^yes, it is in a less ad- vanced state than your's. It is before " And the phrase which Denoisel finished in the ear of the old man caused his face to brighten up with pleasure, and made his mouth water. At this moment Monsieur Mauperin came into the draw- ing-room with his daughter. He had given her his arm. She, with her head thrown a little back, languid and coax- ing, was leaning on his arm, and was gently rubbing her hair on his sleeve, like a child wanting to be carried. " How are you ? " she said, kissing her sister. Then she put her forehead up to her mother, shook hands with her brother-in-law, and running to the man with the portfolio: " May I see, godfather ? " " No, goddaughter, you are not old enough yet." And 24 RENEE MAUPERIN. he gave her a little friendly tap on the cheek. "Ah! the things that you buy are always like that," said Renee, turning- her back on the old man, who began to tie up the strings of his portfolio with those knowing knots, familiar to the fingers of collectors of engravings. " Well, what news has anyone got for me ? " suddenly exclaimed Madame Mauperin, as she turned towards her daughter. She had made Reverchon ^ake a chair quite close to her, so close that her gestures and her dress touched him, seemed to caress him. " You were carried away by the stream ? I am sure you were in danger ! Oh, that river ! I cannot understand how Monsieur Mau- perin allows " " Madame Mauperin," replied her husband, who with his daughter was turning over the leaves of an album on the table, " I allow nothing, I tolerate." " Coward ! " said Mademoiselle Mauperin in a low voice to her father. " But, mamma, I assure you," intervened Henry Mau- perin, " I assure you there was no danger. They were carried a little way by the stream, and they preferred to hook themselves on to a boat to being carried down a mile or two. That is all. You see " " You reassure me," said Madame Mauperin, upon whose countenance serenity had settled at each word of her son. " I know you are so careful. But do you see, Monsieur Reverchon, our dear Renee is so careless ! I am always in terror about her ! Oh, see, her hair is still wet. Come here, and let me dry it." " Monsieur Dardouillet ! " announced a servant. " One of our neighbours," said Madame Mauperin to Reverchon in an undertone. " Well, and how are you getting on ? " asked Monsieur RENEE MAUPERIN. 25 Mauperin of the new comer, as they shook hands. " Pretty well, pretty well ; three hundred new stakes to-day." " Three hundred ? " " Three hundred. I think it will not be amiss. Do you see, from the greenhouse, I cut straight down to the piece of water, on account of the view. A slope of a foot and a half, not more. If we were on the ground I should not need to explain it to you. On the other side, you know, I go back one yard up the alley. \VTien that is done, Mon- sieur Mauperin, do you know that there will not be an inch of my land that has not been turned up ? " " But when do you mean to plant. Monsieur Dardouillet?" asked Mademoiselle Mauperin. " For three years now you have had workmen in your garden : are you never going to put in any trees ? " " Oh, the trees, mademoiselle, are nothing. There is al- ways time for them. The most important thing is, first, the plan of the ground, the slopes, and then, afterwards,, the trees, if you like." Some one had come in l)y a door opening from an inner apartment into the drawing-room. He had made his bow without being noticed. He was present without attracting any attention. His head was honest, and his hair tumbled like a pen-wiper. This was Monsieur Mauperin's cashier, Monsieur Bernard. " Are we all here ? Has Monsieur Bernard come down ? Ah, there he is!" said Monsieur Mauperin when he noticed him. " Suppose you were to ring and order dinner, Madame Mauperin. These young people must be hungry." The respect due to fresh appetites had passed away. Chatter followed the silence of a dinner, which begins with the noise of spoons in the soup plates. 26 RENEE MAUPERIN. " Monsieur Reverchon," began Madame Mauperin. She bad seated the young' man next to herself, on her right, and one would have said that her amiabilities were rubbing themselves against him. She heaped attentions and flat- teries upon him. She had a smile spread over her whole face, and even her voice was not that of every-day ; it was a high treble voice, which she put on on occasions of great ceremony. Her eyes travelled perpetually from the young man to his plate, and from his plate to a servant. The mother had her eye upon a son-in-law. " Monsieur Reverchon, we recently met an acquaintance of yours, Madame de Bonni^res. She spoke most highly of you, most highly." " 1 had the honour of meeting Madame de Bonnieres in Italy. I was even fortunate enough to be able to render her a slight service." " Did you rescue her from brigands ? " cried Renee. " No, mademoiselle, it was much less romantic. Madame de Bonnieres was in a difficulty about a hotel bill. She happened to be alone. I saved her from being too much robbed." " I call that a story of robbers," said Renee. " One might make a play out of it," said Denoisel, " and a new play how the discount of a bill brought about a marriage. And I have a pretty title for it : ' A Quarter- of-an-hour's Romance of Rabelais.' " " Madame de Bonnieres is a very pleasant person," con- tinued Madame Mauperin. " I think her face Do you know her, Monsieur Barousse ? " added she, turning towards Renee's godfather. *' Oh, certainly, madame ; she is very agreeable." " Godpapa, how can you ? she looks like a satyr," said Renee. And as soon as the word had left her lips, and RENEE MAUPERIN. 27 seeing people smile, she felt herself become scarlet. " Oh, only as to her head, I mean ! " she added hastily. " That is what I call recovering oneself," said Denoisel." "Did you stay long in Italy, Monsieur Reverchon?" asked Monsieur Mauperin, to create a diversion. " Six months." " And your impression ? " " It is a verj'- interesting country, but a very uncom- fortable one. I never could get accustomed to drink my coffee out of a glass." " Travelling in Italy," said Henry Mauperin, " is to my mind the most melancholy thing the least practical thing one can do. What agriculture ! What commerce ! On the occasion of a masked ball, in Florence, I asked a waiter in a restaurant if they were to remain open all night. ' Oh, no, \/ sir; we should have too many people,' was his answer. That was not told to me ; I heard it m> self. That con- demns a country. When one thinks of England, of that collective and individual power of initiative ; when one has seen, in London, the real genius for business of the Eng- lish citizen; in Yorkshire, the returns of a large farm there's a people indeed." " I agree with Henry," said Madame Davarande ; " England is so distinguished ! the people are so polite ! I like their plan of introducing people to each other. And then the way they have of giving you your change wrapped in paper. And besides their stuffs have so much character ! My husband brought me home a poplin gown from the Exhibition. Ah, mamma, you know that I have settled upon my new cloak. I have been to Alberic. It was very funny. Imagine, he has a cloak put on to your shoulders, and then he begins to walk round you, and with an ebony ruler he points out the places where it does not 28 RENEE MAUPERIN. fit by just tapping you there! like that! little, tiny taps that he gives and at every touch of his ruler his assistant makes a little chalk mark. Oh, Alberic is a man with a great deal of character! Besides that, he stands alone. There is no one but him ; his cloaks are so smart. I recognised two by him at the races yesterday. But he does know how to charge." " Oh, these men can make what they like," said Rever- chon. " Edouard, my tailor, has just retired with a for- tune of three millions." " That is capital," said Monsieur Barousse ; " I am always delighted when I see things like that. It is the hard- workers who have the fortunes nowadays! It is the greatest revolution since the beginning of the world." "Yes," said Denoisel, "a revolution which reminds one of the speech of the famous robber, Chapon : ' Robbery, your worship, is the finest commerce in the world.' " " Were the races brilliant ? " asked Renee. " There were a great many people at them," answered Madame Davarande. " Very brilliant, mademoiselle," said Reverchon. *' The Diana Stakes was a first-rate race. Cock's-tail, who started at 35, was beaten by Basilica te by two lengths. It was most exciting. The race for the Hack's Cup was very fine too, although the ground was rather hard." " Who is that Russian lady who always drives four horses. Monsieur Reverchon ? " asked Madame Davarande. " Madame de Rissleff. Iler horses are ^plendid of the pure Orloff breed." " You really ought to become a member of the Jockey Club, Jules, for the sake of the races," said Madame Davarande, turning to her husband. " I think it is so com- mon to have to herd with all the rest of the world. RENEE MAUPERIN, 29 Really, for a woman who respects herself there is nothing like the Jockey Club Stand." "How admirably your cook has done these mushrooms," said Monsieur Barousse ; " she has surpassed herself. She is a real Francatelli. I must congratulate her as I go out." " I thought you never ate mushrooms," answered Ma- dame Mauperin. " I never did in 1848. I did not until the 2nd of December. Do you think that during all that time the police had nothing else to do but to inspect mushrooms ? But since order has been restored " " Henrietta," said Madame Mauperin to Madame Dava- rande, " I want to scold your husband ; he is neglecting us. It is almost three weeks since we saw you last. Monsieur Davarande." " I am very sorry, dear mother, but if you knew all I have had to do. You know that I am very intimate with Greorge. His father is very busy in Parliament. As Pre- sident of the Cabinet, the work falls upon George. He has a thousand things to do which he can only pass on to friends and to persons whom he can trust. There was that first appearance at the opera ; it was a very im- portant matter, and required negotiations, interviews such goings and comings. It was necessary to avoid a conflict between the two ministries. Oh, I assure you that we have been very busy latterly. He is so pleasant that I cannot " " So pleasant ? " said Denoisel ; " he ought at least to pay your cab hire. It is quite two years since he pro- mised you a sub-prefectship." " My dear Denoisel, it is much more diflBcult than you fancy ; and besides as I do not wish to go too far from Paris. Besides; I may tell you, between ourselves, that 30 RENEE MAUPERIN. it is almost settled I have good reason to hope that within a month " " Of whose first appearance- are you talking ? " asked Barousse. " Of Bradizzi's," said Davarande. " Bradizzi ! wonderful ! said Reverchon. She dances with a lightness ! A few days ago I was in the director's box, on the stage: one could not hear her feet fall as she danced." " We expected to see you last night, Henry," said Madame Davarande to her brother. " I was at my debating society," said Henry. " Henry has been appointed secretary," said Madame Mauperin, with pride. " Ah," said Denoisel, "your Aguesseau debating society. Does that still go on, your little talkey-talkey ? How many members have you ? " " Two hundred." " And all statesmen ? It is alarming ! And upon what had you to report ? " " On the National Guard Bill." " You refuse yourself nothing," said Denoisel. "I am sure that you do not belong to the National Guard, Denoisel," said Monsieur Barousse, " Certainly not." " But yet it is an institution." *' So the drummer -boys say, Monsieur Barousse." " And I would bet that you never vote." " On no account." " Denoisel, I am sorry to say it, you are a bad citizen. I am not angry with you, it is in your blood, but the fact remains." " How a bad citizen ? " " Well you are always in opposition to the laws.** RENEE MAUPERIN. 81 "I?" " Yes, you. Without going back very far, I will give you an instance, your uncle Frederick's money : the ui- herifance that you left to his natural children," " Well ? " '* That is what I call an illegal, a culpable, a deplorable action. What says the law? It is clear; it says that children born out of wedlock cannot inherit. You were not unaware of that; I had told you, your solicitor had told you, the code told you What do you do ? you make over the property to the children ! You send the code, the spirit of the law, everything, in fact, to the right about! But, Denoisel, to abandon your uncle's fortune in that manner is pandering to bad habits ; it is an en- couragement to " "Monsieur Barousse, I know your feelings upon that subject. But what would you have ? When I saw those three wretched little boys, I said to myself that the cigars I bought with their money would never taste good. No one is perfect." " All very fine, but that is not the law. When the law says something it says 'it with some object, I suppose. The law is opposed to immorality. What will happen if people take to imitating you ? " "You need not be afraid of that, Barousse," said Monsieur Mauperin, smiling. " No one should set a bad example," answered Barousse, sententiously. Then turning again towards Denoisel, he continued ; " Understand me clearly, Denoisel, I do not think less well of you for doing it. On the contrary, I respect your disinterestedness ; but as for telling you you did well no ! It is so with your whole life : your life is not regular. Why, hang it, everyone works ! 32 RENEE MAUPERIN. Everyone does something- goes into some public office, or in some way pays his debt to his country. If you had done that early in life you might by now have had a place worth three or four thousand francs a-year." " I had something better than that offered me, Monsieur Barousse." " Better than that ? " said Barousse. " Better than that," quietly answered Denoisel. Barousse looked at him with stupefaction. " Seriously, continued Denoisel, I had a splendid pros- pect once for five minutes. You shall hear. On the 24th of February 1848, I did not know what to do with myself. Storming- the Tuileries in the morning- upsets iall the rest of one's day. It occurred to me that I would go and see a friend of mine who was in a government office on the other side of the river. I arrive ; nobody there. I go upstairs into my friend's room ; no friend there. I light a cigarette and wait for him. A gentleman enters while I am smoking. He finds me seated and fancies I am employed in the office. He wears no hat; I presume that he also belongs to the house. He asks me very politely if I can tell him the way to some room that he wants. I show him ; we return. He asks me to write something whereof he points out to me the gist. I tgike my friend's pen and I write. He reads, and is delighted. We talk; he finds that I know how to spell. He shakes hands with me and observes that I wear gloves. In short, at the end of a quarter of an hour he begs me earnestly to be his private secretary. It was the new minister." " And you did not accept ? " " My friend came in I accepted for him. He after- wards obtained an excellent appointment in the Privy ) Council Office, Nevertheless it was pleasant to have had RENEE MAUPERIN. 33 even half-a-day of supernumeraryship." They had by this time come to the dessert. Monsieur Mauperin had drawn towards him a dish of cakes, into which he thou,<2;'htlessly plunged his hgnd. ' Monsieur Mauperin ? " said his wife, signalling to him with her eyes. " I beg pardon, ray dear symmetry you are quite right I was not thinking ; " and he ) eplaced the dish. " You have such a mania for disarranging things." "I was wrong, ray dear; I was wrong. Do you see, gentlemen, ray wife is- an excellent woman; but on the question of symmetry symmetry is one of my wife's religions." " You are ridiculous. Monsieur Mauperin," said Madame Mauperin, blushing at being caught committing a gross provincialism, and then she said sharply to her daughter : " Bless my soul, Renee, how badly you hold yourself. Sit up, my, dear child." "That's it," muttered the girl to herself. "Mamma avenging herself upon me now." "Gentlemen," said Monsieur Mauperin, when they were all in the drawing-room, " you know that smoking is allowed here. We owe that to my son. He was so lucky as to obtain that con* ession from my wife." * Coffee, godpapa ? " asked Renee of Monsieur Barousse. " No," replied he, " I should not sleep " " Here," said Renee, finishing his phrase. " Monsieur Reverchon ?" " No, thank you, mademoiselle." She came and went about the room, and the steam from the cups, as she carried them, mounted into her face like the hot breath of the coffee. " Is everyone helped ? " 34 RENEE MAUPERIN. She did not wait. " Tra-trn, tra," the piano threw into the drawing-room the first bars of a polka. Then stopping- : " Are we going to dance ? Suppose we were to dance ? Oh, let us dance ! " " Let us smoke quietly," said Monsieur Mauperin. " Yes, daddy ; " and quickly recommencing her polka, she danced it herself, turning about on the music-stool, and only holding on to the ground by the tips of her toes. She played without looking, her head turned towards the room, animated, smiling, the excitement of dancing in her eyes and on her cheeks, like a little girl who, while she plays that others may dance, follows them and dances with them. She worked her shoulders. Her body undulated as though in the arms of her partner, her waist marked the rhythm. In her feet there was a slight suggestion of a step. Then she turned herself again to the piano; she began to beat time gently with her head ; her eyes followed her hands over the black and white keys. Leaning over the music that she was playing, slie seemed alternately to beat the notes or to caress them, to speak to them, to scold them, to fmile at them, to rock them, to pend them to sleep. She leant upon the noise, she played with the melody ; her little movements were sometimes tender, sometimes passionate. She stooped and raised herself again, and the top of her mother-of-pearl comb at one moment flashed in the light, at the next was buried in the dark masses of her hair. The two candlesticks on the piano, rattling with the noise, threw their light on her cheek, or crossed their flames on her forehead or her chin. The shadow of her earrings, two coral balls, trembled un- ceasingly on the skin of her neck, and her fingers ran so rapidly over the piano that one could only see something pink and undefined, which seemed i o fly. RENEE MAUPERIN. 35 " And that is her own," said Monsieur Mauperin to Reverchon, " She has had lessons from Quidant," added Madame Mauperin. " Ha ! I have done now ! " And, leaving the piano, Renee went and stood in front of Denoisel. " Tell me a story, Denoisel, to amuse me ; anything you like." And she remained standing before him, her arms crossed, her head slightly thrown back, the weight of her body on one leg, with an impertinent little look and a sort of impu- dent courage which added to the fomew^hat cavalier grace of her dress ; she wore a collar of white pique, a neck-tie of black riband ; the lappets of a white waistcoat fell back over her cloth gown, cut in tlie shape of a coat; on the front of her skirt she wore pockets like those of a great- coat. " When will you cut your wisdom-teeth, Renee ? " asked Denoisel. ' Never! " and she began to laugh. " And how about my story ? " Denoisel looked round to see that no one was listening, and then, lowering his voice, began : " Once upon a time there were a papa and mamma, who had a little girl. The papa and the mamma, who wanted to see her married, brought to their house several very nice gentlemen, but the little girl, who was very nice also " " Oh, how stupid you are ! I am going to do some work now." And, taking her work-basket, she went and settled her- self near her mother, " Are we not to have any whist this evening ? " asked Monsieur Mauperin. " Certainly, my dear," replied his wife, '' the table is 36 RENEE MAUPERIN. ready. You see there are the candles waiting- to be lighied." " Gone ! " cried Denoisel into the ear of Batousse, who was beg-inning- to slumber hy the fire-place, nodding- his head like a traveller in a stag-e-coach. Monsieur Barousse jumped up. Denoisel offered him a card. " The King of Spades ; proof before letters ! They want you to play a rubber." " You are not too tired this evening, I hope, mademoi- selle?" said Reverchon, coming nearer, " I, sir ? I could dance all night ! I am made like that." " You are making something very pretty there." "This? Oh, yes, very pretty. It is a stocking I am knitting for one of ray poor children. It is warm, and that is all you can say for it I must admit that I am not good at needlework. To do embroidery or wool-work, one must give one's attention, while this you see only my fingers work once you have got it started it seems to go alone ; one's mind is free to think of the Grand Turk, if one chooses." " Look here, Rence," said her father ; " this is curious. I lose in vain ; I cannot recover myself." " Ha, ha, that is very good ; I shall keep that for my collection," answered Renee. Then, all of a sudden : " Denoisel ! come here ! Will you come here ? nearer there nearer. Will you come at once ? And now, on your knees " " Are you mad? " cried Madame M luperiu. *' Renee," said Denoisel, " I believe you have sworn an oath to make me miss any chance of marrying." " Renee, come, come ! " said Monsieur Mauperin, from the card-table, in a fatherly voice. RENEE MAUPERIN. 37 " Well, what is the matter ? " said Renee ; and, so say- ing, she playfully threatened Denoisel with a pair of scissors, " Now, if you stir ! Besides, Denoisel's hair is always so untidy; it is so badly cut. There is always a great ugly curl falling over his forehead. It makes every one squint to look at him. I am going to cut off his curl. Ha, now he's afraid ! But I am a first-rate hair-dresser ; ask papa ! " And thereupon she cut vigorously twice or thrice into Denoisel's hair, went up to the fire-place, shook off the hair on to the hearth, and turning round : " Did you think I wanted to steal a lock ? " she said. She had paid no attention to the touch that her brother had given her with his elbow as he passed. Her mother, an instant before crimson, was now quite pale. She had not noticed it. Her father, as the whist was over, oame towards her with an embarrassed and cross look. She took the cigarette that he had just begun, put it to her lips, drew one puff, and, throwing it away, quickly turned her head, coughed, blinked, and exclaimed " Pah ! how nasty it is ! " *' Really, Renee," said Madame Mauperin, in a severe and melancholy voice, "really, I do not understand you! I have never seen you behave in such a manner before." " Bring some tea," said Monsieur Mauperin to a servant who came in answer to the bell. IV. " Already a quarter-past ten ! " said Madame Davarande. " We have only just time to get to the station. Renee, will you send for my hat ? " Everyone got up. Barousse, at the noise, awoke, and the little group of guests from Paris started for Saint- Denis. " I will come with you," said Denoisel ; " the walk will do me good." Barousse led the w^ay ; Davarande following with his wife. Henry Mauperin and Denoisel closed the procession. " Why don't you sleep here? " said Denoisel to Henry ; "you could return to Paris to-morrow." " No," answered Henry, " I do not wish to. I have some work to do to-morrow morning. I should only reach Paris late, and my day would be lost." They were silent. Some words of Barousse, singing the praises of Renee, reached them now and again in the silence. " Tell me, Denoisel; I fear it is all over; what do you think ? " " I think so." " Well, my dear fellow, will you have the kindness to tell me why you lent yourself to all the follies that entered my sister's brain this evening? Your influence over her is great, and " RENEE MAUPERIN. 39 " First of all, my boy," said Denoisel, pulling at his vigar, " allow me to open a historical, philosophical, and social parenthesis. We have done, have we not? when I say ' we,' I mean the majority of the PVench people with the pretty little misses who used to talk like dolls with spring's inside them, who used to say ' papa ! ' ' mamma ! ' and who, when they danced, never lost sight of the authors of their being. The little, shy, childish, timid, stammering miss, who was taught not to know any- thing, who did not know how to stand upright nor how to sit down, is done with; it's old, worn-out; a thing of the past. Slie was the kind of bread-and-butter miss of the Gymnase Theatre. Nowadaj-s it is quite a different matter. The plan of cultivation has been changed: 3'oung women used to be like espalier apple-trees : now they grow alone in the teeth of the wind. People expect a girl to form her own impressions, and to be able to express herself in her own language. She can talk, and she must talk about everything. That has become part of her manners. She is no longer required to display inno- cence, but intellectual origmality. As long as she shines in society her parents are charmed. Her mother takes her to lectures. Has she a talent? How it is fostered and cherished ! Instead of poor daily governesses, she has lessons from real masters, professors of the Con- servatoire, painters who have exhibited. Her mind takes an artistic turn, and her parents are delighted thereat. Tell me, is that or is it not a faithful picture of our young middle class women of to-day ? " " Whence you conclude ? " " Now, then," continued Denoisel, without answering, " add to that fine education which I have described, but which I do not judge, please observe add to that, I say, 40 RENEE MAUPERIN. an excellent, good fellow of a father, who is kindness and tenderness personified, who encourages all this eman- cipation hy his weakness and his adoration ; suppose that this father has smiled at all the impertinences, all ihe pretty little naughtinesses of this boy in petticoats ; that he has, little by little, allowed his daughter to assume these manly qualities wherein he discovers, with pride, a reflection of his own heart " " And so you 3'ou, my dear fellow, who know so well what my sister is, how she has been brought up, the style she has adopted thanks to the spoiling of my father all the difficulties in the way of her marriage, it is you, I say, who this evening allowed her to play a number of un- seemly tricks, when j'ou could, with those few words which you, and you alone, can say to her, have stopped her completely." Denoisel, the friend to w^hom Henry Mauperin thus spoke, was the son of a man who came from the same part of the country as Monsieur Mauperin, and who had been his schoolfellow and companion-in-arms. Monsieur Mauperin and his father had been side by side in the same battles ; their blood had mingled on the same fields ; in the retreat from Kussia they had both bitten into the same piece of horse-flesh. A year after his return to France, Monsieur Mauperin lost this friend who, on his death-bed, made him guardian of his son. The child found his father over again in his guardian. While at school, he had passed all his holidays at Morimond, and the Mauperins' house had become to biui a home. When Monsieur Mauperin's children were born it seemed to Denoisel that he had until then missed a brother and a sister ; he felt like their elder brother, and became a child again to play with them. REN^E MAUPERIN. 41 His preference was naturally for Eenee who, when (juite a Pinall child, began to worship him. She was already quick-tempered and obstinate ; he alone could make her listen and obey. By the time she was grown up he had become the moulder of her character, the con- fessor of her mind, the director of her tastes. And his influence over the young girl had increased day by day with his familiarity with her in that house where his room was always ready, his place at table always laid, and where he could come to pass a week at any time. " There are days," began Henry again, " on which my sister's nonsense does not signify; but this evening-, before that man I am sure it will put an end to the marriage. An excellent match he had very large ex- pect) tions. He is a capital fellow from all accounts, pleai ant, well educated." " Do you think so? He frightened me on your sister's account. And that is why I behaved with her as I did to-night. That man only possesses the commonest refine- ment refinement made out of the vulgarisation of all that is eloquent. He is, both physically and morally, a fashion- plate, a tailor's model. There is absolutely nothing in a little mannikin like him. He, a husband for your sister ? But how the deuce do you expect him to understand her ? By what power do you expect him to discover what a depth of generous, noble, and fine feeling there is in her under her eccentricity ? Do you fancy that they would have one idea in common? God bless my soul ! Your sister might marry no matter whom, and I would not say a word against it so long as he were intelligent, and were pos- sessed of a strong character and a personality of his own, something capable of governing or moving the nature of a woman like her. A man may often have great defects 42 RENEE MAUPERIN. which ke^'p alive the heirt of a woman. There would be the cham-e, with a bad husband, that she mi