GIFT OF 
 John E. Mee 
 
 
 j 
 
THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE 
 By H. DE BALZAC 
 
 SCENES FROM PRIVATE LIFE 
 
 A START IN LIFE 
 
 VENDETTA 
 
 STUDY OF A WOMAN 
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
BALZAC'S NOVELS. 
 
 Translated by Miss K. P. Wormeley. 
 
 Already Published: 
 PEEE GORIOT. 
 DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. 
 RISE AND PALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU. 
 EUGENIE GRANDET. 
 COUSIN PONS. 
 THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. 
 THE TWO BROTHERS. 
 
 THE ALKAHEST (La Recherche de l'Absolu). 
 MODESTE MIGNON. 
 
 THE MAGIC SKIN (La Peau de Chagrin). 
 COUSIN BETTE. 
 LOUIS LAMBERT. 
 BUREAUCRACY (Les Employe's). 
 SERAPHITA. 
 
 SONS OP THE SOIL (Les Paysans). 
 FAME AND SORROW (Chat-qui-pelote). 
 THE LILY OF THE VALLEY. 
 URSULA. 
 
 AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. 
 ALBERT SAVARUS. 
 BALZAC : A MEMOIR. 
 PIERRETTE. 
 THE CHOUANS. 
 LOST ILLUSIONS. 
 A GREAT MAN OF THE PROVINCES IN 
 
 PARIS. 
 THE BROTHERHOOD OF CONSOLATION. 
 THE VILLAGE RECTOR. 
 MEMOIRS OF TWO YOUNG MARRIED 
 
 WOMEN. 
 CATHERINE DE' MEDICI. 
 LUCIEN DE RUBEMPRE. 
 FERRAGUS, CHIEF OF THE DEVORANTS. 
 A START IN LIFE. 
 
   
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, 
 BOSTON. 
 
HONORE DE BALZAC 
 
 TKANSLATED BY 
 
 KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY 
 
 A START IN LIFE 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS 
 
 3 SOMERSET STREET 
 
 BOSTON 
 1895 
 
GIFT OF 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By Roberts Brothers. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 WLtxibersitg $)««: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A. 
 

 c' 
 
 TO LAURE. 
 
 Let the brilliant and modest mind that gave me the sub- 
 ject of this Scene have the honor of it 
 
 Her brother, 
 
 De Balzac. 
 
 796263 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A START IN LIFE. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. That which was Lacking to Pierrotin's 
 
 Happiness 1 
 
 II. The Steward in Danger 24 
 
 III. The Travellers 43 
 
 IV. The Grandson of the Famous Czerni- 
 
 Georges 74 
 
 V. The Drama Begins 106 
 
 VI. The Moreau Interior 127 
 
 VII. A Mother's Trials 162 
 
 VIII. Tricks and Farces of the Embryo Long 
 
 Robe 187 
 
 IX. La Marquise de las Florentinas y Cab- 
 
 irolos 206 
 
 X. Another Catastrophe 230 
 
 XI. Oscar's Last Blunder 247 
 
 VENDETTA. 
 
 T. Prologue 265 
 
 II. The Studio 274 
 
viii Contents, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 III. Labe'doyere's Friend .......... 300 
 
 IV. Love 325 
 
 V. Marriage 350 
 
 VI. Retribution 366 
 
 STUDY OF A WOMAN 383 
 
 THE MESSAGE 401 
 
A START IN LIFE. 
 
 TIIAT WHICH WAS LACKING TO PIERROTIN'S HAPPINESS. 
 
 Railroads, in a future not far distant, must force 
 certain industries to disappear forever, and modify 
 several others, more especially those relating to the 
 different modes of transportation in use around Paris. 
 Therefore the persons and things which are the ele- 
 ments of this Scene will soon give to it the character 
 of an archaeological work. Our nephews ought to be 
 enchanted to learn the social material of an epoch 
 which they will call the " olden time." The pictu- 
 resque coucous which stood on the Place de la Con- 
 corde, encumbering the Cours-la-Reine, — coucous 
 which had flourished for a century, and were still 
 numerous in 1830, scarcely exist in 1842, unless on 
 the occasion of some attractive suburban solemnity, 
 like that of the Grandes Eaux of Versailles. In 1820, 
 the various celebrated places called the " Environs of 
 
 1 
 
2 A Start in Life. 
 
 Paris " did not all possess a regular stage-coach 
 service. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Touchards, father and son, had 
 acquired a monopoly of travel and transportation to 
 all the populous towns within a radius of forty-five 
 miles ; and their enterprise constituted a fine estab- 
 ment in the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. In spite of 
 their long-standing rights, in spite, too, of their efforts, 
 their capital, and all the advantages of a powerful 
 centralization, the Touchard coaches {messageries) 
 found terrible competitors in the coucous for all points 
 within a circumference of fifteen or twenty miles. The 
 passion of the Parisian for the country is such that 
 local enterprise could successfully compete with the 
 Lesser Stage compan} r , — Petites Messageries, the 
 name given to the Touchard enterprise to distinguish 
 it from that of the Grandes Messageries of the rue 
 Montmartre. At the time of which we write, the Tou- 
 chard success was stimulating speculators. For ever}' 
 small locality in the neighborhood of Paris there sprang 
 up schemes of beautiful, rapid, and commodious vehi- 
 cles, departing and arriving in Paris at fixed hours, 
 which produced, naturally, a fierce competition. Beaten 
 on the long distances of twelve to eighteen miles, the 
 coucou came down to shorter trips, and so lived on for 
 several years. At last, however, it succumbed to omni- 
 buses, which demonstrated the possibility of carrying 
 
A Start in Life. 3 
 
 eighteen persons in a vehicle drawn b} T two horses. 
 To-day the coucou — if by chance any of those birds of 
 ponderous flight still linger in the second-hand carriage- 
 shops — might be made, as to its structure and ar- 
 rangement, the subject of learned researches comparable 
 to those of Cuvier on the animals discovered in the 
 chalk-pits of Montmartre. 
 
 These petty enterprises, which had struggled since 
 1822 against the Touchards, usually found a strong 
 foothold in the good-will and sympathy of the inhabi- 
 tants of the districts which the} r served. The person 
 undertaking the business as proprietor and conductor 
 was nearly always an inn-keeper along the route, to 
 whom the beings, things, and interests with which he 
 had to do were all familiar. He could execute com- 
 missions intelligently ; he never asked as much for his 
 little stages, and therefore obtained more custom than 
 the Touchard coaches. He managed to elude the ne- 
 cessity of a custom-house permit. If need were, he was 
 willing to infringe the law as to the number of passen- 
 gers he might carry. In short, he possessed the affec- 
 tion of the masses ; and thus it happened that whenever 
 :i rival came upon the same route, if his days for run- 
 ning were not the same as those of the coucou, travel- 
 lers would put on? their journey to make it with their 
 long tried coachman, although his vehicle and his horses 
 might be in a far from reassuring condition. 
 
4 A Start in Life. 
 
 One of the lines which the Touchards, father and 
 son, endeavored to monopolize, and the one most 
 stoutly disputed (as indeed it still is), is that of Paris 
 to Beaumont-sur-Oise, — a line extremely profitable, 
 for three rival enterprises worked it in 1822. In vain 
 the Touchards lowered their price ; in vain they con- 
 structed better coaches and started oftener. Competi- 
 tion still continued, so productive is a line on which 
 are little towns like Saint-Denis and Saint-Brice, and 
 villages like Pierre fitte, Groslay, Ecouen, Poncelles, 
 Moisselles, Monsoult, Maffliers, Franconville, Presles, 
 Nointel, Nerville, etc. The Touchard coaches finally 
 extended their route to Chambly ; but competition fol- 
 lowed. To-day the Toulouse, a rival enterprise, goes 
 as far as Beauvais. 
 
 Along this route, which is that toward England, 
 there lies a road which turns off at a place well-named, 
 in view of its topography, The Cave, and leads through 
 a most delightful valley in the basin of the Oise to the 
 little town of Isle- Adam, doubly celebrated as the cra- 
 dle of the family, now extinct, of Isle- Adam, and also 
 as the former residence of the Bourbon-Contis. Isle- 
 Adam is a little town flanked by two large villages, 
 Nogent and Parmain, both remarkable for splendid 
 quarries, which have furnished material for many of 
 the finest buildings in modern Paris and in foreign 
 lands, — for the base and capital of the columns of the 
 
A Start in Life. 5 
 
 Brussels theatre are of Nogent stone. Though remark- 
 able for its beautiful sites, for the famous chateaux 
 which princes, monks, and designers have built, such 
 as Cassan, Stors, Le Val, Nointel, Persan, etc., this 
 region had escaped competition in 1822, and was 
 reached by two coaches only, working more or less in 
 harmony. 
 
 This exception to the rule of rivalry was founded on 
 reasons that are eas}- to understand. From the Cave, 
 the point on the route to England where a paved road 
 (due to the luxury of the Princes of Conti) turned off 
 to Isle- Adam, the distance is six miles. No speculat- 
 ing enterprise would make such a detour, for Isle-Adam 
 was the terminus of the road, which did not go beyond 
 it. Of late years, another road has been made between 
 the valley of Montmorency and the valley of the Oise ; 
 but in 1822 the only road which led to Isle- Adam was 
 the paved highway of the Princes of Conti. Pierrotin 
 and his colleague reigned, therefore, from Paris to Isle- 
 Adam, beloved by every one along the way. Pierro- 
 tin's vehicle, together with that of his comrade, and 
 Pierrotin himself, were so well known that even the 
 inhabitants on the main road as far as the Cave were 
 in the habit of using them ; for there was always bet- 
 ter chance of a seat to be had than in the Beaumont 
 coaches, which were almost always full. Pierrotin and 
 his competitor were on the best of terms. When the 
 
6 A Start in Life. 
 
 former started from Isle-Adam, the latter was returning 
 from Paris, and vice versa. 
 
 It is unnecessary to speak of the rival. Pierrotin 
 possessed the sympathies of his region ; besides, he is 
 the only one of the two who appears in this veracious 
 narrative. Let it suffice you to know that the two 
 coach proprietors lived under a good understanding, 
 rivalled each other loyally, and obtained customers by 
 honorable proceedings. In Paris they used, for econ- 
 omy's sake, the same yard, hotel, and stable, the same 
 coach-house, office, and clerk. This detail is alone suf- 
 ficient to show that Pierrotin and his competitor were, 
 as the popular saying is, " good dough." The hotel at 
 which they put up in Paris, at the corner of the rue 
 d'Enghien, is still there, and is called the "Lion d' Ar- 
 gent." The proprietor of the establishment, which from 
 time immemorial had lodged coachmen and coaches, 
 drove himself for the great company of Daumartin, 
 which was so firmly established that its neighbors, the 
 Touchards, whose place of business was directly oppo- 
 site, never dreamed of starting a rival coach on the 
 Daumartin line. 
 
 Though the departures for Isle-Adam professed to take 
 place at a fixed hour, Pierrotin and his co-rival practised 
 an indulgence in that respect which won for them the 
 grateful affection of the country-people, and also violent 
 remonstrances on the part of strangers accustomed to 
 
A Start in Life. 7 
 
 the regularity of the great lines of public conveyances. 
 But the two conductors of these vehicles, which were 
 half diligence, half coucou, w r ere invariably defended by 
 their regular customers. The afternoon departure at 
 four o'clock usually lagged on till half-past, while that 
 of the morning, fixed for eight o'clock, was seldom 
 known to take place before nine. In this respect, 
 however, the s}'stem was elastic. In summer, that 
 golden period for the coaching business, the rule of 
 departure, rigorous toward strangers, was often relaxed 
 for country customers. This method not infrequently 
 enabled Pierrotin to pocket two fares for one place, if 
 a countryman came earl}' and wanted a seat already 
 booked and paid for by some " bird of passage " who 
 was, unluckily for himself, a little late. Such elasticity 
 will certainly not commend itself to purists in moralit}' ; 
 but Pierrotin and his colleague justified it on the varied 
 grounds of u hard times," of their losses during the 
 winter months, of the necessity of soon getting better 
 coaches, and of the dut}' of keeping exactly to the 
 rules written on the tariff, copies of which were, how- 
 ever, never shown, unless some chance traveller was 
 obstinate enough to demand it. 
 
 Pierrotin, a man about forty years of age, was al- 
 ready the father of a family. Released from the cavalry 
 on the great disbandment of 1815, the worthy fellow 
 had succeeded his father, who for many years had 
 
8 A Start in Life. 
 
 driven a coucou of capricious flight between Paris and 
 Isle-Adam. Having married the daughter of a small 
 inn-keeper, he enlarged his business, made it a regular 
 service, and became noted for his intelligence and a 
 certain military precision. Active and decided in his 
 ways, Pierrotin (the name seems to have been a sobri- 
 quet) contrived to give, 03- the vivacity of his coun- 
 tenance, an expression of sly shrewdness to his ruddy 
 and weather-stained visage which suggested wit. He 
 was not without that facility of speech which is 
 acquired chiefly through "seeing life" and other 
 countries. His voice, by dint of talking to his horses 
 and shouting " Gare ! " was rough ; but he managed to 
 tone it down with the bourgeois. His clothing, like 
 that of all coachmen of the second class, consisted of 
 stout boots, heavy with nails, made at Isle- Adam, 
 trousers of bottle-green velveteen, waistcoat of the 
 same, over which he wore, while exercising his func- 
 tions, a blue blouse, ornamented on the collar, shoulder- 
 straps, and cuffs, with many-colored embroidery. A 
 cap with a visor covered his head. His military ca- 
 reer had left in Pierrotin's manners and customs a 
 great respect for all social superiority, and a habit of 
 obedience to persons of the upper classes ; and though* 
 he never willingly mingled with the lesser bourgeoisie, 
 he always respected women in whatever station of life 
 they belonged. Nevertheless, by dint of u trundling 
 
A Start in Life. 9 
 
 the world," — one of his own expressions, — he had 
 come to look upon those he conveyed as so many walk- 
 ing parcels, who required less care than the inanimate 
 ones, — the essential object of a coaching business. 
 
 Warned b}' the general movement which, since the 
 Peace, was revolutionizing his calling, Pierrotin would 
 not allow himself to be outdone by the progress of new 
 lights. Since the beginning of the summer season he 
 had talked much of a certain large coach, ordered from 
 Parry, Breilmann, and Company, the best makers of 
 diligences, — a purchase necessitated by an increasing 
 inilux of travellers. Pierrotin's present establishment 
 consisted of two vehicles. One, which served in winter, 
 and the only one he reported to the tax-gatherer, was 
 the coucou which he inherited from his father. The 
 rounded flanks of this vehicle allowed him to put six 
 travellers on two seats, of metallic hardness in spite 
 of the yellow Utrecht velvet with which they were 
 covered. These seats were separated by a wooden bar 
 inserted in the sides of the carriage at the height of 
 the travellers' shoulders, which could be placed or re- 
 moved at will. This bar, speciously covered with vel- 
 vet (Pierrotin called it "a back"), was the despair 
 of the passengers, from the great difficulty the)' found 
 in placing and removing it. If the "back 91 w*s diffi- 
 cult and even painful t<> handle, that was nothing to 
 the suffering caused to the omoplates when the bar 
 
10 A Start in Life. 
 
 was in place. But when it was left to lie loose across 
 the coach, it made both ingress and egress extremely 
 perilous, especially to women. 
 
 Though each seat of this vehicle, with rounded sides 
 like those of a pregnant woman, could rightfully carry 
 only three passengers, it was not uncommon to see 
 eight persons on the two seats jammed together like 
 herrings in a barrel. Pierrotin declared that the trav- 
 ellers were far more comfortable in a solid, immovable 
 mass ; whereas when only three were on a seat they 
 banged each other perpetually, and ran much risk of 
 injuring their hats against the roof by the violent jolt- 
 ing of the roads. In front of the vehicle was a wooden 
 bench where Pierrotin sat, on which three travellers 
 could perch ; when there, they went, as everybody 
 knows, by the name of rabbits. On certain trips 
 Pierrotin placed four rabbits on the bench, and sat 
 himself at the side, on a sort of box placed below the 
 body of the coach as a foot-rest for the rabbits, which 
 was always .full of straw, or of packages that feared 
 no damage. The body of this particular coucou was 
 painted yellow, embellished along the top with a band 
 of barber's blue, on which could be read, on the sides, 
 in silvery white letters, " Isle- Adam, Paris," and across 
 the back, "Line to Isle-Adam." 
 
 Our descendants will be mightily mistaken if they 
 fancy that thirteen persons including Pierrotin were all 
 
A Start in Life. 11 
 
 that this vehicle could carry. On great occasions it 
 could take three more in a square compartment covered 
 with an awning, where the trunks, cases, and packages 
 were piled ; but the prudent Pierrotin only allowed his 
 regular customers to sit there, and even they were not 
 allowed to get in until at some distance beyond the bar- 
 rlere. The occupants of the "hen-roost" (the name 
 given by conductors to this section of their vehicles) 
 were made to get down outside of every village or town 
 where there was a post of gendarmerie ; the overloading 
 forbidden by law, " for the safety of passengers," being 
 too obvious to allow the gendarme on duty — always a 
 friend to Pierrotin — to avoid the necessity- of reporting 
 this flagrant violation of the ordinances. Thus on cer- 
 tain Saturday nights and Monday mornings, Pierrotin's 
 coucou " trundled " fifteen travellers ; but on such occa- 
 sions, in order to drag it along, he gave his stout old 
 horse, called Rougeot, a mate in the person of a little 
 beast no bigger than a pony, about whose merits he 
 had much to say. This little horse was a mare named 
 Bichette ; she ate little, she was spirited, she was in- 
 defatigable, she was worth her weight in gold. 
 
 " My wife wouldn't give her for that fat lazybones 
 of a Rougeot ! " cried Pierrotin, when some traveller 
 would joke him about his epitome of a horse. 
 
 The difference between this vehicle and the other 
 consisted chiefly in the fact that the other was on four 
 
12 A Start in Life. 
 
 wheels. This coach, of comical construction, called 
 the "four-wheel-coach," held seventeen travellers, 
 though it was bound not to carry more than fourteen. 
 It rumbled so noisily that the inhabitants of Isle- Adam 
 frequently said, " Here comes Pierrotin ! " when he 
 was scarcely out of the forest which crowns the slope 
 of the valley. It was divided into two lobes, so to 
 speak : one, called the interior, contained six passen- 
 gers on two seats ; the other, a sort of cabriolet con- 
 structed in front, was called the coupe. This coupe 
 was closed in with very inconvenient and fantastic 
 glass sashes, a description of which would take too 
 much space to allow of its being given here. The four- 
 wheeled coach was surmounted hy a hooded imperial, 
 into which Pierrotin managed to poke six passengers ; 
 this space was inclosed by leather curtains. Pierrotin 
 himself sat on an almost invisible seat perched just 
 below the sashes of the coupe. 
 
 The master of the establishment paid the tax which 
 was levied upon all public conveyances on his coucou 
 only, which was rated to carry six persons ; and he 
 took out a special permit each time that he drove the 
 four-wheeler. This may seem extraordinary in these 
 days, but when the tax on vehicles was first imposed, 
 it was clone very timidly, and such deceptions were 
 easily practised by the coach proprietors, always pleased 
 to /aire la queue (cheat of their dues) the government 
 
A Start in Life. 13 
 
 officials, to use the argot of their vocabulary. Grad- 
 ually the greedy Treasury became severe ; it forced all 
 public conve3'ances not to roll unless they carried two 
 certificates, — one showing that they had been weighed, 
 the other that their taxes were duly paid. All things 
 have their salad days, even the Treasury ; and in 1822 
 those days still lasted. Often in summer, the "four- 
 wheel coach," and the coucou journeyed together, carry- 
 ing between them thirty-two passengers, though Pier- 
 rotin was only paying a tax on six. On these specially 
 lucky days the convoy started from the faubourg Saint- 
 Denis at half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, and 
 arrived gallantly at Isle-Adam by ten at night. Proud 
 of this service, which necessitated the hire of an extra 
 horse, Pierrotin was wont to say : — 
 
 " We went at a fine pace ! " 
 
 But in order to do the twenty-seven miles in five 
 hours with his caravan, he was forced to omit certain 
 stoppages along the road, — at Saint-Brice, Moisselles, 
 and La Cave. 
 
 The hotel du Lion d'Argent occupies a piece of land 
 which is verj' deep for its width. Though its frontage 
 has only three or four windows on the faubourg Saint- 
 Denis, the building extends back through a long court- 
 yard, at the end of which are the stables, forming a 
 large house standing close against the division wall of 
 the adjoining property. The entrance is through a sort 
 
14 A Start in Life. 
 
 of passage-way beneath the floor of the second story, 
 in which two or three coaches had room to stand. In 
 1822 the offices of all the lines of coaches which started 
 from the Lion d' Argent were kept by the wife of the 
 inn-keeper, who had as many books as there were lines. 
 She received the fares, booked the passengers, and 
 stowed awaj r , good-naturedly, in her vast kitchen the 
 various parcels and packages to be transported. Trav- 
 ellers were satisfied with this eas\'-going, patriarchal 
 system. If they arrived too soon, the}- seated them- 
 selves beneath the hood of the huge kitchen chimnej*, 
 or stood within the passage-wa} T , or crossed to the Oafe 
 de l'Echiquier, which forms the corner of the street so 
 named. 
 
 In the early days of the autumn of 1822, on a Satur- 
 day morning, Pierrotin was standing, with his hands 
 thrust into his pockets through the apertures of his 
 blouse, beneath the porte-cochere of the Lion d'Argent, 
 whence he could see, diagonally, the kitchen of the inn, 
 and through the long court-}' ard to the stables, which 
 were defined in black at the end of it. Daumartin's 
 diligence had just started, plunging heavily after those 
 of the Touchards. It was past eight o'clock. Under 
 the enormous porch or passage, above which could be 
 read on a long sign, "Hotel du Lion d'Argent," stood 
 the stablemen and porters of the coaching-lines watch- 
 ing the lively start of the vehicles which deceives so 
 
A Start in Life. 15 
 
 inany travellers, making them believe that the horses 
 will be kept to that vigorous gait. 
 
 44 Shall I harness up, master?" asked Pierrotin's 
 hostler, when there was nothing more to be seen along 
 the road. 
 
 41 It is a quarter-past eight, and I don't see an} r 
 travellers," replied Pierrotin. " Where have they poked 
 themselves? Yes, harness up all the same. And there 
 are no parcels either ! Twenty good Gods ! a fine day 
 like this, and I 've.only four booked! A prett}- state 
 of things for a Saturday ! It is alwa3's the way 
 when 3'ou want money ! A dog's life, and a dog's 
 business ! " 
 
 "If you had more, where would you put them? 
 There 's nothing left but the cabriolet," said the hos- 
 tler, intending to soothe Pierrotin. 
 
 44 You forget the new coach ! " cried Pierrotin. 
 
 44 Have you really got it?" asked the man, laugh- 
 ing, and showing a set of teeth as white and broad as 
 almonds. 
 
 44 You old good-for-nothing! It starts to-morrow, I 
 tell you ; and I want at least eighteen passengers for 
 it." 
 
 44 Ha, ha! a fine affair; it'll warm up the road," 
 said the hostler. 
 
 44 A coach like that which runs to Beaumont, hey? 
 Flaming ! painted red and gold to make Touchard 
 
16 A Start in Life. 
 
 burst with envy ! It takes three horses ! I have 
 bought a mate for Rougeot, and Bichette will go finely 
 in unicorn. Come, harness up ! " added Pierrotin, 
 glancing out toward the street, and stuffing the tobacco 
 into his clay pipe. " I see a lady and lad over there 
 with packages under their arms ; they are coming to 
 the Lion d' Argent, for they 've turned a deaf ear to the 
 coucous. Tiens, tiens ! seems to me I know that lady 
 for an old customer." 
 
 " You 've often .started empty, and arrived full," said 
 his porter, still by way of consolation. 
 
 "But no parcels! Twenty good Gods! What a 
 fate ! " 
 
 And Pierrotin sat down on one of the huge stone 
 posts which protected the walls of the building from 
 the wheels of the coaches ; but he did so with an anx- 
 ious, reflective air that was not habitual with him. 
 
 This conversation, apparently insignificant, had 
 stirred up cruel anxieties which were slumbering in 
 his breast. What could there be to trouble the heart 
 of Pierrotin in a fine new coach? To shine upon " the 
 road," to rival the Touchards, to magnify his own line, 
 to carry passengers who would compliment him on the 
 conveniences due to the progress of coach-building, 
 instead of having to listen to perpetual complaints of 
 his sabots (tires of enormous width), — such was Pier- 
 rotin's laudable ambition ; but, carried away with the 
 
A Start in Li/e.^ 17 
 
 desire to outstrip his comrade on the line, hoping that 
 the latter might some day retire and leave to him alone 
 the transportation to Isle-Adam, he had gone too far. 
 The coach was indeed ordered from Barry, Breilmann, 
 and Company, coach-builders, who had just substituted 
 square English springs for those called " swan-necks," 
 and other old-fashioned French contrivances. But these 
 hard and distrustful manufacturers would only deliver 
 over the diligence in return for coin. Not particularly 
 pleased to build a vehicle which would be difficult to 
 sell if it remained upon their hands, these long-headed 
 dealers declined to undertake it at all until Pierrotin 
 had made a preliminary payment of two thousand 
 francs. To satisfy this precautionary demand, Pierro- 
 tin had exhausted all his resources and all his credit. 
 His wife, his father-in-law, and his friends had bled. 
 This superb diligence he had been to see the evening 
 before at the painter's ; all it needed now was to be 
 set a-rolling, but to make it roll, payment in full must, 
 alas ! be made. 
 
 Now, a thousand francs were lacking to Pierrotin, 
 and where to get them he did not know. He was in 
 debt to the master of the Lion d'Argent ; he was in 
 danger of losing his two thousand francs already paid 
 to the coach-builder, not counting five hundred for the 
 mate to Rougeot, and three hundred for new harnesses, 
 on which he had a three-months' credit. Driven by the 
 
18 A Start in Life. 
 
 fuiy of despair and the madness of vanit}', he had just 
 openly declared that the new coach was to start on the 
 morrow. By offering fifteen hundred francs, instead 
 of the two thousand five hundred still due, he was in 
 hopes that the softened carriage-builders would give 
 him his coach. But after a few moments' meditation, 
 his feelings led him to cry out aloud : — 
 
 "No! they're dogs! harpies! Suppose I appeal 
 to Monsieur Moreau, the steward at Presles? he is such 
 a kind man," thought Pierrotin, struck with a new idea. 
 ' ' Perhaps he would take my note for six months." 
 
 At this moment a footman in livery, carrying a 
 leather portmanteau and coming from the Touchard 
 establishment, where he had gone too late to secure 
 places as far as Chambly, came up and said : — 
 
 "Are you Pierrotin?" 
 
 " Say on," replied Pierrotin. 
 
 " If you would wait a quarter of an hour, you could 
 take my master. If not, 1 11 cany back the portman- 
 teau and try to find some other conveyance." 
 
 "I'll wait two, three quarters, and throw a little 
 in besides, my lad," said Pierrotin, eying the pretty 
 leather trunk, well buckled, and bearing a brass plate 
 with a coat of arms. 
 
 "Very good; then take this," said the valet, rid- 
 ding his shoulder of the trunk, which Pierrotin lifted, 
 weighed, and examined. 
 
A Start in Life. 19 
 
 44 Here," lie said to his porter, " wrap it up carefully 
 in soft bay and put it in the boot. There 's no name 
 upon it," lie added. 
 
 14 Monseigneur's arms are there," replied the valet. 
 
 1,4 Monseigneur! Come and take a glass," said Pier- 
 rotin, nodding toward the Cafe de l'fichiquier, whither 
 he conducted the valet. 44 Waiter, two absinthes!" 
 he said, as he entered. "Who is your master? and 
 where is he going? I have never seen }*ou before," 
 said Pierrotin to the valet as they touched glasses. 
 
 44 There 's a good reason for that," said the footman. 
 44 My master only goes into your parts about once a 
 year, and then in his own carriage. He prefers the 
 valley d'Orge, where he has the most beautiful park 
 in the neighborhood of Paris, a perfect Versailles, a 
 family estate of which he bears the name. Don't you 
 know Monsieur Moreau?" 
 
 44 The steward of Presles?" 
 
 44 Yes. Monsieur le Comte is going down to spend 
 a couple of days with him." 
 
 44 Ha! then I'm tx> carry Monsieur le Comte de 
 Serizy ! " cried the coach-proprietor. 
 
 " Yes, my lad, neither more nor less. But listen ! 
 here 's a special order. If you have any of the coun- 
 try neighbors in your coach you are not to call him 
 Monsieur le comte ; he wants to travel en cognito, and 
 told me to be sure to say he would pay a handsome 
 pourboire if he was not recognized." 
 
20 A Start in Life. 
 
 " So! Has this secret journey anything to do with 
 the affair which Pere Leger, the farmer at the Mouli- 
 neaux, came to Paris the other day to settle ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied the valet, " but the fat's in 
 the fire. Last night I was sent to the stable to order 
 the Daumont carriage to be ready to go to Presles at 
 seven this morning. But when seven o'clock came, 
 Monsieur le comte countermanded it. Augustin, his 
 valet de chambre, attributes the change to the visit of 
 a lady who called last night, and again this morning, — 
 he thought she came from the country." 
 
 " Could she have told him anything against Mon- 
 sieur Moreau? — the best of men, the most honest of 
 men, a king of men, he} T ! He might have made a 
 deal more than he has out of his position, if he'd 
 chosen ; I can tell you that." 
 
 u Then he was foolish," answered the valet, sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 4 'Is Monsieur de Serizy going to live at Presles at 
 last? " asked Pierrotin ; " for you know they have just 
 repaired and refurnished the chateau. Do }'ou think 
 it is true he has already spent two hundred thousand 
 francs upon it?" 
 
 " If you or I had half what he has spent upon it, you 
 and I would be rich bourgeois. If Madame la comtesse 
 goes there — ha ! I tell you what ! no more ease and 
 comfort for the Moreaus," said the valet, with an air 
 of mystery. 
 
 
A Start in Life. 21 
 
 "He's a worth}' man, Monsieur Moreau," remarked 
 Pierrotin, thinking of the thousand franes he wanted to 
 get from the steward. 44 He is a man who makes others 
 work, but he does n't cheapen what they do ; and he 
 gets all he can out of the land — for his master. Hon- 
 est man ! He often comes to Paris and gives me a 
 good fee : he has lots of errands for me to do in Paris ; 
 sometimes three or four packages a day, — either from 
 monsieur or from madame. My bill for cartage alone 
 comes to fifty francs a month, more or less. If madame 
 does set up to be somebody, she's fond of her children ; 
 and it is I who fetch them from school and take them 
 back ; and each time she gives me five francs, — a real 
 great lady couldn't do better than that. And every 
 time I have an}' one in the coach belonging to them 
 or going to see them. I 'm allowed to drive up to the 
 chateau, — that's all right, isn't it?" 
 
 44 They say Monsieur Moreau was n't worth three 
 thousand francs when Monsieur le comte made him 
 steward of Presles," said the valet. 
 
 44 Well, since 1806, there's seventeen }'ears, and the 
 man ought to have made something at any rate." 
 
 41 True," said the valet, nodding. 44 Anyway, mas- 
 ters are very annoying ; and I hope, for Moreau's sake, 
 that he has made butter for his bread." 
 
 44 I have often been to your house in the rue de la 
 Chaussee d'Antin to carry baskets of game," said Pier- 
 
22 A Start in Life. 
 
 rotin, "but I've never had the advantage, so far of 
 seeing either monsieur or madame." 
 
 M Monsieur le comte is a good man," said the foot- 
 man, confidentially. " But if he insists on your helping 
 to keep up his cognito there 's something in the wind. 
 At any rate, so we think at the house ; or else, why 
 should he countermand the Daumont, — why travel in 
 a coucou f A peer of France might afford to hire a 
 cabriolet to himself, one would think." 
 
 " A cabriolet would cost him fort}' francs to go there 
 and back ; for let me tell you, if you don't know it, 
 that road was only made for squirrels, — up-hill and 
 down, down-hill and up!" said Pierrotin. "Peer of 
 France or bourgeois, they are all looking after the 
 main chance, and saving their money. If this journey 
 concerns Monsieur Moreau, faith, I 'd be sorry any 
 harm should come to him ! Twenty good Gods ! 
 had n't I better find some way of warning him ? — for 
 he' s a tfuly good man, a kind man, a king of men, 
 hey!" 
 
 "Pooh! Monsieur le comte thinks everything of 
 Monsieur Moreau," replied the valet. " But let me 
 give you a bit of good advice. Even' man for himself 
 in this world. We have enough to do to take care of 
 ourselves. Do what Monsieur le comte asks you to do, 
 and all the more because there's no trifling with him. 
 Besides, to tell the truth, the count is generous. If 
 
A Start in Life. 23 
 
 3'ou oblige him so far," said the valet, pointing half- 
 way down his little finger, " he'll send 3'on on as far as 
 that," stretching out his arm to its full length. 
 
 This wise reflection, and the action that enforced it, 
 had the effect, coming from a man who stood as high 
 as second valet to the Comte de Serizj*, of cooling the 
 ardor of Pierrotin for the steward of Presles. 
 
 14 Well, adieu, Monsieur Pierrotin," said the valet. 
 
 A glance rapidly cast on the life of the Comte de 
 S£rizy, and on that of his steward, is here necessary in 
 order to fully understand the little drama now about to 
 take place in Pierrotin's vehicle. 
 
24 A Start in Life. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE STEWARD IN DANGER. 
 
 Monsieur Huguet de Serisy descends in a direct 
 line from the famous president Huguet, ennobled under 
 Francois I. 
 
 This family bears : part}' per pale or and sable, an 
 orle counterchanged and two lozenges counterchanged, 
 with: *, semper melius eris, — a motto which, together 
 with the two distaffs taken as supporters, proves the 
 modesty of the burgher families in the days when the 
 Orders held their allotted places in the State ; and 
 the naivete of our ancient customs by the pun on eris, 
 which word, combined with the i at the beginning and 
 the final s in melius, forms the name (Serisy) of the 
 estate from which the family take their title. 
 
 The father of the present count was president of a 
 parliament before the Revolution. He himself a coun- 
 cillor of State at the Grand Council of 1787, when he 
 was only twenty-two years of age, was even then dis- 
 tinguished for his admirable memoranda on delicate 
 diplomatic matters. He did not emigrate during the 
 Revolution, and spent that period on his estate of 
 Serizy near Arpajon, where the respect in which his 
 
A Start in Life. 25 
 
 father was held protected him from all danger. After 
 spending several years in taking care of the old presi- 
 dent, who died in 1794, he was elected about that time 
 to the Council of the Five Hundred, and accepted those 
 legislative functions to divert his mind from his grief. 
 After the 18th Brumaire, Monsieur de Serizy became, 
 like so main' other of the old parliamentary families, 
 an object of the First Consul's blandishment. He was 
 appointed to the Council of State, and received one of 
 the most disorganized departments of the government 
 to reconstruct. This scion of an old historical family 
 proved to be a very active wheel in the grand and mag- 
 nificent organization which we owe to Napoleon. 
 
 The councillor of State was soon called from his par- 
 ticular administration to a ministry. Created count and 
 senator by the Emperor, he was made proconsul to two 
 kingdoms in succession. In 1806, when forty years of 
 age, he married the sister of the ci-devant Marquis de 
 Ronquerolles, the widow at twenty of Gaubert, one of 
 the most illustrious of the Republican generals, who left 
 her his whole propert}*. This marriage, a suitable one in 
 point of rank, doubled the alread}* considerable fortune 
 of the Comte de Serizy, who became through his wife 
 the brother-in-law of the ci-devant Marquis de Rouvre, 
 made count and chamberlain by the Emperor* 
 
 In 1814, weary with constant toil, the Comte do 
 Serizy, whose shattered health required rest, resigned 
 
26 A Start in Life. 
 
 all his posts, left the department at the head of which 
 the Emperor had placed him, and came to Paris, where 
 Napoleon was compelled by the evidence of his e}'es 
 to admit that the count's illness was a valid excuse, 
 though at first that unfatigudble master, who gave no 
 heed to the fatigue of others, was disposed to consider 
 Monsieur de Serizy's action as a defection. Though 
 the senator was never in disgrace, he was supposed 
 to have reason to complain of Napoleon. Conse- 
 quently, when the Bourbons returned, Louis XVIII., 
 whom Monsieur de Serizy held to be his legitimate 
 sovereign, treated the senator, now a peer of France, 
 with the utmost confidence, placed him in charge of his 
 private affairs, and appointed him one of his cabinet 
 ministers. On the 20th of March, Monsieur de Serizy 
 did not go to Ghent. He informed Napoleon that he 
 remained faithful to the house of Bourbon ; would not 
 accept his peerage during the Hundred Days, and 
 passed that period on his estate at Serizj'. 
 
 After the second fall of the Emperor, he became 
 once more a privy-councillor, was appointed vice- 
 president of the Council of State, and liquidator, on 
 behalf of France, of claims and indemnities demanded 
 by foreign powers. Without personal assumption, 
 without ambition even, he possessed great influence in 
 public affairs. Nothing of importance was done with- 
 out consulting him ; but he never went to court, and 
 
A Start in Life. 27 
 
 was seldom seen in his own salons. This noble life, 
 devoting itself from its very beginning to work, had 
 ended by becoming a life of incessant toil. The count 
 rose at all seasons by four o'clock in the morning, and 
 worked till mid-day, attended to his functions as peer 
 of France and vice-president of the Council of State in 
 the afternoons, and went to bed at nine o'clock. In 
 recognition of such labor, the King had made him a 
 knight of his various Orders. Monsieur de Serizy had 
 long worn the grand cross of the Legion of honor ; he 
 also had the orders of the Golden Fleece, of Saint- 
 Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle, and 
 nearl}' all the lesser Orders of the courts of Europe. No 
 man was less obvious, or more useful in the political 
 world than he. It is eas3 T to understand that the world's 
 honor, the fuss and feathers of public favor, the glories 
 of success were indifferent to a man of this stamp ; but 
 no one, unless a priest, ever comes to a life of this kind 
 without some serious underlying reason. His conduct 
 had its cause, and a cruel one. 
 
 In love with his wife before he married her, this pas- 
 sion had lasted through all the secret unhappiness of 
 his marriage with a widow, — a woman mistress of her- 
 self before as well as after her second marriage, and 
 who used her liberty all the more freely because her 
 husband treated her with the indulgence of a mother 
 for a spoilt child. His constant toil served him as 
 
28 A Start in Life. 
 
 shield and buckler against pangs of heart which he 
 silenced with the care that diplomatists give to the 
 keeping of secrets. He knew, moreover, how ridicu- 
 lous was jealousy in the eyes of a society that would 
 never have believed in the conjugal passion of an old 
 statesman. How happened it that from the earliest 
 days of his marriage his wife so fascinated him ? Why 
 did he suffer without resistance? How was it that he 
 dared not resist? Why did he let the \ T ears go b}< and 
 still hope on ? By what means did this young and pretty 
 and clever woman hold him in bondage? 
 
 The answer to all these questions would require a 
 long history, which would injure our present tale. Let 
 us onlj T remark here that the constant toil and grief of 
 the count had unfortunately contributed not a little to 
 deprive him of personal advantages very necessary to a 
 man who attempts to struggle against dangerous com- 
 parisons. In fact, the most cruel of the count's secret 
 sorrows was that of causing repugnance to his wife Iry a 
 malady of the skin resulting solely from excessive labor. 
 Kind, and alwa}'s considerate of the countess, he allowed 
 her to be mistress of herself and her home. She received 
 all Paris ; she went into the country ; she returned from 
 it precisely as though she were still a widow. He took 
 care of her fortune and supplied her Iuxuit as a stew- 
 ard might have done. The countess had the utmost 
 respect for her husband. She even admired his turn of 
 
A Start in Life. 29 
 
 mind ; she knew how to make him happy by approba- 
 tion ; she could do what she pleased with him by simply 
 going to his study and talking for an hour with him. 
 Like the great seigneurs of the olden time, the count 
 protected his wife so loyally that a single word of dis- 
 respect said of her would have been to him an un- 
 pardonable injury. The world admired him for this ; 
 and Madame de Serizy owed much to it. Any other 
 woman, even though she came of a family as distin- 
 guished as the Ronquerolles, might have found herself 
 degraded in public opinion. The countess was ungrate- 
 ful, but she mingled a charm with her ingratitude. 
 From time to time she shed a balm upon the wounds 
 of her husband's heart. 
 
 Let us now explain the moaning of this sudden jour- 
 ne}', and the incognito maintained by a minister of 
 State. 
 
 A rich farmer of Beaumont-sur-Oise, named Leger, 
 leased and cultivated a farm, the fields of which pro- 
 jected into and greatl}' injured the magnificent estate 
 of the Comte de Serizy, called Presles. This farm 
 belonged to a burgher of Beaumont-sur Oise, named 
 Margueron. The lease made to Leger in 1799, at a 
 time when the great advance 6f agriculture was not 
 foreseen, was about to expire, and the owner of the 
 farm refused all offers from Luger to renew the lease. 
 For some time past, Monsieur de Sdrizy, wishing to 
 
30 A Start in Life, 
 
 rid himself of the annoyances and petty disputes caused 
 by the inclosure of these fields within his land, had de- 
 sired to buy the farm, having heard that Monsieur 
 Margueron's chief ambition was to have his only son, 
 then a mere tax-gatherer, made special collector of 
 finances at Beaumont. The farmer, who knew he could 
 sell the fields piecemeal to the count at a high price, 
 was read3 T to pay Margueron even more than he ex- 
 pected from the count. 
 
 Thus matters stood when, two days earlier than that 
 of which we write, Monsieur de Serizy, anxious to end 
 the matter, sent for his notaiy, Alexandre Crottat, and 
 his lawyer, Derville, to examine into all the circum- 
 stances of the affair. Though Derville and Crottat 
 threw some doubt on the zeal of the count's steward 
 (a disturbing letter from whom had led to the consul- 
 tation), Monsieur de Serizy defended Moreau, who, he 
 said, had served him faithfully for seventeen 3'ears. 
 
 44 Very well!" said Derville, "then I advise your 
 Excellency to go to Presles yourself, and invite this 
 Margueron to dinner. Crottat will send his head-clerk 
 with a deed of sale drawn up, leaving only the neces- 
 sary lines for description of propert}' and titles in 
 blank. Your Excellenc}' should take with you part of 
 the purchase money in a check on the Bank of France, 
 not forgetting the appointment of the son to the col- 
 lectorship. If you don't settle the thing at once that 
 
A Start in Life. 31 
 
 farm will slip through your fingers. You don't know, 
 Monsieur le comte, the trickery of those peasants. 
 Peasants against diplomat, and the diplomat succumbs. 
 
 Crottat agreed in this advice, which the count, if we 
 may judge by the valet's statements to Pierrotin, had 
 adopted. The preceding evening he had sent Moreau 
 a line by the diligence to Beaumont, telling him to invite 
 Margueron to dinner in order that the}' might then and 
 there close the purchase of the farm of Moulineaux. 
 
 Before this matter came up, the count had already 
 ordered the chateau of Presles to be restored and re- 
 furnished, and for the last year, Grindot, an architect 
 then in fashion, was in the habit of making it a weekly 
 visit. So, while concluding his purchase of the farm, 
 Monsieur de Serizy also intended to examine the work 
 of restoration and the effect of the new furniture. He 
 intended all this to be a surprise to his wife when he 
 brought her to Presles, and with this idea in his mind, 
 he had put some personal pride and self-love into the 
 work. How came it therefore that the count, who in- 
 tended in the evening to drive to Presles openly in 
 his own carriage, should be starting early the next 
 morning incognito in Pierrotin's coucouf 
 
 Here a few words on the life of the steward Moreau 
 become indispensable. 
 
 Moreau, steward of the estate of Presles, was the 
 son of a provincial attorney who became during the 
 
32 A Start in Life. 
 
 Revolution sj'ndic-attorney at Versailles. In that posi- 
 tion, Moreau the father had been the means of almost 
 saving both the lives and property of the Serizy s, 
 father and son. Citizen Moreau belonged to the Dan- 
 ton party ; Robespierre, implacable in his hatreds, pur- 
 sued him, discovered him, and finally had him executed 
 at Versailles. Moreau the son, heir to the doctrines 
 and friendships of his father, was concerned in one of 
 the conspiracies which assailed the First Consul on 
 his accession to power. At this crisis, Monsieur de 
 Serizy, anxious to pay his debt of gratitude, enabled 
 Moreau, lying under sentence of death, to make his 
 escape ; in 1804 he asked for his pardon, obtained it, 
 offered him first a place in his government office, and 
 finally took him as private secretary for his own affairs. 
 Some time after the marriage of his patron Moreau 
 fell in love with the countess's waiting-woman and mar- 
 ried her. , To avoid the annoyances of the false posi- 
 tion in which this marriage placed him (more than one 
 example of which could be seen at the imperial court), 
 Moreau asked the count to give him the management 
 of the Presles estate, where his wife could play the lad}' 
 in a country region, and neither of them would be 
 made to suffer from wounded self-love. The count 
 wanted a trustworthy man at Presles, for his wife pre- 
 ferred Serizy, an estate only fifteen miles from Paris. 
 For three or four years Moreau had held the key of 
 
A Start in Life. 33 
 
 the count's affairs ; he was intelligent, and before the 
 Revolution he had studied law in his father's office ; so 
 Monsieur de Se'rizy granted his request. 
 
 14 You can never advance in life," he said to Moreau, 
 " for you have broken your neck ; but you can be 
 happy, and I will take care that you are so." 
 
 He gave Moreau a salary of three thousand francs 
 and his residence in a charming lodge near the chateau, 
 all the wood he needed from the timber that was cut 
 on the estate, oats, hay, and straw for two horses, and 
 a right to whatever he wanted of the produce of the 
 gardens. A sub-prefect is not as well provided for. 
 
 During the first eight years of his stewardship, 
 Moreau managed the estate conscientiously ; he took 
 an interest in it. The count, coming down now and 
 then to examine the property, pass judgment on what 
 had been done, and decide on new purchases, was 
 struck with Moreau's evident loyalty, and showed his 
 satisfaction by liberal gifts. 
 
 But after the birth of Moreau's third child, a daugh- 
 ter, he felt himself so securely settled in all his com- 
 forts at Presles that he ceased to attribute to Mon- 
 sieur de Serizy those enormous advantages. About 
 the year 1816, the steward, who until then had onty 
 taken what he needed for his own use from the estate, 
 accepted a sum of twenty-five thousand francs from a 
 wood-merchant as an inducement to lease to the latter, 
 
 3 
 
34 A Start in Life. 
 
 for twelve years, the cutting of all the timber. Moreau 
 argued thus : he could have no pension ; he was the 
 father of a family ; the count really owed him that sum 
 as a gift after ten years' management ; already the 
 legitimate possessor of sixty thousand francs in sav- 
 ings, if he added this sum to that, he could buy a 
 farm worth a hundred and twenty-five thousand francs 
 in Champagne, a township just above Isle-Adam, on 
 the right bank of the Oise. Political events prevented 
 both the count and the neighboring country-people from 
 becoming aware of this investment, which was made 
 in the name of Madame Moreau, who was understood 
 to have inherited property from an aunt of her father. 
 
 As soon as the steward had tasted the delightful 
 fruit of the possession of property, he began, all the 
 while maintaining toward the world an appearance of 
 the utmost integrhVv, to lose no occasion of increasing 
 his fortune clandestinely; the interests of his three 
 children served as a poultice to the wounds of his 
 honor. Nevertheless, we ought in justice to say that 
 while he accepted casks of wine, and took care of him- 
 self in all the purchases that he made for the count, 
 yet according to the terms of the Code he remained an 
 honest man, and no proof could have been found to 
 justify an accusation against him. According to the 
 jurisprudence of the least thieving cook in Paris, he 
 shared with the count in the profits due to his own 
 
A Start in Life, 35 
 
 capable management. This manner of swelling his 
 fortune was simply a case of conscience, that was all. 
 Alert, and thoroughly understanding the count's inter- 
 ests, Moreau watched for opportunities to make good 
 purchases all the more eagerty, because he gained a 
 larger percentage on them. Presles returned a revenue 
 of seventy thousand francs net. It was a saying of the 
 country-side for a circuit of thirty miles : — 
 
 11 Monsieur de Seriz}' has a second self in Moreau. " 
 Being a prudent man, Moreau invested yearly, after 
 1817, both his profits and his salary on the Grand 
 Livre, piling up his heap with the utmost secrecy. He 
 often refused proposals on the plea of want of mone}- ; 
 and he played the poor man so successfully with the 
 count that the latter gave him the means to send both 
 his sons to the school Henri IV. At the present mo- 
 ment Moreau was worth one hundred and twent}' thou- 
 sand francs of capital invested in the Consolidated 
 thirds, now paying five per cent, and quoted at eighty 
 francs. These carefully hidden one hundred and twenty 
 thousand francs, and his farm at Champagne, enlarged 
 b}- subsequent purchases, amounted to a fortune of 
 about two hundred and eighty thousand francs, giving 
 him an income of some sixteen thousand. 
 
 Such was the position of the steward at the time 
 when the Comte de Serizy desired to purchase the farm 
 of Moulineaux, — the ownership of which was indis- 
 
36 A Start in Life. 
 
 pensable to his comfort. This farm consisted of ninet} T - 
 six parcels of land bordering the estate of Presles, and 
 frequently running into it, producing the most annoy- 
 ing discussions as to the trimming of hedges and 
 ditches and the cutting of trees. Any other than a 
 cabinet minister would probably have had scores of 
 lawsuits on his hands. Pere Leger onty wished to buy 
 the property in order to sell to the count at a hand- 
 some advance. In order to secure the exorbitant sum 
 on which his mind was set, the farmer had long endeav- 
 ored to come to an understanding with Moreau. Im- 
 pelled by circumstances, he had, only three da}'s before 
 this critical Saturday, had a talk with the steward in 
 the open field, and proved to him clearly that he 
 (Moreau) could make the count invest his money at 
 two and a half per cent, and thus appear to serve his 
 patron's interests, while he himself pocketed forty thou- 
 sand francs which Leger offered him to bring about the 
 transaction. 
 
 " I tell you what," said the steward to his wife, as he 
 went to bed that night, " if I make fifty thousand francs 
 out of the Moulineaux affair, — and I certainly shall, for 
 the count will give me ten thousand as a fee, — we '11 re- 
 tire to Isle- Adam and live in the Pavilion de Nogent." 
 
 This pavilion was a charming place, originally built 
 by the Prince de Conti for a mistress, and in it every 
 convenience and luxury had been placed. 
 
A Start in Life. 37 
 
 "That will suit me," said his wife. " The Dutch- 
 man who lives there has put it in good order, and now 
 that he is obliged to return to India, he would probably 
 let us have it for thirty thousand francs." 
 
 44 We shall be close to Champagne," said Moreau. 
 44 I am in hopes of buying the farm and mill of Mours 
 for a hundred thousand francs. That would give us 
 ten thousand a \*ear in rentals. Nogent is one of the 
 most delightful residences in the valley ; and we should 
 still have an income of ten thousand from the Grand- 
 Livre." 
 
 44 But why don't 3*011 ask for the post of juge-de-paix 
 at Isle-Adam? That would give us influence, and fifteen 
 hundred a year salary." 
 
 44 Well, I did think of it." 
 
 With these plans in mind, Moreau, as soon as he 
 heard from the count that he was coming to Presles, 
 and wished him to invite Margueron to dinner on Sat- 
 urday, sent off an express to the count's head-valet, 
 inclosing a letter to his master, which the messenger 
 failed to deliver before Monsieur de Seriz}- retired at 
 his usually early hour. Augustin, however, placed it, 
 according to custom in such cases, on his master's desk. 
 In this letter Moreau begged the count not to trouble 
 himself to come down, but to trust entirely to him. 
 Be added that Margueron was no longer willing to sell 
 the whole in one block, and talked of cutting the farm 
 
38 A Start in Life. 
 
 up into a number of small lots. It was necessary to 
 circumvent this plan, and perhaps, added Moreau, it 
 might be best to employ a third party to make the 
 purchase. 
 
 Everybody has enemies in this life. Now the stew- 
 ard and his wife had wounded the feelings of a retired 
 army officer, Monsieur de Reybert, and his wife, who 
 were living near Presles. From speeches like pin-pricks, 
 matters had advanced to dagger-thrusts. Monsieur de 
 Re}-bert breathed vengeance. He was determined to 
 make Moreau lose his situation and gain it himself. 
 The two ideas were twins. Thus the proceedings of 
 the steward, spied upon for two years, were no secret 
 to Reybert. The same conveyance that took Moreau's 
 letter to the count conveyed Madame de Reybert, whom 
 her husband despatched to Paris. There she asked 
 with such earnestness to see the count that although 
 she was sent away at nine o'clock, he having then gone 
 to bed, she was ushered into his study the next morn- 
 ing at seven. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said to the cabinet-minister, " we 
 are incapable, my husband and I, of writing anony- 
 mous letters, therefore I have come to see you in per- 
 son. I am Madame de Reybert, nee de Corro\ T . My 
 husband is a retired officer, with a pension of six 
 hundred francs, and we live at Presles, where your 
 steward has offered us insult after insult, although we 
 
A Start in Life. 39 
 
 are persons of good station. Monsieur de Reybert, 
 who is not an intriguing man, far from it, is a caj>- 
 tain of artillery, retired in 1816, having served twenty 
 years, — always at a distance from the Emperor, Mon- 
 sieur le comte. You know of course how difficult it is 
 for soldiers who are not under the eye of their master to 
 obtain promotion, — not counting that the integrity and 
 frankness of Monsieur de Reybert were displeasing to 
 his superiors. My husband has watched your steward 
 for the last three } T ears, being aware of his dishonesty 
 and intending to have him lose his place. We are, 
 as you see, quite frank with you. Moreau has made 
 us his enemies, and we have watched him. I have come 
 to tell you that you are being tricked in the purchase 
 of the Molineaux farm. They mean to get an extra hun- 
 dred thousand francs out of you, which are to be divided 
 between the notary, the farmer Leger, and Moreau. 
 You have written Moreau to invite Margueron, and you 
 are going to Presles to-day ; but Margueron will be ill, 
 and Leger is so certain of buying the farm that he 
 is now in Paris to draw the money. If we have en- 
 lightened you as to what is going on, and if you want 
 an upright steward you will take my husband ; though 
 noble, he will serve you as he has served the State. 
 Your steward has made a fortune of two hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs out of his place ; he is not to 
 be pitied therefore." 
 
40 A Start in Life. 
 
 The count thanked Madame de Reybert coldly, be- 
 stowing upon her the hoh'-water of courts, for he de- 
 spised backbiting ; but for all that, he remembered 
 Derville's doubts, and felt inwardly shaken. Just then 
 he saw his steward's letter and read it. In its assur- 
 ances of devotion and its respectful reproaches for the 
 distrust implied in wishing to negotiate the purchase 
 for himself, he read the truth. 
 
 44 Corruption has come to him with fortune, — as it 
 always does ! " he said to himself. 
 
 The count then made several inquiries of Madame 
 de Reybert, less to obtain information than to gain time 
 to observe her ; and he wrote a short note to his notary 
 telling him not to send his head-clerk to Presles as 
 requested, but to come there himself in time for dinner. 
 
 "Though Monsieur le comte," said Madame de 
 Reybert in conclusion, M may have judged me unfavor- 
 ably for the step I have taken unknown to my hus- 
 band, he ought to be convinced that we have obtained 
 this information about his steward in a natural and 
 honorable manner ; the most sensitive conscience can- 
 not take exception to it." 
 
 So saying, Madame de Reybert, nee de Corroy, stood 
 erect as a pike-staff. She presented to the rapid in- 
 vestigation of the count a face seamed with the small- 
 pox like a colander with holes, a flat, spare figure, two 
 light and eager eyes, fair hair plastered down upon 
 
A Start in Life. 41 
 
 an anxious forehead, a small drawn-bonnet of faded 
 green taffetas lined with pink, a white gown with violet 
 spots, and leather shoes. The count recognized the 
 wife of some poor, half-pay captain, a puritan, sub- 
 scribing no doubt to the k4 Courrier Francois," earnest 
 in virtue, but aware of the comfort of a good situation 
 and eagerl}* coveting it. 
 
 44 You say your husband has a pension of six hun- 
 dred francs," he said, replying to his own thoughts, and 
 not to the remark Madame de Reybert had just made. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 44 You were born a Corroy ? " 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, — a noble family of Metz, where 
 my husband belongs." 
 
 44 In what regiment did Monsieur de Reybert serve? " 
 
 44 The 7th artillery." 
 
 44 Good ! " said the count, writing down the number. 
 
 He had thought at one time of giving the manage- 
 ment of the estate to some retired army officer, about 
 whom he could obtain exact information from the min- 
 ister of war. 
 
 44 Madame," he resumed, ringing for his valet, 44 re- 
 turn to Presles, this afternoon with my notary, who is 
 going down there for dinner, and to whom I have rec- 
 ommended you. Here is his address. I am going 
 myself secretly to Presles, and will send for Monsieur 
 de Reybert to come and speak to me." 
 
42 A Start in Life. 
 
 It will thus be seen that Monsieur de Serizy's jour- 
 ney by a public conveyance, and the injunction con- 
 ve\'ed by the valet to conceal his name and rank had 
 not unnecessarily alarmed Pierrotin. That worthy had 
 just forebodings of a danger which was about to swoop 
 down upon one of his best customers. 
 
A Start in Life. 43 
 
 III. 
 
 THE TRAVELLERS. 
 
 As Pierrotin issued from the Cafe de r^chiquier, 
 after treating the valet, he saw in the gate-way of the 
 Lion d' Argent the lady and the young man in whom 
 his perspicacity at once detected customers, for the 
 lady with outstretched neck and anxious face was evi- 
 dently looking for him. She was dressed in a black- 
 silk gown that was dyed, a brown bonnet, an old 
 French cashmere shawl, raw-silk stockings, and low 
 shoes ; and in her hand she carried a straw bag and a 
 blue umbrella. This woman, who had once been beau- 
 tiful, seemed to be about forty years of age ; but her 
 blue eyes, deprived of the fire which happiness puts 
 there, told plainly that she had long renounced the 
 world. Her dress, as well as her whole air and man- 
 ner, indicated a mother wholly devoted to her house- 
 hold and her son. If the strings of her bonnet were 
 faded, the shape betrayed that it was several years old. 
 The shawl was fastened by a broken needle converted 
 into a pin by a head of sealing-wax. She was waiting 
 impatiently for Pierrotin, wishing to recommend to his 
 special care her son, who was doubtless travelling for 
 
44 A Start in Life. 
 
 the first time, and with whom she had come to the 
 coach-office as much from doubt of his ability as from 
 maternal affection. 
 
 This mother was in a way completed by the son, so 
 that the son would not be understood without the 
 mother. If the mother condemned herself to mended 
 gloves, the son wore an olive-green coat with sleeves 
 too short for him, proving that he had grown, and 
 might grow still more, like other adults of eighteen or 
 nineteen years of age. The blue trousers, mended by 
 his mother, presented to the eye a brighter patch of 
 color when the coat-tails maliciously parted behind him. 
 
 " Don't rub your gloves that way, you '11 spoil them," 
 she was saying as Pierrotin appeared. "Is this the 
 conductor? Ah ! Pierrotin, is it you?" she exclaimed, 
 leaving her son and taking the coachman apart a few 
 steps. 
 
 "I hope you 're well, Madame Clapart," he replied, 
 with an air that expressed both respect and familiarit3 r . 
 
 " Yes, Pierrotin, very well. Please take good care 
 of my Oscar ; he is travelling alone for the first time." 
 
 " Oh! so he is going alone to Monsieur Moreau ! " 
 cried Pierrotin, for the purpose of finding out whether 
 he were reall3 T going there. 
 
 " Yes," said the mother. 
 
 " Then Madame Moreau is willing?" returned Pier- 
 rotin, with a sly look. 
 
 o 
 
 <* 
 
A Start in Life. 45 
 
 4 'Ah!" said the mother, "it will not be all roses 
 for him, poor child ! But his future absolutely requires 
 that I should send him." 
 
 This answer struck Pierrotin, who hesitated to con- 
 fide his fears for the steward to Madame Clapart, while 
 she, on her part, was afraid of injuring her boy if she 
 asked Pierrotin for a care which might have trans- 
 formed him into a mentor. During this short delibera- 
 tion, which was ostensibly covered by a few phrases as 
 to the weather, the journey, and the stopping-places 
 along the road, we will ourselves explain what were the 
 ties that united Madame Clapart with Pierrotin, and 
 authorized the two confidential remarks which they have 
 just exchanged. 
 
 Often — that is to say, three or four times a month — 
 Pierrotin, on his way to Paris, would find the steward 
 on the road near La Cave. As soon as the vehicle 
 came up, Moreau would sign to a gardener, who, with 
 Pierrotin's help, would put upon the coach either one 
 or two baskets containing the fruits and vegetables of 
 the season, chickens, eggs, butter, and game. The 
 steward always paid the carriage and Pierrotin's fee, 
 adding the money necessary to pay toll at the barri&re, 
 if the baskets contained anything dutiable. These 
 baskets, hampers, or packages, were never directed to 
 an}' one. On the first occasion, which served for all 
 others, the steward had given Madame Clapart's ad- 
 
46 A Start in Life. 
 
 dress by word of mouth to the discreet Pierrotin, 
 requesting him never to deliver to others the precious 
 packages. Pierrotin, impressed with the idea of an 
 intrigue between the steward and some pretty girl, had 
 gone as directed to number 7 rue de la Cerisaie, in 
 the Arsenal quarter, and had there found the Madame 
 Clapart just portrayed, instead of the young and beau- 
 tiful creature he expected to find. 
 
 The drivers of public conveyances and carriers are 
 called by their business to enter man}- homes, and to 
 be cognizant of many secrets ; but social accident, that 
 sub-providence, having willed that they be without 
 education and devoid of the talent of observation, it 
 follows that they are not dangerous. Nevertheless, at 
 the end of a few months, Pierrotin was puzzled to 
 explain the exact relations of Monsieur Moreau and 
 Madame Clapart from what he saw of the household in 
 the rue de la Cerisaie. Though lodgings were not dear 
 at that time in the Arsenal quarter, Madame Clapart 
 lived on a third floor at the end of a court-yard, in a 
 house which was formerly that of a great family, in the 
 days when the higher nobility of the kingdom lived on 
 the ancient site of the Palais des Tournelles and the 
 hotel Saint-Paul. Toward the end of the sixteenth 
 century, the great seigneurs divided among themselves 
 these vast spaces a once occupied by the gardens of the 
 kings of France, as indicated by the present names of 
 
 
A Start in Life. 47 
 
 the streets, — Cerisaie, Beautreillis, des Lions, etc. 
 Madame Clapart's apartment, which was panelled 
 throughout with ancient carvings, consisted of three 
 connecting rooms, a dining-room, salon, and bedroom. 
 Above it was the kitchen, and a bedroom for Oscar. 
 Opposite to the entrance, on what is called in Paris 
 le carre, — that is, the square landing, — was the door 
 of a back room, opening, on every floor, into a sort of 
 tower built of rough stone, in which was also the well 
 for the staircase. This was the room in which Moreau 
 slept whenever he went to Paris. 
 
 Pierrotin had seen in the first room, where he depos- 
 ited the hampers, six wooden chairs with straw seats, a 
 table, and a sideboard ; at the windows, discolored cur- 
 tains. Later, when he entered the salon, he noticed 
 some old Empire furniture, now shabby ; but only as 
 much as all proprietors exact to secure their rent. 
 Pierrotin judged of the bedroom by the salon and 
 dining- room. The wood- work, painted coarsely of a 
 reddish white, which thickened and blurred the mould- 
 ings and figurines, far from being ornamental, was dis- 
 tressing to the e}'e. The floors, never waxed, were 
 of that gray tone we see in boarding-schools. When 
 Pierrotin came upon Monsieur and Madame Clapart at 
 their meals he saw that their china, glass, and all other 
 little articles betrayed the utmost povert}* ; and yet, 
 though the chipped and mended dishes and tureens 
 
48 A Start in Life. 
 
 were those of the poorest families and provoked pity, 
 the forks and spoons were of silver. 
 
 Monsieur Clapart, clothed in a shabby surtout, his 
 feet in broken slippers, always wore green spectacles, 
 and exhibited, whenever he removed his shabby cap 
 of a bygone period, a pointed skull, from the top of 
 which trailed a few dirty filaments which even a poet 
 could scarcely call hair. This man, of wan complex- 
 ion, seemed timorous, but withal tyrannical. 
 
 In this dreary apartment, which faced the north and 
 had no other outlook than to a vine on the opposite 
 wall and a well in the corner of the yard, Madame 
 Clapart bore herself with the airs of a queen, and 
 moved like a woman unaccustomed to go anywhere on 
 foot. Often, while thanking Pierrotin, she gave him 
 glances which would have touched to pity an intelli- 
 gent observer ; from time to time she would slip a twelve- 
 sous piece into his hand, and then her voice was charm- 
 ing. Pierrotin had never seen Oscar, for the reason 
 that the boy was always in school at the time his 
 business took him to the house. s 
 
 Here is the sad story which Pierrotin could never 
 have discovered, even by asking for information, as he 
 sometimes did, from the portress of the house ; for 
 that individual knew nothing beyond the fact that the 
 Claparts paid a rent of two hundred and fifty francs 
 a year, had no servant but a charwoman who came 
 
A Start in Life. 49 
 
 daily for a few hours in the morning, that Madame 
 Clapart did some of her smaller washing herself, and 
 paid the postage on her letters daily, being apparently 
 unable to let the sum aceumulate. 
 
 There does not exist, or rather, there seldom exists, 
 a criminal who is wholly criminal. Neither do we ever 
 meet with a dishonest nature which is completely dis- 
 honest. It is possible for a man to cheat his master 
 to his own advantage, or rake in for himself alone all 
 the hay in the manger, but, even while laying up cap- 
 ital by actions more or less illicit, there are few men 
 who never do good ones. If only from self-love, curi- 
 osity, or by way of variety, or by chance, every man 
 has his moment of beneficence ; he may call it his 
 error, he may never do it again, but he sacrifices to 
 Goodness, as the most surly man sacrifices to the 
 Graces once or twice in his life. If Moreau's faults 
 can ever be excused, it might be on the score of his 
 persistent kindness in succoring a poor woman of 
 whose favors he had once been proud, and in whose 
 house he was hidden when in peril of his life. 
 
 This woman, celebrated under the Directory for her 
 liaison with one of the five kings of that reign, mar- 
 ried, through that all-powerful protection, a purveyor 
 who was making his millions out of the government, 
 and whom Napoleon ruined in 1802. This man, named 
 Husson, became insane through his sudden fall from op- 
 
 4 
 
50 A Start in Life. 
 
 ulence to penury ; he flung himself into the Seine, leav- 
 ing the beautiful Madame Husson pregnant. Moreau, 
 very intimatel}' allied with Madame Husson, was at 
 that time condemned to death ; he was unable there- 
 fore to marry the widow, being forced to leave France. 
 Madame Husson, then twenty-two years old, married 
 in her deep distress a government clerk named Clapart, 
 aged twenty-seven, who was said to be a rising man. 
 At that period of our history, government clerks were 
 apt to become persons of importance ; for Napoleon 
 was ever on the lookout for capacity. But Clapart, 
 though endowed by nature with a certain coarse beauty, 
 proved to have no intelligence. Thinking Madame 
 Husson ver} T rich, he feigned a great passion for her, 
 and was simply saddled with the impossibility of sat- 
 isfying either then or in the future the wants she had 
 acquired in a life of opulence. He filled, ver}' poorly, 
 a place in the Treasuiy that gave him a salary of eigh- 
 teen hundred francs ; which was all the new household 
 had to live on. When Moreau returned to France as 
 the secretary of the Comte de Serizy he heard of 
 Madame Husson's pitiable condition, and he was able, 
 before his own marriage, to get her an appointment 
 as head-waiting-woman to Madame Mere, the Em- 
 peror's mother. But in spite of that powerful protec- 
 tion Clapart was never promoted ; his incapacity was 
 too apparent. 
 
A Start in Life. 51 
 
 Ruined in 1815 by the fall of the Empire, the bril- 
 liant Aspasia of the Directory had no other resources 
 than Clapart's salary of twelve hundred francs from a 
 I'krkship obtained for him through the Comte de Serizy. 
 Moreau, the only protector of a woman whom he had 
 known in possession of millions, obtained a half- 
 scholarship for her son, Oscar Husson, at the school 
 of Henri IV.; and he sent her regularly, by Pierrotin,* 
 such supplies from the estate at Presles as he could 
 decently offer to a household in distress. 
 
 Oscar was the whole life and all the future of his 
 mother. The poor woman could now be reproached 
 with no other fault than her exaggerated tenderness for 
 her boy, — the bete-noire of his step-father. Oscar was, 
 unfortunately, endowed by nature with a foolishness 
 his mother did not perceive, in spite of the step- father's 
 sarcasms. This foolishness — or, to speak more spe- 
 cifically, this overweening conceit — so troubled Mon- 
 sieur Moreau that he begged Madame Clapart to send 
 the boy down to him for a month that he might stud}' 
 his character, and find out what career he was fit for. 
 Moreau was really thinking of some day proposing 
 Oscar to the count as his successor. 
 
 But to give to the devil and to God what respectively 
 belongs to them, perhaps it would be well to show the 
 causes of Oscar Ilusson's silly self-conceit, premising 
 that he was born in the household of Madame Mere. 
 
52 A Start in Life. 
 
 During his early childhood his eyes were dazzled by 
 imperial splendors. His pliant imagination retained 
 the impression of those gorgeous scenes, and nursed 
 the images of a golden time of pleasure in hopes of 
 recovering them. The natural boastfulness of school- 
 bo} r s (possessed of a desire to outshine their mates) 
 resting on these memories of his childhood was devel- 
 oped in him beyond all measure. It may also have 
 been that his mother at home dwelt too fondly on the 
 daj's when she herself was a queen in Directorial Paris. 
 At any rate, Oscar, who was now leaving school, had 
 been made to bear many humiliations which the paying 
 pupils put upon those who hold scholarships, unless the 
 scholars are able to impose respect b} 7 superior physical 
 ability. 
 
 This mixture of former splendor now departed, of 
 beauty gone, of blind maternal love, of sufferings hero- 
 ically borne, made the mother one of those pathetic 
 figures which catch the e}-e of many an observer in 
 Paris. 
 
 Incapable, naturally, of understanding the real at- 
 tachment of Moreau to this woman, or that of the 
 woman for the man she had saved in 1797, now her 
 only friend, Pierrotin did not think it best to commu- 
 nicate the suspicion that had entered his head as to 
 some danger which was threatening Moreau. The 
 valet's speech, " We have enough to do in this world 
 
A Start in Life. 53 
 
 to look after ourselves," returned to his mind, and with 
 it came that sentiment of obedience to what he called 
 the chefs defile, — the front-rank men in war, and men 
 of rank in peace. Besides, just now Pierrotin's head 
 was as full of his own stings as there are five-franc 
 pieces in a thousand francs. So that the " Very good, 
 madame," 44 Certainly, madame," with which he re- 
 plied to the poor mother, to whom a trip of twenty 
 miles appeared a journey, showed plainly that he 
 desired to get away from her useless and prolix 
 instructions. 
 
 44 You will be sure to place the packages so that 
 the}' cannot get wet if the weather should happen to 
 change." 
 
 "I've a hood," replied Pierrotin. " Besides, see, 
 madame, with what care the}' are being placed." 
 
 44 Oscar, don't stay more than two weeks, no matter 
 how much they may ask you," continued Madame Cla- 
 part, returning to her son. 44 You can't please Madame 
 Moreau, whatever you do; besides, you must be home 
 by the end of September. We are to go to Belleville, 
 you know, to your uncle Cardot." 
 
 44 Yes, mamma." 
 
 44 Above all," she said, in a low voice, 44 be sure 
 never to speak about servants ; keep thinking all the 
 time that Madame Moreau was once a waiting-maid." 
 
 44 Yes, mamma." 
 
54 A Start in Life. 
 
 Oscar, like all youths whose vanity is excessively 
 ticklish, seemed annoyed at being lectured on the 
 threshold of the Lion d 'Argent. 
 
 44 Well, now good-bye, mamma. We shall start soon ; 
 there 's the horse all harnessed.'' 
 
 The mother, forgetting that she was in the open 
 street, embraced her Oscar, and said, smiling, as she 
 took a little roll from her basket : — 
 
 " Tiens ! you were forgetting your roll and the 
 chocolate ! My child, once more, I repeat, don't take 
 anything at the inns ; they 'd make you pay for the 
 slightest thing ten times what it is worth." 
 
 Oscar would fain have seen his mother farther off as- 
 she stuffed the bread and chocolate into his pocket. 
 The scene had two witnesses, — two young men a few 
 years older than Oscar, better dressed than he, without 
 a mother hanging on to them, whose actions, dress, 
 and ways all betokened that complete independence 
 which is the one desire of a lad still tied to his mother's 
 apron-strings. 
 
 44 He said mamma/" cried one of the new-comers, 
 laughing. 
 
 The words reached Oscar's ears and drove him to 
 say, 44 Good-b3'e, mother!" in a tone of terrible 
 impatience. 
 
 Let us admit that Madame Clapart spoke too loudly, 
 and seemed to wish to show to those around them her 
 tenderness for the boy. 
 
A Start in Life. 55 
 
 u What is the matter with you, Oscar?" asked the 
 poor hurt woman. M I don't know what to make of 
 you," she added in a severe tone, fancying herself 
 able to inspire him with respect, — a great mistake 
 made b}- those who spoil their children. M Listen, my 
 Oscar," she said, resuming at once her tender voice, 
 u j'ou have a propensity to talk, and to tell all 3*011 
 know, and all that you don't know ; and you do it to 
 show off, with the foolish vanity of a mere lad. Now,- 1 
 repeat, endeavor to keep your tongue in check. You 
 are not sufficiently advanced in life, nry treasure, to be 
 able to judge of the persons with whom you may be 
 thrown ; and there is nothing more dangerous than to 
 talk in public conve3'ances. Besides, in a diligence 
 well-bred persons alwa3*s keep silence." 
 
 The two young men, who seemed to have walked to 
 the farther end of the establishment, here returned, mak- 
 ing their boot-heels tap upon the paved passage of the 
 porte-cochere. They might have heard the whole of 
 this maternal homil3 T . So, in order to rid himself of 
 his mother, Oscar had recourse to an heroic measure, 
 which proved how vanit3 T stimulates the intellect. 
 
 " Mamma," he said, " 3-011 are standing in a draught, 
 and you ma3' take cold. Besides, I am going to get 
 into the coach." 
 
 The lad must have touched some tender spot, for 
 his mother caught him to her bosom, kissed him as 
 
56 A Start in Life. 
 
 if he were starting upon a long journey, and went with 
 him to the vehicle with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " Don't forget to give live francs to the servants 
 when you come awa}'," she said ; u write me three times 
 at least during the fifteen da3's ; behave properly, and 
 remember all that I have told you. You have linen 
 enough ; don't send an}' to the wash. Above all, re- 
 member Monsieur Moreau's kindness ; mind him as 
 3'ou would a father, and follow his advice." 
 
 As he got into the coach, Oscar's blue woollen stock- 
 ings became visible, through the action of his trousers 
 which drew up suddenty, also the new patch in the said 
 trousers was seen, through the parting of his coat-tails. 
 The smiles of the two young men, on whom these signs 
 of an honorable indigence were not lost, were so many 
 fresh wounds to the lad's vanity. 
 
 " The first place was engaged for Oscar," said the 
 mother to Pierrotin. " Take the back seat," she said 
 to the bo}', looking fondty at him with a loving smile. 
 
 Oh ! how Oscar regretted that trouble and sorrow 
 had destro3 7 ed his mother's beauty, and that povert}- and 
 self-sacrifice prevented her from being better dressed ! 
 One of the young men, the one who wore top-boots and 
 spurs, nudged the other to make him take notice of 
 Oscar's mother, and the other twirled his moustache 
 with a gesture which signified, — 
 
 " Rather pretty figure ! " 
 
A Start in Life. 57 
 
 "How shall I ever get rid of mamma?" thought 
 Oscar. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Madame Clapart. 
 
 Oscar pretended not to hear, the monster ! Perhaps 
 Madame Clapart was lacking in tact under the circum- 
 stances ; but all absorbing sentiments have so much 
 egotism ! 
 
 44 Georges, do you like children when travelling?" 
 asked one young man of the other. 
 
 "Yes, my good Amaury, if they are weaned, and 
 are named Oscar, and have chocolate." 
 
 These speeches were uttered in half-tones to allow 
 Oscar to hear them or not hear them as he chose ; his 
 countenance was to be the weather-gauge by which the 
 other young traveller could judge how much fun he 
 might be able to get out of the lad during the journe}'. 
 Oscar chose not to hear. He looked to see if his mother, 
 who weighed upon him like a nightmare, was still there, 
 for lie felt that she loved him too well to leave him so 
 quickly. Not only did he involuntarily compare the 
 dress of his travelling companion with his own, but he 
 felt that his mother's toilet counted for much in the 
 smiles of the two }'onng men. 
 
 " If they would only take themselves off!" he said 
 to himself. 
 
 Instead of that, Amaury remarked to Georges, giving 
 a tap with his cane to the heavy wheel of the coucou : 
 
58 A Start in Life. 
 
 " And so, my friend, you are really going to trust 
 your future to this fragile bark ? " 
 
 "I must," replied Georges, in a tone of fatalism. 
 
 Oscar gave a sigh as he remarked the jaunty manner 
 in which his companion's hat was stuck on one ear 
 for the purpose of showing a magnificent head of blond 
 hair beautifully brushed and curled ; while he, by order 
 of his step-father, had his black hair cut like a clothes- 
 brush across the forehead, and clipped, like a soldier's, 
 close to the head. The face of the vain lad was round and 
 chubby and bright with the hues of health, while that 
 of his fellow-traveller was long, and delicate, and pale. 
 The forehead of the latter was broad, and his chest 
 filled out a waistcoat of a cashmere pattern. As Oscar 
 admired the tight-fitting iron-gray trousers and the over- 
 coat with its frogs and olives clasping the waist, it 
 seemed to him that this romantic-looking stranger, 
 gifted with such advantages, insulted him by his superi- 
 ority, just as an ugly woman feels injured by the mere 
 sight of a pretty one. The click of the stranger's boot- 
 heels offended his taste and echoed in his heart. He 
 felt as hampered by his own clothes (made no doubt 
 at home out of those of his step-father) as that envied 
 young man seemed a^ ease in his. 
 
 " That fellow must have heaps of francs in his trou- 
 sers pocket," thought Oscar. 
 
 The young man turned round. What were Oscar's 
 
A Start in Life. 59 
 
 feelings on beholding a gold chain round his neck, at 
 the end of which no doubt was a gold watch ! From 
 that moment the young man assumed, in Oscar's eyes, 
 the proportions of a personage. 
 
 Living in the rue de la Cerisaie since 1815, taken 
 to and from school by his step-father, Oscar had 
 no other points of comparison since his adolescence 
 than the poverty-stricken household of his mother. 
 Brought up strictly, by Moreau's advice, he seldom 
 went to the theatre, and then to nothing better than 
 the Ambigu-Comique, where his eyes could see little 
 elegance, if indeed the e}*es of a child riveted on a 
 melodrama were likely to examine the audience. His 
 step-father still wore, after the fashion of the Empire, 
 his watch in the fob of his trousers, from which there 
 depended over his abdomen a heavy gold chain, ending 
 in a bunch of heterogeneous ornaments, seals, and a 
 watch-key with a round top and flat sides, on which 
 was a landscape in mosaic. Oscar, who considered that 
 old-fashioned finery as the ne plus ultra of adornment, 
 was bewildered b} T the present revelation of superior 
 and negligent elegance. The young man exhibited, 
 offensively, a pair of spotless gloves, and seemed to 
 wish to dazzle Oscar by twirling with much grace a 
 gold-headed switch cane. 
 
 Oscar had reached that last quarter of adolescence 
 when little things cause immense joys and immense 
 
60 A Start in Life. 
 
 miseries, — a period when youth prefers misfortune to 
 a ridiculous suit of clothes, and caring nothing for the 
 real interests of life, torments itself about frivolities, 
 about neckcloths, and the passionate desire to appear a 
 man. Then the young fellow swells himself out ; his 
 swagger is all the more portentous because it is exer- 
 cised on nothings. Yet if he envies a fool who is ele- 
 gantly dressed, he is also capable of enthusiasm over 
 talent, and of genuine admiration for genius. Such 
 defects as these, when they have no root in the heart, 
 prove only the exuberance of sap, — the richness of the 
 youthful imagination. That a lad of nineteen, an only 
 child, kept severely at home b}^ poverty, adored by a 
 mother who put upon herself all privations for his 
 sake, should be moved to envy by a } r oung man of 
 twenty-two in a frogged surtout-coat silk-lined, a waist- 
 coat of fancy cashmere, and a cravat slipped through a 
 ring of the worst taste, is nothing more than a pecca- 
 dillo committed in all ranks of social life hy inferiors 
 who envy those that seem beyond them. Men of genius 
 themselves succumb to this primitive passion. Did not 
 Rousseau admire Ventura and Bade ? 
 
 But Oscar passed from peccadillo to evil feelings. 
 He felt humiliated ; he was angry with the 3'outh he 
 envied, and there rose in his heart a secret desire to 
 show openly that he himself was as good as the object 
 of his envy. 
 
A Start in Life. 61 
 
 The two young fellows continued to walk up and 
 down from the gate to the stables, and from the stables 
 to the gate. Each time they turned they looked at 
 Oscar curled up in his corner of the coucou. Oscar, 
 persuaded that their jokes and laughter concerned him- 
 self, affected the utmost indifference. He began to hum 
 the chorus of a song lately brought into vogue by the 
 liberals, which ended with the words, " T is Voltaire's 
 fault, 't is Rousseau's fault." 
 
 44 Tiens ! perhaps he is one of the chorus at the 
 Opera," said Amaury. 
 
 This exasperated Oscar, who bounded up, pulled out 
 the wooden l< back," and called to Pierrotin : — 
 
 44 When do we start? " 
 
 44 Presently," said that functional*}*, who was stand- 
 ing, whip in hand, and gazing toward the rue d'Enghien. 
 
 At this moment the scene was enlivened b} r the ar- 
 rival of a young man accompanied by a true gamin, 
 who was followed by a porter dragging a hand-cart. 
 The young man came up to Pierrotin and spoke to him 
 confidentially, on which the latter nodded his head, and 
 called to his own porter. The man ran out and helped 
 to unload the little hand-cart, which contained, besides 
 two trunks, buckets, brushes, boxes of singular shape, 
 and an infinity of packages and utensils which the 
 youngest of the new-comers, who had climbed into the 
 imperial, stowed away with such celerity that Oscar, 
 
62 A Start in Life. 
 
 who happened to be smiling at his mother, now sta- 
 tioned on the other side of the street, saw none of the 
 paraphernalia which might have revealed to him the 
 profession of his new travelling-companions. 
 
 The gamin, who must have been sixteen years of age, 
 wore a gray blouse buckled round his waist b} T a pol- 
 ished leather belt. His cap, jauntily perched on the 
 side of his head, seemed the sign of a merry nature, 
 and so did the picturesque disorder of the curly brown 
 hair which fell upon his shoulders. A black- silk cravat 
 drew a line round his very white neck, and added to 
 the vivacit}' of his bright gray eyes. The animation of 
 his brown and rosy face, the moulding of his rather 
 large lips, the ears detached from his head, his slightly 
 turned-up nose, — in fact, all the details of his face 
 proclaimed the lively spirit of a Figaro, and the care- 
 less ga}'et} r of youth, while the vivacity of his gesture 
 and his mocking eye revealed an intellect already de- 
 veloped b}' the practice of a profession adopted very 
 early in life. As he had already some claims to per- 
 sonal value, this child, made man by Art or b} T voca- 
 tion, seemed indifferent to the question of costume ; for 
 he looked at his boots, which had not been polished, 
 with a quizzical air, and searched for the spots on his 
 brown Holland trousers less to remove them than to 
 see their effect. 
 
 " I 'm in stj'le," he said, giving himself a shake and 
 addressing his companion. 
 
A Start in Life. 63 
 
 The glance of the latter, showed authorit}' over his 
 adept, in whom a practised aya would at once have 
 recognized the joyous pupil of a painter, called in the 
 argot of the studios a rapin. 
 
 " Behave yourself, Mistigris," said his master, giv- 
 ing him the nickname which the studio had no doubt 
 bestowed upon him. 
 
 The master was a slight and pale young man, with 
 extremely thick black hair, worn in a disorder that was 
 actually fantastic. But this abundant mass of hair 
 seemed necessary to an enormous head, whose vast 
 forehead proclaimed a precocious intellect. A strained 
 and harassed face, too original to be ugh', was hol- 
 lowed as if this noticeable young man suffered from 
 some chronic malady, or from privations caused by 
 poverty (the most terrible of all chronic maladies), or 
 from griefs too recent to be forgotten. His clothing, 
 analogous, with due allowance, to that of Mistigris, 
 consisted of a shabby surtout coat, American-green 
 in color, much worn, but clean and well-brushed ; a 
 black waistcoat buttoned to the throat, which almost 
 concealed a scarlet neckerchief; and trousers, also 
 black and even more worn than the coat, flapping his 
 thin legs. In addition, a pair of very muddy boots 
 indicated that he had come on foot and from some 
 distance to the coach office. With a rapid look this 
 artist seized the whole scene of the Lion d' Argent, the 
 
64 A Start in Life. 
 
 stables, the courtyard, the various lights and shades, 
 and the details ; then he looked at Mistigris, whose 
 satirical glance had followed his own. 
 
 44 Charming ! " said Mistigris. 
 
 "Yes, very," replied the other. 
 
 M We seem to have got here too early," pursued 
 Mistigris. "Couldn't we get a mouthful somewhere? 
 My stomach, like Nature, abhors a vacuum. " 
 
 44 Have we time to get a cup of coffee?" said the 
 artist, in a gentle voice, to Pierrotin. 
 
 44 Yes, but don't be long," answered the latter. 
 
 44 Good ; that means we have a quarter of an hour," 
 remarked Mistigris, with the innate genius for obser- 
 vation of the Paris rapin. 
 
 The pair disappeared. Nine o'clock was striking in 
 the hotel kitchen. Georges thought it just and reason- 
 able to remonstrate with Pierrotin. 
 
 44 Hey ! my friend ; when a man is blessed with such 
 wheels as these (striking the clumsy tires with his 
 cane) he ought at least to have the merit of punctual- 
 ity. The deuce ! one does n't get into that thing for 
 pleasure; I have business that is devilishly pressing 
 or I would n't trust my bones to it. And that horse, 
 which you call Rougeot, he does n't look likely to make 
 up for lost time." 
 
 44 We are going to harness Bichette while those gen- 
 tlemen take their coffee," replied Pierrotin. 44 Go and 
 
A Start in Life. 65 
 
 ask, you," he said to his porter, if Pere Leger is com- 
 ing with us — " 
 
 44 Where is your Pere Leger? " asked Georges. 
 
 44 Over the way, at number 50. He couldn't get 
 a place in the Beaumont diligence," said Pierrotin, still 
 speaking to his porter and apparently making no an- 
 swer to his customer ; then he disappeared himself in 
 search of Bichette. 
 
 Georges, after shaking hands with his friend, got 
 into the coach, handling with an air of great impor- 
 tance a portfolio which he placed beneath the cushion 
 of the seat. He took the opposite corner to that of 
 Oscar, on the same seat. ' 
 
 44 This Pere Leger troubles me," he said. 
 
 44 They can't take away our places," replied Oscar. 
 " 1 have number one." 
 
 44 And I number two," said Georges. 
 
 Just as Pierrotin reappeared, having harnessed 
 Bichette, the porter returned with a stout man in tow, 
 whose weight could not have been less than two hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds at the very least. Pere Leger 
 belonged to the species of farmer which has a square 
 back, a protuberant stomach, a powdered pigtail, and 
 wears a little coat of blue linen. His white gaiters, 
 coming above the knee, were fastened round the ends 
 of his velveteen breeches and secured by silver buckles. 
 His hob-nailed shoes weighed two pounds each. In 
 
 5 
 
66 A Start in Life. 
 
 his hand, he held a small reddish stick, much polished, 
 with a large knob, which was fastened round his wrist 
 by a thong of leather. 
 
 " And you are called Pere Leger?" asked Georges, 
 ve^ seriously, as the farmer attempted to put a foot 
 on the step. 
 
 " At your service," replied the farmer, looking in 
 and showing a face like that of Louis XVIII., with fat, 
 rubicund cheeks, from between which issued a nose 
 that in any other face would have seemed enormous. 
 His smiling eyes were sunken in rolls of fat. " Come, 
 a helping hand, my lad ! " he said to Pierrotin. 
 
 The farmer was hoisted in by the united efforts of 
 Pierrotin and the porter, to cries of, " Houp la! hi! 
 ha ! hoist ! " uttered by Georges. 
 
 "Oh! I'm not going far; only to La Cave," said 
 the farmer, good-humoredly. 
 
 In France everybody takes a joke. 
 
 " Take the back seat," said Pierrotin, "there'll be 
 six of you." 
 
 "Where's your other horse?" demanded Georges. 
 " Is it as mythical as the third posthorse ? " 
 
 " There she is," said Pierrotin, pointing to the little 
 mare, who was coming along alone. 
 
 " He calls that insect a horse ! " exclaimed Georges. 
 
 " Oh ! she 's good, that little mare," said the 
 farmer, who by this time was seated. " Your ser- 
 
A Start in Life. G7 
 
 vant, gentlemen. Well, Pierrotin, how soon do 3-011 
 rtwrt?" 
 
 44 1 have two travellers in there after a cup of cof- 
 fee, " replied Pierrotin. 
 
 The hollow-cheeked young man and his page re- 
 appeared. 
 
 44 Come, let 's start ! " was the general cr}\ 
 
 44 We are going to start," replied Pierrotin. 44 Now, 
 then, make ready," he said to the porter, who began 
 thereupon to take away the stones which stopped the 
 wheels. 
 
 Pierrotin took Rougeot by the bridle and gave that 
 guttural cry, " Ket, ket!" to tell the two animals 
 to collect their energy ; on which, though evidently 
 stiff, the}- pulled the coach to the door of the Lion 
 d'Argent. After which manoeuvre, which was purely 
 preparatory, Pierrotin gazed up the rue d'Enghien and 
 then disappeared, leaving the coach in charge of the 
 porter. 
 
 u Ah ca ! is he subject to such attacks, — that mas- 
 ter of 3'ours?" said Mistigris, addressing the porter. 
 
 44 He has gone to get his feed from the stable," re- 
 plied the porter, well versed in all the usual tricks to 
 keep passengers quiet. 
 
 44 Well, after all," said Mistigris, 44 4 art is long, but 
 life is shorts ' — to Bichette." 
 
 At this particular epoch, a fancy for mutilating or 
 
68 A Start in Life. 
 
 transposing proverbs reigned in the studios. It was 
 thought a triumph to find changes of letters, and some- 
 times of words, which still kept the semblance of the 
 proverb while giving it a fantastic or ridiculous 
 meaning. 1 
 
 "Patience, Mistigris ! " said his master; " ' come 
 wheel, come whoa.' " 
 
 Pierrotin here returned, bringing with him the Comte 
 de Serizy, who had come through the rue de l'fichi- 
 quier, and with whom he had doubtless had a short 
 conversation. 
 
 " Pere Leger," said Pierrotin, looking into the coach, 
 44 will you give your place to Monsieur le comte? That 
 will balance the carriage better." 
 
 " We sha'n't be off for an hour if you go on this 
 way," cried Georges. " We shall have to take down 
 this infernal bar, which cost such trouble to put up. 
 Why should everybody be made to move for the man 
 who comes last? We all have a right to the places we 
 took. What place has monsieur engaged? Come, find 
 that out ! Have n't you a wa}'-book, a register, or 
 something? What place has Monsieur Lecomte en- 
 gaged? — count of what, I'd like to know." 
 
 u Monsieur le comte," said Pierrotin, visibly troubled, 
 "lam afraid you will be uncomfortable." 
 
 1 It is plainly impossible to translate many of these proverbs 
 and put any fun or meaning into them. — Tr. 
 
A Start in Life. 60 
 
 "Why didn't you keep better count of us?" said 
 Mistigris. " 4 Short counts make good ends.' " 
 
 44 Mistigris, behave yourself," said his master. 
 
 Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the 
 persons in the coach for a bourgeois of the name of 
 Lecomte. 
 
 44 Don't disturb any one," he said to Pierrotin. "I 
 will sit with you in front." 
 
 41 Come, Mistigris," said the master to his rapin, 
 44 remember the respect you owe to age ; 30U don't 
 know how shockingly old you may be yourself some 
 day. 4 Travel deforms youth.' Give your place to 
 monsieur." 
 
 Mistigris opened the leathern curtaint and jumped 
 out with the agility of a frog leaping into the water. 
 
 44 You must n't be a rabbit, august old man," he said 
 to the count. 
 
 44 Mistigris, 4 ars est celare bonum,' " said his master. 
 
 44 1 thank } r ou very much, monsieur," said the count 
 to Mistigris's master, next to whom he now sat. 
 
 The minister of State cast a sagacious glance round 
 the interior of the coach, which greatly affronted both 
 Oscar. and Georges. 
 
 44 When persons want to be master of a coach, they 
 should engage all the places/' remarked Georges. 
 
 Certain now of his incognito, the Comte de Serizy 
 made no reply to this observation, but assumed the air 
 of a good-natured bourgeois. 
 
70 A Start in Life. 
 
 " Suppose you were late, would n't you be glad that 
 the coach waited for you ? " said the farmer to the two 
 young men. 
 
 Pierrotin still looked up and down the street, whip in 
 hand, apparently reluctant to mount to the hard seat 
 where Mistigris was fidgeting. 
 
 "If you expect some one else, I am not the last," 
 said the count. 
 
 " I agree to that reasoning," said Mistigris. 
 
 Georges and Oscar began to laugh impertinently. 
 
 "The old fellow doesn't know much," whispered 
 Georges to Oscar, who was delighted at this apparent 
 union between himself and the object of his envy. 
 
 " Parbleu ! " cried Pierrotin, " I should n't be sorry 
 for two more passengers " 
 
 "I haven't paid; I'll get out," said Georges, 
 alarmed. 
 
 " What are you waiting for, Pierrotin?" asked Pere 
 Leger. 
 
 Whereupon Pierrotin shouted a certain "Hi!" in 
 which Bichette and Rougeot recognized a definitive 
 resolution, and they both sprang toward the rise of the 
 faubourg at a pace which was soon to slacken. 
 
 The count had a red face, of a burning red all over, 
 on which were certain inflamed portions which his 
 snow-white hair brought out into full relief. To any 
 but heedless youths, this complexion would have re- 
 
A Start in Life. 71 
 
 vealcd a constant inflammation of the blood, produced 
 by incessant labor. These blotches and pimples so 
 injured the naturally noble air of the count that careful 
 examination was needed to find in his green-gray eyes 
 the shrewdness of the magistrate, the wisdom of a 
 statesman, and the knowledge of a legislator. His 
 face was flat, and the nose seemed to have been de- 
 pressed into it. The hat hid the grace and beauty of 
 his forehead. In short, there was enough to amuse 
 those thoughtless youths in the odd contrasts of the 
 silvery hair, the burning face, and the thick, tufted eye- 
 brows which were still jet-black. 
 
 The count wore a long blue overcoat, buttoned in 
 military fashion to the throat, a white cravat around 
 his neck, cotton wool in his ears, and a shirt-collar 
 high enough to make a large square patch of white on 
 each cheek. His black trousers covered his boots, the 
 toes of which were barely seen. He wore no decora- 
 tion in his button-hole, and doeskin gloves concealed 
 his hands. Nothing about him betrayed to the eyes of 
 youth a peer of France, and one of the most useful 
 statesmen in the kingdom. 
 
 Pere Le'ger had never seen the count, who, on his 
 side, knew the former only by name. When the count, 
 as he got into the carriage, cast the glance about him 
 which affronted Georges mid Oscar, lie was, in reality, 
 looking for the head-clerk of his notary (in case he had 
 
72 A Start in Life. 
 
 been forced, like himself, to take Pierrotin's vehicle), 
 intending to caution him instantly about his own in- 
 cognito. But feeling reassured by the appearance of 
 Oscar, and that of Pere Leger, and, above all, by the 
 quasi-military air, the waxed moustache, and the gen- 
 eral look of an adventurer that distinguished Georges, 
 he concluded that his note had reached his notary, 
 Alexandre Crottat, in time to prevent the departure of 
 the clerk. 
 
 "Pere Leger," said Pierrotin, when they reached 
 the steep hill of the faubourg Saint-Denis by the rue 
 de la Fid elite, "suppose we get out, hey? " 
 
 "I'll get out, too," said the count, hearing Leger' s 
 name. 
 
 "Goodness! if this is how we are going, we shall do 
 fourteen miles in fifteen days! " cried Georges. 
 
 "It isn't my fault," said Pierrotin, "if a passenger 
 wishes to get out." 
 
 "Ten louis for you if you keep the secret of my being 
 here as I told you before," said the count in a low 
 voice, taking Pierrotin by the arm. 
 
 "Oh, my thousand francs! " thought Pierrotin as he 
 winked an eye at Monsieur de Serizy, which meant, 
 "Rely on me." 
 
 Oscar and Georges stayed in the coach. 
 
 "Look here, Pierrotin, since Pierrotin you are," 
 cried Georges, when the passengers were once more 
 
A Start in Life. 73 
 
 stowed away in the vehicle, "if you don't mean to 
 go faster than this, say so! I '11 pay my fare and take 
 a post-horse at Saint-Denis, for I have important 
 business on hand which can't be delayed." 
 
 "Oh! he'll go well enough," said Pere Leger. 
 "Besides, the distance isn't great." 
 
 "I am never more than half an hour late," asserted 
 Pierrotin. 
 
 "Well, you are not wheeling the Pope in this old 
 barrow of yours," said Georges, "so, get on." 
 
 "Perhaps he's afraid of shaking monsieur," said 
 Mistigris looking round at the count. "But you 
 shouldn't have preferences, Pierrotin, it isn't right." 
 
 "Coucous and the Charter make all Frenchmen 
 equals," said Georges. 
 
 "Oh! be easy," said Pere Leger; "we are sure 
 to get to La Chapelle by mid-day," — La Chapelle 
 being the village next beyond the Barriere of Saint- 
 Denis. 
 
74 A Start in Life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE GRANDSON OF THE FAMOUS CZERNI-GEORGES. 
 
 Those who travel in public conveyances know that 
 the persons thus united by chance do not immediately 
 have anything to say to one another; unless under 
 special circumstances, conversation rarely begins until 
 they have gone some distance. This period of silence 
 is employed as much in mutual examination as in set- 
 tling into their places. Minds need to get their equi- 
 librium as much as bodies. When each person thinks 
 he has discovered the age, profession, and character 
 of his companions, the most talkative member of the 
 company begins, and the conversation gets under way 
 with all the more vivacity because those present feel a 
 need of enlivening the journey and forgetting its 
 tedium. 
 
 That is how things happen in French stage-coaches. 
 In other countries customs are very different. Eng- 
 lishmen pique themselves on never opening their lips; 
 Germans are melancholy in a vehicle; Italians too 
 wary to talk ; Spaniards have no public conveyances ; 
 and Russians no roads. There is no amusement ex- 
 cept in the lumbering diligences of France, that 
 
A Start in Life. 75 
 
 gabbling and indiscreet country, where every one is in 
   hurry to laugh and show his wit, and where jest and 
 epigram enliven all things, even the poverty of the 
 lower classes and the weightier cares of the solid bour- 
 geois. In a coach there is no police to check tongues, 
 and legislative assemblies have set the fashion of pub- 
 lic discussion. When a young man of twenty-two, like 
 the one named Georges, is clever and lively, he is 
 much tempted, especially under circumstances like the 
 present, to abuse those qualities. 
 
 In the first place, Georges had soon decided that he 
 was the superior human being of the party there assem- 
 bled. He saw in the count a manufacturer of the 
 second-class, whom he took, for some unknown reason, 
 to be a chandler; in the shabby young man accom- 
 panied by Mistigris, a fellow of no account; in Oscar 
 a ninny, and in Pere Leger, the fat farmer, an excel- 
 lent subject to hoax. Having thus looked over the 
 ground, he resolved to amuse himself at the expense 
 of such companions. 
 
 "Let me see," he thought to himself, as the coucou 
 went down the hill from La Chapelle to the plain of 
 Saint-Denis, "shall I pass myself off for Btienne or 
 B ranger? No, these idiots don't know who they are. 
 Carbonaro? the deuce! I might get myself arrested. 
 Suppose I say I 'm a son of Marshal Ney? Pooh! 
 what could I tell them? — about the .execution of my 
 
76 A Start in Life. 
 
 father? It would n't be funny. Better be a disguised 
 Russian prince and make them swallow a lot of stuff 
 about the Emperor Alexander. Or I might be Cou- 
 sin, and talk philosophy; oh, couldn't I perplex 'em! 
 But no, that shabby fellow with the tousled head looks 
 to me as if he had jogged his way through the 
 Sorbonne. What a pity! I can mimic an English- 
 man so perfectly I might have pretended to be Lord 
 Byron, travelling incognito. Sapristi! I '11 command 
 the troops of Ali, pacha of Janina! M 
 
 During this mental monologue, the coucou rolled 
 through clouds of dust rising on either side of it from 
 the much travelled road. 
 
 "What dust! " cried Mistigris. 
 
 "Henry IV. is dead!" retorted his master. "If 
 you 'd say it was scented with vanilla that would be 
 emitting a new opinion." 
 
 "You think you 're witty," replied Mistigris. 
 "Well, it is like vauilla at times." 
 
 "In the Levant — " said Georges, with the air of 
 beginning a story. 
 
 " l JEx Oriente flux,' " remarked Mistigris's master, 
 interrupting the speaker. 
 
 "I said in the Levant, from which I have just re- 
 turned," continued Georges, "the dust smells very 
 good; but here it smells of nothing, except in some 
 old dust-barrel like this." 
 
A Start in Life. 77 
 
 "Has monsieur lately returned from the Levant?" 
 said Mistigris, maliciously. "He is n't much tanned 
 by the sun. 1 ' 
 
 "Oh! I 've just left my bed after an illness of three 
 months, from the germ, so the doctors said, of sup- 
 pressed plague." 
 
 "Have you had the plague?" cried the count, with 
 a gesture of alarm. "Pierrotin, stop! " 
 
 "Go on, Pierrotin," said Mistigris. "Didn't you 
 hear him say it was inward, his plague?" added the 
 rapin^ talking back to Monsieur de Serizy. "It 
 isn't catching; it only comes out in conversation." 
 
 "Mistigris! if you interfere again I'll have you 
 put off into the road," said his master. "And so," 
 he added, turning to Georges, "monsieur has been to 
 the East?" 
 
 "Yes, monsieur; first to Egypt, then to Greece, 
 where I served under Ali, pacha of Janina, with whom 
 I had a terrible quarrel. There 's no enduring those 
 climates long; besides, the emotions of all kinds in 
 Oriental life have disorganized my liver." 
 
 "What, have you served as a soldier?" asked the 
 fat farmer. "How old are you? " 
 
 "Twenty-nine," replied Georges, whereupon all the 
 
 passengers looked at him. "At eighteen I enlisted as 
 
 R private for the famous campaign of 1813; but I was 
 
 lent at only one battle, that of liana u, where I was 
 
78 A Start in Life. 
 
 promoted sergeant-major. In France, at Montoreau, 
 I won the rank of sub-lieutenant, and was decorated 
 by, — there are no informers here, I 'm sure, — by the 
 Emperor." 
 
 "What! are you decorated ? " cried Oscar. "Why 
 don't you wear your cross? " 
 
 "The cross of ceux-ci? No, thank you! Besides, 
 what man of any breeding would wear his decorations 
 in travelling? There's monsieur," he said, motion- 
 ing to the Comte de Serizy. "I '11 bet whatever you 
 like — " 
 
 "Betting whatever you like means, in France, bet- 
 ting nothing at all," said Mistigris's master. 
 
 "I '11 bet whatever you like," repeated Georges, in- 
 cisively, "that monsieur here is covered with stars." 
 
 "Well," said the count, laughing, "I have the 
 grand cross of the Legion of honor, that of Saint 
 Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle, that of 
 the Annunciation of Sardinia, and the Golden Fleece." 
 
 "Beg pardon," said Mistigris, "are they all in the 
 coucou ? " 
 
 "Hey! that brick-colored old fellow goes it strong! " 
 whispered Georges to Oscar. "What was I saying? 
 — oh! I know. I don't deny that I adore the Em- 
 peror — " 
 
 "I served under him," said the count. 
 
 "What a man he was, wasn't he? " cried Georges. 
 
A Start in life. 79 
 
 "A man to whom I owe many obligations," replied 
 the count, with a silly expression that was admirably . 
 assumed. 
 
 "For all those crosses?" inquired Mistigris. 
 
 "And what quantities of snuff he took! " continued 
 Monsieur de Serizy. 
 
 "He carried it loose in his pockets," said Georges. 
 
 "So I've been told," remarked Pere Leger with an 
 incredulous look. 
 
 "Worse than that; he chewed and smoked," con- 
 tinued Georges. "I saw him smoking, in a queer 
 way, too, at Waterloo, when Marshal Soult took him 
 round the waist and flung him into his carriage, just 
 as he had seized a musket and was going to charge the 
 English — " 
 
 "You were at Waterloo!" cried Oscar, his eyes 
 stretching wide open. 
 
 "Yes, young man, I did the campaign of 1815. I 
 was a captain at Mont-Saint-Jean, and I retired to the 
 Loire, after we were all disbanded. Faith! I was 
 disgusted with France; I couldn't stand it. In fact, 
 I should certainly have got myself arrested; so off I 
 went, with two or three dashing fellows, — Selves, 
 Besson, and others, who are now in Egypt, — and we 
 entered the service of pacha Mohammed; a queer 
 sort of fellow he was, too! Once a tobacco merchant 
 in the bazaars, he is mow on the high-road to be a 
 
80 A Start in Life. 
 
 sovereign prince. You 've all seen him in that picture 
 by Horace Vernet, — ' The Massacre of the Mame- 
 luks.' What a handsome fellow he was! But I 
 would n't give up the religion of my fathers and em- 
 brace Islamism; all the more because the abjuration 
 required a surgical operation which I had n't any fancy 
 for. Besides, nobody respects a renegade. Now if 
 they had offered me a hundred thousand francs a year, 
 perhaps — and yet, no ! The pacha did give me a 
 thousand talari as a present." 
 
 "How much is that?" asked Oscar, who was listen- 
 ing to Georges with all his ears. 
 
 "Oh! not much. A talaro is, as you might say, a 
 five-franc piece. But faith! I got no compensation 
 for the vices I contracted in that God-forsaken coun- 
 try, if country it is. I can't live now without smoking 
 a narghile twice a-day, and that's very costly." 
 
 "How did you find Egypt? " asked the count- 
 
 "Egypt? Oh! Eg'3'pt is all sand," replied Georges, 
 by no means taken aback. "There's nothing green 
 but the valley of the Nile. Draw a green line down a 
 sheet of yellow paper, and you have Egypt. But those 
 Egyptians — fellahs they are called — have an im- 
 mense advantage over us. There are no gendarmes 
 in that country. You may go from end to end of 
 Egypt and you won't see one." 
 
 "But I suppose there are a good many Egyptians," 
 said Mistioris. 
 
A Start in Life. 81 
 
 "Not as many as you think for," replied Georges. 
 "There are many more Abyssinians, and Giaours, 
 and Veehabitcs, Bedouins, and Cophs. But all that 
 kind of animal is very uninteresting, and I was glad 
 enough to embark on a Genoese polacca which was 
 loading for the Ionian Islands with gunpowder and 
 munitions for Ali de Tebelen. You know, don't you, 
 that the British sell powder and munitions of war to 
 all the world, — Turks, Greeks, and the devil, too, if 
 the devil has money? From Zante we were to skirt 
 the coasts of Greece and tack about, on and off. Now 
 it happens that my name of Georges is famous in that 
 country. I am, such as you see me, the grandson of 
 the famous Czerni-Georges who made war upon the 
 Porte, and, instead of crushing it, as he meant to do, 
 got crushed himself. His son took refuge in the house 
 of the French consul at Smyrna, and he afterwards 
 died in Paris, leaving my mother pregnant with me, 
 his seventh child. Our property was all stolen by 
 friends of my grandfather; in fact, we were ruined. 
 My mother, who lived on her diamonds, which she 
 sold one by one, married, in 1799, my step-father, Mon- 
 sieur Yung, a purveyor. But my mother is dead, and 
 I have quarrelled with my step-father, who, between 
 ourselves, is a blackguard; he is still alive, but I 
 never see him. That's why, in despair, left all to 
 myself, I went off to the wars as a private in 1813. 
 
82 A Start in Life. 
 
 Well, to go back to the time I returned to Greece ; you 
 would n't believe with what joy old Ali Tebelen re- 
 ceived the grandson of Czerni-Georges. Here, of 
 course, I call myself simply Georges. The pacha gave 
 me a harem — " 
 
 "You have had a harem?" said Oscar. 
 
 "Were you a pacha with many tails?" asked Mis- 
 tigris. 
 
 "How is it that you don't know," replied Georges, 
 "that only the Sultan makes pachas, and that my friend 
 Tebelen (for we were as friendly as Bourbons) was 
 in rebellion against the Padishah! You know, or you 
 don't know, that the true title of the Grand Seignior 
 is Padishah, and not Sultan or Grand Turk. You 
 needn't think that a harem is much of a thing; you 
 might as well have a herd of goats. The women are 
 horribly stupid down there ; I much prefer the grisettes 
 of the Chaumieres at Mont-Parnasse." 
 
 "They are nearer, at any rate," said the count. 
 
 "The women of the harem could n't speak a word of 
 French, and that language is indispensable for talk- 
 ing. Ali gave me five legitimate wives and ten slaves; 
 that 's equivalent to having none at all at Janina. 
 In the East, you must know, it is thought very bad 
 style to have wives and women. They have them, 
 just as we have Voltaire and Rousseau; but who ever 
 opens his Voltaire or his Rousseau? Nobody. But, 
 
A Start in Life. 83 
 
 for all that, the highest style is to be jealous. They 
 sew a woman up in a sack and fliug her into the water 
 on the slightest suspicion, — that 's according to their 
 Code." 
 
 "Did you fling any in? " asked the farmer. 
 
 "I, a Frenchman! for shame! I loved them." 
 
 Whereupon Georges twirled and twisted his mous- 
 tache with a dreamy air. 
 
 They were now entering Saint-Denis, and Pierrotin 
 presently drew up before the door of a tavern where 
 were sold the famous cheese-cakes of that place. All 
 the travellers got out. Puzzled by the apparent truth 
 mingled with Georges' inventions, the count returned 
 to the coucou when the others had entered the house, 
 and looked beneath the cushion for the portfolio which 
 Pierrotin told him that enigmatical youth had placed 
 there. On it he read the words in gilt letters: "Maitre 
 Crottat, notary." The count at once opened it, and 
 fearing, with some reason, that Pere Leger might be 
 seized with the same curiosity, he took out the deed of 
 sale for the farm at Moulineaux, put it into his coat 
 pocket, and entered the inn to keep an eye on the 
 travellers. 
 
 "This Georges is neither more nor less than Crottat' s 
 second clerk," thought he. "I shall pay my compli- 
 ments to his master, whose business it was to send me 
 his head-clerk." 
 
84 A Start in Life. 
 
 From the respectful glances of Pere Leger and 
 Oscar, Georges perceived that he had made for him- 
 self two fervent admirers. Accordingly, he now posed 
 as a great personage; paid for their cheese-cakes, and 
 ordered for each a glass of Alicante. He offered the 
 same to Mistigris and his master, who refused with 
 smiles ; but the friend of Ali Tebelen profited by the 
 occasion to ask the pair their names. 
 
 "Oh! monsieur," said Mistigris' master, "I am 
 not blessed, like you, with an illustrious name; and T 
 have not returned from Asia — " 
 
 At this moment the count, hastening into the huge 
 inn-kitchen lest his absence should excite inquiry, 
 entered the place in time to hear the conclusion of 
 the young man's speech. 
 
 " — I am only a poor painter lately returned from 
 Rome, where I went at the cost of the government, 
 after winning the "grand prix " five years ago. My 
 name is Schinner." 
 
 "Hey! bourgeois, may I offer you a glass of Ali- 
 cante and some cheese-cakes?" said Georges to the 
 count. 
 
 "Thank you," replied the latter. "I never leave 
 home without taking my cup of coffee and cream." 
 
 "Don't you eat anything between meals? How 
 bourgeois, Marais, Place Royale, that is ! " cried 
 Georges. "When he blagued just now about his 
 
A Start in Life. 85 
 
 crosses, I thought there was something in him," whis- 
 pered the Eastern hero to the painter. "However, 
 we '11 set him going on his decorations, the old tallow- 
 chandler! Come, my lad," he added, calling to Oscar, 
 "drink me down the glass poured out for the chandler; 
 that will start your moustache." 
 
 Oscar, anxious to play the man, swallowed the sec- 
 ond glass of wine, and ate three more cheese-cakes. 
 
 "Good wine, that! " said Pere Leger, smacking his 
 lips. 
 
 "It is all the better," said Georges, "because it 
 comes from Bercy. I 've been to Alicante myself, and 
 I know that this wine no more resembles what is made 
 there than my arm is like a windmill. Our made-up 
 wines are a great deal better than the natural ones in 
 their own country. Come, Pierrotin, take a glass! 
 It is a great pity your horses can't take one, too; we 
 might go faster." 
 
 "Forward, march!" cried Pierrotin, amid a mighty 
 clacking of whips, after the travellers were again 
 boxed up. 
 
 It was now eleven o'clock. The weather, which 
 had been cloudy, cleared; the breeze swept off the 
 mists, and the blue of the sky appeared in spots; 
 so that when the coucon trundled along the narrow 
 strip of load from Saint-Denis to Pierrefitte, the sun 
 had fairly drunk up the last floating vapors of the 
 
86 A Start in Life. 
 
 diaphanous veil which swathed the scenery of- that 
 famous region. 
 
 "Well, now, tell us why you left your friend the 
 pacha," said Pere Leger, addressing Georges. 
 
 "He was a very singular scamp," replied Georges, 
 with an air that hid a multitude of mysteries. "He 
 put me in command of his cavalry, — so far, so 
 good — M 
 
 "Ah! that's why he wears spill's," thought poor 
 Oscar. 
 
 "At that time AH Tebelen wanted to rid himself of 
 Chosrew pacha, another queer chap! You call him, 
 here, Chaureff; but the name is pronounced, in Turk- 
 ish, Cosserew. You must have read in the newspapers 
 how old Ali drubbed Chosrew, and soundly, too, 
 faith! Well, if it hadn't been for me, Ali Tebelen 
 himself would have bit the dust two days earlier. I 
 was at the right wing, and I saw Chosrew, an old sly- 
 boots, thinking to force our centre, — ranks closed, 
 stiff, swift, fine movement a la Murat. Good! I take 
 my time; then I charge, double-quick; and cut his line 
 in two, — you understand ? Ha ! ha ! after the affair 
 was over, Ali kissed me — " 
 
 "Do they do that in the East?" asked the count, in 
 a joking way. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," said the painter, "that's done all 
 the world over." 
 
A Start in Life. 87 
 
 "After that," continued Georges, "Ali gave me 
 yataghans, and carbines, and scimetars, and what-not. 
 But when we got back to his capital he made me prop- 
 ositions, wanted me to drown a wife, and make a 
 slave of myself, — Orientals are so queer! But I 
 thought I 'd had enough of it ; for, after all, you know, 
 AH Tebelen was a rebel against the Porte. So I con- 
 cluded I had better get off while I could. But I '11 do 
 Monsieur Tebelen the justice to say that he loaded me 
 with presents, — diamonds, ten thousand talari, one 
 thousand gold coins, a beautiful Greek girl for groom, 
 a little Circassian for a mistress, and an Arab horse! 
 Yes, Ali Tebelen, pacha of Janina, is too little known; 
 he needs an historian. It is only in the East one 
 meets with such iron souls, who can nurse a vengeance 
 twenty years and accomplish it some line morning. 
 He had the most magnificent white beard that was ever 
 seen, and a hard, stern face — " 
 
 "But what did you do with your treasures?" asked 
 farmer Leger. 
 
 "Ha! that's it! you may well ask that! Those 
 fellows down there have n't any Grand Livre nor any 
 Bank of France. So I was forced to carry off my 
 windfalls in a felucca, which was captured by the 
 Turkish High-Admiral himself. Such as you see me 
 here to-day, I came very near being impaled at 
 Smyrna. Indeed, if it had n't been for Monsieur de 
 
88 A Start in Life. 
 
 Riviere, our ambassador, who was there, they 'd have 
 taken me for an accomplice of Ali pacha. I saved my 
 head, but, to tell the honest truth, all the rest, the ten 
 thousand talari, the thousand gold pieces, and the fine 
 weapons, were all, yes all, drunk up by the thirsty 
 treasury of the Turkish admiral. My position was 
 the more perilous because that very admiral chanced 
 to be Chosrew pacha. After I routed him, the fellow 
 had managed to obtain a position which is equal to 
 that of our Admiral of the Fleet — " 
 
 u But I thought he was in the cavalry?" said Pere 
 Leger, who had followed the narrative with the deepest 
 attention. 
 
 "Dear me! how little the East is understood in the 
 French provinces!" cried Georges. "Monsieur, I'll 
 explain the Turks to you. You are a farmer; the 
 Padishah (that's the Sultan) makes you a marshal; 
 if you don't fulfil your functions to his satisfaction, 
 so much the worse for you, he cuts your head off; 
 that 's his way of dismissing his functionaries. A 
 gardener is made a prefect; and the prime minister 
 comes down to be a foot-boy. The Ottomans have 
 no system of promotion and no hierarchy. From a 
 cavalry officer Chosrew simply became a naval officer. 
 Sultan Mahmoud ordered him to capture Ali by sea; 
 and he did get hold of him, assisted by those beggarly 
 English — who put their paw on most of the treasure. 
 
A Start in Life. 89 
 
 This Chosrew, who had not forgotten the riding-lesson 
 I gave him, recognized me. You understand, my 
 goose was cooked, oh, brown! when it suddenly came 
 into my head to claim protection as a Frenchman and 
 a troubadour from Monsieur de Riviere. The ambas- 
 sador, enchanted to find something to show him off, 
 demanded that I should be set at liberty. The Turks 
 have one good trait in their nature; they are as wil- 
 ling to let you go as they are to cut your head off; they 
 are indifferent to everything. The French consul, 
 charming fellow, friend of Chosrew, made him give 
 back two thousand of the talari, and, consequently, 
 his name is, as I may say, graven on my heart — " 
 
 44 What was his name?" asked Monsieur de Seriz} 7 ; 
 and a look of some surprise passed over his face as 
 Georges named, correctly, one of our most distin- 
 guished consul-generals who happened at that time to 
 be stationed at Smyrna. 
 
 "I assisted," added Georges, "at the execution of 
 the Governor of Smyrna, whom the Sultan had ordered 
 Chosrew to put to death. It was one of the most curi- 
 ous things I ever saw, though I 've seen many, — I '11 
 tell you about it when we stop for breakfast. From 
 Smyrna I crossed to Spain, bearing there was a revo- 
 lution there. I went straight to Mina, who appointed 
 me as his aide-de-camp with the rank of colonel. I 
 fought for the constitutional cause, which will cer- 
 
90 A Start in Life 
 
 tainly be defeated when we enter Spain — as we un- 
 doubtedly shall, some of these days — " 
 
 "You, a French soldier! " said the count, sternly. 
 "You show extraordinary confidence in the discretion 
 of those who are listening to you." 
 
 "But there are no spies here," said Georges. 
 
 "Are you aware, Colonel Georges," continued the 
 count, "that the Court of Peers is at this very time in- 
 quiring into a conspiracy which has made the govern- 
 ment extremely severe in its treatment of French sol- 
 diers who bear arms against France, and who deal in 
 foreign intrigues for the purpose of overthrowing our 
 legitimate sovereigns." 
 
 On hearing this stern admonition the painter turned 
 red to his ears and looked at Mistigris, who seemed 
 dumfounded. 
 
 "Well?" said Pere Leger, "what next?" 
 
 "If," continued the count, "I were a magistrate, it 
 would be my duty to order the gendarmes at Pierrefitte 
 to arrest the aide-de-camp of Mina, and to summon all 
 present in this vehicle to testify to his words." 
 
 This speech stopped Georges' narrative all the more 
 surely, because at this moment the coucou reached the 
 guard-house of a brigade of gendarmerie, — the white 
 flag floating, as the orthodox saying is, upon the breeze. 
 
 "You have too many decorations to do such a das- 
 tardly thing," said Oscar. 
 
A Start in Life. 91 
 
 "Never mind; we'll catch up with him soon/* 
 whispered Georges in the lad's ear. 
 
 " Colonel," cried Leger, who was a good deal dis- 
 turbed by the count's outburst, and wanted to change 
 the conversation, "in all these countries where you 
 have been, what sort of farming do they do? How do 
 they vary the crops ? " 
 
 "Well, in the first place, my good fellow, you must 
 understand, they are too busy cropping off each others' 
 heads to think much of cropping the ground." 
 
 The count couldn't help smiling; and that smile 
 reassured the narrator. 
 
 "They have a way of cultivating which you will think 
 very queer. They don't cultivate at all; that's their 
 style of farming. The Turks and the Greeks, they 
 eat onions or rice. They get opium from poppies, 
 and it gives them a fine revenue. Then they have 
 tobacco, which grows of itself, famous latakiah! and 
 dates! and all kinds of sweet things that don't need 
 cultivation. It is a country full of resources and com- 
 merce. They make fine rugs at Smyrna, and not 
 dear." 
 
 "But," persisted Leger, "if the rugs are made of 
 wool they must come from sheep; and to have sheep 
 you must have fields, farms, culture — " 
 
 "Well, there may be something of that sort," replied 
 Georges. "But their chief crop, rice, grows in the 
 
92 A Start in Life. 
 
 water. As for me, I have only been along the coasts 
 and seen the parts that are devastated by war. Be- 
 sides, I have the deepest aversion to statistics." 
 
 "How about the taxes? " asked the farmer. 
 
 "Oh! the taxes are heavy; they take all a man has, 
 and leave him the rest. The pacha of Egypt was so 
 struck with the advantages of that system, that, when 
 I came away he was on the point of organizing his own 
 administration on that footing — " 
 
 "But," said Leger, who no longer understood a 
 single word, "how? " 
 
 "How?" said Georges. "Why, agents go round 
 and take all the harvests, and leave the fellahs just 
 enough to live on. That 's a system that does away 
 with stamped papers and bureaucracy, the curse of 
 France, hein?" 
 
 "By virtue of what right? " said L6ger. 
 
 "Right? why it is a land of despotism. They 
 have n't any rights. Don't you know the fine defini- 
 tion Montesquieu gives of despotism. l Like the 
 savage, it cuts down the tree to gather the fruits.' 
 They don't tax, they take everything." - 
 
 "And that's what our rulers are trying to bring 
 us to. ' Tax vobiscum,' — no, thank you! " said 
 Mistigris. 
 
 "But that is what we are coming to," said the 
 count. "Therefore, those who own land will do well 
 
A Start in Life. 93 
 
 to sell it. Monsieur Schinner must have seen how 
 things are tending in Italy, where the taxes are 
 enormous." 
 
 44 Covjjo dl Bacco ! the Pope is laying it on heavily," 
 replied Schinner. "But the people are used to it. 
 Besides, Italians are so good-natured that if you let 
 'em murder a few travellers along the highways 
 they're contented." 
 
 "I see, Monsieur Schinner," said the count, u that 
 you are not wearing the decoration you obtained in 
 1819; it seems the fashion nowadays not to wear 
 orders." 
 
 Mistigris and the pretended Schinner blushed to their 
 ears. 
 
 "Well, with me," said the artist, "the case is differ- 
 ent. It is n't on account of fashion; but I don't want 
 to be recognized. Have the goodness not to betray 
 me, monsieur; I am supposed to be a little painter of 
 no consequence, — a mere decorator. I 'm on my way 
 to a chateau where I mustn't rou3e the slightest 
 suspicion." 
 
 "Ah! I see," said the count, "some intrigue, — a 
 love affair ! Youth is happy ! " 
 
 Oscar, who was writhing in his skin at being a 
 nobody and having nothing to say, gazed at Colonel 
 Czemi-Georges and at the famous painter Schinner, 
 and wondered how he could transform himself into 
 
94 A Start in Life. 
 
 somebody. But a youth of nineteen, kept at home all 
 his life, and going for two weeks only into the country, 
 what could he be, or do, or say? However, the Ali- 
 cante had got into his head, and his vanity was boil- 
 ing in his veins: so when the famous Schinner allowed 
 a romantic adventure to be guessed at in which the 
 danger seemed as great as the pleasure, he fastened his 
 eyes, sparkling with wrath and envy, upon that hero. 
 
 "Yes," said the count, with a credulous air, "a man 
 must love a woman well to make such sacrifices." 
 
 "What sacrifices?" demanded Mistigris. 
 
 "Don't you know, my little friend, that a ceiling 
 painted by so great a master as yours is worth its 
 weight in gold?" replied the count. "If the civil 
 list paid you, as it did, thirty thousand francs for each 
 of those rooms in the Louvre," he continued, address- 
 ing Schinner, "a bourgeois — as you call us in your 
 studios — ought certainly to pay you twenty thousand. 
 Whereas, if you go to this chateau as a humble deco- 
 rator, you will not get two thousand." 
 
 "The money is not the greatest loss," said Mistigris. 
 "The work is sure to be a masterpiece, but he can't 
 sign it, you know, for fear of compromising her*" 
 
 "Ah! I 'd return all my crosses to the sovereigns 
 who gave them to me for the devotion that youth can 
 win," said the count. 
 
 "That's just it!" said Mistigris, "when one's 
 
A Start in Life. 95 
 
 young, one 'b loved ; plenty of love, plenty of women ; but 
 they do say: 4 Where there 's wife, there 's mope.' " 
 
 "What does Madame Schinner say to all this?" 
 pursued the count; "for I believe you married, out of 
 love, the beautiful Adelaide de Rouville, the protegee 
 of old Admiral de Kergarouet; who, by the bye, ob- 
 tained for you the order for the Louvre ceilings through 
 his nephew, the Comte de Fontaine." 
 
 44 A great painter is never married when he travels," 
 said Mistigris. 
 
 44 So that 's the morality of studios, is it? " cried the 
 count, with an air of great simplicity. 
 
 44 Is the morality of courts where you got those 
 decorations of yours any better?" said Schinner, re- 
 covering his self-possession, upset for the moment by 
 finding how much the count knew of Schinner's life 
 as an artist. 
 
 44 1 never asked for any of my orders," said the 
 count. 44 I believe I have loyally earned them." 
 
 44 4 A fair yield and no flavour,' " said Mistigris. 
 
 The count was resolved not to betray himself; he 
 assumed an air of good-humored interest in the coun- 
 try, and looked up the valley of Groslay as the coucou 
 took the road to Saint-Brice, leaving that to Chantilly 
 on the. right. 
 
 44 Is Rome as fine as they say it is?" said Georges, 
 addressing the great painter. 
 
96 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Rome is fine only to those who love it; a man must 
 have a passion for it to enjoy it. As a city, I prefer 
 Venice, — though I just missed being murdered there." 
 
 "Faith, yes!" cried Mistigris; "if it had n't been 
 for me you 'd have been gobbled up. It was that 
 mischief-making tom-fool, Lord Byron, who got you 
 into the scrape. Oh! wasn't he raging, that buffoon 
 of an Englishman ? " 
 
 "Hush!" said Schinner. "I don't want my affair 
 with Lord Byron talked about." 
 
 "But you must own, all the same, that you were glad 
 enough I knew how to box," said Mistigris. 
 
 From time to time, Pierrotin exchanged sly glances 
 with the count, which might have made less inexperi- 
 enced persons than the five other travellers uneasy. 
 
 "Lords, pachas, and thirty- thousand-franc ceil- 
 ings! " he cried. "I seem to be driving sovereigns. 
 What pourboires I '11 get! " 
 
 "And all the places paid for!" said Mistigris, 
 slyly. 
 
 "It is a lucky day for me," continued Pierrotin; 
 "for you know, Pere Leger, about my beautiful new 
 coach on which I have paid an advance of two thou- 
 sand francs? Well, those dogs of carriage-builders, 
 to whom I have to pay two thousand five hundred 
 francs more, won't take fifteen hundred down, and my 
 note for a thousand for two months ! Those vultures 
 
A Start in Life. 97 
 
 want it jill. Who ever heard of being so stiff with a 
 man in business these eight years, and the father of a 
 family? — making me run the risk of losing every- 
 thing, carriage and money too, if I can't find before 
 to-morrow night that miserable last thousand! Hue, 
 Bichette! They would n't play that trick on the great 
 coach offices, I '11 warrant you." 
 
 "Yes, that's it," said the rapin; " 4 your money or 
 your strife. ' " 
 
 "Well, you have only eight hundred now to get," 
 remarked the count, who considered this moan, ad- 
 dressed to Pere Leger, a sort of letter of credit drawn 
 upon himself. 
 
 "True," said Pierrotin. "Xi! xi! Rougeot!" 
 
 "You must have seen many fine ceilings in Venice," 
 resumed the count, addressing Schinner. 
 
 "I was too much in love to take any notice of what 
 seemed to me then mere trifles," replied Schinner. 
 "But I was soon cured of that folly, for it was in the 
 Venetian states — in Dalmatia — that I received a cruel 
 lesson." 
 
 "Can it be told?" asked Georges. "I know Dal- 
 matia very well." 
 
 "Well, if you have been there, you know that all the 
 people at that end of the Adriatic are pirates, rovers, 
 corsairs retired from business, as they haven't been 
 hanged — " 
 
98 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Uscoques," said Georges. 
 
 Hearing the right name given, the count, who had 
 been sent by Napoleon on one occasion to the Illyrian 
 provinces, turned his head and looked at Georges, so 
 surprised was he. 
 
 " The affair happened in that town where they make 
 maraschino," continued Schinner, seeming to search 
 for a name. 
 
 "Zara," said Georges. "I've been there; it is on 
 the coast." 
 
 u You are right," said the painter. "I had gone 
 there to look at the country, for I adore scenery. I 've 
 longed a score of times to paint landscape, which no 
 one, as I think, understands but Mistigris, who will 
 some day reproduce Hobbema, Ruysdael, Claude Lor- 
 rain, Poussin, and others." 
 
 "But," exclaimed the count, "if he reproduces one 
 of them won't that be enough? " 
 
 4 'If you persist in interrupting, monsieur," said 
 Oscar, "we shall never get on." 
 
 "And Monsieur Schinner was not addressing him- 
 self to you in particular, "added Georges. 
 
 '"T is n't polite to interrupt," said Mistigris, senten- 
 tiously, "but we all do it, and conversation would lose 
 a great deal if we did n't scatter little condiments 
 while exchanging our reflections. Therefore, continue, 
 agreeable old gentleman, to lecture us, if you like. It 
 
A Start in Life. 99 
 
 is clone in the best society, and you know the proverb: 
 4 we must 'owl with the wolves. ' M 
 
 "I had heard marvellous things of Dalmatia," re- 
 sumed Schinner, "so I went there, leaving Mistigris 
 in Venice at an inn — " 
 
 "Locanda," interposed Mistigris; "keep to the local 
 color." 
 
 "Zara is what is called a country town — " 
 
 "Yes," said Georges; "but it is fortified." 
 
 "ParOleu I " said Schinner; "the fortifications count 
 for much in my adventure. At Zara there are a great 
 many apothecaries. I lodged with one. In foreign 
 countries everybody makes a principal business of 
 letting lodgings; all other trades are accessory. In 
 the evening, linen changed, I sat in my balcony. In 
 the opposite balcony I saw a woman; oh! such a 
 woman! Greek, — that-tells all! The most beautiful 
 creature in the town ; almond eyes, lids that dropped 
 like curtains, lashes like a paint-brush, a face with an 
 oval to drive Raffaelle mad, a skin of the most deli- 
 cious coloring, tints well-blended, velvety ! and hands, 
 oh!—" 
 
 "They weren't made of butter like those of the 
 David school," put in Mistigris. 
 
 "You are always lugging in your painting," cried 
 Georges. 
 
 "La, la!" retorted Mistigris; "'an ounce o' paint 
 is worth a pound of swagger. ' " 
 
 
100 A Start in Life. 
 
 "And such a costume! pure Greek! " continued 
 Schinner. "Conflagration of soul! you understand? 
 Well, I questioned my Diafoirus; and be told me 
 that my neighbor was named Zena. Changed my 
 linen. The husband, an old villain, in order to marry 
 Zena, paid three hundred thousand francs to her father 
 and mother, so celebrated was the beauty of that beau- 
 tiful creature, who was truly the most beautiful girl in 
 all Dalmatia, Illyria, Adriatica, and other places. In 
 those parts they buy their wives without seeing 
 them — " 
 
 "I shall not go there," said Pere Leger. 
 
 "There are nights when my sleep is still illuminated 
 by the eyes of Zena," continued Schinner. "The hus- 
 band was sixty-nine years of age, and jealous! not as 
 a tiger, for they say of a tiger, ' jealous as a Dalma- 
 tian ; ' and my man was worse than a Dalmatian, one 
 Dalmatian, — he was three and a half Dalmatians at 
 the very least; he was an Uscoque, tricoque, archi- 
 coque in a bicoque of a paltry little place like Zara — " 
 
 "Horrid fellow, and ' horrider bellow/ " put in 
 Mistigris. 
 
 "Ha! good," said Georges, laughing. 
 
 "After being a corsair, and probably a pirate, he 
 thought no more of spitting a Christian on his dag- 
 ger than I did of spitting on the ground," continued 
 Schinner. "So that was how the land lay. The old 
 
A Start in Ltfr 101 
 
 wretch had millions, and was hideous- w-t-i tl:c loth of 
 an ear some pacha had cut off, and the want of an 
 eye left I don't know where. * Never,' said the little 
 Diafoirus, * never does he leave his wife, never for 
 a second.' ' Perhaps she '11 want your services, and 
 I could go in your clothes; that's a trick that has 
 great success in our theatres,' 1 said to him. Well, 
 it would take too long to tell you all the delicious 
 moments of that lifetime — to wit, three days — which I 
 passed exchanging looks with Zena, and changing 
 linen every day. It was all the more violently titillat- 
 ing because the slightest motion was significant and 
 dangerous. At last it must have dawned upon Zena's 
 mind that none but a Frenchman and an artist was 
 (hiring enough to make eyes at her in the midst of 
 the perils by which she was surrounded ; and as she 
 hated her hideous pirate, she answered my glances 
 with delightful ogles fit to raise a man to the summit 
 of Paradise without pulleys. I attained to the height 
 of Don Quixote; I rose to exaltation! and I cried: 
 4 The monster may kill me, but I '11 go, I '11 go! ' I 
 gave up landscape and studied the ignoble dwelling of 
 the Uscoque. That night, changed linen, and put on 
 the most perfumed shirt I had; then I crossed the 
 street, and entered — " 
 
 "The house?" cried Oscar. 
 
 "The house?" echoed Georges. 
 
I0'2 A Start in Life. 
 
 "The house," said Schinner. 
 
 "Well, you 're a bold dog," cried farmer Leger. "I 
 should have kept out of it myself." 
 
 "Especially as you could never have got through 
 that doorway," replied Schinner. "So in I went," he 
 resumed, "and I found two hands stretched out to meet 
 mine. I said nothing, for those hands, soft as the peel 
 of an onion, enjoined me to silence. A whisper 
 breathed into my ear, 4 He sleeps!' Then, as we were 
 sure that nobody would see us, we went to walk, Zena 
 and I, upon the ramparts, but accompanied, if you 
 please, by a duenna, as hideous as an old portress, 
 who didn't leave us any more than our shadow; and 
 I could n't persuade Madame Pirate to send her away. 
 The next night we did the same thing, and again I 
 wanted to get rid of the old woman, but Zena resisted. 
 As my sweet love spoke only Greek, and I Venetian, 
 we could n't understand each other, and so we quar- 
 relled. I said to myself, in changing linen, ' As sure 
 as fate, the next time there '11 be no old woman, and 
 we can make it all up with the language of love.' In- 
 stead of which, fate willed that that old woman should 
 save my life! You'll hear how. The weather was 
 fine, and, not to create suspicion, I took a turn at 
 landscape, — this was after our quarrel was made up, 
 you understand. After walking along the ramparts 
 for some time, I was coming tranquilly home with my 
 
A Start in Life. 103 
 
 hands in my pockets, when I saw the street crowded 
 with people. Such a crowd! like that for an execu- 
 tion. It fell upon me; I was seized, garroted, gagged, 
 and guarded by the police. Ah! you don't know — 
 and I hope you never may know — what it is to be 
 taken for a murderer by a maddened populace which 
 stones you and howls after you from end to end of the 
 principal street of a town, shouting for your death! 
 Ah! those eyes were so many flames, all mouths were 
 a single curse, while from the volume of that burning 
 lmt red rose the fearful cry: ' To death! to death! 
 down with the murderer! ' " 
 
 44 So those Dalmatians spoke our language, did 
 they?" said the count. "I observe you relate the 
 scene as if it happened yesterday." 
 
 Schinner was nonplussed. 
 
 44 Riot has but one language," said the astute states- 
 man Mistigris. 
 
 "Well," continued Schinner, 44 when I was brought 
 into court in presence of the magistrates, I learned 
 that the cursed corsair was dead, poisoned by Zena. 
 I 'd liked to have changed linen then. Give you my 
 word, I knew nothing of that melodrama. It seems 
 the G reek girl pat opium (agraatmany poppies, as mon- 
 sieur told us, <iTo\v about there) in the pirate's grog, 
 just to make him sleep soundly and leave her free for 
 a little walk with me, and the old duenna, unfortunate 
 
104 A Start in Life. 
 
 creature, made a mistake and trebled the dose. The 
 immense fortune of that cursed prirate was really the 
 cause of all my Zena's troubles. But she explained 
 matters so ingenuously that I, for one, was released 
 with an injunction from the mayor and the Austrian 
 commissary of police to go back to Rome. Zena, 
 who let the heirs of the Uscoque and the judges get 
 most of the old villain's wealth, was let off with two 
 years' seclusion in a convent, where she still is. I 
 am going back there some day to paint her portrait; 
 for in a few years, you know, all this will be forgot- 
 ten. Such are the follies one commits at eighteen! " 
 
 "And you left me without a sou in the locanda at 
 Venice," said Mistigris. "And I had to get from 
 Venice to Rome by painting portraits for five francs 
 apiece, which they did n't pay me. However, that was 
 my halc} T on time. I don't regret it." 
 
 "You can imagine the reflections that came to me in 
 that Dalmatian prison, thrown there without protec- 
 tion, having to answer to Austrians and Dalmatians, 
 and in danger of losing my head because I went twice 
 to walk with a woman. There 's ill-luck, with a 
 vengeance! " 
 
 "Did all that really happen to you?" said Oscar, 
 naively. 
 
 "Why should n't it happen to him, inasmuch as it 
 had already happened during the French occupation 
 
A Start in Life. 105 
 
 of Illyria to one of our most gallant officers of artil- 
 lery ? " said the count, slyly. 
 
 44 And you believed that artillery officer? " said Mis- 
 tigris, as slyly to the count. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Oscar. 
 
 "Of course he can't tell you that they cut bis head 
 off, — how could he ? " said Mistigris. 4 Dead schin- 
 ners tell no tales. ' " 
 
 "Monsieur, are there farms in that country?" asked 
 Pere Leger. 44 What do they cultivate?" 
 
 44 Maraschino," replied Mistigris, — 44 a plant that 
 grows to the height of the lips, and produces a liqueur 
 which goes by that name." 
 
 44 Ah! " said Pere Leger. 
 
 44 I only stayed three days in the town and fifteen in 
 prison," said Schinner, "so I saw nothing; not even 
 the fields where they grow the maraschino." 
 
 44 They are fooling you," said Georges to the farmer. 
 "Maraschino comes in cases." 
 
 44 4 Romances alter cases,' " remarked Mistigris. 
 
106 A Start in Life. 
 
 THE DRAMA BEGINS. 
 
 Pierrotin's vehicle was now going down the steep 
 incline of the valley of Saint-Brice to the inn which 
 stands in the middle of the large village of that name, 
 where Pierrotin was in the habit of stopping an hour 
 to breathe his horses, give them their oats, and water 
 them. It was now about half-past one o'clock. 
 
 "Ha! here's Pere Leger," cried the inn-keeper, 
 when the coach pulled up before the door. "Do you 
 breakfast?" 
 
 "Always once a day," said the fat farmer; "and 
 I '11 break a crust here and now." 
 
 "Give us a good breakfast," cried Georges, twirling 
 his cane in a cavalier manner which excited the 
 admiration of poor Oscar. 
 
 But that admiration was turned to jealousy when he 
 saw the gay adventurer pull out from a side-pocket a 
 small straw case, from which he selected a light- 
 colored cigar, which he proceeded to smoke on the 
 threshold of the inn door while waiting for breakfast. 
 
 "Do you smoke? " he asked of Oscar. 
 
A Start in Life. 107 
 
 "Sometimes," replied the ex-schoolboy, swelling 
 out his little chest aud assuming a jaunty air. 
 
 Georges presented the open case to Oscar and 
 Schinner. 
 
 "Phew! " said the great painter; "ten-sous cigars! " 
 
 "The remains of those I brought back from Spain," 
 said the adventurer. "Do you breakfast here? " 
 
 "No," said the artist. "I am expected at the 
 chateau. Besides, I took something at the Lion 
 d' Argent just before starting." 
 
 "And you?" said Georges to Oscar. 
 
 "I have breakfasted," replied Oscar. 
 
 Oscar would have given ten years of his life for 
 boots and straps to his trousers. He sneezed, he 
 coughed, he spat, and swallowed the smoke with ill- 
 disguised grimaces. 
 
 "You don't know how to smoke," said Schinner; 
 "look at me!" 
 
 With a motionless face Schinner breathed in the 
 smoke of his cigar and let it out through his nose 
 without the slightest contraction of feature. Then he 
 took another whiff, kept the smoke in his throat, 
 removed the cigar from his lips, and allowed the smoke 
 slowly and gracefully to escape them. 
 
 "There, young man," said the great painler. 
 
 "Here, young man, here 's another way; watch this," 
 said Georges, imitating Schinner, but swallowing the 
 smoke and exhaling none. 
 
108 A Start in Life. 
 
 "And my parents believed they had educated me! " 
 thought Oscar, endeavoring to smoke with better 
 grace. 
 
 But his nausea was so strong that he was thankful 
 when Mistigris filched his cigar, remarking, as he 
 smoked it with evident satisfaction, " You have n't any 
 contagious diseases, I hope." 
 
 Oscar in reply would fain have punched his head. 
 
 4 'How he does spend money!" he said, looking at 
 Colonel Georges. "Eight francs for Alicante and 
 the cheese-cakes ; forty sous for cigars ; and his break- 
 fast will cost him — " 
 
 "Ten francs at least," replied Mistigris; "but that 's 
 how things are. "Sharp stomachs make short 
 purses.' " 
 
 "Come, Pere Leger, let us drink a bottle of Bor- 
 deaux together," said Georges to the farmer. 
 
 " Twenty francs for his breakfast!" cried Oscar; 
 "in all, more than thirty-odd francs since we started! " 
 
 Killed by a sense of his inferiority, Oscar sat down 
 on a stone post, lost in a revery which did not allow 
 him to perceive that his trousers, drawn up by the 
 effect of his position, showed the point of junction 
 between the old top of his stocking and the new 
 "footing," — his mother's handiwork. 
 
 "We are brothers in socks," said Mistigris, pulling 
 up his own trousers sufficiently to show an effect of 
 the same kind, — " l By the footing, Hercules.' " 
 
A Start in Life. 109 
 
 The count, who overheard this, laughed as he stood 
 with folded arms under the porte-cochere, a little be- 
 hind the other travellers. However nonsensical these 
 lads might be, the grave statesman envied their very 
 follies; he liked their bragging and enjoyed the fun of 
 their lively chatter. 
 
 "Well, are you to have Les Moulineaux? for I 
 know you went to Paris to get the money for the pur- 
 chase," said the inn-keeper to Pere Le'ger, whom he 
 had just taken to the stables to see a horse he wanted 
 to sell to him. " It will be queer if you manage to 
 fleece a peer of France and a minister of State like 
 the Comte de Serizy." 
 
 The person thus alluded to showed no sign upon 
 his face as he turned to look at the farmer. 
 
 "I've done for him," replied Pere Leger, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Good ! I like to see those nobles fooled. If you 
 should want twenty thousand francs or so, I '11 lend 
 them to you — But Francois, the conductor of 
 Touchard's six o'clock coach, told me that Monsieur 
 Margueron was invited by the Comte de Serizy to dine 
 with him to-day at Presles." 
 
 "That was the plan of his Excellency, but we had 
 our own little ways of thwarting it," said the farmer, 
 laughing. 
 
 "The count could appoint Monsieur Margueron's 
 
110 A Start in Life. 
 
 son, and you have n't any place to give, — remember 
 that," said the inn-keeper. 
 
 "Of course I do; but if the count has the ministry 
 on his side, I have King Louis XVIIL," said Pere 
 Leger, in a low voice. " Forty thousand of his pictures 
 on coin of the realm given to Moreau will enable me to 
 buy Les Moulineaux for two hundred and sixty thou- 
 sand, money down, before Monsieur de Serizy can do 
 so. When he finds the sale is made, he '11 be glad 
 enough to buy the farm for three hundred and sixty 
 thousand, instead of letting me cut it up in small lots 
 right in the heart of his property." 
 
 "Well done, bourgeois / " cried the inn-keeper. 
 
 " Don't you think that's good play?" said Leger. 
 
 "Besides," said the inn-keeper, "the farm is really 
 worth that to him." 
 
 "Yes; Les Moulineaux brings in to-day six thousand 
 francs in rental. I '11 take another lease of it at seven 
 thousand five hundred for eighteen years. Therefore 
 it is really an investment at more than two and a half 
 per cent. The count can't complain of that. In order 
 not to involve Moreau, he is himself to propose me as 
 tenant and farmer; it gives him a look of acting for 
 his master's interests by finding bim nearly three per 
 cent for his money, and a tenant who will pay well." 
 
 "How much will Moreau make, in all?" 
 
 "Well, if the count gives him ten thousand francs 
 
A Start in Life. Ill 
 
 for the transaction the matter will bring him in fifty 
 thousand, — and well-earned, too." 
 
 "After all, the count, so they tell me, doesn't like 
 Presles. And then he is so rich, what does it matter 
 what it costs him?" said the inn-keeper. "I have 
 never seen him, myself." 
 
 "Nor I," said Pere Leger. "But he must be in- 
 tending to live there, or why should he spend two 
 hundred thousand francs in restoring the chateau ? It 
 is as fine now as the King's own palace." 
 
 "Well, well," said the inn-keeper, "it was high time 
 for Moreau to feather his nest. " 
 
 "Yes, for if the masters come there," replied Leger, 
 "they won't keep their eyes in their pockets." 
 
 The count lost not a word of this conversation, which 
 was held in a low voice, but not in a whisper. 
 
 "Here I have actually found the proofs I was going 
 down there to seek," he thought, looking at the fat 
 farmer as he entered the kitchen. "But perhaps," 
 he added, "it is only a scheme; Moreau may not have 
 listened to it." 
 
 So unwilling was he to believe that his steward could 
 lend himself to such a conspiracy. 
 
 Pierrotin here came out to water his horses. The 
 count, thinking that the driver would probably break- 
 fast with the farmer and the inn- keeper, feared some 
 thoughtless indiscretion* 
 
112 A Start in Life. 
 
 "All these people combine against us," he thought; 
 "it is allowable to baffle them — Pierrotin," he said 
 in a low voice as the man passed him, "I promised 
 you ten louis to keep my secret; but if you continue 
 to conceal my name (and remember, I shall know if 
 you pronounce it, or make the slightest sign that re- 
 veals it to any one, no matter who, here or at Isle- 
 Adam, before to-night), I will give you to-morrow 
 morning, on your return trip, the thousand francs you 
 need to pay for your new coach. Therefore, by way 
 of precaution," added the count, striking Pierrotin, 
 who was pale with happiness, on the shoulder, "don't 
 go in there to breakfast; stay with your horses." 
 
 "Monsieur le comte, I understand you; don't be 
 afraid ! it relates to Pere Leger, of course ? " 
 
 "It relates to every one," replied the count. 
 
 "Make yourself easy. — Come, hurry," said Pierro- 
 tin, a few moments later, putting his head into the 
 kitchen; "We are late. Pere Leger, you know 
 there's a hill to climb; I'm not hungry, and I'll 
 drive on slowly ; you can soon overtake me, — it will 
 do you good to walk a bit." 
 
 "What a hurry you are in, Pierrotin! " said the inn- 
 keeper. "Can't you stay and breakfast? The 
 colonel here pays for the wine at fifty sous, and has 
 ordered a bottle of champagne." 
 
 "I can't. I've got a fish I must deliver by three 
 
A Start in Life. 113 
 
 o'clock for a great dinner at Stors; there 's no fooling 
 with customers, or fishes, either." 
 
 "Very good," said Pere Leger to the inn-keeper. 
 "You can harness that horse you want to sell me into 
 the cabriolet; we '11 breakfast in peace and overtake 
 Pierrotin, and I can judge of the beast as we go 
 along. We can go three in your jolter." 
 
 To the count's surprise, Pierrotin himself rebridled 
 the horses. Schinner and Mistigris had walked on. 
 Scarcely had Pierrotin overtaken the two artists and 
 was mounting the hill from which Ecouen, the steeple 
 of Mesnil, and the forests that surround that most 
 beautiful region, came in sight, when the gallop of a 
 horse and the jingling of a vehicle announced the com- 
 ing of Pere Leger and the grandson of Czerni-Georges, 
 who were soon restored to their places in the coucou. 
 
 As Pierrotin drove down the narrow road to Mois- 
 selles, Georges, who had so far not ceased to talk with 
 the farmer of the beauty of the hostess at Saint-Brice, 
 suddenly exclaimed : "Upon my word, this landscape 
 is not so bad, great painter, is it?" 
 
 "Pooh! you who have seen the East and Spain 
 can't really admire it." 
 
 "I've two cigars left! If no one objects, will you 
 help me finish them, Schinner? the little young man 
 there seems to have found a whiff or two enough for 
 him." 
 
 8 
 
114 A Start in Life. 
 
 Pere Leger and the count kept silence, which passed 
 for consent. 
 
 Oscar, furious at being called a "little young man,'* 
 remarked, as the other two were lighting their cigars : 
 
 "I am not the aide-de-camp of Mina, monsieur, and 
 I have not yet been to the East, but I shall probably 
 go there. The career to which my family destine me 
 will spare me, I trust, the annoyances of travelling 
 in a coucou before I reach your present age. When 
 I once become a personage I shall know how to main- 
 tain my station." 
 
 " i JSt ccetera punctum / ' " crowed Mistigris, imitat- 
 ing the hoarse voice of a young cock; which made 
 Oscar's deliverance all the more absurd, because he had 
 just reached the age when the beard sprouts and the 
 voice breaks. " 'What a chit for chat! ' " added the 
 rapin. 
 
 "Your family, young man, destine you to some 
 career, do they? " said Georges. "Might I ask what 
 it is?" 
 
 "Diplomacy," replied Oscar. 
 
 Three bursts of laughter came from Mistigris, the 
 great painter, and the farmer. The count himself could 
 not help smiling. Georges was perfectly grave. 
 
 "By Allah! " he exclaimed, "I see nothing to laugh 
 at in that. Though it seems to me, young man, that 
 your respectable mother is, at the present moment, 
 
A Start in Life. 115 
 
 not exactly in the social sphere of an ambassadress. 
 She carried a handbag worthy of the utmost respect, 
 and wore shoe-strings which — " 
 
 "My mother, monsieur!" exclaimed Oscar, in a 
 tone of indignation. "That was the person in charge 
 of our household." 
 
 " ' Our household ' is a very aristocratic term," re- 
 marked the count. 
 
 "Kings have households," replied Oscar, proudly. 
 
 A look from Georges repressed the desire to laugh 
 which took possession of everybody ; he contrived to 
 make Mistigris and the painter understand that it was 
 necessary to manage Oscar cleverly in order to work 
 this new mine of amusement. 
 
 "Monsieur is right," said the great Schinner to the 
 count, motioning towards Oscar. "Well-bred people 
 always talk of their ' households ; ' it is only common 
 persons like ourselves who say 4 home.' For a man 
 so covered with decorations — " 
 
 " * Nunc my eye, nunc alii,' " whispered Mistigris. 
 
 " — you seem to know little of the language of 
 courts. I ask your future protection, Excellency," 
 added Schinner, turning to Oscar. 
 
 "I congratulate myself on having travelled with 
 three such distinguished men," said the count, — "a 
 j>:l inter already famous, a future general, and a young 
 diplomatist who may some day recover Belgium for 
 France." 
 
116 A Start in Life. 
 
 Having committed the odious crime of repudiating 
 his mother, Oscar, furious from a sense that his com- 
 panions were laughing at him, now resolved, at any 
 cost, to make them pay attention to him. 
 
 " ' All is not gold that glitters,' " he began, his eyes 
 flaming. 
 
 "That's not it," said Mistigris. " 'All is not old 
 that titters.' You '11 never get on in diplomacy if you 
 don't know your proverbs better than that." 
 
 "I may not know proverbs, but I kuow my way — " 
 
 "It must be far," said Georges, "for I saw that per- 
 son in charge of your household give you provisions 
 enough for an ocean voyage : rolls, chocolate — " 
 
 "A special kind of bread and chocolate, yes, mon- 
 sieur," returned Oscar; "my stomach is much too 
 delicate to digest the victuals of a tavern." 
 
 " 'Victuals' is a word as delicate and refined as 
 your stomach," said Georges. 
 
 "Ah! I like that word ' victuals,' " cried the great 
 painter. 
 
 "The word is all the -fashion in the best society," 
 said Mistigris. "I use it myself at the cafe of the 
 Black Hen." 
 
 "Your tutor is, doubtless, some celebrated profes- 
 sor, isn't he? — Monsieur Andrieux of the Aca- 
 demie Francaise, or Monsieur Royer-Collard ? " asked 
 Sch inner. 
 
A Start in Life. 117 
 
 "My tutor is or was the Abbe Loraux, now vicar of 
 Saint-Sulpice," replied Oscar, recollecting the name 
 of the confessor at his school. 
 
 *• Well, you were right to take a private tutor," said 
 Mistigris. " ' Tuto, tutor, celeritus, and jocund.' Of 
 course, you will reward him well, your abbe? " 
 
 "Undoubtedly he will be made a bishop some day," 
 said Oscar. 
 
 "By your family influence?" inquired Georges, 
 gravely. 
 
 "We shall probably contribute to his rise, for the 
 Abbe Frayssinous is constantly at our house." 
 
 "Ah! you know the Abbe Frayssinous?" asked 
 the count. 
 
 "He is under obligations to my father," answered 
 Oscar. 
 
 "Are you on your way to your estate?" asked 
 Georges. 
 
 "No, monsieur; but I am able to say where I am 
 going, if others are not. I am going to the Chateau 
 de Presles, to the Comte de Serizv." 
 
 "The devil ! are you going to Presles? " cried Schin- 
 ner, turning as red as a cherry. 
 
 "So you know his Excellency the Comte de Serizy ? " 
 said Georges. 
 
 Pere Leger turned round to look at Oscar with a 
 stupefied air. 
 
118 A Start in Life, 
 
 "Is Monsieur de Serizy at Presles?" he said. 
 
 "Apparently, as I am going there," replied Oscar. 
 
 "Do you often see the count? " asked Monsieur de 
 Serizy. 
 
 "Often," replied Oscar. "I am a comrade of his 
 son, who is about my age, nineteen ; we ride together 
 on horseback nearly every day." 
 
 " ' Aut Caesar, aut Serizy,' " said Mistigris, senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 Pierrotin and Pere Leger exchanged winks on hear- 
 ing this statement. 
 
 "Really," said the count to Oscar, "I am delighted 
 to meet with a young man who can tell me about that 
 personage. I want his influence in a rather serious 
 matter, although it would cost him nothing to oblige 
 me. It concerns a claim I wish to press on the Amer- 
 ican government. I should be glad to obtain infor- 
 mation about Monsieur de Serizy." 
 
 "Oh! if you want to succeed," replied Oscar, with 
 a knowing look, "don't go to him, but go to his wife; 
 he is madly in love with her; no one knows more than 
 I do about that; but she can't endure him." 
 
 "Why not?" said Georges. 
 
 "The count has a skin disease which makes him 
 hideous. Doctor Alibert has tried in vain to cure it. 
 The count would give half his fortune if he had a chest 
 like mine," said Oscar, swelling himself out. "He 
 
A Start in Life. 119 
 
 lives a lonely life in his own house; gets up very 
 eaily in the morning and works from three to eight 
 o'clock; after eight he takes his remedies, — sulphur- 
 baths, steam-baths, and such things. His valet bakes 
 him in a sort of iron box — for he is always in hopes 
 of getting cured." 
 
 "If he is such a friend of the King as they say 
 he is, why does n't he get his Majesty to touch him?" 
 asked Georges. 
 
 "The count has lately promised thirty thousand 
 francs to a celebrated Scotch doctor who is coming 
 over to treat him," continued Oscar. 
 
 "Then his wife can't be blamed if she finds 
 better — " said Schinner, but he did not finish his 
 sentence. 
 
 "I should say so! " resumed Oscar. "The poor man 
 is so shrivelled and old you would take him for eighty ! 
 ■He 's as dry as a parchment, and, unluckily for him, 
 he feels his position." 
 
 "Most men would," said Pere Leger. 
 
 "He adores his wife and dares not find fault with 
 her," pursued Oscar, rejoicing to have found a topic 
 to which they listened. "He plays scenes with her 
 which would make you die of laughing, — exactly like 
 Arnolphe in Moliere's comedy." 
 
 The count, horror-stricken, looked at Pierrotin, who, 
 finding that the count said nothing, concluded that 
 Madame Clapart's son was telling falsehoods. 
 
120 A Start in Life. 
 
 1 'So, monsieur," continued Oscar, "if you want the 
 count's influence, I advise you to apply to the Marquis 
 d'Aiglemont. If you get that former adorer of 
 Madame de Serizy on your side, you will win husband 
 and wife at one stroke." 
 
 "Look here! " said the painter, "you seem to have 
 seen the count without his clothes; are you his 
 valet?" 
 
 "His valet ! " cried Oscar. 
 
 "Hang it! people don't tell such things about their 
 friends in public conveyances," exclaimed Mistigris. 
 "As for me, I'm not listening to you; I'm deaf: 
 ' discretion plays the better part of adder. ' " 
 
 " ' A poet is nasty and not fit,' and so is a tale- 
 bearer," cried Schinner. 
 
 "Great painter," said Georges, sententiously, 
 "learn this: you can't say harm of people you 
 don't know. Now the little one here has proved, in-* 
 dubitably, that he knows his Serizy by heart. If he 
 had told us about the countess, perhaps — ? " 
 
 "Stop! not a word about the Comtesse de Serizy, 
 young men," cried the count. "I am a friend of her 
 brother, the Marquis de Ronquerolles, and whoever 
 attempts to speak disparagingly of the countess must 
 answer to me." 
 
 "Monsieur is right," cried the painter; "no man 
 should blaguer women." 
 
 
A Start in Life. 121 
 
 "God, Honor, and the Ladies! I believe in that 
 melodrama," said Mistigris. 
 
 "I don't know the guerilla chieftain, Mina, but 
 I know the Keeper of the Seals," continued the count, 
 looking at Georges; "and though I don't wear my 
 decorations," he added, looking at the painter, "1 pre- 
 vent those who do not deserve them from obtaining 
 any. And finally, let me say that I know so many 
 persons that I even know Monsieur Grindot, the archi- 
 tect of Presles. Pierrotin, stop at the next inn; I 
 want to get out a moment." 
 
 Pierrotin hurried his horses through the village street 
 of Moisselles, at the end of which was the inn where 
 all travellers stopped. This short distance was done 
 in silence. 
 
 "Where is that young fool going? " asked the count, 
 drawing Pierrotin into the innyard. 
 
 "To your steward. He is the son of a poor lady 
 who lives in the rue de la Cerisaie, to whom I often 
 carry fruit, and game, and poultry from Presles. She 
 is a Madame Husson." 
 
 "Who is that man?" inquired Pere Leger of Pier- 
 rotin when the count had left him. 
 
 "Faith, I don't know," replied Pierrotin; "this is 
 the first time 1 have driven him. I should n't be sur- 
 prised if he was that prince who owns Mattliers. He 
 has just told me to leave him on the road near there; 
 he does n't want to go on to Isle- Adam." 
 
122 A Start in Life. ' 
 
 "Pierrotin thinks he is the master of Maffliers," said 
 Pere Leger, addressing Georges when he got back into 
 the coach. 
 
 The three young fellows were now as dull as thieves 
 caught in the act; they dared not look at each other, 
 and were evidently considering the consequences of 
 their fibs. 
 
 "This is what is called ' suffering for license sake,' " 
 said Mistigris. 
 
 "You see I did know the count," said Oscar. 
 
 "Possibly. But you'll never be an ambassador," 
 replied Georges. ' "When people want to talk in pub- 
 lic conveyances, they ought to be careful, like me, to 
 talk without saying anything." 
 
 "That's what speech is for," remarked Mistigris, 
 by way of conclusion. 
 
 The count returned to his seat and the coucou rolled 
 on amid the deepest silence. 
 
 "Well, my friends," said the count, when they 
 reached the Carreau woods, "here we all are, as silent 
 as if we were going to the scaffold." 
 
 " ' Silence gives content,' " muttered Mistigris. 
 
 "The weather is fine," said Georges. 
 
 "What place is that?" said Oscar, pointing to 
 the chateau de Franconville, which produces a fine 
 effect at that particular spot, backed, as it is, by the 
 noble forest of Saint-Martin. 
 
 
A Start in Life. 123 
 
 "How is it," cried the count, "that you, who say 
 you go so often to Presles, do not know Franconville? " 
 
 "Monsieur knows men, not castles," said Mistigris. 
 
 "Budding diplomatists have so much else to take 
 their minds," remarked Georges. 
 
 "Be so good as to remember my name," replied 
 Oscar, furious. "I am Oscar Husson, and ten years 
 hence I shall be famous." 
 
 After that speech, uttered with bombastic assump- 
 tion, Oscar flung himself back in his corner. 
 
 "Husson of what, of where?" asked Mistigris. 
 
 "It is a great family," replied the count. "Husson 
 de la Cerisaie; monsieur was born beneath the steps of 
 the Imperial throne." 
 
 Oscar colored crimson to the roots of his hair, and 
 was penetrated through and through with a dreadful 
 foreboding. 
 
 They were now about to descend the steep hill of 
 La Cave, at the foot of which, in a narrow valley, 
 flanked by the forest of Saint-Martin, stands the mag- 
 nificent chateau of Presles. 
 
 "Messieurs," said the count, "I wish you every 
 good fortune in your various careers. Monsieur le 
 colonel, make your peace with the King of France; the 
 CztTni-Georges ought not to snub the Bourbons. I 
 have nothing to wish for you, my dear Monsieur Sch in- 
 ner; your fame is already won, and nobly won by 
 
124 A Start in Life. 
 
 splendid work. But you are much to be feared in 
 domestic life, and I, being a married man, dare not 
 invite you to my house. As for Monsieur Husson, 
 he needs no protection; he possesses the secrets of 
 statesmen and can make them tremble. Monsieur 
 Leger is about to pluck the Comte de Serizy, and I 
 can only exhort him to do it with a firm hand. Pier- 
 rotin, put me out here, and pick me up at the same 
 place to-morrow," added the count, who then left the 
 coach and took a path through the woods, leaving his 
 
 late companions confused and bewildered. 
 
 "He must be that count who has hired Franconville ; 
 
 that 's the path to it," said Leger. 
 
 "If ever again," said the false Schinner, "I am 
 
 caught blague-ing in a public coach, I '11 fight a duel 
 
 with myself. It was your fault, Mistigris," giving 
 
 his rap in a tap on the head. 
 
 "All I did was to help you out, and follow you to 
 
 Venice," said Mistigris; "but that's always the way, 
 
 ' Fortune belabors the slave. ' " 
 
 "Let me tell you," said Georges to his neighbor 
 
 Oscar, "that if, by chance, that was the Comte de 
 
 Serizy, I wouldn't be in your skin for a good deal, 
 
 healthy as you think it." 
 
 Oscar, remembering his mother's injunctions, which 
 
 these words recalled to his mind, turned pale and came 
 
 to his senses. 
 
A Start in Life. 125 
 
 "Here you are, messieurs!" cried Pierrotin, pulling 
 up at a fine iron gate. 
 
 '•Here we are — where?" said the painter, and 
 Georges, and Oscar all at once. 
 
 "Well, well!" exclaimed Pierrotin, "if that doesn't 
 beat all! Ah ca, messieurs, have none of you been 
 here before? Why, this is the chateau de Presles." 
 
 "Oh, yes; all right, friend," said Georges, recover- 
 ing his audacity. "But I happen to be going on to 
 Les Moulineaux," he added, not wishing his compan- 
 ions to know that he was really going to the chateau. 
 
 "You don't say so? Then you are coming to me," 
 said Pere Leger. 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Why, I 'in the farmer at Moulineaux. Hey, 
 colonel, what brings you there? " 
 
 "To taste your butter," said Georges, pulling out 
 his portfolio. 
 
 "Pierrotin," said Oscar, "leave my things at the 
 steward's. I am going straight to the chateau." 
 
 Whereupon Oscar plunged into a narrow path, not 
 knowing, in the least, where he was going. 
 
 "Hi! Monsieur l'ambassadeur," cried Pere Leger, 
 "that's the way to the forest; if you really want to 
 get to the chateau, go through the little gate." 
 
 Thus Compelled to enter, Oscar disappeared into the 
 grand court-yard. While Pere Leger stood watching 
 
126 A Start in Life. 
 
 Oscar, Georges, utterly confounded by the discovery 
 that the farmer was the present occupant of Les Mouli- 
 neaux, had slipped away so adroitly that when the fat 
 countryman looked round for his colonel there was no 
 sign of him. 
 
 The iron gates opened at Pierrotin's demand, and 
 he proudly drove in to deposit with the concierge the 
 thousand and one utensils belonging to the great 
 Schinner. Oscar was thunderstruck when' he became 
 aware that Mistigris and his master, the witnesses of 
 his bravado, were to be installed in the chateau itself. 
 In ten minutes Pierrotin had discharged the various 
 packages of the painter, the bundles of Oscar Husson, 
 and the pretty little leather portmanteau, which he took 
 from its nest of hay and confided mysteriously to the 
 wife of the concierge. Then he drove out of the 
 courtyard, cracking his whip, and took the road that 
 led through the forest to Isle- Adam, his face beaming 
 with the sly expression of a peasant who calculates 
 his profits. Nothing was lacking now to his happi- 
 ness; on the morrow he would have his thousand 
 francs, and, as a consequence, his magnificent new 
 coach. 
 
A Start in Life. 127 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE MOREAU INTERIOR. 
 
 Oscar, somewhat abashed, was skulking behind a 
 clump of trees in the centre of the court-yard, and 
 watching to see what became of his two road- 
 companions, when Monsieur Moreau suddenly came 
 out upon the portico from what was called the guard- 
 room. He was dressed in a long blue overcoat which 
 came to his heels, breeches of yellowish leather and 
 top-boots, and in his hand he carried a riding-whip. 
 
 " Ah! my boy, so here you are? How is the dear 
 mamma? " he said, taking Oscar by the hand. " Good- 
 day, messieurs," he added to Mistigris and his master, 
 who then came forward. "You are, no doubt, the two 
 painters whom Monsieur Grindot, the architect, told 
 me to expect." 
 
 He whistled twice at the end of his whip; the con- 
 cierge came. 
 
 "Take these gentlemen to rooms 14 and 15. 
 Madame Moreau will give you the keys. Go with them 
 to show the way ; make fires there, if necessary, and 
 take up all their things. I have orders from Monsieur 
 
128 A Start in Life. 
 
 le comte," he added, addressing the two young men, 
 " to invite you to my table, messieurs; we dine at five, 
 as in Paris. If you like hunting, you will find plenty 
 to amuse you; I have a license from the Eaux et 
 Forets; and we hunt over twelve thousand acres of 
 forest, not counting our own domain." 
 
 Oscar, the painter, and Mistigris, all more or less 
 subdued, exchanged glances, but Mistigris, faithful to 
 himself, remarked, in a low tone, u ' Veni, vidi, 
 cecidi, — I came, I saw, I slaughtered.' " 
 
 Oscar followed the steward, who led him along at a 
 rapid pace through the park. 
 
 " Jacques," said Moreau to one of his children whom 
 they met, "run in and tell your mother that little 
 Husson has come, and say to her that I am obliged to 
 go to Les Moulineaux for a moment." 
 
 The steward, then about fifty years old, was a dark 
 man of medium height, and seemed stern. His bilious 
 complexion, to which country habits had added a cer- 
 tain violent coloring, conveyed, at first sight, the im- 
 pression of a nature which was other than his own. 
 His blue eyes and a large crow-beaked nose gave him 
 an air that was the more threatening because his eyes 
 were placed too close together. But his large lips, the 
 outline of his face, and the easy good-humor of his 
 manner soon showed that his nature was a kindly one. 
 Abrupt in speech and decided in tone, he impressed 
 
A Start in Life. 129 
 
 Oscar immensely by the force of his penetration, in- 
 spired, no doubt, by the affection which he felt for the 
 boy. Trained by his mother to magnify the steward, 
 Oscar had always felt himself very small in Moreau's 
 presence; but on reaching Presles a new sensation 
 came over him, as if he expected some harm from 
 this fatherly friend, his only protector. 
 
 "Well, my Oscar, you don't look pleased at getting 
 here," said the steward. "And yet you '11 find plenty 
 of amusement; you shall learn to ride on horseback, 
 and shoot," and hunt." 
 
 "I don't know any of those things," said Oscar, 
 stupidly. 
 
 " But I brought you here to learn them." 
 
 4 'Mamma told me only to stay two weeks because 
 of Madame Moreau." 
 
 "Oh! we'll see about that," replied Moreau, rather 
 wounded that his conjugal authority was doubted. 
 
 Moreau's youngest son, an active, strapping lad of 
 twelve, here ran up. 
 
 "Come," said his father, "take Oscar to your 
 mother." 
 
 He himself went rapidly along the shortest path to 
 the gamekeeper's house, which was situated between 
 the park and the forest. 
 
 The pavilion, or lodge, in which the count had estab- 
 lished his steward,, was built a few years before the 
 
 9 
 
130 A Start in Life. 
 
 Revolution. It stood in the centre of a large garden, 
 one wall of which adjoined the court-yard of the stables 
 and offices of the chateau itself. Formerly its chief 
 entrance was on the main road to the village. But 
 after the count's father bought the building, he closed 
 that entrance and united the place with his own 
 property. 
 
 The house, built of freestone, in the style of the 
 period of Louis XV. (it is enough to say that its exte- 
 rior decoration consisted of a stone drapery beneath 
 the windows, as in the colonnades of the Place Louis 
 XV., the flutings of which were stiff and ungainly), had 
 on the ground-floor a fine salon opening into a bed- 
 room, and a dining-room connected with a billiard- 
 roOm. These rooms, lying parallel to one another, 
 were separated by a staircase, in front of which was a 
 sort of peristyle which formed an entrance-hall, on 
 which the two suites of rooms on either side opened. 
 The kitchen was beneath the dining-room, for the whole 
 building was raised ten steps from the ground level. 
 
 By placing her own bedroom on the first floor above 
 the ground-floor, Madame Moreau was able to trans- 
 form the chamber adjoining the salon into a boudoir. 
 These two rooms were richly furnished with beautiful 
 pieces culled from the rare old furniture of the chateau. 
 The salon, hung with blue and white damask, formerly 
 the curtains of the state-bed, wa3 draped with ample 
 
A Start in Life. 131 
 
 portieres and window curtains lined with white silk. 
 Pictures, evidently from old panels, plant-stands, vari- 
 ous pretty articles of modern upholstery, handsome 
 lamps, and a rare old cut-glass chandelier, gave a 
 (jron diose appearance to the room. The carpet was a 
 Persian rug. The boudoir, wholly modern, and fur- 
 nished entirely after Madame Moreau's own taste, was 
 arranged in imitation of a tent, with ropes of blue silk 
 on a gray background. The classic divan was there, 
 of course, with its pillows and footstools The plant- 
 stands, taken care of by the head-gardener of PresJes, 
 rejoiced the eye with their pyramids of bloom. The 
 dining-room and billiard-room were furnished in 
 mahogany. 
 
 Around the house the steward's wife had laid out a 
 beautiful garden, carefully cultivated, which opened 
 into the great park. Groups of choice trees hid the 
 offices and stables. To improve the entrance by 
 which visitors came to see her, she had substituted a 
 handsome iron gateway for the shabby railing, which 
 she discarded. 
 
 The dependence in which the situation of their 
 dwelling placed the Moreaus, was thus adroitly con- 
 cealed, and they seemed all the more like rich and in- 
 dependent persons taking care of the property of a 
 friend, because neither the count nor the countess ever 
 came to Presles to take down their pretensions. More- 
 
132 A Start in Life. 
 
 over, the perquisites granted by Monsieur de Serizy 
 allowed them to live in the midst of that abundance 
 which is the luxury of county life. Milk, eggs, 
 poultry, game, fruits, flowers, forage, vegetables, 
 wood, the steward and his wife used in profusion, bay- 
 ing absolutely nothing but butcher' s-meat, wines, 
 and the colonial supplies required by their life of 
 luxury. The poultry-maid baked their bread ; and of 
 late years Moreau had paid his butcher with pigs from 
 the farm, after reserving those he needed for his own ' 
 use.* 
 
 On one occasion, the countess, always kind and good 
 to her former maid, gave her, as a souvenir perhaps, 
 a little travelling-carriage, the fashion of which was 
 out of date. Moreau had it repainted, and now drove 
 his wife about the country with two good horses which 
 belonged to the farm. Besides these horses, Moreau 
 had his own saddle-horse. He did enough farming 
 on the count's property to keep the horses and main- 
 tain his servants. He stacked three hundred tons of 
 excellent hay, but accounted for only one hundred, 
 making use of a vague permission once granted by the 
 count. He kept his poultry-yard, pigeon-cotes, and 
 cattle at the cost of the estate, but the manure of the 
 stables was used by the count's gardeners. All these 
 little stealings had some ostensible excuse. 
 
 Madame Moreau had taken into her service a daugh- 
 
A Start in Life. 133 
 
 ter of one of the gardeners, who was first her maid and 
 afterwards her cook. The poultry-girl, also the dairy- 
 maid, assisted in the work of the household; and the 
 steward had hired a discharged soldier to groom the 
 horses and do the heavy labor. 
 
 At Nerville, Chaumont, Maffliers, Nointel, and 
 other places of the neighborhood, the handsome wife 
 of the steward was received by persons who either did 
 not know, or pretended not to know her previous con- 
 dition. Moreau did services to many persons. He 
 induced his master to agree to certain things which 
 seem trifles in Paris, but are really of immense impor- 
 tance in the country. After bringing about the appoint- 
 ment of a certain juge de paix at Beaumont and also 
 at Isle- Adam, he had, in the same year, prevented the 
 dismissal of a keeper-general of the Forests, and ob- 
 tained the cross of the Legion of honor for the first 
 cavalry-sergeant at Beaumont. Consequently, no 
 festivity was ever given among the bourgeoisie to 
 which Monsieur and Madame Moreau were not invited. 
 The rector of Presles and the mayor of Presles came 
 every evening to play cards with them. It is difficult 
 for a man not to be kind and hospitable after feather- 
 ing his nest so comfortably. 
 
 A pretty woman, and an affected one, as all retired 
 waiting-maids of great ladies are, for after they are 
 married tbey imitate tjjtieir nii.-tir.sse3, Madame Moreau 
 
134 A Start in Life. 
 
 imported from Paris all the new fashions. She wore 
 expensive boots, and never was seen on foot, except, 
 occasionally, in the finest weather. Though her hus- 
 band allowed but five hundred francs a year for her 
 toilet, that sum is immense in the provinces, espe- 
 cially if well laid out. So that Madame Moreau, fair, 
 rosy, and fresh, about thirty-six years of age, still 
 slender and delicate in shape in spite of her three 
 children, played the young girl and gave herself the 
 airs of a princess. If, when she drove by in her 
 caleche, some stranger had asked, "Who is she?" 
 Madame Moreau would have been furious had she 
 heard the reply: "The wife of the steward at Presles." 
 She wished to be taken for the mistress of the chateau. 
 In the villages, she patronized the people in ihe tone 
 of a great lady. The influence of her husband over 
 the count, proved in so many ways, prevented the 
 small bourgeoisie from laughing at Madame Moreau, 
 who, in the eyes of the peasants, was really a per- 
 sonage. 
 
 Estelle (her name was Estelle) took no more part in 
 the affairs of the stewardship than the wife of a broker 
 does in her husband's affairs at the Bourse. She even 
 depended on Moreau for the care of the household and 
 their own fortune. Confident of his means, she was a 
 thousand leagues from dreaming that this comfortable 
 existence, which had lasted for seventeen years, could 
 
A Start in Life. 135 
 
 ever be endangered. And yet, when she heard of the 
 count's determination to restore the magnificent 
 chateau, she felt that her enjoyments were threatened, 
 and she urged her husband to come to the arrangement 
 with Leger about Les Moulineaux, so that they might 
 retire from Presles and live at Isle-Adam. She had 
 no intention of returning to a position that was more 
 or less that of a servant in presence of her former mis- 
 tress, who, indeed, would have laughed to see her 
 established in the lodge with all the airs and graces of 
 a woman of the world. 
 
 The rancorous enmity which existed between the 
 Reyberts and the Moreaus came from a wound inflicted 
 by Madame de Reybert upon Madame Moreau on the first 
 occasion when the latter assumed precedence over the 
 former on her first arrival at Pre3les, the wife of the 
 steward being determined not to allow her supremacy 
 to be undermined by a woman nee de Corroy. Madame 
 de Reybert thereupon reminded, or, perhaps, informed 
 the whole country-side of Madame Moreau's former 
 station. The words "waiting-maid" flew from lip to 
 lip. The envious acquaintances of the Moreaus 
 throughout the neighborhood from Beaumont to Mois- 
 selles, began to v carp and criticise with such eagerness 
 that a few sparks of the conflagration fell into the 
 Moreau household. For four years the Reyberts, cut 
 dead by the handsome Estelle, found themselves the 
 
136 A Start in Life. 
 
 objects of so much animadversion on the part of the 
 adherents of the Moreaus that their position at Presles 
 would not have been endurable without the thought of 
 vengeance which had, so far, supported them. 
 
 The Moreaus, who were very friendly with Grindot 
 the architect, had received notice from him of the early 
 arrival of two painters sent down to finish the decora- 
 tions of the chateau, the principal paintings for which 
 were just completed by Schinner. The great painter 
 had recommended for this work the artist who was 
 accompanied by Mistigris. For two days past 
 Madame Moreau had been on the tiptoe of expectation, 
 and had put herself under arms to receive him. An 
 artist, who was to be her guest and companion for 
 weeks, demanded some effort. Schinner and his 
 wife had their own apartment at the chateau, where, 
 by the count's express orders, they were treated with 
 all the consideration due to himself. Grindot, who 
 stayed at the steward's house, showed such respect for 
 the great artist that neither the steward nor his wife 
 had attempted to put themselves on familiar terms 
 with him. Moreover, the noblest and richest people 
 in the surrounding country had vied with each other in 
 paying attention to Schinner and his wife. So, 
 very well pleased to have, as it were, a little revenge 
 of her own, Madame Moreau was determined to cry up 
 the artist she was now expecting, and to present him 
 
A Start in Life. 137 
 
 to her social circle as equal in talent to the great 
 Schinner. 
 
 Though for two days past Moreau's pretty wife had 
 arrayed herself coquettishly, the prettiest of her toi- 
 lets had been reserved for this very Saturday, when, as 
 she felt no doubt, the artist would arrive for dinner. 
 A pink gown in very narrow stripes, a pink belt with 
 a richly chased gold buckle, a velvet ribbon and cross 
 at her throat, and velvet bracelets on her bare arms 
 (Madame de Serizy had handsome arms and showed 
 them much), together with bronze kid shoes and 
 thread stockings, gave Madame Moreau all the appear- 
 ance of an elegant Parisian. She wore, also, a superb 
 bonnet of Leghorn straw, trimmed with a bunch of 
 moss roses from Nattier's, beneath the spreading sides 
 of which rippled the curls of her beautiful blond hair. 
 
 After ordering a very choice dinner and reviewing 
 the condition of her rooms, she walked about the 
 grounds, so as to be seen standing near a flower-bed in 
 the court-yard of the chateau, like the mistress of the 
 house, on the arrival of the coach from Paris. She 
 held above her head a charming rose-colored parasol 
 lined with white silk and fringed. Seeing that Pier- 
 rotin merely left Mistigris's queer packages with the 
 concierge, having, apparently, brought no passengers, 
 Estelle retired disappointed and regretting the trouble 
 of making her useless toilet. Like many persons 
 
138 A Start in Life. 
 
 who are dressed in their best, she felt incapable of 
 any other occupation than that of sitting idly in her 
 salon awaiting the coach from Beaumont, which usually 
 passed about an hour after that of Pierrotin, though it 
 did not leave Paris till mid-day. She was, therefore, 
 in her own apartment when the two artists walked up 
 to the chateau, and were sent by Moreau himself to 
 their rooms where they made their regulation toilet 
 for dinner. The pair had asked questions of their 
 guide, the gardener, who told them so much of Madame 
 Moreau' s beauty that they felt the necessity of "rig- 
 ging themselves up" (studio slang). They, therefore, 
 put on their most superlative suits and then walked 
 over to the steward's lodge, piloted by Jacques Moreau, 
 the eldest son, a hardy youth, dressed like an English 
 boy in a handsome jacket with a turned-over collar, 
 who was spending his vacation like a fish in water on 
 the estate where his father and mother reigned as 
 autocrats. 
 
 "Mamma," he said, "here are the two artists sent 
 down by Monsieur Schinner." 
 
 Madame Moreau, agreeably surprised, rose, told 
 her son to place chairs, and began to display her 
 graces. 
 
 "Mamma, the Husson boy is with papa," added the 
 lad; "shall I fetch him?" 
 
 "You need not hurry; go and play with him," said 
 his mother. 
 
A Start in Life. 139 
 
 The remark "yon need not hurry " proved to the two 
 artists the unimportance of their late travelling com- 
 panion in the eyes of their hostess; but it also showed, 
 what they did not know, the feeling of a step-mother 
 against a step-son. Madame Moreau, after seventeen 
 years of married life, could not be ignorant of the 
 steward's attachment to Madame Clapart and the little 
 Husson, and she hated both mother and child so 
 vehemently that it is not surprising that Moreau had 
 never before risked bringing Oscar to Presles. 
 
 44 We are requested, my husband and myself," 
 she said to the two artists, "to do you the honors of 
 the chateau. We both love art, and, above all, 
 artists/' she added in a mincing tone; "and I beg you 
 to make yourselves at home here. In the country, 
 you know, every one should be at their ease; one must 
 feel wholly at liberty, or life is too insipid. We have 
 already had Monsieur Schinner with us." 
 
 Mistigris gave a sly glance at his companion. 
 
 "You know him, of course?" continued Estelle, 
 after a slight pause. 
 
 "Who does not know him, madame?" said the 
 painter. 
 
 "Knows him like his double," remarked Mistigris. 
 
 "Monsieur Grindot told me your name," said 
 Madame Moreau to the painter. "Rut — " 
 
 "Joseph Bridau," he replied, wondering with what 
 sort of woman he had to do. 
 
140 A Start in Life. 
 
 Mistigris began to rebel internally against the 
 patronizing manner of the steward's wife; but he 
 waited, like Bridau, for some word which might give 
 him his cue; one of those words de singe a dauphin 
 which artists, cruel, born-observers of the ridiculous 
 — the pabulum of their pencils — seize with such 
 avidity. Meantime Estelle's clumsy hands and feet 
 struck their eyes, and presently a word, a phrase or 
 two, be'traying her past, and quite out of keeping with 
 the elegance of her dress, made the two young fellows 
 aware of their prey. A single glance at each other was 
 enough to arrange a scheme that they should take 
 Estelle seriously on her own ground, and thus find 
 amusement enough during the time of their stay. 
 
 "You say you love art, madame; perhaps you culti- 
 vate it successfully," said Joseph Bridau. 
 
 "No. Without being neglected, my education was 
 purely commercial ; but I have so profound and deli- 
 cate a sense of art that Monsieur Schinner always 
 asked me, when he had finished a piece of work, to 
 give him my opinion on it." 
 
 "Just as Moliere consulted La Foret," said Mis- 
 tigris. 
 
 Not knowing that La Foret was Moliere's servant- 
 woman, Madame Moreau inclined her head graciously, 
 showing that in her ignorance she accepted the speech 
 as a compliment. 
 
A Start in Life. 141 
 
 "Did n't he propose to croquer you? M asked Bridau. 
 "Painters are eager enough after handsome women." 
 
 "What may you mean by such language? " 
 
 "In the studios we say croquer, craunch, nibble, 
 for sketching," interposed Mistigris, with an insinu- 
 ating air, "and we are always wanting to croquer 
 beautiful heads. That 's the origin of the expression, 
 * She is pretty enough to eat. ' " 
 
 "I was not aware of the origin of the term," she 
 replied, with the sweetest glance at Mistigris. 
 
 "My pupil here," said Bridau, "Monsieur Leon de 
 Lora, shows a remarkable talent for portraiture. He 
 would be too happy, I know, to leave you a souvenir 
 of our stay by painting your Charming head, madame." 
 
 Joseph Bridau made a sign to Mistigris which 
 meant: "Come, sail in, and push the matter; she is 
 not so bad in looks, this woman." 
 
 Accepting the glance, Leon de Lora slid down upon 
 the sofa beside Estelle and took her hand, which she 
 permitted. 
 
 "Oh! madame, if you would like to offer a surprise 
 to your husband, and will give me a few secret sit- 
 tings I would endeavor to surpass myself. You are so 
 beautiful, so fresh, so charming! A man without any 
 talent might become a genius in painting you. He 
 would draw from your eyes — " 
 
 "We must paint your dear children in the ara- 
 besques," said Bridau, Interrupting Mistigris. 
 
142 A Start in Life. 
 
 "I would rather have them in the salon; but per- 
 haps I am indiscreet in asking it," she replied, looking 
 at Bridau coquettishly. 
 
 " Beauty, madame, is a sovereign whom all painters 
 worship; it has unlimited claims upon them." 
 
 "They are both charming," thought Madame 
 Moreau. " Do you enjoy driving? Shall I take you 
 through the woods, after dinner, in my carriage ? " 
 
 "Oh! oh! oh!" cried Mistigris, in three ecstatic 
 tones. "Why, Presles will prove our terrestrial 
 paradise." 
 
 "With an Eve, a fair, young, fascinating woman," 
 added Bridau. 
 
 Just as Madame Moreau was bridling, and soaring 
 to the seventh heaven, she was recalled like a kite by 
 a twitch at its line. 
 
 "Madame!" cried her maid-servant, bursting into 
 the room. 
 
 "Rosalie," said her mistress, "who allowed you to 
 come here without being sent for? " 
 
 Rosalie paid no heed to this rebuke, but whispered 
 in her mistress's ear: — 
 
 "The count is at the chateau." 
 
 "Has he asked for me?" said the steward's wife. 
 
 "No, madame; but he wants his trunk and the key 
 of his apartment." 
 
 "Then give them to him," she replied, making an 
 impatient gesture to hide her real trouble. 
 
A Start in Life. 143 
 
 "Mamma! here 's Oscar Husson," said her youngest 
 son, bringing in Oscar, who turned as red as a poppy 
 on seeing the two artists in evening dress. 
 
 u Oh! so you have come, my little Oscar," said 
 Estelle, stiftly. "I hope you will now go and dress," 
 she added, after looking at him contemptuously from 
 head to foot. "Your mother, I presume, has not ac- 
 customed you to dine in such clothes as those." 
 
 "Oh!" cried the cruel Mistigris, "a future diplo- 
 matist knows the saying that ' two coats are better 
 than none.' " 
 
 "How do you mean, a future diplomatist?" ex- 
 claimed Madame Moreau. 
 
 Poor Oscar had tears in his eyes as he looked in turn 
 from Joseph to Leon. 
 
 "Merely a joke made in travelling," replied Joseph, 
 who wanted to save Oscar's feelings out of pity. 
 
 "The boy just wanted to be funny like the rest of 
 us, and he blayued, that's all," said Mistigris. 
 
 "Madame," said Rosalie, returning to the door of 
 the salon, "his Excellency has ordered dinner for 
 eight, and wants it served at six o'clock. What are 
 we to do?" 
 
 During Estelle's conference with her head-woman 
 the two artists and Oscar looked at each other in con- 
 sternation; their glances were expressive of terrible 
 apprehension. 
 
144 A Start in Life. 
 
 "His Excellency! who is he?" said Joseph Bridau. 
 
 "Why, Monsieur le Comte de Serizy, of course," 
 replied little Moreau. 
 
 "Could it have been the count in the coucou? " said 
 Leon de Lora. 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Oscar, "the Comte de Serizy 
 always travels in his own carriage with four horses. 
 
 "How did the Comte de Serizy get here? " said the 
 painter to Madame Moreau, when she returned, much 
 discomfited, to the salon. 
 
 "I am sure I do not know," she said. "I cannot 
 explain to myself this sudden arrival ; nor do I know 
 what has brought him — And Moreau not here ! " 
 
 "His Excellency wishes Monsieur Schinner to come 
 over to the chateau," said a gardener, coming to the 
 door of the salon. "And he begs Monsieur Schinner 
 to give him the pleasure to dine with him; also 
 Monsieur Mistigris." 
 
 "Done for! " cried the rapin, laughing. "He whom 
 we took for a bourgeois in the coucou was the count. 
 You may well say:   Sour are the curses of per- 
 versity.' " 
 
 Oscar was very nearly changed to a pillar of salt; 
 for, at this revelation, his throat felt Salter than the 
 sea. 
 
 "And you, who talked to him about his wife's lovers 
 and his skin diseases!" said Mistigris, turning on 
 Oscar. 
 
A Start in Life. 145 
 
 "What does he mean?" exclaimed the steward's 
 wife, gazing after the two artists, who went away 
 laughing at the expression of Oscar's face. 
 
 Oscar remained dumb, confounded, stupefied, hear- 
 ing nothing, though Madame Moreau questioned him 
 and shook him violently by his arm, which she caught 
 and squeezed. She gained nothing, however, and was 
 forced to leave him in the salon without an answer, for 
 Rosalie appeared again, to ask for linen and silver, 
 and to beg she would go herself and see that the mul- 
 tiplied orders of the count were executed. All the 
 household, together with the gardeners and the con- 
 cierge and his wife, were going and coming in a con- 
 fusion that may readily be imagined. The master 
 had fallen upon his own house like a bombshell. 
 
 From the top of the hill near La Cave, where he left 
 the coach, the count had gone, by a path through the 
 woods well-known to him, to the house of his game- 
 keeper. The keeper was amazed when he saw his real 
 master. 
 
 "Is Moreau here?" said the count. "I see his 
 horse." 
 
 "No, monseigneur; he means to go to Moulineaux 
 before dinner, and he has left his horse here while he 
 went to the chateau to give a few orders." 
 
 "If you value your place," said the count, "you will 
 take that horse and ride at once to Beaumont, where 
 
 10 
 
146 A Start in Life. 
 
 you will deliver to Monsieur Margueron the note that 
 I shall now write." 
 
 So saying the count entered the keeper's lodge and 
 wrote a line, folding it in a way impossible to open 
 without detection, and gave it to the man as soon as 
 he saw him in the saddle. 
 
 "Not a word to any one," he said, "and as for 
 you, madame," he added to the gamekeeper's wife, 
 "if Moreau comes back for his horse, tell him merely 
 that I have taken it." 
 
 The count then crossed the park and entered the 
 court-yard of the chateau through the iron gates. How- 
 ever worn-out a man may be by the wear and tear of 
 public life, by his own emotions, by his own mistakes 
 and disappointments, the soul of any man able to love 
 deeply at the count's age is still young and sensitive to 
 treachery. Monsieur de Serizy had felt such pain at the 
 thought that Moreau had deceived him, that even after 
 hearing the conversation at Saint- Brice he thought him 
 less an accomplice of Leger and the notary than their 
 tool. On the threshold of the inn, and while that 
 conversation was still going on, he thought of pardon- 
 ing his steward after giving him a good reproof. 
 Strange to say, the dishonesty of his confidential agent 
 occupied his mind as a mere episode from the moment 
 when Oscar revealed his infirmities. Secrets so care- 
 fully guarded could only have been revealed by Moreau, 
 
A Start in Life. 147 
 
 who had, no doubt, laughed over the hidden troubles 
 of his benefactor with either Madame de Serizy's for- 
 mer maid or with the Aspasia of the Directory. 
 
 As he walked along the wood-path, this peer of 
 France, this statesman, wept as young men weep; he 
 wept his last tears. All human feelings were so cruelly 
 hurt by one stroke that the usually calm man staggered 
 through his park like a wounded deer. 
 
 When Moreau arrived at the gamekeeper's lodge 
 and asked for his horse, the keeper's wife replied: — 
 
 "Monsieur le comte has just taken it." 
 
 "Monsieur le comte!" cried Moreau. "Whom do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 "Why, the Comte de Serizy, our master," she re- 
 plied. "He is probably at the chateau by this time," 
 she added, anxious to be rid of the steward, who, 
 unable to understand the meaning of her words, turned 
 back towards the chateau. 
 
 But he presently turned again and came back to the 
 lodge, intending to question the woman more closely; 
 for he began to see something serious in this secret 
 arrival, and the apparently strange method of his 
 master's return. But the wife of the gamekeeper, 
 alarmed to find herself caught in a vise between the 
 count and his steward, had locked herself into the 
 house, resolved not to open to any but her husband. 
 Moreau, more and more uneasy, ran rapidly, in spite of 
 
148 A Start in Life. 
 
 his boots and spurs, to the chateau, where he was told 
 that the count was dressing. 
 
 4 'Seven persons invited to dinner!" cried Rosalie 
 as soon as she saw him. 
 
 Moreau then went through the offices to his own 
 house. On his way he met the poultry-girl, who was 
 having an altercation with a handsome young man. 
 
 "Monsieur le comte particularly told me a colonel, 
 an aide-de-camp of Mina," insisted the girl. 
 
 "lam not a colonel," replied Georges. 
 
 "But is n't your name Georges? " 
 
 "What's all this?" said the steward, intervening. 
 
 "Monsieur, my name is Georges Marest; I am the 
 son of a rich wholesale ironmonger in the rue Saint- 
 Martin ; I come on business to Monsieur le Comte de 
 Serizy from Maitre Crottat, a notary, whose second 
 clerk I am." 
 
 "And I," said the girl, "am telling him that mon- 
 seigneur said to me: ' There '11 come a colonel named 
 Czerni-Georges, aide-de-camp to Mina ; he '11 come by 
 Pierrotin's coach; if he asks for me show him into 
 the waiting-room.' " 
 
 "Evidently," said the clerk, "the count is a traveller 
 who came down with us in Pierrotin's concern ; if it 
 had n't been for the politeness of a young man he 'd 
 have come as a rabbit." 
 
 "A rabbit! in Pierrotin's concern!" exclaimed 
 Moreau and the poultry-girl together. 
 
A Start in Life. 149 
 
 "I am sure of it, from what this girl is now saying," 
 said Georges. 
 
 "How so?" asked the steward. 
 
 "Ah! that 's the point," cried the clerk. "To hoax 
 the travellers and have a bit of fun 1 told them a lot of 
 stuff about Egypt and Greece and Spain. As I hap- 
 pened to be wearing spurs I gave myself out for a 
 colonel of cavalry; pure nonsense! " 
 
 "Tell me," said Moreau, "what did this traveller 
 you take to be Monsieur le comte look like?" 
 
 "Face like a brick," said Georges, "hair snow-white, 
 and black eyebrows." 
 
 "That is he!" 
 
 "Then I 'm lost! " exclaimed Georges. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh! I chaffed him about his decorations." 
 
 "Pooh! he 's a good fellow; you probably amused 
 him. Come at once to the chateau. I '11 go in and see 
 his Excellency. Where did you say he left the 
 coach?" 
 
 "At the top of the mountain." 
 
 "I don't know what to make of it! " 
 After all," thought Georges, "though I did blague 
 him, I didn't say anything insulting." 
 
 "Why have you come here?" asked the steward. 
 
 "I have brought the deed of sale for the farm at 
 Mouliueaux, all ready for signature." 
 
150 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Good heavens!" exclaimed the steward, "I don't 
 understand one word of all this ! " 
 
 Moreau felt his heart beat painfully when, after 
 giving two raps on his master's door, he heard the 
 words : — 
 
 "Is that you, Monsieur* Moreau?" 
 
 "Yes, monseigneur." 
 
 "Come in." 
 
 The count was now wearing a pair of white trou- 
 sers and thin boots, a white waistcoat and a black coat 
 on which shone the grand cross of the Legion upon the 
 right breast, and fastened to a buttonhole on the left was 
 the order of the Golden Fleece hanging by a short gold 
 chain. He had arranged his hair himself, and had, no 
 doubt, put himself in full dress to do the honors of 
 Presles to Monsieur Margueron; and, possibly, to 
 impress the good man's mind with a prestige of 
 grandeur. 
 
 "Well, monsieur," said the count, who remained 
 seated, leaving Moreau to stand before him. "We 
 have not concluded that purchase from Margueron." 
 
 "He asks too much for the farm at the present 
 moment." 
 
 "But why is he not coming to dinner as I re- 
 quested ? " 
 
 "Monseigneur, he is ill." 
 
 "Are you sure?" 
 
A Start in Life. 151 
 
 "I have just come from there." 
 
 "Monsieur," said the count, with a stern air which 
 was really terrible, "what would you do with a man 
 whom you trusted, if, after seeing you dress wounds 
 which you desired to keep secret from all the world, 
 he should reveal your misfortunes and laugh at your 
 malady with a strumpet?" 
 
 "I would thrash him for it." 
 
 "And if you discovered that he was also betraying 
 your confidence and robbing you?" 
 
 "I should endeavor to detect him, and send him to 
 the galleys." 
 
 "Monsieur Moreau, listen to me. You have un- 
 doubtedly spoken of my infirmities to Madame Clapart; 
 you have laughed at her house, and with her, over my 
 attachment to the Comtesse de Serizy; for her son, 
 little Husson, told a number of circumstances relating 
 to my medical treatment, to travellers by a public 
 conveyance in my presence, and Heaven knows in 
 what language! He dared to calumniate my wife. 
 Besides this, I learned from the lips of Pere Le'ger 
 himself, who was in the coach, of the plan laid by the 
 notary at Beaumont and by you and by himself in 
 relation to Les Moulineaux. If you have been, as you 
 say, to Monsieur Margueron, it was to tell him to feign 
 illness. He is so little ill that he is coming here to 
 dinner this evening. Now, monsieur, I could pardon 
 
152 A Start in Life. 
 
 your having made two hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs out of your situation in seventeen years, — I 
 can understand that. You might each time have 
 asked me for what you took, and I would have given 
 it to you; but let that pass. You have been, notwith- 
 standing this disloyalty, better than others, as I be- 
 lieve. But that you, who knew my toil for our coun- 
 try, for France, you have seen me giving night after 
 night to the Emperor's service, and working eighteen 
 hours of each twenty-four for months together, you who 
 knew my love for Madame de Serizy, — that you should 
 have gossiped about me before a boy! holding up my 
 secrets and my affections to the ridicule of a Madame 
 Husson! — " 
 
 " Monseigneur ! " 
 
 "It is unpardonable. To injure a man's interest, 
 why, that is nothing; but to stab his heart! — Oh! 
 you do not know what you have done ! " 
 
 The count put his head in his hands and was silent 
 for some moments. 
 
 "I leave you what you have gained," he said after a 
 time, "and. I shall forget you. For my sake, for my 
 dignity, and for your honor, we will part decently; 
 for I cannot but remember even now what your father 
 did for mine. You will explain the duties of the 
 stewardship in a proper manner to Monsieur de Rey- 
 bert, who succeeds you. Be calm, as I am. Give no 
 
A Start in Life. 153 
 
 opportunity for fools to talk. Above all, let there be 
 no recrimination or petty meanness. Though you no 
 longer possess my confidence, endeavor to behave with 
 the decorum of well-bred persons. As for that miser- 
 able boy who has wounded me to death, I will not have 
 him sleep at Presles; send him to the inn; I will not 
 answer for my own temper if I see him." 
 
 "I do not deserve such gentleness, monseigneur," 
 said Moreau, with tears in his eyes. "Yes, you are 
 right; if I had been utterly dishonest I should now be 
 worth five hundred thousand francs instead of half 
 that sum. I offer to give you an account of my for- 
 tune, with all its details. But let me tell you, mon- 
 seigneur, that in talking of you with Madame Clapart, 
 it was never in derision ; but, on the contrary, to de- 
 plore your state, and to ask her for certain remedies, 
 not used by physicians, but known to the common 
 people. I spoke of your feelings before the boy, who 
 was in his bed and, as I supposed, asleep (it seems he 
 must have been awake and listening to us), with the 
 utmost affection and respect. Alas! fate wills that 
 indiscretions be punished like crimes. But while 
 accepting the results of your just anger, I wish you to 
 know what actually took place It was, indeed, from 
 heart to heart that I spoke of you to Madame Clapart. 
 As for my wife, I have never said one word of these 
 things — " 
 
154 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Enough," said the count, whose conviction was 
 now complete; "we are not children. All is now irrev- 
 ocable. Put your affairs and mine in order. You 
 can stay in the pavilion until October. Monsieur and 
 Madame de Reybert will lodge for the present in the 
 chateau; endeavor to keep on terms with them, like 
 well-bred persons who hate each other, i)ut still keep 
 up appearances." 
 
 The count and Moreau went downstairs; Moreau 
 white as the count's hair, the count himself calm and 
 dignified. 
 
 During the time this interview lasted the Beaumont 
 coach, which left Paris at one o'clock, had stopped 
 before the gates of the chateau, and deposited Maitre 
 Crottat, the notary, who was shown, according to the 
 count's orders, into the salon, where he found his clerk, 
 extremely subdued in manner, and the two painters, 
 all three of them painfully self-conscious and embar- 
 rassed. Monsieur de Reybert, a man of fifty, with a 
 crabbed expression of face, was also there, accom- 
 panied by old Margueron and the notary of Beaumont, 
 who held in his hand a bundle of deeds and other 
 papers. 
 
 When these various personages saw the count in 
 evening dress, and wearing his orders, Georges Marest 
 had a slight sensation of colic, Joseph Bridau quiv- 
 ered, but Mistigris, who was conscious of being in 
 
A Start in Life. 155 
 
 his Sunday clotbes, and had, moreover, nothing on his 
 conscience, remarked, in a sufficiently loud tone: — 
 
 "Well, he looks a great deal better like that." 
 
 "Little scamp," said the count, catching him by the 
 ear, "we are both in the decoration business. I hope 
 you recognize your own work, my dear Schinner," 
 he added, pointing to the ceiling of the salon. 
 
 "Monseigneur," replied the artist, "I did wrong to 
 take such a celebrated name out of mere bravado; but 
 this day will oblige me to do fine things for you, and 
 so bring credit on my own name of Joseph Bridau." 
 
 "You took up my defence," said the count, hastily; 
 "and I hope you will give me the pleasure of dining 
 with me, as well as my lively friend Mistigris." 
 
 "Your Excellency does n't know to what you expose 
 yourself," said the saucy rapin; " * facilis descensus 
 victual i,' as we say at the Black Hen." 
 
 "Bridau!" exclaimed the minister, struck by a sud- 
 den thought. "Are you any relation to one of the most 
 devoted toilers under the Empire, the head of a bureau, 
 who fell a victim to his zeal?" 
 
 "His son, monseigneur," replied Joseph, bowing. 
 
 "Then you are most welcome here," said the count, 
 taking Bridau's hand in both of his. "I knew your 
 father, and you can count on me as on — on an uncle 
 in America," added the count, laughing. "But you are 
 too young to have pupils of your own; to whom does 
 Mistigris really belong?" 
 
156 A Start in Life. 
 
 "To my friend Schinner, who lent him to me," said 
 Joseph. "Mistigris' name is Leon de Lora. Mon- 
 seigneur, if you knew my father, will you deign to 
 think of his other son, who is now accused of plotting 
 against the State, and is soon to be tried before the 
 Court of Peers ?" 
 
 "Ah! that's true," said the count. "Yes, I will 
 think about it, be sure of that. As for Colonel Czerni- 
 Georges, the friend of Ali Pacha, and Mina's aide-de- 
 camp — " he continued, walking up to Georges. 
 
 "He! why that's my second clerk! " cried Crottat. 
 
 "You are quite mistaken, Maftre Crottat," said the 
 count, assuming a stern air. "A clerk who intends to 
 be a notary does not leave important deeds in a dili- 
 gence at the mercy of other travellers; neither does 
 he spend twenty francs between Paris and Moisselles ; 
 or expose himself to be arrested as a deserter — " 
 
 "Monseigneur," said Georges Marest, "I may have 
 amused myself with the bourgeois in the diligence, 
 but — " 
 
 "Let his Excellency finish what he was saying," said 
 the notary, digging his elbow into his clerk's ribs. 
 
 "A notary," continued the count, "ought to practise 
 discretion, shrewdness, caution from the start; he 
 should be incapable of such a blunder as taking a peer 
 of France for a tallow-chandler — " 
 
 "I am willing to be blamed for my faults," said 
 
A Start in Life. 157 
 
 Georges; "but I never left my deeds at the mercy 
 of — " 
 
 "Now you are committing the fault of contradicting 
 the word of a minister of State, a gentleman, an old 
 man, and a client," said the count. "Give me that 
 deed of sale." 
 
 Georges .turned over and over the papers in his 
 portfolio. 
 
 "That will do; don't disarrange those papers," 
 said the count, taking the deed from his pocket. 
 "Here is what you are looking for." 
 
 Crottat turned the paper back and forth, so aston- 
 ished was he at receiving it from the hands of his 
 client. 
 
 "What does this mean, monsieur?" he said, finally, 
 to Georges. 
 
 "If I had not taken it," said the count, "Pere Leger, 
 — who is by no means such a ninny as you thought him 
 from his questions about agriculture, by which he 
 showed that he attended to his own business, — Pere 
 Leger might have seized that paper and guessed my 
 purpose. You must give me the pleasure of dining 
 with me, but on one condition, — that of describing, 
 as you promised, the execution of the Muslim of 
 Smyrna, and you must also finish the memoirs of 
 some client which you have certainly read to be so 
 well informed." 
 
158 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Schlapue for blague/" said Leon de Lora, in a 
 whisper, to Joseph Bridau. 
 
 ''Gentlemen," said the count to the two notaries and 
 Messieurs Margueron and de Reybert, "let us go into 
 the next room and conclude this business before din- 
 ner, because, as my friend Mistigris would say : ' Qui 
 esurit consentit. 1 " 
 
 "Well, he is very good-natured," said Leon de Lora 
 to Georges, Mar est, when the count had left the room. 
 
 "Yes, he may be, but my master isn't," said 
 Georges, "and he will request me to go and blaguer 
 somewhere else." 
 
 "Never mind, you like travel," said Bridau. 
 
 "What a dressing that boy will get from Monsieur 
 and Madame Moreau! " cried Mistigris. 
 
 "Little idiot!" said Georges. "If it had n't been 
 for him the count would have been amused. Well, 
 anyhow, the lesson is a good one; and if ever again 
 I am caught bragging in a public coach — " 
 
 "It is a stupid thing to do," said Joseph Bridau. 
 
 "And common," added Mistigris. " 'Vulgarity is 
 the brother of pretension. ' " 
 
 While the matter of the sale was being settled be- 
 tween Monsieur Margueron and the Comte de Serizy, 
 assisted by their respective notaries in presence of 
 Monsieur de Reybert, the ex-steward walked with 
 slow steps to his own house. There he entered the 
 
A Start in Life. 159 
 
 salon and sat down without noticing anything. Little 
 Husson, who was present, slipped into a corner, out 
 of sight, so much did the livid face of his mother's 
 friend alarm him. 
 
 44 Eh! my friend!" said Estelle, coming into the 
 room, somewhat tired with what she had been doing. 
 Wk \Vhat is the matter?" 
 
 "My dear, we are lost, — lost beyond recovery. I 
 am no longer steward of Presles, no longer in the 
 count's confidence." 
 
 44 Why not?" 
 
 "Pere Leger, who was in Pierrotin's coach, told the 
 count all about the affair of Lcs Moulineaux. But 
 that is not the thing that has cost me his favor." 
 
 44 What, then?" 
 
 44 Oscar spoke ill of the countess, and he told about 
 the count's diseases." 
 
 "Oscar!" cried Madame Moreau. 44 Ah! my dear, 
 your sin has found you out. It was well worth while 
 to warm that young serpent in your bosom. How 
 often I have told you — " 
 
 "Enough! " said Moreau, in a strained voice. 
 
 At this moment Estelle and her husband discovered 
 Oscar cowering in his corner. Moreau swooped down 
 on the luckless lad like a hawk on its prey, took him 
 by the collar of his coat and dragged him to the light 
 of a window. "Speak! what did you say to mon- 
 
160 A Start in Life. 
 
 seigneur in that coach? What demon let loose your 
 tongue, you who keep a doltish silence whenever I 
 speak to you? What did you do it for?" cried the 
 steward, with frightful violence. 
 
 Too bewildered to weep, Oscar was dumb and motion- 
 less as a statue. 
 
 "Come with me and beg his Excellency's pardon," 
 said Moreau. 
 
 "As if his Excellency cares for a little toad like 
 that ! " cried the furious Estelle. 
 
 "Come, I say, to the chateau," repeated Moreau. 
 
 Oscar dropped like an inert mass to the ground. 
 
 "Come!" cried Moreau, his anger increasing at 
 every instant. 
 
 "No! no! mercy!" cried Oscar, who could not bring 
 himself to submit to a torture that seemed to him 
 worse than death. 
 
 Moreau then took the lad by his coat, and dragged 
 him, as he might a dead body, through the yards, 
 which rang with the boy's outcries and sobs. He 
 pulled him up the portico, and, with an arm that fury 
 made powerful, he flung him, bellowing, and rigid as 
 a pole, into the salon, at the very feet of the count, 
 who, having completed the purchase of Les Mouli- 
 neaux, was about to leave the salon for the dining- 
 room with his guests. 
 
 "On your knees, wretched boy! and ask pardon of 
 
A Start in Life. 161 
 
 him who gave food to your mind by obtaining your 
 scholarship." 
 
 Oscar, his face to the ground, was foaming with 
 rage, and did not say a word. The spectators of the 
 scene were shocked. Moreau seemed no longer in his 
 senses; his face was crimson with injected blood. 
 
 "This young man is a mere lump of vanity," said 
 the count, after waiting a moment for Oscar's excuses. 
 "A proud man humiliates himself because he sees 
 there is grandeur in a certain self-abasement. 1 am 
 afraid that you will never make much of that lad." 
 
 So saying, his Excellency passed on. Moreau took 
 Oscar home with him; and on the way gave orders 
 that the horses should immediately be put to Madame 
 Moreau 's caliche. 
 
 11 
 
1G2 A Start in Life. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A MOTHER S TRIALS. 
 
 While the horses were being harnessed, Moreau 
 wrote the following letter to Madame Clapart : — 
 
 My dear, — Oscar has ruined me. During his journey in 
 Pierrotin's coach, he spoke of Madame de Serizy's behavior 
 to his Excellency, who was travelling incognito, and ac- 
 tually told, to himself, the secret of his terrible malady. 
 After dismissing me from my stewardship, the count told 
 me not to let Oscar sleep at Presles, but to send him away 
 immediately. Therefore, to obey his orders, the horses are 
 being harnessed at this moment to my wife's carriage, and 
 Brochon, my stable-man, will take the miserable child to 
 you to-night. 
 
 We are, my wife and I, in a distress of mind which you 
 may perhaps imagine, though I cannot describe it to you. 
 I will see you in a few days, for I must take another course. 
 I have three children, and I ought to consider their future. 
 At present I do not know what to do ; but I shall certainly 
 endeavor to make the count aware of what seventeen years 
 of the life of a man like myself is worth. Owning at the 
 present moment about two hundred and fifty thousand 
 francs, I want to raise myself to a fortune which may some 
 day make me the equal of his Excellency. At this moment 
 I feel within me the power to move mountains and van- 
 
A Start in Life. 163 
 
 quish insurmountable difficulties. What a lever is such 
 a scene of bitter humiliation as I have just passed through ! 
 Whose blood has Oscar in his veins? His conduct has been 
 that of a blockhead; up to this moment when I write to 
 you, he has not said a word nor answered, even by a sign, 
 the questions my wife and I have put to him. Will he 
 become an idiot? or is he one already? Dear friend, why 
 did you not instruct him as to his behavior before you 
 sent him to me ? How many misfortunes you would have 
 spared me, had you brought him here yourself as I begged 
 you to do. If Estelle alarmed you, you might have stayed 
 at Moisselles. However, the thing is done, and there is no 
 use talking about it. 
 
 Adieu; I shall see you soon. 
 
 Your devoted servant and friend, 
 
 MOREAU. 
 
 At eight o'clock that evening, Madame Clapart, just 
 returned from a walk she had taken with her husband, 
 was knitting winter socks for Oscar, by the light of 
 a single candle. Monsieur Clapart was expecting a 
 friend named Poiret, who often came in to play dom- 
 inoes, for never did he allow himself to spend an even- 
 ing at a cafe\ In spite of the prudent economy to 
 which his small means forced him, Clapart would not 
 have answered for his temperance amid a luxury of 
 food and in presence of the usual guests of a cafe 
 whose inquisitive observation would have piqued him. 
 
 fct I 'm afraid Poiret came while we were out," said 
 Clapart to his wife. 
 
164 A Start in Life. 
 
 " Why, no, my friend ; the portress would have told 
 us so when we came in," replied Madame Clapart. 
 
 44 She may have forgotten it." 
 
 4 k What makes you think so?" 
 
 "It wouldn't be the first time she has forgotten 
 things for us, — for God knows how people without 
 means are treated." 
 
 k 44 Well," said the poor woman, to change the con- 
 versation and escape Clapart's cavilling, " Oscar must 
 be at Presles by this time. How he will enjoy that 
 fine house and the beautiful park." 
 
 44 Oh ! yes," snarled Clapart, ' k you expect fine things 
 of him; but, mark my words, there '11 be squabbles wher- 
 ever he goes." 
 
 44 Will you never cease to find fault with that poor 
 child? " said the mother. 44 What has he done to you? 
 If some day we should live at our ease, we may owe 
 it all to him ; he has such a good heart — " 
 
 44 Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow 
 makes his way in the world," cried Clapart. 44 You 
 don't know your own child ; he is conceited, boastful, 
 deceitful, laz}', incapable of — " 
 
 44 Why don't you go to meet Poiret? " said the poor 
 mother, struck to the heart by the diatribe she had 
 brought upon herself. 
 
 44 A boy who has never won a prize at school!" 
 continued Clapart. 
 
A Start in Life. 165 
 
 To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes 
 menus the certainty of a fine future for the fortunate 
 child. 
 
 "Did you win any?" asked his wife. " Oscar stood 
 second in philosophy." 
 
 This remark imposed silence for a moment on 
 Clapart; but presently he began again. 
 
 " Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, 
 you know why. She '11 try to set her husband against 
 him. Oscar to step into his shoes as steward of 
 Presles ! Why he 'd have to learn agriculture, and 
 know how to survey." 
 
 44 He can learn." 
 
 44 He — that puss}'-cat! I'll bet that if he does get 
 a place down there, it won't be a week before he does 
 some doltish thing which will make the count dismiss 
 him." 
 
 41 Good God! how can you be so bitter against a 
 poor child who is full of good qualities, sweet-tempered 
 as an angel, incapable of doing harm to any one, no 
 matter who." 
 
 Just then the cracking of a postilion's whip and the 
 noise of a carriage stopping before the house was 
 heard, this arrival having apparently put the whole 
 street into a commotion. Clapart, who heard the open- 
 ing of many windows, looked out himself to see what 
 was happening. 
 
166 A Start in Life. 
 
 " They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," 
 he cried, in a tone of satisfaction, though in truth he 
 felt inwardly uneasy. 
 
 " Good heavens ! what can have happened to him? " 
 cried the poor mother, trembling like a leaf shaken by 
 the autumn wind. 
 
 Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and 
 Poiret. 
 
 "What has happened?" repeated the mother, ad- 
 dressing the stable-man. 
 
 " 1 don't know ; but Monsieur Moreau is no longer 
 steward of Presles, and they sa}' your son has caused 
 it. His Excellency ordered that he should be sent 
 home to you. Here 's a letter from poor Monsieur 
 Moreau, madame, which will tell you all. You never 
 saw a man so changed in a single da}-." 
 
 " Clapart, two glasses of wine for the postilion and 
 for monsieur!" cried the mother, flinging herself into 
 a chair that she might read the fatal letter. " Oscar," 
 she said, staggering towards her bed, " do you want to 
 kill your mother? After all the cautions that I gave 
 you this morning — " 
 
 She did not end her sentence, for she fainted from 
 distress of mind. When she came to herself she heard 
 her husband saying to Oscar, as he shook him by the 
 arm : — 
 
 ' ' Will you answer me?" 
 
A Start in Life. 167 
 
 M Go to bed, monsieur," she said to her son. " Let 
 him alone, Monsieur Clapart. Don't drive him out of 
 his senses ; he is frightfully changed. " 
 
 Oscar did not hear his mother's last words ; he had 
 slipped away to bed the instant that he got the order. 
 
 Those who remember their youth will not be sur- 
 prised to learn that after a day so filled with events 
 and emotions, Oscar, in spite of the enormit} r of his 
 offences, slept the sleep of the just. The next day he 
 did not find the world so changed as he thought it ; he 
 was surprised to be very hungry, — he who the night 
 before had regarded himself as unworthy to live. He 
 had onty suffered mentally. At his age mental im- 
 pressions succeed each other so rapidly that the last 
 weakens its predecessor, however deeply the first may 
 have been cut in. For this reason corporal punish- 
 ment, though philanthropists are deeply opposed to it 
 in these days, becomes necessary in certain cases for 
 certain children. It is, moreover, the most natural 
 form of retribution, for Nature herself employs it ; she 
 uses pain to impress a lasting memory of her precepts. 
 If to the shame of the preceding evening, unhappily 
 too transient, the steward had joined some personal 
 chastisement, perhaps the lesson might have been com- 
 plete. The discernment with which such punishment 
 needs to be administered is the greatest argument 
 against it. Nature is never mistaken ; but the teacher 
 is, and frequently. 
 
168 A Start in Life. 
 
 Madame Clapart took pains to send her husband out, 
 so that she might be alone with her son the next morn- 
 ing. She was in a state to excite pity. Her eyes, 
 worn with tears ; her face, weary with the fatigue of a 
 sleepless night ; her feeble voice, — in short, everything 
 about her proved an excess of suffering she could not 
 have borne a second time, and appealed to sympathy. 
 
 When Oscar entered the room she signed to him to 
 sit down beside her, and reminded him in a gentle but 
 grieved voice of the benefits they had so constantly 
 received from the steward of Presles. She told him 
 that they had lived, especially for the last six years, 
 on the delicate charity of Monsieur Moreau ; and that 
 Monsieur Clapart's salaiy, also the demi-bourse, or 
 scholarship, by which he (Oscar) had obtained an 
 education, was due to the Comte de Serizj-. Most of 
 this would now cease. Monsieur Clapart, she said, 
 had no claim to a pension, — his period of service not 
 being long enough to obtain one. On the day when 
 he was no longer able to keep his place, what would 
 become of them? 
 
 "For myself," she said, "by nursing the sick, or 
 living as housekeeper in some great family, I could 
 support m3'self and Monsieur Clapart ; but j'ou, Oscar, 
 what could you do? You have no means, and you 
 must earn some, for you must live. There are but four 
 careers for a }'oung man like you, — commerce, govern- 
 
A Start in Life. 169 
 
 ment employment, the licensed professions, or military 
 service. All forms of commerce need capital, and we 
 have none to give you. In place of capital, a }*oung 
 man can only give devotion and his capacity. But 
 commerce also demands the utmost discretion, and 
 your conduct yesterday proves that you lack it. To 
 enter a government office, you must go through a long 
 probation by the help of influence, and you have just 
 alienated the only protector that we had, — a most 
 powerful one. Besides, suppose 3*011 were to meet with 
 some extraordinary help, by which a young man makes 
 his way promptly either in business or in the public 
 emplo}', where could you find the mone}' to live and 
 clothe yourself during the time that 3*011 are learning 
 your employment?" 
 
 Here the mother wandered, like other women, into 
 wordy lamentation : What should she do now to feed 
 the family, deprived of the benefits Moreau's steward- 
 ship had enabled him to send her from Presles? Oscar 
 had overthrown his benefactor's prosperity ! As com- 
 merce and a government clerkship were now impossible, 
 there remained only the professions of notary and law- 
 yer, either barristers or solicitors, and sheriffs. But 
 for those he must stud}' at least three years, and pay 
 considerable sums for entrance fees, examinations, cer- 
 tificates, and diplomas ; and here again the question of 
 maintenance presented itself. 
 
170 A Start in Life. 
 
 " Oscar," she said, in conclusion, " in you I had put 
 all my pride, all my life. In accepting for myself an 
 unhappy old age, I fastened my eyes on 30U ; I saw 
 you with the prospect of a fine career, and I imagined 
 you succeeding in it. That thought, that hope, gave 
 me courage to face the privations I have endured for 
 six years in order to carry you through school, where 
 you have cost me, in spite of the scholarship, between 
 seven and eight hundred francs a year. Now that my 
 hope is vanishing, 3'our future terrifies me. I cannot 
 take one penny from Monsieur CI apart' s salary for my 
 son. What can 3011 do? You are not strong enough 
 in mathematics to enter any of the technical schools ; 
 and, besides, where could I get the three thousand 
 francs board- money which the3 7 exact? This is life as 
 it is, m3 r child. You are eighteen ; 3-ou are strong. 
 Enlist in the arm3 T ; it is your only means, that I can 
 see, to earn your bread." 
 
 Oscar knew as 3 T et nothing whatever of life. Like 
 all children who have been kept from a knowledge of 
 the trials and poverty of the home, he was ignorant of 
 the necessit3 T of earning his living. The word " com- 
 merce " presented no idea whatever to his mind ; 
 " public emplo3'ment " said almost as little, for he saw 
 no results of it. He listened, therefore, with a sub- 
 missive air, which he tried to make humble, to his 
 mother's exhortations, but the3 T were lost in the void, 
 
A Start in Life. Ill 
 
 and did not reach his mind. Nevertheless, the word 
 M army," the thought of being a soldier, and the sight 
 of his mother's tears did at last make him cry. No 
 sooner did Madame Clapart see the drops coursing 
 down his cheeks than she felt herself helpless, and, 
 like most mothers in such cases, she began the pero- 
 ration which terminates these scenes, — scenes in 
 which the}' suffer their own anguish and that of their 
 children also. 
 
 44 Well, Oscar, promise me that 3011 will be more 
 discreet in future, — that you will not talk heedlessly 
 any more, but will strive to repress your silly vanity," 
 et cetera, et cetera. 
 
 Oscar of course promised all his mother asked him 
 to promise, and then, after gently drawing him to her, 
 Madame Clapart ended by kissing him to console him 
 for being scolded. 
 
 44 In future," she said, " you will listen to your 
 mother, and will follow her advice ; for a mother can 
 give nothing but good counsel to her child. We will 
 go and see your uncle Cardot ; that is our last hope. 
 Cardot owed a great deal to your father, who gave him 
 his sister, Mademoiselle Husson, with an enormous 
 dowry for those days, which enabled him to make a 
 large fortune in the silk trade. I think he might, per- 
 haps, place you with Monsieur Camusot, his successor 
 and son-in-law, in the rue des Bourdonnais. But, you 
 
172 A Start in Life. 
 
 ■see, your uncle Cardot has four children. He gave his 
 establishment, the Cocon d'Or, to his eldest daughter, 
 Madame Camusot ; and though Camusot has millions, 
 he has also four children by two wives ; and, besides, 
 he scarcety knows of our existence. Cardot has mar- 
 ried his second daughter, Mariane, to Monsieur Protez, 
 of the firm of Protez and Chiffreville. The practice of 
 his eldest son, the notar} T , cost him four hundred thou- 
 sand francs ; and he has just put his second son, 
 Joseph, into the drug business of Matifat. So you see, 
 your uncle Cardot has many reasons not to take an 
 interest in 3-011, whom he sees only four times a }'ear. 
 He has never come to call upon me here, though he 
 was ready enough to visit me at Madame Mere's when 
 he wanted to sell his silks to the Emperor, the imperial 
 highnesses, and all the great people at court. But now 
 the Camusots have turned ultras. The eldest son of 
 Camusot' s first wife married a daughter of one of the 
 king's ushers. The world is mighty hump-backed when 
 it stoops ! However, it was a clever thing to do, for 
 the Cocon d'Or has the custom of the present court as 
 it had that of the Emperor. But to-morrow we will go 
 and see your uncle Cardot, and I hope that you will 
 endeavor to behave properly ; for, as I said before, and 
 I repeat it, that is our last hope." 
 
 Monsieur Jean-Jer6me-Severin Cardot had been a 
 widower six years. As head-clerk of the Cocon d'Or, 
 
A Start in Life. 173 
 
 one of the oldest firms in Paris, he hud bought the es- 
 tablishment in 1793, at a time when the heads of the 
 house were ruined by the maximum ; and the money of 
 Mademoiselle Husson's dowry had enabled him to do 
 this, and so make a fortune that was almost colossal in 
 ten years. To establish his children richly during his 
 lifetime, he had conceived the idea of buying an annu- 
 ity for himself and his wife with three hundred thou- 
 sand francs, which gave him an income of thirty 
 thousand francs a year. He then divided his capital 
 into three shares of four hundred thousand francs each, 
 which he gave to three of his children, — the Cocon 
 d'Or, given to his eldest daughter on her marriage, 
 being the equivalent of a fourth share. Thus the wor- 
 thy man, who was now nearly seventy years old, could 
 spend his thirty thousand a year as he pleased, without 
 feeling that he injured the prospects of his children, 
 all finely provided for, whose attentions and proofs 
 of affection were, moreover, not prompted by self- 
 interest. 
 
 Uncle Cardot lived at Belleville, in one of the first 
 houses above the Courtille. He there occupied, on the 
 first floor, an apartment overlooking the valle}' of the 
 Seine, with a southern exposure, and the exclusive 
 enjoyment of a large garden, for the sum of a thousand 
 francs a year. He troubled himself not at all about the 
 three or four other tenants of the same vast country- 
 
174 A Start in Life, 
 
 house. Certain, through a long lease, of ending his 
 da3*s there, he lived rather plainly, served by an .old 
 cook and the former maid of the late Madame Cardot, 
 — both of whom expected to reap an annuity of some 
 six hundred francs apiece on the old man's death. 
 These two women took the utmost care of him, and 
 were all the more interested in doing so because no 
 one was ever less fussy or less fault-finding than he. 
 The apartment, furnished b3 T the late Madame Cardot, 
 had remained in the same condition for the last six 
 years, — the old man being perfectly contented with it. 
 He spent in all not more than three thousand francs a 
 year there ; for he dined in Paris five days in the week, 
 and returned home at midnight in a hackney-coach, 
 which belonged to an establishment at Courtille. The 
 cook had only her master's breakfast to provide on 
 those days. This was served at eleven o'clock ; after 
 that he dressed and perfumed himself, and departed for 
 Paris. Usuahy, a bourgeois gives notice in the house- 
 hold if he dines out ; old Cardot, on the contrary, gave 
 notice when he dined at home. 
 
 This little old man — fat, rosy, squat, and strong — 
 always looked, in popular speech, as if he had stepped 
 from a bandbox. He appeared in black silk stockings, 
 breeches of pou-de-soie (paduasoy), a white pique 
 waistcoat, dazzling shirt-front, a blue-bottle coat, violet 
 silk gloves, gold buckles to his shoes and his breeches, 
 
A Start in Life. 175 
 
 and, lastly, a touch of powder and a little queue tied 
 with black ribbon. His face was remarkable for a 
 pair of eyebrows as thick as bushes, beneath which 
 sparkled his gray eyes ; and for a square nose, thick 
 and long, which gave him somewhat the air of the 
 abbes of former times. His countenance did not belie 
 him. Pere Cardot belonged to that race of livel} 7 
 Gerontes which is now disappearing rapidly, though it 
 once served as Turcarets to the comedies and tales of 
 the eighteenth century. Uncle Cardot always said 
 M Fair lady," and he placed in their carriages, and 
 otherwise paid attention to those women whom he saw 
 without protectors ; he " placed himself at their dispo- 
 sition," as he said, in his chivalrous way. 
 
 But beneath his calm air and his snowy poll he con- 
 cealed an old age almost wholly given up to mere 
 pleasure. Among men he openly professed epicure- 
 anism, and gave himself the license of free talk. He 
 had seen no harm in the devotion of his son-in-law, 
 Camusot, to Mademoiselle Coralie, for he himself was 
 secretly the Mecamas of Mademoiselle Florentine, the 
 first danseuse at the Gaiete. But this life and these 
 opinions never appeared in his own home, nor in his 
 external conduct before the world. Uncle Cardot, grave 
 and polite, was thought to be somewhat cold, so much 
 did he affect decorum ; a devote would have called him 
 a hypocrite. 
 
176 A Start in Life. 
 
 The worthy old gentleman hated priests ; he be- 
 longed to that great flock of ninnies who subscribed 
 to the " Constitutionnel," and was much concerned 
 about " refusals to bury." He adored Voltaire, though 
 his preferences were really for Piron, Vade, and Colle. 
 Naturally, he admired Beranger, whom he wittily called 
 the " grandfather of the religion of Lisette." His 
 daughters, Madame Cainusot and Madame Protez, 
 and his two sons would, to use a popular expression, 
 have been flabbergasted if any one had explained to 
 them what their father meant by " singing la Mere 
 Godichon." 
 
 This long-headed parent had never mentioned his 
 income to his children, who, seeing that he lived in a 
 cheap way, reflected that he had deprived himself of 
 his property for their sakes, and, therefore, redoubled 
 their attentions and tenderness. In fact, he would 
 sometimes say to his sons : — 
 
 "Don't lose your property; remember, J have none 
 to leave you." \ 
 
 Camusot, in whom he recognized a certain likeness 
 to his own nature, and whom he liked enough to make 
 a sharer in his secret pleasures, alone knew of the thirty 
 thousand a year annuity. But Camusot approved of 
 the old man's ethics, and thought that, having made the 
 happiness of his children and nobly fulfilled his duty 
 by them, he now had a right to end his life jovially. 
 
A Start in Life. Ill 
 
 "Don't you see, my friend," said the former master 
 of the Cocon d'Or, "I might re-marry. A young 
 woman would give me more children. Well, Floren- 
 tine doesn't cost me what a wife would; neither does 
 she bore me; and she won't give me children to lessen 
 your property." 
 
 Camusot considered that Pere Cardot gave expres- 
 sion to a high sense of family duty in these words; 
 he regarded him as an admirable father-in-law. 
 
 "He knows," thought he, "how to unite the interests 
 of his children with the pleasures which old age natu- 
 rally desires after the worries of business life." 
 
 Neither the Cardots, nor the Camusots, nor the 
 Protez knew anything of the ways of life of their aunt 
 Clapart. The family intercourse was restricted to the 
 sending of notes off aire part on the occasion of deaths 
 and marriages, and cards at the New Year. The 
 proud Madame Clapart would never have brought her- 
 self to seek them were it not for Oscar's interests, and 
 because of her friendship for Moreau, the only person 
 who had been faithful to her in misfortune. She had 
 never annoyed old Cardot by her visits, or her impor- 
 tunities, but she held to him as to a hope, and always 
 went to see him once every three months and talked 
 to him of Oscar, the nephew of the late respectable 
 Madame Cardot; and she took the boy to call upon 
 him three times during each vacation. At each of 
 
 12 
 
178 A Start in Life. 
 
 these visits the old gentleman had given Oscar a dinner 
 at the Cadran-Bleu, taking him, afterwards, to the 
 Gaiete, and returning him safely to the rue de la 
 Cerisaie. On one occasion, having given the boy an 
 entirely new suit of clothes, he added the silver cup 
 and fork and spoon required for his school outfit. 
 
 Oscar's mother endeavored to impress the old gentle- 
 man with the idea that his nephew cherished him, and 
 she constantly referred to the cup and the fork and 
 spoon and to the beautiful suit of clothes, though noth- 
 ing was then left of the latter but the waistcoat. But 
 such little arts did Oscar more harm than good when 
 practised on so sly an old fox as uncle Cardot. The 
 latter had never much liked his departed wife, a tall, 
 spare, red-haired woman; he was also aware of the 
 circumstances of the late Husson's marriage with 
 Oscar's mother, and without in the least condemning 
 her, he knew very well that Oscar was a posthumous 
 child. His nephew, therefore, seemed to him to have 
 no claims on the Cardot family. But Madame Clapart, 
 like all women who concentrate their whole being into 
 the sentiment of motherhood, did not put herself in 
 Cardot' s place and see the matter from his point of 
 view; she thought he must certainly be interested in 
 so sweet a child, who bore the maiden name of his late 
 wife. 
 
 "Monsieur," said old Cardot's maid-servant, coming 
 
A Start in Life. 179 
 
 out to him as he walked about the garden while 
 awaiting his breakfast, after his hairdresser had duly 
 shaved him and powdered his queue, "the mother of 
 your nephew, Oscar, is here." 
 
 44 Good-day, fair lady," said the old man, bowing to 
 Madame Clapart, and wrapping his white pique 
 dressing-gown about him. "Hey, hey! how this 
 little fellow grows," he added, taking Oscar by the 
 ear. 
 
 "He has finished school, and he regretted so much 
 that his dear uncle was not present at the distribution 
 of the Henri IV. prizes, at which he was named. The 
 name of Husson, which, let us hope, he will bear wor- 
 thily, was proclaimed — " 
 
 "The deuce it was!" exclaimed the little old man, 
 stopping short. Madame Clapart, Oscar, and he were 
 walking along a terrace flanked by oranges, myrtles, 
 and pomegranates. "And what did he get?" 
 
 "The fourth rank in philosophy," replied the mother, 
 proudly. 
 
 "Oh! oh!" cried uncle Cardot, "the rascal has a 
 good deal to do to make up for lost time; for the fourth 
 rank in philosophy, well, it isn't Peru, you know! 
 You will stay and breakfast with me? " he added. 
 
 44 We are at your orders," replied Madame Clapart. 
 44 Ah! my dear Monsieur Cardot, what happiness it is 
 for fathers and mothers when their children make a 
 
180 A Start in Life. 
 
 good start in life! In this respect — indeed, in all 
 others," she added, catching herself up, "you are one 
 of the most fortunate fathers I have ever known. 
 Under your virtuous son-in-law and your amiable 
 daughter, the Cocon d'Or continues to be the greatest 
 establishment of its kind in Paris. And here 's your 
 eldest son, for the last ten years at the head of a fine 
 practice and married to wealth. And you have such 
 charming little granddaughters ! You are, as it were, 
 the head of four great families. Leave us, Oscar; go 
 and look at the garden, but don't touch the flowers." 
 
 "Why, he 's eighteen years old! " said uncle Cardot, 
 smiling at this injunction, which made an infant of 
 Oscar. 
 
 "Alas, yes, he is eighteen, my good Monsieur Car- 
 dot ; and after bringing him so far, sound and healthy 
 in mind and body, neither bow-legged nor crooked, 
 after sacrificing everything to give him an education, 
 it would be hard if I could not see him on the road to 
 fortune." 
 
 "That Monsieur Moreau who got him the scholar- 
 ship will be sure to look after his career," said uncle 
 Cardot, concealing his hypocrisy under an air of 
 friendly good-humor. 
 
 "Monsieur Moreau may die," she said. "And be- 
 sides, he has quarrelled irrevocably with the Comte de 
 Serizy, his patron." 
 
A Start in Life. 181 
 
 "The deuce he has! Listen, madame; I see you are 
 about to — " 
 
 • Xo, monsieur," said Oscar's mother, interrupting 
 the old man, who, out of courtesy to the "fair lady," 
 repressed his annoyance at being interrupted. "Alas, 
 you do not know the miseries of a mother who, for 
 seven years past, has been forced to take a sum of six 
 hundred francs a year for her son's education from 
 the miserable eighteen hundred francs of her husband's 
 salary. Yes, monsieur, that is all we have had to live 
 upon. Therefore, what more can I do for my poor 
 Oscar? Monsieur Clapart so hates the child that it 
 is impossible for me to keep him in the house. A 
 poor woman, alone in the world, am I not right to 
 come and consult the only relation my Oscar has 
 under heaven?" 
 
 "Yes, you are right" said uncle Cardot. "You 
 never told me of all this before." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur!" replied Madame Clapart, proudly, 
 "you were the last to whom I would have told my 
 wretchedness. It is all my own fault; I married a 
 man whose incapacity is almost beyond belief. Yes, 
 I am, indeed, most unhappy." 
 
 "Listen to me, madame," said the little old man, 
 "and don't weep; it is most painful to me to see a 
 fair lady cry. After all, your son bears the name of 
 Husson, and if my dear deceased wife were living she 
 
182 A Start in Life. 
 
 would wish to do something for the name of her father 
 and of her brother — " 
 
 "She loved her brother," said Oscar's mother. 
 
 "But all my fortune is given to my children, who 
 expect nothing from me at my death," continued the 
 old man. " I have divided among them the millions 
 that I had, because I wanted to see them happy and 
 enjoying their wealth during my lifetime. I have 
 nothing now except an annuity; and at my age one 
 clings to old habits. Do you know the path on which 
 you ought to start this young fellow ? " he went on, 
 after calling to Oscar and taking him by the arm. 
 "Let him study law; I'll pay the costs. Put him in 
 a lawyer's office and let him learn the business of 
 pettifogging; if he does well, if he distinguishes him- 
 self, if he likes his profession and I am still alive, 
 each of my children shall, when the proper time 
 comes, lend him a quarter of the cost of a practice; 
 and I will be security for him. You will only have to 
 feed and clothe him. Of course he '11 sow a few wild 
 oats, but he'll learn life. Look at me: I left Lyon 
 with two double louis which my grandmother gave me, 
 and walked to Paris; and what am T now? Fasting is 
 good for the health. Discretion, honesty, and work, 
 young man, and you '11 succeed. There 's a great deal 
 of pleasure in earning one's fortune; and if a man 
 keeps his teeth he eats what he likes in his old age, and 
 
A Start in Life. 183 
 
 sings, as I do, 4 La Mere Godichon.' Remember my 
 words: Honesty, work, discretion." 
 
 u Do you hear that, Oscar?" said his mother. 
 "Your uncle sums up in three words all that I have 
 been saying to you. You ought to carve the last word 
 in letters of fire on your memory." 
 , "Oh, I have," said Oscar. 
 
 "Very good, — then thank your uncle; didn't you 
 hear him say he would take charge of your future? 
 You will be a lawyer in Paris." 
 
 "He doesn't see the grandeur of his destiny," said 
 the little old man, observing Oscar's apathetic air. 
 "Well, he 's just out of school. Listen, I 'm no 
 talker," he continued; "but I have this to say: Re- 
 member that at your age honesty and uprightness are 
 maintained only by resisting temptations; of which, 
 in a great city like Paris, there are many at every 
 step. Live in your mother's home, in the garret; go 
 straight to the law-school; from there to your lawyer's 
 office; drudge night and day, and study at home. 
 Become, by the time you are twenty-two, a second 
 clerk ; by the time you are twenty-four, head-clerk ; be 
 steady and you will win all. If, moreover, you 
 should n't like the profession, you might enter the oflice 
 of my son the notary, and eventually succeed him. 
 Therefore, work, patience, discretion, honesty, — those 
 are your landmarks." 
 
184 A Start in Life. 
 
 "God grant that you may live thirty years longer to 
 see your fifth child realizing all we expect from him," 
 cried Madame Clapart, seizing uncle Cardot's hand 
 and pressing it with a gesture that recalled her youth. 
 
 "Now come to breakfast," replied the kind old man, 
 leading Oscar by the ear. 
 
 During the meal uncle Cardot observed his nephew 
 without appearing to do so, and soon saw that the lad 
 knew nothing of life. 
 
 "Send him here to me now and then," he said to 
 Madame Clapart, as he bade her good-bye, "and I'll 
 form him for you." 
 
 This visit calmed the anxieties of the poor mother, 
 who had not hoped for such brilliant success. For 
 the next fortnight she took Oscar to walk daily, and 
 watched him tyrannically. This brought matters to 
 the end of October. One morning as the poor house- 
 hold was breakfasting on a salad of herring and let- 
 tuce, with milk for a dessert, Oscar beheld with terror 
 the formidable ex-steward, who entered the room and 
 surprised this scene of poverty. 
 
 "We are now living in Paris — but not as we lived 
 at Presles," said Moreau, wishing to make known to 
 Madame Clapart the change in their relations caused 
 by Oscar's folly. "I shall seldom be here myself ; for 
 I have gone into partnership with Pere Leger and Pere 
 Margueron of Beaumont. We are speculating in land, 
 
A Start in Life. 185 
 
 and we have begun by purchasing the estate of Persan. 
 J am the head of the concern, which has a capital of 
 a million; part of which I have borrowed on my own 
 securities. When I find a good thing, Pere Leger and 
 I examine it; my partners 'have each a quarter and I 
 a half in the profits ; but I do nearly all the work, and 
 for that reason I shall be constantly on the road. My 
 wife lives here, in the faubourg du Roule, very plainly. 
 When we see how the business turns out, if we risk 
 only the profits, and if Oscar behaves himself, we may, 
 perhaps, employ him." 
 
 "Ah! my friend, the catastrophe caused by my poor 
 boy's heedlessness may prove to be the cause of your 
 making a brilliant fortune ; for, really and truly, you 
 were burying your energy and your capacity at 
 Presles." 
 
 Madame Clapart then went on to relate her visit to 
 uncle Cardot, in order to show Moreau that neither she 
 nor her son need any longer be a burden on him. 
 
 "He is right, that old fellow," said the ex-steward. 
 "We must hold Oscar in that path with an iron hand, 
 and he will end as a barrister or a notary. But he 
 must n't leave the track ; he must go straight through 
 with it. Ha ! I know how to help you. , The legal 
 business of land-agents is quite important, and I have 
 heard of a lawyer who has just bought what is called a 
 litre nu ; that means a practice without clients. He is 
 
186 A Start in Life. 
 
 a young man, hard as an iron bar, eager for work, 
 ferociously active. His name is Desroches. I '11 offer 
 him our business on condition that he takes Oscar as 
 a pupil ; and I '11 ask him to let the boy live with him 
 at nine hundred francs a year, of which I will pay 
 three, so that your son will cost you only six hundred 
 francs, without his living, in future. If the boy ever 
 means to become a man it can only be under a disci- 
 pline like that. He '11 come out of that office, notary, 
 solicitor, or barrister, as he may elect." 
 
 "Come, Oscar; thank our kind Monsieur Moreau, 
 and don't stand there like a stone post. All young 
 men who commit follies have not the good fortune to 
 meet with friends who still take an interest in their 
 career, even after they have been injured by them." 
 
 "The best way to make your peace with me," said 
 Moreau, pressing Oscar's hand, "is to work now with 
 steady application, and to conduct yourself in future 
 properly." 
 
A Start in Life. 187 
 
 VIII. 
 
 TRICKS AND FARCES OF THE EMBRYO LONG ROBE. 
 
 Ten days later, Oscar was taken by Moreau to 
 Maitre Desroches, solicitor, recently established in 
 the rue de Bethisy, in a vast apartment at the end of 
 a narrow court-yard, for which he was paying a rela- 
 tively low price. 
 
 Desroches, a young man twenty-six years of age, 
 born of poor parents, and brought up with extreme 
 severity by a stern father, had himself known the con- 
 dition in which Oscar now was. Accordingly, he felt 
 an interest in him, but the sort of interest which alone 
 he could take, checked by the apparent harshness that 
 characterized him. The aspect of this gaunt young 
 man, with a muddy skin and hair cropped like a 
 clothes-brush, who was curt of speech and possessed a 
 piercing eye and a gloomy vivaciousness, terrified the 
 unhappy Oscar. 
 
 "We work here day and night," said the lawyer, 
 from the depths of his armchair, and behind a table on 
 which were papers, piled up like Alps. " Monsieur 
 Moreau, we won't kill him ; but he '11 have to go at our 
 pace. Monsieur Godeschal ! " he called out. 
 
188 A Start in Life. 
 
 Though the day was Sunday, the head-clerk ap- 
 peared, pen in hand. 
 
 "Monsieur Godeschal, here's the pupil of whom I 
 spoke to you. Monsieur Moreau takes the liveliest 
 interest in him. He will dine with us and sleep in the 
 small attic next to your chamber. You will allot the 
 exact time it takes to go to the law-school and back, 
 so that he does not lose five minutes on the way. You 
 will see that he learns the Code and is proficient in his 
 classes ; that is to say, after he has done his work here, 
 you will give him authors to read. In short, he is to 
 be under your immediate direction, and I shall keep 
 an eye on it. They want to make him what you have 
 made yourself, a capable head-clerk, against the time 
 when he can take such a place himself. Go with Mon- 
 sieur Godeschal, my young friend; he'll show you 
 your lodging, and you can settle clown in it. Did you 
 notice Godeschal?" continued Desroches, speaking to 
 Moreau. "He is a fellow who, like me, has nothing. 
 His sister Mariette, the famous dansense, is laying up 
 her money to buy him a practice in ten years. My 
 clerks are young blades who have nothing but their ten 
 fingers to rely upon. So we all, my five clerks and I, 
 work as hard as a dozen ordinary fellows. But in ten 
 years I '11 have the finest practice in Paris. In my 
 office, business and clients are a passion, and that 's 
 beginning to make itself felt. I took Godeschal from 
 
A Start in Life. 189 
 
 Derville, where he was only just made second clerk. 
 He gets a thousand francs a year from me, and food 
 and lodging. But he's worth it; he is indefatigable. 
 I love him, that fellow! He has managed to live, as 
 I did when a clerk, on six hundred francs a year. 
 What I care for above all is honesty, spotless integ- 
 rity ; and when it is practised in such poverty as that, 
 a man's a man. For the slightest fault of that kind a 
 clerk leaves my office." 
 
 u The lad is in a good school," thought Moreau. 
 
 For two whole years Oscar lived in the rue de 
 Bethisy, a den of pettifogging; for if ever that super- 
 annuated expression was applicable to a lawyer's 
 office, it was so in this case. Under this supervision, 
 both petty and able, he was kept to his regular hours 
 and to his work with such rigidity that his life in the 
 midst of Paris was that of a monk. 
 
 At five in the morning, in all weathers, Godeschal 
 woke up. He went down with Oscar to the oflioo, 
 where they always found their master up and work- 
 ing. Oscar then did the errands of the office and pre- 
 pared his lessons for the law-school, — and prepared 
 them elaborately; for Godeschal, and frequently Des- 
 roches himself, pointed out to their pupil authors to be 
 looked through and difficulties to overcome. He wu 
 not allowed to leave a single section of the Code until 
 he had thoroughly mastered it to the satisfaction of his 
 
190 A Start in Life. 
 
 chief and Godeschal, who put him through preliminary 
 examinations more searching and longer than those of 
 the law-school. On his return from his classes, where 
 he was kept but a short time, he went to his work in 
 the office; occasionally he was sent to the Palais, but 
 always under the thumb of the rigid Godeschal, till 
 dinner. The dinner was that of his master, — one dish 
 of meat, one of vegetables, and a salad. The dessert 
 consisted of a piece of Gruyere cheese. After dinner, 
 Godeschal and Oscar returned to the office and worked 
 till night. Once a month Oscar went to breakfast with 
 his uncle Cardot, and he spent the Sundays with his 
 mother. From time to time Moreau, when he came 
 to the office about his own affairs, would take Oscar to 
 dine in the Palais-Royal, and to some theatre in the 
 evening. Oscar had been so snubbed by Godeschal 
 and by Derville for his attempts, at elegance that he no 
 longer gave a thought to his clothes. 
 
 U A good clerk," Godeschal told him, ''should have 
 two black coats, one new, one old, a pair of black 
 trousers, black stockings, and shoes. Boots cost too 
 much. You can't have boots till you are called to the 
 bar. A clerk should never spend more than seven 
 hundred francs a year. Good stout shirts of strong 
 linen are what you want. Ha! when a man starts from 
 nothing to reach fortune, he has to keep down to bare 
 necessities. Look at Monsieur Desroches ; he did what 
 we are doing, and see where he is now." 
 
A Start in Life. 191 
 
 Godeschal preached by example. If be professed 
 the strictest principles of honor, discretion, and hon- 
 esty, he practised them without assumption, as he 
 walked, as he breathed; such action was the natural 
 play of his soul, as walking and breathing were the 
 natural play of his organs. Eighteen months after 
 Oscar' 8 installation into the office, the second clerk 
 was, for the second time, slightly wrong in his ac- 
 counts, which were comparatively unimportant. Gode- 
 schal said to him in presence of all the other clerks: 
 
 "My dear Gaudet, go away from here of your own 
 free will, that it may not be said that Monsieur 
 Desroches has dismissed you. You have been careless 
 or absent-minded, and neither of those defects can 
 pass here. The master shall know nothing about the 
 matter; that is all that I can do for a comrade." 
 
 At twenty years of age, Oscar became third clerk 
 in the office. Though he earned no salary, he was 
 lodged and fed, for he did the work of the second 
 clerk. Desroches employed two chief clerks, and the 
 work of the second was unremitting toil. By the end 
 of his second year in the law-school Oscar knew more 
 than most licensed graduates; he did the work at the 
 Palais intelligently, and argued some cases in cham- 
 bers. Godeschal and Derville were satisfied with him. 
 And yet, though he now seemed a sensible man, he 
 showed, from time to time, a hankering after pleasure 
 
192 A Start in Life. 
 
 and a desire to shine, repressed, though it was, by the 
 stern discipline and continual toil of his life. 
 
 Moreau, satisfied with Oscar's progress, relaxed, 
 in some degree, his watchfulness; and when, in July, 
 1825, Oscar passed his examinations with a spotless 
 record^ the land-agent gave him the money to dress 
 himself elegantly. Madame Clapart, proud and happy 
 in her son, prepared the outfit splendidly for the rising 
 lawyer. 
 
 In the month of November, when the courts reopened, 
 Oscar Husson occupied the chamber of the second clerk, 
 whose work he now did wholly. He had a salary of 
 eight hundred francs with board and lodging. Con- 
 sequently, uncle Cardot, who went privately to Des- 
 roches and made inquiries about his nephew, promised 
 Madame Clapart to be on the lookout for a practice 
 for Oscar, if he continued to do as well in the future. 
 
 In spite of these virtuous appearances, Oscar Husson 
 was undergoing a great strife in. his inmost being. At 
 times he thought of quitting a life so directly against 
 his tastes and his nature. He felt that galley-slaves 
 were happier than he. Galled by the collar of this iron 
 system, wild desires seized him to fly when he com- 
 pared himself in the street with the well-dressed young 
 men whom he met. Sometimes he was driven by a sort 
 of madness towards women ; then, again, he resigned 
 himself, but only to fall into a deeper disgust for life. 
 
A Start in Life. 193 
 
 Impelled by the example of Godeschal, he was forced, 
 rather than led of himself, to remain in that rugged 
 way. 
 
 Godeschal, who watched and took note of Oscar, 
 made it a matter of principle not to allow his pupil to 
 be exposed to temptation. "Generally the young clerk 
 was without money, or had so little that he could not, 
 if he would, give way to excesses. During the last 
 year, the worthy Godeschal had made five or six parties 
 of pleasure with Oscar, defraying the expenses, for he 
 felt that the rope by which he tethered the young kid 
 must be slackened. These "pranks," as he called 
 them, helped Oscar to endure existence, for there was 
 little amusement in breakfasting with his uncle Cardot, 
 and still less in going to see his mother, who lived 
 even more penuriously than Desroches. Moreau could 
 not make himself familiar with Oscar as Godeschal 
 could; and perhaps that sincere friend to young Hus- 
 son was behind Godeschal in these efforts to initiate 
 the poor youth safely into the mysteries of life. Oscar, 
 grown prudent, had come, through contact with others, 
 to see the extent and the character of the fault he had 
 committed on that luckless journey ; but the volume of 
 his repressed fancies and the follies of youth might 
 still get the better of him. Nevertheless, the more 
 knowledge he could get of the world and its laws, the 
 better his mind would form itself, and, provided Gode- 
 
 13 
 
194 A Start in Life. 
 
 scbal never lost sight of him, Moreau flattered himself 
 that between them they could bring the son of Madame 
 Clapart through in safety. 
 
 "How is he getting on?" asked the land-agent of 
 Godeschal on his return from one of his journeys which 
 had kept him some months out of Paris. 
 
 "Always too much vanity," replied Godeschal. 
 "You give him fine clothes and fine linen, he wears the 
 shirt-fronts of a stockbroker, and so my dainty cox- 
 comb spends his Sundays in the Tuileries, looking out 
 for adventures. What else can you expect? That's 
 youth. He torments me to present him to my sister, 
 where he would see a pretty sort of society ! — ac- 
 tresses, ballet-dancers, elegant young fops, spend- 
 thrifts who are wasting their fortunes! His mind, I 'm 
 afraid, is not fitted for law. He can talk well, though ; 
 and if we could make -him a barrister he might plead 
 cases that were carefully prepared for him." 
 
 In the month of November, 1825, soon after Oscar 
 Husson had taken possession of his new clerkship, 
 and at the moment when he was about to pass his 
 examination for the licentiate's degree, a new clerk 
 arrived to take the place made vacant by Oscar's 
 promotion. 
 
 This fourth clerk, named Frederic Marest, intended 
 to enter the magistracy, and was now in his third year 
 at the law school. He was a fine young man of twenty- 
 
A Start in Life. 195 
 
 three, enriched to the amount of some twelve thousand 
 francs a year by the death of a bachelor uncle, and the 
 son of Madame Marest, widow of a* wealthy wood- 
 merchant. This future magistrate, actuated by a laud- 
 able desire to understand his vocation in its smallest 
 details, had put himself in Desroches' office for the 
 purpose of studying legal procedure, and of train- 
 ing himself to take a place as head-clerk in two 
 years. He hoped to do his stage (the period be- 
 tween the admission as licentiate and the call to the 
 bar) in Paris, in order to be fully prepared for the 
 functions of a post which would surely not be refused 
 to a rich young man. To see himself, by the -time he 
 was thirty, procureur du roi in any court, no matter 
 where, was his sole ambition. Though Frederic Marest 
 was cousin-german to Georges Marest, the latter not 
 having told his surname in Pierrotin's coucou, Oscar 
 Husson did not connect the present Marest with the 
 grandson of Czerni-Georges. 
 
 " Messieurs," said Godeschal at breakfast time, 
 addressing all the clerks, U I announce to you the 
 arrival of a new jurisconsult; and as he is rich, richis- 
 sime, we will make him, I hope, pay a glorious 
 entrance-fee." 
 
 "Forward, the book!" cried Oscar, nodding to the 
 youngest clerk, "and pray let us be serious." 
 
 The youngest clerk climbed like a squirrel along the 
 
196 A Start in Life. 
 
 shelves which lined the room, until he could reach a 
 register placed on the top shelf, where a thick layer 
 of dust had settled on it. 
 
 "It is getting colored," said the little clerk, exhibit- 
 ing the volume. 
 
 We must explain the perennial joke of this book, 
 then much in vogue in legal offices. In a clerical 
 life where work is the rule, amusement is all the more 
 treasured because it is rare ; but, above all, a hoax or 
 a practical joke is enjoyed with delight. This fancy 
 or custom does, to a certain extent, explain George 
 Marest's behavior in the coucou. The gravest and 
 most gloomy clerk is possessed, at times, with a crav- 
 ing for fun and quizzing. The instinct with which a 
 set of young clerks will seize and develop a hoax or a 
 practical joke is really marvellous. It has no counter- 
 part except among painters. The denizens of a studio 
 and of a lawyer's office are, in this line, superior to 
 comedians. 
 
 In buying a practice without clients, Desroches 
 began, as it were, a new dynasty. This circumstance 
 made a break in the usages relative to the reception of 
 new-comers. Moreover, Desroches having taken an 
 office where legal documents had never yet been scrib- 
 bled, had bought new tables, and white boxes edged 
 with blue, also new. His staff was made up of clerks 
 coming from other offices, without mutual ties, and sur- 
 
A Start in Life. 197 
 
 prised, as one may say, to find themselves together. 
 Godeachal, who had served his apprenticeship under 
 .Maine Derville, was not the sort of clerk to allow the 
 precious tradition of the "welcome" to be lost. This 
 "welcome" is a breakfast which every neophyte must 
 give to the "ancients" of the office into which he 
 enters. 
 
 Now, about the time when Oscar came to the office, 
 during the first six months of Desroches' installation, 
 on a winter evening when the work had been got 
 through more quickly than usual, and the clerks were 
 warming themselves before the fire preparatory to 
 departure, it came into Godeschal's head to construct 
 and compose a Register architriclino-basochien, of the 
 utmost antiquity, saved from the fires of the Revolu- 
 tion, and derived through the procureur of the Chatelet- 
 Bordin, the immediate predecessor of Sauvaguest, the 
 attorney, from whom Desroches had bought his prac- 
 tice. The work, which was highly approved by the 
 other clerks, was begun toy a search through all the 
 dealers in old paper for a register, made of paper with 
 the mark of the eighteenth century, duly bound in 
 parchment, on which should be the stamp of an order 
 in council. Having found such a volume it was left 
 about in the dust, on the stove, on the ground, in the 
 kitchen, and even in what t lie clerks called the "cham- 
 ber of deliberations;" and thus it obtained a mouldi- 
 
198 A Start in Life. 
 
 ness to delight an antiquary, cracks of aged dilapida- 
 tion, and broken corners that looked as though the rats 
 had gnawed them; also, the gilt edges were tarnished 
 with surprising perfection. As soon as the book was 
 duly prepared, the entries were made. The following 
 extracts will show to the most obtuse mind the purpose 
 to which the office of Maitre Desroches devoted this 
 register, the first sixty pages of which were filled with 
 reports of fictitious cases. On the first page appeared 
 as follows, in the legal spelling of the eighteenth 
 century : — 
 
 In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, so be 
 it. This day, the feast of the our lady Saincte-Geneviesve, 
 patron saint of Paris, under whose protection have existed, 
 since the year 1 525 the clerks of this Practice, we the under- 
 signed, clerks and sub-clerks of Maistre Jerosme-Sebastien 
 Bordin, successor to the late Guerbet, in his lifetime pro- 
 cureur at the Chastelet, do hereby recognize the obligation 
 under which we lie to renew and continue the register and the 
 archives of installation of the clerks of this noble Practice, 
 a glorious member of the Kingdom of Basoche, the which 
 register, being now full in consequence of the many acts 
 and deeds of our well-beloved predecessors, we have con- 
 signed to the Keeper of the Archives of the Palais for safe- 
 keeping, with the registers of other ancient Practices ; and 
 we have ourselves gone, each and all, to hear mass at the 
 parish church of Saint-Severin to solemnize the inaugura- 
 tion of this our new register. 
 
 In witness whereof we have hereunto signed our names : 
 Malin, head-clerk; Gr^vin, second-clerk; Athanasb 
 
A Start in Life. 199 
 
 Feret, clerk; Jacques Huet, clerk; Regxault de Saixt- 
 Jeax-d'Angely, clerk ; Bedeau, youngest clerk and gutter- 
 jumper. 
 
 In the year of our Lord 1787. 
 
 After the mass aforesaid was heard, we conveyed our- 
 selves to Courtille, where, at the common charge, we ordered 
 a fine breakfast; which did not end till seven o'clock the 
 next morning. 
 
 This was marvellously well engrossed. An expert 
 would have said that it was written in the eighteenth 
 century. Twenty-seven reports of receptions of neo- 
 phytes followed, the last in the fatal }*ear of 1792. Then 
 came a blank of fourteen years ; after which the regis- 
 ter began again, in 1806, with the appointment of 
 Bordin as attorne} r before the first Court of the Seine. 
 And here follows the deed which proclaimed the ^con- 
 stitution of the kingdom of Basoche : — 
 
 God in his mercy willed that, in spite of the fearful 
 storms which have cruelly ravaged the land of France, now 
 become a great Empire, the archives of the very celebrated 
 Practice of Maitre Bordin should be preserved ; and we, the 
 undersigned, clerks of the very virtuous and very worthy 
 re Bordin, do not hesitate to attribute this unheard-of 
 preservation, when all titles, privileges, and charters were 
 lost, to the protection of Sainte-Genevieve, patron Saint 
 of this office, and also to the reverence which the last of 
 the pmcureurs'oi noble race had for all that belonged to 
 ancient usages and customs. In the uncertainty of know- 
 ing the exact part of Sainte-Genevieve and Maitre Bordin 
 
200 A Start in Life. 
 
 in this miracle, we have resolved, each of us, to go to Saint- 
 Etienne du Mont and there hear mass, which will be said 
 before the altar of that Holy-Shepherdess who sends us sheep 
 to shear, and also to offer a breakfast to our master Bordin, 
 hoping that he will pay the costs. 
 
 Signed : Oignard, first clerk ; Poidevin, second clerk ; 
 Proust, clerk ; Derville, clerk ; Augustin Coret, sub- 
 clerk. 
 
 At the office. 
 
 November, 1806. 
 
 At three in the afternoon, the above-named clerks hereby 
 return their grateful thanks to their excellent master, who 
 regaled them at the establishment of the Sieur Rolland, 
 restaurateur, rue du Hasard, with exquisite wines of three 
 regions, to wit : Bordeaux, Champagne, and Burgundy, also 
 with dishes most carefully chosen, between the hours of 
 four in the afternoon to half-past seven in the evening. 
 Coffee, ices, and liqueurs were in abundance. But the pres- 
 ence of the master himself forbade the chanting of hymns 
 of praise in clerical stanzas. No clerk exceeded the bounds 
 of amiable gayety, for the worthy, respectable, and gener- 
 ous patron had promised to take his clerks to see Talma 
 in " Britannicus," at the Theatre-Francais. Long life to 
 Maitre Bordin ! May God shed favors on his venerable 
 pow ! May he sell dear so glorious a practice ! May the 
 rich clients for whom he prays arrive ! May his bills of 
 costs and charges be paid in a trice ! May our masters to 
 come be like him ! May he ever be loved by clerks in 
 other worlds than this! 
 
 Here followed thirty-three reports of various recep- 
 tions of new clerks, distinguished from one another by 
 
A Start in Life. 201 
 
 (1 liferent writing and different inks, also by quotations, 
 signatures, and praises of good cheer and wines, which 
 seemed to show that each report was written and 
 signed on the spot, inter pocula. 
 
 Finally, under date of the month of June, 1822, the 
 period when Desroches took the oath, appears this con- 
 stitutional declaration : — 
 
 I, the undersigned, Francois-Claude-Marie Godeschal, 
 called by Maitre Desroches to perform the difficult func- 
 tions of head-clerk in a Practice where the clients have 
 to be created, having learned through Maitre Derville, 
 from whose office I come, of the existence of the famous 
 archives archilriclino-basochien, .so celebrated at the Palais, 
 have implored our gracious master to obtain them from his 
 predecessor ; for it has become of the highest importance to 
 recover a document bearing date of the year 1786, which 
 is connected with other documents deposited for safe-keep- 
 ing at the Palais, the existence of which has been certified 
 to by Messrs. Terrasse and Duclos, keepers of records, by 
 the help of which we may go back to the year 1525, and 
 find historical indications of the utmost value on the man- 
 ners, customs, and cookery of the clerical race. 
 
 Having received a favorable answer to this request, the 
 present office has this day been put in possession of these 
 proofs of the worship in which our predecessors held the 
 Goddess Bottle and good living. 
 
 In consequence thereof, for the edification of our suc- 
 cessors. ;n 1. 1 to renew the chain of years and goblets, T, the 
 Baid Godeschal, have invited Messieurs Doublet, second 
 clerk; Vassal, third clerk ; Herisson and Grandemain, clerks; 
 
202 A Start in Life. 
 
 and Dumets, sub-clerk, to breakfast, Sunday next, at the 
 " Cheval Rouge," on the Quai Saint-Bernard, where we will 
 celebrate the victory of obtaining this volume which con- 
 tains the Charter of our gullets. 
 
 This day, Sunday, June 27th, were imbibed twelve bottles 
 of twelve different wines, regarded as exquisite ; also were 
 devoured melons, pate's au jus romanum, and a fillet of beef 
 with mushroom sauce. Mademoiselle Mariette, the illustri- 
 ous sister of our head-clerk and leading lady of the Royal 
 Academy of music and dancing, having obligingly put at 
 the disposition of this Practice orchestra seats for the per- 
 formance of this evening, it is proper to make this record 
 of her generosity. Moreover, it is hereby decreed that the 
 aforesaid clerks shall convey themselves in a body to that 
 noble demoiselle to thank her in person and declare to her 
 that on the occasion of her first lawsuit, if the devil sends 
 her one, she shall pay the money laid out upon it, and no 
 more. 
 
 And our head-clerk Godeschal has been and is hereby pro- 
 claimed a flower of Basoche, and, more especially, a good 
 fellow. May a man who treats so well be soon in treaty 
 for a Practice of his own ! 
 
 On this record were stains of wine, pates, and candle- 
 grease. To exhibit the stamp of truth that the writers 
 had managed to put upon these records, we may here 
 give the report of Oscar's own pretended reception : — 
 
 This day, Monday, November 25th, 1822, after a session 
 held yesterday in the rue de la Cerisaie, Arsenal quarter, at 
 the house of Madame Clapart, mother of the candidate- 
 basochien Oscar Husson, we, the undersigned, declare that 
 
A Start in Life. 203 
 
 the repast of admission surpassed our expectations. It was 
 composed of radishes, pink and black, gherkins, anchovies, 
 butter and olives for hors-d'oeuvre ; a succulent soup of rice, 
 bearing testimony to maternal solicitude, for we recognized 
 therein a delicious taste of poultry ; indeed, by acknowledg- 
 ment of the new member, we learned that the giblets of 
 a fine stew prepared by the hands of Madame Clapart her- 
 self had been judiciously inserted into the family soup-pot 
 with a care that is never taken except in such households. 
 
 Item : the said giblets inclosed in a sea of jelly. 
 
 Item : a tongue of beef with tomatoes, which rendered us 
 all tongue-tied automatoes. 
 
 Item : a compote of pigeons which caused us to think the 
 angels had had a finger in it. 
 
 Item: a timbale of macaroni surrounded by chocolate 
 custards. 
 
 Item : a dessert composed of eleven delicate dishes, among 
 which we remarked (in spite of the tipsiness caused by 
 sixteen bottles of the choicest wines) a compote of peaches 
 of august and mirobolant delicacy. 
 
 The wines of Roussillon and those of the banks of the 
 Rhone completely effaced those of Champagne and Bur- 
 gundy. A bottle of maraschino and another of kirsch did, 
 in spite of the exquisite coffee, plunge us into so marked an 
 cenological ecstasy that we found ourselves at a late hour 
 in the Bois de Boulogne instead of our domiciles, where 
 we thought we were. 
 
 Tn the statutes of our Order there is one rule which is 
 rigidly enforced ; namely, to allow all candidates for the 
 privileges of Basoche to limit the magnificence of their 
 feast of welcome to the length of their purse ; for it is 
 publicly notorious that no one delivers himself up to The- 
 
204 A Start in Life. 
 
 mis if he has a fortune, and every clerk is, alas, sternty 
 curtailed by his parents. Consequently, we hereby record 
 with the highest praise the liberal conduct of Madame 
 Clapart, widow, by her first marriage, of Monsieur Husson, 
 father of the candidate, who is worthy of the hurrahs which 
 we gave for her at dessert. 
 
 To all of which we hereby set our hands. 
 
 [Signed by all the clerks.] 
 
 Three clerks had already been deceived by the Book, 
 and three real "receptions of welcome," were recorded 
 on this imposing register. 
 
 The day after the arrival of each neophyte, the little 
 sub-clerk (the errand-boy and "gutter-jumper") laid 
 upon the new-comer's desk the " Archives Architriclino 
 Basochiennes," and the clerks enjoyed the sight of his 
 countenance as he studied its facetious pages. Inter 
 pocula each candidate had learned the secret of the 
 farce, and the revelation inspired him with the desire 
 to hoax his successor. 
 
 We now see why Oscar, become in his turn partici- 
 pator in the hoax, called out to the little clerk, "For- 
 ward, the book ! " 
 
 Ten minutes later a handsome young man, with a 
 fine figure and pleasant face, presented himself, asked 
 for Monsieur Desroches, and gave his name without 
 hesitation to Godeschal. 
 
 "I am Frederic Marest," he said, " and I come to 
 take the place of third clerk." 
 
A Start in Life. 205 
 
 " Monsieur Husson," said Godeschal to Oscar, " show 
 monsieur his seat and tell him about the customs of the 
 office." 
 
 The next da}' the new clerk found the register lying 
 on his desk. He took it up, but after reading a few 
 pages he began to laugh, said nothing to the assembled 
 clerks, and laid the book down again. 
 
 41 Messieurs," he said, when the hour of departure 
 came at five o'clock, *• I have a cousin who is head- 
 clerk of the notary Maitre Leopold Hannequin ; I will 
 ask his advice as to what I ought to do for my 
 welcome." 
 
 "That looks ill," cried Godeschal, when Frederic 
 had gone, " he has n't the cut of a novice, that fellow !" 
 
 kk We '11 get some fun out of him yet," said Oscar. 
 
206 A Start in Life. 
 
 IX. 
 
 LA MARQUISE DE LAS FLORENTINAS Y CABIROLOS. 
 
 The following da}', at two o'clock, a young man 
 entered the office, whom Oscar recognized as Georges 
 Marest, now head-clerk of the notary Hannequin. 
 
 "Ha! here's the friend of Ali pacha!" he ex- 
 claimed in a flippant way. 
 
 "Hey! you here, Monsieur l'ambassadeur ! " re- 
 turned Georges, recollecting Oscar. 
 
 "So you know each other?" said Godeschal, ad- 
 dressing Georges. 
 
 11 1 should think so ! We got into a scrape together," 
 replied Georges, " about two years ago. Yes, I had to 
 leave Crottat and go to Hannequin in consequence of 
 that affair." 
 
 " What was it? " asked Godeschal. 
 
 " Oh, nothing!" replied Georges, at a sign from 
 Oscar. " We tried to hoax a peer of France, and he 
 bowled us over. Ah ga! so you want to jockey my 
 cousin, do 30U?" 
 
 "We jockey no one," replied Oscar, with dignity; 
 "there's our charter." 
 
A Start in Life. 207 
 
 And he presented the famous register, pointing to a 
 
 place where sentence of banishment was passed on a 
 
 refractory who was stated to have been forced, for acts 
 
 of dishonesty, to leave the office in 1788. 
 * 
 
 Georges laughed as he looked through the archives. 
 
 44 Well, well," he said, 44 my cousin and I are rich, 
 and we '11 give you a fete such as you never had before, 
 — something to stimulate your imaginations for that 
 register. To-morrow (Sunday) you are bidden to the 
 Rocher de Cancale at two o'clock. Afterwards, I '11 
 take you to spend the evening with Madame la Mar- 
 quise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where we shall 
 play cards, and you'll see the elite of the women of 
 fashion. Therefore, gentlemen of the lower courts," 
 he added, with notarial assumption, " }ou will have to 
 behave yourselves, and carry your wine like the sei- 
 gneurs of the Regency." 
 
 44 Hurrah ! " cried the office like one man. " Bravo ! 
 very well ! vivat ! Long live the Marests ! " 
 
 44 What 's all this about? " asked Desroches, coming 
 out from his private office. " Ah ! is that you, Georges? 
 I know what you are after ; you want to demoralize my 
 clerks." 
 
 So saying, he withdrew to his own room, calling 
 Oscar after him. 
 
 44 Here," he said, opening his cash-box, 44 are five 
 hundred francs. Go to the Palais, and get from the 
 
208 A Start in Life. 
 
 registrar a copy of the decision in Vandernesse against 
 Vandernesse ; it must be served to-night if possible. 
 I have promised a prod of twenty francs to Simon. 
 Wait for the copy if it is not ready. Above all, don't 
 let yourself be fooled ; for Derville is capable, in the 
 interest of his clients, to stick a spoke in our wheel. 
 Count Felix de Vandernesse is more powerful than his 
 brother, our client, the ambassador. Therefore keep 
 your eyes open, and if there 's the slightest hitch come 
 back to me at once." 
 
 Oscar departed with the full intention of distinguish- 
 ing himself in this little skirmish, — the first affair en- 
 trusted to him since his installation as second clerk. 
 
 After the departure of Georges and Oscar, Godeschal 
 sounded the new clerk to discover the joke which, as 
 he thought, lay behind this Marquise de las Florentinas 
 y Cabirolos. But Frederic, with the coolness and 
 gravity of a king's attorne} T , continued his cousin's 
 hoax, and by his way of answering, and his manner 
 generally, he succeeded in making the office believe 
 that the marquise might really be the widow of a Span- 
 ish grandee, to whom his cousin Georges was paying 
 his addresses. Born in Mexico, and the daughter of 
 Creole parents, this young and wealthy widow was 
 noted for the easy manners and habits of the women of 
 those climates. 
 
 " ' She loves to laugh, she loves to sing, she loves 
 
A Start in Life. 209 
 
 to drink like me ! ' " be said in a low voice, quoting the 
 well-known song of* Beranger. " Georges," he added, 
 ^ is very rich ; he has inherited from his father (who 
 was :i widower) eighteen thousand francs a year, and 
 with the twelve thousand which an uncle has just left 
 to each of us, he has an income of thirty thousand. So 
 he pays his debts, and gives up the law. He hopes to 
 be Marquis de las Florentinas, for the young widow is 
 marquise in her own right, and has the privilege of 
 giving her titles to her husband." 
 
 Though the clerks were still a good deal undecided in 
 mind as to the marquise, the double perspective of a 
 breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and a fashionable 
 festivit}' put them into a state of joyous expectation. 
 They reserved all points as to the Spanish lady, intend- 
 ing to judge her without appeal after the meeting. 
 
 The Marquise de- las Florentinas y Cabirolos was 
 neither more nor less than Mademoiselle Agathe-Flo- 
 rentine Cabirolle, first danseuse at the Gaiete*, .with 
 whom uncle Cardot was in the habit of singing u Mere 
 Godichon." A year after the verj* reparable loss of 
 Madame Cardot, the successful merchant encountered 
 Florentine as she was leaving Coulon's dancing-class. 
 Attracted by the beauty of that choregraphic flower 
 (Florentine was then about thirteen years of age), he 
 followed her to the rue Pastourol, where he found that 
 the future star of the ballet was the daughter of a por- 
 
 14 
 
210 A Start in Life. 
 
 tress. Two weeks later, the mother and daughter, 
 established in the rue de Crussol, were enjoying a 
 modest competence. It was to this protector of the 
 arts — to use the consecrated phrase — ; that the theatre 
 owed the brilliant danseuse. The generous Maecenas 
 made two beings almost beside themselves with J03' in 
 the possession of mahogany furniture, hangings, car- 
 pets, and a regular kitchen ; he allowed them a woman- 
 of-all-work, and gave them two hundred and fifty francs 
 a month for their living. Pere Cardot, with his hair in 
 " pigeon-wings," seemed like an angel, and was treated 
 with the attention due to a benefactor. To him this 
 was the age of gold. 
 
 For three years the warbler of "Mere Godichon " had 
 the wise policy to keep Mademoiselle Cabirolle and 
 her mother in this little apartment, which was only ten 
 steps from the theatre ; but he gave the girl, out of love 
 for the choregraphic art, the great Vestris for a master. 
 In 1820 he had the pleasure of seeing Florentine dance 
 her first u pas" in the ballet of a melodrama entitled 
 "The Ruins of Babylon." Florentine was then about 
 sixteen. Shortly after this debut Pere Cardot became 
 an "old screw" in the eyes of his protegee; but as he 
 had the sense to see that a danseuse at the Gaiete had 
 a certain rank to maintain, he raised the monthly 
 stipend to five hundred francs, for which, although he 
 did not again become an angel, he was, at least, a 
 
A Start in Life. 211 
 
 "friend for life," a second father. This was his silver 
 age. 
 
 From 1820 to 1823, Florentine had the experience of 
 every danseuse of nineteen to twenty years of age. Her 
 friends were the illustrious Mariette and Tullia, leading 
 ladies of the Opera, Florine, and also poor Coral ie, 
 torn too early from the arts, and love, and Camusot. 
 As old Cardot had by this time acquired five addi- 
 tional years, he had fallen into the indulgence of 
 a semi -paternity, which is the way with old men 
 towards the young talents they have trained, and which 
 owe their successes to them. Besides, where could he 
 have found another Florentine who knew all his habits 
 and likings, and with whom he and his friends could 
 sing "Mere Godichon"? So the little old man re- 
 mained under a yoke that was semi-conjugal and also 
 irresistibly strong. This was the brass age for the old 
 fellow. 
 
 During the five years of silver and gold Pere Cardot 
 had laid by eighty thousand francs. The old gentle- 
 man, wise from experience, foresaw that by the time 
 he was seventy Florentine would be of age, probably 
 engaged at the Opera, and, consequently, wanting all 
 the luxury of a theatrical star. Some days before the 
 party mentioned by Georges, Pere Cardot had spent 
 the sum of forty-five thousand franca in fitting up for 
 his Florentine the former apartment of the late Coralie. 
 
212 A Start in Life. 
 
 In Paris there are suites of rooms as well as houses and 
 streets which have their predestinations. Enriched 
 with a magnificent service of plate, the prima danseuse 
 of the Gaiete began to give dinners, spent three hun- 
 dred francs a month on her dress, never went out 
 except in a hired carriage, and had a maid for herself, 
 a cook, and a little footman. 
 
 In fact, an engagement at the Opera was already in 
 the wind. The Cocon d'Or did homage to its first 
 master by sending its most splendid products for the 
 gratification of Mademoiselle Cabirolle, now called 
 Florentine. The magnificence which suddenly burst 
 upon her apartment in the rue de Vendome would have 
 satisfied the most ambitious supernumerary. After 
 being the master of the ship for seven years, Cardot 
 now found himself towed along by a force of unlimited 
 caprice. But the luckless old gentleman was fond of 
 his tyrant. Florentine was to close his eyes; he 
 meant to leave her a hundred thousand francs. The 
 iron age had now begun. 
 
 Georges Marest, with thirty thousand francs a year, 
 and a handsome face, courted Florentine. Every 
 danseuse makes a point of having some young man who 
 will take her to drive, and arrange the gay excursions 
 into the country which all such women delight in. 
 However disinterested she may be, the courtship of 
 such a star is a passion which costs some trifles 
 
A Start in Life. 213 
 
 to the favored mortal. There are dinners at restau- 
 rants, boxes at the theatres, carriages to go to the 
 environs and return, choice wines consumed in profu- 
 sion, — for an opera danseuse eats and drinks like an 
 athlete. Georges amused himself like other young men 
 who pass at a jump from' paternal discipline to a rich 
 independence, and the death of his uncle, nearly doub- 
 ling his means, had still further enlarged his ideas. 
 As long as he had only his patrimony of eighteen thou- 
 sand francs a year, his intention was to become a 
 notary, but (as his cousin remarked to the clerks of 
 Desroches) a man must be stupid who begins a profes- 
 sion with the fortune most men hope to acquire in 
 order to leave it. Wiser than Georges, Frederic per- 
 sisted in following the career of public office, and of 
 putting himself, as we have seen, in training for it. 
 
 A young man as handsome and attractive as Georges 
 might very well aspire to the hand of a rich Creole; and 
 the clerks in Desroches' office, all of them the sons of 
 poor parents, having never frequented the great world, 
 or, indeed, kjtown anything about it, put themselves 
 into their best clothes on the following day, impatient 
 enough to behold, and be presented to the Mexican 
 Marquise de laa Florentinaa y Cabirolos. 
 
 "What luck," said Oscar to Godeschal, as they were 
 getting up in the morning, "that I had just ordered a 
 new coat and trousers and waistcoat, and that my dear 
 
214 A Start in Life. 
 
 mother had made me that fine outfit! I have six frilled 
 shirts of fine linen in the dozen she made for me. We 
 shall make an appearance ! Ha ! ha ! suppose one of 
 us were to carry off the Creole marchioness from that 
 Georges Marest! " 
 
 "Fine occupation that, for a clerk in our office !" 
 cried Godeschal. "Will you never control your 
 vanity, popinjay ? " 
 
 "Ah! monsieur, " said Madame Clapart, who entered 
 the room at that moment to bring her son some cravats, 
 and overheard the last words of the head-clerk, "would 
 to God that my Oscar might always follow your advice. 
 It is what I tell him all the time: 'Imitate Monsieur 
 Godeschal; listen to what he tells you.' " 
 
 "He '11 go all right, madame," interposed Godeschal ; 
 " but he must n't commit any more blunders like one he 
 was guilty of last night, or he '11 lose the confidence of 
 the master. Monsieur Derosches won't stand any one 
 not succeeding in what he tells them to do. He 
 ordered your son, for a first employment in his new 
 clerkship, to get a copy of a judgment j* ] nich ought to 
 have been served last evening, and Oscar, instead of 
 doing so, allowed himself to be fooled. The master 
 was furious. It's a chance if I have been able to 
 repair the mischief by going this morning, at six 
 o'clock, to see the head-clerk at the Palais, who has 
 promised me to have the copy ready by seven o'clock 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
A Start in Life. 215 
 
 "Ah, Godeschal! " cried Oscar, going up to him and 
 pressing his hand. "You are, indeed, a true friend." 
 
 "Ah, monsieur! ,, said Madame Clapart, "a mother 
 is happy, indeed, in knowing that her son has a friend 
 like you; you may rely upon a gratitude which can 
 end only with my life. Oscar, one thing I want to say 
 to you now. Distrust that Georges Marest. I wish 
 you had never met him again, for he was the cause of 
 your first great misfortune in life." 
 
 "Was he? How so?" asked Godeschal. 
 
 The too devoted mother explained succinctly the 
 adventure of her poor Oscar in Pierrotin's coucou. 
 
 "I am certain," said Godeschal, "that that blagueur 
 is preparing some trick against us for this evening. 
 As for me, I can't go to the Marquise de las Florin- 
 tinas' party, for my sister wants me to draw up the 
 terms of her new engagement; I shall have to leave 
 after the dessert. But, Oscar, be on your guard. They 
 will ask you to play, and, of course, the Desroches 
 office zn ust w't drawback; but be careful. You shall 
 play for botiwJ5 us; here 's a hundred francs," said the 
 good fellow, knowing that Oscar's purse was dry from 
 the demands of his tailor and bootmaker. " Be pru- 
 dent; remember not to play beyond that sum; and 
 don't let yourself get tipsy, either with play or 
 libations. Saperlotte! a second clerk is already a 
 man of weight, and should n't gamble on notes, or go 
 
216 A Start in Life. 
 
 beyond a certain limit in anything. His business is 
 to get himself admitted to the bar. Therefore don't 
 drink too much, don't play too long, and maintain a 
 proper dignity, — that 's your rale of conduct. Above 
 all, get home by midnight; for, remember, you must 
 be at the Palais to-morrow morning by seven to get 
 that judgment. A man is not forbidden to amuse 
 himself, but business first, my boy." 
 
 "Do you hear that, Oscar?" said Madame Clapart. 
 "Monsieur Godeschal is indulgent; see how well he 
 knows how to combine the pleasures of youth and the 
 duties of his calling." 
 
 Madame Clapart, on the arrival of the tailor and the 
 bootmaker with Oscar's new clothes, remained alone 
 with Godeschal, in order to return him the hundred 
 francs he had just given her son. 
 
 "Ah, monsieur!" she said, "the blessings of a 
 mother will follow you wherever you go, and in all 
 your enterprises." 
 
 Poor woman! she now had the supreme r'^UVht of 
 seeing her son well-dressed, and she £%&■•* him a gold 
 watch, the price of which she had saved by economy, 
 as the reward of his good conduct. 
 
 "You draw for the conscription next week," she 
 said, "and to prepare, in case you get a bad number, I 
 have been to see your uncle Cardot. He is very much 
 pleased with you ; and so delighted to know you are a 
 
A Start in Life. 217 
 
 second clerk at twenty, and to bear of your successful 
 examination at the law-school, that he promised me 
 the money for a substitute. Are not you glad to think 
 that your own good conduct has brought such reward? 
 Though you have some privations to bear, remember 
 the happiness of being able, five years from now, to 
 buy a practice. And think, too, my dear little kitten, 
 how happy you make your mother." 
 
 Oscar's face, somewhat thinned by study, had ac- 
 quired, through habits of business, a serious expres- 
 sion. He had reached his full growth, his beard was 
 thriving; adolescence had given place to virility. 
 The mother could not refrain from admiring her son 
 and kissing him, as she said: — 
 
 "Amuse yourself, my dear boy, but remember the 
 advice of our good Monsieur Godeschal. Ah! by the 
 bye, I was nearly forgetting! Here's a present our 
 friend Moreau sends you. See ! what a pretty pocket- 
 book." 
 
 "And I want it, too; for the master gave me five 
 hundred francs to get that cursed judgment of Vander- 
 nesse versus Vandernesse, and I don'j; want to leave 
 that sum of money in my room." 
 
 "But, surely, you are not going to carry it with 
 you!" exclaimed his mother, in alarm. "Suppose 
 yon should lose a sum like that! Had n't you better 
 give it to Monsieur Godeschal for safe keeping?" 
 
218 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Godeschal! " cried Oscar, who thought his mother's 
 suggestion excellent. 
 
 But Godeschal, who, like all clerks, had his time to 
 himself on Sundays, from ten to two o'clock, had 
 already departed. 
 
 When his mother left him, Oscar went to lounge upon 
 the boulevards until it was time to go to Georges Ma- 
 rest's breakfast. Why not display those beautiful 
 clothes which he wore with a pride and joy which all 
 young fellows who have been pinched for means in 
 their youth will remember. A pretty waistcoat with a 
 blue ground and a palm-leaf pattern, a pair of black 
 cassimere trousers pleated, a black coat very well 
 fitting, and a cane with a gilt top, the cost of which he 
 had saved himself, caused a natural joy to the poor 
 lad, who thought of his manner of dress on the day of 
 that journey to Presles, as the effect that Georges had 
 then produced upon him came back to his mind. 
 
 Oscar had before him the perspective of a clay of 
 happiness ; he was to see the gay world at last ! Let 
 us admit that a clerk deprived of enjoyments, though 
 longing for dissipation, was likely to let his unchained 
 senses drive the wise counsels of his mother and 
 Godeschal completely out of his mind. To the shame 
 of youth be it said that good advice is never lacking 
 to it. In the matter of Georges, Oscar himself had a 
 feeling of aversion for him; he felt humiliated before 
 
A Start in Life. 210 
 
 a witness of that scene in the salon at Presles when 
 Moreau had flung him at the count's feet. The moral 
 senses have their laws, which are implacable, and we 
 are always punished for disregarding them. There is 
 one in particular, which the animals themselves obey 
 without discussion, and invariably; it is that which 
 tells us to avoid those who have once injured us, with 
 or without intention, voluntarily or involuntarily. 
 The creature from whom we receive either damage or 
 annoyance will always be displeasing to us. What- 
 ever may be his rank or the degree of affection in which 
 he stands to us, it is best to break away from him; 
 for our evil genius has sent him to us. Though the 
 Christian sentiment is opposed to it, obedience to this 
 terrible law is essentially social and conservative. 
 The daughter of James II., who seated herself upon 
 her father's throne, must have caused him many a 
 wound before that usurpation. Judas had certainly 
 given some murderous blow to Jesus before he betrayed 
 him. We have within us an inward power of sight, 
 an eye of the soul which foresees catastrophes; and 
 the repugnance that comes over us against the fateful 
 being is the result of that foresight. Though religion 
 orders us to conquer it, distrust remains, and its voice 
 is forever heard. Would Oscar, at twenty years of 
 age, have the wisdom to listen to it? 
 Alas! when, at half-past two o'clock, Oscar entered 
 
220 A Start in Life. 
 
 the salon of the Rocher de Cancale, — where were three 
 invited persons beside the clerks, to wit: an old captain 
 of dragoons, named Giroudeau; Finot, a journalist 
 who might procure an engagement for Florentine at 
 the Opera, and du Bruel, an author, the friend of 
 Tullia, one of Mariette's rivals, — the second clerk felt 
 his secret hostility vanish at the first handshaking, the 
 first dashes of conversation as they sat around a table 
 luxuriously served. Georges, moreover, made himself 
 charming to Oscar. 
 
 " You've taken to private diplomacy," he said; 
 "for what difference is there between a lawyer and an 
 ambassador? only that between a nation and an indi- 
 vidual. Ambassadors are the attorneys of Peoples. 
 If I can ever be useful to you, let me know." 
 
 "Well," said Oscar, "I '11 admit to you now that you 
 once did me a very great harm." 
 
 "Pooh! " said Georges, after listening to the explan- 
 ations for which he asked ; "it was Monsieur de Serizy 
 who behaved badly. His wife ! I would n't have her at 
 any price; neither would I like to be in the count's red 
 skin, minister of State and peer of France as he is. 
 He has a small mind, and I don't care a fig for him 
 now." 
 
 Oscar listened with true pleasure to these slurs on the 
 count, for they diminished, in a way, the importance 
 of his fault; and he echoed the spiteful language of the 
 
A Start in Life. 221 
 
 ex-notary, who amused himself by predicting the blows 
 to the nobility of which the bourgeoisie were already 
 dreaming, — blows which were destined to become a 
 reality in 1830. 
 
 At half-past three the solid eating of the feast began ; 
 the dessert did not appear till eight o'clock, — each 
 course having taken two hours to serve. None but 
 clerks can eat like that! The stomachs of eighteen 
 and twenty are inexplicable to the medical art. The 
 wines were worthy of Borrel, who in those days had 
 superseded the illustrious Balaine, the creator of the 
 first restaurant for delicate and perfectly prepared food 
 in Paris, — that is to say, the w T hole w r orld. 
 
 The report of this Belshazzar's feast for the 
 architriclino-basochien register was duly drawn up, 
 beginning, Inter pocula aurea restaurant^ qui vuhjo 
 dxcitnr Rupes Cancali. Every one can imagine the 
 fine page now added to the Golden Book of jurispru- 
 dential festivals. 
 
 Godeschal disappeared after signing the report, leav- 
 ing the eleven guests, stimulated by the old captain of 
 the Imperial Guard, to the wines, toasts, and liqueurs 
 of a' dessert composed of choice and early fruits, in 
 pyramids that rivalled the obelisk of Thebes. By half- 
 past ten the little sub-clerk was in such a state that 
 Georges packed him into a coach, paid his fare, and 
 gave the address of his mother to the driver. The 
 
222 A Start in Life. 
 
 remaining ten, all as drunk as Pitt and Dundas, talked 
 of going on foot along the boulevards, considering the 
 fine evening, to the house of the Marquise de las Flo- 
 rentinasy Cabirolos, where, about midnight, they might 
 expect to find the most brilliant society of Paris. 
 They felt the need of breathing the pure air into their 
 lungs; but, with the exception of Georges, Girou- 
 deau, du Bruel, and Finot, all four accustomed to 
 Parisian orgies, not one of the party could walk. Con- 
 sequently, Georges sent to a livery-stable for three 
 open carriages, in which he drove his company for an 
 hour round the exterior boulevards from Montmartre 
 to the Barriere du Trone. They returned by Bercy, 
 the quays, and the boulevards to the rue de Vend 6m e. 
 The clerks were fluttering still in the skies of fancy 
 to which youth is lifted by intoxication, when their 
 amphitryon introduced them into Florentine's salon. 
 There sparkled a bevy of stage princesses, who, hav- 
 ing been informed, no doubt, of Frederic's joke, were 
 amusing themselves by imitating the women of good 
 society. The} 7 were then engaged in eating ices. 
 The wax-candles flamed in the candelabra. Tullia's 
 footmen and those of Madame du Val-Noble and Flo- 
 rine, all in full livery, were serving the dainties on 
 silver salvers. The hangings, a marvel of Lyonnaise 
 workmanship, fastened by gold cords, dazzled all eyes. 
 The flowers of the carpet were like a garden. The 
 
A Start in Life. 223 
 
 richest bibelots and curiosities danced before the eyes 
 of the new-comers. 
 
 At first, and in the state to which Georges had 
 brought them, the clerks, and more particularly Oscar, 
 believed in the Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabi- 
 rolos. Gold glittered on four card-tables in the bed- 
 chamber. In the salon, the women were playing at 
 vingt-et-un, kept by Nathan, the celebrated author. 
 
 After wandering, tipsy and half asleep, through the 
 dark exterior boulevards, the clerks now felt that they 
 had wakened in the palace of Armida. Oscar, pre- 
 sented to the marquise by Georges, was quite stupefied, 
 and did not recognize the danseuse he had seen at the 
 Gaiete, in this lady, aristocratically decolletee and 
 swathed in laces, till she looked like the vignette of a 
 keepsake, who received him with manners and graces 
 the like of which was neither in the memory nor the 
 imagination of a young clerk rigidly brought up. 
 After admiring the splendors of the apartment and the 
 beautiful women there displayed, who had all outdone 
 each other in their dress for this occasion, Oscar was 
 taken by the hand and led by Florentine to a vingt- 
 et-un table. 
 
 "Let me present you," she said, "to the beautiful 
 Marquise d'Anglade, one of my nearest friends." 
 
 And she took poor Oscar to the pretty Fanny 
 Beaupre', who had just made herself a reputation at the 
 
224 . A Start in Life, 
 
 Porte-Saint-Martin, in a melodrama entitled "La 
 Familled'Anglade." 
 
 "My dear," said Florentine, "allow me to present to 
 you a charming youth, whom you can take as a part- 
 ner in the game." 
 
 "Ah! that will be delightful," replied the actress, 
 smiling, as she looked at Oscar. "I am losing. Shall 
 we go shares, monsieur?" 
 
 "Madame la marquise, I am at your orders," said 
 Oscar, sitting down beside her. 
 
 "Put down the money ; I '11 play ; you shall bring me 
 luck! See, here are my last hundred francs." 
 
 And the "marquise" took out from her purse, the 
 rings of which were adorned with diamonds, five gold 
 pieces. Oscar pulled out his hundred in silver five- 
 franc pieces, much ashamed at having to mingle such 
 ignoble coins with gold. In ten throws the actress 
 lost the two hundred francs. 
 
 "Oh! how stupid!" she cried. "I'm banker now. 
 But we '11 play together still, won't we? " 
 
 Fanny Beaupre rose to take her place as banker, and 
 Oscar, finding himself observed by the whole table, 
 dared not retire on the ground that he had no money. 
 Speech failed him, and his tongue clove to the roof of 
 his mouth. 
 
 "Lend me five hundred francs," said the actress to 
 the danseuse. 
 
A Start in Life. 225 
 
 Florentine brought the money, which she obtained 
 from Georges, who had just passed eight times at 
 t'r.irte. 
 
 "Nathan has won twelve hundred francs," said the 
 actress to Oscar. u Bankers always win ; we won't let 
 them fool us, will we?" she whispered in his ear. 
 
 Persons of nerve, imagination, and clash will under- 
 stand how it was that poor Oscar opened his pocket- 
 book and took out the note of five hundred francs which 
 Desroches had given him. He looked at Nathan, the 
 distinguished author, who now began, with Florine, to 
 pla} r a heavy game against the bank. 
 
 "Come, my little man, take 'em up," cried Fanny 
 Beaupre, signing to Oscar to rake in the two hundred 
 francs which Nathan and* Florine had punted. 
 
 The actress did not spare taunts or jests on those 
 who lost. She enlivened the game with jokes which 
 Oscar thought singular; but reflection was stifled by 
 joy ; for the first two throws produced a gain of two 
 thousand francs. Oscar then thought of feigning ill- 
 ness and making his escape, leaving his partner behind 
 him; but " honor" kept him there. Three more turns 
 and the gains were lost. Oscar felt a cold sweat run- 
 ning down his back, and he was sobered completely. 
 
 The two next throws carried off the thousand francs 
 of their mutual stake. Oscar was consumed with 
 thirst, and drank three glasses of iced punch one after 
 
 15 
 
226 A Start in Life. 
 
 the other. The actress now led him into the bed-cham- 
 ber, where the rest of the company were playing, talk- 
 ing frivolities with an easy air. But by this time the 
 sense of his wrong-doing overcame him ; the figure of 
 Desroches appeared to him like a vision. He turned 
 aside to a dark corner and sat down, putting his hand- 
 kerchief to hi3 eyes, and wept. Florentine noticed 
 the attitude of true grief, which, because it is sincere, 
 is certain to strike the eye of one who acts. She ran 
 to him, took the handkerchief from his hand, and saw 
 his tears ; then she led him into a boudoir alone. 
 
 "What is it, my child?" she said. 
 
 At the tone and accent of that voice Oscar recog- 
 nized a motherly kindness which is often found in 
 women of her kind, and he answered openly : — 
 
 "I have lost five hundred francs which my employer 
 gave me to obtain a document to-morrow morning; 
 there 's nothing for me but to fling myself into the 
 river; I am dishonored." 
 
 "How silly you are!" she said. "Stay where you 
 are; I'll get you a thousand francs and you can win 
 back what you 've lost; but don't risk more than five 
 hundred, so that you may be sure of your master's 
 money . Georges plays a fine game at ecarte; bet on 
 him." 
 
 Oscar, frightened by his position, accepted the offer 
 of the mistress of the house. 
 
A Start in Life. 227 
 
 41 Ah! " he thought, "it is only women of rank who 
 are capable of such kindness. Beautiful, noble, rich! 
 how lucky Georges is ! " 
 
 He received the thousand francs from Florentine and 
 returned to bet on his hoaxer. George had just passed 
 for the fourth time when Oscar sat down by him. 
 The other players saw with satisfaction the arrival of 
 a new better; for all, with the instinct of gamblers, 
 took the side of Giroudeau, the old officer of the 
 Empire. 
 
 "Messieurs," said Georges, "you '11 be punished for 
 deserting me; I feel in the vein. Come, Oscar, we'll 
 make an end of them! M 
 
 Georges and his partner lost five games running. 
 After losing the thousand francs Oscar was seized with 
 the fury of play and insisted on taking the cards him- 
 self. By the result of a chance not at all uncommon 
 with those who play for the first time, he won. But 
 Georges bewildered him with advice ; told him when to 
 throw the cards, and even snatched them from his 
 hand; so that this conflict of wills and intuitions in- 
 jured his vein. By three o'clock in the morning, after 
 various changes of fortune, and still drinking punch, 
 Oscar came down to his last hundred francs. He rose 
 with a heavy head, completely stupefied, took a few 
 steps forward, and fell upon a sofa in the boudoir, his 
 eyes closing in a leaden sleep. 
 
228 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Mariette," said Fanny Beaupre to Godeschal's 
 sister, who had come in about two o'clock, "do you 
 dine here to-morrow? Camusot and Pere Cardot are 
 coming, and we'll have some fun." 
 
 "What!" cried Florentine, "and my old fellow 
 never told me ! " 
 
 "He said he'd tell you to-morrow morning," re- 
 marked Fanny Beaupre. 
 
 "The devil take him and his orgies!" exclaimed 
 Florentine. "He and Camusot are worse than magis- 
 trates or stage-managers. But we have very good din- 
 ners here, Mariette," she continued. "Cardot always 
 orders them from Chevet's; bring your Due de Mau- 
 frigneuse and we '11 make them dance like Tritons." 
 
 Hearing the names of Cardot and Camusot, Oscar 
 made an effort to throw off his sleep; but he could only 
 mutter a few words which were not understood, and 
 then he fell back upon the silken cushions. 
 
 "You'll have to keep him here all night," said 
 Fanny Beaupre, laughing, to Florentine. 
 
 "Oh! poor boy! he is drunk with punch and despair 
 both. It is the second clerk in your brother's office," 
 she said to Mariette. "He has lost the money his 
 master gave him for some legal affair. He wanted to 
 drown himself; so I lent him a thousand francs, but 
 those brigands Finot and Giroudeau won them from 
 him. Poor innocent! " 
 
A Start in Lift 229 
 
 u Buf we ought to wake him," said Mariette. "Mjl 
 brother won't make light of it, nor his master either." 
 
 " Oh, wake him if you can, and carry him off with 
 you ! " said Florentine, returning to the salon to re- 
 ceive the adieux of some departing guests. 
 
 Presently those who remained began what was called 
 '•character dancing," and b}' the time it was broad 
 daylight, Florentine, tired out, went to bed, oblivious 
 of Oscar, who was still in the boudoir sound asleep. 
 
230 A Start in Life. 
 
 ANOTHER CATASTROPHE. 
 
 About eleven the next morning, a terrible sound 
 awoke the unfortunate clerk. Recognizing the voice 
 of his uncle Cardot, he thought it wise to feign sleep, 
 and so turned his face into the yellow velvet cushions 
 on which he had passed the night. 
 
 " Really, my little Florentine," said the old gentle- 
 man, "this is neither right nor sensible; 3011 danced 
 last evening in ' Les Ruines,' and you have spent the 
 night in an orgy. That's deliberately going to work 
 to lose your freshness. Besides which, it was ungrate- 
 ful to inaugurate this beautiful apartment without even 
 letting me know. Who knows what has been going on 
 here?" 
 
 "Old monster !" cried Florentine, "haven't jx>u a 
 key that lets you in at all hours? My ball lasted till 
 five in the morning, and }*ou have the cruelty to come 
 and wake me up at eleven ! " 
 
 " Half-past eleven, Titine," observed Cardot, humbly. 
 "I came out earty to order a dinner fit for an arch- 
 bishop at Chevet's. Just see how the carpets are 
 stained ! What sort of people did you have here ? " 
 
A Start in Life. 231 
 
 " You need n't complain, for Fanny Beau pre* told me 
 you were coming to dinner with Camusot, and to please 
 you I 've invited Tullia, du Bruel, Mariette, the Due de 
 Maufrigneuse, Florine, and Nathan. So 3*011 '11 have 
 the four loveliest creatures ever seen behind the foot- 
 lights ; we Ml dance 3011 a pas de Zephire." 
 
 " It is enough to kill you to lead such a life ! " 
 cried old Cardot ; -'and look at the broken glasses! 
 AVli at pillage ! The antechamber actually makes me 
 shudder — " 
 
 At this instant the wrathful old gentleman stopped 
 short as if magnetized, like a bird which a snake is 
 charming. He saw the outline of a form in a black 
 coat through the door of the boudoir. 
 
 " Ah, Mademoiselle Cabirolle ! " he said at last. 
 
 "Well, what?" she asked. 
 
 The eyes of the danseuse followed those of the little 
 old man ; and when she recognized the presence of the 
 clerk she went off into such fits of laughter that not 
 onty was the old gentleman nonplussed, but Oscar was 
 compelled to appear; for Florentine took him by the 
 arm, still pealing with laughter at the conscience- 
 stricken faces of the uncle and nephew. 
 
 "You here, nephew?" 
 
 " Nephew ! so he 's your nephew? " cried Florentine, 
 with another burst of laughter. " You never told me 
 about him. Why did n't Mariette carry you off?" she 
 
232 A Start in Life. 
 
 said to Oscar, who stood there petrified. " What can 
 he do now, poor boy ? " 
 
 "Whatever he pleases ! " .said Cardot, sharply, 
 marching to the door as if to go away. 
 
 " One moment, papa Cardot. You will be so good as 
 to get your nephew out of a scrape into which I led 
 him ; for he played the money of his master and lost 
 it, and I lent him a thousand francs to win it back, and 
 he lost that too." 
 
 4 ' Miserable boy ! you lost fifteen hundred francs at 
 play at your age?" 
 
 " Oh, uncle, uncle ! " cried poor Oscar, plunged by 
 these words into all the horrors of his position, and 
 falling on his knees before his uncle, with clasped 
 hands, " It is twelve o'clock ! I am lost, dishonored ! 
 Monsieur Desroches will have no pity ! He gave me 
 the money for an important affair, in which his pride 
 was concerned. I was to get a paper at the Palais in 
 the case of Vandernesse versus Vandernesse ! What 
 will become of me? Oh, save me for the sake of my 
 father and aunt ! Come with me to Monsieur Des- 
 roches, and explain it to him ; make some excuse, — 
 anything ! " 
 
 These sentences were jerked out through sobs and 
 tears that might have moved the sphinx of Luxor. 
 
 " Old skinflint ! " said the danseuse, who was crying, 
 "will you let 3'our own nephew be dishonored, — the 
 
A Start in Life. 233 
 
 son of the man to whom 3-011 owe your fortune? — for 
 his name is Oscar Husson. Save him, or Titine will 
 deny you forever ! " 
 
 M But how did he come here? " asked Cardot. 
 
 " Don't you see that the reason he forgot to go for 
 those papers was because he was drunk and overslept 
 himself. Georges and his cousin Frederic took all the 
 clerks in his office to a feast at the Rocher de Cancale." 
 
 Pere Cardot looked at Florentine and hesitated. 
 
 u Come, come," she said, " you old monkey, should n't 
 1 have hid him better if there had been anything else 
 in it?" 
 
 M There, take }'our five hundred francs, you scamp ! " 
 said Cardot to his nephew, "and remember, that's the 
 last penny you '11 ever get from me. Go and make it 
 up with your master if you can. I '11 return the thou- 
 sand francs which you borrowed of mademoiselle ; but 
 I '11 never hear another word about you." 
 
 Oscar disappeared, not wishing to hear more. Once 
 in the street, however, he knew not where to go. 
 
 Chance which destroys men and chance which saves 
 them were both making equal efforts for and against 
 Oscar during that fateful morning. But he was doomed 
 to fall before a master who forgave no failure in any 
 affair he had once undertaken. When Mariette reached 
 home that night, she felt alarmed at what might hap- 
 pen to the youth in whom her brother took interest 
 
234 A Start in Life. 
 
 and she wrote a hasty note to Godeschal, telling him 
 what had happened to Oscar and inclosing a bank bill 
 for five hundred francs to repair his loss. The kind- 
 hearted creature went to sleep after charging her maid 
 to carry the little note to Desroches' office before seven 
 o'clock in the morning. Godeschal, on his side, get- 
 ting up at six and finding that Oscar had not returned, 
 guessed what had happened. He took the five hun- 
 dred francs from his own little hoard and rushed to 
 the Palais, where lie obtained a copy of the judgment 
 and returned in time to lay it before Desroches by 
 eight o'clock. 
 
 Meantime Desroches, who alwaj~s rose at four, was 
 in his office by seven. Mariette's maid, not finding the 
 brother of her mistress in his bedroom, came down to 
 the office and there met Desroches, to whom she very 
 naturally offered the note. 
 
 " Is it about business? " he asked ; "lam Monsieur 
 Desroches. 
 
 " You can see, monsieur," replied the maid. 
 
 Desroches opened the letter and read it. Finding the 
 five-hund red-franc note, he went into his private office 
 furiously ang^ with his second clerk. About half- 
 past seven he heard Godeschal dictating to the second 
 head-clerk a copy of the document in question, and a 
 few moments later the good fellow entered his mas- 
 ter's office with triumph in his heart. 
 
A Start in Life. 235 
 
 44 Did Oscar Husson fetch the paper this morning 
 from Simon?" inquired Desroches. 
 
 44 Yes, monsieur." 
 
 44 Who gave him the money?" 
 
 44 Why, you did, Saturday," replied Godeschal. 
 
 fc4 Then it rains five-hundred-franc notes," cried 
 Desroches. 4k Look here, Godeschal, you are a fine 
 fellow, but that little Husson does not deserve such 
 generosity. I hate idiots, but I hate still more the 
 men who will go wrong in spite of the fatherly care 
 which watches over them." He gave Godeschal Mari- 
 ette's letter and the five-hundred-franc note which she 
 had sent. 44 You must excuse my having opened it," 
 he said, 44 but your sister's maid told me it was on 
 business. Dismiss Husson." 
 
 44 Poor unhapp}' boy ! what grief he has caused me ! 
 said Godeschal, 44 that tall ne'er-do-well of a Georges 
 Marcst is his evil genius ; he ought to flee him like 
 the plague ; if not, he '11 bring him to some third 
 disgrace." 
 
 44 What do you moan by that?" asked Desroches. 
 
 Godeschal then related briefly the affair of the jour- 
 ney to Presles. 
 
 44 Ah! yes," said the lawyer, 44 1 remember Joseph 
 Iiridau told me that story about the time it happened. 
 It is to that meeting that we owe the favor Monsieur 
 de Serizy has since shown in the matter of Joseph's 
 brother, Philippe Bridau." 
 
236 A Start in Life. 
 
 At this moment Moreau, to whom the case of the 
 Vandernesse estate was of much importance, entered 
 the office. The marquis wished to sell the land in 
 parcels and the count was opposed to such a sale. 
 The land-agent received therefore the first fire of Des- 
 roches' wrath against his ex-second clerk and all the 
 threatening prophecies which he fulminated against 
 him. The result was that this most sincere friend and 
 protector of the unhappy youth came to the conclusion 
 that his vanity was incorrigible. 
 
 " Make him a barrister," said Desroches. " He has 
 only his last examination to pass. In that line, his 
 defects might prove virtues, for self-love and vanity 
 give tongues to half the attorneys." 
 
 At this time Clapart, who was ill, was being nursed 
 by his wife, — a painful task, a duty without reward. 
 The sick man tormented the poor creature, who was 
 now doomed to learn what venomous and spiteful teas- 
 ing a half-imbecile man, whom poverty had rendered 
 craftil}' savage, could be capable of in the weary tete- 
 a-tete of each endless da}\ Delighted to* turn a sharp- 
 ened arrow in the sensitive heart of the mother, he had, 
 in a measure, studied the fears that Oscar's behavior 
 and defects inspired in the poor woman. When a 
 mother receives from her child a shock like that of 
 the affair at Presles, she continues in a state of con- 
 stant fear, and, by the manner in which his wife 
 
A Start in Life. 237 
 
 boasted of Oscar every time he obtained the slightest 
 success, Clapart knew the extent of her secret- uneasi- 
 ness, and he took pains to arouse it on ever}' occasion. 
 
 4 - Well, Madame," Clapart would say, u Oscar is do- 
 ing better than I even hoped. That journey to Presles 
 was only a heedlessness of 3*011 th. Where can you 
 find young lads who do not commit just such faults? 
 Poor child ! he bears his privations heroically ! If his 
 father had lived, he would never have had an}*. God 
 grant he may know how to control his passions ! " etc., 
 etc. 
 
 While all these catastrophes were happening in the 
 rue de Vend6me and the rue de Bethis}*, Clapart, sit- 
 ting in the chimney corner, wrapped in an old dressing- 
 gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire 
 in their bedroom in simultaneously making the fatuity 
 broth, Clapart's tisane, and her own breakfast. 
 
 " Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yes- 
 terday ended. Oscar was to breakfast at the Rocher 
 de Cancale and spend the evening with a marquise — " 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself! Sooner or later you'll 
 find out about your swan," said her husband. "Do 
 you really believe in that marquise? Pooh! A young 
 man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like 
 Oscar can find such ladies as that on every bush — if 
 he pays for them. Some fine hiorning you'll find 
 yourself with a load of debt on your back." 
 
238 A Start in Life. 
 
 "You are always trying to put me in despair!" 
 cried Madame Clapart. "You complained that my 
 son lived on your salary, and never has he cost you a 
 penny. For two years you haven't had the slightest 
 cause of complaint against him; here he is second 
 clerk, his uncle and Monsieur Moreau pay all ex- 
 penses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight hun- 
 dred francs. If we have bread to eat in our old age we 
 may owe it all to that dear boy. You are really too 
 unjust — " 
 
 "You call my foresight unjust, do you? " replied the 
 invalid, crossly. 
 
 Just then the bell rang loudly. Madame Clapart ran 
 to open the door, and remained in the outer room with 
 Moreau, who had come to soften the blow which 
 Oscar's new folly would deal to the heart of his poor 
 mother. 
 
 "What! he gambled with the money of the office?" 
 she cried, bursting into tears. 
 
 " Did n't I tell you so, hey ? " said Clapart, appearing 
 like a spectre at the door of the salon whither his curi- 
 osity had brought him. 
 
 "Oh! what shall we do with him?" said Madame 
 Clapart, whose grief made her impervious to Clapart's 
 taunt. 
 
 "If he bore my name," replied Moreau, "I should 
 wait composedly till he draws for the conscription, and 
 
A Start in Life, 239 
 
 if he gets a fatal number I should not provide him 
 With a substitute. This is the second time your son 
 has committed a folly out of sheer vanity. Well, 
 vanity may inspire fine deeds in war and may advance 
 him in the career of a soldier. Besides, six years of 
 military service will put some lead into his head; and 
 as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it 
 won't be much ill-luck for him if he does n't become a 
 lawyer till he is twenty-six; that is, if he wants to 
 continue in the law after paying, as they say, his tax 
 of blood. By that time, at any rate, he will have been 
 severely punished, he will have learned experience, 
 and contracted habits of subordination. Before mak- 
 ing his probation at the bar he will have gone through 
 his probation in life." 
 
 44 If that is your decision for a son," said Madame 
 Clapart, "I see that the heart of a father is not like 
 that of a mother. My poor Oscar a common sol- 
 dier!—" 
 
 "Would you rather that he flung himself head- 
 foremost into the Seine after committing a dishonor- 
 able action? He cannot now become a solicitor; do 
 you think him steady and wise enough to be a barris- 
 ter? No. While his reason is maturing, what will ho 
 become? A dissipated fellow. The discipline of the 
 army will, at least, preserve him from that." 
 
 14 Could he not go into some other office? His uncle 
 
240 A Start in Life. 
 
 Cardot has promised to pay for his substitute ; Oscar 
 is to dedicate his graduating thesis to him." 
 
 At this moment carriage-wheels were heard, and a 
 hackney-coach containing Oscar and all his worldly 
 belongings stopped before the door. The luckless 
 young man came up at once. 
 
 u Ah! here you are, Monsieur Joli-Cceur! " cried 
 Clapart. 
 
 Oscar kissed his mother, and held out to Moreau a 
 hand which the latter refused to take. To this rebuff 
 Oscar replied by a reproachful look, the boldness of 
 which he had never shown before. Then he turned on 
 Clapart. 
 
 " Listen to me, monsieur," said the youth, trans- 
 formed into a man. "You worry my poor mother 
 devilishly, and that 's your right, for she is, unfortu- 
 nately, your wife. But as for me, it is another thing. 
 I shall be of age in a few months ; and you have no 
 rights over me even as a minor. I have never asked 
 anything of you. Thanks to Monsieur Moreau, I have 
 never cost you one penny, and I owe you no gratitude. 
 Therefore, I say, let me alone ! " 
 
 Clapart, hearing this apostrophe, slunk back to his 
 sofa in the chimney corner. The reasoning and the 
 inward fury of the young man, who had just received 
 a lecture from his friend Godeschal, silenced the imbe- 
 cile mind of the sick man. 
 
A Start in Life. 241 
 
 "A momentary temptation, such as you yourself 
 would have yielded to at my age," said Oscar to 
 Moreau, " has made me commit a fault which Des- 
 roches thinks serious, though it is only a peccadillo. 
 I am more provoked with myself for taking Florentine 
 of the Gaiete for a marquise than I am for losing fif- 
 teen hundred francs after a little debauch in which 
 everybody, even Godeschal, was half-seas over. This 
 time, at any rate, I 've hurt no one but myself. I 'm 
 cured of such things forever. If you are willing to 
 help me, Monsieur Moreau, I swear to you that the 
 six years I must still stay a clerk before I can get a 
 practice shall be spent without — " 
 
 "Stop there!'' said Moreau. "I have three chil- 
 dren, and I can make no promises." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," said Madame Clapart to 
 her son, casting a reproachful glance at Moreau. 
 " Your uncle Cardot — " 
 
 "I have no longer an uncle Cardot," replied Oscar, 
 who related the scene in the rue de Vendome. 
 
 Madame Clapart, feeling her legs give way under the 
 weight of her body, staggered to a chair in the dining- 
 room, where she fell as if struck by lightning. 
 
 " All the miseries together! " she said, as she fainted. 
 
 Moreau took the poor mother in his arms, and car- 
 ried her to the bed in her chamber. Oscar remained 
 motionless, as if crushed. 
 
 16 
 
242 A Start in Life, 
 
 "There is nothing left for you," said Moreau, com- 
 ing back to him, "but to make yourself a soldier. 
 That idiot of a Clapart looks to me as though he 
 could n't live three months, and then your mother will 
 be without a penny. Ought I not, therefore, to re- 
 serve for her the little money I am able to give? It 
 was impossible to tell you this before her. As a sol- 
 dier, you '11 eat plain bread and reflect on life such as 
 it is to those who are born into it without fortune." 
 
 "I may get a lucky number," said Oscar. 
 
 "Suppose you do, what then? Your mother has well 
 fulfilled her duty toward you. She gave you an educa- 
 tion; she placed you on the right road, and secured 
 you a career. You have left it. Now, what can you 
 do? Without money, nothing; as you know by this 
 time. You are not a man who can begin a new career 
 by taking off your coat and going to work in your 
 shirt-sleeves with the tools of an artisan. Besides, 
 your mother loves you, and she would die to see. you 
 come to that." 
 
 Oscar sat down and no longer restrained his tears, 
 which flowed copiously. At last he understood this 
 language, so completely unintelligible to him ever 
 since his first fault. 
 
 "Men without means ought to be perfect," added 
 Moreau, not suspecting the profundity of that cruel 
 sentence. 
 
A Start in Life. 243 
 
 "My fate will soon be decided," said Oscar. U I 
 draw my number the day after to-morrow. Between 
 now and then I will decide upon my future." 
 
 Moreau, deeply distressed in spite of his stern bear- 
 ing, left the household in the rue de la Cerisaie to its 
 despair. 
 
 Three days later Oscar drew the number twenty- 
 seven. In the interests of the poor lad the former 
 steward of Presles had the courage to go to the Comte 
 de Serizy and ask for his influence to get Oscar into 
 the cavalry. It happened that the count's son, having 
 left the Bcole Polytechnique rather low in his class, 
 was appointed, as a favor, sub- lieutenant in a regi- 
 ment of cavalry commanded by the Due de Maufri- 
 gneuse. Oscar had, therefore, in his great misfortune, 
 the small luck of being, at the Comte de Serizy's insti- 
 gation, drafted into that noble regiment, with the 
 promise of promotion to quartermaster within a year. 
 Chance had thus placed the ex-clerk under the com- 
 mand of the son of the Comte de Serizy. 
 
 Madame Clapart, after languishing for some days, 
 so keenly was she affected by these catastrophes, 
 became a victim to the remorse which seizes upon many 
 a mother whose conduct has been frail in her youth, 
 and who, in her old age, turns to repentance. She 
 now considered herself under a curse. She attributed 
 the sorrows of her second marriage and the misfcrt.unes 
 
244 A Start in Life. 
 
 of her son to a just retribution by which God was com- 
 pelling her to expiate the errors and pleasures of her 
 youth. This opinion soon became a certainty to her 
 mind. The poor woman went, for the first time in 
 forty years, to confess herself to the Abbe Gaudron, 
 vicar of Saint-Paul's, who led her into the practice of 
 devotion. But so ill-used and loving a soul as that of 
 Madame Clapart could never be anything but simply 
 pious. The Aspasia of the Directory wanted to expi- 
 ate her sins in order to draw down the blessing of God 
 on the head of her poor Oscar, and she henceforth 
 vowed herself to works and deeds of the purest piety. 
 She believed she had won the attention of heaven when 
 she saved the life of Monsieur Clapart, who, thanks to 
 her devotion, lived on to torture her ; but she chose to see, 
 in the tyranny of that imbecile mind, a trial inflicted 
 by the hand of one who loveth while he chasteneth. 
 
 Oscar, meantime, behaved so well that in 1830 he 
 was first sergeant of the company of the Vicomte de 
 Serizy, which gave him the rank of sub-lieutenant of 
 the line. Oscar Husson was by that time twenty-five 
 years old. As the Royal Guard, to which his regiment 
 was attached, was always in garrison in Paris, or 
 within a circumference of thirty miles around the cap- 
 ital, he came to see his mother from, time to time, and 
 tell her his griefs ; for he had the sense to see that he 
 could never become an officer as matters then were. 
 
A Start in Life. 245 
 
 At that time the cavalry grades were all being taken up 
 1)\ the younger sons of noble families, and men without 
 the article to their names found promotion difficult. 
 Oscar's sole ambition was to leave the Guards and be 
 appointed sub-lieutenant in a regiment of the cavalry 
 of the line. In the month of February, 1830, Madame 
 Clapart obtained this promotion for her son through 
 the influence of Madame la Dauphine, granted to the 
 Abbe Gaudron, now rector of Saint-Paul's. 
 
 Although Oscar outwardly professed to be devoted 
 to the Bourbons, in the depths of his heart he was a 
 liberal. Therefore, in the struggle of 1830, he went 
 over to the side of the people. This desertion, which 
 had an importance due to the crisis in which it took 
 place, brought him before the eyes of the public. 
 During the excitement of triumph in the month of 
 August he was promoted lieutenant, received the cross 
 of the Legion of honor, and was attached as aide-de- 
 camp to La Fayette, who gave him the rank of captain 
 in 1832. When the amateur of the best of all possible 
 republics was removed from the command of the 
 National guard, Oscar Husson, whose devotion to the 
 new dynasty amounted to fanaticism, was appointed 
 major of a regiment sent to Africa at the time of the 
 first expedition undertaken by the Prince-royal. The 
 Vicomte de Se'rizy chanced to be the lieutenant-colonel 
 of this regiment. At the affair of the Makta, where 
 
246 A Start in Life. 
 
 the field had to be abandoned to the Arabs, Monsieur 
 de Serizy was left wounded under a dead horse. 
 Oscar, discovering this, called out to the squadron : 
 
 " Messieurs, it is going to death, but we cannot 
 abandon our colonel." 
 
 He dashed upon the enemy, and his electrified sol- 
 diers followed him. The Arabs, in their first astonish- 
 ment at this furious and unlooked-for return, allowed 
 Oscar to seize the viscount, whom he flung across his 
 horse, and carried off at full gallop, — receiving, as he 
 did so, two slashes from yataghans on his left arm. 
 
 Oscar's conduct on this occasion was rewarded with 
 the officer's cross of the Legion of honor, and by his 
 promotion to the rank of lieutenant-colonel. He took 
 the most affectionate care of the Vicomte de Serizy, 
 whose mother came to meet him on the arrival of the 
 regiment at Toulon, where, as we know, the young 
 mau died of his wounds. 
 
 The Comtesse de Serizy had not separated her son 
 from the man who had shown him such devotion. 
 Oscar himself was so seriously wounded that the 
 surgeons whom the countess had brought with her 
 from Paris thought best to amputate his left arm. 
 
 Thus the Comte de Serizy was led not only to for- 
 give Oscar for his painful remarks on the journey to 
 Presles, but to feel himself his debtor on behalf of his 
 son, now buried in the chapel of the chateau de Serizy. 
 
A Mart in Life. 247 
 
 XI. 
 
 oscar's last blunder. 
 
 Some years after the affair at Makta, an old lady, 
 dressed in black, leaning on the arm of a man about 
 thirty- four years of age, in whom observers would 
 recognize a retired officer, from the loss of an arm and 
 the rosette of the Legion of honor in his button-hole, 
 was standing, at eight o'clock, one morning in the 
 month of May, under the porte-cochere of the Lion 
 d'Argent, rue du Faubourg Saint-Denis, waiting, 
 apparently, for the departure of a diligence. Undoubt- 
 edly Pierrotin, the master of the line of coaches run- 
 ning through the valley of the Oise (despatching one 
 through Saint-Leu-Taverny and Isle-Adam to Beau- 
 mont), would scarcely have recognized in this bronzed 
 and maimed officer the little Oscar Husson he had 
 formerly taken to Presles. Madame Husson, at last a 
 widow, was as little recognizable as her son. Clapart, 
 a victim of Fieschi's machine, had served his' wife 
 better by death than by all his previous life. The idle 
 lounger was tanging about, as usual, on the boulevard 
 du Temple, gazing at the show, when the explosion 
 came. The poor widow was put upon the pension list. 
 
248 A Start in Life. 
 
 made expressly for the families of the victim, at fifteen 
 hundred francs a year. 
 
 The coach, to which were harnessed four iron-gray 
 horses that would have done honor to the Messageries- 
 royales, was divided into three compartments, coupe, 
 interieur, and rotonde, with an imperiale above. It 
 resembled those diligences called "Gondoles," which 
 now ply, in rivalry with the railroad, between Paris 
 and Versailles. Both solid and light, well-painted and 
 well-kept, lined with fine blue cloth, and furnished with 
 blinds of a Moorish pattern and cushions of red 
 morocco, the "Swallow of the Oise" could carry, com- 
 fortably, nineteen passengers. Pierrotin, now about 
 fifty-six years old, was little changed. Still dressed 
 in a blue blouse, beneath which he wore a black suit, 
 he smoked his pipe, and superintended the two porters 
 in livery, who were stowing away the luggage in the 
 great imperiale. 
 
 "Are your places taken? " he said to Madame 
 Clapart and Oscar, eying them like a man who is 
 trying to recall a likeness to his memory. 
 
 "Yes, two places for the interieur in the name of my 
 servant, Bellejambe," replied Oscar; "he must have 
 taken them last evening." 
 
 "Ah! monsieur is the new collector of Beaumont," 
 said Pierrotin. "You take the place of Monsieur 
 Margueron's nephew?" 
 
A Start in Life. 249 
 
 "Yes," replied Oscar, pressing the arm of his 
 mother, who was about to speak. 
 
 The officer wished to remain unknown for a time. 
 
 Just then Oscar thrilled at hearing the well- 
 remembered voice of Georges Marest calling out from 
 the street: "Pierrotin, have you one seat left?" 
 
 "It seems to me you could say ' monsieur' without 
 cracking your throat," replied the master of the line 
 of coaches of the Valley of the Oise, sharply. 
 
 Unless by the sound of his voice, Oscar could never 
 have recognized the individual whose jokes had been 
 so fatal to him. Georges, almost bald, retained only 
 three or four tufts of hair above his ears; but these 
 were elaborately frizzed out to conceal, as best they 
 could, the nakedness of the skull. A fleshiness ill- 
 placed, in other words, a pear-shaped stomach, altered 
 the once elegant proportions of the ex-young man. 
 Now almost ignoble in appearance and bearing, 
 Georges exhibited the traces of disasters in love and a 
 life of debauchery in his blotched skin and bloated, 
 vinous features. The eyes had lost the brilliancy, the 
 vivacity of youth which chaste or studious habits have 
 the virtue to retain. Dressed like a man who is care- 
 less of his clothes, Georges wore a pair of shabby 
 trousers, with straps intended for varnished boots; but 
 his were of leather, thick-soled, ill-blacked, and of 
 many months' wear. A faded waistcoat, a cravat, 
 
250 A Start in Life. 
 
 pretentiously tied, although the material was a worn- 
 out foulard, bespoke the secret distress to which a 
 former dandy sometimes falls a prey. Moreover, 
 Georges appeared at this hour of the morning in an 
 evening coat, instead of a surtout; a sure diagnostic 
 of actual poverty. This coat, which had seen long 
 service at balls, had now, like its master, passed from 
 the opulent ease of former times to daily work. The 
 seams of the black cloth showed whitening lines; the 
 collar was greasy ; long usage had frayed the edges of 
 the sleeves into fringes. 
 
 And yet, Georges ventured to attract attention by 
 yellow kid gloves, rather dirty, it is true, on the out- 
 side of which a signet ring defined a large dark spot. 
 Round his cravat, which was slipped into a preten- 
 tious gold ring, was a chain of silk, representing hair, 
 which, no doubt, held a watch. His hat, though worn 
 rather jauntily, revealed, more than any of the above 
 symptoms, the poverty of a man who was totally 
 unable to pay sixteen francs to a hat-maker, being 
 forced to live from hand to mouth. The former ad- 
 mirer of Florentine twirled a cane with a chased gold 
 knob, which was horribly battered. The blue trousers, 
 the waistcoat of a material called "Scotch stuff," a 
 sky-blue cravat and a pink- striped cotton shirt, ex- 
 pressed, in the midst of all this ruin, such a latent 
 desire to show-off that the contrast was not only a 
 sight to see, but a lesson to be learned. 
 
A Start in Life. 251 
 
 "And that is Georges!" said Oscar, in his own 
 mind, — "a man I left in possession of thirty thou- 
 sand francs a year! " 
 
 "Has Monsieur de Pierrotin a place in the coupe?" 
 asked Georges, ironically replying to Pierrotin' s 
 rebuff. 
 
 " No; my coupe" is taken by a peer of France, the 
 son-in-law of Monsieur Moreau, Monsieur le Baron de 
 Canalis, his wife, and his mother-in-law. I have 
 nothing left but one place in the interieur." 
 
 " The devil ! so peers of France still travel in your 
 coach, do they ? " said Georges, remembering his ad- 
 venture with the Comte de S£rizy. "Well, I'll take 
 that place in the interieur." 
 
 He cast a glance of examination on Oscar and his 
 mother, but did not recognize them. 
 
 Oscar's skin was now bronzed by the sun of Africa; 
 his moustache was very thick and his whiskers ample; 
 the hollows in his cheeks and his strongly marked fea- 
 tures were in keeping with his military bearing. The 
 rosette of an officer of the Legion of honor, his missing 
 arm, the strict propriety of his dress, would all have 
 diverted Georges' recollections of his former victim if 
 he had had any. r As for Madame Clapart, whom 
 Georges had scarcely seen, ten years devoted to the 
 exercise of the most severe piety had transformed 
 her. No one would ever have imagined that that gray 
 sister concealed the Aspasia of 1797. 
 
9n9 
 
 A Start in Life. 
 
 An enormous old man, very simply dressed, though 
 his clothes were good and substantial, in whom Oscar 
 recognized Pere Leger, here came slowly and heavily 
 along. He nodded familiarly to Pierrotin, who ap- 
 peared by his manner to pay him the respect due in all 
 lands to millionnaires." 
 
 "Ha! ha! why, here's Pere Leger! more and more 
 preponderant ! " cried Georges. 
 
 " To whom have I the honor of speaking ? " asked 
 old Leger, curtly. 
 
 "What! you don't recognize Colonel Georges, the 
 friend of Ali pacha? We travelled together once upon 
 a time, in company with the Comte de Serizy." 
 
 One of the habitual follies of those who have fallen 
 in the world is to recognize and desire the recognition 
 of others. 
 
 "You are much changed," said the ex-farmer, now 
 twice a millionnaire. 
 
 "All things change," said Georges. "Look at the 
 Lion d' Argent and Pierrotin's coach; they are not a 
 bit like what they were fourteen years ago." 
 
 "Pierrotin now controls the whole service of the 
 Valley of the Oise," replied Monsieur Leger, "and 
 sends out five coaches. He is the bourgeois of Beau- 
 mont, where he keeps a hotel, at which all the dili- 
 gences stop, and he has a wife and daughter who are 
 not a bad help to him." 
 
A Start in Life. 253 
 
 An old man of seventy here came out of the hotel and 
 joined the group of travellers who were waiting to get 
 into the coach. 
 
 "Come along, papa Reybert," said Leger, u we are 
 only waiting now for your great man." 
 
 44 Here he comes," said the steward of Presles, point- 
 ing to Joseph Bridau. 
 
 Neither Georges nor Oscar recognized the illustrious 
 artist, for his face had the worn and haggard lines 
 that were now famous, and his bearing was that which 
 is given by success. The ribbon of the" Legion of 
 honor adorned his black coat, and the rest of his dress, 
 which was extremely elegant, seemed to denote an ex- 
 pedition to some rural fete. 
 
 At this moment a clerk, with a paper in his hand, 
 came out of the office (which was now in the former 
 kitchen of the Lion d'Argent), and stood before the 
 door of the empty coupe. 
 
 44 Monsieur and Madame de Canalis, three places," 
 he said. Then, moving to the door of the interieur, 
 he named, consecutively, 44 Monsieur Bellejambe, two 
 places; Monsieur de Reybert, three places; Monsieur, 
 — your name, if you please?" he said to Georges. 
 
 44 Georges Marest," said the fallen man, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 The clerk then moved to the rotonde, before which 
 were grouped a number of nurses, country-people, and 
 
254 A Start in Life. 
 
 petty shopkeepers, who were bidding each other adieu. 
 Then, after bundling in the six passengers, he called 
 to four young men who mounted to the imperial ; after 
 which he cried: "Start!" Pierrotin got up beside 
 his driver, a young man in a blouse, who called out : 
 "Pull ! " to his animals, and the vehicle, drawn by four 
 horses bought at Roye, mounted the rise of the fau- 
 bourg Saint-Denis at a slow trot. 
 
 But no sooner had it got above Saint-Laurent than it 
 raced like a mail-cart to Saint-Denis, which it reached 
 in forty minutes. No stop was made at the cheese- 
 cake inn, and the coach took the road through the valley 
 of Montmorency. 
 
 It was at the turn into this road that Georges broke 
 the silence which the travellers had so far maintained 
 while observing each other. 
 
 "We go a little faster than we did fifteen years ago, 
 hey, Pere Leger? " he said, pulling out a silver 'watch. 
 
 "Persons are usually good enough to call me Mon- 
 sieur Leger," said the millionnaire. 
 
 "Why, here 's our blagueur of the famous journey to 
 Presles," cried Joseph Briclau. "Have you made any 
 new campaigns in Asia, Africa, or America?" 
 
 " Sacrebleu ! I 've made the revolution of July, and 
 that's enough for me, for it ruined me." 
 
 "Ah! you made the revolution of July!" cried the 
 painter, laughing. " Well, I always said it never made 
 itself." 
 
A Start in Life. 255 
 
 "How people meet again!" said Monsieur Leger, 
 turning to Monsieur de Reybert "This, papa Rey- 
 bert, is the clerk of the notary to whom you undoubt- 
 edly owe the stewardship of Presles." 
 
 " We lack Mistigris, now famous under his own name 
 of Leon de Lora," said Joseph Bridau, "and the little 
 young man who was stupid enough to talk to the count 
 about those skin diseases which are now cured, and 
 about his wife, whom he has recently left that he may 
 die in peace." 
 
 "And the count himself, you lack him," said old 
 Reybert. 
 
 "I'm afraid," said Joseph Bridau, sadly, "that the 
 last journey the count will ever take will be from 
 Presles to Isle- Adam, to be present at my marriage." 
 
 "He still drives about the park," said Reybert. 
 
 "Does his wife come to see him? " asked Leger. 
 
 "Once a month," replied Reybert. "She is never 
 happy out of Paris. Last September she married her 
 niece, Mademoiselle du Rouvre, on whom, since the 
 death of her son, she spends all her affection, to a very 
 rich young Pole, the Comte Laginski." 
 
 "To whom," asked Madame Clapart, "will Monsieur 
 de Serizy's property go? " 
 
 "To his wife, who will bury him," replied Georges. 
 "The countess is still line-looking for a woman of 
 fifty-four years of age. She is very elegant, and, at a 
 little distance, gives one the illusion — " 
 
256 A Start in Life. 
 
 " She will always be an illusion to you," said Leger, 
 who seemed inclined to revenge himself on his former 
 hoaxer. 
 
 "I respect her," replied Georges. "But, by the 
 bye, what became of that steward whom the count 
 turned off ? " 
 
 "Moreau? " said Leger; "why, he 's the deputy from 
 the Oise." 
 
 "Ha! the famous Centre man; Moreau de l'Oise?" 
 cried Georges. 
 
 "Yes," returned Leger, "Moreau de FOise. He 
 did more than you for the revolution of July, and he 
 has since bought the beautiful estate of Pointel, be- 
 tween Presles and Beaumont." 
 
 "Next to the count's," said Georges. "I call that 
 very bad taste." 
 
 "Don't speak so loud," said Monsieur de Reybert, 
 "for Madame Moreau and her daughter, the Baronne 
 de Canalis, and the Baron himself, the former minis- 
 ter, are in the coupe." 
 
 "What dot could he have given his daughter to in- 
 duce our great orator to marry her? " said Georges. 
 
 "Something like two millions," replied old Leger. 
 
 "He always had a taste for millions," remarked 
 Georges. "He began his pile surreptitiously at 
 Presles — " 
 
 "Say nothing against Monsieur Moreau," cried 
 
A Start in Life. 257 
 
 Oscar, hastily. "You ought to have learned before 
 now to hold your tongue in public conveyances." 
 
 Joseph Bridau looked at the one-armed officer for 
 several seconds ; then he said, smiling : — 
 
 "Monsieur is not an ambassador, but his rosette 
 tells us he has made his way nobly ; my brother and 
 General Giroudeau have repeatedly named him in their 
 reports." 
 
 "Oscar Husson!" cried Georges. "Faith! if it 
 had n't been for your voice I should never have known 
 you." 
 
 "Ah! it was monsieur who so bravely rescued the 
 Vicomte Jules de Se'rizy from the Arabs?" said Rey- 
 bert," and for whom the count has obtained the collec- 
 torship of Beaumont while awaiting that of Pontoise? " 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," replied Oscar. 
 
 "I hope you will give me the pleasure, monsieur," 
 said the great painter, "of being present at my mar- 
 riage at Isle- Adam." 
 
 "Whom do you marry?" asked Oscar, after accept- 
 ing the invitation. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Le'ger," replied Joseph Bridau, "the 
 granddaughter of Monsieur de Reybert. Monsieur le 
 comte was kind enough to arrange the marriage for 
 me. As an artist I owe him a great deal, and he 
 wished, before his death, to secure my future, about 
 which I did not think, myself." 
 
 17 
 
258 A Start in Life. 
 
 "Whom did Pere Leger marry?" asked Georges. 
 
 "My daughter," replied Monsieur de Reybert, u and 
 without a dot." 
 
 "Ah!" said Georges, assuming a more respectful 
 manner towards Monsieur Leger, "I am fortunate 
 in having chosen this particular day to do the val- 
 ley of the Oise. You can all be useful to me, gen- 
 tlemen." 
 
 "How so?" asked Monsieur Leger. 
 
 "In this way," replied Georges. "I am employed 
 by the i Esperance, ' a company just formed, the stat- 
 utes of which have been approved by an ordinance of 
 the King. This institution gives, at the end Of ten 
 years, dowries to young girls, annuities to old men; 
 it pays the education of children, and takes charge, 
 in short, of the fortunes of everybody." 
 
 "I can well believe it," said Pere Leger, smiling. 
 "In a word, you are a runner for an insurance 
 company." 
 
 "No, monsieur. I am the inspector-general ; charged 
 with the duty of establishing correspondents $md ap- 
 pointing the agents of the company throughout France. 
 I am only operating until the agents are selected ; for 
 it is a matter as delicate as it is difficult to find honest 
 agents." 
 
 "But how did you lose your thirty thousand a year? " 
 asked Oscar. 
 
A Start in Life. 259 
 
 "As you lost your arm," replied the sou of Czerni- 
 Georges, curtly. 
 
 "Then you must have shared in some brilliant 
 action," remarked Oscar, with a sarcasm not unmixed 
 with bitterness. 
 
 "Parbleu! I've too many — shares! that's just 
 what I want to sell." 
 
 By this time they had arrived at Saint-Leu-Taverny, 
 where all the passengers got out while the coach 
 changed horses. Oscar admired the liveliness which 
 Pierrotin displayed in unhooking the traces from the 
 whiffle-trees, while his driver cleared the reins from 
 the leaders. 
 
 "Poor Pierrotin," thought he; "he has stuck like 
 me, — not far advanced in the world. Georges has 
 fallen low. All the others, thanks to speculation and 
 to talent, have made their fortune. Do we breakfast 
 here, Pierrotin?" he said, aloud, slapping that worthy 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 "I am not the driver," said Pierrotin. 
 
 "What are you, then?" asked Colonel Husson. 
 
 "The proprietor," replied Pierrotin. 
 
 "Come, don!t be vexed with an old acquaintance," 
 said Oscar, motioning to his mother, but still retain- 
 ing his patronizing manner. "Don't you recognize 
 Madame Clapart?" 
 
 It was all the nobler of Oscar to present his mother 
 
260 A Start in Life. 
 
 to Pierrotin, because, at that moment, Madame Moreau 
 de l'Oise, getting out of the coupe, overheard the name, 
 and stared disdainfully at Oscar and his mother. 
 
 "My faith! madame," said Pierrotin, "I should 
 never have known you ; nor you, either, monsieur ; the 
 sun burns black in Africa, doesn't it?" 
 
 The species of pity which Oscar thus felt for Pier- 
 rotin was the last blunder that vanity ever led our hero 
 to commit and, like his other faults, it was punished, 
 but very gently, thus : — 
 
 Two months after his official installation at 
 Beaumont-sur-Oise, Oscar was paying his addresses 
 to Mademoiselle Georgette Pierrotin, whose dot 
 amounted to one hundred and fifty thousand francs, 
 and he married the pretty daughter of the proprietor 
 of the stage-coaches of the Oise, toward the close of 
 the winter of 1838. 
 
 The adventure of the journey to Presles was a lesson 
 to Oscar Husson in discretion ; his disaster at Floren- 
 tine's card-party strengthened him in honesty and 
 uprightness; the hardships of his military career 
 taught him to understand the social hierarchy and to 
 yield obedience to his lot. Becoming wise and capable, 
 he was happy. The Comte de Serizy, before his death, 
 obtained for him the collectorship at Pontoise. The 
 influence of Monsieur Moreau de l'Oise and that of 
 the Comtesse de Serizy and the Baron de Canal is 
 
A Start in Life. 2G1 
 
 secured, in after years, a receiver-generalship for 
 Monsieur Husson, in whom the Camusot family now 
 recognize a relation. 
 
 Oscar is a commonplace man, gentle, without as- 
 sumption, modest, and always keeping, like his gov- 
 ernment, to a middle course. He excites neither envy 
 nor contempt. In short, he is the modern bourgeois. 
 
VENDETTA. 
 
VENDETTA 
 
 To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor. 
 
 prologue. 
 
 In the year 1800, toward the close of October, a for- 
 eigner, accompanied by a woman and a little girl, was 
 standing for a long time in front of the palace of the 
 Tuileries, near the ruins of a house recently pulled 
 down, at the point where in our day the wing begins 
 which was intended to unite the chateau of Catherine 
 de Medici with the Louvre of the Valois. 
 
 The man stood there with folded arms and a bowed 
 head, which he sometimes raised to look alternatel}' at 
 the consular palace and at his wife, who was sitting 
 near him on a stone. Though the woman seemed 
 wholly occupied witli the little girl of nine or ten years 
 of age, whose long black hair she amused herself b} r 
 handling, she lost not a single glance of those her com- 
 
266 Vendetta. 
 
 panion cast on her. Some sentiment other than love 
 united these two beings, and inspired with mutual anx- 
 iety their movements and their thoughts. Misery is, 
 perhaps, the most powerful of all ties. 
 
 The stranger had one of those broad, serious heads, 
 covered with thick hair, which we see so frequently in 
 the pictures of the Caracci. The jet black of the hair 
 was streaked with white. Though noble and proud, his 
 features had a hardness which spoiled them. In spite 
 of his evident strength, and his straight, erect figure, 
 he looked to be over sixty years of age. His dilapi- 
 dated clothes were those of a foreign country. Though 
 the faded and once beautiful face of the wife betrayed 
 the deepest sadness, she forced herself to smile, assum- 
 ing a calm countenance whenever her husband looked 
 at her. 
 
 The little girl was standing, though signs of weari- 
 ness were on the youthful face, which was tanned by the 
 sun. She had an Italian cast of countenance and bear- 
 ing, large black ej-es beneath their well arched brows, 
 a native nobleness, and candid grace. More than one 
 of those who passed them felt strongly moved by the 
 mere aspect of this group, who made no effort to con- 
 ceal a despair which seemed as deep as the expression 
 of it was simple. But the flow of this fugitive s}"m- 
 pathy, characteristic of Parisians, was dried immedi- 
 ately ; for as soon as the stranger saw himself the 
 
Vendetta. 267 
 
 object of attention, he looked at his observer with so 
 Savage an air that the boldest lounger hurried his step 
 as though he had trod upon a serpent. 
 
 After standing for some time undecided, the tall 
 stranger suddenly passed his hand across his face to 
 brush away, as it were, the thoughts that were plough- 
 ing furrows in it. He must have taken some desperate 
 resolution. Casting a glance upon his wife and daugh- 
 ter, he drew a dagger from his breast and gave it to his 
 companion, saying in Italian : — 
 
 " I will see if the Bonapartes remember us." 
 
 Then he walked with a slow, determined step toward 
 the entrance of the palace, where he was, naturally, 
 stopped by a soldier of the consular guard, with whom 
 he was not permitted a long discussion. Seeing the man's 
 obstinate determination, the sentinel presented his bay- 
 onet in the form of an ultimatum. Chance willed that 
 the guard was changed at that moment, and the corpo- 
 ral ver3 T obligingly pointed oiit to the stranger the spot 
 where the commander of the post was standing. 
 
 44 Let Bonaparte know that Bartolomeo di Piombo 
 wishes to speak with him," said the Italian to the cap- 
 tain on duty. 
 
 In vain the officer represented to Bartolomeo that he 
 could not see the First Consul without having previously 
 requested an audience in writing; the Italian insisted 
 that the soldier should go to Bonaparte. The officer 
 
268 ' Vendetta. 
 
 stated the rules of the post, and refused to comply with 
 the order of this singular visitor. Bartolomeo frowned 
 heavily, casting a terrible look at the captain, as if he 
 made him responsible for the misfortunes that this re- 
 fusal might occasion. Then he kept silence, folded his 
 arms tightly across his breast, and took up his station 
 under the portico which serves as an avenue of com- 
 munication between the garden and the court-yard of the 
 Tuileries. Persons who will things intensely are very 
 apt to be helped by chance. At the moment when 
 Bartolomeo di Piombo seated himself on one of the 
 stone posts which was near the entrance, a carriage 
 drew up, from which Lucien Bonaparte, minister of the 
 interior, issued. 
 
 " Ah, Loucian, it is lucky for me I have met you ! " 
 cried the stranger. 
 
 These words, said in the Corsican patois, stopped 
 Lucien at the moment when he was springing under 
 the portico. He looked at his compatriot, and recog- 
 nized him. At the first word that Bartolomeo said in 
 his ear, he took the Corsican away with him. 
 
 Murat, Lannes, and Rapp were at that moment in 
 the cabinet of the First Consul. As Lucien entered, 
 followed by a man so singular in appearance as Piombo, 
 the conversation ceased. Lucien took Napoleon by the 
 arm and led him into the recess of a window. After 
 exchanging a few words with his brother, the First 
 
Vendetta. 269 
 
 Consul made a sign with his hand, which Murat and 
 Lannes obeyed by retiring. Rapp pretended not to 
 have seen it, in order to remain where he was. Bona- 
 parte then spoke to him sharply, and the aide-de-camp, 
 with evident unwillingness, left the room. The First 
 Consul, who listened for Rapp's step in the adjoining 
 salon, opened the door suddenl}', and found his aide- 
 de-camp close to the wall of the cabinet. 
 
 "Do you choose not to understand me?" said the 
 First Consul. "I wish to be alone with my com- 
 patriot." 
 
 "A Corsican!" replied the aide-de-camp. "I dis- 
 trust those fellows too much to — " 
 
 The First Consul could not restrain a smile as he 
 pushed his faithful officer by the shoulders. 
 
 "Well, what has brought you here, my poor Bartol- 
 omeo?" said Napoleon. 
 
 "To ask asylum and protection from you, if you 
 are a true Corsican," replied Bartolomeo, roughly. 
 
 "What ill fortune drove you from the island? You 
 were the richest, the most — " 
 
 "I have killed all the Portas," replied the Corsican, 
 in a deep voice, frowning heavily. 
 
 The First Consul took two steps backward in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Do you mean to betray me?" cried Bartolomeo, 
 with a darkling look at Bonaparte. "Do you know 
 that there are still four Piombos in Corsica? " 
 
270 Vendetta. 
 
 Lucien took an arm of his compatriot and shook it. 
 
 "Did you come here to threaten the savior of 
 France ? " he said. 
 
 Bonaparte made a sign to Lucien, who kept silence. 
 Then he looked at Piombo and said : — 
 
 "Why did you kill the Portas? " 
 
 " We had made friends," replied the man ; "the Bar- 
 bantis reconciled us. The day after we had drunk 
 together to drown our quarrels, I left home because 
 I had business at Bastia. The Portas remained in my 
 house, and set fire to my vineyard at Longone. They 
 killed my son Gregorio. My daughter Ginevra and 
 my wife, having taken the sacrament that morning, 
 escaped ; the Virgin protected them. When I returned 
 I found no house; my feet were in its ashes as I 
 searched for it. Suddenly they struck against the 
 body of Gregorio; I recognized him in the moonlight. 
 'The Portas have dealt me this blow,' I said; and, 
 forthwith, I went to the woods, and there I called 
 together all the men whom I had ever served, — do you 
 hear me, Bonaparte? — and we marched to the vine- 
 yard of the Portas. We got there at five in the morn- 
 ing; at seven they were all before God. Giacomo 
 declares that Eliza Vanni saved a child, Luigi. But 
 I myself bound him in his bed before setting fire to the 
 house. I have left the island with my wife and child 
 without being able to discover whether, indeed, Luigi 
 Porta is alive." 
 
Vendetta. 271 
 
 Bonaparte looked with curiosity at Bartolomeo, but 
 without surprise. 
 
 "How many were there?" asked Lucien. 
 
 "Seven," replied Piombo. "All of them were your 
 persecutors in the olden time." 
 
 These words roused no expression of hatred on the 
 part of the two brothers. 
 
 "Ha! you are no longer Corsicans! " cried Piombo, 
 with a sort of despair. "Farewell. In other days I 
 protected you," he added, in a reproachful tone. 
 "Without me, your mother would never have reached 
 Marseille," he said, addressing himself to Bonaparte, 
 who was silent and thoughtful, his elbow resting on 
 the mantel-shelf. 
 
 "As a matter of duty, Piombo," said Napoleon at 
 last, "I cannot take you under my wing. I have 
 become the leader of a great nation ; I command the 
 Republic; I am bound to execute the laws." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" said Bartolomeo, scornfully. 
 
 "But I can shut my eyes," continued Bonaparte. 
 "The tradition of the Vendetta will long prevent the 
 reign of law in Corsica," he added, as if speaking to 
 himself. "But it must be destroyed, at any cost." 
 
 Bonaparte was silent for a few moments, and Lucien 
 made a sign to Piombo not to speak. The Corsican 
 was swaying his head from right to left in deep 
 disapproval. 
 
272 Vendetta. 
 
 "Live here, in Paris," resumed the First Consul, 
 addressing Bartolomeo; "we will know nothing of 
 this affair. I will cause your property in Corsica to 
 be bought, to give you enough to live on for the 
 present. Later, before long, we will think of you. 
 But, remember, no more vendetta ! There are no woods 
 here to fly to. If you play with daggers, you must 
 expect no mercy. Here, the law protects all citizens;, 
 and no one is allowed to do justice for himself." 
 
 14 He has made himself the head of a singular nation," 
 said Bartolomeo, taking Lucien's hand and pressing it. 
 "But you have both recognized me in misfortune, and 
 I am yours, henceforth, for life or death. You may 
 dispose as you will of the Piombos." 
 
 With these words his Corsican brow unbent, and he 
 looked about him in satisfaction. 
 
 "You are not badly off here," he said, smiling, as if 
 he meant to lodge there himself. "You are all in red, 
 like a cardinal." 
 
 "Your success depends upon yourself; you can have 
 a palace, also," said Bonaparte, watching his com- 
 patriot with a keen eye. "It will often happen that I 
 shall need some faithful friend in whom I can confide." 
 
 A sigh of joy heaved the vast chest of the Corsican, 
 who held out his hand to the First Consul, saying : — 
 
 "The Corsican is in you still." 
 
 Bonaparte smiled. He looked in silence at the man 
 
Vendetta. 273 
 
 who brought, as it were, a waft of air from his own 
 land, — from that isle where he had been so miraculously 
 saved from the hatred of the " English party ; " the land 
 he was never to see again. He made a sign to his 
 brother, who then took Piombo away. Lucien inquired 
 with interest as to the financial condition of the former 
 protector of their family. Piombo took him to a win- 
 dow and showed him his wife and Ginevra, seated on a 
 heap of stones. 
 
 44 We came from Fontainebleau on foot; we have not 
 a single penny," he said. 
 
 Lucien gave his purse to his compatriot, telling him 
 to come to him the next day, that arrangements might 
 be made to secure the comfort of the family. The 
 value of Piombo' s property in Corsica, if sold, would 
 scarcely maintain him honorably in Paris. 
 
 Fifteen years elapsed between the time of Piombo's 
 arrival with his family in Paris and the follow- 
 ing event, which would be scarcely intelligible to 
 the reader without this narrative of the foregoing 
 circumstances. 
 
 Is 
 
274 Vendetta. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE STUDIO. 
 
 Servin, one of our most distinguished artists, was 
 the first to conceive the idea of opening a studio for 
 young girls who wished to take lessons in painting. 
 
 About forty years of age, a man of the purest 
 morals, entirely given up to his art, he had married 
 from inclination the dowerless daughter of a general. 
 At first the mothers of his pupils brought their daugh- 
 ters themselves to the studio; then they were satisfied 
 to send them alone, after knowing the master's princi- 
 ples and the pains he took to deserve their confidence. 
 
 It was the artist's intention to take no pupils but 
 young ladies belonging to rich families of good posi- 
 tion, in order to meet with no complaints as to the 
 composition of his classes. He even refused to take 
 girls who wished to become artists; for to them he 
 would have been obliged to give certain instructions 
 without which no talent could advance in the profes- 
 sion. Little by little his prudence and the ability with 
 which he initiated his pupils into his art, the certainty 
 each mother felt that her daughter was in company 
 with none but well-bred young girls, and the fact of 
 
Vendetta. 275 
 
 the artist's marriage, gave him an excellent reputa- 
 tion as a teacher in society. When a young girl wished 
 to learn to draw, and her mother asked advice of her 
 friends, the answer was, invariably: u Send her to 
 Servin's." 
 
 Servin became, therefore, for feminine art, a spe- 
 cialty; like Herbault for bonnets, Leroy for gowns, 
 and Chevet for eatables. It was recognized that a 
 young woman who had taken lessons from Servin was 
 capable of judging the paintings of the Musee conclu- 
 sively, of making a striking portrait, copying an 
 ancient master, or painting a genre picture. The artist 
 thus sufficed for the educational needs of the aristoc- 
 racy. But in spite of these relations with the best 
 families in Paris, he was independent and patriotic, 
 and he maintained among them that easy, brilliant, 
 half-ironical tone, and that freedom of judgment which 
 characterize painters. 
 
 He had carried his scrupulous precaution into the 
 arrangements of the locality where his pupils* studied. 
 The entrance to the attic above his apartments was 
 walled up. To reach this retreat, as sacred as a 
 harem, it was necessary to go up a small spiral staircase 
 made within his own rooms. The studio, occupying 
 nearly the whole attic floor under the roof, presented 
 to the eye those vast proportions which surprise 
 inquirers when, after attaining sixty feet above the 
 
276 Vendetta. 
 
 ground-floor, they expect to find an artist squeezed 
 into a gutter. 
 
 This gallery, so to speak, was profusely lighted from 
 above, through enormous panes of glass furnished with 
 those green linen shades by means of which all artists 
 arrange the light. A quantity of caricatures, heads 
 drawn at a stroke, either in color or with the point of 
 a knife, on walls painted in a dark gray, proved that, 
 barring a difference in expression, the most distin- 
 guished young girls have as much fun and folly in 
 their minds as men. A small stove with a large pipe, 
 which described a fearful zigzag before it reached the 
 upper regions of the roof, was the necessary and infal- 
 lible ornament of the room. A shelf ran round the 
 walls, on which were models in plaster, heterogeneously 
 placed, most of them covered with gray dust. Here 
 and there, above this shelf, a head of Niobe, hanging 
 to a nail, presented her pose of woe; a Venus smiled; 
 a hand thrust itself forward like that of a pauper ask- 
 ing alms; a few scorches, yellowed by smoke, looked 
 like limbs snatched over-night from a graveyard; be- 
 sides these objects, pictures, drawings, lay figures, 
 frames without paintings, and paintings without frames 
 gave to this irregular apartment that studio physiog- 
 nomy which is distinguished for its singular jumble 
 of ornament and bareness, poverty and riches, care 
 and neglect. The vast receptacle of an atelier, where 
 
Vendetta. 277 
 
 % 
 all seems small, even man, has something the air of an 
 Opera coulisse ; here lie ancient garments, .gilded 
 armor, fragments of stuffs, machinery. And yet there 
 is something mysteriously grand, like thought, in it; 
 genius and death are there; Diana and Apollo beside 
 a skull or skeleton, beauty and destruction, poesy and 
 reality, colors glowing in the shadows, often a whole 
 drama, motionless and silent. Strange symbol of an 
 artist's head! 
 
 At the moment when this history begins, a brilliant 
 July sun was illuminating the studio, and two rays 
 striking athwart it lengthwise, traced diaphanous gold 
 lines in which the dust was shimmering. A dozen 
 easels raised their sharp points like masts in a port. 
 Several young girls were animating the scene by the 
 variety of their expressions, their attitudes, and the 
 differences in their toilets. The strong shadows cast 
 by the green serge curtains, arranged according to the 
 needs of each easel, produced a multitude of contrasts, 
 and the piquant effects of light and shade. This group 
 was the prettiest of all the pictures in the studio. 
 
 A fair young girl, very simply dressed, sat at some 
 distance from her companions, working bravely, and 
 seeming to be in dread of some mishap. No one 
 looked at her, or spoke to her; she was much the pret- 
 tiest, the most modest, and, apparently, the least rich 
 among them. Two principal groups, distinctly sepa- 
 
278 Vendetta. 
 
 rated from each other, showed the presence of two sets 
 or cliques, two minds even here, in this studio, where 
 one might suppose that rank and. fortune would be 
 forgotten. 
 
 But, however that might be, these young girls, sit- 
 ting or standing, in the midst of their color-boxes, 
 playing with their brushes or preparing them, handling 
 their dazzling palettes, painting, laughing, talking, 
 singing, absolutely natural, and exhibiting their real 
 selves, composed a spectacle unknown to man. One 
 of them, proud, haughty, capricious, with black hair 
 and beautiful hands, was casting the flame of her 
 glance here and there at random ; another, light-hearted 
 and gay, a smile upon her lips, with chestnut hair and 
 delicate white hands, was a typical French virgin, 
 thoughtless, and without hidden thoughts, living her 
 natural real life; a third was dreamy, melancholy, pale, 
 bending her head like a drooping flower; her neighbor, 
 on the contrary, tall, indolent, with Asiatic habits, 
 long eyes, moist and black, said but little, and 
 reflected, glancing covertly at the head of Antinoiis. 
 
 Among them, like the jocoso of a Spanish play, full 
 of wit and epigrammatic sallies, another girl was 
 watching the rest with a comprehensive glance, making 
 them laugh, and tossing up her head, too lively and 
 arch not to be pretty. She appeared to rule the first 
 group of girls, who were the daughters of bankers, 
 
Vendetta. 279 
 
 notaries, and merchants, — all rich, but aware of the 
 imperceptible though cutting slights which another 
 group belonging to the aristocracy put upon them. The 
 latter were led by the daughter of one of the King's 
 ushers, a little creature, as silly as she was vain, proud 
 of being the daughter of a man with "an office at 
 court." She was a girl who always pretended to under- 
 stand the remarks of the master at the first word, and 
 seemed to do her work as a favor to him. She used 
 an eyeglass, came very much dressed, and always late, 
 and entreated her companions to speak low. 
 
 In this second group were several girls with exquisite 
 figures and distinguished features, but there was little 
 in their glance or expression that was simple and 
 candid. Though their attitudes were elegant and their 
 movements graceful, their faces lacked frankness; it 
 was easy to see that they belonged to a world where 
 polite manners form the character from early youth, 
 and the abuse of social pleasures destroys sentiment 
 and develops egotism. 
 
 But when the whole class was here assembled, child- 
 like heads were seen among this bevy of young girls, 
 ravishiugly pure and virgin, faces with lips half- 
 opened, through which shone spotless teeth, and on 
 which a virgin smile was flickering. The studio then 
 resembled not a studio, but a group of angels seated 
 on a cloud in ether. 
 
280 Vendetta. 
 
 By mid-day, on this occasion, Servin had not ap- 
 peared. For some days past he had spent most of his 
 time in a studio which he kept elsewhere, where he 
 was giving the last touches to a picture for the Expo- 
 sition. All of a sudden Mademoiselle Amelie Thirion, 
 the leader of the aristocrats, began to speak in a low 
 voice, and very earnestly, to her neighbor. A great 
 silence fell on the group of patricians, and the com- 
 mercial party, surprised, were equally silent, trying to 
 discover the subject of this earnest conference. The 
 secret of the young ultras was soon revealed. 
 
 Amelie rose, took an easel which stood near hers, 
 carried it to a distance from the noble group, and 
 placed it close to a board partition which separated 
 the studio from the extreme end of the attic, where all 
 broken casts, defaced canvases and the winter supply 
 of wood were kept. Amelie's action caused a murmur 
 of surprise, which did not prevent her from accom- 
 plishing the change by rolling hastily to the side of 
 the easel the stool, the box of colors, and even the 
 picture by Prudhon, which the absent pupil was 
 copying. After this coup d'etat the Right began to 
 work in silence, but the Left discoursed at length. 
 
 "What will Mademoiselle Piombo say to that?" 
 asked a young girl of Mademoiselle Matilde Roguin, 
 the lively oracle of the banking gronp. 
 
 " She's not a girl to say anything," was the reply; 
 
Vendetta. 281 
 
 "but fifty years hence she '11 remember the insult as if 
 it were done to her the night before, and revenge it 
 cruelly. She is a person that I, for one, don't want to 
 be at war with." 
 
 "The slight these young ladies mean to put upon 
 her is all the more unkind," said another young girl, 
 "because yesterday, Mademoiselle Ginevra was very 
 sad. Her father, they say, has just resigned. They 
 ought not to add to her trouble, for she was very con- 
 siderate of them during the Hundred Days. Never 
 did she say a word to wound them. On the contrary, 
 she avoided politics. But I think our ultras are acting 
 more from jealousy than from party spite." 
 
 "I have a great mind to go and get Mademoiselle 
 Piombo's easel and place it next to mine," said 
 Matilde Roguin. She rose, but second thoughts made 
 her sit down again. 
 
 "With a character like hers," she said, "one can't 
 tell how she would take a civility; better wait events." 
 
 "Ecco la" said the young girl with the black eyes, 
 languidly. / 
 
 The steps of a person coming up the narrow stairway 
 sounded through the studio. The words: "Here she 
 comes ! " passed from mouth to mouth, and then the 
 most absolute silence reigned. 
 
 To understand the importance of the ostracism im- 
 posed by the act of Ame'lie Thirion, it is necessary 
 
282 Vendetta. 
 
 to add that this scene took place toward the end of 
 the month of July, 1815. The second return of the 
 Bourbons had shaken many friendships which had held 
 firm under the first Restoration. At this moment 
 families, almost all divided in opinion, were renewing 
 many of the deplorable scenes which stain the history 
 of all countries in times of civil or religious wars. 
 Children, young girls, old men shared the monarchial 
 fever to which the country was then a victim. Discord 
 glided beneath all roofs ; distrust dyed with its gloomy 
 colors the words and the actions of the most intimate 
 friends. 
 
 Ginevra Piombo loved Napoleon to idolatry ; how, 
 then, could she hate him ? The emperor was her com- 
 patriot and the benefactor of her father. The Baron 
 di Piombo was among those of Napoleon's devoted 
 servants who had co-operated most effectually in the 
 return from Elba. Incapable of denying his political 
 faith, anxious even to confess it, the old baron re- 
 mained in Paris in the midst of his enemies. Ginevra 
 Piombo was all the more open to condemnation be- 
 cause she made no secret of the grief which the second 
 Restoration caused to her family. The only tears she 
 had so far shed in life were drawn from her by the 
 twofold news of Napoleon's captivity on the "Bellero- 
 phon," and Labedoyere's arrest. 
 
 The girls of the aristocratic group of pupils belonged 
 
Vendetta. 283 
 
 to the most devoted royalist families in Paris. It 
 would be difficult to give an idea of the exaggerations 
 prevalent at this epoch, and of the horror inspired by 
 the Bonapartists. However insignificant and petty 
 Amelie's action may now seem to be, it was at that 
 time a very natural expression of the prevailing 
 hatred. Ginevra Piombo, one of Servin's first pupils, 
 had occupied the place that was now taken from her 
 since the first day of her coming to the studio. The 
 aristocratic circle had gradually surrounded her. To 
 drive her from a place that in some sense belonged to 
 her was not only to insult her, but to cause her a spe- 
 cies of artistic pain; for all artists have a spot of pre- 
 dilection where they work. 
 
 Nevertheless, political prejudice was not the chief 
 influence on the conduct of the Right clique of the 
 studio. Ginevra, much the ablest of Servin's pupils, 
 was an object of intense jealousy. The master testi- 
 fied as much admiration for the talents as for the char- 
 acter of this favorite pupil, who served as a conclusion 
 to all his comparisons. In fact, without any one 
 being able to explain the ascendency which this young 
 girl obtained over all who came in contact with her, 
 she exercised over the little world around her a prestige 
 not unlike that of Bonaparte upon his soldiers. 
 
 The aristocracy of the studio had for some days past 
 resolved upon the fall of thi3 queen, but no one had, 
 
284 Vendetta. 
 
 as yet, ventured to openly avoid the Bonapartist. Ma- 
 demoiselle Thirion's act was, therefore, a decisive 
 stroke, intended by her to force the others into becom- 
 ing, openly, the accomplices of her hatred. Though 
 Ginevra was sincerely loved by several of these royal- 
 ists, nearly all of whom were indoctrinated at home 
 with their political ideas, they decided, with the tactics 
 peculiar to women, that they should do best to keep 
 themselves aloof from the quarrel. 
 
 On Ginevra' s arrival she was received, as we have 
 said, in profound silence. Of all the young women 
 who had, so far, come to Servin's studio, she was the 
 handsomest, the tallest, and the best made. Her car- 
 riage and demeanor had a character of nobility and 
 grace which commanded respect. Her face, instinct 
 with intelligence, seemed to radiate light, so inspired 
 was it with the enthusiasm peculiar to Corsicans, — 
 which does not, however, preclude calmness. Her long 
 hair and her black eyes and lashes expressed passion ; 
 the corners of her mouth, too softly defined, and the 
 lips, a trifle too marked, gave signs of that kindliness 
 which strong beings derive from the consciousness of 
 their strength. \ 
 
 By a singular caprice of nature, the charm of her 
 face was, in some degree, contradicted by a marble 
 forehead, on which lay an almost savage pride, and 
 from which seemed to emanate the moral instincts of 
 
Vendetta. 285 
 
 a Corsican. In that was the only link between herself 
 and her native land. All the rest of her person, her 
 simplicity, the easy grace of her Lombard beauty, was 
 so seductive that it was difficult for those who looked 
 at her to give her pain. She inspired such keen 
 attraction that her old father caused her, as matter of 
 precaution, to be accompanied to and from the studio. 
 The only defect of this truly poetic creature came from 
 the very power of a beauty so fully developed; she 
 looked a woman. Marriage she had refused out of 
 love to her father and mother, feeling herself neces- 
 sary to the comfort of their old age. Her taste for 
 painting took the place of the passions and interests 
 which usually absorb her sex. 
 
 "You are very silent to-day, mesdemoiselles," she 
 said, after advancing a little way among her compan- 
 ions. u Good-morning, my little Laure," she added, 
 in a soft, caressing voice, approaching the young girl 
 who was painting apart from the rest. "That head is 
 strong, — the flesh tints a little too rosy, but the draw- 
 ing is excellent." 
 
 Laure raised her head and looked tenderly at Gin- 
 evra; their faces beamed with the expression of a 
 mutual affection. A faint smile brightened the lips of 
 the young Italian, who seemed thoughtful, and walked 
 slowly to her easel, glancing carelessly at the drawings 
 and paintings on her way, and bidding good-morning 
 
286 Vendetta. 
 
 to each of the young girls of the first group, not 
 observing the unusual curiosity excited by her pres- 
 ence. She was like a queen in the midst of her court; 
 she paid no attention to the profound silence that 
 reigned among the patricians, and passed before their 
 camp without pronouncing a single word. Her absorp- 
 tion seemed so great that she sat down before her easel, 
 opened her color-box, took up her brushes, drew on her 
 brown sleeves, arranged her apron, looked at her pic- 
 ture, examined her palette, without, apparently, think- 
 ing of what she was doing. All heads in the group of 
 the bourgeoises were turned toward her. If the young 
 ladies in the Thirion camp did not show their impa- 
 tience with the same frankness, their sidelong glances 
 were none the less directed on Ginevra. 
 
 "She has n't noticed it! " said Mademoiselle Roguin. 
 
 At this instant Ginevra abandoned the meditative 
 attitude in which she had been contemplating her 
 canvas, and turned her head toward the group of aris- 
 tocrats. She measured, at a glance, the distance that 
 now separated her from them ; but she said nothing. 
 
 "It hasn't occurred to her that they meant to 
 insult her," said Matilde; "she neither colored nor 
 turned pale. How vexed those girls will be if she 
 likes her new place as well as the old! You are out 
 of bounds, mademoiselle," she added, aloud, address- 
 in <r Ginevra. 
 
Vendetta. 287 
 
 The Italian pretended not to hear; perhaps she 
 really did not hear. She rose abruptly; walked with a 
 certain deliberation along the side of the partition 
 which separated the adjoining closet from the studio, 
 and seemed to be examining the sash through which her 
 light came, — giving so much importance to it that she 
 mounted a chair to raise the green serge, which inter- 
 cepted the light, much higher. Reaching that height, 
 her eye was on a level with a slight opening in the 
 partition, the real object of her efforts, for the glance 
 that she cast through it can be compared only to that 
 of a miser discovering Aladdin's treasure. Then she 
 sprang down hastily and returned to her place, changed 
 the position of her picture, pretended to be still dissat- 
 isfied with the light, pushed a table close to the parti- 
 tion, on which she placed a chair, climbed lightly to 
 the summit of this erection, and again looked through 
 the crevice. She cast but one glance into the space 
 beyond, which was lighted through a skylight; but 
 what she saw produced so strong an effect upon her that 
 she tottered. 
 
 "Take care, Mademoiselle Ginevra, you'll fall!" 
 cried Laure. 
 
 All the young girls gazed at the imprudent climber, 
 and the fear of their coming to her gave her courage; 
 she recovered her equilibrium, and replied, as she bal- 
 anced herself on the shaking chair: — 
 
288 Vendetta. 
 
 "Pooh! it is more solid than a throne! " 
 She then secured the curtain and came down, pushed 
 the chair and table as far as possible from the parti- 
 tion, returned to her easel, and seemed to be arranging: 
 it to suit the volume of light she had now thrown upon 
 it. Her picture, however, was not in her mind, which 
 was wholly bent on getting as near as possible to 
 the closet, against the door of which she finally 
 settled herself. Then she began to prepare her palette 
 in the deepest silence. Sitting there, she could hear, 
 distinctly, a sound which had strongly excited her 
 curiosity the evening before, and had whirled her 
 young imagination across vast fields of conjecture. 
 She recognized the firm and regular breathing of a 
 man whom she had just seen asleep. Her curiosity 
 was satisfied beyond her expectations, but at the same 
 time she felt saddled by an immense responsibility. 
 Through the opening in the wall she had seen the 
 Imperial eagle ; and upon the flock bed, faintly lighted 
 from above, lay the form of an officer of the Guard. 
 She guessed all. Servin was hiding a proscribed 
 man! 
 
 She now trembled lest any of her companions should 
 come near her to examine her picture, when the regular 
 breathing or some deeper breath might reveal to them, 
 as it had to her, the presence of this political victim. 
 She resolved to keep her place beside that door, trust- 
 
Vendetta. 289 
 
 ing to her wits to baffle all dangerous chances that 
 might arise. 
 
 "Better that I should be here," thought she, "to 
 prevent some luckless accident, than leave that poor 
 man at the mercy of a heedless betrayal." 
 
 This was the secret of the indifference which Ginevra 
 had apparently shown to the removal of her easel. 
 She was inwardly enchanted, because the change had 
 enabled her to gratify her curiosity in a natural man- 
 ner; besides, at this moment, she was too keenly pre- 
 occupied to perceive the reason of her removal. 
 
 Nothing is more mortifying to young girls, or, 
 indeed, to all the world, than to see a piece of mischief, 
 an insult, or a biting speech, miss its effect through 
 the contempt or the indifference of the intended victim. 
 It seems as if hatred to an enemy grows in proportion 
 to the height that enemy is raised above us. Gin- 
 evra's behavior was an enigma to all her companions; 
 her friends and enemies were equally surprised; for the 
 former claimed for her all good qualities, except that 
 of forgiveness of injuries. Though, of course, the 
 occasions for displaying that vice of nature were sel- 
 dom afforded to Ginevra in the life of a studio, still, 
 the specimens she had now and then given of her vin- 
 dictive disposition had left a strong impression on the 
 minds of her companions. 
 
 After many conjectures, Mademoiselle Roguin came 
 19 
 
290 Vendetta. 
 
 to the conclusion that the Italian's silence showed a 
 grandeur of soul beyond all praise; and the banking 
 circle, inspired by her, formed a project to humiliate 
 the aristocracy. They succeeded in that aim by a fire 
 of sarcasms which presently brought down the pride of 
 the Right coterie. 
 
 ' Madame Servin's arrival put a stop to the struggle. 
 With the shrewdness that usually accompanies malice, 
 Amelie Thirion had noticed, analyzed, and mentally 
 commented on the extreme preoccupation of Ginevra's 
 mind, which prevented her from even hearing the bit- 
 terly polite war of words of which she was the object. 
 The vengeance Mademoiselle Roguin and her compan- 
 ions were inflicting on Mademoiselle Thirion and her 
 group had, therefore, the fatal effect of driving the 
 young ultras to search for the cause of the silence so 
 obstinately maintained by Ginevra di Piombo. The 
 beautiful Italian became the centre of all glances, and 
 she was henceforth watched by friends and foes 
 alike. 
 
 It is very difficult to hide even a slight emotion or 
 sentiment from fifteen inquisitive and unoccupied 
 young girls, whose wits and mischief ask for nothing 
 better than secrets to guess, schemes to create or baffle, 
 and who know how to find too many interpretations for 
 each gesture, glance, and word, to fail in discovering 
 the right one. 
 
Vendetta. 291 
 
 At this moment, however, the presence of Madame 
 Servin produced an interlude in the drama thus played 
 below the surface in these various young hearts, the 
 sentiments, ideas, and progress of which were ex- 
 pressed by phrases that were almost allegorical, by 
 mischievous glances, by gestures, by silence even, 
 more intelligible than words. As soon as Madame 
 Servin entered the studio, her eyes turned to the door 
 near which Ginevra was seated. Under present cir- 
 cumstances the fact of this glance was not lost. 
 Though at first none of the pupils took notice of it, 
 Mademoiselle Thirion recollected it later, and it ex- 
 plained to her the doubt, fear, and mystery which now 
 gave something wild and frightened to Madame Ser- 
 vin's eyes. 
 
 "Mesdemoiselles," she said, "Monsieur Servin can- 
 not come to-day." 
 
 Then she went round complimenting each young 
 girl, receiving in return a volume of those feminine 
 caresses which are given as much by the tones of the 
 voice and by looks as by gestures. She presently 
 reached Ginevra, under the influence of an uneasiness 
 she tried in vain to disguise. They nodded to each 
 other in a friendly way, but said nothing; one painted, 
 the other stood looking at the painting. The breath- 
 ing of the soldier in the closet could be distinctly 
 heard, but Madame Servin appeared not to notice 
 
292 Vendetta. 
 
 it; her feigned ignorance was so obvious that Ginevra 
 recognized it at once for wilful deafness. Presently 
 the unknown man turned on his pallet. 
 
 The Italian then looked fixedly at Madame Servin, 
 who said, without the slightest change of face : — 
 
 "Your copy is as fine as the original; if I had to 
 choose between the two I should be puzzled." 
 
 "Monsieur Servin has not taken his wife into his 
 confidence as to this mystery," thought Ginevra, who, 
 after replying to the young wife's speech with a gentle 
 smile of incredulity, began to hum a Corsican canzon- 
 etta to cover the noise that was made by the prisoner. 
 
 It was so unusual a thing to hear the studious 'Italian 
 sing, that all the other young girls looked up at her in 
 surprise. Later, this circumstance served as proof to 
 the charitable suppositions of jealousy. 
 
 Madame Servin soon went away, and the session 
 ended without farther events; Ginevra allowed her 
 companions to depart, and seemed to intend to work 
 later. But, unconsciously to herself, she betrayed her 
 desire to be left alone by impatient glances, ill- 
 disguised, at the pupils who were slow in leaving. 
 Mademoiselle Thirion, a cruel enemy to the girl who 
 excelled her in everything, guessed by the instinct of 
 jealousy that her rival's industry hid some purpose. 
 By dint of watching her she was struck by the attentive 
 air with which Ginevra seemed to be listening to 
 
Vendetta. 293 
 
 sounds that no one else had heard. The expression of 
 impatience she now detected in her companion's eyes 
 was like a flash of light to her. 
 
 Amelie was the last of the pupils to leave the studio ; 
 from there she went down to Madame Servin's apart- 
 ment and talked with her for a moment; then she pre- 
 tended to have left her bag, ran softly back to the 
 studio, and found Ginevra once more mounted on her 
 frail scaffolding, and so absorbed in contemplation of 
 an unknown object that she did not hear the slight 
 noise of her companion's footsteps. It is true that, 
 to use an expression of Walter Scott, Amelie stepped 
 as if on eggs. She hastily withdrew outside the door 
 and coughed. Ginevra quivered, turned her head, saw 
 her enemy, blushed, hastened to alter the shade to 
 give meaning to her position, and came down from her 
 perch leisurely. She soon after left the studio, bearing 
 with her, in her memory, the image of a man's head, 
 as beauteous as that of the Endymion, a masterpiece 
 of Girodet's which she had lately copied. 
 
 "To banish so young a man! Who can he be? for 
 he is not Marshal Ney — " 
 
 These two sentences are the simplest expression of 
 the many ideas that Ginevra turned over in her mind 
 for two days. On the third day, in spite of her haste 
 to be first at the studio, she found Mademoiselle 
 Thirion already there, having come in a carriage. 
 
294 Vendetta. 
 
 Ginevra and her enemy observed each other for a 
 long time, but they made their faces impenetrable. 
 Amelie had seen the handsome head of the mysterious 
 man, but, fortunately, and unfortunately also, the 
 Imperial eagles and uniform were so placed that she 
 did not see them through the crevice in the partition. 
 She was lost in conjectures. Suddenly Servin came 
 in, much earlier than usual. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Ginevra," he said, after glancing 
 round the studio, "why have you placed yourself 
 there? The light is bad. Come nearer to the rest of 
 the young ladies and pull down that curtain a little." 
 
 Then he sat down near Laure, whose work deserved 
 his most cordial correction. 
 
 "Well, well!" he cried; "here, indeed, is a head 
 extremely well done. You '11 be another Ginevra." 
 
 The master then went .from easel to easel, scolding, 
 flattering, jesting, and making, as usual, his jests 
 more dreaded than his reprimands. Ginevra had not 
 obeyed the professor's order, but remained at her post, 
 firmly resolved not to quit it. She took a sheet of 
 paper and began to sketch in sepia the head of the 
 hidden man. A work done under the impulse of an 
 emotion has always a stamp of its own. The faculty 
 of giving to representations of nature or of thought 
 their true coloring constitutes genius, and often, in 
 this respect, passion takes the place of it. So, under 
 
Vendetta. 295 
 
 the circumstances in which Ginevra now found herself, 
 the intuition which she owed to a powerful effect upon 
 her memory, or, possibly, to necessity, that mother of 
 great things, lent her, for the moment, a supernatural 
 talent. The head of the young officer was dashed upon 
 the paper in the midst of an inward trembling which 
 she mistook for fear, and in which a physiologist 
 would have recognized the lire of inspiration. From 
 time to time she glanced furtively at her companions, 
 in order to hide the sketch if any of them came near 
 her. But in spite of her watchfulness, there was a 
 moment when she did not see the eyeglass of the 
 pitiless Amelie turned full upon the drawing from the 
 shelter of a great portfolio. Mademoiselle Thirion, 
 recognizing the portrait of the mysterious man, showed 
 herself abruptly, and Ginevra hastily covered the sheet 
 of paper. 
 
 "Why do you stay there in spite of my advice, 
 mademoiselle ? " asked the professor, gravely. 
 
 The pupil turned her easel so that no one but the 
 master could see the sketch, which she placed upon it, 
 and said, in an agitated voice : — 
 
 "Do you not think, as I do, that the light is very 
 good ? Had I not better remain here ? " 
 
 Servin turned pale. As nothing escapes the pierc- 
 ing eyes of malice, Mademoiselle Thirion became, as 
 it were, a sharer in the sudden emotion of master and 
 pupil. 
 
296 Vendetta. 
 
 "You are right," said Servin; "but really," he 
 added, with a forced laugh, "you will soon come to 
 know more than I do." 
 
 A pause followed, during which the professor studied 
 the drawing of the officer's head. 
 
 "It is a masterpiece! worthy of Sal va tor Rosa! " he 
 exclaimed, with the energy of an artist. 
 
 All the pupils rose on hearing this, and Mademoi- 
 selle Thirion darted forward with the velocity of a 
 tiger on its prey. At this instant, the prisoner, awak- 
 ened, perhaps, by the noise, began to move. Ginevra 
 knocked over her stool, said a few incoherent sen- 
 tences, and began to laugh; but she had thrown the 
 portrait into her portfolio before Amelie could get to 
 her. The easel was now surrounded ; Servin descanted 
 on the beauty of the copy which his favorite pupil was 
 then making, and the whole class was duped by this 
 stratagem, except Amelie, who, slipping behind her 
 companions, attempted to open the portfolio where she 
 had seen G-inevra throw the sketch. But the latter 
 took it up without a word, and placed it in front of 
 her. The two young girls then looked at each other 
 fixedly, in silence. 
 
 "Come, mesdemoiselles, take your places," said 
 Servin. " If you wish to do as well as Mademoiselle 
 di Piombo, you mustn't be always talking fashions 
 and balls, and trifling away your time as you do." 
 
Vendetta. 297 
 
 When they were all reseated before their easels, 
 Servin sat down beside Ginevra. 
 
 "Was it not better that I should be the one to dis- 
 cover the mystery rather than the others ? M asked the 
 girl, in a low voice. 
 
 44 Yes," replied the painter, "you are one of us, a 
 patriot; but even if you were not, I should still have 
 confided the matter to you." 
 
 Master and pupil understood each other, and Gin- 
 evra no longer feared to ask : — 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "An intimate friend of Labedoyere, who contrib- 
 uted more than any other man, except the unfortunate 
 colonel, to the union of the 7th regiment with the 
 grenadiers of Elba. He was a major in the Imperial 
 guard and was at Waterloo." 
 
 " Why not have burned his uniform and shako, and 
 supplied him with citizen's clothes?" said Ginevra, 
 impatiently. 
 
 "He will have them to-night." 
 
 "You ought to have closed the studio for some 
 days." 
 
 "He is going away." 
 
 "Then they'll kill him," said the girl. "Let him 
 stay here with you till the present storm is over. Paris 
 is still the only place in France where a man can be 
 hidden safely. Is he a friend of yours ? " she asked. 
 
298 Vendetta. 
 
 "No; he has no claim upon me but that of his ill- 
 luck. He came into my hands in this way. My 
 father-in-law, who returned to the army during the 
 campaign, met this young fellow, and very cleverly 
 rescued him from the claws of those who captured 
 Labedoyere. He came here to defend the general, 
 foolish fellow!" 
 
 "Do you call him that!" cried Ginevra, casting a 
 glance of astonishment on the painter, who was silent 
 for a moment. 
 
 4 'My father-in-law is too closely watched to be able 
 to keep him in his own house," he resumed. "So he 
 brought him to me, by night, about a week ago. I 
 hoped to keep him out of sight in this corner, the only 
 spot in the house where he could be safe." 
 
 "If I can be useful to you, employ me," said Gin- 
 evra. "I know the Marechal de Feltre." 
 
 "Well, we'll see," replied the painter. 
 
 This conversation lasted too long not to be noticed 
 by all the other girls. Servin left Ginevra, went round 
 once more to each easel, and gave such long lessons 
 that he was still there at the hour when the pupils were 
 in the habit of leaving. 
 
 "You are forgetting your bag, Mademoiselle Thi- 
 rion," said the professor, running after the girl, who 
 was now condescending to the work of a spy to satisfy 
 her jealousy. 
 
Vendetta. 299 
 
 The baffled pupil returned for tbe bag, expressing 
 surprise at her carelessness; but this act of Servin's 
 was to her fresh proof of the existence of a mystery, 
 the importance of which was evident. She now ran 
 noisily down the staircase, and slammed the door 
 which opened into the Servins' apartment, to give 
 an impression that she had gone ; then she softly re- 
 turned and stationed herself outside the door of the 
 studio. 
 
300 Vendetta. 
 
 III. 
 
 labedoyere's friend. 
 
 When the painter and Ginevra thought themselves 
 alone, Servin rapped in a peculiar manner on the door 
 of the dark garret, which turned at once on its rusty 
 and creaking hinges. Ginevra then saw a tall and 
 well-made young man, whose Imperial uniform set her 
 heart to beating. The officer had one arm in a sling, 
 and the pallor of his face revealed sharp suffering. 
 Seeing an unknown woman, he recoiled. 
 
 Amelie, who was unable to look into the room, the 
 door being closed, was afraid to stay longer; she was 
 satisfied with having heard the opening of the garret 
 door, and departed noiselessly. 
 
 "Fear nothing," said the painter to the officer. 
 "Mademoiselle is the daughter of a most faithful 
 friend of the Emperor, the Baron di Piombo." 
 
 The young soldier retained no doubts as to Ginevra's 
 patriotism as soon as he saw her. 
 
 "You are wounded," she said. 
 
 "Oh! it is nothing, mademoiselle," he replied; "the 
 wound is healing." 
 
Vendetta. 301 
 
 Just at this moment the loud cries of the vendors of 
 newspapers came up from the street: "Condemned to 
 death!" They all trembled, and the soldier was the 
 first to hear a name that turned him pale. 
 
 "Labedoyere! " he cried, falling on a stool. 
 
 They looked at each other in silence. Drops gath- 
 ered on the livid forehead of the young man; he seized 
 the black tufts of his hair in one hand with a gesture 
 of despair, and rested his elbow on Ginevra's easel. 
 
 "After all," he said, rising abruptly, "Labedoyere 
 and I knew what we were doing. We were certain of 
 the fate that awaited us, whether from triumph or 
 defeat. He dies for the Cause, and here am I, hiding 
 myself ! " 
 
 He rushed toward the door of the studio; but, 
 quicker than he, Ginevra reached it, and barred his 
 way. 
 
 "Can you restore the Emperor?" she said. "Do 
 you expect to raise that giant who could not maintain 
 himself?" 
 
 "But what can I do? " said the young man, address- 
 ing the two friends whom chance had sent to him. 
 "I have not a relation in the world. Labedoyere was 
 my protector and my friend; without him, I am alone. 
 T<>-morrow I myself may be condemned; my only for- 
 tune was my pay. I spent my last penny to come here 
 and try to snatch Labedoyere from his fate; death is, 
 
302 Vendetta. 
 
 therefore, a necessity for me. When a man decides 
 to die he ought to know how to sell his life to the 
 executioner. I was thinking just now that the life of 
 an honest man is worth that of two traitors, and the 
 blow of a dagger well placed may give immortality. " 
 
 This spasm of despair alarmed the painter, and even 
 Ginevra, whose own nature comprehended that of the 
 young man. She admired his handsome face and his 
 delightful voice, the sweetness of which was scarcely 
 lessened by its tones of fury. Then, all of a sudden, 
 she poured a balm upon the wounds of the unfortunate 
 man: — 
 
 "Monsieur," she said, "as for your pecuniary dis- 
 tress, permit me to offer you my savings. My father 
 is rich ; I am his only child ; he loves me, and I am 
 sure he will never blame me. Have no scruple in 
 accepting my offer; our property is derived from the 
 Emperor ; we do not own a penny that is not the result 
 of his munificence. Is it not gratitude to him to assist 
 his faithful soldiers? Take the sums you need as 
 indifferently as I offer them. It is only money! " she 
 added, in a tone of contempt. "Now, as for friends, 
 — those you shall have." 
 
 She raised her head proudly, and her eyes shone 
 with dazzling brilliancy. 
 
 "The head which falls to-morrow before a dozen 
 muskets will save yours," she went on. "Wait till 
 
Vendetta. 303 
 
 the storm is over ; you can then escape and take service 
 in foreign countries if } t ou are not forgotten here; or 
 in the French army, if you are." 
 
 In the comfort that women give there is always a 
 delicacy which has something maternal, foreseeing, 
 and complete about it. But when the words of hope 
 and peace are said with grace of gesture and that elo- 
 quence of tone which comes from the heart, and when, 
 above all, the benefactress is beautiful, a young man 
 does not resist. The prisoner breathed in love through 
 all his senses. A rosy tinge colored his white cheeks ; 
 his eyes lost something of the sadness that dulled them, 
 and he said, in a peculiar tone of voice : — 
 
 "You are an angel of goodness — But Labedoyere ! " 
 he added. 4 ' Oh, Labedoyere ! " 
 
 At this cry they all three looked at one another in 
 silence, each comprehending the others' thoughts. No 
 longer friends of twenty minutes only, they were 
 friends of twenty years. 
 
 "Dear friend," said Servin, "can you save him? " 
 
 "I can avenge him." 
 
 Ginevra quivered. Though ^ e granger was hand- 
 some, his appearance had not influenced her; the soft 
 pity in a woman's heart for miseries that are not igno- 
 ble had stifled in Ginevra all other emotions; but to 
 hear a cry of vengeance, to find in that proscribed 
 being an Italian soul, devotion to Napoleon, Corsican 
 
304 Vendetta. 
 
 generosity! — ah! that was, indeed, too much for her. 
 She looked at the officer with a respectful emotion 
 which shook his heart. For the first time in her life a 
 man had caused her a keen emotion. She now, like 
 other women, put the soul of the stranger on a par with 
 the noble beauty of his features and the happy pro- 
 portions of his figure, which she admired as an artist. 
 Led by accidental curiosity to pity, from pity to a 
 powerful interest, she came, through that interest, to 
 such profound sensations that she felt she was in dan- 
 ger if she stayed there longer. 
 
 " Until to-morrow, then," she said, giving the officer 
 a gentle smile by way of a parting consolation. 
 
 Seeing that smile, which threw a new light on Gin- 
 evra's features, the stranger forgot all else for an 
 instant. 
 
 " To-morrow," he said, sadly; u but to-morrow, 
 Labedoyere — " 
 
 Ginevra turned, put a finger on her lips, and looked 
 at him, as if to say: "Be calm, be prudent." 
 
 And the young man cried out in his own language : 
 
 " Ah, Dio ! che non vorrei viyere dopo averla veduta ? 
 — who would not wish to live after seeing her? M 
 
 The peculiar accent with which he pronounced the 
 words made Ginevra quiver. 
 
 "Are you Corsican?" she cried, returning toward 
 him with a beating heart. 
 
Vendetta. 305 , 
 
 U I was bom in Corsica," he replied; "but I was 
 brought, while very young, to Genoa, and as soon as 
 I was old enough for military service I enlisted." 
 
 The beauty of the young man, the mighty charm lent 
 to him by his attachment to the Emperor, his wound, 
 his misfortunes, his danger, all disappeared to Gin- 
 evra's mind, or, rather, all were blended in one senti- 
 ment, — a new and delightful sentiment. This perse- 
 cuted man was a child of Corsica; he spoke its cher- 
 ished language! She stood, for a moment, motionless; 
 held by a magical sensation; before her eyes was a 
 living picture, to which all human sentiments, united 
 by chance, gave vivid colors. By Servin's invitation, 
 the officer had seated himself upon a divan, and the 
 painter, after removing the sling which supported the 
 arm of his guest, was undoing the bandages in order 
 to dress the wound. Ginevra shuddered when she saw 
 the long, broad gash made by the blade of a sabre on 
 the young man's forearm, and a moan escaped her. 
 The stranger raised his head and smiled to her. 
 There was something touching which went to the soul, 
 in the care with which Servin lifted the lint and touched 
 the lacerated flesh, while the face of the wounded man, 
 though pale and sickly, expressed, as he looked at the 
 girl, more pleasure than suffering. An artist would 
 have admired, involuntarily, this opposition of senti- 
 ments, together with the contrasts produced by the 
 
 20 
 
.306 Vendetta. 
 
 whiteness of the linen and the bared arm to the red 
 and blue uniform of the officer. 
 
 At this moment a soft half-light pervaded the studio ; 
 but a parting ray of the evening sunlight suddenly 
 illuminated the spot where the soldier sat, so that his 
 noble, blanched face, his black hair, and his clothes 
 were bathed in its glow. The effect was simple 
 enough, but to the girl's Italian imagination it was a 
 happy omen. The stranger seemed to her a celestial 
 messenger, speaking the language of her own country. 
 He thus unconsciously put her under the spell of child- 
 hood's memories, while in her heart there dawned 
 another feeling as fresh, as pure as her own innocence. 
 For a short, very short moment, she was motionless 
 and dreamy, as though she were plunged in boundless 
 thought. Then she blushed at having allowed her 
 absorption to be noticed, exchanged one soft and 
 rapid glance with the wounded man, and fled with the 
 vision of him still before her eyes. 
 
 The next day was not a class-day, but Ginevra came 
 to the studio, and the prisoner was free to sit beside 
 her easel. Servin, who had a sketch to finish, played 
 the part of mentor to the two young people, who 
 talked to each other chiefly in Corsican. The soldier 
 related the sufferings of the retreat from Moscow; 
 for, at nineteen years of age, he had made the passage 
 of the Beresina, and was almost the last man left of his 
 
Vendetta. 307 
 
 regiment. He described, in words of fire, the great 
 disaster of Waterloo. His voice was music itself to 
 the Italian girl. Brought up as a Corsican, Gin- 
 evra was, in some sense, a child of Nature ; falseness 
 was a thing unknown to her; she gave herself up 
 without reserve to her impressions ; she acknowledged 
 them, or, rather, allowed them to be seen without the 
 affectations of petty and calculating coquetry, charac- 
 teristic of Parisian girlhood. During this day she sat 
 more than once with her palette in one hand, her 
 brushes in another, without touching a color. With 
 her eyes fastened on the officer, and her lips slightly 
 apart, she listened, in the attitude of painting a stroke 
 which was never painted. She was not surprised to 
 see such softness in the eyes of the young man, for she 
 felt that her own were soft in spite of her will to keep 
 them stern and calm. After periods like this she 
 painted diligently, without raising her head, for he 
 was there, near her, watching her work. The first 
 time he sat down beside her to contemplate her silently, 
 she said, in a voice of some emotion, after a long 
 pause : — 
 
 44 Does it amuse you to see me paint? " 
 
 That day she learned that his name was Luigi. 
 
 Before separating, it was agreed between them that if, 
 
 on class-days when they could not see each other, any 
 
 important political event occurred, Ginevra was to in- 
 
308 Vendetta. 
 
 form him by singing certain Corsican melodies then 
 agreed upon. 
 
 The following day Mademoiselle Thirion informed 
 all the members of the class, under pledge of secrecy 
 that Ginevra di Piombo had a lover, a young man who 
 came during the hours for the lesson, and concealed 
 himself in the garret beyond the studio. 
 
 "You, who take her part," she said to Mademoiselle 
 Koguin, " watch her carefully, and you will see how 
 she spends her time." 
 
 Ginevra was, therefore, observed with diabolical 
 attention. They listened to her songs, they watched 
 her glances. At times, when she supposed that no 
 one saw her, a dozen pairs of eyes were furtively upon 
 her. Thus enlightened, the girls were able to inter- 
 pret truly the emotions that crossed the features of 
 the beautiful Italian, — her gestures, the peculiar tones 
 in which she hummed a tune, and the attention with 
 which they saw her listen to sounds which only she 
 could hear through the partition. 
 
 By the end of a week, Laure was the only one of Ser- 
 ving fifteen pupils who had resisted the temptation of 
 looking at Luigi through the crevice of the partition ; 
 and she, through an instinct of weakness, still de- 
 fended her beautiful friend. Mademoiselle Roguin 
 endeavored to make her wait on the staircase after the 
 class dispersed, that she might prove to her the inti- 
 
Vendetta. 309 
 
 macy of Ginevra and the young man by entering the 
 studio and surprising them together. But Laure re- 
 fused to condescend to an act of espial which no curi- 
 osity could justify, and she consequently became the 
 object of much reprobation. 
 
 Before long Mademoiselle Thirion made known that 
 she thought it improper to attend the classes of a 
 painter whose opinions were tainted with patriotism 
 and Bonapartism (in those days the terms were synon- 
 ymous), and she ceased her attendance at the studio. 
 But, although she herself forgot Ginevra, the harm she 
 had planted bore fruit. Little by little, the other young 
 girls revealed to their mothers the strange events 
 which were happening at the studio. One day Matilde 
 Roguin did not come; the next clay another girl was 
 missing, and so on, till the last three or four who were 
 left came no more. Ginevra and Laure, her little 
 friend, were the sole occupants of the deserted studio 
 for three or four days. 
 
 Ginevra did not observe this falling off, nor ask the 
 cause of her companions' absence. As soon as she 
 had invented means of communication with Luigi she 
 lived in the studio in a delightful solitude, alone amid 
 her own world, thinking only of the officer and the 
 clangers that threatened him. Though a sincere ad- 
 mirer of noble characters that never betray their po- 
 litical faiths, she nevertheless urged Luigi to submit 
 
310 Vendetta. 
 
 himself to the royal authority, that he might be released 
 from his present life and remain in France. But to 
 this he would not consent. If passions are born and 
 nourished, as they say, under the influence of roman- 
 tic causes, never did so many circumstances of that 
 kind concur in uniting two young souls by one and the 
 same sentiment. The friendship of Ginevra for Luigi 
 and that of Luigi for Ginevra made more progress 
 in a month than a friendship in society would make in 
 ten years. Adversity is the touchstone of character. 
 Ginevra was able, therefore, to study Luigi, to know 
 him; and before long they mutually esteemed each 
 other. The girl, who was older than Luigi, found a 
 charm in being courted by a youth already so grand, 
 so tried by fate, — a youth who joined to the experience 
 of a man the graces of adolescence. Luigi, on his 
 side, felt an unspeakable pleasure in allowing himself 
 to be apparently protected by a woman, now twenty- 
 five years of age. Was it not a proof of love? The 
 union of gentleness and pride, strength and weakness 
 in Ginevra were, to him, irresistible attractions, and 
 he was utterly subjugated by her. In short, before 
 long, they loved so profoundly that they felt no need of 
 denying to each other their love, nor yet of telling it. 
 
 One day, towards evening, Ginevra heard the accus- 
 tomed signal. Luigi scratched with a pin on the wood- 
 work in a manner that produced no more noise than a 
 
Vendetta. 311 
 
 spider might make as he fastened his thread. The 
 signal meant that he wished to come out of his retreat. 
 
 Ginevra glanced around the studio, and not seeing 
 Laure, opened the door; but as she did so Luigi caught 
 sight of the little pupil and abruptly retired. Sur- 
 prised at his action, Ginevra looked round, saw Laure, 
 and said, as she went up to the girl's easel: — 
 
 "You are staying late, my dear. That head seems 
 to me finished; you only want a high-light, — see! 
 on that knot of hair." 
 
 "You would do me a great kindness," said Laure, 
 in a trembling voice, "if you would give this copy a 
 few touches; for then I could carry away with me 
 something to remind me of you." 
 
 "Willingly," said Ginevra, painting a few strokes 
 on the picture. "But I thought it was a long way 
 from your home to the studio, and it is late." 
 
 "Oh! Ginevra, lam going away, never to return," 
 cried the poor girl, sadly. 
 
 "You mean to leave Monsieur Servin !" exclaimed 
 Ginevra, less affected, however, by this news than she 
 would have been a month earlier. 
 
 "Have n't you noticed, Ginevra, that for some days 
 past you and I have been alone in the studio? " 
 
 "True," said Ginevra, as if struck by a sudden recol- 
 lection. "Are all those young ladies ill, or going to 
 be married, or are their fathers on duty at court?" 
 
312 Vendetta. 
 
 "They have left Monsieur Servin," replied Laure. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "On your account, Ginevra." 
 
 "My account! " repeated the Corsican, springing up, 
 with a threatening brow and her eyes flashing. 
 
 44 Oh! don't be angry, my kind Ginevra," cried 
 Laure, in deep distress. "My mother insists on my 
 leaving the studio. The young ladies say that you 
 have some intrigue, and that Monsieur Servin allows 
 the young man whom you love to stay in the dark 
 attic. I have never believed these calumnies nor said 
 a word to my mother about them. But last night 
 Madame Roguin met her at a ball and asked her if 
 she still sent me here. When my mother answered 
 yes, Madame Roguin told her the falsehoods of those 
 young ladies. Mamma scolded me severely; she said 
 I must have known it all, and that I had failed in 
 proper confidence between mother and daughter by not 
 telling her. Oh! my dear Ginevra I I, who took you 
 for my model, oh! how grieved I am that I can't be 
 your companion any longer." 
 
 44 We shall meet again in life; girls marry — " said 
 Ginevra. 
 
 44 When they are rich," sighed Laure. 
 
 44 Come and see me; my father has a fortune — " 
 
 44 Ginevra," continued Laure, tenderly, " Madame 
 Roguin and my mother are coming to see Monsieur 
 
Vendetta. 313 
 
 Servin to-morrow and reproach him; had n't you better 
 warn him." 
 
 A thunderbolt falling at Ginevra's feet could not 
 have astonished her more than this revelation. 
 
 44 What matter is it to them?" she asked, naively. 
 
 44 Everybody thinks it very wrong. Mamma says it 
 is immoral." 
 
 44 And you, Laure, what do you say?" 
 
 The young girl looked up at Ginevra, and their 
 thoughts united. Laure could no longer keep back 
 her tears; she flung herself on her friend's breast and 
 sobbed. At this moment Servin came into the studio. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Ginevra," he cried, with enthusiasm, 
 44 I have finished my picture! it is now being var- 
 nished. What have you been doing, meanwhile? 
 Where are the young ladies ; are they taking a holi- 
 day, or are they in the country?" 
 
 Laure dried her tears, bowed to Monsieur Servin, 
 and went away. 
 
 44 The studio has been deserted for some days," re- 
 plied Ginevra, 44 and the young ladies are not coming 
 back." 
 
 "Pooh!" 
 
 44 0h! don't laugh," said Ginevra. 44 Listen: I am 
 the involuntary cause of the loss of your reputation — " 
 
 The artist smiled, and said, interrupting his 
 pupil: — 
 
314 Vendetta. 
 
 "My reputation? Why, in a few days my picture 
 will make it at the Exposition." 
 
 u That relates to your talent," replied the girl. "I 
 am speaking of your morality. Those young ladies 
 have told their mothers that Luigi was shut up here, 
 and that you lent yourself — to — our love." 
 
 "There is some truth in that, mademoiselle," replied 
 the professor. "The mothers of those young ladies 
 are foolish women; if they had come straight to me I 
 should have explained the matter. But I don't care a 
 straw about it! Life is short, anyhow." 
 
 And the painter* snapped his fingers above his 
 head. Luigi, who had heard part of the conversa- 
 tion, came in. 
 
 "You have lost all your scholars," he cried. "I have 
 ruined you ! " 
 
 The artist took Luigi' s hand and that of Ginevra, 
 and joined them. 
 
 "Marry one another, my children," he said, with 
 fatherly kindness. 
 
 They both dropped their eyes, and their silence was 
 the first avowal they had made to each other of their 
 love. 
 
 "You will surely be happy," said Servin. "There 
 is nothing in life to equal the happiness of two beings 
 like yourselves when bound together in love?" 
 
 Luigi pressed the hand of his protector without at 
 
Vendetta. 315 
 
 first being able to utter a word; but presently he said, 
 in a voice of emotion : — 
 
 "To you I owe it all." 
 
 "Be happy! I bless and wed you," said the painter, 
 with comic unction, laying his hands upon the heads 
 of the lovers. 
 
 This little jest put an end to their strained emotion. 
 All three looked at one another and laughed merrily. 
 Ginevra pressed Luigi's hand in a strong clasp, with a 
 simplicity of action worthy of the customs of her native 
 land. 
 
 "Ah ga, my dear children," resumed Servin, "you 
 think that all will go right now, but you are much 
 mistaken." 
 
 The lovers looked at him in astonishment. 
 
 "Don't be anxious. I 'm the only one that your 
 romance will harm. But the fact is, Madame Servin 
 is a little straitlaced; and I don't really see how we 
 are to settle it with her." 
 
 "Heavens! and I forgot to tell you," exclaimed 
 Ginevra, "that Madame Roguin and Laure's mother 
 are coming here to-morrow to — " 
 
 "I understand," said the painter. 
 
 "But you can easily justify yourself," continued 
 the girl, with a proud movement of her head. "Mon- 
 sieur Luigi," she added, turning to him with an arch 
 look, "will no longer object to entering the royal 
 
316 Vendetta. 
 
 service. Well, then," after receiving a smile from the 
 young man, "to-morrow morning I will send a peti- 
 tion to one of the most influential persons at the min- 
 istry of War, — a man who will refuse nothing to the 
 daughter of the Baron di Piombo. We shall obtain a 
 tacit pardon for Captain Luigi, for, of course, they 
 will not allow him the rank of major. And then," 
 she added, addressing Servin, "you can confound the 
 mothers of my charitable companions by telling them 
 the truth." 
 
 "You are an angel! " cried Servin. 
 
 While this scene was passing at the studio the father 
 and mother of Ginevra were becoming impatient at 
 her non-return. 
 
 "It is six o'clock, and Ginevra not yet home! " cried 
 Bartolomeo. 
 
 "She was never so late before," said his wife. 
 
 The two old people looked at each other with an 
 anxiety that was not usual with them. Too anxious 
 to remain in one place, Bartolomeo rose and walked 
 about the salon with an active step for a man who was 
 over seventy-seven years of age. Thanks to his robust 
 constitution, he had changed but little since the day 
 of his arrival in Paris, and, despite his tall figure, he 
 walked erect. His hair, now white and sparse, left 
 uncovered a broad and protuberant skull, which gave a 
 strong idea of his character and firmness. His face, 
 
Vendetta. 317 
 
 seamed with deep wrinkles, bad taken, with age, a 
 nobler expression, preserving the pallid tones which 
 inspire veneration. The ardor of passions still lived 
 in the fire of his eyes, while the eyebrows, which were 
 not wholly whitened, retained their terrible mobility. 
 The aspect of the head was stern, but it conveyed the 
 impression that Piombo had a right to be so. His 
 kindness, his gentleness were known only to his wife 
 and daughter. In his functions, or in presence of 
 strangers, he never laid aside the majesty that time 
 had impressed upon his person ; and the habit of frown- 
 ing with his heavy eyebrows, contracting the wrinkles 
 of his face, aud giving to his eyes a Napoleonic fixity, 
 made his manner of accosting others icy. 
 
 During the course of his political life he had been 
 so generally feared that he was thought unsocial, and 
 it is not difficult to explain the causes of that opinion. 
 The life, morals, and fidelity of Piombo made him 
 obnoxious to most courtiers. In spite of the fact that 
 delicate missions were constantly intrusted to his dis- 
 cretion which to any other man about the court would 
 have proved lucrative, he possessed an income of not 
 more than thirty thousand francs from an investment 
 on the Grand Livre. If we recall the cheapness of 
 government securities under the Empire, and the 
 liberality of Napoleon toward those of his faithful 
 servants who knew how to ask for it, we can readily 
 
318 Vendetta. 
 
 see that the Baron di Piombo must have been a man of 
 stern integrity. He owed his plumage as baron to the 
 necessity Napoleon felt of giving him a title before 
 sending him on missions to foreign courts. 
 
 Bartolomeo had always professed a hatred to the 
 traitors with whom Napoleon surrounded himself, ex- 
 pecting to bind them to his cause by dint of victories. 
 It was he of whom it is told that he made three steps 
 to the door of the Emperor's cabinet after advising 
 him to get rid of three men in France on the eve of 
 Napoleon's departure for his celebrated and admirable 
 campaign of 1814. After the second return of the 
 Bourbons Bartolomeo ceased to wear the decoration of 
 the Legion of honor. No man offered a finer image 
 of those old Republicans, incorruptible friends to the 
 Empire, who remained the living relics of the two most 
 energetic governments the world has ever seen. 
 Though the Baron di Piombo displeased mere cour- 
 tiers, he had the , Darus, Drouots, and Carnots with 
 him as friends. As for the rest of the politicians, he 
 cared not a whiff of his cigar's smoke for them, espe- 
 cially since Waterloo. 
 
 Bartolomeo di Piombo had bought, for the very 
 moderate sum which Madame Mere, the Emperor's 
 mother, had paid him for his estates in Corsica, the 
 old mansion of the Portenduere family, in which he 
 had made no changes. Lodged, usually, at the cost of 
 
Vendetta. 319 
 
 the government, he did not occupy this house until 
 after the catastrophe of Fontainebleau. Following the 
 habits of simple persons of strict virtue, the baron 
 and his wife gave no heed to external splendor; their 
 furniture was that which they bought with the man- 
 sion. The grand apartments, lofty, sombre, and bare, 
 the wide mirrors in gilded frames that were almost 
 black, the furniture of the period of Louis XIV. were 
 in keeping with Bartolomeo and his wife, personages 
 worthy of antiquity. 
 
 Under the Empire, and during the Hundred Days, 
 while exercising functions that were liberally rewarded, 
 the old Corsican had maintained a great establishment, 
 more for the purpose of doing honor to his office than 
 from any desire to shine himself. His life and that 
 of his wife were so frugal, so tranquil, that their mod- 
 est fortune sufficed for all their wants. To them, their 
 daughter Ginevra was more precious than the wealth 
 of the whole world. When, therefore, in May, 1814, 
 the Baron di Piombo resigned his office, dismissed 
 his crowd of servants, and closed his stable door, Gin- 
 evra, simple and unpretending like her parents, saw 
 nothing to regret in the change.. Like all great souls, 
 she found her luxury in strength of feeling, and de- 
 rived her happiness from quietness and work. These 
 three beings loved each other too well for the externals 
 of existence to be of value in their eyes. 
 
320 Vendetta. 
 
 Often, and especially after the second dreadful fall 
 of Napoleon, Bartolomeo and his wife passed delight- 
 ful evenings alone with their daughter, listening while 
 she sang and played. To them there was a vast secret 
 pleasure in the presence, in the slightest word of that 
 child; their eyes followed her with tender anxiety; 
 they heard her step in the court-yard, lightly as she 
 trod. Like iovers, the three would often sit silently 
 together, understanding thus, better than by speech, 
 the eloquence of their souls. This profound senti- 
 ment, the life itself of the two old people, animated 
 their every thought. Here were not three existences, 
 but one, — one only, which, like the flame on the 
 hearth, divided itself into three tongues of fire. If, 
 occasionally, some memory of Napoleon's benefits and 
 misfortunes, if the public events of the moment dis- 
 tracted the minds of the old people from this source of 
 their constant solicitude, they could always talk of 
 those interests without affecting their community of 
 thought, for Ginevra shared their political passions. 
 What more natural, therefore, than the ardor with 
 which they found a refuge in the heart of their only 
 child? 
 
 Until now the occupations of public life had absorbed 
 the energy of the Baron di Piombo ; but after leaving 
 those employments he felt the need of casting that 
 energy into the last sentiment that remained to him. 
 
Vendetta. 321 
 
 Apart from the ties of parentage, there may have been, 
 unknown to these three despotic souls, another pow- 
 erful reason for the intensity of their reciprocal love : 
 it was love undivided. Ginevra's whole heart be- 
 longed to her father, as Piombo's whole heart belonged 
 to his child ; and if it be true that we are bound to 
 one another more by our defects than by our virtues, 
 Ginevra echoed in a marvellous manner the passions 
 of her father. There lay the sole imperfection of this 
 triple life. Ginevra was born unyielding of will, 
 vindictive, and passionate, like her father in his 
 youth. 
 
 The Corsican had taken pleasure in developing these 
 savage sentiments in the heart of his daughter, pre- 
 cisely as a lion teaches the lion-cubs to spring upon 
 their prey. But this apprenticeship to vengeance 
 having no means of action in their family life, it came 
 to pass that Ginevra turned the principle against her 
 father ; as a child she forgave him nothing, and he was 
 forced to yield to her. Piombo saw nothing more than 
 childish nonsense in these fictitious quarrels, but the 
 child was all the while acquiring a habit of ruling her 
 parents. In the midst, however, of the tempests which 
 the father was fond of exciting, a look, a word of 
 tenderness, sufficed to pacify their angry souls, and 
 often they were never so near to a kiss as when they 
 were threatening each other vehemently. 
 
 21 
 
322 Vendetta. 
 
 Nevertheless, for the last five years, Ginevra, grown 
 wiser than her father, avoided such scenes. Her 
 faithfulness, her devotion, the love which filled her 
 every thought, and her admirable good sense had got 
 the better of her temper. And yet, for all that, a 
 very great evil had resulted from her training ; Gin- 
 evra lived with her father and mother on the footing 
 of an equality which is always dangerous. 
 
 Piombo and his wife, persons without education, 
 had allowed Ginevra to study as she pleased. Follow- 
 ing her caprices as a young girl, she had studied all 
 things for a time, and then abandoned them, — - taking 
 up and leaving each train of thought at will, until, at 
 last, painting had proved to be her dominant passion. 
 Ginevra would have made a noble woman had her 
 mother been capable of guiding her studies, of en- 
 lightening her mind, and bringing into harmony her 
 gifts of nature ; her defects came from the fatal educa- 
 tion which the old Corsican had found delight in 
 giving her. 
 
 After marching up and down the room for some time, 
 Piombo rang the bell ; a servant entered. 
 
 "Go and meet Mademoiselle Ginevra," said his 
 master. 
 
 "I always regret our carriage on her account," re- 
 marked the baroness 
 
 "She said she did not want one," replied Piombo, 
 
Vendetta. 323 
 
 looking at bis wife, who, accustomed for forty years to 
 habits of obedience, lowered her eyes and said no 
 more. 
 
 Already a septuagenarian, tall, withered, pale, and 
 wrinkled, the baroness exactly resembled those old 
 women whom Schnetz puts into the Italian scenes of 
 his genre pictures. She was so habitually silent that 
 she might have been taken for another Mrs. Shandy; 
 but, occasionally, a word, look, or gesture betrayed 
 that her feelings still retained all the vigor and the 
 freshness of their youth. Her dress, devoid of 
 coquetry, was often in bad taste. She usually sat pas- 
 sive, buried in a low sofa, like a Sultana Valide, await- 
 ing or admiring her Ginevra, her pride, her life. The 
 beauty, toilet, and grace of her daughter seemed 
 to have become her own. All was well with her if 
 Ginevra was happy. Her hair was white, and a few 
 strands only were seen above her white and wrinkled 
 forehead, or beside her hollow cheeks. 
 
 "It is now fifteen days," she said, "since Ginevra 
 has made a practice of being late." 
 
 "Jean is so slow!" cried the impatient old man, 
 buttoning up his blue coat and seizing his hat, which 
 he dashed upon his head as he took his cane and 
 departed. 
 
 "You will not get far," said his wife, calling after 
 him. 
 
324 Vendetta. 
 
 As she spoke, the porte-cochere was opened and shut, 
 and the old mother heard the steps of her Ginevra in 
 the court-yard. Bartolomeo almost instantly reap- 
 peared, carrying his daughter, who struggled in his 
 arms. 
 
Vendetta. 325 
 
 IV. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 "Here she is, my Ginevra, Ginevrettina, Ginev- 
 rola, mia Ginevra bella! " cried the old man. 
 
 "Oh, father, you hurt me ! " 
 
 Instantly Ginevra was put down with an air of 
 respect. She nodded her head with a graceful move- 
 ment at her mother, who was frightened by her cry, as 
 if • to say, "Don't be alarmed, it was only a trick to 
 get away." 
 
 The pale, wan face of the baroness recovered its 
 usual tones, and even assumed a look of gayety. 
 Piombo rubbed his hands violently, — with him the 
 surest symptom of joy; he had taken to this habit 
 at court when he saw Napoleon becoming angry with 
 those of his generals and ministers who served him ill 
 or committed blunders. When, as now, the muscles 
 of his face relaxed, every wrinkle on his forehead ex- 
 pressed benevolence. These two old people presented 
 at this moment precisely the aspect of a drooping 
 plant to which a little water has given fresh life after 
 long dryness. 
 
326 Vendetta. 
 
 "Now, to dinner! to dinner! " cried the baron, offer- 
 ing his large hand to his daughter, whom he called 
 "Signora Piombellina," — another symptom of gayety, 
 to which Ginevra replied by a smile. 
 
 "Ah $a ! " said Piombo, as they left the table, "your 
 mother has called my attention to the fact that for 
 some weeks you have stayed much longer than usual 
 at the studio. It seems that painting is more to you 
 than your parents — " 
 
 "Oh, father! " 
 
 "Ginevra is preparing some surprise for us, I 
 think," said the mother. 
 
 "A picture of your own! will you bring us that?" 
 cried the Corsican, clapping his hands. 
 
 "Yes, I am very much occupied at the studio," 
 replied Ginevra, rather slowly. 
 
 4 'What is the matter, Ginevra? You are turning 
 pale ! " cried her mother. 
 
 "No! " exclaimed the young girl in a tone of resolu- 
 tion, — "no! it shall never be said that Ginevra 
 Piombo acted a lie." 
 
 Hearing this singular exclamation, Piombo and his 
 wife looked at their daughter in astonishment. 
 
 "I love a young man," she added, in a voice of 
 emotion. 
 
 Then, not venturing to look at her parents, she low- 
 ered her large eyelids as if to veil the fire of her eyes. 
 
^endetta. 327 
 
 "Is he a prince?" asked her father, ironically, in a 
 tone of voice which made the mother quail. 
 
 "No, father," she said, gently, "he is a young man 
 without fortune." 
 
 " Is he very handsome ? " 
 
 "He is very unfortunate." 
 
 "What is he?" 
 
 "Labedoyere's comrade; he was proscribed, with- 
 out a refuge; Servin concealed him, and — " 
 
 "Servin i's a good fellow, w r ho has done well," cried 
 Piombo; "but you, my daughter, you do wrong to 
 love any man, except your father." 
 
 "It does not depend on me to love, or not to love," 
 replied Ginevra, still gently. 
 
 "I flattered myself," continued her father, "that my 
 Ginevra would be faithful to me until I died ; and that 
 my love and that of her mother would suffice her till 
 then; I did not expect that our tenderness would find 
 a rival in her soul, and — " 
 
 "Did I ever reproach you for your fanaticism for 
 Napoleon?" said Ginevra. "Have you never loved 
 any one but me? Did you not leave me for months 
 together when you went on missions. I bore your 
 absence courageously. Life has necessities to which 
 we must all submit." 
 
 "Ginevra!" 
 
 "No, you don't love me for myself ; your reproaches 
 betray your intolerable egotism." 
 
328 Vendetta. 
 
 "You dare to blame your father's love! " exclaimed 
 Piombo, his eyes flashing. 
 
 " Father, I don't blame you," replied Ginevra, with 
 more gentleness than her trembling mother expected. 
 " You have grounds for your egotism, as I have for my 
 love. Heaven is my witness that no girl has ever 
 fulfilled her duty to her parents better than I have 
 done to you. I have never felt anything but love 
 and happiness where others often see obligation. It 
 is now fifteen years that I have never left your protect- 
 ing wing, and it has been a most dear pleasure to me 
 to charm your life. But am I ungrateful for all this 
 in giving myself up to the joy of loving ; is it ingrati- 
 tude to desire a husband who will protect me here- 
 after?" 
 
 "What! do you reckon benefits with your father, 
 Ginevra?" said Piombo, in a dangerous tone. 
 
 A dreadful pause then followed, during which no 
 one dared to speak. Bartolomeo at last broke the 
 silence by crying out in a heart-rending tone : — 
 
 "Oh! stay with us! stay with your father, your old 
 father! I cannot have you love another man. Gin- 
 evra, you will not have long to await your liberty." 
 
 "But, father, remember that I need not leave you; 
 we shall be two to love you ; you will learn to know the 
 man to whose care you bequeath me. You will be 
 doubly cherished by me and by him, — by him who is 
 my other self, by me who am all his." 
 
Vendetta. 329 
 
 "Oh! Ginevra, Ginevra!" cried the Corsican, 
 clenching his fists; "why did you not marry when 
 Napoleon brought me to accept the idea? Why did you 
 not take the counts and dukes he presented to you?" 
 
 "They loved me to order," said the girl. "Besides, 
 they would have made me live with them, and I did 
 not wish to leave you alone." 
 
 "You don't wish to leave me alone," said Piombo, 
 "and yet you marry! — that is leaving me alone. I 
 know you, my daughter; in that case, you would cease 
 to love us. £lisa," he added, looking at his wife, 
 who remained motionless, and as if stupefied, "we have 
 no longer a daughter; she wishes to marry." 
 
 The old man sat down, after raising his hands to 
 heaven with a gesture of invoking the Divine power; 
 then he bowed himself over as if weighed down with 
 sorrow. 
 
 Ginevra saw his agitation, and the restraint which 
 he put upon his anger touched her to the heart; she 
 expected some violent crisis, some ungovernable f ury ; 
 she had not armed her soul against paternal gentleness. 
 
 "Father," she said, in a tender voice, "no, you shall 
 never be abandoned by your Ginevra. But love her a 
 little for her own sake. If you knew how he loves 
 me! Ah! he would never make me unhappy! " 
 
 " Comparisons already ! " cried Piombo, in a terrible 
 voice. "No, I can never endure the idea of your 
 
330 Vendetta. 
 
 marriage. If he loved you as you deserve to be loved 
 he would kill me; if he did not love you, I should 
 put a dagger through him." 
 
 The hands of the old man trembled, his lips trem- 
 bled, his body trembled, but his eyes flashed light- 
 nings. Ginevra alone was able to endure his glance, 
 for her eyes flamed also, and the daughter was worthy 
 of the sire. 
 
 "Oh! to love you! What man is worthy of such a 
 life? " continued Piombo. "To love you as a father is 
 paradise on earth; who is there worthy to be your 
 husband?" 
 
 "He," said Ginevra; "he of whom I am not worthy." 
 
 "He?" repeated Piombo, mechanically; "who is 
 he?" 
 
 "He whom I love." 
 
 "How can he know you enough to love you?" 
 
 "Father," said Ginevra, with a gesture of impa- 
 tience, "whether he loves me or not, if I love him — " 
 
 "You love him?" cried Piombo. 
 
 Ginevra bent her head softly. 
 
 "You love him more than you love us? " 
 
 "The two feelings cannot be compared," she replied. 
 
 "Is one stronger than the other? " 
 
 "I think it is," said Ginevra. 
 
 "You shall not marry him," cried the Corsican, his 
 voice shaking the window-panes. 
 
Vendetta. 331 
 
 "I shall marry him," replied Ginevra, tranquilly. 
 
 "Oh, God! " cried the mother, "how will this quarrel 
 end? Santa Virginal place thyself between them ! " 
 
 The baron, who had been striding up and down the 
 room, now seated himself; an icy sternness darkened 
 his face ; he looked fixedly at his daughter, and said to 
 her, in a gentle, weakened voice, — 
 
 "Ginevra, no! you will not marry him. Oh! say 
 nothing more to-night — let me think the contrary. 
 Do you wish to see your father on his knees, his white 
 hairs prostrate before you? I supplicate you — " 
 
 "Ginevra Piombo does not pass herw r ord and break 
 it," she replied. "I am your daughter." 
 
 "She is right," said the baroness. "We are sent 
 into the world to marry." 
 
 "Do you encourage her in disobedience? " said the 
 baron to his wife, who, terrified by the word, now 
 changed to marble. 
 
 "Refusing to obey an unjust order is not disobedi- 
 ence," said Ginevra. 
 
 "No order can be unjust from the lips of your 
 father, my daughter. Why do you judge my action? 
 The repugnance that I feel is counsel from on high, 
 sent, it may be, to protect you from some great evil." 
 
 "The only evil could be that he did not love me." 
 
 "Always he!" 
 
 "Yes, always," she answered. "He is my life, my 
 
332 Vendetta. 
 
 good, my thought. Even if I obeyed you he would 
 be ever in my soul. To forbid me to marry him is to 
 make me hate you." 
 
 "You love us not! " cried Piombo. 
 
 "Oh! " said Ginevra, shaking her head. 
 
 "Well, then, forget him; be faithful to us. After 
 we are gone — you understand ? " 
 
 " Father, do you wish me to long for your death?" 
 cried Ginevra. 
 
 "I shall outlive you. Children who do not honor 
 their parents die early," said the father, driven to 
 exasperation. 
 
 "All the more reason why I should marry and be 
 happy," she replied. 
 
 This coolness and power of argument increased 
 Piombo's trouble; the blood rushed violently to his 
 head, and his face turned purple. Ginevra shuddered ; 
 she sprang like a bird on her father's knee, threw her 
 arms around his neck, and caressed his white hair, 
 exclaiming, tenderly : — 
 
 "Oh, yes, yes, let me die first! I could never sur- 
 vive you, my father, my kind father ! " 
 
 "Oh! my Ginevra, my own Ginevra!" replied 
 Piombo, whose anger melted under this caress like snow 
 beneath the rays of the sun. 
 
 "It was time you ceased," said the baroness, in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
Vendetta. 333 
 
 "Poor mother!"* 
 
 " Ah! Ginevretta! mia bella Ginevra! " 
 And the father played with his daughter as though 
 she were a child of six. He amused himself by re- 
 leasing the waving volume of her hair, by dandling 
 her on his knee; there was something of madness in 
 these expressions of his love. Presently his daughter 
 scolded while kissing him, and tried, by jesting, to 
 obtain admission for Luigi; but her father, also jest- 
 ing, refused. She sulked, then returned to coax once 
 more, and sulked again, until, by the end of the eve- 
 ning, she was forced to be content with having im- 
 pressed upon her father's mind both her love for Luigi 
 and the idea of an approaching marriage. 
 
 The next day she said no more about her love ; she 
 was more caressing to her father than she had ever 
 been, and testified the utmost gratitude, as if to thank 
 him for the consent he seemed to have given by his 
 silence. That evening she sang and played to him for 
 a long time, exclaiming now and then : " We want a 
 man's voice for this nocturne." Ginevra was an 
 Italian, and that says all. 
 
 At the end of a week her mother signed to her. She 
 went; and Elisa Piombo whispered in her ear: — 
 U I have persuaded your father to receive him." 
 "Oh! mother, how happy you have made me!" 
 That day Ginevra had the joy of coming home on 
 
334 Vendetta. 
 
 the arm of her Luigi. The officer eame out of his 
 hiding-place for the second time only. The earnest 
 appeals which Ginevra made to the Due de Feltre, then 
 minister of war, had been crowned with complete suc- 
 cess. Luigi' s name was replaced upon the roll of 
 officers awaiting orders. This was the first great step 
 toward better things. Warned by Ginevra of the diffi- 
 culties he would encounter with her father, the young 
 man dared not express his fear of finding it impossible 
 to please the old man. Courageous under adversity, 
 brave on a battlefield, he trembled at the thought of 
 entering Piombo's salon. Ginevra felt him tremble, 
 and this emotion, the source of which lay in her, 
 was, to her eyes, another proof of love. 
 
 "How pale you are!" she said to him when they 
 reached the door of the house. 
 
 "Oh! Ginevra, if it concerned my life only! — " 
 
 Though Bartolomeo had been notified by his wife of 
 the formal presentation Ginevra was to make of her 
 lover, he would not advance to meet him, but remained 
 seated in his usual arm-chair, and the sternness of his 
 brow was awful. 
 
 "Father," said Ginevra, "I bring you a person you 
 will no doubt be pleased to see, — a soldier who fought 
 beside the Emperor at Mont- Saint- Jean." 
 
 The baron rose, cast a sidelong glance on Luigi, and 
 said, in a sardonic tone: — 
 
 "Monsieur is not decorated." 
 
Vendetta. 335 
 
 "I no longer wear the Legion of honor," replied 
 Luigi, timidly, still standing. 
 
 Ginevra, mortified by her father's incivility, dragged 
 forward a chair. The officer's answer seemed to sat- 
 isfy the old servant of Napoleon. Madame Piombo, 
 observing that her husband's eyebrows were resuming 
 their natural position, said, by way of conversation : 
 
 "Monsieur's resemblance to a person we knew in 
 Corsica, Nina Porta, is really surprising." 
 
 "Nothing could be more natural," replied the young 
 man, on whose face Piombo's flaming eyes now rested. 
 "Nina was my sister." 
 
 "Are you Luigi Porta? " asked the old man. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Bartolomeo rose, tottered, was forced to lean against 
 a chair and beckon to his wife. Elisa Piombo came 
 to him. Then the two old people, silently, each sup- 
 porting the other, left the room, abandoning their 
 daughter with a sort of horror. 
 
 Luigi Porta, bewildered, looked at Ginevra, who had 
 turned as white as a marble statue, and stood gazing 
 at the door through which her father and mother had 
 disappeared. This departure and this silence seemed 
 to her so solemn that, for the first time in her whole 
 life, a feeling of fear entered her soul. She struck 
 her hands together with great force, and said, in a 
 voice so shaken that none but a lover could have heard 
 the words : — 
 
336 Vendetta. 
 
 "What misery in a word! " 
 
 "In the name of our love, what have I said? " asked 
 Luigi Porta. 
 
 "My father," she replied, "never spoke to me of 
 our deplorable history, and I was too young when we 
 left Corsica to know anything about it." 
 
 "Are we in vendetta?" asked Luigi, trembling. 
 
 "Yes. I have heard my mother say that the Portas 
 killed my brother and burned our house. My father 
 then massacred the whole family. How is it that 
 you survived ? — for you were tied to the posts of the 
 bed before they set fire to the house." 
 
 "I do not know," replied Luigi. "I was taken to 
 Genoa when six years old, and given in charge of an 
 old man named Colonna. No detail about my family 
 was told to me. I knew only that I was an orphan, 
 and without property. Old Colonna was a father to 
 me ; and I bore his name until I entered the army. In 
 order to do that, I had to show my certificate of birth 
 in order to prove my identity. Colonna then told me, 
 still a mere child, that I had enemies. And he advised 
 me to take Luigi as my surname, and so evade them." 
 
 "Go, go, Luigi! " cried Ginevra. "No, stay; I must 
 go with you. So long as you are in my father's house 
 you have nothing to fear; but the moment you leave 
 it, take care ! you will go from danger to danger. My 
 father has two Corsicans in his service, and if he does 
 not lie in wait to kill you, they will." 
 
Vendetta. 337 
 
 "Ginevra," he said, "this feud, does it exist between 
 you and me?" 
 
 The girl smiled sadly and bowed her head. Presr 
 ently she raised it, and said, with a sort of pride: — 
 
 "Oh, Luigi, our love must be pure and sincere, in- 
 deed, to give me strength to tread the path I am about 
 to enter. But it involves a happiness that will last 
 throughout our lives, will it not?" 
 
 Luigi answered by a smile, and pressed her hand. 
 
 Ginevra comprehended that true love should despise 
 all vulgar protestations at such a moment. This calm 
 and restrained expression of his feelings foreshad- 
 owed, in some sense, their strength and their duration. 
 
 The destiny of the pair was then and there decided. 
 Ginevra foresaw a cruel struggle, but the idea of aban- 
 doning Luigi — an idea which may have floated in her 
 soul — vanished completely. His forever, she dragged 
 him suddenly, with a sort of desperate energy, from 
 her father's house, and did not leave him till she saw 
 him reach the house where Servin had engaged a mod- 
 est lodging:. 
 
 By the time she reached home, Ginevra had attained 
 to that serenity which is caused by a firm resolution ; 
 no sign in her manner betrayed uneasiness. She 
 turned on her father and mother, whom she found in 
 the act of sitting down to dinner, a glance of exceed- 
 ing gentleness devoid of hardihood. She saw that 
 
338 Vendetta. 
 
 her mother had been weeping; the redness of those 
 withered eyelids shook her heart, but she hid her emo- 
 tion. No one touched the dinner which was served to 
 them. A horror of food is one of the chief symptoms 
 which reveal a great crisis in life. All three rose from 
 table without having addressed a single word to one 
 another. 
 
 When Ginevra had placed herself between her father 
 and mother in the great and gloomy salon, Piombo 
 tried to speak, but his voice failed him; he tried to 
 walk, but he had no strength in his legs. He returned 
 to his seat and rang the bell. 
 
 "Pietro," he said, at last, to the footman, "light 
 the fire; I am cold." 
 
 Ginevra trembled, and looked at her father anx- 
 iously. The struggle within him must have been horri- 
 ble, for his face was distorted. Ginevra knew the 
 extent of the peril before her, but she did not flinch. 
 Bartolomeo, meanwhile, cast furtive glances at his 
 daughter, as if he feared a character whose violence 
 was the work of his own hands. 
 
 Between such natures all things must be extreme. 
 The certainty of some impending change in the feelings 
 of father and daughter gave to the worn and weary 
 face of the baroness an expression of terror. 
 
 "Ginevra, you love the enemy of your family," said 
 Piombo, at last, not daring to look at his daughter. 
 
Vendetta. 339 
 
 "That is true," she replied. 
 
 44 You must choose between us. Our vendetta is a 
 part of our being. Whoso does not share my ven- 
 geance is not a member of my family." 
 
 "My choice is made," replied Ginevra, calmly. 
 
 His daughter's tranquillity misled Bartolomeo. 
 
 "Oh! my dear child!" he cried, letting her see his 
 eyes moistened with tears, the first and the only tears 
 he ever shed in life. 
 
 "I shall be his wife," said Ginevra, abruptly. 
 
 Bartolomeo seemed dazed for a moment, but he re- 
 covered his coolness instantly, and replied: — 
 
 "The marriage will not take place in my lifetime; I 
 will never consent to it." 
 
 Ginevra kept silence. 
 
 44 Ginevra," continued the baron, "have you reflected 
 that Luigi is the son of a man who killed your 
 brother?" 
 
 " He was six years old when that crime was com- 
 mitted; he was, therefore, not guilty of it," she replied. 
 
 44 He is a Porta! " cried Bartolomeo. 
 
 44 / have never shared that hatred," said Ginevra, 
 eagerly. "You did not bring me up to think a Porta 
 must be a monster. How could I know that one of 
 those whom you thought you had killed survived? Is 
 it not Datura] that you should now yield your vendetta 
 to my feelings?" 
 
340 Vendetta. 
 
 "A Porta!" repeated Piombo. "If his father had 
 found you in your bed you would not be living now; 
 he would have taken your life a hundred times." 
 
 "It may be so," she answered; "but his son has 
 given me life, and more than life. To see Luigi is a 
 happiness without which I cannot live. Luigi has 
 revealed to me the world of sentiments. I may, per- 
 haps, have seen faces more beautiful than his, but 
 none has ever charmed me thus; I may have heard 
 voices — no, no, never any so melodious ! Luigi loves 
 me; he will be my husband." 
 
 "Never," said Piombo. "I would rather see you in 
 your coffin, Ginevra." 
 
 The old Corsican rose and began to stride up and 
 down the salon, dropping the following sentences, one 
 by one, after pauses which betrayed his agitation. 
 
 " You think you can bend my will. Undeceive your- 
 self. A Porta shall never be my son ; that is my de- 
 cree. Let there be no farther question of this between 
 us. I am Bartolomeo di Piombo; do you hear me, 
 Ginevra?" 
 
 "Do you attach some mysterious meaning to those 
 words ? " she asked, coldly. 
 
 "They mean that I have a dagger, and that I do not 
 fear man's justice. Corsicans explain themselves to 
 God." 
 
 "And I," said the daughter, rising, "am Ginevra 
 
Vendetta. 341 
 
 di Piombo, and I declare that within six months I 
 shall be the wife of Luigi Porta. You are a tyrant, 
 my father," she added, after a terrifying pause. 
 
 Bartolomeo clenched his fists and struck them on 
 the marble of the chimneypiece. 
 
 "Ah! we are in Paris! " he muttered. 
 
 Then he was silent, crossed his arms, bowed his head 
 on his breast, and said not another word during the 
 whole evening. 
 
 After once giving utterance to her will, Ginevra 
 affected inconceivable coolness. She opened the piano 
 and sang, played charming nocturnes and scherzos 
 with a grace and sentiment which displayed a perfect 
 freedom of mind, thus triumphing over her father, 
 whose darkling face showed no softening. The old 
 man was cruelly hurt by this tacit insult; he gathered 
 in this one moment the bitter fruits of the training he 
 had given to his daughter. Respect is a barrier which 
 protects parents as it does children, sparing grief to 
 the former, remorse to the latter. 
 
 The next day, when Ginevra sought to leave the 
 house at the hour when she usually went to the studio, 
 she found the gates of the mansion closed to her. 
 She said nothing, but soon found means to inform 
 Luigi Porta of her father's severity. A chambermaid, 
 who could neither read nor write, was able to carry 
 letters between the lovers. For five days they corres- 
 
342 Vendetta. 
 
 ponded thus, thanks to the inventive shrewdness of 
 youth. 
 
 The father and daughter seldom spoke to each other. 
 Both were nursing in the depths of their heart a senti- 
 ment of hatred; they suffered, but they suffered 
 proudly, and in silence. Recognizing how strong 
 were the ties of love which bound them to each other, 
 they each tried to break them, but without success. 
 No gentle thought came, as formerly, to brighten the 
 stern features of Piombo when he contemplated his 
 Ginevra. The girl had something savage in her eye 
 as she looked at her father; reproach sat enthroned on 
 that innocent brow ; she gave herself up, it is true, to 
 happy thoughts, and yet, at times, remorse seemed to 
 dull her eyes. It was not difficult to believe that she 
 could never enjoy, peacefully, any happiness which 
 caused sorrow to her parents. 
 
 With Bartolomeo, as with his daughter, the hesita- 
 tions of this period caused by the native goodness of 
 their souls were, nevertheless, compelled to give way 
 before their pride and the rancor of their Corsican 
 nature. They encouraged each other in their anger, 
 and closed their eyes to the future. Perhaps they 
 mutually flattered themselves that the one would yield 
 to the other. 
 
 At last, on Ginevra' s birthday, her mother, in 
 despair at the estrangement which, day by day, as- 
 
Vendetta. 343 
 
 sumed a more serious character, meditated an attempt 
 to reconcile the father and daughter, by help of the 
 memories of this family anniversary. They were all 
 three sitting in Bartolomeo's study. Ginevra guessed 
 her mother's intention by the timid hesitation on her 
 face, and she smiled sadly. 
 
 At this moment a servant announced two notaries, 
 accompanied by witnesses. Bartolomeo looked fix- 
 edly at these persons, whose cold and formal faces were 
 grating to souls so passionately strained as those of 
 the three chief actors in this scene. The old man 
 turned to his daughter and looked at her uneasily. He 
 saw upon her face a smile of triumph which made him 
 expect some shock ; but, after the manner of savages, 
 he affected to maintain a deceitful indifference as he 
 gazed at the notaries with an assumed air of calm 
 curiosity. The strangers sat down, after being invited 
 to do so by a gesture of the old man. 
 
 4 'Monsieur is, no doubt, M. le Baron di Piombo?" 
 began the oldest of the notaries. 
 
 Bartolomeo bowed. The notary made a slight 
 inclination of the head, looked at Ginevra with a. sly 
 expression, took out his snuff-box, opened it, and 
 slowly inhaled a pinch, as if seeking for the words 
 with which to open his errand; then, while uttering 
 them, he made continual pauses (an oratorical ma- 
 noeuvre very imperfectly represented by the printer's 
 dash — ). 
 
344 Vendetta. 
 
 "Monsieur," he said," I am Monsieur Roguin, your 
 daughter's notary, and we have come — my colleague 
 and I — to fulfil the intention of the law and — put an 
 end to the divisions which — appear — to exist — 
 between yourself and Mademoiselle, your daughter, — 
 on the subject — of — her — marriage with Monsieur 
 Luigi Porta." 
 
 This speech, pedantically delivered, probably 
 seemed to Monsieur Roguin so fine that his hearer 
 could not at once understand it. He paused, and 
 looked at Bartolomeo with that peculiar expression of 
 the mere business lawyer, a mixture of servility with 
 familiarity. Accustomed to feign much interest in the 
 persons with whom they deal, notaries have at last pro- 
 duced upon their features a grimace of their own, which 
 they take on and off as an official pallium. This mask 
 of benevolence, the mechanism of which is so easy to 
 perceive, irritated Bartolomeo to such an extent that 
 he wa3 forced to collect all the powers of his reason to 
 prevent him from throwing Monsieur Roguin through 
 the window. An expression of anger ran through his 
 wrinkles, which caused the notary to think to himself : 
 "I 've produced an effect." 
 
 "But," he continued, in a honeyed tone, "Monsieur 
 le baron, on such occasions our duties are preceded 
 by — efforts at — conciliation — Deign, therefore, 
 to have the goodness to listen to me — It is in evi- 
 
Vendetta. 345 
 
 dence that Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo — attains 
 this very day — the age at which the law allows a 
 respectful summons before proceeding to the celebra- 
 tion of a marriage — in spite of the non-consent of 
 parents. Now — it is usual in families — who enjoy a 
 certain consideration — who belong to society — who 
 preserve some dignity — to whom, in short, it is 
 desirable not to let the public into the secret of their 
 differences — and who, moreover, do not wish to injure 
 themselves by blasting with reprobation the future of 
 a young couple (for — that is injuring themselves), it 
 is usual, I say — among these honorable families 
 — not to allow these summonses — to take place — or 
 remain — a monument to — divisions which should 
 end — by ceasing — Whenever, monsieur, a young 
 lady has recourse to respectful summons, she exhibits a 
 determination too marked to allow of a father — of a 
 mother," here he turned to the baroness, " hoping or 
 expecting that she will follow their wishes — Pater- 
 nal resistance being null — by reason of this fact — 
 in the first place — and also from its being nullified by 
 law, it is customary — for every sensible man — after 
 making a final remonstrance to his child — and before 
 she proceeds to the respectful summons — to leave 
 her mi Liberty to — " 
 
 Monsieur Roguin stopped, perceiving that he might 
 talk on for two hours without obtaining any answer; 
 
346 Vendetta. 
 
 he felt, moreover, a singular emotion at the aspect of 
 the man he was attempting to convert. An extraor- 
 dinary revolution had taken place on Piombo's face; 
 his wrinkles, contracting into narrow lines, gave him 
 a look of indescribable cruelty, and he cast upon the 
 notary the glance of a tiger. The baroness was mute 
 and passive. Ginevra, calm and resolute, waited 
 silently; she knew that the notary's voice was more 
 potent than hers, and she seemed to have decided to 
 say nothing. At the moment when Roguin ceased 
 speaking, the scene had become so terrifying that the 
 men who were there as witnesses trembled ; never, per- 
 haps, had they known so awful, a silence. The notaries 
 looked at each other, as if in consultation, and finally 
 rose and walked to the window. 
 
 "Did you ever meet people born into the world like 
 that?" asked Roguin of his brother notary. 
 
 "You can't get anything out of him," replied the 
 younger man. "In your place, I should simply read 
 the summons. That old fellow is n't a comfortable per- 
 son ; he is furious, and you '11 gain nothing whatever 
 by arguing with him." 
 
 Monsieur Roguin then read a stamped paper, contain- 
 ing the "respectful summons," prepared for the occa- 
 sion ; after which he proceeded to ask Bartolomeo what 
 answer he made to it. 
 
 "Are there laws in France which destroy paternal 
 authority? — " demanded the Corsican. 
 
Vendetta. 347 
 
 "Monsieur — " said Roguin, in his honeyed tones. 
 
 '"Which tear a daughter from her father? — " 
 
 "Monsieur — " 
 
 "Which deprive an old man of his last consola- 
 tion?—" 
 
 "Monsieur, your daughter only belongs to you 
 if — " 
 
 "And kill him? — " 
 
 "Monsieur, permit me — " 
 
 There is nothing more horrible than the coolness and 
 precise reasoning of notaries amid the many passion- 
 ate scenes in which they are accustomed to take part. 
 
 The forms that Piombo saw about him seemed, to his 
 eyes, escaped from hell ; his repressed and concentrated 
 rage knew no longer any bounds as the calm and fluted 
 voice of the little notary uttered the words: "permit 
 me." By a sudden movement he sprang to a dagger 
 that was hanging to a nail above the fireplace, and 
 rushed toward his daughter. The younger of the two 
 notaries and one of the witnesses threw themselves 
 before Ginevra; but Piombo knocked them violently 
 down, his face on fire, and his eyes casting flames 
 more terrifying than the glitter of the dagger. When 
 Ginevra saw him approach her she looked at him fix- 
 edly with an air of triumph, and advancing slowly, 
 knelt down. "No, no! I cannot! " he cried, flinging 
 away the weapon, which buried itself in the wainscot. 
 
348 Vendetta. 
 
 "Well, then! have mercy! have pity!" she said. 
 "You hesitate to be my death, and you refuse me life! 
 Oh! father, never have I loved you as I do at this 
 moment; give me Luigi! I ask for your consent upon 
 my knees: a daughter can humiliate herself before 
 her father. My Luigi, give me my Luigi, or I 
 die!" 
 
 The violent excitement which suffocated her stopped 
 her words, for she had no voice ; her convulsive move- 
 ments showed plainly that she lay, as it were, between 
 life and death. Bartolomeo roughly pushed her from 
 him. 
 
 "Go," he said. " The wife of Luigi Porta cannot be 
 a Piombo. I have no daughter. I have not the 
 strength to curse you, but I cast you off ; you have no 
 father. My Ginevra Piombo is buried here," he said, 
 in a deep voice, pressing violently on his heart. "Go, 
 leave my house, unhappy girl," he added, after a 
 moment's silence. "Go, and never come into my 
 sight again." 
 
 So saying, he took Ginevra by the arm to the gate 
 of the house and silently put her out. 
 
 "Luigi!" cried Ginevra, entering the humble lodg- 
 ing of her lover, — "my Luigi, we have no other for- 
 tune than our love." 
 
 "Then am I richer than the kings of the earth! " he 
 cried. 
 
Vendetta. 349 
 
 "My father and my mother have cast me off," she 
 said, in deepest sadness. 
 
 "I will love you in place of them." 
 
 "Then let us be happy, — we will be happy!" she 
 cried, with a gayety in which there was something 
 dreadful. 
 
350 Vendetta. 
 
 V. 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 The clay after Ginevra was driven from her father's 
 house she went to ask Madame Servin for asylum and 
 protection until the period fixed by law for her mar- 
 riage to Luigi Porta. 
 
 Here began for her that apprenticeship to trouble 
 which the world strews about the path of those who do 
 not follow its conventions. Madame Servin received 
 her very coldly, being much annoyed by the harm 
 which Ginevra's affair had inflicted on her husband, 
 and told her, in politely cautious words, that she must 
 not count upon her help in future. Too proud to per- 
 sist, but amazed at a selfishness hitherto unknown to 
 her, the girl took a room in the lodging-house that was 
 nearest to that of Luigi. The son of the Portas passed 
 all his days at the feet of his future wife; and his 
 youthful love, the purity of his words, dispersed the 
 clouds from the mind of the banished daughter; the 
 future was so beautiful as he painted it that she ended 
 by smiling joyfully, though without forgetting her 
 father's severity. 
 
Vendetta. • 351 
 
 One morning the servant of the lodging house 
 brought to Ginevra's room a number of trunks and 
 packages containing stuffs, linen, clothes, and a great 
 quantity of other articles Necessary for a young wife 
 in setting up a home of her own. In this welcome 
 provision she recognized her mother's foresight, and, 
 on examining the gifts, she found a purse, in which 
 the baroness had put the money belonging to her 
 daughter, adding to it the amount of her own savings. 
 The purse was accompanied by a letter, in which the 
 mother implored the daughter to forego the fatal mar- 
 riage if it were still possible to do so. It had cost 
 her, she said, untold difficulty to send these few things 
 to her daughter; she entreated her not to think her 
 hard if, henceforth, she were forced to abandon her to 
 want; she feared she could never again assist her; but 
 she blessed, her and prayed for her happiness in this 
 fatal marriage, if, indeed, she persisted in making it, 
 assuring her that she should never cease to think of 
 her darling child. Here the falling tears had effaced 
 some words of the letter. 
 
 44 Oh, mother! " cried Ginevra, deeply moved. 
 
 She felt the impulse to rush home, to breathe the 
 blessed air of her father's house, to fling herself at his 
 feet, to see her mother. She was springing forward 
 to accomplish this wish, when Luigi entered. At the 
 mere sight of him her filial emotion vanished ; her tears 
 
352 Vendetta. 
 
 were stopped, and she no longer had the strength to 
 abandon that loving and unfortunate youth. To be 
 the sole hope of a noble being, to love him and then 
 abandon him! — that sacrifice is a treachery of which 
 young hearts are incapable. Ginevra had the gener- 
 osity to bury her own grief and suffering silently in 
 her soul. 
 
 The marriage day arrived. Ginevra had no friend 
 with her. While she was dressing, Luigi fetched the 
 witnesses necessary to sign the certificate of marriage. 
 These witnesses were worthy persons; one, a cavalry 
 sergeant, was under obligations to Luigi, contracted 
 on the battlefield, obligations which are never obliter- 
 ated from the heart of an honest man; the other, a 
 master-mason, was the proprietor of the house in which 
 the young couple had hired an apartment for their 
 future home. Each witness brought a friend, and all 
 four, with Luigi, came to escort the bride. Little 
 accustomed to social functions, and seeing nothing in 
 the service they were rendering Luigi but a simple 
 matter of business, they were dressed in their ordinary 
 clothes, without any luxury, and nothing about them 
 denoted the usual joy of a marriage procession. 
 
 Ginevra herself was dressed simply, as befitted her 
 present fortunes ; and yet her beauty was so noble and 
 so imposing that the words of greeting died away upon 
 the lips of the witnesses, who supposed themselves 
 
Vendetta. 353 
 
 obliged to pay her some usual compliments. They 
 bowed to her with respect, and she returned the bow; 
 hut they did so in silence, looking at her with admira- 
 tion. This reserve cast a chill bver the whole party. 
 Joy never bursts forth freely except among those who 
 are equals. Thus chance determined that all should be 
 dull and grave around the bridal pair; nothing re- 
 flected, outwardly, the happiness that reigned within 
 their hearts. 
 
 The church and the mayor's office being near by, 
 Luigi and Ginevra, followed by the four witnesses 
 required by law, walked the distance, with a simplicity 
 that deprived of all pomp this greatest event in social 
 life. They saw a crowd of waiting carriages in the 
 mayor's court-yard; and when they reached the great 
 hall where the civil marriages take place, they found 
 two other wedding-parties impatiently awaiting the 
 mayor's arrival. 
 
 Ginevra sat down beside Luigi at the end of a long 
 bench; their witnesses remained standing, for want 
 of seats. Two brides, elaborately dressed in white, 
 with ribbons, laces, and pearls, and crowned with 
 orange-blossoms whose satiny petals nodded beneath 
 their veils, were surrounded by joyous families, and 
 accompanied by their mothers, to whom they looked 
 up, now and then, with eyes that were content and 
 timid both; the faces of all the rest reflected happi- 
 
 23 
 
354 Vendetta, 
 
 ness, and seemed to be invoking blessings on the youth- 
 ful pairs. Fathers, witnesses, brothers, and sisters 
 went and came, like a happy swarm of insects disport- 
 ing in the sun. Each 'seemed to be impressed with the 
 value of this passing moment of life, when the heart 
 finds itself between two hopes, — the wishes of the 
 past, the promises of the future. 
 
 As she watched them, Ginevra's heart swelled within 
 her; she pressed Luigi's arm, and gave him a look. A 
 tear rolled from the eyes of the young Corsican ; never 
 did he so well understand the joys that his Ginevra 
 was sacrificing to him. That precious tear caused her 
 to forget all else but him, — even the abandonment in 
 which she sat there. Love poured down its treasures 
 of light upon their hearts ; they saw nought else but 
 themselves in the midst of the joyous tumult; they 
 were there alone, in that crowd, as they were destined 
 to be, henceforth, in life. Their witnesses, indifferent 
 to what was happening, conversed quietly on their own 
 affairs. 
 
 4 'Oats are very dear," said the sergeant to the 
 mason. 
 
 u But they have not gone up like lime, relatively 
 speaking," replied the contractor. 
 
 Then they walked round the hall. 
 
 "How one loses time here," said the mason, replac- 
 ing a thick silver watch in his fob. 
 
Vendetta. 355 
 
 Luigi and Ginevra, sitting pressed to one another, 
 seemed like one person. A poet would have admired 
 their two heads, inspired by the same sentiment, col- 
 ored in the same tones, silent and saddened in presence 
 of that humming happiness sparkling in diamonds, 
 gay with flowers, — a gayety in which there was some- 
 thing fleeting. The joy of those noisy and splendid 
 groups was visible; that of Ginevra and Luigi was 
 buried in their bosom. On one side the tumult of 
 common pleasure, on the other, the delicate silence of 
 happy souls, — earth and heaven! 
 
 But Ginevra was not wholly free from the weak- 
 nesses of women. Superstitious as an Italian, she 
 saw an omen in this contrast, and in her heart there 
 lay a sense of terror, as invincible as her love. 
 
 Suddenly the office servant, in the town livery, 
 opened a folding-door. Silence reigned, and his voice 
 was heard, like the yapping of a dog, calling Monsieur 
 Luigi da Porta and Mademoiselle Ginevra di Piombo. 
 This caused some embarrassment to the young pair. 
 The celebrity of the bride's name attracted attention, 
 and the spectators seemed to wonder that the wedding 
 was not more sumptuous. Ginevra rose, took Luigi's 
 ii ini, and advanced firml} 7 , followed by the witnesses. 
 A murmur of surprise, which went on increasing, and 
 a general whispering reminded Ginevra that all present 
 were wondering at the absence of her parents; her 
 father's wrath seemed present to her. 
 
356 Vendetta. 
 
 "Call in the families," said the mayor to the clerk 
 whose business it was to read aloud the certificates. 
 
 "The father and mother protest," replied the clerk, 
 phlegmatically. 
 
 "On both sides?" inquired the mayor. 
 
 "The groom is an orphan." 
 
 "Where are the witnesses?" 
 
 "Here," said the clerk, pointing to the four men, 
 who stood with arms folded, like so many statues. 
 
 "But if the parents protest — ".began the mayor. 
 
 "The respectful summons has been duly served," 
 replied the clerk, rising, to lay before the mayor the 
 papers annexed to the marriage certificate. 
 
 This bureaucratic discussion had something blight- 
 ing about it; in a few words it contained the whole 
 story. The hatred of the Portas and the Piombos and 
 their terrible passions were inscribed on this page of 
 the civil law as the annals of a people (contained, it 
 may be, in one word only, — Napoleon, Robespierre) 
 are engraven on a tombstone. Ginevra trembled. Like 
 the dove on the face of the waters, having no place to 
 rest its feet but the ark, so Ginevra could take refuge 
 only in the eyes of Luigi from the cold and dreary 
 waste around her. 
 
 The mayor assumed a stern, disapproving air, and 
 his clerk looked up at the couple with malicious 
 curiosity. No marriage was ever so little festal. Like 
 
Vendetta. 357 
 
 other human things when deprived of their accessories, 
 it became a simple act in itself, great only in thought. 
 
 After a few questions, to which the bride and 
 bridegroom responded, and a few words mumbled by 
 the mayor, and after signing the registers, with their 
 witnesses, duly, Luigi and Ginevra were made one. 
 Then the wedded pair walked back through two lines 
 of joyous relations who did not belong to them, and 
 whose only interest in their marriage was the delay 
 caused to their own wedding by this gloomy bridal. 
 When, at last, Ginevra found herself in the mayor's 
 court-yard, under the open sky, a sigh escaped her 
 breast. 
 
 " Can a lifetime of devotion and love suffice to prove 
 my gratitude for your courage and tenderness, my 
 Ginevra?" said Luigi. 
 
 At these words, said with tears of joy, the bride 
 forgot her sufferings; for she had indeed suffered in 
 presenting herself before the public to obtain a happi- 
 ness her parents refused to sanction. 
 
 "Why should others come between us?" she said 
 with an artlessness of feeling that delighted Luigi. 
 
 A sense of accomplished happiness now made the step 
 of t lie young pair lighter; they saw neither heaven, nor 
 earth, nor houses; they flew, as it were, on wings to the 
 church. When they reached ft dark little chapel in 
 one corner of the building, and stood before a plain, 
 
358 Vendetta. 
 
 undecorated altar, an old priest married them. There, 
 as in the mayor's office, two other marriages were 
 taking place, still pursuing them with pomp. The 
 church, filled with friends and relations, echoed with 
 the roll of carriages, and the hum of beadles, sextons, 
 and priests. Altars were resplendent with sacramen- 
 tal luxury ; the wreaths of orange-flowers that crowned 
 the figures of the Virgin were fresh. Flowers, in- 
 cense, gleaming tapers, velvet cushions embroidered 
 with gold, were everywhere. When the time came to 
 hold above the heads of Luigi and Ginevra the symbol 
 of eternal union, — that yoke of satin, white, soft, bril- 
 liant, light for some, lead for most, — the priest looked 
 about him in vain for the acolytes whose place it 
 was to perform that joyous function. Two of the 
 witnesses fulfilled it for them. The priest addressed 
 a hasty homily to the pair on the perils of life, on the 
 duties they must, some day, inculcate upon their chil- 
 dren, — throwing in, at this point, an indirect reproach 
 to Ginevra on the absence of her parents ; then, after 
 uniting them before God, as the mayor had united 
 them before the law, he left the now married couple. 
 
 "God bless them! " said Vergniaud, the sergeant, to 
 the mason, when they reached the church porch. "No 
 two creatures were ever more fitted for one another. 
 The parents of the girl are foolish. I don't know a 
 braver soldier than Colonel Luigi. If the whole 
 
Vendetta. 359 
 
 army had behaved like him, Vautre would be here 
 still." 
 
 This blessing of the old soldier, the only one be- 
 stowed upon their marriage-day, shed a balm on 
 Ginevra's heart. 
 
 They parted with hearty shakings of hand; Luigi 
 thanked his landlord. 
 
 " Adieu, mon brave," he said to the sergeant. "I 
 thank you." 
 
 "I am now and ever at your service, colonel, — 
 soul, body, horses, and carriages; all that is mine is 
 yours." 
 
 "How he loves you! " said Ginevra. 
 
 Luigi now hurried his bride to the house they were 
 to occupy. Their modest apartment was soon reached ; 
 and there, when the door closed upon them, Luigi took 
 his wife in his arms, exclaiming, — ' 
 
 "Oh, my Ginevra! for now you are mine, here is 
 our true wedding. Here," he added, "all things will 
 smile upon us." 
 
 Together they went through the three rooms con- 
 tained in their lodging. The room first entered served 
 as salon and dining-room in one; on the right was a 
 bedchamber, on the left a large study which Luigi had 
 arranged for his wife; in it she found easels, color- 
 boxes, lay-figures, casts, pictures, portfolios, — iu 
 short, the paraphernalia of an artist. 
 
360 Vendetta. 
 
 "So here I am to work! " she said, with an expres- 
 sion of childlike happiness. 
 
 She looked long at the hangings and the furniture, 
 turning again and again to thank Luigi, for there was 
 something that approached magnificence in the little 
 retreat. A bookcase contained her favorite books ; a 
 piano filled an angle of the room. She sat down upon 
 a divan, drew Luigi to her side, and said, in a caress- 
 ing voice, her hand in his, — 
 
 "You have good taste." 
 
 "Those words make me happy," he replied. 
 
 "But let me see all," said Ginevra, to whom Luigi 
 had made a mystery of the adornment of the rooms. 
 
 They entered the nuptial chamber, fresh and white 
 as a virgin. 
 
 "Oh! come' away," said Luigi, smiling. 
 
 "But I wish to see all." 
 
 And the imperious Ginevra looked at each piece of 
 furniture with the minute care of an antiquary exam- 
 ining a coin; she touched the silken hangings, and 
 went over every article with the artless satisfaction of 
 a bride in the treasures of her wedding outfit. 
 
 "We begin by ruining ourselves," she said, in a 
 half-joyous, half-anxious tone. 
 
 "True! for all my back-pay is there," replied Luigi. 
 "I have mortgaged it to a worthy fellow named 
 Gi«;onnet." 
 
Vendetta. 361 
 
 u Why did you do so?" she said, in a tone of re- 
 proach, through which could be heard her inward sat- 
 isfaction. "Do you believe I should be less happy in 
 a garret? But," she added, "it is all charming, and 
 — it is ours! " 
 
 Luigi looked at her with such enthusiasm that she 
 lowered her eyes. 
 
 "Now let us see the rest," she cried. 
 
 Above these three rooms, under the roof, was a 
 study for Luigi, a kitchen, and a servant's-room. 
 Ginevra was much pleased with her little domain, al- 
 though the view from the windows was limited by the 
 high wall of a neighboring house, and the court-yard, 
 from which their light was derived, was gloomy. But 
 the two lovers were so happy in heart, hope so adorned 
 their future, that they chose to see nothing but what 
 was charming in their hidden nest. They were there 
 in that vast house, lost in the immensity of Paris, like 
 two pearls in their shell in the depths of ocean ; to all 
 others it might have seemed a prison; to them it was 
 paradise. 
 
 The first few days of their union were given to love. 
 The effort to turn at once to work was too difficult; 
 they could not resist the charm of their own passion. 
 Luigi lay for hours at the feet of his wife, admiring 
 the color of her hair, the moulding of her forehead, 
 the enchanting socket of her eyes, the purity and 
 
362 Vendetta. 
 
 whiteness of the two arches beneath which the eyes 
 themselves turned slowly, expressing the happiness of 
 a satisfied love. Ginevra caressed the hair of her 
 Luigi, never weary of gazing at what she called his 
 belta folgorante, and the delicacy of his features. 
 She was constantly charmed by the nobility of his 
 manners, as she herself attracted him by the grace of 
 hers. 
 
 They played together, like children, with nothings, 
 
 — nothings that brought them ever back to their love, 
 
 — ceasing their play only to fall into a revery of the 
 far niente. An air sung by Ginevra reproduced to 
 their souls the enchanting lights and shadows of their 
 passion. Together, uniting their steps as they did 
 their souls, they roamed about the country, finding 
 everywhere their love, — in the flowers, in the sky, in 
 the glowing tints of the setting sun; they read it in 
 even the capricious vapors which met and struggled in 
 the ether. Each day resembled in nothing its prede- 
 cessors; their love increased, and still increased, 
 because it was a true love. They had tested each 
 other in what seemed only a short time ; and, instinc- 
 tively, they recognized that their souls were of a kind 
 whose inexhaustible riches promised for the future 
 unceasing joys. 
 
 Theirs was love in all its artlessness, with its in- 
 terminable conversations, unfinished speeches, long 
 
Vendetta. 363 
 
 silences, oriental repose, and oriental ardor. Luigi 
 and Ginevra comprehended love. Love is like the 
 ocean: seen superficially, or in haste, it is called 
 monotonous by common souls, whereas some privi- 
 leged beings can pass their lives in admiring it, and 
 in finding, ceaselessly, the varying phenomena that 
 enchant them. 
 
 Soon, however, prudence and foresight drew the 
 young couple from their Eden; it was necessary to 
 work to live. Ginevra, who possesse*d a special talent 
 for imitating old paintings, took up the business of 
 copying, and soon found many customers among the 
 picture-dealers. Luigi, on his side, sought long and 
 actively for occupation, but it was hard for a young 
 officer whose talents had been restricted to the study 
 of strategy to find anything to do in Paris. 
 
 At last, weary of vain efforts, his soul filled with 
 despair at seeing the whole burden of their subsistence 
 lulling on Ginevra, it occurred to him to make use of 
 his handwriting, which was excellent. With a persis- 
 tency of which he saw an example in his wife, he went 
 round among the lawyers and notaries of Paris, asking 
 for papers to copy. The frankness of his manners 
 and his situation interested many in his favor; he 
 soon obtained enough work to be obliged to find young 
 men to assist him; and this employment became, little 
 by little, a regular business. The profits of his office 
 
364 Vendetta. 
 
 and the sale of Ginevra's pictures gave the young 
 couple a competence of which they were justly proud, 
 for it was the fruit of their industry. 
 
 This, to the busy pair, was the happiest period of 
 their lives. The days flowed rapidly by, filled with 
 occupation and the joys of their love. At night, after 
 working all day, they met with delight in Ginevra's 
 studio. Music refreshed their weariness.. No expres- 
 sion of regret or melancholy obscured the happy feat- 
 ures of the young wife, and never did she utter a com- 
 plaint. She appeared to her Luigi with a smile upon 
 her lips and her eyes beaming. Each cherished a rul- 
 ing thought which would have made them take pleasure 
 in a labor still more severe; Ginevra said in her heart 
 that she worked for Luigi, and Luigi the same for 
 Ginevra. 
 
 Sometimes, in the absence of her husband, the 
 thought of the perfect happiness she might have had if 
 this life of love could have been lived in presence of 
 her father and mother overcame the young wife ; and 
 then, as she felt the full power of remorse, she dropped 
 into melancholy; mournful pictures passed like shad- 
 ows across her imagination; she saw her old father 
 alone, or her mother weeping in secret lest the inexor- 
 able Piombo should perceive her tears. The two white, 
 solemn heads rose suddenly before her, and the 
 thought came that never again should she see them 
 
Vendetta. 305 
 
 except in memory. This thought pursued her like a 
 presentiment. 
 
 She celebrated the anniversary of her marriage by 
 giving her husband a portrait he had long desired, — 
 that of his Ginevra, painted by herself. Never had 
 the young artist done so remarkable a work. Aside 
 from the resemblance, the glow of her beauty, the 
 purity of her feelings, the happiness of love were there 
 depicted by a sort of magic. This masterpiece of her 
 art and her joy was a votive offering to their wedded 
 felicity. 
 
 Another year of ease and comfort went by. The 
 history of their life may be given in three words: 
 They were happy. No event happened to them of 
 sullicient importance to be recorded. 
 
366 Vendetta. 
 
 VI. 
 
 RETRIBUTION. 
 
 At the beginning of the year 1819 the picture-dealers 
 requested Ginevra to give them something beside 
 copies; for competition had so increased that they 
 could no longer sell her work to advantage. Madame 
 Porta then perceived the mistake she had made in not 
 exercising her talent for genre painting, which might, 
 by this time, have brought her reputation. She now 
 attempted portrait-painting. But here she was forced 
 to compete against a crowd of artists in greater need of 
 money than herself. However, as Luigi and Ginevra 
 had laid by a few savings, they were not, as yet, 
 uneasy about the future. 
 
 Toward the end of the winter of that year Luigi 
 worked without intermission. He, too, was struggling 
 against competitors. The payment for writing had 
 so decreased that he found it impossible to employ 
 assistance; he was forced, therefore, to work a much 
 longer time himself to obtain the same emolument. 
 His wife had, finished several pictures which were not 
 without merit; but the dealers were scarcely buying 
 
Vendetta. 367 
 
 those of artists with reputations; consequently, her 
 paintings had little chance. Ginevra offered them for 
 almost nothing, but without success. 
 
 The situation of the household now began to be 
 alarming. The souls of husband and wife floated on 
 the ocean of their happiuess, love overwhelmed them 
 with its treasures, while poverty rose, like a skeleton, 
 amid their harvest of joy. Yet, all the while, they 
 hid from each other their secret anxiety. When 
 Ginevra felt like weeping as she watched Luigi's worn 
 and suffering face, she redoubled her caresses; and 
 Luigi, keeping his dark forebodings in the depths of 
 his soul, expressed to his Ginevra the tenderest love. 
 They sought a compensation for their troubles in 
 exalting their feelings; and their words, their joys, 
 their caresses became suffused, as it were, with a 
 species of frenzy. They feared the future. What 
 feeling can be compared in strength with that of a 
 passion which may cease on the morrow, killed by 
 death or want? When they talked together of their 
 poverty each felt the necessity of deceiving the other, 
 and they fastened with mutual ardor on the slightest 
 hope. 
 
 One night Ginevra woke and missed Luigi from her 
 side. She rose in terror. A faint light shining on 
 the opposite wall of the little court-yard revealed to her 
 th:it her husband was working in his study at night. 
 
368 Vendetta. 
 
 Luigi was now in the habit of waiting till his wife was 
 asleep, and then going up to his garret to write. 
 Four o'clock struck. Ginevra lay down again, and 
 pretended to sleep. Presently Luigi returned, over- 
 come with fatigue and drowsiness. Ginevra looked 
 sadly on the beautiful, worn face, where toil and care 
 were already drawing lines of wrinkles. 
 
 "It is for me he spends his nights in writing," she 
 said to herself, weeping. 
 
 A thought dried her tears. She would imitate 
 Luigi. That same day she went to a print-shop, and, 
 by help of a letter of recommendation she had obtained 
 from Elie Magus, one of her picture-dealers, she 
 obtained an order for the coloring of lithographs. 
 During the day she painted her pictures and attended 
 to the cares of her household ; then, when night came, 
 she colored the engravings. This loving couple 
 entered their nuptial bed only to deceive each other; 
 both feigned sleep, and left it, — Luigi, as soon as he 
 thought his wife was sleeping, Ginevra as soon as he 
 had gone. 
 
 One night Luigi, burning with a sort of fever, in- 
 duced by a toil under which his strength was begin- 
 ning to give way, opened the casement of his garret to 
 breathe the morning air, and shake off, for a moment, 
 the burden of his care. Happening to glance down- 
 ward, he saw the reflection of Ginevra 's lamp on the 
 
Vendetta. 369 
 
 opposite wall, and the poor fellow guessed the truth. 
 He went down, stepping softly, and surprised his 
 wife in her studio, coloring engravings. 
 
 "Oh, Ginevra!" he cried. 
 
 She gave a convulsive bound in her chair, and 
 blushed. 
 
 4 'Could I sleep while you were wearing yourself out 
 with toil?" she said. 
 
 4 'But to me alone belongs the right to work in this 
 way," he answered. 
 
 4 'Could I be idle," she asked, her eyes filling with 
 tears, " when I know that every mouthful we eat costs 
 a drop of your blood? I should die if I could not add 
 my efforts to yours. All should be in common be- 
 tween us: pains and pleasures, both." 
 
 44 She is cold!" cried Luigi, in despair. "Wrap 
 your shawl closer round you, my own Giuevra; the 
 night is damp and chilly." 
 
 They went to the window, the young wife leaning on 
 the breast of her beloved, who held her round the 
 waist, and, together, in deep silence, they gazed up- 
 ward at the sky, which the dawn was slowly brighten- 
 ing. Clouds of a grayish hue were moving rapidly; 
 the East was growing luminous. 
 
 "See!" said Ginevra. "It is an omen. We shall 
 be happy." 
 
 44 Yes, in heaven," replied Luigi, with a bitter 
 24 
 
370 Vendetta. 
 
 smile. "Ok, Ginevra! you who deserved all the 
 treasures upon earth — " 
 
 "I have your heart," she said, in tones of joy. 
 
 "Ah! I complain no more! " he answered, straining 
 her tightly to him, and covering with kisses the deli- 
 cate face, which was losing the freshness of youth, 
 though its expression was still so soft, so tender, that 
 he could not look at it and not be comforted. 
 
 "What silence!" said Ginevra, presently. "Dear 
 friend^ I take great pleasure in sitting up. The 
 majesty of Night is so contagious, it awes, it inspires. 
 There is I know not what great power in the thought : 
 all sleep, I wake." 
 
 "Oh, my Ginevra," he cried, "it is not to-night 
 alone I feel how delicately moulded is your soul. But 
 see, the dawn is shining, — come and sleep." 
 
 "Yes," replied Ginevra, "if I do not sleep alone. 
 I suffered too much that night I first discovered that 
 you were waking while I slept." 
 
 The courage with which these two young people 
 fought with misery received for a while its due reward ; 
 but an event which usually crowns the happiness of 
 a household to them proved fatal. Ginevra had a 
 son, who was, to use the popular expression, "as beau- 
 tiful as the day." The sense of motherhood doubled 
 the strength of the young wife. Luigi borrowed money 
 to meet the expenses of Ginevra's confinement. At 
 
Vendetta. 371 
 
 first she did not feel the fresh burden of their situa- 
 tion ; and the pair gave themselves wholly up to the joy 
 of possessing a child. It was their last happiness. 
 
 Like two swimmers uniting their efforts to breast a 
 current, these two Corsican souls struggled courage- 
 ously; but sometimes they gave way to an apathy 
 which resembled the sleep that precedes death. Soon 
 they were obliged to sell their jewels. Poverty 
 appeared to them suddenly, — not hideous, but plainly 
 clothed, almost easy to endure ; its voice had nothing 
 terrifying; with it came neither spectres, nor despair, 
 nor rags ; but it made them lose the memory and the 
 habits of comfort; it dried the springs of pride. 
 Then, before they knew it, came want, — want in all 
 its horror, indifferent to its rags, treading underfoot 
 all human sentiments. 
 
 Seven or eight months after the birth of the little 
 Bartolomeo, it would have been hard to see in the 
 mother who suckled her sickly babe the original of the 
 beautiful portrait, the sole remaining ornament of the 
 squalid home. Without fire through a hard winter, 
 the graceful outlines of Ginevra's figure were slowly 
 destroyed ; her cheeks grew white as porcelain, and her 
 eyes dulled as though the springs of life were drying 
 up within her. Watching her shrunken, discolored 
 child, she felt no suffering but for that young misery; 
 and Luigi had no courage to smile upon his son. 
 
372 Vendetta. 
 
 "I have wandered over Paris," he said, one day. 
 "I know no one; can I ask help of strangers? Ver- 
 gniaud, my old sergeant, is concerned in a conspiracy, 
 and they have put him in prison; besides, he has 
 already lent me all he could spare. As for our land- 
 lord, it is over a year since he asked me for any rent." 
 
 "But we are not in want," replied Ginevra, gently, 
 affecting calmness. 
 
 "Every hour brings some new difficulty," continued 
 Luigi, in a tone of terror. 
 
 Another day Luigi took Ginevra' s pictures, her 
 portrait, and the few articles of furniture which they 
 could still exist without, and sold them for a miser- 
 able sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless 
 household for a time. During these days of wretched- 
 ness Ginevra showed the sublimity of her nature and 
 the extent of her resignation. 
 
 Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong 
 soul held her up against all woes; she worked with 
 unfaltering hand beside her dying son, performed her 
 household duties with marvellous activity, and sufficed 
 for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on 
 Luigi' s lips a smile of surprise at the cleanliness she 
 produced in the one poor room where they had taken 
 refuge. 
 
 "Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, 
 one evening, when he returned, worn-out. 
 
Vendetta. 373 
 
 "And you?" 
 
 U I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing 
 more." 
 
 And the tender look on her beseeching face urged 
 him more than her words to take the food of which she 
 had deprived herself. 
 
 Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair 
 that were given in 1793 between friends as they 
 mounted the scaffold. In such supreme moments two 
 beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless 
 Luigi, comprehending suddenly that his wife was 
 starving, was seized with the fever which consumed 
 her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that 
 some business called him; for he would rather have 
 drunk the deadliest poison than escape death by eat- 
 ing that last morsel of bread that was left in his home. 
 
 He wandered wildly about Paris ; amid the gorgeous 
 equipages, in the bosom of that flaunting luxury that 
 displays itself everywhere; he hurried past the win- 
 dows of the money-changers where gold was glittering; 
 and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a sub- 
 stitute for military service, hoping that this sacrifice 
 would save Ginevra, and that her father, during his 
 absence, would take her home. 
 
 He went to one of the agents who manage these 
 transactions, and felt a sort of happiness in recognis- 
 ing an old officer of the Imperial guard. 
 
374: Vendetta. 
 
 "It is two days since I have eaten anything," he 
 said to him in a slow, weak voice. "My wife is dying 
 of hunger, and has never uttered one word of com- 
 plaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's 
 sake, comrade," he added, bitterly, "buy me in ad- 
 vance; I am robust; I $m no longer in the service, 
 and I — " 
 
 The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that 
 which he promised to procure for him. The wretched 
 man laughed convulsively as he grasped the gold, and 
 ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying 
 out at times : — 
 
 "Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!" 
 
 It was almost night when he reached his wretched 
 room. He entered very softly, fearing to cause too 
 strong an emotion to his wife, whom he had left so 
 weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the 
 garret window, were fading from Ginevra' s face as she 
 sat sleeping in her chair, and holding her child upon 
 her breast. 
 
 "Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the 
 infant, which shone, at that moment, with supernatural 
 light. 
 
 Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, 
 met Luigi's look, and smiled ; but Luigi himself gave a 
 cry of horror; he scarcely recognized his wife, now 
 half mad. With a gesture of savage energy he showed 
 
Vendetta. 375 
 
 her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; 
 but suddenly she cried, in a dreadful voice : — 
 
 "The child, Luigi, he is cold! " 
 
 She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bar- 
 tolomeo was dead. Luigi took his wife in his arms, 
 without removing the child, which she clasped with 
 inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed 
 he went out to seek help. 
 
 " Oh ! my God ! " he said, as he met his landlord 
 on the stairs. U I have gold, gold, and my child has 
 died of hunger, and his mother is dying, too! Help 
 me!" 
 
 He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving 
 the worthy mason, and also the neighbors who heard 
 him to gather a few things for the needs of so terrible 
 a waut, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans had 
 carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride. 
 
 Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneel- 
 ing by the bed on which lay his wife. 
 
 "Father! take care of my son, who bears your 
 name," she was saying in her delirium. 
 
 "Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; 
 "our good days are coming back to us." 
 
 "My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraor- 
 dinary attention, "listen to me. I feel that I :un 
 dying. My death is natural; I suffered too much; 
 besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid 
 
376 Vendetta. 
 
 for. Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so 
 happy that if I were to live again I would again 
 accept our fate. I am a bad mother ; I regret you more 
 than I regret my child — My child! " she added, in a 
 hollow voice. 
 
 Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she 
 pressed the little body she had no power to warm. 
 
 "Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Gin- 
 evra," she said. "Tell him I have never blamed 
 him." 
 
 Her head fell upon her husband's arm. 
 
 "No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor 
 is coming. We have food. Your father will take you 
 home. Prosperity is here. Stay with us, angel! " 
 
 But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing 
 cold. Ginevra turned her e} 7 es instinctively to him 
 she loved, though she was conscious of nought else. 
 Confused images passed before her mind, now losing 
 memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, 
 for she clasped his icy hand tightly, and more tightly 
 still, as though she strove to save herself from some 
 precipice clown which she feared to fall. 
 
 "Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will 
 warm you." 
 
 She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died. 
 
 Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came 
 into the room, bringing all that was necessary to save 
 
Vendetta. 377 
 
 the poor couple and calm their despair. These stran- 
 gers made some noise in entering ; but after they had 
 entered, an awful silence filled the room. 
 
 While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and 
 his wife were sitting in their antique chairs, each at a 
 corner of the vast fireplace, where a glowing fire 
 scarcely warmed the great spaces of their salon. The 
 clock told midnight. 
 
 For some time past the old couple had lost the 
 ability to sleep. At the present moment they sat 
 there silent, like two persons in their dotage, gazing 
 about them at things they did not see. Their deserted 
 salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly 
 lighted by a single lamp which seemed expiring. 
 Without the sparkling of the flame upon the hearth, 
 they might soon have been in total darkness. 
 
 A friend had just left them ; and the chair on which 
 he had been sitting, remained where he left it, be- 
 tween the two Corsicans. Piombo was casting glances 
 at that chair, — glances full of thoughts, crowding one 
 upon another like remorse, — for the empty chair 
 was Ginevra's. Elisa Piombo watched the expres- 
 sions that now began to cross her husband's pallid 
 face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings 
 from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed 
 to-night so threatening, and anon so melancholy that 
 
378 Vendetta. 
 
 she felt she could no longer read a soul that was 
 now incomprehensible, even to her. 
 
 Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories 
 awakened by that chair? Had he been shocked to see 
 a stranger in that chair, used for the first time since 
 his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy 
 struck, — that hour she had vainly prayed and waited 
 for till now ? 
 
 These reflections shook the mother's heart succes- 
 sively. For an instant her husband's countenance 
 became so terrible that she trembled at having used 
 this simple means to bring about a mention of Gin- 
 evra's name. The night was wintry ; the north wind 
 drove the snowflakes so sharply against the blinds 
 that the old couple fancied that they heard a gentle 
 rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide 
 her tears. Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's 
 breast; his wife looked at him; he seemed to her 
 crushed. Then she risked speaking — for the second 
 time in three long years — of his daughter. 
 
 "Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly. 
 
 Piombo quivered. 
 
 "She may be hungry," she continued. 
 
 The old man dropped a tear. 
 
 "Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her 
 milk is dried up!" said the mother, in accents of 
 despair. 
 
Vendetta. 379 
 
 "Let her come! let her come to me! " cried Piombo. 
 "Oh! my precious child, thou hast conquered me.". 
 
 The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At 
 that instant the door opened noisily, and a man, whose 
 face no longer bore the semblance of humanity, stood 
 suddenly before them. 
 
 "Dead! Our two families were doomed to exter- 
 minate each other. Here is all that remains of her," 
 he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair upon the 
 table. 
 
 The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of 
 lightning had blasted them. 
 
 Luigi no longer stood before them. 
 
 "He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said 
 Bartolomeo, slowly, gazing on the ground at his feet. 
 
STUDY OF A WOMAN. 
 
STUDY OF A WOMAN. 
 
 To the Marquis Jean-Charles di Negro. 
 
 The Marquise de Listomere is one of those young 
 women who have been brought up in the spirit of the 
 Restoration. She has principles, she fasts, takes the 
 sacrament, and goes to balls and operas very elegantly 
 dressed; her confessor permits her to combine the 
 mundane with sanctity. Always in conformity with 
 the Church and with the world, she presents a living 
 image of the present day, which seems to have taken 
 the word " legality " for its motto. The conduct of the 
 marquise shows precisely enough religious devotion 
 to attain under a new Maintenon to the gloomy piety 
 of the last days of Louis XIV., and enough worldli- 
 ness to adopt the habits of gallantry of the first years 
 of that reign, should it ever be revived. At the pres- 
 ent moment she is strictly virtuous from policy, 
 possibly from inclination. Married for the last seven 
 years to the Marquis de Listomere, one of those depu- 
 ties who expect a peerage, she may also consider .that 
 
384 Study of a Woman. 
 
 such conduct will promote the ambitions of her family. 
 Some women are reserving their opinion of her until 
 the moment when Monsieur de Listomere becomes a 
 peer of France, when she herself will be thirty-six 
 years of age, — a period of life when most women dis- 
 cover that they are the dupes of social laws. 
 
 The marquis is a rather insignificant man. He 
 stands well at court ; his good qualities are as nega- 
 tive as his defects ; the former can no more make him 
 a reputation for virtue than the latter can give him the 
 sort of glamour cast by vice. As deputy, he never 
 speaks, but he votes right. He behaves in his own 
 home as he does in the Chamber. Consequently, he is 
 held to be one of the best husbands in France. Though 
 not susceptible of lively interest, he never scolds, un- 
 less, to be sure, he is kept waiting. His friends have 
 named him "dull weather," — aptly enough, for there 
 is neither clear light nor total darkness about him. He 
 is like all the ministers who have succeeded one another 
 in France since the Charter. A woman with principles 
 could not have fallen into better hands. It is certainly 
 a great thing for a virtuous woman to have married a 
 man incapable of follies. 
 
 Occasionally some fops have been sufficiently imper- 
 tinent to press the hand of the marquise while dancing 
 with her. They gained nothing in return but con- 
 temptuous glances; all were made to feel the shock 
 
Study of a Woman. 385 
 
 of that insulting indifference which, like a spring frost, 
 destroys the germs of flattering hopes. Beaux, wits, 
 and fops, men whose sentiments are fed by sucking 
 their canes, those of a great name, or a great fame, 
 those of the highest or the lowest rank in her own 
 world, they all blanch before her. She has conquered 
 the right to converse as long and as often as she 
 chooses with the men who seem to her agreeable, with- 
 out being entered on the tablets of gossip. Certain 
 coquettish women are capable of following a plan of 
 this kind for seven years in order to gratify their fan- 
 cies later; but to suppose any such reservations in the 
 Marquise de Listomere would be to calumniate her. 
 
 I have had the happiness of knowing this phoenix. 
 She talks well; I know how to listen; consequently I 
 please her, and I go to her parties. That, in fact, 
 was the object of my ambition. 
 
 Neither plain nor pretty, Madame de Listomere has 
 white teeth, a dazzling skin, and very red lips; she is 
 tall and well-made; her foot is small and slender, and 
 she does not put it forth; her eyes, far from being 
 dolled like those of so many Parisian women, have a 
 gentle glow which becomes quite magical if, by chance, 
 she is animated. A soul is then divined behind that 
 rather indefinite form. If she takes an interest in the 
 conversation she displays a grace which is otherwise 
 buried beneath the precautions of cold demeanor, and 
 
 25 
 
386 Study of a Woman. 
 
 then she is charming. She does not seek success, 
 but she obtains it. We find that for which we do not 
 seek: that saying is so often true that some day it 
 will be turned into a proverb. It is, in fact, the moral 
 of this adventure, which I should not allow myself to 
 tell if it were not echoing at the present moment 
 through all the salons of Paris. 
 
 The Marquise de Listomere danced, about a month 
 ago, with a young man as modest as he is lively, 
 full of good qualities, but exhibiting, chiefly, his de- 
 fects. He is ardent, but he laughs at ardor; he has 
 talent, and he hides it ; he plays the learned man with 
 aristocrats, and the aristocrat with learned men. 
 Eugene de Rastignac is one of those extremely clever 
 young men who try all things, and seem to sound 
 others to discover what the future has in store. While 
 awaiting the age of ambition, he scoffs at everything ; 
 he has grace and originality, two rare qualities be- 
 cause the one is apt to exclude the other. On this 
 occasion he talked for nearly half an hour with Madame 
 de Listomere, without any predetermined idea of pleas- 
 ing her. As they followed the caprices of conversation, 
 which, beginning with the opera of "Guillaume Tell," 
 had reached the topic of the duties of women, he 
 looked at the marquise, more than once, in a manner 
 that embarrassed her; then he left her and did not speak 
 to her again for the rest of the evening. He danced, 
 
Study of a Woman. 387 
 
 played at vcartv, lost some money, and went home to 
 bed. I have the honor to assure you that the affair 
 happened precisely thus. I add nothing, and I sup- 
 press nothing. 
 
 The next morning Rastignac woke late and stayed 
 in bed, giving himself up to one of those matutinal 
 reveries in the course of which a young man glides 
 like a sylph under many a silken, or cashmere, or 
 cotton drapery. The heavier the body from its weight 
 of sleep, the more active the mind. Rastignac finally 
 got up, without yawning over-much as many ill-bred 
 persons are apt to do. He rang for his valet, ordered 
 tea, and drank immoderately of it when it came ; which 
 will not seem extraordinary to persons who like tea; 
 but to explain the circumstance to others, who regard 
 that beverage as a panacea for indigestion, I will add 
 that Eugene was, by this time, writing letters. He was 
 comfortably seated, with his feet more frequently on 
 the andirons than, properly, on the rug. Ah! to have 
 one's feet on the polished bar which connects the two 
 griffins of a fender, and to think of our love in our 
 dressing-gown is so delightful a thing that I deeply 
 regret the fact of having neither mistress, nor fender, 
 nor dressing-gown. 
 
 The first letter which Eugene wrote was soon fin- 
 ished; he folded and sealed it, and laid it before him 
 without adding the address. The second letter, begun 
 
388 Study of a Woman. 
 
 at eleven o'clock, was not finished till mid-day. The 
 four pages were closely filled. 
 
 "That woman keeps running in my head," he mut- 
 tered, as he folded this second epistle and laid it before 
 him, intending to direct it as soon as he had ended 
 his involuntary revery. 
 
 He crossed the two flaps of his flowered dressing- 
 gown, put his feet on a stool, slipped his hands into 
 the pockets of his red cashmere trousers, and lay back 
 in a delightful easy-chair with side wings, the seat and 
 back of which described an angle of one hundred and 
 twenty degrees. He stopped drinking tea and remained 
 motionless, his eyes fixed on the gilded hand which 
 formed the knob of his shovel, but without seeing 
 either hand or shovel. He ceased even to poke the 
 fire, — a vast mistake! Is n't it one of our greatest 
 pleasures to play with the fire when we think of women ? 
 Our minds find speeches in those tiny blue flames 
 which suddenly dart up and babble on the hearth. 
 We interpret as we please the strong, harsh tones of a 
 "burgundian." 
 
 Here I must pause to put before all ignorant per- 
 sons an explanation of that word, derived from a 
 very distinguished etymologist who wishes his name 
 kept secret. 
 
 "Burgundian" is the name given, since the reign of 
 Charles VI., to those noisy detonations, the result of 
 
Study of a Woman. 389 
 
 which is to fling upon the carpet or the clothes a little 
 coal or ember, the trifling nucleus of a conflagration. 
 Heat or fire releases, they say, a bubble of air left in 
 the heart of the wood by a gnawing worm. Inde amor, 
 inde burgundus. We tremble when we see the struc- 
 ture we had so carefully erected between the logs roll- 
 ing down like an avalanche. Oh! to build and stir 
 and play with fire when we love is the material devel- 
 opment of our thoughts. 
 
 It was at this moment that I entered the room. 
 Rastignac gave a jump and said : — 
 
 44 Ah! there you are, dear Horace; how long have 
 you been here?" 
 
 4 'Just come." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 He took up the two letters, directed them, and rang 
 for his servant. 
 
 "Take these," he said, "and deliver them." f 
 
 Joseph departed without a word; admirable servant! 
 
 We began to talk of the expedition to Morea, to 
 which I was anxious to be appointed as physician. 
 Eugene remarked that I should lose a great deal of 
 time if I left Paris. We then conversed on various 
 matters, and I tuink you will be glad if I suppress the 
 conversation. 
 
 When the Marquise de Listomere rose, about half- 
 past two in the afterjioon of tluit clay, her waiting-maid, 
 
390 Study of a Woman. 
 
 Caroline, gave her a letter which she read while Caro- 
 line was doing her hair (an imprudence which many 
 young women are thoughtless enough to commit). 
 
 "Dear angel 'of love," said the letter, "treasure of 
 my life and happiness — " 
 
 At these words the marquise was about to fling the 
 letter in the fire ; but there came into her head a fancy 
 
 — which all virtuous women will readily understand 
 
 — to see how a man who began a letter in that style 
 could possibly end it. When she had turned the fourth 
 page and read it, she let her arms drop like a person 
 much fatigued. 
 
 "Caroline, go and ask who left this letter." 
 
 "Madame, I received it myself from the valet of 
 Monsieur le Baron de Rastignac." 
 
 After that there was silence for some time. 
 
 "Does Madame intend to dress?" asked Caroline 
 at last. 
 
 "No — He is certainly a most impertinent man," 
 reflected the marquise. 
 
 I request all women to imagine for themselves the 
 reflections of which this was the first. . 
 
 Madame de Listomere ended hers by a formal deci- 
 sion to forbid her porter to admit Monsieur de Ras- 
 tignac, and to show him, herself, something more 
 than disdain when she met him in society; for his 
 insolence far surpassed that of. other men which 
 
Study of a Woman. 391 
 
 the marquise had ended by overlooking. At first she 
 thought of keeping the letter; but on second thoughts 
 she burned it. 
 
 "Madame has just received such a fine love-letter; 
 and she read it," said Caroline to the housemaid. 
 
 "I should never have thought that of madame," 
 replied the other, quite surprised. 
 
 That evening Madame de Listomere went to a party 
 at the Marquis de Beauseant's, where Rastignac would 
 probably betake himself. It was Saturday. The 
 Marquis de Beauseant was in some way a connection 
 of Monsieur de Rastignac, and the young man was not 
 likely to miss coming. By two in the morning 
 Madame de Listomere, who had gone there solely for 
 the purpose of crushing Eugene by her coldness, dis- 
 covered that she was waiting in vain. A brilliant 
 man — Stendhal — has given the fantastic name of 
 "crystallization ' to the process which Madame de 
 Listomere' s thoughts went through before, during, and 
 after this evening. 
 
 Four days later Eugene was scolding his valet. 
 
 "Ah gaf Joseph; I shall soon have to send you 
 away, my lad." 
 
 "What is it, monsieur?" 
 
 "You do nothing but make mistakes. Where did 
 you carry those letters I gave you Saturday?" 
 
 Joseph became stolid. Like a statue in some cathe- 
 
392 Study of a Woman. 
 
 dral porch, he stood motionless, entirely absorbed in 
 the labors of imagination. Suddenly he smiled idiot- 
 ically, and said : — 
 
 "Monsieur, one was for the Marquise de Listomere, 
 the other was for Monsieur's lawyer." 
 
 "You are certain of what you say? " 
 
 Joseph was speechless. I saw plainly that I must 
 interfere, as I happened to be again in Eugene's 
 apartment. 
 
 "Joseph is right," I said. 
 
 Eugene turned and looked at me. 
 
 "I read the addresses quite involuntarily, and — " 
 
 "And," interrupted Eugene, "one of them was not 
 for Madame de Nucingen ? " 
 
 "No, by all the devils, it was not. Consequently, 
 I supposed, my dear fellow, that your heart was wan- 
 dering from the rue Saint-Lazare to the rue Saint- 
 Dominique." 
 
 Eugene struck his forehead with the flat of his hand 
 and began to laugh ; by which Joseph perceived that 
 the blame was not on him. 
 
 Now, there are certain morals to this tale on which 
 young men had better reflect. First mistake : Eugene 
 thought it would be amusing to make Madame de Lis- 
 tomere laugh at the blunder which had made her the 
 recipient of a love-letter which was not intended for 
 her. Second mistake : he did not call on Madame de 
 
Study of a Woman. 393 
 
 Listomere for several days after the adventure, thus 
 allowing the thoughts of that virtuous young woman 
 to crystallize. There were other mistakes which I 
 will here pass over in silence, in order to give the 
 ladies the pleasure of deducing them, ex professo, to 
 those who are unable to guess them. 
 
 Eugene at last went to call upon the marquise ; but, 
 on attempting to pass into the house, the porter 
 stopped him, saying that Madame la marquise was 
 out. As he was getting back into his carriage the 
 Marquis de Listomere came home. 
 
 "Come in, Eugene," he said. "My wife is at home." 
 
 Pray excuse the marquis. A husband, however good 
 he may be, never attains perfection. As they went 
 up the staircase Rastignac perceived at least a dozen 
 blunders in worldly wisdom which had, unaccountably, 
 slipped into this page of the glorious book of his life. 
 
 When Madame de Listomere saw her husband usher- 
 ing in Eugene she could not help blushing. The 
 young baron saw that sudden color. If the most 
 humble-minded man retains in the depths of his soul a 
 certain conceit of which he never rids himself, any 
 more than a woman ever rids herself of coquetry, who 
 shall blame Eugene if he did say softly in his own 
 mind: "What! that fortress, too?" So thinking, he 
 poeed in his cravat. Young men may not be grasping, 
 but they like to get a new coin in their collection. 
 
394 Study of a Woman. 
 
 Monsieur de Listomere seized the "Gazette de 
 France," which he saw on the mantelpiece, and carried 
 it to a window, to obtain, by journalistic help, an 
 opinion of his own on the state of France. 
 
 A woman, even a prude, is never long embarrassed, 
 however difficult may be the position in which she 
 finds herself; she seems always to have on hand the 
 fig-leaf which our mother Eve bequeathed to her. 
 Consequently, when Eugene, interpreting, in favor of 
 his vanity, the refusal to admit him, bowed to Madame 
 de Listomere in a tolerably intentional manner, 'she 
 veiled her thoughts behind one of those feminine smiles 
 which are more impenetrable than the words of a king. 
 
 4 'Are you unwell, madame? You denied yourself to 
 visitors." 
 
 "lam well, monsieur." 
 
 "Perhaps you were going out? " 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 "You expected some one?" 
 
 "No one." 
 
 "If my visit is indiscreet you must blame Monsieur 
 le marquis. I had already accepted your mysterious 
 denial, when he himself came up, and introduced me 
 into the sanctuary." 
 
 "Monsieur de Listomere is not in my confidence on 
 this point. It is not always prudent to put a husband 
 in possession of certain secrets." 
 
Study of a Woman. 395 
 
 The firm and gentle tones in which the marquise 
 said these words', and the imposing glance which she 
 cast upon Rastignac made him aware that he had 
 posed in his cravat a trifle prematurely. 
 
 "Madame, I understand you," he said, laughing. 
 "I ought, therefore, to be doubly thankful that Mon- 
 sieur le marquis met me; he affords me an opportunity 
 to offer you excuses which might be full of danger 
 were you not kindness itself." 
 
 The marquise looked at the young man with an air 
 of some surprise, but she answered with dignity: — 
 
 " Monsieur, silence on your part will be the best 
 excuse. As for me, I promise you entire forgetful- 
 ness, and the pardon which you scarcely deserve." 
 
 "Madame," said Rastignac, hastily, "pardon is not 
 needed where there was no offence. The letter," he 
 added, in a low voice, u which you received, and which 
 you must have thought extremely unbecoming, was 
 not intended for you." 
 
 The marquise could not help smiling, though she 
 wished to seem offended. 
 
 "Why deceive?" she said, with a disdainful air, 
 although the tones of her voice were gentle. "Now 
 that I have duly scolded you, I am willing to laugh at 
 a subterfuge which is not without cleverness. I know 
 many women who would be taken in by it: ' Heavens! 
 how lie loves me! ' they would say." 
 
396 Study of a Woman. 
 
 Here the marquise gave a forced laugh, and then 
 added, in a tone of indulgence : — 
 
 "If we desire to continue friends let there be no 
 more mistakes, of which it is impossible that I should 
 be the dupe." 
 
 "Upon my honor, madame, you are so — far more 
 than you think," replied Eugene. 
 
 "What are you talking about?" asked Monsieur de 
 Listomere, who, for the last minute, had been listen- 
 ing to the conversation, the meaning of which he could 
 not penetrate. 
 
 "Oh! nothing that would interest you," replied his 
 wife. 
 
 Monsieur de Listomere tranquilly returned to the 
 reading of his paper, and presently said : — 
 
 "Ah! Madame de Mortsauf is dead; your poor 
 brother has, no doubt, gone to Clochegourde." 
 
 "Are you aware, monsieur," resumed the marquise, 
 turning to Eugene, "that what you have just said is a 
 great impertinence?" 
 
 "If I did not know the strictness of your princi- 
 ples," he answered, naively, "I should think that you 
 wished either to give me ideas which I deny myself, or 
 else to tear a secret from me. But perhaps you are 
 only amusing yourself with me." 
 
 The marquise smiled. That smile annoyed Eugene. 
 
 "Madame," he said, "can you still believe in an 
 
Study of a Woman. 397 
 
 offence I have not committed? I earnestly hope that 
 chance may not enable you to discover the name of the 
 person who ought to have read that letter." 
 
 "What! can it be still Madame de Nucingen?" 
 cried Madame de Listomere, more eager to penetrate 
 that secret than to revenge herself for the impertinence 
 of the young man's speeches. 
 
 Eugene colored. A man must be more than twenty- 
 five years of age not to blush at being taxed with a 
 fidelity that women laugh at — in order, perhaps, not 
 to show that they envy it. However, he replied with 
 tolerable self-possession : — 
 
 "Why not, madame?" 
 
 Such are the blunders we all make at twenty-five. 
 
 This speech caused a violent commotion in Madame 
 de Listomere's bosom; but Eastignac did not yet 
 know how to analyze a woman's face by a rapid or 
 sidelong glance. The lip3 of the marquise paled, but 
 that was all. She rang the bell for wood, and so con- 
 strained Rastignac to rise and take his leave. 
 
 "If that be so," said the marquise, stopping Eugene 
 with a cold and rigid manner, "you will find it dilli- 
 cult to explain, monsieur, why your pen should, by 
 accident, write my name. A name, written on a 
 letter, is not a friend's opera-hat, which you might 
 have taken, carelessly, on leaving a ball." 
 
 Eugene, discomfited, looked at the marquise with 
 
398 Study of a Woman. 
 
 an air that was both stupid and conceited. He felt 
 that he was becoming ridiculous ; and after stammer- 
 ing a few juvenile phrases he left the room. 
 
 A few days later the marquise acquired undeniable 
 proofs that Eugene had told the truth. For the last 
 fortnight she has not been seen in society. 
 
 The marquis tells all those who ask him the reason 
 of this seclusion : — 
 
 "My wife has an inflammation of the stomach." 
 
 But I, her physician, who am now attending her, 
 know it is really nothing more than a slight nervous 
 attack, which she is making the most of in order to 
 stay quietly at home. 
 
THE MESSAGE. 
 
THE MESSAGE. 
 
 To Monsieur le Marquis Damaso Pareto. 
 
 I have always desired to relate a true and simple 
 incident, the telling of which once made a young man 
 and his mistress tremble with fear and take refuge 
 in each other's hearts, like two children who cling 
 together on meeting a snake at the edge of woods. 
 
 At the risk of diminishing the interest of my narra- 
 tive or of passing for a conceited fool, I begin by tell- 
 ing you the object of my present writing. I myself 
 have played a part in this almost commonplace drama. 
 If that drama does not interest you, it will be my 
 fault as well as that of this absolutely true tale. Many 
 true tales are deadly dull and wearisome. Half the real 
 talent of a writer consists in choosing among true facts 
 those that may become poetic. 
 
 In 1819 I had occasion to go from Paris to Moulins. 
 
 Tin' state of my purse obliged me to travel in the im- 
 
 periale of the diligence. Englishmen, you know, 
 
 regard the seats in that aerial section of the vehicle as 
 
 26 
 
402 The Message. 
 
 the best. For the first few leagues of the way I found 
 excellent reasons to justify this opinion of our neigh- 
 bors. A young man, who seemed to me better off than 
 I was myself, got up, by choice, into the same elevated 
 position. He replied to my remarks by smiles that 
 were perfectly inoffensive. Soon a certain conformity 
 of age and thought, our mutual liking .for the free air 
 and the rich aspect of the scenery, which gradually 
 unfolded as the lumbering vehicle rolled heavily along, 
 and also some magnetic attraction impossible to ex- 
 plain, generated between us that sort of momentary 
 intimacy to which travellers are apt to lend themselves ; 
 with all the more readiness, perhaps, because this 
 ephemeral sentiment will soon cease, and binds us to 
 nothing in the future. 
 
 We had not done thirty miles before we were talk- 
 ing of women and of love. With all the oratorical 
 precautions required under such circumstances, it soon 
 became, naturally, a question of our respective mis- 
 tresses. Young, both of us, we were still at that pe- 
 riod of life which worships women "of a certain age ; 
 that is to say, women between thirty-five and forty. 
 Oh ! a poet who had listened to us from Montargis to I 
 know not what relay might have gathered many an 
 ardent expression, many a glowing portrait and tender 
 confidence! Our modest fears, our silent ejaculations, 
 our blushing faces gave an eloquence to that scene, the 
 
The Message. 403 
 
 artless charm of which I have never been able to recap- 
 ture. Well, we must all stay young to understand 
 youth! So, being of equal age, we understood each 
 other marvellously well on all the more essential points 
 of passion. 
 
 In the first place, we began by laying down the law 
 in fact and principle that there was nothing so silly 
 in all the world as a certificate of birth; that many 
 women of forty were younger than certain other 
 women of twenty; and, finally, that no woman was 
 older than the age she seemed to be. This system 
 putting no bounds to love, we swam, in good faith, 
 through a limitless ocean. And at last, having made 
 our mistresses young, charming, devoted, of high 
 rank, full of exquisite taste, witty and refined ; after 
 bestowing upon them pretty feet, a satiny and softly 
 perfumed skin, we acknowledged to each other, he, 
 that Madame Such a one was thirty-eight years old, 
 and I, that I adored a quadrigenarian. 
 
 Thereupon, being delivered, both of us, from a sort 
 of vague fear, we resumed our confidences, all the more 
 intimate for this brotherhood in love. It was now a 
 strife as to which of the two had shown the greater 
 depth of feeling. One had travelled five hundred 
 miles to see the lady ot his love for a single hour. 
 The other had risked being taken for a wolf and shot 
 in a park while rambling nocturnally beneath her 
 
404 The Message. 
 
 windows. In short, all our follies! Ah! if there be 
 pleasure in recalling past dangers, what infinite delight 
 there is in remembering vanished joys! Is it not twice 
 enjoying them? Our perils, our great and our little 
 happinesses, we told them all; even our jokes. My 
 friend's countess had smoked a cigar to please him. 
 Mine made me my chocolate and never passed a da} 7 
 without writing to me or seeing me; his had invited 
 him to stay three days in her house, whither he was 
 now going; mine had done even better, or worse, as 
 you may take it. Our husbands adored our coun- 
 tesses, — they were slaves to the charm possessed by 
 loving women ; more foolish than they need be, they 
 caused us only just anxiety enough to increase our 
 joys. Oh! how the breeze bore rapidly away our 
 words and our happy laughter! 
 
 When we reached Pouilly I examined, most atten- 
 tively, the person of my new friend. Certainly I could 
 well believe that he might be seriously loved. Picture 
 to yourself a young man of middle height, extremely 
 well-proportioned, with a happy face, which was full 
 of expression. His hair was black and his eyes blue ; 
 his lips were faintly red ; his teeth white and even ; a 
 becoming pallor still lingered on his delicate features, 
 and slight brown circles were round his eyes as though 
 he were lately convalescent. Add to all this that his 
 hands were white, well-modelled, and kept like those 
 
The Message. 405 
 
 of a pretty woman ; that he seemed well-educated and 
 was very witty, — and you will have no difficulty in 
 granting that my companion's love woufd do honor to 
 a countess. More than one young girl might have cov- 
 eted such a youth for a husband. He was a viscount, 
 and possessed in his own right fifteen thousand francs 
 a year, to say nothing of expectations. 
 
 Three miles beyond Pouilly the diligence was over- 
 turned. My unfortunate comrade thought best, for his 
 safety, to jump into a fresh-ploughed field rather than 
 to cling tightly to the seat, as I did, and go over with 
 the vehicle. Either he measured his distance ill, or 
 he slipped; I do not know how the accident occurred, 
 but the coach fell over upon him and crushed him. 
 We carried him to the house of a peasant. Amid the 
 groans which his dreadful sufferings forced from him, 
 he wa3 able to bequeath to me a duty to which the last 
 wishes of a dying man gave a sacred character. 
 
 AVhile enduring mortal agony, the poor fellow 
 fretted, with the simple candor of his age, for the 
 shock his mistress would feel if she read of his death, 
 unexpectedly, in a newspaper. He begged me to go 
 myself and announce it to her. Then he told me to 
 find a key that was hung around his neck by a ribbon. 
 I found it half imbedded in his flesh. The dying man 
 made not the slightest moan as I drew it, as gently afl 
 possible, from the wound it had made. No sooiki- 
 
406 The Message. 
 
 had he given me certain necessary instructions to 
 obtain at his home in La Charite-sur-Loire the letters 
 of his lady, which he conjured me to return, than he 
 lost his speech in the middle of a sentence. His last 
 gesture made me understand that the fatal key would 
 be a sign to his mother of my mission. Grieved not to 
 be able to say a word of thanks, — for he never doubted 
 my will to serve him, — he looked at me for a moment 
 with a supplicating eye, and bade me farewell by a mo- 
 tion of his eyelids as he dropped his head and died. 
 
 His death was the only fatal result of the overturn ; 
 and even that, as the conductor said to me, was partly 
 his own fault. 
 
 At La Charite I fulfilled the verbal will of the poor 
 traveller. His mother was absent, which was, I may 
 say, a comfort to me ; although I had to bear the grief 
 of an old servant-woman, who tottered when I told her 
 of the death of her young master, and dropped half 
 dead upon a chair on seeing the key still stained with 
 his blood. But, as my thoughts were filled with a 
 greater suffering, — that of the woman from whom fate 
 had snatched the last love of youth, — I left the old 
 housekeeper as soon as I had found the precious corre- 
 spondence, which was carefully sealed up by my friend 
 of a day. 
 
 The chateau where his countess lived was twenty 
 miles from my own destination, — Moulins; but in 
 
The Message. 407 
 
 order to reach it I was obliged to do most of the dis- 
 tance across country. It was, therefore, a difficult 
 message for rne, iu my then condition, to deliver. 
 Through a combination of circumstances unnecessary 
 to explain, I had only enough money to reach Moulins. 
 Nevertheless, with the ardor of youth, I determined to 
 make the trip on foot, and do it rapidly enough to 
 prevent the ill news which travels apace from fore- 
 stalling me. I inquired the shortest way, and followed 
 the wood-paths of the Bourbonnais, bearing, as it were, 
 a corpse upon my shoulders. 
 
 The nearer I came to the chateau de Montpersan, the 
 more alarmed I felt by the nature of the pilgrimage I 
 had undertaken. My imagination invented a thousand 
 romantic incidents. I fancied the situations in which 
 I might encounter Madame de Montpersan, or, rather, 
 to use the poetic name the young traveller had given 
 her, the Juliet of this romance. I invented admirable 
 answers to the questions which would probably be 
 made to me. At every turn of the wood-path, in the 
 Lanes, and between the hedges, I rehearsed the scene 
 of Sosie and his lantern, to which he tells the story of 
 the battle. To the shame of my soul be it said that 
 I thought only, at first, of my own behavior, my intel- 
 ligence, and the cleverness I intended to display. But 
 when I ih:i red t lie chateau a reflection crossed my mind 
 like the thunderclap that seems to rend and furrow the 
 
408 The Message. 
 
 lowering gray clouds. What fearful news I was about 
 to give to a woman whose heart was full, at the very 
 moment, of my young friend and the hope, from hour 
 to hour, of seeing him! It was, indeed, a cruel charity 
 to be the messenger of death! 
 
 I hastened my steps through the muddy, slimy paths 
 of the Bourbonnais. Presently I came to a great 
 avenue of chestnuts, at the farther end of which the 
 huge pile of the chateau de Montpersan rose against 
 the sky like a dark brown cloud with light and fantas- 
 tic edges. 
 
 When I reached the gate of the cMteau I found it 
 open. This unexpected circumstance destroyed my 
 plans and my suppositions. Nevertheless, I entered 
 boldly, and was immediately followed by two dogs, 
 barking like true country watch-dogs. At the noise, 
 a stout servant- worn an ran out, and when I told her 
 that I wished to speak to Madame la comtesse, she 
 pointed with her hand to the clumps of trees of an 
 English park which surrounded the house, and 
 answered : — 
 
 "Madame i3 over there." 
 
 "Thank you!" I replied sarcastically. Over there 
 might send me wandering for two hours through the 
 park. 
 
 A pretty little girl with curly hair, a pink sash, 
 white frock and pleated pelerine, here ran up, having 
 
TJie Message. 409 
 
 heard my question and the woman's answer. After 
 looking at me for a moment she disappeared, and I 
 heard her calling out, in a thin, childish voice: — 
 
 "Mamma! here's a gentleman who wants to see 
 you." 
 
 I followed first the voice, and then the fluttering and 
 bounding of the white pelerine which, like a will o' 
 the wisp, showed me the way the child had taken. 
 
 I must tell all. At the last clump of bushes in the 
 avenue, I had pulled up my shirt-collar, brushed my 
 old hat and my trousers with the flaps of my coat, the 
 coat with its own sleeves, and the sleeves with each 
 other. Then I had carefully buttoned up the coat in 
 order to show the part beneath the lappels, less 
 shabby than the rest; and, as a final touch, I pulled 
 my trousers well down over my boot3, artistically 
 robbed and cleaned on the grass. Thanks to this 
 Gascon toilet, I hoped not to be taken for a tramp 
 just released from the workhouse; but when I think, 
 to-day, of this episode of my youth, I laugh heartiiy 
 to myself. 
 
 Suddenly, just as I had somewhat composed my 
 demeanor, at the tarn of a grassy path, in the midst 
 of flowers aglow in the warmth of the sun, I saw 
 "Juliet" and her husband. The pretty little girl was 
 holding her mother by the band, and it was easy to 
 see that the countess bad hastened her steps on hear- 
 
410 The Message. 
 
 ing the ambiguous call of her child. Surprised at 
 seeing a stranger (who bowed to her in a sufficiently 
 awkward manner), she stopped and gave me a polite but 
 frigid salutation, which showed me that I had already 
 deceived her hopes. I tried to think, but in vain, of 
 a single one of the many fine phrases so laboriously 
 prepared. During this moment of mutual hesitation 
 the husband came up to us. Myriads of thoughts 
 passed through my brain. By way of introduction I 
 said a few meaningless words, and asked if the two 
 persons before me were really the Comte and Comtesse 
 de Montpersan. 
 
 These commonplaces enabled me to judge at a 
 glance, and analyze with a perspicacity rare at my age 
 the two persons whose tranquillity I was about to 
 trouble so violently. The husband seemed to me a 
 type of those country gentlemen who are really the 
 best ornament of the provinces. He wore stout shoes 
 with thick soles. I place those articles first because 
 they struck my eye more vividly than his faded black 
 coat, his much-worn trousers, his limp cravat, and the 
 dog's-eared collar of his shirt. There was something 
 of the magistrate about the man, more of a puisne 
 judge, all the dignity of the mayor of a district, and 
 the sourness of an eligible candidate for the Chamber, 
 periodically rejected since 1816; also a singular mix- 
 ture of a countryman's good sense with silliness; no 
 
The Message. 411 
 
 manners, but the pride of wealth; much submission to 
 his wife, though believing himself her master; readi- 
 ness to make a fuss about little things while paying no 
 attention to important ones: for the rest, a withered 
 face, much wrinkled and tanned ; thin gray hair, long 
 and flattened down; and there you have the man! 
 
 But the countess! Ah! what a keen and total 
 contrast she presented to him. She was a little 
 woman, with a graceful, slender figure, so dainty and 
 delicate that you might have feared to crush her bones 
 in touching her. She wore a white muslin gown ; on 
 her head a charming little cap with pink ribbons, a 
 pink sash, a lace fichu delightfully filled by the beau- 
 tiful shoulders and rounded outlines of her shape. Her 
 eyes were lively, black, and expressive, her move- 
 ments gentle, her foot charming. An old man of gal- 
 lantry would have said she was only thirty, so much 
 of youth remained on her brow and in the various 
 delicate details of her head. As for character, she 
 seemed to me to combine the qualities of the Comtesse 
 
 de Lignolles and the Marquise de B , two types of 
 
 women always fresh in the memory of every young 
 man who has once read Louvet's novel. 
 
 I seemed suddenly to penetrate into the secrets of 
 this household, and as suddenly I came to a diplomatic 
 resolution, quite worthy of an old ambassador. It 
 was, perhaps, the only time in my life I ever showed 
 
412 The Message. 
 
 tact, or fully understood in what consists the adroit- 
 ness of courtiers and men of the world. 
 
 Since those days of heedless youth, I have had too 
 many battles upon my hands to distil, as it were, the 
 lesser actions of life and do nothing more than prac- 
 tise the scales of etiquette, — a process which dries 
 the emotions of generous hearts. 
 
 "Monsieur le comte, I am anxious to speak to you 
 in private," I said, with a mysterious air, making a 
 few steps backward. 
 
 He followed me. Juliet left us alone, — walking 
 carelessly away like a woman certain of knowing her 
 husband's secrets whenever she asked for them. I 
 briefly related to the count the death of my travelling 
 companion. The effect produced upon him showed me 
 plainly that he was greatly attached to the young man, 
 and this discovery emboldened me to answer as fol- 
 lows, in the dialogue which ensued. 
 
 "My wife will be in despair," he cried, "and I shall 
 be obliged to take every precaution when informing 
 her of this terrible event." 
 
 "Monsieur, in addressing myself to you in the first 
 place," I said, "I fulfilled a duty. I did not wish to 
 deliver a message given to me by an unknown man 
 for Madame la comtesse without informing you of it. 
 But the poor fellow confided to me a species of hon- 
 orable trust, a secret which I have no right to speak 
 
The Message. 413 
 
 of except as he bade me. From the high opinion which 
 he gave me of your character, I think you will not 
 object to my accomplishing his last wishes. Madame 
 la comtesse will, of course, be at liberty to break the 
 silence which is imposed upon me. 
 
 Hearing this praise of himself, the worthy gentle- 
 man nodded his head complacently. He answered me 
 with a somewhat involved compliment, and left me free 
 to proceed as I wished. We then returned upon our 
 steps. The first bell rang for dinner at this moment, 
 and he invited me to share the meal. 
 
 When Juliet joined us and saw that we were grave 
 and silent, she examined us both furtively. Greatly 
 surprised when her husband made a frivolous excuse 
 to leave us together, she stopped short and flung me 
 one of those glances which none but women have the 
 gift to fling. In that look was all the curiosity of the 
 mistress of a household who receives a stranger fall- 
 ing from the clouds ; all the questions which my ap- 
 parel, youth and physiognomy (in singular contrast) 
 awakened; all the disdain of an adored woman in 
 whose eyes every man save one is nothing; there were, 
 besides, in that one glance, involuntary fears and the 
 annoyance of receiving an unexpected guest at the 
 moment when she was expecting another and a dear 
 one. I felt and comprehended that mute eloquence, 
 and I answered it with a bad smile, full of pity and 
 
414 The Message. 
 
 compassion. I gazed at her for an instant, as she stood, 
 in the glow of her beauty, in the narrow path bordered 
 with flowers on that serene and sunny day. Seeing 
 this delightful picture I could not check a sigh. 
 
 "Alas! madame, I have made a painful journey, 
 undertaken — for you alone.'' 
 
 "Monsieur!" she said. 
 
 "I come," I added, "in the name of him who called 
 you 'Juliet.'" She turned pale. "You will not see 
 him to-day." 
 
 "Is he ill? " she asked, in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes," I answered. "But, I entreat you, be calm. 
 I am charged by him to confide to you certain secret 
 things which concern you; pray believe that no mes- 
 senger was ever more discreet or more devoted." 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 "Perhaps he no longer loves you." 
 
 "Oh,! that is impossible!" she cried, with a smile 
 that was nothing less than frank. 
 
 Suddenly a shudder came over her; she cast a wild 
 and rapid glance upon me, and said : — 
 
 "Is he living?" 
 
 Good God! what a terrible question. I was too 
 young at the time to bear the tone of it ; I could not 
 answer, but I looked at her helplessly. 
 
 "Monsieur! monsieur! give me an answer," she 
 cried. 
 
The Message. 415 
 
 "Yes, madame." 
 
 "Is it true? Tell me the truth; I can bear it. Tell 
 me. Any suffering is less dreadful than uncertainty." 
 
 I answered with tears, drawn from me by the tones 
 which accompanied these words. 
 
 She leaned against a tree, giving a feeble cry. 
 
 "Madame," I said, "here is your husband." 
 
 "Have I a husband?" 
 
 With those words she fled away and disappeared. 
 
 "Come," said the count, "dinner is getting cold. 
 Come, monsieur." 
 
 I followed the master of the house into the dining- 
 room where I found a table served with all the luxury 
 to which Parisian dinners have accustomed us. There 
 were five places set, — two for the master and mistress; 
 one for the little girl ; mine, which should have been 
 his; the fifth was that of a canon of Saint-Denis, who, 
 after he had said grace, inquired : — 
 
 " Where is our dear countess ? " 
 
 "Oh! she is coming," replied the count, proceeding 
 to serve the soup, after which he helped himself to an 
 ample plateful which he ate extraordinarily fast. 
 
 "Oh! my dear nephew," cried the canon, "if your 
 wife were here you would be more careful." 
 
 "Papa will be ill," said the little girl, maliciously. 
 
 After this singular gastronomic episode, and while 
 the count was hastily carving a piece of venison a 
 
416 The Message. 
 
 waiting-maid entered the room and said, hurriedly: 
 "Monsieur, we cannot find madame!" 
 
 At these words I rose abruptly, fearing some disas- 
 ter; and my face expressed my fears so plainly that 
 the old canon rose too, and followed me into the gar- 
 den. The count came, out of decency, as it seemed, to 
 the door, calling after us : — 
 
 "Come back! come back! you need not feel 
 uneasy.'* 
 
 But he did not accompany us. The canon, the 
 waiting-maid, and I hurried through paths and lawns, 
 calling, listening, and all the more uneasy because I 
 had told my companions of the death of the young 
 viscount. As we hurried along I related the circum- 
 stances of that fatal event, and I saw that the waiting- 
 maid was deeply attached to her mistress; she entered 
 more fully than the canon into the reasons of my 
 terror. 
 
 We went from place to place without finding either 
 the countess or any trace of her passage ; but at last, 
 passing the side of a wall, I fancied I heard stifled 
 moans issuing from a species of barn. I entered it ; 
 and there we discovered Juliet. Led by an instinct of 
 despair, she had buried herself in the hay, covering 
 her head to dull the sound of her terrible cries, — the 
 sobs and tears of childhood, but more piercing, more 
 plaintive. The world had nothing more to offer her. 
 
The Message. 417 
 
 The maid lifted her mistress, who allowed herself 
 to be handled with the limp indifference of a dying 
 animal. The woman knew nothing else to say than: 
 "Come, madame, come — " 
 
 The old canon asked again and again : — 
 "Are yon ill, my niece? What is the matter?" 
 Aided by the maid I carried Juliet to her bedroom, 
 where I laid her on a sofa, bidding the woman watch 
 her, and say to others that her head ached. Then the 
 canon and I went back to the dining-room. It was 
 some time, of course, since we had left the count, and 
 I had not thought of him until we reached the peri- 
 style, when a recollection of his indifference surprised 
 me. But I was much more astonished when, on reach- 
 ing the dining-room, I found him philosophically seated 
 at the table. He had eaten almost the whole dinner, 
 to the great amusement of the little girl, who smiled 
 to see her father in flagrant disobedience to the coun- 
 tess's commands. 
 
 This singular behavior of the count was explained to 
 me by a slight altercation which suddenly arose be- 
 tween the canon and himself. The count, it appeared, 
 was under a strict diet ordered by the doctors to cure 
 him of some serious illness, the name of which escapes 
 me; but, impelled by that ferocious gluttony not mi- 
 llion in convalescents, the appetite of the animal 
 within him had got the better of the sensibilities 
 
 27 
 
418 The Message. 
 
 of the man. I thus, almost at the same moment, 
 saw nature in all her truth, — under two entirely differ- 
 ent aspects, so different that an element of the comic 
 appeared in the very centre of this terrible grief. 
 
 The evening was sad. I was much fatigued. The 
 canon talked of his niece and her tears. The husband 
 digested in silence, having contented himself with the 
 vague explanation which the maid gave him of her 
 mistress's illness. We went to bed early. As I passed 
 the door of the countess's bedroom under guidance of 
 a valet, I stopped, and timidly asked news of her 
 health. Hearing my voice, she made me come in, and 
 tried to' speak to me; but finding herself unable to 
 articulate, she only bowed her head, and I retired. 
 
 In spite of the cruel emotions which I had shared all 
 day with the sincerity and good faith of a young man, 
 I fell soundly asleep, overcome with the fatigue of my 
 forced march. At a late hour of the night I was awak- 
 ened by a sharp rattle produced by the rings of my 
 bed-curtains being violently pulled along their iron 
 bar. I then saw the countess at the foot of my bed. 
 Her face was in the full light of a lamp which she had 
 placed upon a table. 
 
 "Is it really true, monsieur?" she said. "I do not 
 know if I can live under the awful blow that I have 
 just received; but at this moment I am calm, and I 
 wish to know all." 
 
The Message. 419 
 
 "Calm! " I thought; ''what calmness! " 
 
 Tlie frightful pallor of her face contrasting with the 
 brown of her hair, the guttural tones of her voice, and 
 the ravages which a few short hours had made in her 
 changed features stupefied me. She had withered 
 already, like a leaf that is robbed of its last autumnal 
 tints. Her red and swollen eyes, denuded of all their 
 beauty, reflected only a bitter, hopeless grief; gray 
 clouds alone were there, where a few short hours before 
 the sun was sparkling. 
 
 I told her simply (not dwelling on certain circum- 
 stances too painful for her) the sudden and rapid 
 event which had robbed her of her friend. She did 
 not weep; 'she listened with avidity, her head bending 
 toward me. Seizing a moment when she seemed to 
 have wholly opened her soul to suffering, and to wish 
 to plunge into her grief with the burning ardor of the 
 first fever of despair, I spoke to her of the fears for 
 her which had troubled the dying man ; and I told her 
 how and why it was that he had charged me to bring 
 to her the fatal message. Then her eyes dried from 
 the heat of the lurid fire which now escaped from the 
 deepest regions of her soul. She grew still paler. 
 When I offered her the letters, which I drew from be- 
 neath my pillow, she took them mechanically; then she 
 Bhaddered violently, and said, in a hollow voice: — 
 
 "I burned all his! I have nothing of him! nothing! 
 nothing ! " 
 
420 t The Message. 
 
 She struck her forehead forcibly. 
 
 "Madame! " I said; she looked at me with a move- 
 ment that was almost convulsive. "I cut from his 
 head," I continued, "a lock of his hair, and here 
 it is." 
 
 I gave her that one incorruptible fragment of him 
 she had loved and lost. Ah! if you had felt, as I 
 did, the burning tears that fell upon my hands, you 
 would know what gratitude is when it stands beside a 
 benefit! She grasped my hands, and in a stifled voice, 
 and with a look brilliant with fever, a look in which her 
 slender joy shone out amid her sufferings, she said: 
 
 "You love! you love! Be happy! may you never 
 lose her who is dear to you — " 
 
 She said no more, but fled with her treasure. 
 
 The next day this nocturnal scene, mingling with my 
 dreams, seemed to me a fiction. In order to convince 
 myself of its painful truth, I felt beneath my pillow for 
 the letters, and found them gone. 
 
 It is unnecessary to relate the events of that day. I 
 was several hours alone with the Juliet my poor com- 
 panion had so praised to me. The slightest words, the 
 gestures, the actions of that beloved woman proved to 
 me the nobility of soul, the delicacy of feeling which 
 made her one of those dear creatures of love and of 
 devotion so rarely sent upon this earth. 
 
 That evening Monsieur de Montpersan drove me 
 
The Message. 421 
 
 himself to Moulins. When we arrived there, he said, 
 with a sort of embarrassment: — 
 
 "Monsieur, if I am not abusing your kindness, and 
 taking a liberty with a stranger to whom we are 
 already under obligations, would you have the kind- 
 ness to remit in Paris, to Monsieur (I forget 
 
 the name), rue du Sentier, a sum of money which I 
 owe him, and which he has requested me to send him 
 promptly? " 
 
 "Willingly," I said. 
 
 In the innocence of my heart I took the roll of 
 twenty-five louis which the count handed to me. It 
 enabled me to pay my way back to Paris ; and the next 
 morning I carried the sum thus lent to me to the cor- 
 respondent and so-called creditor of Montpersan. 
 
 It was not till I had actually taken the money to the 
 person indicated that I comprehended the delicate 
 cleverness with which Juliet had befriended me. The 
 manner in which that gold was lent, the silence pre* 
 served about my poverty, so unmistakable to the eye, 
 did they not reveal the genius of a loving woman? 
 
 How delightful to tell this simple story to a woman 
 who presses closer to you in terror, whispering: "Ah! 
 dear, don't die and leave me! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 2M3ac in <£ngli£f)< 
 
 Memoirs of Two Young Married Women. 
 
 By Honore de Balzac. 
 
 Translated by KATHARINE Prescott VVormeley. i2mo. 
 Half Russia. Price, $1.50. 
 
 "There are," says Henry James in one of his essays, "two writers in 
 Balzac, — the spontaneous one and the reflective one, the former of 
 which is much the more delightful, while the latter is the more extraordi- 
 nary." It is the reflective Balzac, the Balzac with a theory, whom we 
 get in the u Deux Jeunes Mariees," now translated by Miss Wormeley 
 under the title of "Memoirs of Two Young Married Women." The 
 theory of Balzac is that the marriage of convenience, properly regarded, 
 is far preferable to the marriage simply from love, and he undertakes to 
 prove this proposition by contrasting the careers of two young girls who 
 have been fellow-students at a convent. One of them, the ardent and 
 passionate Louise de Chaulieu, has an intrigue with a Spanish refugee, 
 finally marries him, kills him, as she herself confesses, by her perpetual 
 jealousy and exaction, mourns his loss bitterly, then marries a golden- 
 haired youth, lives with him in a dream of ecstasy for a year or so, and 
 this time kills herself through jealousy wrongfully inspired. As for her 
 friend, Renee de Maucombe, she dutifully makes a marriage to please her 
 parents, calculates coolly beforehand how many children she will have and 
 how they shall be trained; insists, however, that the marriage shall be 
 merely a civil contract till she and her husband find that their hearts are 
 indeed one; and sees all her brightest visions realized, — her Louis an 
 ambitious man for her sake and 'her children truly adorable creatures. 
 The siory, which is told in the form of letters, fairly scintillates with 
 brilliant sayings, and is filled with eloquent discourses concerning the 
 nature of love, conjugal and otherwise. Louise and Ren6c are both 
 extremely sophisticated young women, even in their teens ; and those 
 Who expect to find in their letters the demure innocence of the Anglo- 
 Saxon type will be somewhat astonished. The translation, under the 
 circumstances, was rather a daring attempt, but it has been most felicit- 
 ously done. — The Beacon. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid, on receipt of 
 price by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. Mass. 
 
Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. 
 
 S^al^ac in <£ngli£f)* 
 
 THE VILLAGE RECTOR. 
 
 By Honore de Balzac. 
 
 Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley. i2mo. 
 Half Russia. Price, #1.50. 
 
 Once more that wonderful acquaintance which Balzac had with all callings 
 appears manifest in this work. Would you get to the bottom of the engineer's 
 occupation in France? Balzac presents it in the whole system, with its aspects, 
 disadvantages, and the excellence of the work accomplished. We write to-day 
 of irrigation and of arboriculture as if they were novelties ; yet in the waste lands 
 of Montagnac, Balzac found these topics ; aud what he wrote is the clearest 
 exposition of the subjects. 
 
 But, above all, in "The Village Rector" is found the most potent of religious 
 ideas, — the one that God grants pardon to sinners. Balzac had studied and 
 appreciated the intensely human side of Catholicism and its adaptiveness to the 
 wants of mankind. It is religion, with Balzac, " that opens to us an inexhaustible 
 treasure of indulgence." It is true repentance that saves. 
 
 The drama which is unrolled in "The Village Rector" is a terrible one, and 
 perhaps repugnant to our sensitive minds. The selection of such a plot, pitiless 
 as it is, Balzac made so as to present the darkest side of human nature, and to 
 show how, through God's pity, a soul might be saved. The instrument of mercy 
 is the Rector Bonnet, and in the chapter entitled " The Rector at Work " he 
 shows how religion " extends a man's life beyond the world. 1 ' It is not sufficient 
 to weep and moan. "That is but the beginning; the end is action." The 
 rector urges the woman whose sins are great to devote what remains of her life 
 to work for the benefit of her brothers and sisters, and so she sets about reclaim- 
 ing the waste lands which surround her chateau. With a talent of a superlative 
 order, which gives grace to Veronique, she is like the Madonna of some old panel 
 of Van Eyck's. Doing penance, she wears close to her tender skin a haircloth 
 vestment. For love of her, a man has committed murder and died and kept his 
 secret. In her youth, Veronique's face had been pitted, but her saintly life had 
 obliterated that spotted mantle of smallpox. Tears had washed out every blemish. 
 If through true repentance a soul was ever saved, it was Veronique's. This 
 work, too, has afforded consolation to many miserable sinners, and showed them 
 the way to grace. 
 
 The present translation is to be cited for its wonderful accuracy and its literary 
 distinction. We can hardly think of a more difficult task than the Englishing o( 
 Balzac, and a general reading public should be grateful for the admirable manner 
 in which Miss Wormeley has performed her task. — New York Times. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt 
 of price by the Publishers, 
 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston, Mass. 
 
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