^ LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNIVCftSlTY OF 
 CAUK>I>NIA 
 SAN OIC0O 
 
 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 Mrs. Townsend
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 
 
 3 1822 00317 1774 
 
 •^ -I 
 
 £S
 
 THE ROMANCES OF ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 CUustrateft iLtbrarg Edition. 
 New Series, II. — Vol. V. 
 
 SYLYAIS'DIKE.
 
 
 Jeeiy^nfi^-^. Jc
 
 Monsieur de Royancour/'s Note.
 
 ^Ijc liomanccs; of 0lrranDrc HDuma0. 
 
 NEW SERIES. — II. 
 
 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 
 
 BOSTON; 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1898.
 
 Copyright, 1897, 
 By Little, Bkown, and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 STljis EBitton is ILimttfli to ©ne ^Tljousanli doptes. 
 N0....U2A.Z 
 
 University Press: 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U. S. A.
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 " The reign of Louis XIV.," says M. Arsfene Hous- 
 saye,^ " is divided into three periods, dominated by 
 three influences, — three stars, three women. 
 
 "The first is the epoch of half-Spanish, half- 
 French gallantry. It is personified in Mademoiselle 
 de la Vallifere. . . . 
 
 " The second period of the reign is symbolized by 
 Madame de Montespan, . . . who exults in being 
 queen by grace of Love. With her opens the mili- 
 tary epic, the era of conquest. The tendency is to 
 materialism of the heart, to paganism of sentiment. 
 ... It is the age of action, of maturity, of strength. 
 Everything yields to the victorious king, — • citadels 
 and women. 
 
 " The third and last part of the reign is summed 
 up in Madame de Maintenon. Sensual mysticism 
 has replaced the pomp and activity of the old court. 
 The dying century becomes a hermit, glory takes 
 the veil. . . . Louis XIV., that king over whom a 
 woman reigns, droops slowly toward his grave. . . . 
 Madame de Maintenon is the hand by which the 
 Gallican church sways the old age of Louis XIV. 
 1 " Galerie du XVIIP' Siecle. — La Eegence "
 
 VI INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 Quietism offends the shrewd, powerful, intriguing 
 woman, who bears, not without dignity, the weight 
 of the crown. That uncrowned queen gives its 
 shape, as they said in those days, to the close of 
 the reign. . . . Everything assumes the mask of 
 piety." 
 
 And again he says : " If his youth was imprisoned 
 in the dense forest of the passions, as Saint Augus- 
 tine hath it, his old age was confined behind bolts 
 and bars in an impenetrable citadel, of which Scar- 
 rou's widow was the keeper. There are no more 
 abject slaves than tyrants." 
 
 It would be easy to multiply authorities in sup- 
 port of the accuracy of the picture drawn by Dumas 
 in these pages of the state of society in the first 
 decade of the eighteenth century, when, under the 
 leadership of the incompetent generals who owed 
 their commissions to their subservience to " Scar- 
 rou's widow," France was struggling on, from defeat 
 to defeat, from Blenheim to Eamillies and Turin and 
 Oudenarde and Malplaquet, through the bloody, dis- 
 astrous years of the War of the Spanish Succession. 
 
 It was the period of the "goA'ernment of the 
 saints." ^ From the fall of Louvois in 1691, Madame 
 de Maintenon's influence was practically unlim- 
 ited and unshared until after the crushing disaster 
 of Blenheim (1704), when she was obliged to come 
 to terms, and, to some extent, share her power with 
 the Due de Bourgogne, and his governors, the Dues 
 de Chevreuse and de Beauvilliers, and with the 
 king's confessor, " a hard-hearted, atrabilious old 
 1 Michelet.
 
 INTRODUCTOEY NOTE, Vll 
 
 villain, Yhre Tellier, whose bitter gall made the 
 whites of his squinting eyes yellow." 
 
 Versailles was a gloomy place during the suprem- 
 acy of Madame de Maintenon and her Jesuit allies, 
 and that supremacy endured until the death of the 
 king in 1715, when the accession to power of the 
 pleasure-loving, easy-going Eegent inaugurated an 
 era of license and immorality. Not only was the 
 power of the favorite shown in the repression of 
 gayety and amusement in every form, but her favor 
 and that of the ultra-religious faction counted for 
 vastly more than the patronage of the greatest 
 nobles in the distribution of lucrative offices and 
 of commissions in the army and navy. However 
 great a man's merit might be, his chance of prefer- 
 ment or promotion was small, unless he were re- 
 signed to the necessity of going to Versailles with 
 a sanctimonious expression on his face, and kissing 
 La Maintenon's withered hand. 
 
 The episode of the chevalier's arrest and impris- 
 onment is entirely consistent with the customs of 
 the time. The history of the Bastile is full of in- 
 stances which vouch for its probability. It will be 
 remembered that the one fact which more than any 
 other drew the attention of the Parisian populace 
 to the grim old fortress in 1789 was the recent 
 release of one Latude, who had been confined there 
 for more than forty years upon no ascertainable 
 charge, but presumably to gratify the enmity of 
 some powerful family or individual. During the 
 first fifteen years of the eighteenth century no more 
 heinous offence could be committed than to speak
 
 7111 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 or write slightingly of the old king's unacknowl- 
 edged wife, nor could any surer way of ruining an 
 enemy be devised than to bring to her notice evi- 
 dence of such sacrilege. 
 
 In his "Mdmoires" (vol. 9), Dumas tells us of his 
 first venture in the domain of historical romance. 
 Soon after the founding of the "Revue des Deux 
 Mondes,"^ he contributed to that periodical certain 
 " Scenes Historiques " relating to the reign of 
 Charles VI., adapted from Barante's "Histoire des 
 Dues de Bourgogne," and afterwards published 
 under the title "Isabel de Bavi^re." He tells us 
 that he was utterly ignorant of French history 
 until he read Barante's book, but that the success 
 of his " Scenes Historiques," which made one of the 
 first successes of the "Revue des Deux Mondes," 
 led him to decide to write a series of romances 
 extending from the reign of Charles VI. to our own 
 time. How nearly he accomplished his design the 
 volumes previously published in this series will 
 sufficiently show. There is, however, a hiatus be- 
 tween the conclusion of the "Vicomte de Brage- 
 lonne"2 and the "Chevalier d'Harmental," the 
 action of which takes place in the early years of 
 the Regency, about 1717. That hiatus the pres- 
 ent volume serves partially to fill. 
 
 ^ In 18.30 or 1831 the periodical called "Journal des Voyages" 
 was purchased by M. Buloz and others, who changed its name as 
 well as its character, and called it the " Revue des Deux Mondes." 
 
 2 The death of D'Artagnan seems to have occurred between 
 1680 and 1690.
 
 LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 Period, 1708-1716. 
 
 Louis XIV., King of France. 
 
 Madame de Mainxenon. 
 
 Marquis de Royancourt, a favorite of Madame de Mainteuon. 
 
 Pere Letellier. 
 
 Baron Agenor Palamede d'Anguilhem. 
 
 La Baronne CornI;lie Athenais d'Anguilhem, his wife. 
 
 Chevalier Roger Tancrede d'Anguilhem, their son. 
 
 Abbe Dubuquoi, tutor to the Chevalier. 
 
 The Mother Superior of the Convent of the Augustines, 
 
 the Chevalier's aunt. 
 VicoMTE DE BouzENOis, a relative of Baron d'Anguilhem, 
 Madame de Bouzenois, his wife, a native of Malabar. 
 Monsieur Afghano, her son, an East Indian. 
 Marquis de Chemille, 1 
 
 Monsieur Gantry, r friends of Baron d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Monsieur de Birgarou, ) 
 
 VicoMTE de Beuzerie, a neighbor of Baron d'Anguilhem. 
 Madame de Beuzerie, his wife. 
 Constance de Beuzerie, their daughter, in love with the 
 
 Chevalier. 
 Mademoiselle Herminie de Narcey, friend to Constance. 
 Henri de Narcey, her brother. 
 The CuRi of La Chapelle Saint-Hippolyte. 
 Maitre Coquenard, attorney to Baron d'Anguilhem. 
 Marquis de Crette, friend to the Chevalier.
 
 X LIST OF CHARACTERS. 
 
 ViCOMTE D'IIerBIGNY, ^ 
 
 COMTE m CilASTKLLUX, / ^^-^^^^^ ^^ ^^ -^ ^^ ^^.^^^^ 
 
 Monsieur de liiivii.LE, I 
 
 ClIEVALlEK DE CluS- UeNAUI), ) 
 
 Basc^ue, valet tu iMarquis dc Crette. 
 iiUISJULl, ^ 
 
 Kameau-d'oh, > bcrvauts to the Marquis. 
 
 Petitpas, J 
 
 BiiETON, servant to the Chevalier. 
 
 Messieuks de KoLLiNSKi, Hungarian gentlemen. 
 
 COMTE DE GoRKAUN, ?.!•<•• j 
 
 T, ? their iriends. 
 
 Monsieur de Bardane, > 
 
 Mademoiselle Poussette, of the Comedie-Franpaise. 
 
 Maitre Branchu, > j i 
 ,. , ^^ > advocates. 
 
 Maitre Verniquet, > 
 
 Maitre Jean Amedee Bouteau, conseiller-rapporieur. 
 
 Christine Sylvandire Bouteau, his daughter. 
 
 The Governor of Por-l'^v^que. 
 
 CoMTE d'Olibarus, a prisoner at Por-l'Iilveque and the Bastile. 
 
 Monsieur Voyer d'Argenson, lieutenant of police. 
 
 An Agent of Maitre Bouteau. 
 
 A Sardinian Broker. 
 
 A Tunisian Corsair. 
 
 Mesdemoisell^ Marie and Gothon, servants in the household 
 
 of Baron d'Anguilheni. 
 
 Lajeunesse, the Baron d'Anguilhem's gamekeeper.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Monsieur de Royancouut's Note .... Frontispiece 
 
 Drawn by J. Wagrez, etched by Teauuin. 
 
 Louis XIV Page 282 
 
 From an old engraving. 
 
 Madame de Maintenon 322 
 
 From an old engraving.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapteb Page 
 
 I. The Chevalier Roger Tancrede d'Angtjilhem 
 AND HIS Family, in the Year of Our Lord 
 
 1708 1 
 
 II. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem, whom some 
 of the Dames of Loches and its Vicinity 
 called "Handsome Roger," others, "Hand- 
 some Tancrede," discovered that he had 
 a Heart 21 
 
 III. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem, discovering 
 
 THAT He had a Heart, wished to be as- 
 sured THAT Mademoiselle de Beuzerie also 
 HAD One 36 
 
 IV. In which the Author demonstrates that 
 
 Fathers and Mothers of Daughters in 
 Convents can sleep on Both Ears ... 54 
 V. How THE Chevalier d'Anguilhem escaped 
 FROM THE College of the Jesuits at Am- 
 BOisE, with the Intention of carrying off 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, and what News 
 he learned on beaching the Convent . . 72 
 VI. In which we are told that the Chevalier 
 d'Anguilhem was so overwhelmed with 
 Grief at the Death of Mademoiselle de 
 Beuzerie th^t He resolved to become a 
 Jesuit 92
 
 XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 C'HAl'TER PaOK 
 
 \ ii. llow Madejioisklle de Beuzeeie appeared 
 
 HEFOKE THE ClIEVALIER d'AnGUILHEM TO 
 DISSUADE IllM FROM TAKING THE VoWS . 104 
 VIII. How IT WAS LEARNED AT AngUILHEM AND 
 AT BeUZEUIE that THE ViCOMTE DE 
 BOUZENOIS, Ex-CaPTAIN of THE Frigate 
 Thetis, had Died Intestate, and 
 WHAT Modification the News wrought 
 in the Plans of the Two Families . . 115 
 
 IX. How AND on what Terms the Marriage 
 
 of Mademoiselle de Beuzekie with the 
 
 Chevalier d'Anguilhem came near being 
 
 arranged by their Next of Kin . . . 127 
 
 X. How THE Chevalier d'Anguilhem made his 
 
 Entry into Society 140 
 
 XI. How the Chevalier profits by the Fen- 
 cing Lessons given Him by the Baron 
 
 d'Anguilhem, his Father 161 
 
 XII. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem becomes 
 acquainted with the Son of the East 
 Indian, and the Kind of Person he 
 finds Him to be 175 
 
 XIII. How, just as the Chevalier had fallen 
 
 a Prey to the Profoundest Despair, a 
 Stranger visited Him to make a Propo- 
 sition not expected by Him, nor by the 
 Reader 192 
 
 XIV. How the Mysterious Man appears a Sec- 
 
 ond Time, and how, in this Second In- 
 terview, Matters seem a little clearer 201 
 
 XV. How the Judgment was given 215 
 
 XVI. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem philo- 
 sophically resigns Himself to a Pretty 
 Wife, a Magnificent Hotel, and an In- 
 come OF Seventy-five Thousand Livres 227 
 XVII. How THE Chevalier found Himself in 
 such Luck that he was ready, like
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XV 
 
 iHAPTES Page 
 
 POLYCRATES, THE TyKANT OF SaMOS, TO 
 
 CAST A Ring into the Sea .... 23G 
 XVin. How THE Conjugal Horizon of the Cheva- 
 lier d'Anguilhem gradually clouded 
 OVER 246 
 
 XIX. How the Conjugal Horizon of the Cheva- 
 lier d'Anguilhem grew suddenly 
 
 TEMPESTUOUS o ... 257 
 
 XX. Finding that Permission to leave is not 
 
 GRANTED HiM, THE ChEVALIER d'AnGUIL- 
 HEM resolves TO LEAVE WITHOUT PER- 
 MISSION 269 
 
 XXI. How THE King neglected to repair the 
 Injustice done the Chevalier d'An- 
 guilhem, AND WHAT followed . . . 282 
 XXII. How THE King at last remembers the 
 Chevalier d'Anguilhem, and what 
 COMES OF It 297 
 
 XXIII. How THE Chevalier d'Anguilhem went 
 
 FROM THE BaSTILE TO THE CHATEAU DE 
 ChaLON-SUR-SaONE, and MADE THE 
 
 Journey in Company with an Officer 
 
 OF VERY Sprightly Character . . . 316 
 
 XXIV. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem becomes 
 
 as Wise and as Wary as had been the 
 
 Late Comte d'Olibarus 328 
 
 XXV. How the Chevalier d'Anguilhem set Fire 
 TO HIS Hotel to find out whether 
 He was or was not what He feared . 342 
 
 XXVI. How Hoger and Sylvandire made a 
 
 Charming Excursion to Provence, and 
 WHAT came of It 357 
 
 XXVII. How THE Chevalier d'Anguilhem learned 
 
 THAT HIS Father had not delivered 
 TO Mademoiselle de Eeuzerie the 
 Letter restoring her Freedom, and 
 what came of It . . . .... 372
 
 XVI CONTENTS. 
 
 Cbafteb Paob 
 
 XXVIII. How TiTK Chevalier d'Anguilhem and 
 Mademoiselle Constance de Bedzerie 
 find tuemselves moke in love than 
 ever, and some of the perplexities 
 INTO WHICH Roger is thereby plunged 385 
 XXIX How the Persian Ambassador, Mehemet 
 RiZA Beg, came to Paris to present 
 THE Respectful Compliments of uis 
 Sovereign to Louis XIV., and how 
 THE Chevalier d'Anguiliiem was con- 
 strained TO pay a Visit to that Il- 
 lustrious Personage 398 
 
 XXX. How the Marquis de Crette negotiated 
 Matters in the Name of the Cheva- 
 lier d'Anguilhem, and brought this 
 Entire Story to a most Unexpected 
 
 Issue 412 
 
 Conclusion 425
 
 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE CHEVALIER ROGER TANCR^DE d'ANGUILHEM AND 
 HIS FAMILY IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD 1708. 
 
 In a work much more serious than this one pretends to 
 be, we have shown how the French nobility were 
 marked for destruction by three men : Louis XI. , 
 Richelieu, Kobespierre. Louis XI. felled the feudal 
 lords, Richelieu laid low the grandees, Robespierre cut 
 down the aristocracy. 
 
 The first paved the way for the centralized monarchy, 
 the second for the absolute monarchy, the third for the 
 constitutional monarchy. 
 
 But, as the events we are about to relate took place 
 between the years 1708 and 1716, we shall permit 
 history to appraise, under their social bearings, the 
 work of the forester king and the acts and deeds of the 
 guillotining tribune, and merely cast a swift glance 
 over the condition of Paris and the country at large 
 seventy years after the death of Richelieu, that is, 
 at the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
 
 In saying Paris, we mistake, — we should say Ver- 
 sailles, for at that period Paris was forgotten. Louis 
 XIV. had never been able to pardon the capital for 
 1
 
 2 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 having cast liiin, child as lie was, from her hosom dur- 
 ing one of thfi stormy days of the Fronde, and as, in his 
 fulness of miglit, he took the same pleasure in avenging 
 himself upon things as upon men, he had created Ver- 
 sailles, — that unworthy favorite, as it was then called, 
 that gigantic piece of folly, as it will in all times be 
 called, — with intent to punish the old Louvre for its 
 old-time rebellion by withdrawing his royal presence. 
 
 So Versailles, from the day when Louis XIV. trans- 
 ferred his residence thitlier, was the luminous centre of 
 the realm, the torch about which all the gilded moths 
 called courtiers gatliered to scorch their wings, the sun 
 which rose on the world, not less resplendent than 
 others, and whose light and power must increase as it 
 advanced.^ 
 
 Thus, the concentration of immeasurable splendor 
 upon Versailles reduced the rest of the kingdom to dark- 
 ness. All that did not revolve around the supreme star 
 seemed to belong to an inferior system, an unknown 
 vortex not worth while for the political astronomers of 
 the time to investigate; as a result, during the seventy- 
 three years that the reign of Louis XIV. endured, the 
 history of Versailles is pretty nearl}' the history of 
 France. 
 
 Consequently, in the magnificent gallery opened up 
 by the memoirs of that period to the curiosity of read- 
 ers, one reviews nothing but great fortunes and great 
 failures. We follow the rise of Louvois, of Villars, of 
 d'Argenson, of Colbert, and the fall of Eohan, of Kiche- 
 lieu, of Lauzun, and the Guises; but, as for the brave 
 and loyal nobility of the provinces that formerly consti- 
 tuted the strength of the monarchy, which under 
 
 ^ Nee })Iuribus impar and Vires acrjuirit eundo formed the double 
 device of the sun which Louis XIV. had taken for his arms.
 
 CHEVALIEK D'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 3 
 
 Duguesclin ha<l driven the Black Prince from Guyenne, 
 and, under Joan of Arc, King Henri VI. from France, 
 it no longer existed, or, rather, because from the field of 
 action it gave no signs of life, one might say it had 
 ceased to exist. 
 
 As a fact, far from the sun, and consequently from 
 the light, it was vegetating in darkness and oblivion. 
 
 Had the choice of the subject been ours, we should 
 without any doubt have established our hero among those 
 fine courtiers whom Saint Simon exhibits as assisting 
 regularly every day at the king's rising and retiring, un- 
 settled by a frown, flourishing under a smile, and dying 
 of despair at a sharp word; but, first of all, we are a 
 historian, hence we must take our hero where we find 
 him. Besides, the time may come when, attached as we 
 are to his suite, we shall find ourselves obliged to accom- 
 pany him outside of his provincial obscurity, and appear 
 with him for a brief space in that circle of light which 
 Versailles, even at that period of decadence, was still 
 shedding around her. 
 
 But for the present, we beg our readers to forego Ver- 
 sailles, which, for that matter, Madame de Maintenon's 
 presence had for some time rendered a very dull place 
 of abode, and accompany us two hundred and thirty-two 
 kilometres from Paris, as the new law compels us to say. 
 Four kilometres forming a league, our readers will have 
 only to divide two hundred and thirty-two by four, if 
 they insist upon knowing their exact distance from the 
 capital. We should prefer to spare them that trouble ; 
 but, as we are made to pay a fine of fifty francs every 
 time we employ the old denominations, we are obliged 
 by stress of economy to refer them to the fourth arith- 
 metical rule; it is very awkward, but this is the way 
 of it.
 
 4 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 We find onrsolvos, tlicii, on tlie left Lank of the Loire, 
 in tlio iicigliliorliood of tlie town of Loches, in a beau- 
 tiful plain between the Indre and the Cher, interspersed 
 witli woods pretentiously called forests, and pools 
 ostentatiously spoken of as lakes. 
 
 This plain was a veritable nest of country-seats, 
 where vegetated the remnants of all those lordly families 
 from which Louis XI. had liacked the roots and Kiche- 
 lieu lopped the heads; also, thanks to tlio destruction 
 of chateaux, the confiscation of lands, and the restric- 
 tion of privileges, all those brave country gentlemen, 
 high-born as Charlemagne, were as poor as Job. Robber- 
 chiefs of old under Philip Augustus and Louis XI. , 
 heads of factions under Philip the Fair and Charles V., 
 captains under Francois I. and Henri II., they had 
 ended by becoming ensigns or sergeants in the armies of 
 Henri IV. and Louis XIII. ; then, last of all, no longer 
 finding employment, even in the lowest ranks of the 
 army, for the old swords of their ancestors, upon which 
 rust had by degrees effaced the gilding, they had returned 
 to the primitive times of which the Bible speaks, and, 
 like Nimrod, had become mighty hunters before the 
 Lord. In short, they were, as we have seen, the de- 
 scendants of the oldest, the richest, and the noblest 
 families in France; but, it must be admitted, they were 
 in every respect very degenerate descendants. 
 
 In fact, the great landholders had gradually been 
 attracted to Versailles, and old Touraine of the magnifi- 
 cent chateaux had emigrated with all its goods and 
 chattels to the neighborhoods of Chartres and Main- 
 tenon. Undergoing the universal decay, Loches had 
 ceased to be a royal town, and the country squires of 
 the region, inhabiting a rich, peaceful, but forsaken 
 country, however they may have combated the sov-
 
 CHEVALIEK D'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 5 
 
 ereignty of silence and oblivion during the last days, had 
 felt the pall of obscurity gradually settle down upon 
 their heads. 
 
 Men submit to such a state of affairs , but they do not 
 become resigned. As a result, throughout the entire 
 province there was at this time a sullen reaction against 
 the government of the mighty king. Thus, our gentle- 
 men, led by their wounded self-esteem into the movement 
 of general disaffection just mentioned, filled the places 
 of absent things with names which recalled them. Their 
 houses continued to be designated chateaux; the outer 
 walls were ramparts, and the muddy ditch where a dozen 
 tame ducks paddled was a moat; there was a court of 
 honor, the sole and only court; they spoke of the 
 armory, but its stores were ordinarily fruit or milk; 
 lastly, there was the chapel, and it was just the nearest 
 village church, in most cases reached only after an 
 hour's tramp through the fields. 
 
 However, setting aside vanity, and excluding the 
 relation between names and their values, all these 
 country-seats might have been bowers of happiness, had 
 their inhabitants not thought it humiliation to acknowl- 
 edge they were happy. Their vanity, it is true, en- 
 trenched itself behind their disaffection, and, too poor 
 to go to Versailles, they proclaimed aloud that they had 
 but a low opinion of the court, and that overtures were 
 continually made them, only to be repelled. ISTow, 
 since all repeated the same thing, they were certainly 
 under mutual obligations to appear to believe one an- 
 other. Of course this petty defection did not get beyond 
 the boundaries of the province, and, for the fifty or 
 sixty years during which it was perpetuated as a legacy 
 from father to son, it never reached the king's ears. 
 
 Moreover, in this little corner of the earth which
 
 6 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 foriiKMl part of what is called the garden of France, a 
 gentleman with an income of two thousand crowns passed 
 lor opulent; and very few indeed were the incomes that 
 reached this desirable figure. Tlie majority of the 
 martyrs possessed an average income of from twenty-five 
 hundred to three thousand livres, and a few who were 
 reduced to one hundred and fifty or two hundred pistoles 
 a year, still found means, in spite of this slender income, 
 to figure not too disadvantageously, with their families, 
 Avhich were sometimes numerous, at the gatherings of 
 neighboring country-seats. 
 
 Furthermore, all these brave lords, or their ancestors 
 rather, had formerly enjoyed magnificent and very com- 
 prehensive rights which in course of time had fallen 
 into disuse ; but this fact, when they chanced to shake 
 out their crumpled parchments, and read over their 
 charters, did not prevent their experiencing a certain 
 pride in the fact that they might do unspeakable things, 
 and that they possessed the privileges of a Procrustes, a 
 Geryon, or a Phalaris. Thus, a petty farmer of the 
 Baron Agenor Palamede d'Anguilhem was one day very 
 much startled to hear his lord and master proclaim at a 
 wolf -hunt, with a stamp of his foot, — 
 
 "By a charter right of the thirteenth century, the 
 Anguilhems may, once a year, at the chase, warm their 
 feet in the vitals of one of their dependents ripped open 
 by their carver, " 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that neither the worthy gen- 
 tleman nor any of his ancestors had ever had such cold 
 feet as to feel the need of resorting to this strange 
 expedient. 
 
 As the Baron d'Anguilhem's name has just slipped 
 from our pen, let us profit by the occasion to say who 
 and what he was.
 
 CHEVALIEK d'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 7 
 
 The Baron Agenor Palamede d'Aiiguilhem was one of 
 the suzerain landholders whose fortunes we have just 
 figured up, and whose privileges we have enumerated. 
 He inhabited a chdteau in the upper part of the valley, 
 possessed sixty sheep and six cows, sold the wool for 
 two hundred francs a year, and harvested three hundred 
 francs' worth of hemp in the same length of time, in all 
 five hundred francs, which he generously handed over to 
 Madame la Baronne d' Anguilhem for the expenses of her 
 toilet and the bringing up of her son. 
 
 Madame la Baronne Cornelie Athenais d' Anguilhem 
 had only six gowns, but they were each, if not perfectly 
 fashionable, at least exquisitely beautiful. One dated 
 from her wedding, another from the christening of her 
 son, who was by courtesy styled baronet, although, in 
 the aristocratic hierarchy, he had a right only to the 
 title of chevalier, which title simply we shall give 
 him, not being influenced by the motives of flattery 
 that prompted those who surrounded him. As for the 
 baroness' other four dresses, they were of more recent 
 date and more modern cut; yet this did not prevent 
 their having seen at least two lustres, which had de- 
 tracted a trifle du letir,^ as the bantering Marquis de 
 Chemille, their neighbor two leagues away, used to say 
 in a witticism replete with novelty and taste. 
 
 The baronet, or rather, the Chevalier Roger Tancrede 
 d'Anguilhem, heir presumptive to the domains of 
 Anguilhem, La Pintade, and La Guerite, that is to say, 
 to sixty acres of tillable land, twenty acres of woodland, 
 and an orchard planted out to cabbages, was entering 
 upon his fifteenth year. He was a tall, handsome lad, 
 who was able to course a hare very prettily upon his 
 
 1 A play on the word leur, "them," and leurre, "lure," "decoy." 
 — Tr.
 
 8 SYLVAN DIRE. 
 
 own legs, and shot like Mattre Lajeunesse, tlie keeper 
 of the harony, with the reputation of killing nineteen 
 snipe out of twenty. He rode bareback the wildest 
 horses in the country, and for ten leagues around had 
 the reputation of being a veritable centaur. Finally , from 
 the day he was five years of age, the memorable time 
 when the Baron Agenor had placed a little rai)ier in his 
 hands, he had not a single day missed fencing for an 
 hour or two Avith his father, Avho was one of the strongest 
 blades of the province, although, thanks to his reinita- 
 tion, he had never had serious occasion to draw the 
 sword; so that, advancing lesson by lesson, step by 
 step, stroke by stroke, the tiny blade became a long 
 rapier, the Aveak tendon a steel spring, the wavering 
 arm a rod of iron, and the child a healthy fellow who 
 could stand all day long at guard, the body resting on 
 the left leg and the wrist on a level with the right 
 breast, which was the first principle of the method of 
 the day, and which, let us say in passing, was as good as 
 another. 
 
 Beyond these acquired advantages, the chevalier 
 possessed, as natural gifts, beautiful blonde hair, a 
 height of five feet five inches with a promise of more, 
 two blue eyes with frank, clear gaze, a pair of plump 
 rosy cheeks on which a light down was beginning to 
 show, and an admirably turned leg. Hence all the 
 wives of the country squires around, taking advantage of 
 the privilege yet granted them by his extreme youth, 
 almost always smilingly greeted him either as their hand- 
 some Roger or their handsome Tancrede, according as 
 their romantic fancies prompted them to choose for a 
 hero the conqueror of Sicily or the lover of Clorinda. 
 
 So much for his physical characteristics; now let us 
 turn to the mental.
 
 CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 9 
 
 This, the essential part of the education of a young 
 man appointed to the glory of supporting and perpetu- 
 ating the name of the Anguilhems, had been, from the 
 day that a son was granted them by the goodness of God, 
 the chief thought of both baron and baroness. Madame 
 d'Anguilhem had given the child his first lessons in 
 reading, writing, and ciphering. The cure of the 
 neighboring village had taught him how to decline 
 nouns and conjugate verbs, but that was the limit of his 
 own learning, and, with a frankness more creditable to 
 his honesty than to his education, he had confessed that 
 he dared not push on his pupil to the seventh. The 
 baron and the baroness were then very much embarrassed 
 as to continuing the education of their son, from whom 
 both were resolved not to be separated at his tender age, 
 when one of their friends informed them that a certain 
 Abbe Dubuquoi, who had just completed the education 
 of one of the richest heirs of Loches, was looking for 
 another pupil to perfect. This Avas precisely what the 
 baron and baroness desired. Rigid inqiiiries were 
 made, all of which proved favorable to the tutor; so 
 that the Abbe Dubuquoi was installed at tlie chateau 
 with a salary of one hundred and fifty francs, his board, 
 and the pompous title of preceptor of the Chevalier 
 d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Now let us say a few words concerning the chateau 
 inhabited by the four personages whom we have just 
 passed in review, one of whom, we will no longer keep 
 secret from our readers, is destined to become the prin- 
 cipal hero of this story. As may be divined, we refer 
 to the youth whom, as we have said, the ladies were in 
 the habit of designating as " handsome Tancrede " or 
 "handsome Roger." 
 
 This chdteau was not exactly a chateau; it is true that
 
 10 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 it was not simply a house. By no means. It was a 
 building wliicii held a middle place between these two 
 sti'uctui't's, and which might have passed for a hand- 
 some farmhouse. This farmhouse — we adopt tlio last 
 name, with all respect to its noble occupants — con- 
 tained eight rooms in the lower part. These rooms 
 consisted of a dairy dignified l)y tiio name of armory 
 hall, a dining-room, a salon adorned by three ancient 
 portraits, scarcely recognizable, and a modern one repre- 
 senting an officer of the king's navy in a captain's uni- 
 form. We shall return to this portrait. There was a 
 guard-room without guards, but ornamented with five 
 suits of armor which belonged to the time when there 
 were guards; this had become the living-room, and here 
 the family assembled. There were four sleeping-rooms. 
 The kitchen and its accessories situated underground, 
 and the cellars under the kitchen, ran the whole length 
 of these eight apartments. Finally, at one of the four 
 corners of the structure rose a tower of a dozen metres 
 in height, which was called La Guerite. Monsieur le 
 Baron Agenor d'Anguilhem slept in the tower, and it 
 was especially upon this tower that he based his preten- 
 sion to christen the manor-house with the pompous name 
 of chateau, a title, moreover, which, whether from habit 
 or politeness, was generally accorded it in the country, 
 and whicli we alone have the bad grace to contest. 
 
 This cluiteau was not one of the richest in the neigh- 
 borhood. The Baron d'Anguilhem collected from the 
 farmers to whom his dependencies were rented the sum 
 of twelve hundred francs. Now, since in the country 
 every one's income is known to every one else, one must 
 be resigned either to appearing as a gentleman of small 
 means or to lying. 
 
 The baron lied remorselessly. He professed to
 
 CHEVALIER D'aNGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 11 
 
 derive an income of one hundred louis from the war 
 funds and another hundred from the king's privy 
 purse. However, we will not venture to swear that he 
 affirmed it; but he caused it to be said and would have 
 had it believed. Yet it was with this as with the 
 disaffection of which we have but just spoken. No one 
 was deceived about his income of two hundred louis, 
 lieuce the Chevalier Roger Tancrede d'Anguilhem did 
 not pass in the province for a great catch. 
 
 This, however, as can readily be understood, troubled 
 the young man very little. He was tall, he Avas strong. 
 If he lacked horses of his own, those of his neighbors 
 were at his service. He had magnificent hunting; for, 
 by tacit agreement, each of these worthy gentlemen , too 
 restricted in territory had he been obliged to keep 
 within the boundaries of his own lands, was enabled 
 to hunt over the grounds of all. He construed his 
 Cornelius Nepos at sight, and, having as yet no wants, 
 experienced no poverty. 
 
 In truth, what did he lack? He had a tutor Avhom 
 he did not exactly hate, but whom he nevertheless re- 
 garded as a great superfluity. On returning from the 
 hunt, thanks to the baroness' maternal foresight, he 
 always found a generous meal, whose fragments he gave 
 to his dog. And then, after that repast, a bed awaited 
 him, where he could, if so minded, sleep twelve hours 
 at a stretch. Here was wealth, or I am greatly 
 deceived. 
 
 When Roger Tancrede left the chateau, whether on 
 horseback or afoot, with a gun on his shoulder, or with 
 the Abbe Dubuquoi on his arm, the peasants working 
 in the fields turned around to salute him, and the young 
 gentlemen of the neighborhood paused to shake hands. 
 This is the height of the power to which a simple heart
 
 12 SYLVAXDIRE. 
 
 and a pliilosopliical mind can aspire, or I know nothing 
 about it. 
 
 When they entertained at the chateau, Roger set to 
 work, exactly like the two servants who comprised the 
 entire domestic service of the house. Pie it was Avho 
 polished up the massive old silver plate bearing the 
 family coat of arms, and helped the baroness prepare the 
 pastry, which, like a chatelaine of the middle ages, she 
 did not scorn to make with her own hands. INIore than 
 that, since he was skilful as well as strong, he was 
 especially charged with wiping certain Japanese porce- 
 lain which had been preserved as relics through three 
 generations. As soon as the guests arrived, Roger Tan- 
 crede put on his best coat, which always dated back 
 two or three years at least, passed a comb through his 
 beautiful hair, which curled naturally, and gave his 
 hand to the ladies. 
 
 The baron and the baroness often thought of their 
 dear son's future, and more than once had husband and 
 wife reviewed all the callings open to him. The father 
 favored a military career; but the baroness had pointed 
 out to her husband that unless he were resigned to 
 burying the name of the d'Anguilhems in the lowest 
 ranks of the army, there was no hope to look for in that 
 quarter, since the future hero was not rich enough to 
 maintain a regiment. There were indeed some excep- 
 tional cases where the king had solved the difficulty by 
 presenting a colonel's commission and adding a gratuity 
 of one hundred thousand crowns to the commission; but 
 Louis XIV. had bestowed so many favors of the sort that 
 he had declared it to be impossible for him to bestow 
 more except on very rare occasions. Now, the king 
 had no motive for setting aside this wise determination 
 in favor of the Chevalier Roger Tancrede. All this is
 
 CHEVALIER D'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 13 
 
 what the baroness said aloud to her husband, when the 
 latter broaclied the subject in conversation. What she 
 said to herself was that she did not wish her poor child 
 to be a soldier, since the last of the d' Anguilhems might 
 very easily, like any simple peasant, get a thrust from a 
 halberd in Flanders, or a shot from a musket on the 
 banks of the Rliine, as frequently happened among 
 gentlemen whose rank did not keep them on the coast. 
 
 The baron then suggested a good position in finance. 
 Financiering even at that period was a business that 
 might be engaged in without great derogation of dignity. 
 But how could he secure this position which it would 
 cost twice as much to buy as a regiment, since a regi- 
 ment brought its colonel only honor and blows, while 
 a bank position yielded its incumbent good round louis 
 d'or 1 He must renounce, therefore , that career restricted 
 to the favorites of Madame de Maintenon, Pere La- 
 chaise, and Monsieur de Maine. Now, the Baron 
 d'Anguilhem, honest and straightforward country gen- 
 tleman that he was, cordially detested the old woman, 
 the Jesuit, and the bastards. Hence there was no great 
 chance in that direction, and the baroness herself, how- 
 ever strong her desire to see her well-beloved son occupy 
 a position that would in nowise endanger his length of 
 days, was forced to admit with a sigh and a shake of the 
 head that it would be arrant folly to cling to such a 
 project. 
 
 The baron would then revert to a favorite notion with 
 which he deluded himself in his hours of reverie. This 
 was to make a naval officer of his son. The navy 
 offered a noble career, and one in every particular worthy 
 of a gentleman. Louis XIV. had made France a mari- 
 time power which was beginning to counteract England's 
 influence and that of Holland, those two queens of the
 
 14 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 ocean wliom ho liad luon! than once succocdcil in hum- 
 Lling, tlie one by means of the other, wliile exalting 
 himself at the expense of both; but at this point espe- 
 cially, the baron encountered very lively opposition from 
 his wife. If she had dreaded a soldier's life for her 
 son, she had greater reason to fear that of a sailor, Avho 
 had every day to combat not only the strength of men, 
 but every caprice of the elements. Once only at tlie be- 
 ginning of their married life had the baron and the 
 baroness visited a seaport. 
 
 They were at Brest, and, while taking a i-ail, met 
 with a squall so violent that the bark wliich carried 
 them came near upsetting a hundred times, and it was 
 only by a miracle of heaven that she regained port. 
 
 From that date, Madame d'xinguilhem, who, in reality, 
 was possessed of as many nerves as a Parisian marquise, 
 country woman though she was, could not bear to hear 
 the sea spoken of. She had constant visions of her poor 
 chevalier threatened by flashes of lightning and peals of 
 thunder, tossed by the winds and threatened by the 
 waves, about to be swallowed up in the depths of that 
 liquid abyss whose prophetic voice had forewarned her^ 
 consequently, when the baron broached the subject after 
 a thousand circumlocutions, the baroness began to 
 shriek, and asked her husband whether, as a recompense 
 for her exemplary conduct toward him, he intended to 
 kill her with grief. 
 
 Then the baron, who was an excellent man, would 
 in turn sigh profoundly and murmur, — 
 
 " Madame , madame , you are not worthy of your name 
 of Cornelia!" 
 
 To which the baroness would reply, — 
 
 " Monsieur, we are not living in the days of the 
 Gracchi, nor am I a E-oman matron."
 
 CHEVALIER D ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 15 
 
 In truth, tlie poor woman was merely a good, tender, 
 excellent mother, which was, perhaps, of less conse- 
 quence in the eyes of the philosophers, but which in the 
 sight of God was certainly worth quite as much. They 
 fell back then into a lasting indecision with regard to the 
 career of the Chevalier Koger Tancrede to whom, mean- 
 while, they gave the best possible education, although 
 they could see nothing in the future outlook for him 
 but to be, like monsieur his father, a country gentleman 
 with an income of four hundred crowns. It was a sad 
 affair. 
 
 Yet, from the depths of this clouded sky there fit- 
 fully peeped a little star which, from time to time, 
 flashed upon the Anguilhems the ephemeral rays of its 
 intermittent liglit. This fostering star was an inheri- 
 tance, possible, at least, if not probable. It was the for- 
 tune of a distant cousin, a chevalier by the king's grace, 
 a retired captain of a frigate, an old sea-dog, having 
 cruised under Jean Bart, and calling himself by his own 
 name, the Vicomte de Bouzenois. 
 
 That modern portrait which hung among the old 
 family portraits in the salon was his. 
 
 Occasionally at the chateau, they talked of this 
 contemporaneous celebrity whose image had come to shed 
 its brilliancy upon those of past celebrities, but they 
 spoke of him with singular reticence. The fact is, his 
 fortune was so great and their hopes so precarious that 
 they regarded any plans which they might found upon 
 it as castles in Spain, chimeras, and dreams. They dared 
 not, then, think seriously of that inheritance, and they 
 were right; but, on occasion, they would remark with 
 certain pride, — 
 
 "We have a relative at Versailles, Monsieur de 
 Bouzenois, captain of one of the king's vessels."
 
 16 SYLYAXDIRE. 
 
 Tlicii, pointing to the picture, they would aiLl, — 
 " There is a portrait of liim in full uniform." 
 Now, all tlioughts of the navy which the Baron 
 d'Anguilhera had entertained and which we have dis- 
 closed to our readers, had come to him in front of that 
 portrait and had heen inspired by that very fortunate 
 relationship. 
 
 " After all," the Ijaron told himself, " the Yicomte de 
 Bouzenois is my distant cousin. I myself am the only 
 relative remaining to him, so that if he were to die 
 intestate I should be his heir; therefore, if I were to 
 ask him for a recommendation in favor of the Chevalier 
 Roger Tancrede, he could not refuse. Now a recommen- 
 dation from the captain of a frigate would open a naval 
 career for my son, and, tliat career once open, who 
 knows where the chevalier will stop? " 
 
 These ideas of the baron's were strengthened by the 
 mysterious life of the Vicomte de Bouzenois. Very 
 peculiar stories were circulated as to the source of the 
 colossal fortune that dazzled the eyes of the entire 
 family. Nevertheless, among these stories was one that 
 was considered very probable, and here it is: — 
 
 The Vicomte de Bouzenois had at the age of sixteen 
 embarked on the French frigate Thetis. He had first 
 achieved glory by cannonading alternately the English 
 and the Dutch; then, finally, during the second war 
 with Flanders, he had himself armed the brig Por- 
 poise, and attacked the vessels of the English company 
 coming from Chandernagor, and those of the Dutch 
 Company on their way from Batavia, which services 
 had procured him, in addition to a considerable share 
 of the profits, the rank of captain of the very frigate 
 Thetis on which he had formerly embarked. At 
 last the treaty of Nimeguen was signed, and Monsieur
 
 CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 17 
 
 le Vicomte de Bouzenois, as a reward for liis good and 
 loyal services, had been appointed governor of a little 
 colony that we then possessed on the Malabar coast. 
 
 You know the custom of the wives of the country 
 aforesaid. Our confrere Lemierre who died without 
 having been able to understand why tlie minister of the 
 navy had not granted him a pension of six thousand 
 livres in recognition of the famous line, 
 
 " Neptune's trident rules the world," — 
 
 our confrere Lemierre, I repeat, has celebrated the cus- 
 tom in a drama of immortal dulness. Now, this cus- 
 tom which, thanks to the philanthropic surveillance 
 of the English, is beginning to fall into disuse, was at 
 that time in full force. It one day happened then 
 that one of the richest and most powerful of the Malabar 
 princes died, and', according to custom, his wife, not 
 yet twenty years old, and as beautiful as the day, an- 
 nounced her fixed purpose of self-immolation upon his 
 pyre. 
 
 Monsieur de Bouzenois, who was at that time barely 
 thirty-five years of age , and therefore still young, — Mon- 
 sieur de Bouzenois, we say, was apprised of her design. 
 As the ex-captain of the frigate Thetis had, while 
 the husband was living, more than once cast glances of 
 admiration at her who was to-day a widow, he resolved, 
 if the thing were possible, to prevent the sacrifice which 
 was at hand, and with that intention he repaired to the 
 house of the deceased, where he found the charming 
 widow arraying herself in her most beautiful vestments, 
 perfuming herself with the sweetest odors, beautifying 
 herself, in short, for death, as another would bedeck 
 herself for a fete. He then explained to her the 
 motive of his visit, assuring her that it was a crime 
 
 2
 
 18 STLVANDIRE. 
 
 tlius uiivogrcttingly to quit life, when a single glance 
 from her could render life so precious to others. He 
 reminded her that, besides being a widow, she was a 
 mother, and that she belonged quite as sacredly to her 
 living son as to her dead husband. In short, he was 
 gallant, tender, eloquent, pathetic, but all in vain. 
 The victim admitted that she was somewhat sorry to 
 quit so young the existence upon which she had barely 
 entered ; but she nevertheless persisted in her determi- 
 nation, although it was evident, amidst her obstinate 
 refusals, that she was sacrificing herself less to her love 
 for the dead than to the prejudice of the living, declar- 
 ing at last, by Vishnu, Siva, and l^rahma that slie would 
 be forever disgraced if she were weak enough to evade 
 the general custom. It was clear to the eyes of the 
 Vicomte de Boiizenois that the poor widow had no deep 
 predilection for the flames, but was doing the thing 
 because the thing was to be done, because it was the 
 custom, because it was the fashion, in short, and because 
 at any cost, in every country in the world, a woman is 
 bound to follow the fashion. 
 
 Thereupon, his mind was made up. He allowed the 
 entire ceremony to proceed, as if it were to be con- 
 summated. Then, just as the beautiful widow was 
 bidding adieu to her family, he drew his sword, gave 
 the signal to a group of twenty soldiers whom he had 
 drawn up in line around the funeral pile under the 
 pretext of adding to the solemnity of the scene, and, 
 while a part of the little band scattered the straw, 
 fagots, and other combustible materials, with the other 
 part he carried away the beautiful widow and bore her 
 ofif to the government palace. 
 
 We know not what line of argument the Vicomte de 
 Bouzenois there pursued with the Malabar Venus.
 
 CHEVALIER D'ANGUILHEM AND FAMILY. 19 
 
 But we do know that bj' the morrow she had not only- 
 renounced the funeral pyre, but she also appeared quite 
 consoled for not having died. 
 
 A year later Monsieur de Bouzenois married the 
 widow; and each, it is said, made at marriage a gift of 
 their worldly effects to the survivor. Now the survivor 
 at this date was the Vicomte de Bouzenois, who, as 
 we have before said, thanks to the rupees of the dead 
 beauty, added to his own piastres, possessed the fortune 
 of a nabob. 
 
 And, too, in the event of the Vicomte de Bouzenois' 
 dying intestate, the entire fortune would revert to the 
 d'Anguilhems, his nearest relatives, the son of the 
 Malabar Avoman having, in all probability, been pro- 
 vided for at the time of his mother's marriage. 
 
 However, this possibility was too entirely a matter 
 of chance for the family to take it in any way into con- 
 sideration in their plans for the future of the Chevalier 
 Roger Tancrede. 
 
 But, during those long winter evenings when, gathered 
 around a large fireplace, sometimes at one house, some- 
 times at another, the gentlemen of the neighborhood 
 of tlie Chateau d'Anguilhem were rehearsing the ex- 
 ploits of their ancestors or the achievements of their 
 allies, Monsieur de Chemille, whose great-uncle had been 
 a colonel, talked of the cavalry; Monsieur de Birgarou, 
 whose cousin was a god-daughter of Vauban, talked of 
 sieges; Monsieur Gantry, whose brother-in-law Avas an 
 excise officer, talked of the revenue, and the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi talked of the Church. 
 
 As for the Baron Agenor Palamede d'Anguilhem, 
 thanks to his kinship with the Vicomte de Bouzenois, 
 in the congress where every branch had its proxy, he 
 represented the navy. However, the heroic and the
 
 20 SYLVANDIFxE. 
 
 amorous adventures of the frigate captain slied some 
 lustre upon his rehitives at Lochcs. Glory is not a very 
 productive appanage, as every one knows ; hut when it 
 comes in default of anything else, it is at least hetter 
 than nothing.
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVEKS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 21 
 
 II. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM WHOM SOME OF 
 THE DAMES OF LOCHES AND ITS VICINITY CALLED 
 HANDSOME ROGER, OTHERS HANDSOME TANCREDE, 
 DISCOVERED THAT HE HAD A HEART. 
 
 Thus the days — and by the days the nights are under- 
 stood — rolled on with this good family, without their 
 having settled anything about the future career of the 
 heir, who, during this period of indecision, had at- 
 tained his fifteenth year, taking things as they came, 
 hunting and riding because it was pleasant, working in 
 his unoccupied moments, pretending that the open 
 air conduced greatly to the development of his thoughts, 
 and, when he was in the open air, thinking little but 
 whistling much. 
 
 What is more, the Chevalier Roger Tancrede, who 
 was the terror of hares and deer, had never yet even 
 thought of pursuing a shepherdess. He had received, it 
 is true, a great fund of sensibility from his mother, but 
 at Anguilhem nothing had as yet developed the germs. 
 ]\ruch exercise, a few novels, and almost no opportuni- 
 ties for falling in love comprised his mode of life. 
 
 However, one opportunity presented itself. Let us 
 relate how eagerly the Chevalier Roger Tancrede seized 
 it by the forelock. 
 
 The baron and the baroness gave a grand supper at 
 Easter. In those days, Easter was an occasion for 
 reunions, and all the nobility of the neighborhood for
 
 22 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 six leagues arouiul was ])icl(lcii to the Chateau d'Anguil- 
 hem. After liaving performed for liis uiother the usual 
 services pertaining to his department, and which we have 
 already detailed, the Chevalier Roger Tancr^de made a 
 conspicuous toilet and entered the salon where tlie guests 
 were already assembled. 
 
 The conversation turned upon tlie wood-cutting, the 
 recent sowing, the next hunt; and, as these three topics 
 were essentially interesting to country gentlemen, not 
 very much attention was paid to the prolonged belated- 
 ness of one of the guests; and that guest was the 
 Vicomte de Beuzerie, known throughout the entire 
 province for being so punctual that his punctuality had 
 become proverbial. Yet, as eight o'clock had just struck, 
 and the invitations had fixed the dinner hour at half- 
 past seven precisely, the stomachs began to protest, and 
 their owners at the same time asked each other in low 
 tones what could have become of the delinquent. 
 
 The question was the less unseemly, since from the 
 moment the appointed hour had struck, the baron was 
 seen anxiously Avatching the progress of the clock, and 
 the baroness, haying been called two or three times to 
 the door of the salon to know if the dinner should not 
 be served, had answered aloud, — 
 
 " Have a little patience, Catherine. Monsieur de 
 Beuzerie cannot noAV be long in coming." 
 
 The clock pointed to a quarter past eight; evidently, 
 only an accident could have delayed Monsieur de Beu- 
 zerie. Hence the Baroness d'Anguilhem began to feel 
 greatly concerned about the viscountess, with whom she 
 was rather friendly, and her daughter Mademoiselle 
 Constance, who had returned from the convent to spend 
 Easter week with her family, and who Avas to accompany 
 her esteemed parents to Anguilhem.
 
 THE CIIEVALIEK DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 23 
 
 The baron therefore directed the Chevalier Koger 
 Tancrede to saddle Christopher and reconnoitre the road 
 toward Beuzerie. If the young man returned in an hour 
 without having discovered anything, they would sit 
 down to the table, whatever might come of it. 
 
 Roger Tancrede accepted the mission without urging. 
 He was one of those light-hearted lads that are always 
 ready for anything. He buttoned on a pair of long gaiters 
 over his silk hose, saddled Christopher, who was a good 
 animal of three or four years, jumped on his back, gath- 
 ered up the reins, and, thanks to a holly switch with 
 which he had supplied himself, and which was to take 
 the place of the missing spurs, he succeeded in urging 
 the peaceful creature into a gallop. 
 
 The night was fine enough for a poet. The pale moon , 
 buried in great, cushiony clouds, the sharp north wind 
 whistling through the yet leafless branches, the hooting 
 of the night birds, all would have delighted Rene, 
 Werther, or Hamlet; but Roger was little moved by 
 these nocturnal influences; besides, Roger was very 
 hungry, and when Roger was hungry there was not 
 much under the sun, with the exception of a well-laden 
 table, that he judged worthy of attention. And so he 
 fumed as he galloped along, wishing unpunctual people 
 at the devil, certain that, owing to the delay, the ragouts 
 would stick to the saucepans, and the filet would be 
 burned, and that the entire blame was due to Made- 
 moiselle de Beuzerie, who, doubtless, was keeping her 
 parents waiting while she perfected her toilet. And, 
 indulging in these reflections, the young messenger kept 
 lashing Christopher who, accustomed even with the 
 chevalier to a more moderate gait, galloped harder than 
 ever, spouting steam from his nostrils like the phantom 
 steed of the lover of Lenore.
 
 24 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 P>ut, although Rogor Tancrt^de continued to .advance, 
 he still .saw nothing save the shadows of tlic clouds as 
 they floated across the moon and, for the moment, ob- 
 scured his path as with a dark veil. He stopped to 
 listen from time to time, and heard only the rushing of 
 the wind through the trees; then, with a sigh, he would 
 turn his head toward Anguilhem, where he could see in 
 the distance through the branches the brilliantly lighted 
 windows of the chateau. At that sight, he felt sorely 
 tempted to draw rein and return, saying that he had seen 
 nothing; but he reflected that it was not even ten min- 
 utes since he had started out, and that his father had 
 told him to search for an hour. Thereupon he again 
 plucked up courage, and again whipped up Christo- 
 pher and set off" at a gallop, to the great amazement of 
 the poor beast who, ordinarily serving as the baron's 
 mount, was with him in the habit of taking a gait that 
 was infinitely more sedate. 
 
 Suddenly Roger thought he heard a cry of distress 
 two or three hundred paces in advance; at the cry, the 
 horse stopped of his own accord, sniffing the air noisily 
 with his smoking nostrils. The chevalier looked about 
 him. He was in a hollow, lonely and boggy, on a narrow 
 roadway beside some deep clay-pits. The cry was 
 dismal, the night uncanny; Roger shuddered. 
 
 However, we must say to the credit of the heir of the 
 name and title of d' Anguilhem, the sentiment of fear 
 experienced by the chevalier was short-lived, and was 
 instantly gone upon the reflection that he must be of 
 service to those who had uttered that appeal for help. 
 He again urged Christopher into a gallop, shouting at 
 the top of his voice, — 
 
 " Ho ! where are you ? who called 1 " 
 
 " This way, this way! " answered a voice, nearer than
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 25 
 
 before, and seeming to issue from the depths of the 
 earth. 
 
 " On which side ? " demanded Koger, still advancing. 
 
 "To the left of the road, in the marl-pit; this way 
 farther, — here, just under where you now are." 
 
 Roger pulled up Christopher and peered through the 
 darkness which had become thicker from the disap- 
 pearance of the moon behind the clouds. He thought 
 he could descry something moving fifteen feet below him. 
 
 " Can it be you, Monsieur de Beuzerie 1 " he asked. 
 
 "Yes, yes, it is I, chevalier," returned the voice; 
 " in heaven's name get us out of this. Our carriage went 
 over in going too near the edge, and we are sunken in 
 the marl." 
 
 " Help, Monsieur Eoger! " cried a woman's voice. 
 
 " Help ! " repeated the voice of a girl. 
 
 "Ah! poor Monsieur de Beuzerie!" cried Eoger; 
 " wait, wait, I will come." 
 
 And he leaped down from Christopher. Then he 
 heard a frightful ado, which the trampling of his own 
 horse had until then prevented his hearing, and which, 
 upon Christopher's halt, now distinctly reached his ear. 
 A horse was splashing about in the muddy water of the 
 pit into which he was plunged up to the stomach. The 
 old coach, as Monsieur de Beuzerie said, had slipped 
 from the road- way down the embankment and fallen 
 quite flat; but, thanks to the depth of the box and the 
 softness of the mud, the fall had injured no one. 
 
 Madame de Beuzerie had at first thought proper to 
 faint away, but at Roger's voice, she had come to her- 
 self again. As for her daughter Constance, she had 
 borne the fall with great courage. Of course Monsieur 
 de Beuzerie, who was unhurt, had entertained fears only 
 for his wife and daughter.
 
 26 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 Believing no time was to be lost, the Chevalier Roger 
 Tancrede slid down the declivity until he reached the 
 coach. He then called on the coachman to come to his 
 assistance; hut the coachman had gone in search of help 
 in the neighborhood, and he called in vain. The young 
 man then resolved alone to extricate Monsieur, Madame, 
 and Mademoiselle de Beuzerie; the merit would 1x3 the 
 greater. Consequently, he began by opening the door 
 and releasing Mademoiselle Constance de Beuzerie, 
 whom her mother held out to him like the mother who, 
 in the picture of the flood, holds her child above the 
 waters. Roger took Mademoiselle de Beuzerie and 
 deposited her upon the bank as easily as if she had been 
 a bird. Then came the turn of the viscountess; this was 
 a more difficult matter. The viscountess was what in 
 the provinces is styled a fine woman, that is, she was a 
 plump matron, very attractive still, of five feet one inch 
 in height, fat in proportion, weighing, perhaps, one 
 hundred and sixty or one hundred and seventy pounds. 
 However, mustering all his strength, Roger succeeded 
 in pulling her up, while the viscount aided from below, 
 and, in a few seconds, he had her deposited safe and 
 sound beside her daughter. 
 
 There remained Monsieur de Beuzerie, who was far 
 from presenting the same difficulties as his wife. A tall, 
 spare man, still lusty and active, he was out of his coach 
 in a twinkling, and, without Roger's help, sprang up 
 the bank, where he joined the rest of his family. 
 
 Roger, for whom there was nothing more to do at the 
 coach, immediately followed Monsieur de Beuzerie, 
 Avith whom he exchanged many compliments, while the 
 two ladies overwhelmed him with thanks and courtesies. 
 
 And still the coachman had not returned. They 
 called him in vain; their shouts Avere wasted on soli-
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 27 
 
 tude, and only the screecli-owls and the hoot-owls an- 
 swered , as if in mockery of the poor travellers. 
 
 Roger, whose stomach grew more and more famished, 
 increasing his impatience, suggested that they should 
 not wait for the coachman, wlio in all likelihood would 
 return quite alone; and he began to unhitch the mired 
 horse, which, in a trice, was on the bank only a few 
 steps distant from his masters. 
 
 The only question now was how to reach the chateau. 
 This matter, which at first sight appeared very simple, 
 was, in reality, complicated by circumstances, as we 
 shall see. There were two horses for accomplishing 
 the undertaking; as for the coach, it was not to be 
 thought of. It would take seven or eight men to set it, 
 not to say, on its feet, but on its wheels. There were, 
 then, two horses, we repeat; but one of the two was 
 covered with mud. Roger first proposed to Monsieur de 
 Beuzerie that he himself should lead Christopher by the 
 bridle, while the viscountess and her daughter should 
 mount his back, and that Monsieur de Beuzerie should 
 bestride his own horse. But Christopher, still quite 
 excited by his race, whinneying and pawing the earth, 
 seemed to the two ladies to be a little too restive, and 
 the proposition was rejected. 
 
 Roger next suggested riding with Madame de Beu- 
 zerie upon Christopher, for whom he would answer 
 when he himself was on his back, while the viscount 
 and his daughter should ride the other horse. But, as 
 we have said, the other horse was covered with mud, 
 and the viscountess whispered to her husband that if 
 that plan were adopted, Constance woiild spoil her lovely 
 new gown of pekin. Hence that plan was rejected like 
 the first. 
 
 Finally it was decided that Madame de Beuzerie,
 
 28 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Imving Ics-s at stake on account of licr gown tlian Made- 
 moiselle Constance, should witli her husband mount the 
 coach horse, upon whose hack they placed Christopher's 
 saddle, while the Chevalier Roger Tancrede, who was 
 a perfect horseman, sliould mount Christopher bareback 
 and take jNIademoisidle Constance up bcliind him. 
 
 They proceeded to put into execution this plan which 
 was yet to receive a slight modification. ^lonsieur de 
 Beuzerie mounted the horse first; then Koger lifted 
 Madame de Beuzerie and established her in majesty 
 behind her spouse. Thus far, all worked like a charm; 
 but, having reached this point, the remainder of the 
 plan presented a little difficulty. 
 
 If Koger Tancrede got on the horse first, Mademoiselle 
 Constance would in that case have no one to help her 
 mount behind him; while, on the other hand, if the 
 Chevalier Roger Tancrede first placed Mademoiselle 
 Constance behind, then he in turn could not mount the 
 horse except by executing some extravagant gymnastic 
 feat, throwing his leg over Christopher's head instead 
 of his tail. They searched on all sides for a bank, a 
 mile-stone, a fallen tree ; there Avas nothing. At last, 
 his famished stomach spurring him on, the Chevalier 
 Roger Tancrede devised a plan: it was that he should 
 mount behind Mademoiselle Constance, whom he would 
 then clasp in his arms instead of being clasped in hers. 
 Such a course was doubtless somewhat imconventional, 
 and at the proposition the father and mother both knit 
 their brows; but the viscountess inclined to the vis- 
 count's ear and whispered, — 
 
 " Never mind, my dear! it must be done, and, after 
 all, they are but two children." 
 
 "Mount, then, as you will," said Monsieur de Beu- 
 zerie, " for indeed we must proceed."
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 29 
 
 "Mademoiselle, allow me?" said Koger. 
 
 And like a feather he lifted up the slight little sylph 
 called Mademoiselle Constauce, and was almost as soon 
 on the crupper behind her. 
 
 Mademoiselle Constance uttered a pretty little shriek, 
 very terrified, but not very terrifying, to which the 
 viscount, full of parental and prudish fears, responded 
 with, " What is the matter ? " 
 
 "Nothing, monsieur, nothing," returned Roger. 
 "Just as I sprang up, mademoiselle lost her balance; 
 now I have her in my arms and there is no danger." 
 
 "In your arms, inorhleu! your arms! " muttered the 
 viscount. 
 
 " Hush, my dear," remonstrated the viscountess, " you 
 will put ideas into the children's heads that certainly 
 are not there now." 
 
 ** Let us say no more," said the viscount. 
 
 And he applied his heels to such purpose that his 
 horse set off at a gentle trot. Christopher followed on 
 behind. 
 
 However, let us hasten to say that the viscount's 
 fears, if exaggerated, were not without foundation. 
 Scarcely had the Chevalier Tancrede felt Mademoiselle 
 Constance leaning against his heart, before his heart 
 began to throb as it had never yet throbbed. For her 
 part, the young girl, who, reared in a convent until then, 
 was riding a horse for the first time, trembled with fear, 
 and, whether she herself was experiencing an unknown 
 pleasure, or whether, indeed, in her primitive innocence 
 fear really triumphed over conventionalism, she clasped 
 to her breast the hand with which the young man was 
 holding her, turning from time to time to appeal to 
 him, — 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur le Chevalier, hold me more firmly,
 
 30 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 more firmly still! Oh! IMon.sieur Ic Chevalier, T am 
 so afraid ! Oh! ]\Ionsieur le Chevalier, I am going to 
 fall — " 
 
 And every time that she turned, her fair locks brushed 
 the young man's face, her beautiful eyes met his, her 
 sweet breath mingled with his, with the result that poor 
 Roger forgot his increasing hunger, and he would have 
 had the journey last forever, he felt such a strange sense 
 of comfort, such unknown pleasure, sucli inexplicable 
 delight stealing through all his being, such expansion of 
 bosom. Every sighing tree, every moonbeam as it gently 
 caressed hira seemed breathing in his ear, " Are you not 
 happy , Roger 1 " 
 
 Yes, the chevalier was happy, and, without knowing 
 why, Mademoiselle Constance also was happy. In her 
 fear there was a charming little intermixture of pleasure 
 for which she did not account, although she told herself 
 that she had never been so agreeably frightened, and 
 that fear was a sensation full of delicious emotions, in 
 short, a misjudged thing until then, and, consequently, 
 calumniated like all misjudged things. 
 
 It was while enjoying this happiness, ill-defined in 
 their minds but profoundly appreciated in their hearts, 
 that the two young people reached the Chateau d' Anguil- 
 hem. The horses' hoofs had been heard by all the 
 guests. A famished stomach has no ears, it is said. 
 Strange mistake ! A famished stomach is, on the con- 
 trary, all ears, and very sharp ears at that. Everybody 
 ran out to the steps, and the viscount, the viscountess, 
 Mademoiselle Constance, and Roger were received with 
 a blaze of torches, not unlike sovereigns returning to 
 their own dominions, and for whom the royal residence 
 has been illuminated. 
 
 The baron extended his arms to the viscountess, who,
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 31 
 
 thanks to their support, decorouslj' reached the ground. 
 The viscount solemnly dismounted as if to beat of dn;m, 
 as a horseman ought to dismount. As for Roger, he made 
 but one bound, took Mademoiselle Constance under the 
 arms with both hands, lifted her like a feather, and set 
 her gently on the ground, so gently that not even a 
 sound was heard as the girl's two little feet met the 
 flags. Then it was, by the light of the torches, that 
 Roger first had a good look at Constance, whom thus far 
 he had but guessed at. What of Constance ? Ravish- 
 ing blue eyes, blonde hair that looked like fluffs of silk, 
 a mouth like a cherry, a neck like a swan's, a sylph- 
 like form, — such was Mademoiselle da Beuzerie. A 
 cloud of flame swept before Roger's eyes, and he felt as 
 if he should die of joy. 
 
 Without daring to offer his hand, he followed Made- 
 moiselle Constance, who, as soon as she was free from 
 Christopher, had blushingly executed a pretty convent 
 courtesy before her cavalier and gone with her mother; 
 but, strange to say, already his heart, so happy and full 
 a moment ago, was seized with a stricture. It seemed 
 as if the young girl were lost to him. And Roger, poor 
 Roger, the young man whose robust appetite had become 
 proverbial, sat down to the table without the least desire 
 to eat. 
 
 However, a great triumph awaited Roger. Their 
 clamorous hunger had immediately assembled the 
 guests in the dining-room; but the first course was 
 barely removed before conversation, in subjection, at 
 first, to their appetites, began to rise in the shape of 
 interrogations. They asked the cause of Monsieur de 
 Beuzerie 's delay, and inquired why that worthy gen- 
 tleman, who should have come in his carriage, had 
 arrived on horseback instead.
 
 32 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Then Monsieur de Beuzerie detailed tlio whole ad- 
 venture, presented the Chevalier Roger Tancrede as his 
 rescuer, extullcil his zeal and the judgment displayed by 
 him, notwithstanding his youth. The eulogies of 
 Madame de Beuzerie surpassed those of her husband. 
 Mademoiselle Constance alone said nothing, but she 
 blushed furiously and cast a shy glance at Ivoger. 
 Roger, who had not for an instant taken his eyes from 
 her, remarked the blush and intercepted the glance; and, 
 without knowing why, he felt that look and blush did 
 him good. No other subject was discussed during the 
 dinner, and by dessert, the Chevalier Roger Tancrede 
 was regarded by the guests as the deliverer of the whole 
 family in general, and of Mademoiselle Constance in 
 particular. 
 
 Mademoiselle Constance and the Chevalier Roger 
 Tancrede were therefore feted as the two prodigies of 
 the evening, and feted in the manner of that happy 
 time of politeness and good fellowship. Indeed, in those 
 days, it seemed as if all wished to make life smooth and 
 pleasant for the novices who were just setting foot upon 
 society's threshold. "Women made advances to the 
 school-boy still in the hands of his tutor. Men strove 
 to please heiresses yet captive behind the gratings of 
 their convents. They came from school-room or college, 
 the young men to talk of love, and the maidens to hear 
 it talked of. 
 
 Those were happy days, when the lads had not yet 
 taken it into their heads to talk politics while spinning 
 their tops, and girls did not dream of discussing ethics 
 while dressing and undressing their dolls. 
 
 In the depths of his heart. Monsieur d'Anguilhem 
 was delighted at the importance with which the adven- 
 ture of the marsh was investing his son. Above all, in
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 33 
 
 his plans for the future, the baron was seeking an estab- 
 lishment for his son, and Mademoiselle Constance, who 
 at the death of her father and mother would inherit an 
 income of six thousand francs, was in every way a suit- 
 able match for the chevalier. Beuzerie and Anguilhem 
 could then he united by purchasing three or four leagues 
 of marsh which could be had for little, delightful hunt- 
 ing-grounds, but which were otherwise perfectly useless, 
 and two or three small pieces of woodland lying between 
 them here and there ; and all together would form one 
 of the noblest baronies of Touraine. The children born 
 of that marriage would thus own valley and mountain 
 as their ancestors had owned them at the height of their 
 prosperity. That would be a fine thing; it would be 
 grand, magnificent. The worthy baron was in high 
 good humor throughout the meal, and he sang at 
 dessert. 
 
 But, very different from the baron, and as if he must 
 have divined the plans of that ambitious father, Mon- 
 sieur de Beuzerie, who had at first seated himself at 
 the table with an air of imposing dignity, drew himself 
 up more and more as the dinner neared its close, sign- 
 ing to his wife that she, too, should assume the defen- 
 sive, a manoeuvre which the vicountess executed, it 
 should be added, with a conjugal understanding worthy 
 of the highest eulogy. More than that: as the young 
 people had been placed side by side, and as, instead 
 of eating as became children of from twelve to fifteen 
 years, they talked in the low tones that lovers might 
 have used, Monsieur and Madame de Beuzerie over- 
 whelmed their daughter with threatening glances, to 
 which at first Constance paid no attention, occupied as 
 she was with something else; but tliey at last took effect, 
 throwing the girl into a state of anguish, the more 
 
 3
 
 34 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 poignant owing to her utter ignorance of the cause of her 
 parents' wrath. 
 
 And so, no sooner were they risen from table than 
 Madame de Beuzeric took her daughter l)y the liand 
 and made her sit beside her, wliile Monsieur de 13ou- 
 zerie, after announcing that he wished to get home the 
 same night, set out to learn something about his coach. 
 
 Monsieur de Beuzci'ie came Ixick in despair. His 
 coachman had returned dead-drunk, and the coach was 
 still daintily embedded in the marsh; then, as polite- 
 ness very naturally demanded, the baron and the 
 baroness offered their neighbors a room in the chateau. 
 But this proposition, which, moreover, Avas nothing 
 unusual, Monsieur de Beuzerie so promptly negatived 
 that tlie baron was forced to pass on to another sugges- 
 tion. This was to put the viscount's horse to the 
 baron's cart; by this means, Monsieur, Madame, and 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie could regain their own chateau 
 that evening, as they seemed so desirous of doing. The 
 next morning, Monsieur d'Anguilhem's people would 
 extricate the coach from the marsh, hitch Christopher to 
 it, and Christopher should take the coach to Beuzerie 
 and bring back the cart. 
 
 This plan was enthusiastically approved by the vis- 
 countess and the viscount, to the great despair of Made- 
 moiselle Constance and the Chevalier Roger Tancrede, 
 between whom a poor little tearful glance was exchanged 
 for a stifled sigh, an interchange which, happily, was 
 not surprised by the girl's inflexible parents. A quarter 
 of an hour after the matter had been decided, it was 
 announced that the viscount's horse had been put to the 
 baron's cart. 
 
 They must go then. The poor children had seen each 
 other two hours ago for the first time, but it seemed to
 
 THE CHEVALIER DISCOVEKS THAT HE HAS A HEART. 35 
 
 tliem that they had known each other from infancy. 
 The baron and the viscount shook hands; Madame 
 d'Anguilhem and Madame de Beuzerie embraced; Con- 
 stance made a beautiful courtesy to all the company, 
 and cast a very sorrowful glance at the Chevalier Roger 
 Tancrede. Then all three got into the cart, the horse set 
 off, and then folloAved the diminishing sound of wheels 
 and bells, and soon the sound died quite away. 
 
 Roger did not return to the salon with the rest of the 
 company. Roger had remained at the threshold of the 
 house-door ; from the threshold of the house-door he had 
 run to the court-gate, and there he had stood, sad and 
 motionless, his eyes fixed on the vanishing cart, in which 
 direction he kept on gazing even long after it had dis- 
 appeared from sight. Doubtless he would have been 
 found there the next morning had he not felt a touch 
 upon his shoulder. It was his tutor, Abbe Dubuquoi, 
 who came to say that a longer absence from the salon 
 would be considered rude by the remaining guests. 
 Roger furtively brushed away two great tears that were 
 falling from his eyes, and followed his instructor.
 
 36 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 III. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM, DISCOVERING 
 THAT HE HAD A HEART, WISHED TO BE ASSURED 
 THAT MADEMOISELLE DE BEUZERIE ALSO HAD ONE. 
 
 It was lucky for the Chevalier Tancrede that they did 
 not keep late hours in those days at Easter. At niidniglit 
 all the guests dispersed, some, and they were the nearest 
 neighbors, to return to their manors, either afoot or on 
 horseback; others, who lived at a distance, to retire to 
 the apartments which, in the fulness of their ancient 
 hospitality, the baron and the baroness had placed at 
 their disposal." 
 
 Before ascending to his bed-chamber, Roger went as 
 usual to embrace his father and his mother, who ex- 
 changed smiles; then he bowed to the abbe and in turn 
 retired, but not to sleep. He felt not the least inclined 
 toward sleep ; sleep had abandoned him like his appetite ; 
 he but thought of Mademoiselle de Beuzerie. 
 
 It was the first time that the chevalier had given 
 thought to anything but a hunting party, or a horse-race, 
 or a fencing-match, or an ingenious subterfuge forgetting 
 off from a recitation of his Sallust or Virgil. 
 
 Roger was profoundly sad. He had comprehended that 
 the only aim of that hurried departure had been to take 
 Constance away from him ; but he had read in the young 
 maid's eyes that she would have been very glad to re- 
 main near him, and it comforted him. Besides, there 
 is something which weighs upon the heart so sweetly
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 37 
 
 in the early sorrows of a first love, that they are accepted 
 as sensations greatly to be preferred to the indifference 
 that has given place to them. What we desire above all 
 things is not exactly to be happy, — Ave do not know yet 
 what happiness is, — but to avoid a return to that arid 
 desert whence we have come, to remain in the soft 
 sunlight under the beautiful green trees, among the 
 intoxicating odors of the flowers, whose thorns have 
 already lacerated our fingers; but, for all that, how we 
 love to pluck them, whatever the risk, how essential to 
 breathe their perfume! We prefer tempest to calm, 
 suffering to lack of joy. 
 
 Roger went to sleep late, and he slept feverishly, 
 which did not interfere with his waking at daybreak, 
 refreshed, rested, and bright-eyed. What is more, he 
 had planned a little scheme of his own. He would him- 
 self take back the coach with Christopher under pre- 
 text of asking in the name of his father and mother after 
 the Beuzerie family, to whom, in view of the advanced 
 hour of the night when they had left the chateau, the 
 baron and the baroness might be supposed to fear that 
 some accident had happened. In addition, he had con- 
 ceived an idea that rendered such a course quite natural. 
 He would give the coachman a crown to counterfeit ill- 
 ness and declare that he did not feel equal to going to 
 Beuzerie. 
 
 The chevalier, who knew where the coach was, 
 directed the gamekeeper and the stable-boy, and these, 
 with the help of the gardener, the farmer, and three or 
 four of his plough-boys, succeeded by means of ropes and 
 strength of arms in hoisting the coach to the roadway. 
 Happily, the solidity of the old coach preserved it from 
 damage, and once righted, it made no objection to 
 wheeling toward Beuzerie. As for Christopher, under
 
 38 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the stimulus of repeated cuts of tlie wliip from his young 
 master, lie set off at a full trot, kicking and whinncying 
 by way of protest that he failed to understand the man- 
 ner in which he was driven since the night before. 
 
 But, as Roger drew near Bcuzcric, his urgency, as 
 regards Christopher, became less pressing, and, profiting 
 by the cessation of blows, the intelligent animal came 
 down from the full trot to a jog, and from the jog-trot 
 to a walk. In fact, what had at first seemed a very 
 simple thing to the young man, this matter of taking 
 the viscount his coach and getting the paternal cart in 
 exchange, now looked to him like monstrous audacity. 
 He recalled INIonsieur de Beuzerie's severity of counte- 
 nance, his frown, his curt accents, and, more than all, 
 his precipitate departure, and he asked himself whether 
 the master of Beuzerie, who had been in such haste to 
 leave the Chateau d'Anguilhem, would experience a 
 high degree of pleasure on seeing the heir of that chateau 
 at the Chdteau de Beuzerie. All these reflections gave 
 little assurance to the Chevalier Roger Tancrede, who, 
 among the excellent qualities with which heaven had 
 endowed him, had not received that happy impudence 
 which is the card most sure to win; not only then had 
 he ceased urging Christopher forward, but, Avhat is more, 
 had the horse stopped or turned round, it is probable 
 that his master would not have had the courage to start 
 him on again or turn him back; fortunately, this did 
 not happen. Christopher was an honest creature incap- 
 able of such performances. He did not like to be over- 
 driven, that is all, but, when left to decide for himself, 
 he set to work with a provincial conscience, which could 
 be relied on with perfect confidence. Hence he con- 
 tinued to plod on at his ordinary pace toward Beuzerie, 
 and very soon Roger descried the little chateau's two
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 39 
 
 slate-roofed towers that lifted their creaking weather- 
 vanes above the trees of the park. 
 
 Koger still continued to advance, but, it must be 
 said, he was no longer forcing Christopher to go; it was 
 Christopher that forced him. And so, on he went, 
 overwhelmed with profoundest misgivings as to the 
 reception with which he would meet, when, suddenly, 
 at one of the tower windows there appeared a small 
 blonde head looking in his direction with wide-open, 
 beautiful blue eyes, while the hand that obeyed the 
 head was waving a handkerchief as a token that the 
 new-comer was recognized. At that sight Roger drew 
 up Christopher, and the two beautiful children began to 
 exchange all the signs of simple afiection that their 
 hearts, winging their way to each other, were able to 
 suggest. 
 
 This had lasted for ten minutes, and probably would 
 have lasted till night, had not Roger seen a second per- 
 son rise behind Constance. The untimely interrupter 
 was no other than Madame de Beuzerie, who, passing 
 through the corridor and seeing her daughter, who had 
 imprudently left the door of her room wide open, mak- 
 ing unusual signals from the window, had been curious 
 to know to whom the signals were directed. Madame 
 de Beuzerie, who, on the evening before, had chided 
 her husband for being too ready to take alarm, and for 
 insisting upon their leaving the chateau so early, now 
 recognized Roger, and began to think that the fancies 
 which the viscount had taken into his head were not 
 quite so silly as she had at first believed. 
 
 Being discovered, Roger saw that there was no draw- 
 ing back; he brought the whip down upon Christopher, 
 who, not expecting anything of the kind, set off at a
 
 40 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 run, anil ontorcd tlio court of the Cliateau de Beuzerie 
 at a high rate of speed. 
 
 Tlio fir.st person that Roger saw was tlie viscount, 
 who was returning from his morning walk in the park. 
 Roger thought that the moment had arrived when lie 
 must pay for his audacity. He sprang to the ground, 
 advanced toward IVlonsieur de Beuzerie, and announced 
 very deliberately, for a man who was serving his appren- 
 ticeship in lying, tliat, his coachman having felt quite 
 indisposed, he had taken it upon himself to bring the 
 coach to Beuzerie, fearing, in the first place, that the 
 viscount might have need of it, and secondly, desiring 
 to learn, on behalf of the baron and the baroness, 
 whether any accident luul happened to tlieir good 
 neighbors when returning. 
 
 As these two motives were certainly most plausible, 
 the viscount was forced to accept them, although he 
 very clearly divined the true prompting of the young 
 man's visit. He therefore feigned to believe implicitly 
 all that the other had said, inquired in return after the 
 health of the baron and the baroness, and as it was the 
 dinner hour, and they were about to sit down to table, he 
 even extended his courtesy so far as to invite his officious 
 neighbor to share pot-luck. It is to be imagined that 
 Roger gratefully accepted. 
 
 To put them to a second proof was what tempted the 
 viscount to this step. He might, take it altogether, have 
 been deceived the night before, and he wished to observe 
 the two children again, Alas! the poor young hearts 
 did not yet know how to feign. Upon entering the 
 salon, Constance blushed as if she had been fifteen years 
 old, and Roger turned as pale as if he had been eigh- 
 teen. Monsieur de Beuzerie remarked upon the two 
 young people an opposite effect, which however sprang
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 41 
 
 from the same source, and his wavering suspicions were 
 fully established. 
 
 During the dinner Constance and Roger committed 
 imprudence after imprudence; but on this occasion, 
 instead of frowning, as on the previous evening, Mon- 
 sieur de Beuzerie overlooked them, and contented him- 
 self with conveying to his wife signals which meant, — 
 
 "Well, was I such a visionary as you said? Is it 
 clear now 1 is it clear ? " 
 
 Indeed, it was so clear that at the end of dinner, in 
 order to deprive Roger, doubtless, of all thought of re- 
 visiting the chMeau, Monsieur de Beuzerie carelessly 
 announced that Constance was returning that same after- 
 noon to the convent. At this news, Constance uttered 
 a cry, and Roger, seeing her turn so pale, and thinking 
 that she was about to be ill, rushed toward her; but the 
 viscount gently detained him with the remark that 
 Madame de Beuzerie was present, and that, if her daugh- 
 ter was in need of assistance, she would give it to her. 
 
 But Constance was not at the fainting age. The poor 
 little thing was too simple for that; she was contented 
 to dissolve into tears, seeing which, Roger had need of 
 all his self-possession to repress his own. Moreover, 
 those untimely tears occasioned something very sad for 
 the two children. Constance received orders to go to 
 her room. Sobbing the while, she dropped a little cour- 
 tesy to Roger, who acknowledged it by one of the most 
 pathetic of bows; after which, as there was nothing more 
 to detain him at the chateau, he begged to take leave 
 of the viscount. One would have said that the viscount 
 had foreseen that hurried departure, for, on arriving at 
 the court-steps, Roger found Christopher there already 
 harnessed to the cart. He thereupon saluted the viscount 
 who shook hands with him most amiably, charged him
 
 42 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 in turn with many compliments to the baron and the 
 baroness, and completed his civilities by wishing him a 
 pleasant drive. 
 
 As one can easily understand, Eoger did not pass 
 under the little window of the tower without an up- 
 ward glance. Good luck willed that just then the vis- 
 countess, believing lloger to be still in the salon chanced 
 to leave her daughter's room. Free for a moment, Con- 
 stance had hastened to the window; she saw Roger. To 
 the chevalier's great bewilderment, the maiden's face 
 was radiant. The youth was about to ask of the beau- 
 tiful child the cause of her unlocked for joy, when she 
 exhibited a pencil and a bit of paper. Roger compre- 
 hended that Constance was about to write to him, and 
 he stopped. In fact, after a moment's delay, both paper 
 and pencil fell at his feet. 
 
 On the paper were these four lines : — 
 
 " Mamma, who is very fond of me, has just confessed 
 that they said before you that I was to leave for the convent 
 this afternoon so that you would not return here again. 
 The truth is that I shall not go until next Sunday. 
 
 " COXSTANCE." 
 
 Since a pencil was thrown to him, Roger understood 
 that he might respond ; he tore off a scrap of the paper, 
 and wrote in return : — 
 
 " Walk in the park to-morrow morning, near the arbor. I 
 will come over the wall, and we will together plan some 
 means of seeing each other again. I do not know whether 
 you would feel such grief as I, but I do know that I shall 
 die if I am kept away from you. 
 
 " Roger." 
 
 Then he wrapped a pebble in this note, which, as we 
 see, was somewhat precocious for a lover who was not
 
 CHEVALIER SEAECHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 43 
 
 yet fifteen years of age; then, with a school-hoy's pre- 
 cision of aim, he threw the pebhle into Constance's 
 room, Constance sprang back to pick it up, and reap- 
 peared skipping with joy, and nodding in assent that 
 she would be at the rendezvous. To remain longer 
 would have been imprudent; so, his heart inflated with 
 happiness, Roger interrupted Christopher's meditations 
 with a cut of the whip. Three hours later, the young man 
 had returned to Anguilhera. 
 
 The baron and the baroness glanced at each other, 
 and exchanged a smile on witnessing the joy that over- 
 flowed their son's heart and appeared at his eyes, in his 
 speech, in his movements. Never had Roger been so 
 obliging; he dried the china, polished the silver, 
 cleaned the baron's gun, and recited to the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi the entire episode of the love of Dido and 
 ^neas. 
 
 The day dragged with Roger, but it seemed to him 
 that by keeping himself in motion he might hasten 
 the hours. He went, he came, here and there, upstairs 
 and downstairs, looked at all the clocks, and hurried 
 the supper as if he were hungry. He sat down to the 
 table and ate nothing; and, with eyes more wide-awake 
 than they had ever been, he retired to his room, saying 
 that he was almost asleep. 
 
 As Ave well know, it was not because he was sleepy 
 that Roger went to his room; he had to tell his love to 
 the moon, to the breeze, the trees, the stars, the clouds. 
 He opened his window and the monologue began. 
 
 Roger passed a happy night. 
 
 At daybreak Roger descended the stairs; no one in 
 the chateau had yet risen. He called out to the house- 
 keeper that he was going for a ride to Saint Hippolyte. 
 That was in the direction opposite to Beuzerie. Poor
 
 44 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Roger thought himself obliged to lie, even to a servant. 
 Then, having taken tliis precaution, which, at least, 
 was evidence that indiscretion was not one of Roger's 
 faults, the young man saddled Christopher and set off at 
 full speed. 
 
 This time the poor animal attempted no resistance; 
 besides, as a precautionary measure, Roger had re-enforced 
 himself with a pair of spurs and a riding-whip. Chris- 
 topher feeling the spurs, and having seen the riding- 
 whip, had very quickly comprehended that, if he at- 
 tempted to make any resistance, he would fare but ill. 
 
 Upon rising, the baron learned from the housekeeper 
 that his son had gone for a ride to Saint Hippolyte. He 
 did not believe a word of it, very naturally, nor did the 
 baroness. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the Abbe Dubuquoi, who, from 
 the time he had risen, had kept inquiring of every one 
 for news of his pupil, went to inquire of his parents. 
 The baron and the baroness began significantly to smile, 
 and Monsieur d'Anguilhem said, with a bantering shake 
 of the head as he placed his hand on the tutor's shoul- 
 der, — 
 
 " All ! abbe , abbe ! you have made a good-for-nothing 
 of your pupil." 
 
 The baron had not lost sight of his dearest project, 
 which was to reunite Anguilhem and Beuzerie. As for 
 the baroness, she murmured, — 
 
 " Really, Constance is a charming child, and I should 
 be very happy to call her my daughter." 
 
 " At all events," responded the Abb^ Dubuquoi, " the 
 wedding will not take place, I hope, until my pupil 
 has finished his studies." 
 
 The baron and the baroness began to laugh a little at 
 themselves, and more at the abbe. Indeed, such
 
 CHEVALIEK SEAKCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 45 
 
 schemes concerning a lad of fifteen and a little girl of 
 twelve were, even in the eyes of their projectors, too 
 foolish to be entertained by the judgment. The baron 
 therefore was the first to drop the subject by saying, — 
 
 " Time will tell ; let it work and we will talk of 
 something else." 
 
 And they talked of Monsieur de Bouzenois. The 
 morning slipped by without Roger's being seen again. 
 But, about two o'clock in the afternoon, just as they 
 were sitting down to dinner, he entered the room, 
 sheepish, crestfallen, and red-eyed. The baron cast at 
 the baroness a meaning glance that said, — 
 
 " D'lable ! (liable ! the matter does not seem to be 
 running on wheels. " 
 
 The chevalier took his place at the table, but he did 
 not eat, which with him was a sign of great preoccupa- 
 tion. Then, after dinner, he sat a while beside his 
 mother; he rearranged his private library, which con- 
 sisted of thirty volumes, taken from the library of the 
 chateau; he loitered behind the baron as the latter made 
 his rounds of the kitchen-garden; he returned, still 
 silent; and he at last interrupted his silence only to 
 complain of a violent headache, and request that he 
 might withdraw early, a reqviest which, we may readily 
 suppose, was granted unconditionally. 
 
 But, after returning to his room, Koger forgot that his 
 apartment was situated directly above his mother's, that 
 every one of his movements was betraj'ed by the creak- 
 ing floor. All night long he walked his room, like the 
 malade imaf/maire, back and forth and up and down. 
 Not a step was lost to the baron and the baroness. 
 
 "There is always hope left to every devil," said the 
 baron; " but we are worsted by Beuzerie." 
 
 The next morning the baron himself went out to the
 
 46 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 stable and found Christopher strutting before his rack. 
 He returned through tlie kitclien with an upward glance; 
 the three guns were above the high mantel. Roger had 
 not gone out. Roger was asleep. At Roger's age, how- 
 ever troubled one may be, nature is exacting; one must 
 sleep and eat. 
 
 So Roger slept until nine o'clock; at nine o'clock he 
 descended to breakfast, his eyes swollen and his cheeks 
 pale. Poor boy ! yet ho had slept two hours longer than 
 on the preceding night. There is a great difference 
 between the sleeplessness of joy and that of sorrow. 
 
 However, Roger ate; but, while he was eating, the 
 dining-room door opened, and Monsieur de Beuzerie's 
 valet appeared with a letter in his hand. The chevalier 
 recognized Comtois, grew red and turned pale alter- 
 nately; then, observing that the valet was approaching 
 his father, he arose from the table, and ran to shut him- 
 self witliin his room. 
 
 In spite of his philosophical pretensions, a cold chill 
 ran over the Baron d'Anguilhem as he opened the de- 
 spatch, whose contents he could surmise. What is more, 
 Comtois had assumed his serious air and majestic bear- 
 ing. Now, neither the one nor the other augured any 
 good; one always guesses at the message by the messen- 
 ger's face. However, the baron transferred his eyes 
 from Comtois' visage to the viscount's letter, and read 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Monsieur and dear Neighbor, — This is to tender our 
 best wishes for your welfai'e and to present the very humble 
 compliments of Madame de Beuzerie and myself to you and 
 Madame la Baronne. We are sorry to have something of a 
 disagreeable nature to communicate with regard to your 
 son, Monsieur le Chevalier Roger Tancrfede, whom I sur- 
 prised yesterday in a secluded quarter of the park on his
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 47 
 
 knees to our daughter, Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, whose 
 hands he was kissing with an ardor rather excessive in a 
 school-boy of fifteen. You well know, monsieur, my dear 
 neighbor, that it is very painful for us to enter such a com- 
 plaint against a son whose father and mother we love so 
 much, and, also, that we must regard with disfavor his pur- 
 suit of our daughter, by which we are no doubt honored, but 
 which seems to us not only very precocious, as she is 
 scarcely thirteen, but very ill-advised as well, in that it is 
 conducted without your consent. We regret to be com- 
 pelled to say that it would be a source of great uneasiness to 
 us should ^Monsieur le Chevalier Roger Tancrfede come 
 again to Beuzerie, but we count iipon your friendship and 
 your good advice to bring him to reason ; for, in short, our 
 daughter is ill of the affair and of the cold she has un- 
 doubtedly taken. However, in view of the pressing neces- 
 sity, her illness does not prevent her leaving for the convent 
 this evening. 
 
 " Adieu, monsieur and dear friend. Believe in our sincere 
 desire to please you, and in our lively regret at having been 
 forced to enter such complaints. 
 
 "De Beuzerie. 
 
 "The seventeenth day of April, 1708.'' 
 
 That the letter almost dropped from the baron's hands 
 did not prevent his ringing for the housekeeper to 
 have Comtois taken to the pantry, there to be well 
 treated and regaled with the very best. He then an- 
 swered the viscount's letter, promising to call and make, 
 on behalf of the chevalier, due apologies both to him 
 and to Madame de Beuzerie. 
 
 AVarmed up by the welcome that he had received, and 
 which he was far from expecting of the baron's cour- 
 tesy, Comtois told the cook, while drinking his bottle of 
 Orleans, that Mademoiselle Constance seemed greatly 
 grieved and wept aloud. In the wake of this confidence
 
 48 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 there followed almost as much sorrow at Anguilliem as 
 there was grief at I^euzorie. In his quality of only 
 son, Roger Tancr^do was not only adored by the haron 
 and the baroness, but also by all the retainers of the 
 chS,teau; and most assuredly, if theirs had still been the 
 days when similar suits were adjudged by lance and 
 sword, the baron might without resistance have armed 
 his ten vassals to go and carry off the young chatelaine 
 who had been refused to his son. 
 
 Comtois having departed, the chevalier was sent for. 
 The baron admonislied him with a few very paternal 
 and very mild reproaches concerning the precociousness 
 of his amorous inclinations, and on the propriety of 
 finishing his studies, at least, before thinking of mar- 
 riage. Then the baroness added that when the time 
 came for such thouglits, it would be quite as well that 
 the chevalier should not cast his eyes on very wealthy 
 heiresses, presumption that might bring upon his parents 
 the humiliation of a refusal. 
 
 Stung to the quick, Roger replied that there had been 
 a mistake, that he was not in love with Mademoiselle 
 Constance, that he had never thought of marriage, nor 
 had he for a moment entertained any desire other than 
 to please his tutor, Monsieur I'Abbe Dubuquoi ; that, 
 as for his mother's anxiety about his aiming his addresses 
 at too lofty a mark, her fear was entirely chimerical, 
 since he was firmly resolved to remain a bachelor. Poor 
 child! he did not suspect that the greatest danger to be 
 encountered in his life would arise, perhaps, from 
 polygamy, a hanging offence! 
 
 There was so much of wounded pride in the cheva- 
 lier's denial, that both father and mother respected his 
 falsehood. Consequently, the baron gave him his hand, 
 his mother kissed him, and, in accordance with the de-
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 49 
 
 sire that he had expressed, he was sent to his tutor who, 
 instead of the loves of Dido and ^neas, made him 
 repeat a chapter on the contempt of riches. Poor Roger 
 was decidedly unfortunate, both as lover and as student. 
 As a lover, he had fallen from Mademoiselle Constance 
 to Monsieur de Beuzerie, and as a student, from Virgil 
 to Seneca. 
 
 The chevalier had no sooner left his presence than the 
 baron made a very grand toilet, and proceeded to Beu- 
 zerie to pay the promised visit. He was received with 
 an air of constraint by the viscount and the viscountess, 
 who attributed their embarrassment to the preparations 
 for their daughter's return to her convent. The baron 
 asked to see Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, a request which 
 could not be refused. Constance entered with eyes so 
 red and swollen that Monsieur d'Anguilhem discerned 
 that this time the departure was not in the least a pre- 
 tence. The baron then spoke very courteously of the 
 chevalier's unpardonable folly, ascribing all the impro- 
 priety of his conduct to youthful ignorance and thought- 
 lessness, adding, finally, that the poor boy had bitterly 
 repented it, and that he begged his neighbors, and espe- 
 cially his fair young neighbor, to forget all that had 
 occurred within the last three days ; thereupon Constance 
 became as pale as death, and feeling that she was about 
 to burst into tears, fled from the salon. 
 
 The baron had made up his mind as to the young 
 maid's feelings. She loved the chevalier deeply, and 
 his eye had penetrated to the very depths of the virgin 
 heart of the heiress of Beuzerie ; the parents remained 
 to be sounded in their turn. This was not a difficult 
 matter. The viscount himself turned the conversation 
 upon a certain Marquis de Croisey who lived with his 
 parents in Loches, and enjoyed an income of something 
 
 4
 
 50 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 like three hundred louis. For a long time there had 
 been a fair understanding between the two families, 
 and he added even tliat so great importance had been 
 altachLMl to what had just passed only because the affair 
 might prove an obstacle in the eyes of that gentleman. 
 
 The baron felt the indirect thrust aimed at himself, 
 and, as we have said, being a master hand at fencing, 
 he parried with a thrust direct, saying that, in paying 
 the visit to Beuzerie, he was so far from thinking to 
 reinstate his son, that he quite intended this visit to be 
 his last. In vain did they beg that he would not be so 
 easily offended ; he was firm. They attempted to make 
 excuses. He rose, saying that a d'Anguilhem was the 
 equal of a Croisey, and that except for a slight differ- 
 ence in fortunes one d'Anguilhem was, in his opinion, 
 worth as much as all the Beuzeries in the land. 
 
 This somewhat exaggerated estimate of the value of 
 the d'Anguilhem family would undoubtedly have led to 
 a serious quarrel between the two respectable old gentle- 
 men, both exceedingly testy on questions of honor, had 
 not Madame de Beuzerie, a new type of the Sabine 
 woman, cast herself between them. The baron and the 
 viscount contented themselves with bowing to each other 
 with icy dignity, and parted in utter wrath. On that 
 same evening, according to announcement. Mademoi- 
 selle Constance set out for the convent at Chinon. 
 
 Very impatiently the Chevalier Roger Tancrede 
 awaited the baron's return, since, in his filial esteem 
 for his father, he counted greatly upon him to renew 
 with the Beuzeries the thread of the old friendship that 
 was threatening to end. But, quite contrary to what 
 he had hoped, the chevalier saw his father returning 
 with a countenance sterner than when he went away. 
 He then thought that things were going from bad to
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 51 
 
 worse, and, under pretext of being more than ever de- 
 voted to Latin, he shut himself in his room to Avork, he 
 said, but really to sigh and grieve quite at his ease. 
 
 We have all been through the first emotions of a first 
 love; "we have all known by swelling grief that we were 
 serving man's apprenticeship. We have all aged by 
 many years in a single hour; it was with the poor 
 chevalier as with us all. 
 
 He spent the night pacing the length and breadth of 
 his room; then, when day appeared, to beguile his 
 mental pain with physical fatigue, he shouldered his 
 gun, unchained Castor, and set off for a hunt. 
 
 But the hunting was merely an excuse of which poor 
 Roger had taken advantage. Without knowing how the 
 thing happened, since he had coursed no hare in that 
 direction, nor had the flight of a covey of partridges 
 lured him over valley and mountain, without there 
 having been the least excuse, in short, for the four or 
 five leagues that he had accomplished on foot, our hunter 
 found himself in a warren lying about five hundred paces 
 from Beuzerie, and occupying both sides of the cross- 
 road leading from the chateau to Loches. Now, it 
 happened by a coincidence which, however, was not at 
 all extraordinary, that the Vicomte de Beuzerie, also for 
 distraction , without doubt, since he had his parental 
 anxieties just as Roger had his lover's troubles, it hap- 
 pened, I repeat, that the Vicomte de Beuzerie had also 
 come out to shoot a rabbit, and that at a bend of the 
 narrow road, the two hunters came upon each other face 
 to face. 
 
 Each recoiled a step at sight of the other. Roger had 
 a great mind to take to his heels and run ; but he felt 
 instinctively that it would be a grossly stupid thing to 
 do, and that it would be far wiser, being caught in the
 
 52 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 act, to brazen it out; besides, bo was in tlie middle of 
 a warren, and lie could as easily be looking for a rabbit 
 as seeking for Mademoiselle Constance. 
 
 During tbe first moment of astonishment, Monsieur 
 de Beuzerie frowned, and Roger rested the butt of his 
 gun upon the ground and doffed his cap. The vis- 
 count was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " You again, Chevalier Koger TancrMe ! " he tartly 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Monsieur le Vicomte," responded the otlier, "I am 
 here by accident. IMy dog started up a Avounded hare ; I 
 followed him, and before I was aware of it, found my- 
 self in this warren." 
 
 " And why is your dog at Beuzerie 1 " demanded the 
 viscount. 
 
 " Why is my dog at Beuzerie? Why, I have twenty 
 times seen your dogs all over La Pintade, and La Pin- 
 tade, I think, belongs to Anguilhem; and then, besides, 
 I thought it was an understood thing that we have the 
 right to hunt on each other's grounds." 
 
 The words were enunciated with a firmness that the 
 viscount did not expect from a lad of fifteen ; but Roger 
 had taken his misadventure to heart, and he must be 
 revenged on some one. No one but Constance's father 
 was at hand, and he abused Constance's father. Had 
 he been merely a keeper, Roger would have beaten him. 
 
 "Certainly," replied the viscount, a little astonished 
 at such logic, which proved that Roger was not easily 
 disconcerted; "certainly it is understood, I know, that 
 our preserves should be in common; but, after what has 
 taken place, young man, many things are changed, do 
 you hear 1 " 
 
 " With you, monsieur, but not with us," returned the 
 chevalier. " You are master of your own lands, Monsieur
 
 CHEVALIER SEARCHES FOR MADEMOISELLE'S HEART. 53 
 
 le Vicomte, and you can withhold the shooting from 
 any one you wish; but I believe that I may say, in my 
 father's name, monsieur, that you. will always be very 
 welcome to ours. Here, Castor, here! " 
 
 And Roger turned his back on the viscount, who stood 
 aghast at the aplomb of his young neighbor; but the 
 young man had gone barely a few steps before he had 
 reflected upon the difference in age between him and the 
 viscount, and he reproached himself for having presumed 
 to give him a lesson. He therefore turned back, and, 
 approaching the old gentleman, said politely, but not 
 less firmly , — 
 
 " Monsieur, I have the honor to present my respects." 
 
 And he courteously bowed to the viscount, who 
 mechanically returned the salute. 
 
 "The devil! the devil!" ejaculated the viscount, 
 gazing after Roger as he strode away ; " either I am 
 greatly deceived, or there goes a young fellow that will 
 give us a snarl to untangle. Luckily, Mademoiselle de 
 Beuzerie is on the road to Chinon." 
 
 The viscount had forgotten that the lady superior of 
 the Augustine convent of Chinon, to which he was 
 returning his daughter, happened to be an aunt of the 
 Chevalier d'Anguilhem.
 
 64 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DEMONSTRATES THAT FATHERS AND 
 MOTHERS OF DAUGHTERS IN CONVENTS CAN SLEEP ON 
 BOTH EARS. 
 
 EuT Roger had borne it in mind, and this is wliat had 
 kept him from yielding to utter despair. He remembered 
 even, if his childish memories were not at fault, that he 
 had been a great favorite with that good aunt whom he 
 had formerly visited with his mother on two or three 
 occasions, and who, in turn, had as often come to Anguil- 
 hem ; yet Koger experienced some pangs in the dej^ths of 
 his heart for having been less attentive to her at that 
 period, or rather at those different periods, than he should 
 have been. 
 
 Indeed, he recalled the innumerable cares, attentions, 
 and civilities lavished on himself which had then ap- 
 peared irksome and fatiguing, and which, on the contrary, 
 ought to have filled him with gratitude. Among other 
 cloistral diversions, Roger had not forgotten how reluc- 
 tantly he had been forced, during the whole time of his 
 sojourn at Chinon, to engage in mass and vespers, and 
 that, too, in spite of the angelic singing of the nuns, 
 novices, and boarding-school girls, which accompanied 
 the divine service. Ah ! well, only see how fickle in 
 his tastes and changeable in his desires is man. At pres- 
 ent, his highest ambition was to attend those religious 
 ceremonies, to try to recognize, among all those angel 
 voices, the voice of Constance soaring melodiously to- 
 ward heaven ; only to see amid that white flock of the
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 55 
 
 Lord's, that figure, so ethereal, so light, so pure, that she 
 seemed to belong to some unknown dream-world, which, 
 for the time being, had lent her to ours, and which threat- 
 ened each hour to recall her. 
 
 Above all, Roger dimly remembered in his aunt's room 
 a certain window that overlooked a garden where the nuns 
 walked in hours of recreation ; a window at which — 
 he really could not understand his blindness — he had 
 scarcely looked. All this had been seething in the young 
 man's mind ever since he learned that Mademoiselle de 
 Beuzerie was at school in the convent directed by his aunt. 
 The tender love of that good, kind aunt recurred to his 
 heart, and he thought he owed her some atonement for 
 the slight appreciation that he had displayed for her 
 favors. His atonement should take the form of a visit, 
 during which he would devote himself assiduously to his 
 duties as Christian and nephew, attending services regu- 
 larly and entertaining his aunt, especially when she sat in 
 that charming little room overlooking the garden. The 
 visit, then, was a settled thing ; but, it is quite under- 
 stood, in petto, and without the chevalier's having con- 
 sulted any one as to its expediency. 
 
 Consequently, one morning, before daylight, Roger left 
 the house, saddled Christopher, and, that no serious un- 
 easiness should be felt on his account, informed the 
 stable-boy that he was to be gone four or five days. 
 
 From Anguilhem to Chinon was a distance of about 
 twenty-four leagues. "Without overdoing Christopher, 
 therefore, it was a matter of two days. Indeed, on that 
 same night, Roger slept at Sainte Maure, a little town 
 situated about midway of the distance to be made, and on 
 the next day at four o'clock in the afternoon he was at 
 Chinon. 
 
 Although it was six or eight years since the chevalier had
 
 56 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 visited his aunt, he liad not forgotten the way to tlie con- 
 vent. He tlierefore proceeded straiglit lo the Augustines, 
 without needing to ask the way of any one, and knocked 
 at tlie door of the saintly community. As the convent of 
 the Augustines was very strictly kept, the attendant nun 
 who came to open the door began to knit her brows in a 
 formidable nuumer at sight of a tall, handsome youth de- 
 manding entrance into that holy asylum, but, upon his 
 naming and defining the degree of relationship between 
 him and the mother superior, he saw the face of the ven- 
 erable concierge suddenly relax, and the doors open as 
 of their own accord. Five minutes later, the Chevalier 
 Roger TancrMe was respectfully kissing the plump hand 
 of his good aunt. 
 
 She was one of those charming abbesses of whom tlie 
 aristocratic traditions of the grand century have handed 
 portraits down to us, — neither too large nor too small, 
 plump, comfortable, perfect confections of gentle speech 
 and pious aspect, who found means, even while observing 
 the rules of the order, to impart to their garb a grace and 
 coquetry savoring indeed of worldliness, but which, nev- 
 ertheless, one did not know just where to attack. She 
 was, moreover, a younger sister of Madame d'Anguilhem, 
 and born, like her, a La Roche Berthaud, that is, de- 
 scended from one of the oldest and noblest families in 
 Touraine. 
 
 The good superior, who had never entertained any but 
 holy thoughts, was very far from suspecting the motive 
 which brought her nephew to Chinon. She gave orders 
 that Christopher should be led to the stables, and that 
 the excellent creature, whose life for some time past had 
 been so very eventful, should receive the best possible 
 care. As for Roger, he was simultaneously conducted to 
 his apartment, an apartment under lock of the superior's
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 57 
 
 key, and consisting of a large and a small room. Now, 
 the little room was that very little chamber so coveted by 
 Roger, which looked out upon the cloister. 
 
 Roger's interview with his aunt had been most touch- 
 ing. It had been three years since the good lady had seen 
 either the baron or the baroness ; and, in three years, 
 Roger had grown so tall, and he was so changed, that at 
 first sight the venerable superior had been slow to iden- 
 tify him, and had almost withdrawn the hand which, in 
 his joy on at last finding himself within the walls of the 
 convent that held the object of his love, the chevalier 
 had too enthusiastically pressed. But, at Roger's first 
 words of the baron and the baroness, saying that he 
 came in their name, full of anxiety as they were as to 
 her health, to obtain for them news of their sister and 
 sister-in-law, the good abbess had not held back. Tall boy 
 as he had grown, she folded her nephew in her arms, and 
 in a very motherly way returned on his brow the kiss 
 which she had just received on the hand. 
 
 It was all Roger could desire for the moment : he had 
 gained entrance. 
 
 Nothing was to be hoped for on that evening; besides, 
 the dear child must be so tired after having ridden forty 
 leagues on horseback, that all exertion was forbidden him 
 until the next morning. In his aunt's own room he was 
 served with a charming little supper, consisting of sliced 
 chicken with jelly, tarts, and preserves ; then he was 
 shut in his room, with orders to go to bed at once, and 
 not wake up until it was time for the morning service, 
 
 Roger submitted, not wishing to excite suspicion ; he 
 entered his room, and quite philosophically heard the 
 door of his apartment locked behind him with a double 
 turn. It is true that he still had the window. He im- 
 mediately ran thither, for it was the recreation hour;
 
 58 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 but, by an odious fatality, a heavy tliundcr-sturm, -wliich, 
 most cortidnly, liad little idea of what it was about at the 
 moineut, had just burst upon Chinon; consequently, as 
 the convent garden afforded no shelter, all the nuns, the 
 novices, and the boarders were just then within the 
 cloister. 
 
 Roger saw that, so long as that pelting storm endured, 
 he would be wasting his time waiting for any one to 
 come into the garden. Surely, had Constance known 
 that the handsome young man was standing there, his 
 heart beating, and eyes fixed upon the garden whither 
 she came daily to play, rain could not have stayed her, 
 and in spite of the harm that might result to her little 
 satin slippers and beautiful white gown, she would have 
 felt the need of an airing, however damp and unwhole- 
 some it was at the time. But the poor child believed 
 herself to be quite separated from the young man until 
 the vacation, at least, perhaps for a longer time still, 
 perhaps forever, and, leaning on the arm of one of her 
 friends, she was walking very sadly within the cloister, 
 her pretty little face, pale and sad, drooping above her 
 breast. 
 
 And then night fell quite gently, bringing to the hori- 
 zon beautiful bands of gilded clouds that clearly indi- 
 cated a magnificent day for the morrow. Roger believed 
 in prognostics of that kind. On the evenings preceding 
 his great hunting expeditions, wliich, before he had seen 
 Constance, had furnished the only excitements tliat could, 
 quicken his heart, he had more than once questioned that 
 celestial barometer which the inhabitants of our country 
 districts so skilfully interpret. He was, therefore, en- 
 tirely reassured as to the morrow. 
 
 This prospect brought him one of the best nights that 
 he had enjoyed for eight days. He fell asleep, confident
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 59 
 
 of the future. For, at fifteen, what is the future ? The 
 uext day, three or four Jays perliaps, — a weelc at most. 
 
 In tlie morning he awoke with the birds ; scarcely 
 were his movements heard before an aged nun rapped at 
 his door. Roger hastened to open it, and was met by his 
 early breakfast. The early breakfast consisted of a cup 
 of smoking cream, some little cakes that were yet hot, and 
 some candied fruits. 
 
 Roger found the fare rather cloistral, indeed, and infi- 
 nitely more elegant than substantial. However, as he 
 understood that it was merely an instalment, he asked 
 when the regular breakfast was served. He was told 
 that it came after mass. He then inquired the hour of 
 mass, and learned that it began at nine o'clock and ended 
 at eleven. Upon which, Roger drank his cream to the 
 last drop, and crunched his cakes to the very last crumb. 
 He was finishing his breakfast, when he heard the rus- 
 tling of a dress along the parquet, and saw his door open. 
 It was the good aunt coming to find out how her nephew 
 had passed the night, whether his bed had been soft, 
 whether he had slept well, whether he had had any bad 
 dreams, et cetera, et cetera. 
 
 Roger answered cheerfully all these inquiries ; more 
 than that, there was about him a little air of gaiety and 
 good health which, to eyes less solicitous than those of 
 his kind relative, would have answered of itself. He was 
 curled, trim, and bewitching enough for a veritable little 
 abbe. The good aunt felt an unspeakable desire to eat 
 her nephew. 
 
 Yet she had not forgotten the infantine grimaces made 
 by the dear little fellow, five or six years before, when- 
 ever the question of attendance upon divine service arose. 
 So she thought it would be necessary to resort to some 
 circumlocution in leading up to the subject which the
 
 60 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 devout dame conscientiously believed herself forced to 
 broach to tlie chevalier ; but to her great astonishment, 
 tlie clievalier met her with the response that since the 
 period of which liis aunt was speaking, lie was very niuch 
 changed in his attitude toward matters of religion ; that 
 he had reflected much on the subject, and that he had 
 come to regard hearing mass and vespers every day not 
 only as a duty, but as a [jleasure also. Such a dct^laration 
 overwhelmed the superior with joy. She gazed at her 
 nephew with pious affection, and declared that from that 
 moment she should cherish the hope of there being a 
 great saint, one day, in the Anguilhem family, as there 
 had been great lawyers and great captains, the nobility of 
 the Anguilhems being of both gown and sword. 
 
 Meanwhile, the bell rang for mass. Forced to put into 
 action the principles which he had just professed, Koger 
 gallantly ofiered his arm to his aunt to conduct her to 
 the chapel ; but, in this, Roger was deceived. The su- 
 perior gave him to understand that, during the interval 
 of six years which had rolled away since she had seen 
 him, he had become too big a boy and, above all, too 
 handsome a gentleman to enter the choir with her and 
 take his seat, as he had formerly done, on the steps of 
 her stall. He must simply take his seat with the congre- 
 gation, outside of the choir, which was reserved exclu- 
 sively for the nuns, novices, and boarders. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to submit to this rule ; 
 besides, by insisting, Eoger would undoubtedly have be- 
 trayed the influences that had suddenly rendered him so 
 deeply devout. He bowed therefore in token of submis- 
 sion, and asked that he be shown the direction he must 
 take in obedience to the instructions that he had just 
 received. 
 
 The convent chapel was already open to the faithful.
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 61 
 
 As the Augustine dames of Chinon riglitly passed for hav- 
 ing tlie most beautiful voices in the province, the divine 
 service at the convent was always well attended. Koger 
 slipped into the front row of auditors, and sat in as close 
 proximity as possible to the grille which separated the 
 choir from the nave. 
 
 His expectation was rewarded. Above all those virgin 
 voices which were lifted heavenward, he distinguished 
 cue, so sweet, so vibrant, so inspired, that he did not 
 doubt for a moment that the voice was the voice of Con- 
 stance. After that, his sole purpose was to follow that 
 voice in all its modulations, without for an instant losing 
 it among its companion voices. Hanging upon those 
 notes, it seemed to him that his soul rose with hers to 
 the celestial abode, whither she was going to sing the 
 glory of the blessed, and again returned with her to 
 earth, to which she descended to mourn the sins and sor- 
 rows of men, all the time soaring above earthly sounds, 
 like the nocturnes drawn from the ^olian harps by the 
 wind, and which might be taken for strains escaped from 
 the concerts of the spirits of air. 
 
 As long as the mass lasted, Eoger was like one en- 
 tranced. He had never heard, or rather, he had never 
 listened to the sacred music of the church, the most beau- 
 tiful of all. He discovered within himself answering 
 chords, of which he had himself been ignorant, chords 
 which vibrated to the depths of his soul, being awakened 
 at once by the double touch of love and religion. 
 
 Mass had been over for some time, and Roger still 
 knelt before the grating of the choir. Throughout the 
 sacred service the good superior had closely observed 
 him, and she had been edified by the profound rapture 
 depicted upon the face of her nephew every time the 
 choir began to sing. And she awaited his reappearance
 
 62 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 to congratulate liim upon the change wrought within him, 
 and which she no longer doubted, now tliat she had with 
 her own eyes beheld the symptoms. Hence she was not 
 at all surprised when Roger asked to withdraw a short 
 time to his own room, there to recover from the mysteri- 
 ous emotions that he had just experienced. Not only did 
 the worthy superior give assent, but, carried away by the 
 feeling of admiration which piety so profound inspired in 
 her, she even came very near asking the young neophyte 
 for his benediction. Roger left her under the influence 
 of that feeling and slowly retired to his room ; but barely 
 liad he given the key a double turn, when he ran to the 
 window and opened it. 
 
 The garden was thronged with young girls, who, like 
 bees, flitted from flower to flower, and revealed their in- 
 stinctive simplicity or pride, some in weaving wreaths of 
 marguerites, periwinkles, or violets, others in fashioning 
 crowns of roses, of tulips, or of lilies. 
 
 At a little distance from the group of girls scattered 
 here and there like flowers themselves amid the flowers, 
 walked two of their number, talking in low tones and 
 glancing uneasily around from time to time, as if to assure 
 themselves that no one was listening. One of the two 
 was Constance. Both had their backs turned to the win- 
 dow where Roger was standing, and they were pursuing 
 a path that ended at a wall ; hence it was evident that, on 
 reaching the end of the walk, they would retrace their 
 steps. This is just what happened. The two girls turned 
 round ; Constance raised her eyes mechanically toward 
 the window. The young girl recognized Roger, and, un- 
 able to control her surprise, she gave a cry of joy and 
 astonishment. 
 
 The chevalier had been seen, that was all he desired. 
 He stepped back.
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 63 
 
 The cry uttered by Constance had been so shrill that 
 her young companions came flocking about her to discover 
 the cause of it. Constance shrank back as a flower folds 
 upon its stem, and answered that she had stepped on a 
 pebble, her ankle had turned, and she was at first afraid 
 that it was sprained. 
 
 The poor child came very near sufi'ering the penalty of 
 her untruth, for she was instantly threatened with the 
 convent doctor, whom twenty at once of her officious com- 
 panions proposed to call. But Constance insisted with 
 such truthful emphasis that she no longer felt any pain, 
 that the girls who had gathered around went away one 
 after the other, as birds flit one by one, and, in a little 
 while they were again scattered about the garden. Con- 
 stance remained alone with her friend. 
 
 Soon the eyes of the two girls were slowly turned in 
 the direction of the window, and Roger clearly saw that 
 there was no secret between the two fair creatures. Then 
 he advanced, taking care, however, to keep in such a light 
 as to be seen only by those who knew of his presence. 
 Constance leaned against her friend's shoulder, and 
 blushed deliciously. Then she rose, and began to pick 
 a bunch of pansies, Avhich she placed in the sash about 
 her waist, and whose deep purple stood out in relief 
 against her white dress. And then, after walking about 
 a few moments, the two girls went indoors. An instant 
 later Roger heard steps in the corridor. He ran to his 
 door, but, quickly as he opened it, he was too late. He 
 saw nothing but two sylph-like forms, two shadows, two 
 visions vanishing at the extreme end of the gallery. But 
 in front of his door, as the sole trace of the flight of the 
 two school-girls, lay the bunch of pansies which, a mo- 
 ment before, he had seen in Constance's sash. 
 
 Roger pounced upon the bouquet, and kissed it again
 
 64 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 and again ; tlien, as lie heard the footsteps of liis aunt, 
 who, thinking that ho must have recovered from liis re- 
 ligious emotions, was coming for him to go to breakfast, 
 he quickly slipped the bouquet into his breast, and hasr 
 tened to meet the worthy superior. 
 
 ^Nothing so emboldens one as success. The chevalier 
 had seen Constance at a distance, and had been seen by 
 her. He had pressed against his heart the flowers that 
 she had worn ; it was more than he had hoped for at first, 
 and yet it was already not enough. He desired to meet 
 her. He must speak with her ; and he lay in wait for the 
 first opportunity, ready to seize it by the forelock when- 
 ever it presented itself. The good superior herself gave 
 it to him. 
 
 One can understand that the conversation between 
 Roger and his aunt was an interminable exchange of 
 questions on the one side and answers on the other. At 
 first the questions related to the baron and the baroness, 
 then to the farmers, and then to the land ; from this 
 they passed to the nearest neighbors, Avho were the Senec- 
 teres, then from the Senecteres they went on to the Che- 
 milles ; at last, leaving the Chemill^s, they reached the 
 Beuzeries. 
 
 " Ah, hon Dieu ! " cried Roger on hearing that name, 
 *' how fortunate, dear aunt, that you have reminded me 
 of a commission which I had utterly forgotten. Three or 
 four days before my departure for Chinon I met Mon- 
 sieur de Beuzerie when out hunting, and, as he knew I 
 was about to make you a visit, he begged to charge me 
 with a letter for his daughter. Now, what I have done 
 with that letter, which he sent me on the day before my 
 departure, I have not the remotest idea." 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu ! " exclaimed the good superior, " it is 
 to be hoped that you have not lost it. The poor little
 
 IN THE CONVEXT. 65 
 
 girl has been very sad since her return, and that letter 
 would have been a comfort to her." 
 
 " Indeed, aunt," said Roger, " I will search for it ; ifc 
 must be in my portmanteau. But if Mademoiselle de 
 Beuzerie is sad you should give her a doll, for she is still 
 a mere child, it seems to me." 
 
 " K'ot so fast, my practical man," returned the superior. 
 " You are wrong ; in a month Mademoiselle de Beuzerie 
 has become a young woman. I do not know what hap- 
 pened to her during her stay with her parents, but I do 
 know that she is no longer recognizable." 
 
 " But," said Roger, " I dined with her at Anguilhem 
 barely eight or ten days ago, an<l I must say, aunt, that 
 I did not observe the slightest trace of what you are 
 saying." 
 
 " Well, listen," said the good superior, " do you go and 
 look for the letter, and I will summon Constance. You 
 shall judge for yourself." 
 
 " Certainly, " said Roger, bending over to pick up his 
 napkin, for he felt the blood rushing to his face at such a 
 rate that he knew his blush would betray him if his aunt 
 chanced to glance at him, " certainly, aunt ; but," con- 
 tinued he, with an effort at self-control, " after breakfast, 
 if you please." 
 
 " Yes, yes, eat your breakfast, my boy, eat your break- 
 fast in peace. At your age it is an important matter, 
 I know ; but I beg that you will try to find that let- 
 ter, for if it is lost the poor child will be in despair, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Oh, it shall be found, my dear aunt ! You need not 
 be anxious. I think I remember, now, where it is." 
 
 " I am delighted ! " returned the abbess. " My poor 
 little girls, how I love them ! " 
 
 " Well, aunt," resumed d' Anguilhem, " I will not de- 
 
 5
 
 66 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 lay any longer the pleasure that you think this letter will 
 aUbrd to ]\raJemoiselIe Je Beuzerie. Send for her, and I 
 will proceed to look for the paternal epistle." 
 
 And Roger went out of the room with such an easy 
 air that, had the superior entertained any suspicions, 
 she could not have preserved them in the face of such 
 assurance ; hut she was a hundred leagues from hav- 
 ing any. She was, therefore, completely the dupe of 
 the chevalier. 
 
 Roger delayed his return for two reasons : first, that he 
 might have time to write a letter professedly from the 
 viscount ; secondly, because he wished to give Constance 
 time to compose herself. As to the contents of the letter, 
 the reader suspects beforehand ; it contained a conjuga- 
 tion of the verb " to love " in the past, present, and future 
 tenses. Roger also informed Constance as to the pass to 
 which matters had come between him and the viscount, 
 giving her, word for Avord, their interview in the warren 
 at Beuzerie. It was important that Constance should be 
 prepared, and should not permit herself to be taken by 
 surprise by any strategy on the part of her parents. 
 
 On returning Roger found JNIademoiselle de Beuzerie 
 beside his aunt. When she saw him Constance blushed 
 and paled by turns ; but fortunately her back was toward 
 the window, so that, placed as she was in her own 
 shadow, the good superior observed nothing. Roger ap- 
 proached the young maiden with great deliberation, and 
 presenting the letter, said, — 
 
 " Mademoiselle, will you pardon me, arriving as I did 
 last evening, for having so long delayed giving you this 
 letter? But Monsieur de Beuzerie expressly told me to 
 give you the letter personally, that I might bring him 
 positive news of your health, about which he seemed 
 quite uneasy. I have, therefore, begged my good aunt to
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 67 
 
 put you to this sliglit incoiivenicjucc. Yuu will pardon 
 me, will you not?" 
 
 Constance stammered a few words of thanks ; but, as 
 her first glance at the letter told her that tlie address was 
 not in her father's handwriting, she understood, and put 
 it in her apron pocket instead of opening it. 
 
 " Well, " said the superior, taking the young girl's two 
 hands and drawing her toward herself, " well, will this 
 letter console you any, naughty little pouter 1 for I have 
 heard about you. I am told that since your return you 
 do nothing but moan and sigh." 
 
 " Why, think of it, aunt, " interrupted Roger, who saw 
 that the poor child was on the rack, " one very naturally 
 cries a little on leaving one's parents. Then the convent 
 is not a very amusing place, is it, Mademoiselle Con- 
 stance 1 and distractions must be rare. " 
 
 " Well," said the abbess, " I intend to give you one 
 to-day, my dear little girl. Instead of dining in the 
 refectory with everybody, you shall come and dine with 
 me and my nephew." 
 
 " Oh, how delightful ! " cried Constance, unable to 
 conceal her first impulse of joy. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Roger, realizing that he must 
 not give his aunt time to analyze the feeling that 
 had wrested from Constance the exclamation of delight 
 which she had imprudently allowed to escape her ; 
 "Mademoiselle, am I to have the happiness of being 
 your messenger as I have had the honor of being Mon- 
 sieur your father's? and will you condescend to intrust 
 me with an answer to the letter I have brought you? " 
 
 " Are you then leaving so soon, monsieur ? " asked 
 Constance, blushing, 
 
 "Yes," returned Roger, "I am afraid that I shall be 
 compelled to leave Chinon at any moment. Alas ! I am
 
 68 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 in the hands of a tutor, and I confess that whenever I 
 hear a sound, Avlieuever a door is opened, I expect to see 
 the shrewd face of my dear Abbe Dubuquoi. Pray, lose 
 no time then, I beg, if you wish to prolit by the ojipor- 
 tunity that I offer for the delivery of your reply, which, 
 I am sure, is awaited most impatiently." 
 
 "In that case, monsieur," said Constance, "if our 
 good motlicr is willing, I will retire to read the letter 
 that you have brought, and to answer it. " 
 
 "Go, dear child, go," said the superior, kissing the 
 girl's forehead, " and do not forget that we expect you 
 to dine with us at two o'clock ; besides, I will send to 
 remind you." 
 
 "Oh! that will not be necessary, madarae, " replied 
 Constance. " It affords me too mucli pleasure to be with 
 you and monsieur your nephew, our kind country neigh- 
 bor, not to respond promptly to your kind invitation." 
 
 And, quite recovered from her first embarrassment, 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie made a most coquettish little 
 courtesy, and Avithdrew, her hand on the letter that she 
 kept in her pocket, while Hoger watched her departure 
 with his band over the bunch of flowers which he Avas 
 pressing to his heart. 
 
 Constance kept her word ; she was more than prompt. 
 At a quarter before two she was in the superior's room 
 •where Roger was waiting for her. As she entered he 
 asked if she had remembered her letter. Thereupon, 
 Constance, full of blushes, drew from her girdle a pretty 
 little note addressed to the Vicomte de Beuzerie, which 
 she delivered to Roger, but without having strength 
 even to commend it to his care. As for Roger, under 
 the pretext of fearing to lose it, he went off immediately 
 to secure it in his portfolio, he said, but in reality to 
 devour the lines that she had enclosed.
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 69 
 
 It was one of those charming child-compositions, very 
 naive, very affectionate, very sincere, full of promises 
 of undying love, born yesterday and sworn to last till 
 death. All those protestations covered four pages, and 
 yet this could have been reduced to three words : " I love 
 you." Roger first kissed the envelope, then the four 
 pages of tlie letter, back and front, then every line of 
 tlie four pages, and finally every word of every line. 
 Plis delight resembled delirium. 
 
 He returned and found Constance blushing like a 
 cherry. The two poor children exchanged a look full 
 of unspeakable happiness. At that moment, the door 
 opened, and the superior gave a pleased cry. At this 
 outburst, the two young people turned, and their eyes, 
 all shining with happiness, became clouded with tears. 
 
 The person whose unexpected appearance had elicited 
 a cry of pleasure from tlie superior was the Baronne 
 d'Anguilliem. 
 
 The two sisters embraced, while the poor children 
 glanced significantly at each other, as if to say, " All 
 is over." Then Roger approached his mother, who, in- 
 stead of emljracing him as she had just embraced his 
 aunt, merely gave him her hand to kiss. As for Made- 
 moiselle de Beuzerie, she made the baroness a deep 
 courtesy, to which the latter responded by a chilling 
 inclination of the head. 
 
 The two children stood trembling; but the baroness 
 said nothing, and after the first greetings exchanged 
 with her sister, she accepted the latter's invitation to 
 place herself at the table. 
 
 Constance longed to ask to be excused, but she dared 
 not. Her place was between the baroness and tlie supe- 
 rior, hence, during the entire dinner, she dared not raise 
 her eyes; more than once, indeed, Roger surprised a
 
 70 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 tear as it stealthily rolled down her cheek, and was 
 deftly brushed away with her napkin. 
 
 As for him, he blushed and turned pale ten times a 
 minute. He tried to eat, but his heart was so full that 
 the feat was impossible. 
 
 Meanwhile, the baroness was telling how it had 
 occurred to her also to surprise her dear sister, and how 
 the baron had been unable to accompany her, detained as 
 he was by his preparations for a journey that he contem- 
 plated taking with the chevalier immediately upon the 
 latter's return to Anguilhem. At this news of the 
 chevalier's prospective journey, poor Constance's tears 
 precipitated themselves more rapidly, and the chevalier 
 felt his heartache increase. At last, Constance could 
 contain herself no longer; she threw herself back and 
 sobbed aloud. In this unlooked-for explosion, the good 
 abbess beheld no more than the young girl 's grief, and 
 she questioned her — we must do her this justice — with 
 a mother's anxiety. But Constance only made answer 
 that she did not know what was the matter except that it 
 was probably what people called the blues, and that she 
 would ask permission to retire to her room. 
 
 This permission Avas the more readily accorded her as 
 Madame la Baronne d'Anguilhem did not at all press her 
 to remain. Constance withdrew therefore without one 
 consoling word ; for, restrained by his mother's presence, 
 E/Oger did not dare even to bid her good-bye. 
 
 After Mademoiselle de Beuzerie had gone and the 
 baroness thought that she must have re-entered her own 
 room, she bade her son go to his apartment and without 
 delay prepare his portmanteau, as it was the baron's 
 order that he should set out that same evening for 
 Anguilhem. Roger obeyed without a word of protest. 
 Filial respect was still, at that period, one of those
 
 IN THE CONVENT. 71 
 
 precious family virtues that were considered sacred , espe- 
 cially by the country aristocracy, that sanctuary of the 
 nobility. He therefore very meekly saluted his mother 
 and retired to his room. 
 
 The two sisters remained together.
 
 72 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 V. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM ESCAPED FROM 
 THE COLLEGE OF THE JESUITS AT AMBOISE WITH 
 THE INTENTION OF CARRYING OFF MADEMOISELLE 
 DE BEUZERIE, AND WHAT NEWS HE LEARNED ON 
 REACHING THE CONVENT. 
 
 It is unnecessary to tell the reader upon what topic 
 the conversation of the two ladies turned. Let us say 
 merely that at the end of an hour they summoned the 
 chevalier, Avho, quite crestfallen in his discomfiture, came 
 with his little portmanteau under his arm. 
 
 The superior knew all. She had sent to Constance for 
 the letter which the chevalier had brought her, pretend- 
 ing it to be from the viscount; but Constance had met her 
 friend in the corridor, and had quickly slipped the letter, 
 her only treasure, into the other's hand. Thereupon, as 
 no one knew of this incident. Mademoiselle boldly 
 replied that she had burned the letter they were asking 
 for, and that, if they doubted her, they had only to 
 search for it; and they did, but in vain. 
 
 The baroness had come with the horse and cariole, 
 escorted by the farmer. Christopher was tied at the side 
 of his mate, and they departed after a brief leavetaking, 
 during which the abbess maintained toward her nephew 
 the severe dignity befitting her wounded pride. 
 
 No sooner were Madame d'Anguilhem and her son 
 alone in the cariole, than the baroness, observing the 
 chevalier's sadness, lost all power to exhibit malice
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 73 
 
 toward the poor boy. Women have an instinctive syin- 
 pathy for all the pangs of love, and the strictest mother 
 becomes indulgent when a fault committed by the heart 
 is in question. Thus, instead of the dire reproaches 
 expected by the chevalier, there followed a train of 
 thoroughly logical arguments, based, first, upon the 
 chevalier's age, which was barely fifteen years; then 
 upon the difference between the fortunes of the Beuzeries 
 and the d'Anguilhems; and finally upon the plans long 
 cherished by Constance's father and tlie father of the 
 Comte de Croisey. But to all this reasoning Roger 
 opposed the following dilemma, as unanswerable and as 
 powerful as all the logic in the Avorld : — 
 
 " Mother, I love Constance, Constance loves me, and 
 we are firmly resolved to die if we are separated." 
 
 During the two days of the journey's duration, the 
 baroness attacked her son at all points ; but she exhausted 
 her logic without being able to obtain any response save 
 the one we have given. 
 
 When the chevalier's disappearance had become known, 
 a grand council was held at Anguilhem. The council was 
 composed of the baron, the baroness, and the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi. Now, the road he had taken had been learned 
 on the daj^ of Roger's departure, and, the direction once 
 known, it had not been difficult to guess whither he was 
 bound. The especial question before the council concerned 
 the means to be employed in checking the progress 
 of this love affair, which was exhibiting such alarming 
 symptoms ; or, at least, if it progressed, to prevent its 
 resulting in a serious breach between the two families. 
 The d'Anguilhems and the Beuzeries had always lived 
 on excellent terms as neighbors, and it was the intention 
 of the baron and the baroness still to maintain, on their 
 part, at least, those pleasant relations.
 
 74 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The decision arrived at by the triumvirate was to the 
 efifect tliat, on his return to Anguilhera, the chevalier 
 should be sent off to the College of the Jesuits at 
 Amboise to pursue a course in philosophy. Upon this 
 verdict the baroness set out to expedite his return, while 
 the baron, as Madame d'Anguilhem had told her son, 
 made preparations himself to conduct Koger to the capital 
 of the province, lest he should play some prank upon his 
 tutor while on the way. 
 
 Arriving at Anguilhem two days after his departure 
 from Chinon, the chevalier, therefore, found everything 
 ready for their start twenty-four hours later. Needless 
 to say, any thought of rebellion against the parental 
 decree was far from his mind. In the presence of his 
 sweetheart, the chevalier felt himself already a young 
 man; but when confronting the baron and the baroness, 
 he promptly realized that he was still only a child. 
 
 The journey was a dreary one. Between the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi, for whom he had no deep affection, and 
 his father, Avhose severity of countenance momentarily 
 checked his tender feelings, Roger was very ill at 
 ease. Besides, the thought that he, a child of the 
 woods, of the meadows, and of freedom, would have to 
 spend a whole year in a kind of prison with a throng 
 of people robed in black, who would impose the 
 rules of their order upon his life, this thought, I say, 
 weighed upon him as being a punishment out of all pro- 
 portion to the fault he had committed. Then, a whole 
 year without seeing Constance, — it was a century. 
 
 From time to time, it is true, there flashed through his 
 brain a plan which had at first terrified the chevalier but 
 to which, nevertheless, he became accustomed by dint of 
 thinking about it. It was nothing less then adding aU 
 the little savings that he could get together to the small
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIEE ESCAPED. 75 
 
 sum which the baroness had ah-eady given him at parting 
 and that wliich his father would no doubt give when 
 leaving him ; then, when he should find himself in posses- 
 sion of two or three hundred livres, which in the eyes of 
 the chevalier was a fortune, he would escape from the 
 college, set out for Chinon, scale the convent wall, carry 
 oflf Constance, run away with her, and be married by the 
 first priest they met. 
 
 Among the twenty-five or thirty volumes that Roger 
 possessed in his library at Anguilhem, there was a 
 romance entitled "L'Astree, " wliich had seen its best 
 days in the baroness' youth, and in which flourished any 
 number of kings who carried off shepherdesses and of 
 queens who espoused shepherds. Now, Kogor thought 
 that, however great the pecuniary distance separating 
 him from Constance, it was not to be compared with the 
 social distance between a powerful king and a poor 
 shepherdess, or a great queen and a humble shepherd. 
 Then, too, there is an age at which one thinks that life 
 is adjusted like a novel, and Roger had reached that age; 
 only, what he did not know was that, while they could 
 run away together at that age, they could not then be 
 married. 
 
 In extreme situations, such as, for the time being, we 
 have even thought hopeless, it is amazing, it is amazing, 
 I repeat, to what extent peace is yielded to the mind and 
 resignation to the heart by fixing upon a course of con- 
 duct, no matter what it lacks of common sense, let it pre- 
 sent not a shadow of success. Roger well knew that, 
 even supposing all the favorable circumstances, and many 
 such would be required, were leagued to second this plan, 
 it could be carried out only at a very distant date. But, 
 no matter! however distant the hour, by adding days and 
 months together, the hour must come. Point out to the
 
 76 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 traveller, worn out with fatigue, lost in the darkness, 
 wandering in a forest, ready to drop from weariness, point 
 out a light upon the horizon, be that horizon two or three 
 leagues away, and the poor wanderer will pluck up cour- 
 age and walk with a step as rapid and as eager as in the 
 morning at the time of setting out. 
 
 The chevalier, then, had already regained some degree 
 of courage on his arrival at Amhoise, and he entered 
 the college more resigned, apparently, than his father 
 had hoped for. This resignation touched the worthy 
 gentleman, who, it must be said, tenderly loved his 
 sole heir. Thus it came to pass that the paternal 
 heart melted, and the result of the softened mood 
 was a sum of seventy-two livres, represented by three 
 louis d'or which the baron slipped into his son's hand 
 at parting. 
 
 These three louis, added to the other two that the 
 baroness had given him, formed a total of five louis, or 
 one hundred and twenty livres, which was already a 
 pretty little beginning toward his savings. 
 
 Roger had comprehended that, in order to avoid all 
 suspicion, he must begin by applying himself to work 
 with exemplary assiduity. They do thorough work, as 
 we know, among the Jesuits, and although the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi was a preceptor very much above the ordinary 
 tutor, the good fathers, after examining Roger on what 
 he knew, nevertheless decided that it was necessary for 
 him to review his rhetoric. This news, which prolonged 
 to two years his one year's stay in college, Roger re- 
 ceived with greater fortitude than the abbe expected 
 from him. However, as the abbe, less easily deceived 
 than the baron, already suspected some wile to be under- 
 lying that appearance of resignation, he resolved not to 
 lose sight of his pupil.
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 77 
 
 But, vigilant and farseeing as the abbe was, in tliis he 
 was deceived. The clievalier's was one of those fertile 
 natures in which ideas have only to be sown for them 
 to bear fruit. Roger, who had no remedy for his love 
 but Avork, and who, indeed, pretending to work, shut 
 himself up to commune with Constance, Roger made 
 rapid progress; young things easily become enamored. 
 Our school-boy was enamored of Greek and Latin poetry ; 
 besides, in Virgil's Bucolics, in the Idyls of Theocritus, 
 he was always coming upon some dialogue between 
 shepherd and shepherdess that reminded the pupil of his 
 own situation. It was undoubtedly meagre comfort; 
 but meagre though it was, it aided our lover to Avait. 
 
 Roger's first care had been to ascertain whether among 
 his fellow pupils there were not some who came from 
 Chinon. Fortune gave Roger his desire; three of his 
 comrades were born in that town, and their parents lived 
 there. The new-comer allied himself with them, and 
 learned with a joy that can be understood, that one of 
 the three young men, Henri de Narcey by name, had 
 a sister in the Augustine convent. Now, as the sister 
 had been three years at the convent school , she must be 
 intimately acquainted with Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, 
 or, at least, she must know her. Here were the means 
 of correspondence. 
 
 Vacation time arrived. As Roger had entered college 
 only in June, and as the vacation began at the end of 
 August, a fear which had more than once beset his mind 
 was realized. On Our Lady's Day, he received from the 
 Baron d'Anguilhem a letter in which the worthy gen- 
 tleman employed all his logic to explain to his son that 
 the latter would do much better to spend his six weeks' 
 vacation in studying and making up for lost time, than 
 to return to Anguilhem. The truth was that the baron
 
 78 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 and the baroness were depriving themselves of the 
 pleasure of seeing their son, lest the neighborhood of 
 Beuzerie should rekindle in the chevalier's heart the 
 love which they thouglit about extinguished, because 
 Iloger no longer wrote of it. Also, to temper this 
 denial as much as possible to the poor student, the Abb^ 
 Dubuquoi was authorized to take him on excursions in 
 the neighborhood of Tours, and, as no one knew how 
 parsimoniously the chevalier had managed his little 
 hoard, the abbe was requested to give his pupil, out of 
 the funds intrusted to his administration, two louis 
 from the baron and one louis from the baroness. Now, 
 as Roger had spent but twenty-four livres during the 
 three months which had just rolled away, he conse- 
 quently found himself seven louis ahead. 
 
 Roger, then, had become intimate with the three 
 youths from Chinon, and particularly with Henri de 
 Narcey. Also, when the latter was on the point of 
 leaving for Chinon, the chevalier did not hesitate to 
 unburden his heart to him. He told how he had loved 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie and how she loved him; how 
 he had been sent to college at Amboise because his 
 parents disapproved of a love that did not meet with the 
 approbation of Constance's parents; and how, finally, 
 he was to be detained at college lest, during his stay at 
 Anguilhem, he should commit some imprudent act upon 
 finding himself so near Beuzerie. 
 
 Henri de Narcey understood it all perfectly, and he 
 enlisted himself and his sister in the service of his 
 comrade. Communication would be easily opened, 
 because he had often heard his sister speak of Mademoi- 
 selle de Beuzerie, and always as an intimate friend. 
 Indeed, Constance de Beuzerie and Mademoiselle Her- 
 minie de jSTarcey were never apart; and from the picture
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 79 
 
 of his sister that Henri drew for Roger, the latter recog- 
 nized the young girl who was arm in arm with Con- 
 stance on the day when he saw her in the convent 
 garden, and when, at sight of him, Constance had been 
 unable to repress the cry of surprise which she had been 
 forced to pass off as a cry of pain, 
 
 Roger intrusted a letter to Henri ; on her return to 
 the convent the letter was to be delivered by Herminie 
 to Constance; then, under cover of Herminie 's letter to 
 her brother, Constance could send back her answer. 
 Roger unfolded to Constance his plan of running away 
 from college, of carrying her oflf from the convent and 
 marrying her in the presence of the cure of the first 
 village that he came to on the road; once married, as a 
 matter of course, their stubborn parents must bestow 
 their blessing, whatever their dislike for the match. 
 The letter, too, was full of pledges of inviolable fidel- 
 ity and undying love. 
 
 The vacation arrived. The two friends parted, Roger 
 commending his interests to Henri, Henri swearing to 
 Roger that they could not be in better hands. Septem- 
 ber rolled away without Roger's manifesting the least 
 impatience. He only, of all his comrades, had remained 
 at college , and he worked in a way to satisfy the de- 
 mands of the most exacting. The Abbe Dubuquoi could 
 make nothing out of it. 
 
 At the beginning of October the students began to 
 return; but, although Henri was the one whom Roger 
 awaited with the most impatience, Henri was the last 
 to return. True, on his return there was a little letter 
 in the hand that Henri extended to Roger. 
 
 Oh ! it was a very brief little letter containing only 
 three lines ; but those three lines said more than vol- 
 umes. Here they are : —
 
 80 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "I love you no less than you love me. You offer me your 
 life. I give you mine. Take it, then, and do with it w hat 
 you will. 
 
 "Constance." 
 
 It would seem that tlio lihrary of I'euzerie must also 
 have contained some beautiful and alluring romance like 
 "L'Astree," suited to form the heart and mind of a 
 young girl. 
 
 Matters had progressed wonderfully, thanks to 
 Henri's ingenuity. As all letters that left the convent 
 were, naturally, previously examined, just as he was 
 setting off for Tours he had feigned indisposition. 
 This delay had given the Augustine boarding-pupils 
 time to re-enter their convent. In this way Herminie 
 and Constance had been able to meet again; and then, 
 on Henri's departure, he had made a farewell visit to 
 his sister, who, as she kissed him, had slipped the little 
 letter from Constance into his hand. 
 
 Roger was at peace, then, from that time forth. Any 
 effort on his part would be seconded by Constance. His 
 love was repaid with equal love, and more, with the 
 tenderness and the devotion that constitute the everlast- 
 ing superiority of woman's love over ours. 
 
 The days sped on, while Roger, faithful to his scheme 
 of economy, heaped up his little treasure saved from 
 the parental largess. Twice, to comfort their son in his 
 exile, which he was enduring for that matter with heroic 
 resignation, the baron and the baroness visited Tours. 
 On both occasions the name of Constance was scarcely 
 mentioned. Hence, on their second return to Anguil- 
 hem, both baron and baroness were convinced that their 
 son had become perfectly reasonable on that subject. 
 
 By the end of six or eight months, therefore, Roger 
 had lulled every suspicion to rest, and, as he had
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 81 
 
 attained his sixteenth year and completed his course in 
 rhetoric, it was hinted that, if he promised to commit 
 no more follies, he should not be sent back to college. 
 Roger promised whatever they desired. 
 
 lioger had turned over and over in his mind a thou- 
 sand plans of escape, each more unstable than the other. 
 It was no easy thing for any student to escape, and still 
 less so for Roger tlian for another, since, in addition to 
 the general surveillance of the good Jesuit fathers, he 
 was still under the particular surveillance of Abbe 
 Dubuquoi. At last Roger hit upon a very simple plan, 
 and it had occurred to him last just because of its 
 simplicity. 
 
 Like all the pupils who had attained their sixteenth 
 year, or who were in rhetoric or philosophy, Roger had 
 a private room, but in it, for the sake of greater precau- 
 tion, the abbe slept. True, once asleep, the abbe slept 
 soundly, and there was one most vociferous sign which 
 proclaimed when he was enjoying the very fulness of 
 sleep. In short, and to be brief, the Abbe Dubuquoi 
 possessed the infirmity of snoring. 
 
 Here, then, is what Roger, by dint of hard thinking, 
 at last settled upon. 
 
 On the night fixed for his flight, Roger would go to 
 bed as usual, and would let the abbe go to bed- but he 
 would take good care to observe where the latter placed 
 his clothes. Then, as he and the abbe were almost of 
 tlie same size, after the lights were all out, and by the 
 regular snoring of the abbe he felt assured that his 
 guardian was asleep, he would softly rise, array himself 
 in the black breeches, black coat, and bands, cover his 
 head with the dignity of the three-cornered hat, and get 
 out of the room as lightly as possible. In all probability 
 the abbe would not wake until the next morning at six 
 
 6
 
 82 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 o'clock, and, in that case, the fugitive would have eight 
 or ten hours the start of any who might attempt to 
 pursue. 
 
 As for a pretext to give the porter for going out at 
 such an hour, the pretext was already found. Roger 
 decided, too, that his escape should be made on Wednes- 
 day night. He had calculated that he would require 
 three good rests in going from Amboise to Chinon, and, 
 consequently, he would arrive there on Sunday. Once 
 there, he had decided upon nothing very definite, and 
 counted on taking counsel of circumstances. Only, he 
 would present himself to the attendant as an abbe, de- 
 liver a letter from Henri to his sister, and, by a certain 
 mark contained in that letter, a mark unintelligible to 
 any one but to her, Constance would know that Koger 
 was at Chinon. 
 
 The day of that momentous Wednesday glided by amid 
 keenest anguish on the part of Roger; but he had cher- 
 ished the plan too long to draw back from it at the 
 moment of execution. He therefore kept face and voice 
 under control; he had the courage to do his theme and 
 his translation. Finally, at supper, he ate as usual and 
 was ordinarily gay. Verily, the chevalier was predes- 
 tined to romantic adventures, and had received from 
 nature all the qualities requisite for their achievement. 
 At nine o'clock the abbe and the chevalier went to bed. 
 The abbe laid all his clothes on a chair near his bed; 
 then he extinguished the light. At the end of a quarter 
 of an hour he was sleeping heavily. 
 
 Roger waited for another quarter of an hour to pass. 
 He cautiously crept out of bed, pausing at every creak 
 it made. Finally, his feet touched the floor; he leaned 
 against the wall and paused a moment. The abbe's 
 snoring continued to make itself heard in dignified
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 83 
 
 periodicity. All was going well. Then he advanced, 
 his hands extended in the dark, until he touched the 
 chair which, for the time heing, was affording clothes- 
 pegs for the entire tutorial wardrobe. He transferred 
 the M^ardrobe from its chair to his bed, and there began 
 his toilet, which was accomplished without mishap. At 
 last, the toilet complete, "Roger, being perfectly trans- 
 formed from head to foot into an abbe, opened the door 
 as gently as possible, closed it in like manner, listened 
 to discover whether his various movements had won the 
 tutor from his sleep, gained the staircase, descended to 
 the court, Avhere, knocking boldly at the porter's lodge, 
 he declared, — 
 
 "It is the Abbe Dubuquoi, Monsieur le Chevalier 
 d'Anguilhem's tutor. j\Ionsieur le Chevalier d'Anguil- 
 hem is very ill, and I am going for a doctor." 
 
 Half asleep, the porter recognized through the case- 
 ment the abbe's garb, drew the cord as he muttered 
 something which Roger did not understand, and Roger 
 found himself outside. His first impulse was to run 
 straight ahead, but, after ten minutes of racing, he 
 stopped abruptly; he was about to pitch into the Loire. 
 
 There, he took his bearings. He knew that Chinon 
 was nearly twenty-five leagues from Amboise, and that, 
 in order to reach the former town, he had only to 
 follow the river's course. But there were two ways of 
 doing this, along the left bank and along the right. 
 Roger decided in favor of the right bank. That route 
 was longer by three or four leagues, it is true, but it 
 offered him greater security against being overtaken. 
 Thereupon he crossed between decks and walked all 
 night without stopping, arriving at Rouvray about six 
 o'clock in the morning. There, fatigue forced him to 
 make a halt. He had gone eiglit leagues at a stretch.
 
 84 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 He stopped at an inn, throw hiiiisolf on a bcil, and 
 onlored that lie sliould be awakened at ten o'clock. His 
 intention was to set out again as soon as he had break- 
 fasted. 
 
 When undressing, Eoger became aware that, in addi- 
 tion to his own purse, which he had slipped into one 
 pocket of his waistcoat, he was also in possession of the 
 abbe's purse, which had remained in the other pocket. 
 As the money it contained belonged to his father, Roger, 
 instead of conceiving any scruples, rejoiced greatly at 
 the circumstance which increased his funds by four 
 louis and a half crown, or ninety -nine livres. The 
 chevalier had now the wherewithal to proceed to the end 
 of the world. 
 
 While Roger was breakfasting, his host entered to 
 tell him that a boatman who was descending the Loire 
 and seeking passengers all along the route had sent to 
 inquire if he would not like to continue his journey by 
 water. Roger was delighted with the idea, since his 
 trail would more easily be lost by water than by land, 
 a boat's way on a stream being as difficult to discover as 
 any of those ranked by King Solomon, of proverbial and 
 poetic fame, as past finding out. 
 
 Roger therefore replied that if his journey would lose 
 nothing in speed by the proposed mode of locomotion, 
 he would accept with the greatest pleasure. The land- 
 lord assured him that, far from losing, he would gain, 
 since, by that mode, he could travel day and night. 
 This assurance so won Roger that, although the boat 
 would not leave for two hours, he charged the host to 
 engage his place at once. True, the advantage of trav- 
 elling all night easily made up the loss of two hours. 
 However, when the inn-keeper was going away, Roger 
 called him back to learn who were to be his fellow-
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 85 
 
 passengers on the way. He then found that they were 
 for the most part merchants going to Nantes on business, 
 officers rejoining their garrisons at Brest or Rennes, and 
 Parisians travelling for pleasure. There were none in 
 the list of whom he could be suspicious. The enumera- 
 tion, therefore, did not cause him to alter his first deci- 
 sion, and he sent the inn-keeper away, telling him that 
 the boatman could count on him. 
 
 Toward noon they really set off. The boat, or rather 
 the barge, towed by four strong horses travelling along 
 the bank, went at as good a rate as could be desired; 
 so that, all day long, Roger congratulated himself on 
 having chosen this mode of travel which promised him 
 progress by night not less rapid than that accomplished 
 by daylight. At three o'clock they stopped at Tours 
 for dinner; but, about five o'clock, they proceeded 
 again, and kept up an even speed until night. Ques- 
 tioned as to the distance they could make during the 
 night, the captain answered that on the following morn- 
 ing they would be at Langeais in time for breakfast. 
 On the strength of this promise, Roger wrapped him- 
 self in his mantle, lay down on a bench, and went to 
 sleep. 
 
 Yet, in spite of the precautions he had taken, Roger 
 was not without uneasiness. His slumber was very 
 much troubled by dreams. It seemed to him that he 
 saw appear on the horizon two horsemen, in one of 
 whom he recognized his father, in the other the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi, who, on seeing the barge, quickened the 
 pace of their horses. The barge, on the contrary, in 
 spite of Roger's entreaties to the master, slackened its 
 speed as much as the horsemen quickened theirs. 
 Finally, they were so near that Roger, still dreaming, 
 thought he had no other resource than to hide himself
 
 86 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 ill tlio (loptlis of the liold. He went down, therefore, 
 ■wedged liiinself bftweeu two casks and waited. In a 
 short time it seemed to him that the motion of the Large 
 not only became still slower, but that it ceased altogether. 
 Then he heard approaching footsteps; then he felt a 
 hand seize him by the collar. He was again a prisoner; 
 he gave a cry and awoke. 
 
 His first feeling was one of joy ; for, on o])ening his 
 eyes, he saw that he was still perfectly free. His 
 dream, however, was not all an illusion. The barge 
 had stopped and was at a standstill in mid-stream. 
 Roger Avent to inquire of the pilot the cause of their 
 lying to, and found him as soundly asleep as any of the 
 passengers. He hesitated a moment about disturbing 
 him; but the situation was too grave for his hesitation 
 to last long. He therefore shook the worthy navigator 
 by the arm, and the latter, muttering at being roused 
 from his slumbers, grumpily answered, as though the 
 event were quite natural, and one, consequently, that 
 nobody had a right to be surprised or disconcerted at, 
 that the barge was stranded on a sand-bank, an accident 
 that always happened three or four times in the trip. 
 This explanation given, the pilot dropped his head again 
 upon the helm, and he was fast asleep. 
 
 In fact the Loire was at that period what it still is 
 to-day, one of the most freakish rivers in France. One 
 is never certain of finding her at home. Like that 
 tyrant of antiquity who had twelve bed-chambers, she 
 never sleeps two consecutive nights in the same bed. 
 
 So then, they were on a sand-bar, as much as to say 
 that they were threatened with staying there until a 
 rainstorm should come to supply the river with the 
 water that was lacking, or until, by doubling or trebling 
 the number of horses on the tow-line, they should sue-
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 87 
 
 ceed in clearing the barge from the obstruction which 
 had stopped her course. 
 
 By putting one's self for a moment into Roger's place 
 it would not be difficult to imagine the effect that 
 such news would produce upon him. It was already 
 twenty-four hours since he started, and he had made 
 only fifteen or eighteen leagues, that is, he was barely 
 half way. Yet, however critical the situation, there 
 was only one thing to do, and that was to have patience. 
 If, by the next morning, the water had not risen, or if 
 the horses did not succeed in extricating the barge, the 
 chevalier would take the left or the right bank, it mat- 
 tered little which, and continue his way on foot. 
 
 This point decided in his mind, Roger tried to go to 
 sleep, but it was impossible. He remained awake, 
 therefore, thinking of Constance, and considering means 
 of reaching her. 
 
 This, on the whole, seemed the easiest way. Were 
 Constance, by means of a letter from Henri de Narcey 
 to his sister, forewarned of Roger's presence, she would, 
 undoubtedly, from that moment hold herself in readi- 
 ness for any event. By the help of a ladder, Roger 
 would then scale the convent wall, where it ran along a 
 perfectly deserted street. Then, as Constance's window 
 overlooked the garden, she could descend from her win- 
 dow by means of the ladder. Both would then scale the 
 wall and take flight to the nearest village, where any 
 priest would marry them. 
 
 While turning over all these ideas again and again in 
 his mind, Roger saw the day begin to dawn. But day 
 came without any alteration in the position of the 
 barge. The entire night had passed without the Loire 
 having found it expedient to rise an inch. The barge- 
 master, on the other hand, recognizing the insufficiency
 
 88 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 of his four animals, had gone to the nearest village in 
 search of reenforcoment, and had there secured eight 
 liorses, which, added to the first four, made a total of 
 twelve. But, in spite of the combined efforts of the 
 poor beasts and the more than conscientious lashes of 
 the whip which their driver rained upon them, the 
 barge moved no more than if it had struck root in the 
 bottom of the Loire. Two or three hours were thus 
 spent in fruitless efforts. 
 
 Roger bit his finger-nails in impatience, nor could he 
 understand the apathy of the passengers by whom he 
 was surrounded, who stolidly and tranquilly discussed 
 the event which so exasperated him, all suggesting 
 plans for their relief which were each more impracti- 
 cable than the other, and seeming, moreover, satisfied to 
 remain there until a miracle of God should come to ex- 
 tricate them. He was among people who were visildy 
 accustomed to descending the Loire, and, consequently 
 familiar with such occurrences. 
 
 Roger sought out the master of the barge, whom he 
 warned that if, in half an hour, the barge was not afloat, 
 he would leap into the water and swim ashore. The 
 captain was very tranquilly breakfasting upon cutlets 
 and Orleans wine. He listened to Roger's speech from 
 beginning to end, and inquired if he had paid his pas- 
 sage. Roger answered by exhibiting his receipt. There- 
 upon the captain assured him that he was at perfect 
 liberty to act as he saw fit, and he turned away to finish 
 his cutlets and empty his bottle. 
 
 Roger was seized with a mad desire to strangle the 
 barge-master. However, as he knew that a murder 
 would only complicate his case, he restrained himself, 
 and went on deck. 
 
 He hoped to find the passengers impatient, and thought
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER ESCAPED. 89 
 
 to take advantage of tlieir restlessness, and stir up a 
 little mutiny. Consequently he approached the ditfer- 
 ent groups; but, to his great astonishment, he found 
 that instead of busying themselves about the accident, 
 all were engaged in conversation about their own affairs. 
 The politicians were commenting on the conference at 
 Geertruidenberg, the officers were talking of the battle 
 of Malplaquet, and the merchants discussed the tithes- 
 tax. Roger saw that nothing was to be expected from 
 them, and he began to meditate the execution of his 
 threat to the captain of swimming ashore, when he saw 
 five or six boats push ofl' the bank and row toward the 
 barge. They contained natives who came to offer fresh 
 provisions, fruits, and cakes to the stranded passengers, 
 as the savages of the South Sea Islands surround the 
 vessels that wander into the Pacific Ocean. 
 
 Roger bought one boat's whole cargo on condition that 
 the boat should at once convey him to land. 
 
 The little abbe's departure interruj^ted the conversa- 
 tions for a short time. A few heads turned to see him 
 descend, and gazed after him a moment as he moved otf; 
 but very soon each had returned to his theme, and no 
 one seemed any longer to be concerned about the 
 deserter. 
 
 Roger landed opposite Luynes. He had a great mind 
 to gain the town, almost a quarter of a league distant 
 from the river-bank, and see if he could there find a 
 horse, but he thought that it would cause delay. Be- 
 sides, in taking a horse he must needs take a man, and 
 that would be admitting another into his secret. He 
 therefore decided to continue his journey on foot, and 
 immediately headed for Langeais, where he arrived at 
 seven o'clock in the evening. 
 
 There, however great Roger's desire to proceed, he
 
 90 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 was obliged to stop and spend tlie night. He must at 
 least make an hour's lialt fur supper and a little rest. 
 But how was he to set olf again on foot at eight o'clock 
 in the evening? Such a course was liable to arouse 
 suspicions; and besides, our swain had reached the place 
 where he must cross the Loire and proceed inland. Now, 
 as only the cross-roads led from Langeais to Chinon, the 
 chances were ten to one that he would lose his way in 
 the darkness. Willy nilly, therefore, Roger must spend 
 the night at the inn, and that his time might not be lost, 
 by tlie inn-keeper's aid he thorouglily familiarized him- 
 self with the route to be pursued the next morning. 
 
 At daybreak, Roger resumed his journey. He hoped, 
 by brisk walking, to be at Chinon about two o'clock in 
 the afternoon. In fact, at nine o'clock he breakfasted 
 at Armentieres. By noon, indeed, he stopped at Saint 
 Benoit, and at a few minutes before nine o'clock he saw, 
 at last, the towers and steeples of the much desired 
 town. Far from stimulating his courage, the sight 
 seemed to terrify him. He paused a moment, his legs 
 trembling and his hand pressed against his bosom as if 
 to still the beatings of his heart. Finally he plucked 
 up courage, and, ashamed without doubt of his weak- 
 ness, he started off at a quickened pace. Fifteen min- 
 utes later he had reached Chinon. 
 
 Then, as with all stout hearts, the approach of danger 
 aroused the chevalier's spirit. He proceeded directly 
 to the convent, knocked unhesitatingly at the door, 
 and sustaining with the utmost calm the scrutinizing 
 gaze of the attendant, he said, — 
 
 " Sister, a Mademoiselle Herminie de Narcey is, I 
 think, in your convent." 
 
 " Yes, brother," answered the attendant; " what would 
 you with her ? "
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIEE ESCAPED. 91 
 
 " I am charged by Monsieur Henri to give her this 
 letter. Will you have the kindness to present it to her, 
 after, of course, having submitted it, according to rule, 
 to your worthy superior 1 " 
 
 " I will do so at once," replied the attendant. 
 "Alas! poor dear girl, this letter will afford her great 
 pleasure, especially now when she is so sad." 
 
 " Sad ? and why ? " asked Roger Avith misgivings. 
 
 "At the loss of her dearest friend." 
 
 " Her dearest friend ? " repeated Roger with increas 
 ing alarm; "she has lost her dearest friend, do you 
 sayT' 
 
 "Ah, 1)1071 Dieii, yes," answered the attendant, lifting 
 her eyes heavenward. " The Lord lent her to us, and 
 the Lord has taken her away; it is well, for she was an 
 angel." 
 
 "But — but — her best friend," cried Roger, wiping 
 away the perspiration that rolled from his brow ; " her 
 best friend, if I mistake not, was — " 
 
 " Was Mademoiselle de Beuzerie," replied the at- 
 tendant; " you knew her, perhaps, dear brother? " 
 
 "Constance! Constance!" cried the chevalier. "In 
 heaven's name, go on, go on! What has happened to 
 her?" 
 
 "She died three days ago," answered the attendant, 
 " and was buried yesterday. " 
 
 Roger gave an appalling cry , swei'ved like a man struck 
 by lightning, and would have fallen his whole length 
 on the pavement had he not been caught in tlie arms of 
 the Baron d'Anguilhcm, who at that moment in turn 
 approached to enter the convent.
 
 92 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 IN WHICH WE ARE TOLD THAT THE CHEVALIER 
 d'aNGUILHEM WAS SO OVEKWHELMED WITH GKIEF 
 AT THE DEATH OF MADEMOISELLE DE BEUZERIE 
 THAT HE RESOLVED TO BECOME A JESUIT, 
 
 When" the chevalier came to liimself, he was lying on 
 a bed in the guest-chamber of an inn, and the I>aron 
 d'Anguilhem was sitting by his pillow. 
 
 On opening his eyes, he stared about him like a man 
 awaking from sleep and striving to collect his thoughts. 
 Then memory returned. He recalled what had jjassed at 
 the convent ; that, from the lips of the attendant, he had 
 learned of the death of Constance, and how, crushed by 
 the blow, he had fallen into the arms of a man whom he 
 had recognized as his father. 
 
 For an instant the chevalier strove to doubt his mis- 
 fortune; but his own condition, his tutor's clothes lying 
 on a chair, his father, Avho sat weeping beside him, all 
 were proofs of his misfortune too convincing for him to 
 be able to preserve hope. Turning to the baron, then, 
 with arms outstretched, he cried, — 
 
 " Oh ! father, I am so unhappy ! " 
 
 The baron adored his son. He lavished on him all the 
 forms of consolation that are current on such occasions. 
 He reminded him that he was a man, that man was born 
 to suffer, and to this end it was that God had given him 
 strength. It was all good orthodox doctrine; but to it 
 all, however sacred it might be, Roger responded, shak- 
 ing his head, —
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 93 
 
 " If my mother were liere ! if my mother were here! " 
 
 " "Well, and what would she do that I am not doing 1 " 
 demanded the baron. 
 
 " Oh! she would weep with me ! " cried Roger. 
 
 And he fell back on his pillow, sobbing aloud. 
 
 The baron thought that the best thing to do under the 
 circumstances was to let his son weep his fill. In fact, 
 tears afforded him some relief, and he began to be able to 
 speak of Constance. It was, as one can easily imagine, 
 to multiply questions about her illness and death. The 
 baron merely replied that he knew on the subject only 
 what every one else knew : the young girl had been 
 taken with smallpox, and, in spite of medical science, 
 she had died after six days of suffering. 
 
 The chevalier then declared that he wished to visit the 
 convent and see the room in which Constance had lived, 
 and the grave where she lay; that he wished to weep in 
 the one and pray beside the other. 
 
 The baron replied that the next morning a requie7n 
 was to be sung for the repose of the young girl's soul, and 
 if he would promise to conduct himself like a man, and to 
 set out in the afternoon for Anguilhem, he should be 
 present at the 7'equiem, and, after leaving the chapel, he 
 should be conducted by the abbess to Constance's cell 
 and then to her tomb. 
 
 The chevalier gave his word that he would command 
 himself. As to leaving Chinon, he would do that with 
 all his heart, for he realized how much, in his present 
 condition, he needed his mother's love. 
 
 The remainder of the day passed peacefully enough, 
 although sadly. Roger remained in bed, affecting, from 
 time to time, to be asleep. His father, believing that he 
 slept, soon went out on tiptoe, and, finding himself alone, 
 Roger was then able to weep as freely as he wished.
 
 94 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Night fell, and, however unhappy was the chevalier, 
 Avith the night came a little sleep. He dreamed of Con- 
 stance, and, strangely enough, instead of beholding the 
 young girl pale and dying on her bed, or white and cold 
 in lier cotfin, as often as she appeared to him, she seemed 
 to be full of life, with love in her eyes and a smile upon 
 her lips, just as she had been at Anguilhem, at Beuzerie, 
 or at the convent. Tlieu he Avould awake, his heart 
 beating rapidly ; for a few moments, lie would doubt his 
 own unhappiness, until the room at the inn, the clerical 
 garb, the step of his father, who occupied the adjoining 
 room, and who, at every sound made by the chevalier, 
 came to the door, all recalled him to the terrible certainty 
 that the death of Constance was itself not a dream. 
 
 At daybreak, Koger heard the ringing of the convent 
 bell; it Avas proclaiming the day's sad rite. Each slow 
 and muffled throb of the tolling bronze found response in 
 the depths of the clievalier's heart. 
 
 Another thing distressed him moreover: he had no 
 clothes to Avear but those in Avhich he had fled from. 
 Amboise, and he could not attend the service dressed 
 like an abbe ; his disguise, so grotesque in itself, seemed 
 to square badly with his grief. To run about the 
 country, to carry off Constance in that attire would have 
 Avorked to a charm, but to listen to the service for the 
 dead and to weep over her tomb, Avearing such a cos- 
 tume, Avould be profanation. 
 
 The heart has instinctive delicacies Avhich never lead it 
 astray. 
 
 Meanwhile, the baron Avas entering the chevalier's 
 room, folloAved by a servant from the chateau carrying a 
 complete suit of clothes. Thanking his father, Roger 
 asked how he had come by them. The baron re- 
 plied that the abbe, on arriving at Anguilhem, had
 
 THE CHEVALIEK RESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 95 
 
 informed the baroness in what equipment her son had 
 escaped, and that the baroness, riglitly suspecting that he 
 had run away to see Constance again, and, comprehend- 
 ing her son's embarrassment on reaching Chinon, had 
 immediately sent on this suit. A single fact annoyed 
 Roger: it was that his mother had not brought it 
 herself. 
 
 However, the chevalier dressed, for at eight o'clock 
 mass was to be said. To the baron's great astonishment, 
 Roger said not a word to him about Constance. In all 
 his father's answers, the poor lad had been conscious of a 
 degree of coldness and constraint which accorded but ill 
 with the frankness of his own grief. The baron, for his 
 part, dreading, no doubt, to revive his son's regrets, was 
 continually turning the conversation away from the only 
 theme that interested the chevalier. He did not under- 
 stand that, in crises of the nature of the one that his son 
 was experiencing, the first relief is drawn from tears, 
 and that the way to excite tears is to speak to the sorrow- 
 ing one of the loss for which they flow. 
 
 The baron therefore thought that Roger's affliction was 
 diminished because Roger wept no more. Alas ! the 
 tears were flowing inwardly, and falling one by one upon 
 his heart. 
 
 Roger set off with his father, and they proceeded to the 
 convent, walking side by side. But, on approaching the 
 door where twice he had presented himself so light of 
 heart, Roger felt the ground swaying beneath his feet; 
 houses, walls, and trees were whirling round him ; he was 
 obliged to lean on his father's arm. As for the baron, he 
 was visibly moved, on perceiving which Roger strove to 
 master his own emotion. 
 
 On arriving at the door, Roger again met the attend- 
 ant who had given him the terrible news. Accustomed
 
 96 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 as she was to the sight of great human griefs, the 
 poor ■woman herself seemed alfected by the chevalier's 
 pallor and sorrow. And when the latter, as he passed 
 her, secretly slipped a louis into her hand, she could not 
 restrain her tears. 
 
 Roger entered the chapel which, a year before, he had 
 entered in such happy-hearted confidence of recognizing 
 Constance's voice from among all the others. A year 
 had passed, and that voice, so pure, so sweet, so thrilling, 
 was hushed; and he was about to listen to all those 
 other voices, among which he would seek in vain for one 
 which now was singing in heaven the praises of the Lord. 
 
 The chevalier went to kneel on the very spot where he 
 liad knelt a year before, and there, for the first time, he 
 felt that sublime necessity for prayer which comes in 
 times of great grief. There for the first time his soul 
 entered into communion with that other world of which 
 one never catches a glimpse save through a veil of joy or 
 of despair, of which one can conceive only in moments 
 of supreme bliss or of supreme grief. 
 
 The entire service passed, and although Roger's tears 
 never ceased to flow down his cheeks, not a sob escaped 
 his breast. Prayer renders weeping easy and soothing. 
 
 Mass ended, the baron conducted his son to the supe- 
 rior. Perhaps the worthy nun nursed some rancor 
 toward her nephew for the trick that he had played her 
 before, and that he had quite recently intended to repeat ; 
 perhaps she had promised herself to administer some 
 reprimand, kind but stern, for her aspect, at first, was 
 dignified and cold ; but she heard a heart-rending cry, — 
 
 " aunt, aunt, why did you let her die 1 " 
 
 She was i;nable to withstand a grief so real and one 
 which manifested itself by such marked alteration of 
 face and voice. The good superior melted into tears.
 
 THE CHEVALIEU RESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 97 
 
 Roger took advantage of lier mood to remind his father 
 of the promise he had made to ask his aunt's permission 
 for liim to visit Constance's cell. The superior raised 
 some little objection, but yielded after having called a 
 nun and, in a low voice, given her a few orders which 
 were doubtless designed to remove from Roger's sight 
 any object that might further excite his grief. 
 
 A few moments later, all three descended; the corri- 
 dors were deserted. It seemed as if death had at a blow 
 depopulated every cell; the girls were in the garden. 
 
 The abbess opened the door of Constance's room, and 
 was preparing, like the baron, to follow Roger; but 
 Roger begged them both to allow him to remain alone a 
 moment within the sanctuary of his love. Father and 
 aunt exchanged glances; then, doubtless, seeing no im- 
 propriety in his request, they gave a sign to Roger that 
 he might enter. 
 
 Roger went in, closed the door behind him that he 
 might be alone, and advanced reverently and with 
 clasped hands toward the bed on which Constance had 
 breathed her last sigh. Nothing indicated that death 
 had passed that way. The chevalier bent over the virgin 
 pillow to imprint thereon a kiss. It still exhaled an 
 odor of tlie sweet and delicate fragrance that emanates 
 from youth and health. One would have said that she 
 who had left it three days ago for the tomb, had gone 
 out but that very morning to run with tossing hair about 
 some meadow all strewn with flowers and variegated 
 with butterflies and bees. 
 
 This contrast between the place and the scene there 
 enacted, of which nothing seemed to have preserved a 
 trace, broke Roger's heart. Thus came home to him 
 the great truth that we are destined to pass away from 
 the earth leaving no trace other than the memory re- 
 
 7.
 
 98 SYLVANDIRE. . 
 
 taiued by tlioso who have loved us ; and yet, how sliort 
 a time do the most deeply wounded hearts preserve that 
 memory ! 
 
 Roger vowed that in his the memory of Constance 
 should live forever. 
 
 Then he arose, examined one after another all the 
 objects comprising the furnishing of that little room, 
 whose picture he Avished his mind to retain. At the 
 left of the entrance, against the wall, were a crucifix and 
 a prie-dieu; on the prie-dieu lay Constance's tiny missal. 
 Roger went and knelt before the prie-dieu, kissed the 
 little volume, opened it at the place where the book- 
 mark showed it to have been opened last, and read the 
 prayer that Constance had undoubtedly read. It was the 
 angelic salutation, the " Ave Maria, " that sweet and 
 poetic promise of an angel to a virgin, of heaven to earth, 
 of God to man. 
 
 The fireplace was opposite. On the mantel were two 
 porcelain vases overflowing with flowers which, thanks 
 to the water that fed their stems, had survived her wlio 
 had plucked them. Between the two vases shone a little 
 mirror, a worldly infringement of the convent rules, but 
 one that the superior permitted such of her inmates as 
 were destined to re-enter the world. Roger culled a 
 pansy from each of the half-wilted bouquets, and pressed 
 his lips to the mirror which, unfaithful and forgetful like 
 the rest, was ready to reflect any new face that might 
 pass before it, without retaining a shadow of the angelic 
 one that it had so often reflected. 
 
 From the mantel, Roger advanced to the window. 
 As we have said, the window overlooked the garden. 
 It was the one that he had already seen; the young 
 girls gathered there were the same, but with what a 
 diff'erence ! Buoyant and gay before, they were now silent
 
 THE CHEVALIER EESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 99 
 
 and sad. They did not play; they walked in groups 
 and in retired spots. Alone, quite alone, walked Her- 
 minie de ISTarcey, the faithful friend of poor Constance. 
 
 This last sight was the most terrible of all for Roger. 
 There, on those young hearts, those virgin souls, blank 
 pages of the book of life, as yet scarcely opened, was the 
 real impress of the death whose traces Roger had vainly 
 been seeking within; there was the void left in the air 
 by the dove in its heavenward flight. 
 
 Just then the door opened. More than a half-hour 
 had elapsed since Roger had entered Constance's room, 
 and, as he did not emerge, his father and his aunt were 
 fearful of some new misfortune brought on by too violent 
 emotion. 
 
 With breaking heart Roger left the little room, feeling 
 that he was taking forth memories for a whole lifetime, 
 and yet he was outwardly so calm that, upon asking his 
 aunt, in accordance with the baron's late agreement, to 
 allow him to visit the tomb of Constance, not only did 
 neither the baron nor the superior make any objection, 
 but both offered to accompany him thither. 
 
 The convent burial-ground was within the cloister. 
 Roger had therefore barely a hundred steps to take on 
 leaving the room in which Constance had reposed for a 
 time to reach the abode where she would sleep forever. 
 At the entrance of the cloister, as at the door of her 
 room, Roger asked to be alone; grief is devout, tears 
 are ashamed. Alone, then, Roger entered the little 
 graveyard. 
 
 Here, as in all convents, was a quadrangle surrounded 
 by columned arcades, enclosing a plot of turf-covered 
 ground whose surface was embossed all over with graves 
 more or less salient, according as the interval elapsed had 
 allowed them to become more or less sunken. On such
 
 100 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 a spot especially is felt the marcli of time, the great 
 leveller under whose tread gradually crumble away the 
 palaces of the living and tlie tombs of tlie dead. Slowly 
 Roger advanced toward a mound that was freshly rounded 
 and covered by a slab on which there had not yet been 
 time to inscribe a name. There was no mistaking it, 
 and it was plain that the grave dated from the day 
 named as that of Constance's burial. Roger knelt be- 
 side the stone and prayed. 
 
 This was his final ordeal, and it lasted i;ntil the baron 
 and the superior came for him. He had said good-by 
 to the chapel where Constance had prayed, to the room 
 in which she had lived, to the tomb where she was laid 
 to rest forever. There was nothing to keep him longer at 
 Chinon ; so Roger let them lead him away like a child, 
 and after mechanically taking leave of his aunt, he got 
 into the cariole in which his father had travelled, not 
 unresistingly, merely, but even without uttering a word. 
 The journey was more quickly made than the first. In 
 coming, the baron had changed horses three times on 
 the way, at Loches, at Sainte Maure, and at I'lle Bou- 
 chard, so that there was no occasion for delay ; at each of 
 these places a fresh horse Avas taken, and by noon of the 
 next day they were at Anguilhem. 
 
 During the entire journey, Roger had remained ab- 
 sorbed in the profoundest apathy, without a tear, with- 
 out a sigh, and almost without feeling. On meeting his 
 mother again, however, the poor child found his tears j 
 but the shock had been too violent; on that same even- 
 ing fever manifested itself, and Roger fell seriously ill. 
 
 Then, in all its admirable devotion was displayed that 
 mother's love, so many proofs of which the baroness 
 had already given her son. As long as Roger was ill, 
 she never left his bedside for a moment, sitting with
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 101 
 
 him by day, watcliing beside him at night, speaking of 
 Constance without ceasing, praying and weeping with 
 him, fusing her soul with his, divining all his feelings, 
 anticipating every desire, having no life but his life, no 
 will but his will. Sometimes, when she thought him 
 asleep, Roger would surprise her gazing on him witli an 
 expression of infinite tenderness in which he seemed to 
 detect a blending of grief and remorse. Twenty times 
 was he on the point of questioning her as to the peculiar 
 expression that he detected in her eyes; but Roger had 
 not strength enough to be curious. What mattered all 
 the workl to him ? Constance was not there. 
 
 The chevalier's illness was long; then it insensibly 
 drifted into a sombre melancholy more dangerous than 
 the malady whose place it took, for Roger abandoned 
 himself to this melancholy, and, after having submitted 
 to every form of treatment that had been prescribed for 
 the cure of his physical disease, he would do nothing to 
 cure that of his mind. In vain his father proposed rid- 
 ing, hunting, fencing. All the sports of which he had 
 formerly been passionately fond now wearied him to the 
 point of inspiring disgust. His studies were his sole 
 diversion; and, one fine day, to the great amazement of 
 his father and mother, Roger asked to go back to the 
 college of the Jesuits of Amboise. 
 
 Whatever sorrow they might have felt at thought of 
 parting with their son in his present state of mind, the 
 baron and the baroness nevertheless- welcomed his request 
 with joy. It proved that Roger was again taking up an 
 interest in life. It had been three months since he had 
 expressed any desire whatever, hence his request was 
 met witli no denial. 
 
 Roger returned then to Amboise, still under the care 
 of his tutor. This time, his father and his mother accom-
 
 102 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 panied him, the baroness having desired to make the 
 journey that she might in person commend her son to 
 the reverend Jesuit fathers. 
 
 A great disappointment awaited Roger. lie had re- 
 entered college during the vacation and had fully expected, 
 at the re-opening, to see his friend Henri de Narcey return ; 
 but he waited for him in vain. Henri had completed his 
 course in rhetoric, and his parents, liaving destined him 
 for the bar, had not thought it best that he should take 
 philosophy. Roger therefore found himself completely 
 isolated with his sorrow. 
 
 Then a religious fervor developed within him, no trace 
 of which had manifested itself before the event that had 
 brought it forth from the depths of his heart. Roger 
 passed whole hours within the chapel, praying until he 
 Avould fall into a kind of ecstasy that usually terminated 
 in a flood of tears. The reverend fathers very soon per- 
 ceived this tendency, not toward devotional exercises, — 
 Roger was not a practical devotee, he forgot even the 
 hours of the services, to which he had almost always to 
 be summoned, — but toward pious reverie. They compre- 
 hended what an excellent recruit for the order would be 
 an exalted soul like that of their young guest, attended 
 by a fertile mind, and one that, in all likelihood, would 
 recover later all the vigor that it had momentarily lost; 
 thus, every kindness, every enticement, every flattery be- 
 set Roger. There is an infatuation in religion for young 
 and tender hearts. Roger, to whom Constance had 
 become an angel, directed all his longing toward heaven. 
 The rector was an ingratiating, adroit, eloquent man, 
 fired with that zeal of proselytism which is nowhere so 
 pronounced as in the order of which Ignatius Loyola was 
 the founder. He sent for Roger, sounded his feelings, 
 strengthened his inclination, and managed so successfully
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO BECOME A JESUIT. 103 
 
 that one fine morning at the end of six months Roger 
 announced to his tutor that he had firmly resolved to join 
 the order of the Jesuits. 
 
 As the Abbe Dubuquoi was a member of the order, 
 and as the plan of sending Roger to the college at 
 Amboise had been of his own suggesting, fear seized him 
 lest the chevalier's parents should think that he had been 
 the one to inspire his pupil with this singular notion of 
 taking the vows. Hence he immediately wrote to the 
 baron of what was on foot, begging him to come without 
 loss of time, if he wished to arrive before the reverend 
 fathers had quite taken possession of his son's mind. 
 
 The baron realized at a glance the danger threatening 
 Roger; he put Christopher to the cart, and the next 
 morning fomid him at Amboise.
 
 104 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 VII. 
 
 HOW MADEMOISELLE DE BEUZERIE APPEAKED BEFORE 
 THE CHEVALIER d'aXGUILHEM TO DISSUADE HIM 
 FROM TAKING THE VOWS. 
 
 The baron found Roger quite cool and very determined. 
 If the project that he liad conceived had been the result 
 of excitement, the baron would have entertained some 
 hope that, when the excitement had passed away, the 
 desire engendered of it would have vanished with it ; but 
 it was not so, and the matter was becoming very serious, 
 the more serious because of its having occurred at this 
 period of the reign of Louis XIV., or rather of Madame 
 de Maintenon, when all things revolved about religion, 
 and when such powerful protection was given to the heads 
 of churches or the superiors of convents that, in many 
 instances, young men and women of the first families of 
 France had become monks and nuns in spite of the oppo- 
 sition of their relatives. The baron, therefore, could 
 think of no better plan to adopt with the chevalier than 
 persuasion. 
 
 And so he tried that; but to all the baron's pleas, 
 Hoger responded that he was obeying an inner voice, that 
 it was the voice of conscience, and that, from the moment 
 of losing the only being tliat held him to earth, he had 
 felt himself drawn by an irresistible vocation. 
 
 The baron then addressed the rector of the college and 
 solicited his help to combat the chevalier's resolve; but 
 the rector replied that he would regard it as an offence in
 
 CONSTANCE APPEARS TO THE CHEVALIEK. 105 
 
 the sight of God to lead away from heaven a soul that 
 was seeking salvation. Therefore all that could be 
 extracted from him was that he Avould refrain from incit- 
 ing Roger forward on the course upon which he had of 
 his own accord entered ; that he had, moreover, imposed 
 this restraint on himself up to this time, and that he 
 should continue to do so. The baron really could ask no 
 more. 
 
 Three or four days were spent in fruitless effort. Finally, 
 toward evening on the fifth day, there came a letter from 
 the baroness who, informed by her husband as to the 
 state of affairs, wrote to entreat the chevalier that 
 he would come and spend a fortnight at Anguilhem 
 before decisively making up his mind, promising the 
 neophyte that if, at the end of this time his determination 
 still held out, she would leave him free to follow his 
 wishes. This request was too motherly and too reasona- 
 ble for Koger not to accede to it at once. 
 
 The next day, after having received the rector's bles- 
 sing, the future Jesuit set out for Anguilhem in company 
 with the baron and the abbe, the last two cursing from 
 the bottom of their hearts the fatal day when Mademoi- 
 selle de Beuzerie first set foot at Anguilhem. Indeed, 
 since that unlucky day, it was plain that everything had 
 been at sixes and sevens in the home until then so tran- 
 quil, and whose inmates, formerl}^ the most staid in the 
 province, were now spending their time chasing each 
 other up and down the highways of tlie land. 
 
 The baroness renewed the arguments already tried by 
 the baron ; but, despite all her motherly persuasion, she 
 could not vanquish the chevalier's obstinacy. On the 
 other hand, it was in vain that his father talked to him 
 of hunting, riding, and fencing; to all these worldly 
 incitements Eoger would reply that they were profane
 
 106 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 exercises, not at all hecoming in a man who intended to 
 consecrate himself to the Lord. After this rcbufl", the 
 baroness, too, began to despair of restoring to her son's 
 mind tlie idi\is which he had formerly entertained as to 
 a gentleman's future, and which the fatal event tliat we 
 have just related seemed to have effaced from his mind. 
 
 Thus, twelve days went by, during which the baroness 
 renewed her pleading, but always in vain. At last she 
 herself had apparently renounced all hope, and lloger was 
 freed from her motherly besetments which, however, he 
 had met with a firmness ever tempered with respect and 
 veneration. The whole of the thirteenth day, therefore, 
 passed in sadness and very nearly in silence; for, as 
 Roger's intention had been the never-ending topic of 
 conversation from the time of his arrival at Anguilhem, 
 as soon as they ceased to speak of that, they knew not of 
 what to speak. 
 
 The evening was quieter and more melancholy even 
 than the day had been, and each retired early to his own 
 room. As usual, Roger said his prayer before a large 
 picture representing Clirist on Mount Calvary, which, on 
 his last return, already occupied with religious ideas, he 
 had had brought into his bed-chamber from an ancient 
 chapel in the chateau which had been converted to the 
 uses of a ground-floor cellar. Then, wrought up into one 
 of the fervid ecstasies that sometimes took possession of 
 him after his prayer, he got into bed and very soon fell 
 into that state of somnolence which is neither waking nor 
 sleeping. 
 
 On extinguishing his light, Roger had remarked a cir- 
 cumstance due no doubt to chance, but Avhich in his pious 
 fervor he had attributed to one of those special favors 
 which he believed heaven sometimes granted him. A ray 
 of moonlight, falling through an oval aperture made in
 
 CONSTANCE APPEARS TO THE CHEVALIER. 107 
 
 the upper part of the shutter that closed his window, 
 lighted up the sacred scene of the picture, placed exactly 
 opposite the foot of his bed. It was with eyes fixed on 
 this picture that Roger had let himself sink gradually 
 into that religious rapture of which we have spoken and 
 which began to fade into somnolence, when it seemed to 
 him that the picture was turning of itself and that a 
 young girl, covered with a long white robe and Avith 
 veiled face, was substituted, by a slow and almost insen- 
 sible motion, for the sacred picture ; then, when the 
 painting had completely disappeared and the nocturnal 
 ray that had illuminated it shone on the young girl with 
 its soft light, tlie apparition gently raised her veil, and 
 Roger, trembling with both joy and fear, recognized 
 Constance. 
 
 It was indeed she, it was indeed that charming daughter 
 of earth become an angel of heaven; and Roger's first 
 movement was to rise in bed and extend his arms to her, 
 but by a wave of the hand, the shade signified to the 
 youth that he must remain where he was, and in a voice 
 whose every tone vibrated to the depths of her lover's 
 heart, she said, — 
 
 " Roger, I have been permitted to come and say that 
 the sacrifice you wish to make to my memory is too 
 great. It is not your destiny to bury yourself in a cloister, 
 but to hand down the name of your fathers which would 
 die with you ; therefore renounce, I entreat you, this idea 
 of taking the vows, and if need be, I command you. 
 Adieu, Roger, remember what I say ; for I have spoken 
 the will of the Lord." 
 
 At these words, a movement the reverse of that which 
 had brought the white vision to Roger's view took place, 
 and, regaining the position that it had for a moment left, 
 the picture was again seen in the light.
 
 108 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Roger had nMiiaineJ breatliless, liis brow damp with 
 perspiration and his eyes wildly staring, as h)ng as the 
 vision lasted; but scarcely had it disappeared when, 
 doubting his senses, he leaped out of bed in order to 
 assure himself by touching it that the picture was indeed 
 in its place. Nothing was altered. His hands ran over 
 the frame, the canvas, the wainscoting, and he con- 
 vinced himself that no one could either have entered or 
 left the room, fastened as it was from within. It was 
 truly then the spirit of Constance that had appeared to 
 him. 
 
 We can imagine what the remainder of the niglit was 
 to Roger. As long as it was dark, he had no doubt as 
 to the reality of the vision ; she was there still, present 
 to his sight. He saw again the pale sweet face of his 
 young friend ; he heard her gentle voice ; he felt, so to 
 speak, reaching toward him, that hand whose imperative 
 movement had commanded his silence and quiescence, 
 and whose gentle gesture had bade him adieu. But, 
 whatever the young man's faith and trust, when the 
 tints of dawn came to chase from his room the solemn 
 and mysterious obscurity of the night, the stones of the 
 fanciful castle erected in a dream fell one by one, and 
 he passed from the profoundest conviction to the most 
 absolute incredulity. 
 
 Yet, during the day he was restless, dreamy, pre- 
 occupied. Several times his mother inquired what cause 
 had brought about the change visible in him since the 
 day before, but the baroness obtained no answer save a 
 wan smile full of melancholy. As for the baron, he 
 seemed to have resigned himself to the chevalier's de- 
 termination, and to have lost all hope of inducing him 
 to renounce his project. 
 
 The day passed, however, without anything unusual
 
 CONSTANCE APPEARS TO THE CHEVALIER. 109 
 
 occurring. Roger left the chateau and went for a walk in 
 the little wood surrounding it. Occasionally, quick blushes 
 suffused his countenance, as if the blood were suddenly 
 rushing from his heart to his face ; occasionally he would 
 give a start, and his eyes would seem to follow through 
 the grove a fleeing shadow, visible to him alone ; then, 
 suddenly, a deep sigh would escape him and two great 
 tears fall from his eyes. That was much for Roger, 
 since, for more than six months, he had not been known 
 to weep. 
 
 Roger waited for night with an uneasiness that was 
 mingled with dread. More than once, during the even- 
 ing meal, his mother, who did not take her eyes from 
 him, saw him furtively wipe away the perspiration that 
 beaded his forehead. At the same hour as on the day 
 before, he asked to be allowed to retire, and he left the 
 dining-room for his bed-chamber. 
 
 We have told how, with the daylight, doubt, then in- 
 credulity, and finally, the conviction that his spiritual 
 visitant was but a dream, had succeeded each other in 
 Roger's mind; but, in contrary train, with the approach 
 of night, his heart began to resume its faith, and, when 
 he found himself alone in his room, lying in bed, his 
 light extinguished, when he again saw the same moon- 
 light illumine the same picture, all his former certainty 
 returned and the supposed dream again enforced on him 
 its reality. 
 
 There was almost an hour of silence, during which 
 nothing stirred and Roger heard only the beating of his 
 heart. For an hour his burning eyes were unavailingly 
 fixed upon the motionless picture; then suddenly the 
 frame seemed to merge into the wainscoting and, as on 
 the night before, the picture receded from his sight. 
 After a moment there was no more doubt, for he began
 
 110 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 to distinguish the whitu robe of Constance, then the 
 young gii'l distinctly appeared ; the miracle of the previous 
 night had again been wrought. 
 
 " lioger, " she said, "you have not believed my words, 
 and I am permitted to come and repeat them, lloger, 
 abandon this melancholy resolution which brings despair 
 to your family. Roger, I accept not the sacrifice that you 
 would make. You are born for the world and not for the 
 cloister; live for the world and be happy." 
 
 Then, as if this time the vision still feared lest doubt 
 should come to efface the impression made by her pres- 
 ence, she detached from her girdle a cluster of pansies 
 like that she had in life let fall in the corridor of the 
 convent at Chinon; and, witli the gesture made in wav- 
 ing adieu, she let it fall to tlie floor. 
 
 Roger sprang from his bed; but already the picture 
 was in its place. Not a trace remained of the maiden's 
 apparition, unless it were the bunch of pansies which 
 with an impulse, full at once of joy and fear, an impulse, 
 we must confess, infinitely more worldly than pious, the 
 chevalier carried to his lips. 
 
 There was no room for doubt this time; a material, 
 visible, tangible proof of the gracious phantom's passage 
 had remained in Roger's hands. The young man re- 
 turned to his bed pressing the flowers to his heart, and 
 still expecting some new apparition. But it was in 
 vain. 
 
 He was awake with the day. This time, as before, his 
 first impulse was to believe that he had dreamed; but the 
 flowers were there in his hand, faded, but present. Ah ! 
 this time, the matter presented an aspect very different 
 from yesterday's; the shade of Constance, wrested from 
 her tomb by a miracle of love, had really been present 
 with him.
 
 CONSTANCE APPEARS TO THE CHEVALIER. Ill 
 
 On the morrow, Roger was to set out on his return to 
 Amboise; hut would the gracious apparition dare to 
 follow him to Amhoise, into the midst of that formidable 
 assemblage of black-robed men 1 Would not going back 
 be to disobey the orders of those lips that he had so 
 loved ? 
 
 But how could he retract a determination so publicly 
 signified ? How, after having resisted every entreaty of 
 his father and his mother, could he himself suggest pro- 
 longing his stay at Anguilhem ? It was impossible, worse 
 than impossible, it was ridiculous ; and Roger, let us say, 
 for it is not our purpose to be eternally sounding his 
 praises, was possessed of almost as much self-respect as 
 love. 
 
 The day passed then in mutual constraint. The baron, 
 as usual, seemed reconciled to the separation ; but the 
 poor mother did not lose sight of her son. It was plain 
 that only the fear of another refusal restrained her plead- 
 ings. On his side, Roger wished nothing better than to 
 be detained ; the result was that only an opportunity was 
 needed for them to come to an understanding. The Aljbe 
 Dubuquoi supplied the opportunity by asking his pupil at 
 what hour he intended to depart on the next day. Roger 
 endeavored to answer and stammered ; the baroness at 
 once threw her arms around his neck, asking if it were 
 really true that he was still determined to forsake her. 
 Then Roger was unable to restrain his tears, tears at 
 once of grief and joy, and, in a low, submissive voice, but 
 to us who know the motive by which he was actuated, 
 full of hypocrisy, he said, — 
 
 " Madame, are you not my mother, and should I not 
 obey you 1 Command me, then, and I will obey." 
 
 The baroness uttered a cry of joy, and hastened through 
 the house proclaiming to all whom she met that her son
 
 112 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 would not go until later, and perhaps he would not go 
 at all. 
 
 Koger left his parents at the same hour as on the pre- 
 vious evening ; he was in haste to return to his room. 
 This time, however, he entered it with a greater, a far 
 more terrible doubt. The phantom had seemed to read 
 his thought, since, on the preceding night, it hail come to 
 dissipate his hesitations. Therefore, now that all uncer- 
 tainty was gone, now that he had indeed decided to fol- 
 low the commands given him by the spirit of Constance, 
 now that he had even promised his mother that he would 
 not go away, might not the phantom think its mission 
 accomplished, and consider it needless to appear again? 
 It was an anxious thought. Roger was becoming accus- 
 tomed to that lovely shade, which was at least some 
 amends in default of the substance. 
 
 And so, once shut up in his room, Roger lost no time 
 in getting into bed and extinguishing his light ; but the 
 moon had begun to wane, so that the illuminating beam, 
 which the night before had been late, was this evening 
 later still. At last, after having lighted up in succession 
 the corner of the room and then the frame, it settled upon 
 the picture : it was the moment so impatiently awaited by 
 the chevalier. iS'ever did invocation fall more earnestly 
 from lips of enchanter than did that which escaped the 
 poor chevalier's when beseeching Constance to appear 
 again, if only for a last time. And the chevalier's prayer 
 was granted. 
 
 This time again, as on the night before, and the night 
 before that, the picture disappeared, and the white vision 
 came in its place. Roger uttered a cry of joy. 
 
 "Yes, it is I," said the apparition; "it is I, come to 
 say adieu. Adieu, then ! You have obeyed the will of 
 the Lord ; may the Lord recompense you. Adieu, adieu ! "
 
 CONSTANCE APPEARS TO THE CHEVALIER. 113 
 
 And while the phantom was disappearing with these 
 words, it seemed to the chevalier that he heard two or 
 three badly stifled sobs, which proved that the dead re- 
 gi'etted the new separation as much as the living. 
 
 " Oh ! no, no ! " cried Roger, springing out of bed ; 
 " oh ! no, not adieu, not adieu ! Oh, if I thought I should 
 never see you again, Constance, Constance, I should go 
 mad ! " 
 
 And Roger fell on his knees at the foot of the picture, 
 his hands held out to the Saviour, entreating him who 
 had suffered to have pity on him who was suffering. 
 
 But Roger was invoking only a senseless picture, a 
 speechless canvas. He was alone ; the last vibrations 
 of Constance's voice were extinguished ; the shade had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Then he regained his bed, quite overcome with grief ; 
 he had heard Constance's adieu ; what he dreaded had 
 happened. That appearance was the last, the stone had 
 fallen back upon the tomb, the stone would never be 
 lifted again. 
 
 It seemed to Roger as if he were losing Constance a 
 second time. He passed more than an hour in a state of 
 feverish agitation amounting almost to despair. That 
 thrice repeated adieu, the last two spoken with sobs, kept 
 ringing in his ears, and, without knowing what he spoke, 
 he himself repeated involuntarily, — 
 
 " Adieu ! adieu ! " 
 
 Suddenly it seemed to Roger that a sound of light foot- 
 steps, an almost inaudible sound, a sound that might betray 
 a sylph walking over the flowers, came from the other side 
 of the wainscoting. Roger rose in bed, despairing, hoping, 
 and trembling at once, his eyes fixed on the picture, now 
 left in obscurity ; but, in spite of the dim light, it seemed 
 
 to him that the frame, which alone stood out in the night, 
 
 8
 
 114 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 was again moving ; soon he doubted no longer, the picture 
 was turning. 
 
 Constance appeared for the second time ; but this 
 time the apparition left the wainscoted wall, and spring- 
 ing lightly to the floor, ran toward the youth, crying, — 
 
 " Koger ! Roger ! I am not dead. Roger ! I am not 
 the spirit of Constance ! I am Constance herself! " 
 
 And, simultaneously, the chevalier, almost mad with 
 joy, became sensible of the fact that it was indeed no 
 ghost but a living being that he was holding in his arms.
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 115 
 
 VIII. 
 
 HOW IT WAS LEARN^ED AT ANGUILHEM AND AT BEU" 
 ZERIE THAT THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS, EX- 
 CAPTAIN OF THE FRIGATE THETIS, HAD DIED IN- 
 TESTATE, AND WHAT MODIFICATIONS THE NEWS 
 WROUGHT IN THE PLANS OF THE TWO FAMILIES. 
 
 In few words, Constance acquainted Eoger with what 
 had taken place. 
 
 The time which our fugitive had lost in travelling 
 from Amboise to Chinon had given the Abbe Dubuquoi 
 ample time to hasten to Anguilhem and inform the 
 baron and the baroness of the chevalier's new escapade. 
 Thereupon they had rightly conjectured that he was 
 headed for Chinon, and they had considered plans for 
 putting an end to this amorous waywardness which bade 
 fair to leave the parents of the two young people not a 
 moment's repose. The Abbe Dubuquoi had then con- 
 ceived the happy inspiration of proposing to the baron 
 that Roger should be made to believe that Constance was 
 dead. The baroness, understanding with her mother's 
 heart that such unexpected news would prostrate her son 
 with grief, had for a long time held out against the 
 fraud. Finally she was obliged to yield to the plausible 
 reasoning of her husband, and the baron had set off to 
 take the mother superior into the plot. As it chanced, 
 a nun had died but two days before. Thus every facility 
 was presented for the execution of the plan. 
 
 We have seen how the plan was carried out.
 
 116 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 But what they had not been able to foresee was the 
 
 intensity of the grief excited in tlie clievalier by this 
 
 news; and what they had especially ])een \inable to 
 
 • predict was tlie final decision to which his grief had 
 
 led. 
 
 So, Avhcn the news reached Anguilhem that Roger 
 wished to become a Jesuit, the baron and the baroness 
 were reduced to the depths of despair. As we have 
 seen, the baron set out immediately for Amboise, hoping 
 that his paternal influence would restore the chevalier 
 to more rational ideas; but, after the first conversa- 
 tion held with his son, the baron had seen that the 
 resolution was thoroughly grounded in the chevalier's 
 mind, and that nothing in the world would ujjroot it. 
 
 He at once wrote to the baroness to acquaint her Avith 
 the desperate certainty at which he had just arrived. 
 
 And then the baroness also had formed a scheme, — 
 one inspired by her motherly heart, — which was to call 
 to her aid Constance, whom the chevalier believed to be 
 dead, to command the unhappy boy to relinquish his 
 foolish intention. She herself had repaired to Beu- 
 zerie. She had so pleaded with the viscountess, so en- 
 treated the viscount, that neither was able to withstand 
 the baroness' tears, and they consented that their daughter 
 should seem to return from the other world in order to 
 restore the chevalier to this. 
 
 Then the baroness had written to her husband, asking 
 him to exact, at least, that the chevalier should return 
 and spend a fortnight at Anguilhem before taking a final 
 resolution, a request that Roger had been unable to 
 deny his father. "We have seen how the first twelve 
 days passed at Anguilhem, and how the chevalier's 
 obstinacy had rendered the intervention of Constance 
 indispensable.
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 117 
 
 Everything had gone as the parents had desired. The 
 piece of mechanism, prepared by the most skilful car- 
 penter in Loches, had worked to perfection. The 
 baron and the baroness had closely followed the impres- 
 sion made on their son by the successive apparitions of 
 Constance ; the third had finally completed the work of 
 the first two. Constance, occupying a room with her 
 mother in one of the remotest corners of the chateau, 
 had with tears in her eyes and despair in her heart said 
 her last adieux to Roger, when, her grief sweeping away 
 every other consideration, she had herself taken a firm 
 resolve and, profiting by her mother's slumber, she had 
 risen, dressed herself again, gone out on tiptoe, and, 
 rid of the surveillance of those who until then had dic- 
 tated her speech and curbed her feelings, she sped from 
 corridor to corridor to the place in the wainscoting 
 wliere she had been accustomed to take her stand, 
 pushed the spring, and appeared to the chevalier, no 
 longer as a shadow, but as an entrancing reality. 
 
 E/Oger was a youth of quick impulses. Dazed for a 
 moment, — as if a dead man should be dragged from his 
 grave, and, on suddenly opening his eyes, he should 
 again behold the sky and find himself restored to life 
 and happiness, — he had only enough strength not to 
 fall crushed beneath the weight of his joy ; but, that 
 moment gone, he saw that the opportunity, so long 
 sought by him, had come of its own accord, unique, 
 sudden, fleeting, and he instantly resolved not to let it 
 escape him. 
 
 A moment later the chevalier was ready. As for 
 Constance, she had written her lover that her life be- 
 longed no longer to herself but to him, and that it was 
 for him to dispose of it. When, therefore, he proposed 
 that they should that very instant fly together, and gain
 
 118 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the nearest village Avliorc they could he married, not 
 only did she oiler no o])jection, but she assured him that 
 she was ready to follow hiiu to the end of the earth. 
 The chevalier no longer doubted that he was at last 
 entering upon the conclusion of his romance. 
 
 The two immediately set out, gliding along the corri- 
 dors and down the staircase as noiselessly as two 
 shadows, and at last they reached the court. Roger ran 
 to the stable, saddled Christopher, who had for some 
 time been resting from his past fatigues, but who, 
 always kind and docile, allowed himself to be handled 
 without resistance. Then he partly opened the great 
 gate as quietly as possible, sprang upon Christopher, 
 made Constance get up on a stone block, and forced the 
 horse close enough for her to mount behind hira. 
 Then, when the maiden was well established, Roger 
 set off at a gallop. 
 
 They kept up this gait for two hours; but, as it was 
 in the month of July, that is, when the days are the 
 longest of the year, at the end of those two hours day- 
 light had begun to appear. Roger then thought it expe- 
 dient to diminish his speed, since a youth and maiden 
 riding at full gallop must excite suspicion. He ob- 
 served at the same time, on their right, a village which 
 he recognized as La Chapelle-Saint-Hippolyte, and he 
 turned in the direction of this village. 
 
 Of matrimonial procedure Roger had no knowledge 
 but what he had extracted from the fiction of the day. 
 Now, in the romantic tales of the time, all marriages 
 opposed by the parents were solemnized without their 
 knowledge by some good priest of the village, who, acting 
 upon the letter of the Lord's commandment given to our 
 forefathers to increase and multiply, believed himself to 
 be obeying the precept of the Bible in sanctifying as
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 119 
 
 many marriages as possible. Full of confidence, there- 
 fore, Roger proceeded to the parsonage, and, having 
 knocked at the door, which was opened by a plump, 
 kind-looking housekeeper of thirty-five or forty years, 
 he asked to speak with the cure. 
 
 The cure was getting ready to say mass, which to 
 Eoger seemed a good omen. He explained as briefly as 
 possible to the cure what had brought them, and asked 
 if he could not perform the marriage ceremony forth- 
 with. The good priest smiled at the young man's 
 haste; but he explained that there were a few pre- 
 paratory formalities to be gone through with, such as 
 confessing, giving their family and baptismal names, 
 swearing that they were not related in any degree pro- 
 hibited by the church, etc. , etc. ; that these formalities 
 always necessitated a delay of twenty-four or thirty-six 
 hours; that, consequently, however good his own will 
 in the matter, the marriage blessing could not be pro- 
 nounced until the morrow or the day after. However, 
 while waiting, the two young people might stay at the 
 parsonage, Eoger in the charge of the cure, and Con- 
 stance in that of his housekeeper. This mischance was 
 very distasteful to Eoger, as he insisted most emphati- 
 cally; but the cure was inflexible and, as he declared 
 that none of his fellow cures would be any more tract- 
 able than himself, Eoger preferred staying at La 
 Chapelle-Saint-Hippolyte rather than going to another 
 village, a course which , without affording him prompter 
 opportunities, would expose him to recognition, or, at 
 least, to notice. 
 
 The cure then went to say mass; and, as he seemed 
 to share Eoger's fears, he cautioned the two children 
 against being seen at either door or window. Then, 
 on his return, he proceeded to the usual questions-
 
 120 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The young man declared tliat his own name was Roger 
 Tancrede d'Anguilhom, and tliat the young girl's was 
 Agla^ Constance de Beuzerie ; that the former was aged 
 seventeen yoars and five months; the latter, fifteen 
 years lacking eight days. Moreover, they hoth took 
 oath that they were neither co -sponsors nor cousins nor 
 related, in short, in any degree whatever. 
 
 The cure then told them to prepare for confession, 
 each making examination of his conscience, while he 
 himself went to attend to some urgent duties. 
 
 On his return the two confessions took place, Need- 
 less to say they were those of two children, pure and 
 chaste, and, while confessing the love that until then 
 had led them into such foolish enterprises, neither of 
 them had cause to blush even for a thought. 
 
 The double confession seemed completely to reassure 
 the good cure, who until then had not appeared quite 
 free from some uneasiness. Then, under the pretext 
 that it was essential that the two young souls should 
 sin neither in thought nor deed nor by omission during 
 the interval which separated the absolution and the 
 marriage ceremony, he shut Roger in the studj'^ that 
 contained his ecclesiastical library, and Constance in his 
 housekeeper's room. 
 
 At dinner, however, the two young people came 
 together again. Roger then asked the cure if he 
 thought he could marry them on the next day, to which 
 the worthy man replied that he saw no difficulty unless 
 some obstacle were meanwhile to intervene. This 
 assurance somewhat allayed Roger's uneasiness, and 
 enabled him after dinner to withdraw to the library 
 without much difficulty. There he found a cot which 
 had been made up while he was at table. 
 
 The hour of supper arrived. As in the morning, the
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 121 
 
 two young people again found themselves face to face. 
 Roger was beaming with happiness. After the miracle 
 of resurrection that had been effected, he thought 
 separation no longer possible. Constance was shy and 
 blushing; but joy glinted in luminous sparks from her 
 drooping eyelids; happiness forced a passage with every 
 word that escaped her lips. 
 
 After supper -the cure said prayers for every one. 
 Then, prayers being over, each retired to his own 
 apartment. 
 
 Eoger tried to read ; but how can one read when a 
 thought goes thrilling through the heart, sweeter, 
 tenderer, more tuneful than any other thought on earth! 
 And yet he read that wondrous poem, the love of Jacob 
 and Rachel ; but he discovered that Rachel was of small 
 consequence in comparison with Constance, and he con- 
 fessed to himself that to deserve Constance he ought to 
 undergo many other proofs than those to which Jacob 
 had been subjected. And besides, it was a way to pass 
 the time quickly, to spend it in dreaming. Eleven 
 o'clock sounded, and at each solemn and measured 
 stroke of the clock, Roger trembled as he thought 
 that in eight hours he would be the husband of 
 Constance. 
 
 That sweet thought accompanied him to bed and 
 pursued him during his sleep. He dreamed that it was 
 day, and that some one had entered his room to say that 
 the priest was waiting only for him. Just then it 
 seemed to Roger that he really did see daylight through 
 his half-shut eyelids, and that several voices were speak- 
 ing loudly near him. The feeling was so real that 
 Roger awoke, and, opening his eyes, found himself 
 face to face with his father. 
 
 At sight of him Roger's countenance assumed an ex-
 
 122 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 pression of despair that however thoroughly prepared 
 the baron might liavo hccn to administer a severe repri- 
 mand to the confirmed runaway, he liad not the heart to 
 do it, and already discerning the sullcring of the man in 
 that poor child's soul, he Avas satislied to hold out his 
 hand, as he pronounced the one word, — 
 
 "Courage! " 
 
 Perhaps Kogcr might have resisted reproaches, but he 
 could not hold out against indulgence. He cast himself 
 into the baron's arms, asking him if he was going to 
 take him away from Constance. The baron regarded 
 him fixedly, and seeing the anxiety depicted on every 
 feature, he said, — 
 
 " Listen : my first word was courage ! my second shall 
 be hope ! " 
 
 "0 father, father!" cried Eoger; "I have already 
 been so cruelly deceived, that I really can hope no 
 longer. " 
 
 " But when we deceived you, Eoger," said the baron, 
 " we were poor, while now — " 
 
 " Now, father, are we rich? " 
 
 "Possibly," replied the baron. 
 
 " Possibly ! " cried "Roger, " possibly ! What do you 
 mean, father? How can our fortune have changed in a 
 day 1 " 
 
 " Our cousin the Vicomte de Bouzenois is dead. We 
 received the news this morning, the baroness and I." 
 
 " Died naming us his heirs 1 " eagerly demanded 
 Eoger. 
 
 " If that were the case, I should not have said that 
 possibly we were rich. I should have said that we were 
 rich to a certainty. The viscount died intestate." 
 
 "Intestate, father?" 
 
 "Yes, intestate, chevalier."
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 123 
 
 The baron pronounced the word with such emphatic 
 deliberation that the chevalier thought it must be of the 
 highest importance. 
 
 " Then what follows 1 " asked the young man in a 
 faltering voice, for he did not yet see how the death 
 of Monsieur de Bouzenois brought him nearer to 
 Constance. 
 
 " This, monsieur," replied the baron. " The succes- 
 sion is open, and is disputed with us only by a son of a 
 former marriage, who pretends that his mother gave her 
 property to Monsieur de Bouzenois only on condition 
 that the entire fortune should revert to himself." 
 
 "Well, father?" 
 
 " Well , the documents are in the hands of the public 
 administrator. A lawsuit will follow; but Coquenard, 
 my attorney, writes me that we cannot lose the suit if 
 we push it with ever so little activity and intelligence, 
 and, if we gain this lawsuit — " 
 
 " If we gain the lawsuit, father — " 
 
 " We shall have an income of seventy-five thousand 
 livres, nothing less; and then. Monsieur de Beuzerie 
 does the courting and we do the looking down from the 
 height of grandeur; we, in short, make the sacrifice, in 
 forming an alliance with him." 
 
 "0 father, father, what hope you hold out!" cried 
 Roger; " what! do you believe, do you think — " 
 
 " I know what I believe; I know what I think," said 
 the baron. " The kind cure whom you took into your 
 confidence expedited a messenger to Beuzerie as well 
 as to Anguilhem. Consequently, I met the viscount 
 three leagues from here, hastening after his daughter, 
 just as I was hurrying after you. He was furious at 
 what had happened ; but , at the first word I breathed to 
 him of Maitre Coquenard's letter he was much appeased,
 
 124 SYLVAXDIRE. 
 
 and li.as even permitted it to appear that, after the 
 scandal to wliich your flight with his daughter Avould not 
 fail to give rise in the noighl)orhood, he regarded before- 
 hand his marriage project with the Comte de Croisey as 
 broken olf." 
 
 " father, father, what are you saying? " 
 
 " You imderstand, monsieur," replied the baron, " it 
 was an appeal to my honor. " 
 
 " And what did you say , father 1 " 
 
 " I said that between ourselves, as gentlemen, a title 
 Avas only a title, that the name was everything, and that 
 it was known throughout the province that, although 
 the d'Anguilhems were only barons, they dated from the 
 first crusades, while at the beginning of our great king's 
 reign, tlie Comte de Croisey 's grandfather had been at 
 great pains to prove that he was qualified to enter His 
 Majesty's stables; which was the same as saying that 
 if the Baronne d'Anguilhem Avere presented at court, 
 she would certainly take precedence of the Marquise de 
 Croisey." 
 
 " What did he say 1 " 
 
 " He held out his hand and answered, * That is true, 
 baron ; we will talk of that again. ' " 
 
 "0 monsieur! father! " exclaimed Koger, " how 
 good you are ! And Constance, where is Constance?" 
 
 " Constance is with her father, as I am with you. 
 Constance will return to Beuzerie, as we shall return to 
 Anguilhem, I shall pay a visit to the viscount to- 
 morrow, and then we shall talk all this over." 
 
 " father ! " said Eoger, " lay great stress on my 
 love ; say that I adore Constance ; say that I cannot live 
 without her; say that — say that I shall die if they take 
 her away from me, say — " 
 
 " I shall say that, in all probability, you will one day 
 
 1
 
 THE VICOMTE DE BOUZENOIS. 125 
 
 have an income of seventy-five thousand livres, and 
 believe me, monsieur, such eloquence will outweigh 
 yours." 
 
 " Say what you will, dear father, but obtain an answer 
 from the viscount." 
 
 "In this matter let me act," said the baron; "for, 
 rest assured, I know better than you what course to 
 take. " 
 
 " And — and — " stammered Roger. 
 
 " And what ? " asked the baron. 
 
 " And Constance 1 " 
 
 " Well , and Constance 1 " 
 
 " Shall I not see her again ? " 
 
 " That, monsieur, is quite impossible. You can now 
 see Mademoiselle de Beuzerie only under the paternal 
 roof, and with the consent of the viscount and the 
 viscountess. " 
 
 "And do you think, monsieur," ventured Roger, 
 timidly, " that their consent will be long in coming? " 
 
 " In three or four days, I hope." 
 
 " In three or four days ! " said Roger ; " alas ! that is a 
 very long time. " 
 
 " And when you thought never to see her again, it 
 was a much longer time, it seems to me." 
 
 "And, too," added Roger, "I wished to become a 
 Jesuit." 
 
 "Yes, yes, monsieur," said the baron, "yes, I 
 know it, indeed. You had quantities of ideas, each 
 more ingenious than the other; oh! you are a man of 
 resources ! We will give your imagination something 
 to do." 
 
 " In what way , father 1 " 
 
 " We will tell you at Anguilhem." 
 
 And, without the chevalier's being able to gain any
 
 126 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 enlightenment from tlio baron on the scheme in which 
 he seemed to be the chief actor, they both mounted their 
 horses and took the road to the chateau. 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that the baron alone took 
 leave of the good curd, and that Roger by no means 
 begged the favor of bidding him adieu.
 
 THE CHEYALIEK's MAKRIAGE NEAKLY ARRANGED. 127 
 
 IX. 
 
 how and on" what terms the marriage of made- 
 moiselle de beuzerie with the chevalier 
 d'anguilhem came near being arranged by 
 their next of kin. 
 
 This was the third time that Roger was returning to 
 Anguilhem after having seen his plans frustrated; but 
 this tiroe, however, he was not returning quite without 
 hope. Notwithstanding Roger's ignorance of the ways 
 of the world, he realized perfectly the change wrought 
 in his projects by the death of Monsieur de Bouzenois, 
 even supposing that, as his father had said, the ex- 
 captain's inheritance were subject to a lawsuit. 
 
 Upon his arrival at the chateau his hopes were re- 
 doubled, for the baroness, who was watching for the 
 baron and his son at the tower-window which commanded 
 a view of the surrounding country, descended at sight 
 of them, and appeared at the door with a smiling coun- 
 tenance. Roger spurred his horse directly toward her, 
 dismounted, and cast himself into her arms whis- 
 pering,— 
 
 " Do you, too, hope, mother? Oh! don't deceive me, 
 don't deceive me! " 
 
 "Yes, my child, yes, my dear child," returned the 
 baroness; " yes, be tranquil; all will go well." 
 
 In fact the baroness, like her husband, had witnessed 
 a metamorphosis. When the viscountess, who had 
 accompanied Constance to Anguilhem, had in the morn-
 
 128 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 ing discovered her daughter's lliglit, she was furiously 
 angry. In the very midst of the explosion of maternal 
 wrath camo the letter from IMaitre Coquenard, announ- 
 cing to the d'Anguilhems the deatli of Monsieur de 
 Bouzenois. Now that letter had quieted the viscountess 
 as by magic, and she liad appeared incontinently to for- 
 get a portion of her grief in sharing the good news that 
 her neighbors had just received. Finally, Avhen the 
 messenger from the cure of La Chapellc-Saint-Hippolyte 
 had arrived at the chateau all out of breath, announcing 
 that the runaways were at the parsonage, it was almost 
 with a feeling of regret that the viscountess heard that, 
 thanks to the scruples of the good priest, the two children 
 were not married. However, as she was unaware that 
 the same message had been despatched to her husliand 
 as well as to the baron, and as she wished to tell the 
 viscount at once of the flight and of the event which 
 made that flight almost good luck, she ordered her horse 
 and coach, which, in order that Roger should not remark 
 her presence, had been left at the farmer's, and she set 
 out for Beuzerie, after having, in her adieux to the 
 baroness, let fall a few words intimating as clearly as 
 possible that a visit from the baron at Beuzerie Avould 
 not only be well received, but that, under the circum- 
 stances, it was regarded by herself as indispensable. 
 
 The outlook, therefore, continued to be as favorable 
 in the direction of the viscountess as it had been in the 
 viscount's. As for Constance, the chevalier had reason 
 to know that he could depend on her. 
 
 Hence in a general council at which assisted the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi, whose duties were rapidly being converted 
 into a sinecure, it was arranged that the baron should 
 the next day pay a visit to Beuzerie and speak of the 
 marriage or be silent, as circumstances demanded; but
 
 THE chevaliee's maekiage neatily areanged. 129 
 
 the general opinion, even the abbe's, was tliat he would 
 incontestably have to bring up the subject of the 
 marriage. 
 
 The great day, so impatiently awaited by Eoger, came 
 at last. At six o'clock he was up and had awakened his 
 father. But the baron was too punctilious an observer 
 of the proprieties to present himself at Beuzerie before 
 noon. Roger had therefore to curb his impatience, 
 which he did by talking to his mother of Constance. 
 
 At nine o'clock, mounted on Cln-istopher, the baron 
 departed. Eoger exacted a promise that he would 
 remain at Beuzerie no longer than was strictly necessary 
 for discussing the various conditions relating to his 
 marriage. The baron promised to return by four o'clock 
 in the afternoon. 
 
 At two o'clock Roger could stand it no longer. He 
 slung his gamebag across his back, shouldered his gun, 
 untied Castor, who, quite unlike Christopher, had 
 remained for more than a year in a state of repose, and 
 took the road to Beuzerie. AVhen he had gone almost a 
 third of the way, he cavight sight of the baron who was 
 coming back at full trot. His gait was a good omen. 
 
 A few strides and Roger was at his side. 
 
 In fact the news was good, and everything was settled, 
 if not quite to Roger's taste, at least to his father's. 
 
 Roger's suit was tacitly approved by the viscount and 
 the viscountess. The next day the entire d'Anguilhem 
 family was to pay a neighborly visit to Beuzerie. The 
 visit was to pass off like any ordinary visit, having no 
 special significance, since the viscount, full of prudence 
 as he was, did not wish his new plans to be suspected. 
 Then, on the day following his visit, or on the second 
 day after it, Roger would leave for Paris, where he would 
 personally superintend the lawsuit, on the issue of 
 
 9
 
 130 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 which depended the viscount's final consent. That plan 
 presented tlie double advantage of placing matters in the 
 hands of the one most interested in tlieir termination, 
 and of keeping lioger at a distance from Constance for 
 a year at least, for in those days the shortest lawsuits 
 were very long. Meanwhile Constance would return to 
 the convent while she awaited her sixteenth year, and 
 Roger his nineteenth. It was the age de rigueur for 
 country marriages. 
 
 All this contained Loth good and ill for Roger. He 
 would have preferred to marry first and go afterwards. 
 It seemed to him quite as logical and far more tolerable; 
 and it was with the greatest difficulty in the world that 
 the baron brought him to understand tliat the thing was 
 impossible, since his marriage was to depend on his 
 gaining the lawsuit. The agreement was, however, so 
 clear and so squarely put, that the chevalier was forced 
 to yield. Roger had therefore about decided to lend 
 himself to this new scheme, when, at half a league from 
 Anguilhem, they met the baroness, who, in company 
 with the abbe, had in turn come to meet her husband 
 and her son. 
 
 And again the plan decided upon at the viscount's was 
 set forth by the baron, and, to Roger's great despair, it 
 met with general approval. The poor chevalier was 
 thereupon constrained to surrender. It was settled 
 therefore that they should the next day call on the 
 Beuzeries, and, as there was no time to lose, that the 
 chevalier should set out for Paris in three days. 
 
 Yet we must say that Roger was unjust to Provi- 
 dence. After having had Constance positively refused to 
 him, after believing her dead, and wishing to turn 
 Jesuit, he had recovered her again as faithful as ever, 
 and, fortune and happiness in all probability coming
 
 THE chevalier's MARRIAGE NEARLY ARRANGED. 131 
 
 together, he had but to wait a longer or shorter time to 
 become at once a rich nobleman and a happy hnsljand. 
 In this twofold reflection there was matter for real 
 consolation; and Eoger, weighing it in the balance of 
 common sense, began to view the future in a rosier 
 liglit than he had at the baron's first words, grad- 
 ually losing sight of the departure in thinking of the 
 return. 
 
 Then, let us admit, the word Paris has at all periods 
 had a magic ring for provincial ears. Paris is the goal 
 toward which all young and vivacious temperaments 
 strive. For the libertine, Paris is pleasure; for the 
 ambitious, Paris is fame; for the speculator, Paris is 
 fortune. Oftentimes had the word Paris been spoken 
 in Roger's presence, but Eoger had never heeded it; for 
 never had he supposed that such an event could arise in 
 his life as that he should have occasion to journey to 
 Paris. But suddenly the unlooked-for event was at 
 hand. The word Paris went ringing through his ears 
 to an accompaniment of the chinking of crowns, a kind 
 of music that is always agreeable, even to the man that 
 is least concerned. In short, that same evening, upon 
 going to bed, Roger confessed to himself that, since he 
 was absolutely forced to be separated from Constance for 
 a certain lapse of time, it was better that the time should 
 be spent in Paris rather than elsewhere. 
 
 On the next day the baron and Roger donned their 
 best attire , while the baroness put on the most beautiful 
 of her six gowns. Then, at nine o'clock, all three got 
 into the cariole and set off for Beuzerie. 
 
 The visit passed off as had beforehand been planned 
 by the baron and the viscount, that is to say, according 
 to the rigid rules of an almost royal etiquette. There 
 was no mention of what had taken place between the two
 
 132 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 young people. Roger and Constance bowed as if they 
 Avero for the first time hoing introduced to each other. 
 The baron formally acquainted jSIon.sieur and Madame 
 do IJcuzerio of the death of IMonsicur de Bouzenois, 
 chevalier by grace of the king and captain of one of his 
 frigates, received the condolences of the viscount and tlie 
 viscountess, and annoiuieed that, the succession having 
 given rise to a great lawsuit, his son, the clievalier, was 
 about to leave for Paris the next day in order to attend 
 to it. The viscount and the viscountess then wished 
 the chevalier complete success in his undertaking, laying 
 great stress on the pleasure they would personally take 
 in his prosperity. Then they in turn let it incidentally 
 be known that their daughter, being still too young 
 to think of any establishment, would return to her con- 
 vent at Chinon, Avhcre she would remain until it was 
 time for her to marry. 
 
 These official communications having been exchanged, 
 the baron, the baroness, and the chevalier arose. Then, 
 gravely bowing, they took leave of the viscount and the 
 viscountess, entered the cariole, and went back to 
 Anguilhem. 
 
 That evening and the following day were spent in 
 preparations for the chevalier's departure. In the even- 
 ing, the baron solemnly desired Roger to ascend to his 
 room. Roger understood that he was about to receive 
 the paternal instructions, and he respectfully presented 
 himself before the baron, who received him standing; 
 as for the baroness, she was seated, and it was apparent 
 that she had already wept much, and that she was 
 obliged to summon all her self-control to keep from 
 weeping still. 
 
 The chevalier came slowly forward, and when within 
 a few steps of his father, he bent his head.
 
 THE chevalier's MAKRIAGE NEARLY ARRANGED. 133 
 
 "My son," said the baron, "you are about to enter 
 what is to you a new and an unknown world. Above 
 all things guard your honor. A gentleman's honor is 
 like a woman's reputation. Once tarnished, it can never 
 be cleared. Above all, then, I repeat, watch over your 
 honor. 
 
 " You will form the acquaintance of young men, I 
 will not say nobler than yourself, — any gentleman able 
 to prove his nobility is the equal of any other gentle- 
 man, — but of young men more favored than yovi. In 
 their company, you will find gambling much in vogue. 
 Play only when you cannot do otherwise. You are 
 neither rich enough to be able to lose, nor poor enough 
 to desire to win. In any case, if you have the misfor- 
 tune to play and lose, sell even your last shirt to pay 
 your debt. Every debt is sacred, but a gaming debt is 
 doubly so. 
 
 "We have concluded, the baroness and I, that one 
 hundred louis will be sufficient for all your expenses 
 during the year. Here, then, is the first half of that 
 sum. The pieces are old, for they are our savings of 
 fifteen years. Young and active as you are, you will 
 appear at the court of law; you will bow before judges, 
 you will seek powerful protection, and you will succeed, 
 I hope. Fortune favors the young. 
 
 " Every week you will receive from us a detailed 
 letter, which every week you will answer with as exact 
 details. So that, if we gain our suit, you yourself will 
 have been the builder of your own fortune. Then, the 
 lawsuit won, if you marry Constance, of which there 
 can be no doubt, and if the marriage makes your happi- 
 ness, you will owe your good fortune to no one but 
 yourself, which, in this world, is indeed something. 
 
 " You will travel with Christopher. He is a good
 
 134 SYLYANDIKE. 
 
 animal, hard to tire, well appearing, and ho would bo 
 better still if you had not overridden him at times. He 
 was shod yesterday. When passing through Saint 
 Aiguan, have his mane and tail fashionably clipped. 
 His trappings are neat, his saddle is excellent. You 
 will iind my travelling pistols in the holsters. 
 
 "Now, my son, you have sometimes given us pain. 
 We forgive you, your mother and I. Fur my part, I 
 have caused you much in the matter of that death story. 
 I do not know whether I was justiiied in causing you 
 that suffering. I think not, for it was a lie, and, even 
 with good intention, a lie is always a lie. 1 ask God's 
 pardon for it." 
 
 " father! father! " cried Koger, unable to restrain 
 his tears. 
 
 " I did not say that to cause you sorrow, Eoger," 
 resumed the baron, mistaking the sentiment that had 
 wrested this exclamation from his son. " You have a 
 good heart and a brave one, but your head is bad. Dis- 
 trust yourself, therefore, even more than others. It is 
 the last advice of your father who loves you. And 
 now," continued the baron, himself deeply moved, 
 "receive our blessing." 
 
 Eoger fell on his knees, and, with a gesture full of 
 tenderness and paternal dignity, the baron extended 
 his hands, and, with eyes lifted toward heaven, laid 
 them for an instant on his son's head. Kising, Roger 
 cast himself into the arms of his mother. 
 
 " Dear child," said the baroness, "go to your room, 
 for I feel that you too have occasion for tears. For the 
 rest, be reassured, as I shall write postscripts to your 
 father's letters." 
 
 Roger again kissed his mother, who, without his need- 
 ing to speak, had responded so quickly to the inmost
 
 THE chevalier's MAERIAGE NEARLY ARRANGED. 135 
 
 thought of his heart. Then, after kissing the hand that 
 his father extended to him, he withdrew to his room and 
 wept, in fact, a good part of the night. 
 
 When day came he dressed himself for his journey. 
 The Baron d'Anguilhem had already risen and seen that 
 everything was in readiness. Christopher was saddled 
 and bridled and had a suitably filled portmanteau on 
 behind. With deep emotion, the chevalier observed 
 that the baron's eyes were almost as red as his own. 
 
 Breakfast was served, but no one touched it. Every 
 one was weeping or gulping down his grief. The baron 
 was sensible that the sooner an end was put to a situa- 
 tion so melancholy for all, the better it woiald be. On 
 rising from the table, Eoger approached his tutor and 
 asked his forgiveness for all the vexation he had caused 
 him. The poor abbe, wholly selfish in the ordinary 
 occurrences of life, in tones of deep emotion pardoned 
 the thousand and one little peccadilloes committed by 
 his pupil. 
 
 Eoger went forth, giving his mother his arm and his 
 father his hand. At the doorway he found the house 
 servants weeping bitterly, for every one at Anguilhem 
 worshipped Roger. He kissed them all, as if they 
 were friends, and they Avept the more. 
 
 Castor yelped aloud and bounded the length of his 
 chain. One would have said the poor animal under- 
 stood that his master was leaving home for a long time. 
 His master went to him, and Castor stood up with his 
 paws against his breast and kissed him after his own 
 fashion. 
 
 The baron and the baroness accompanied their son 
 almost a quarter of a league; and then, as they must 
 stop somewhere, the baron stopped abruptly. This 
 time, being no longer under the solemn restraint of his
 
 136 SYLVANDIUE. 
 
 futlier's blessing, Roger cast himself into the baron's 
 arms. 
 
 Then came tlio poor mf)ther's turn. The baroness 
 could not part with her child. Her poor heart was rent 
 with sobs, and in the deptlis of her soul she cursed the 
 unlucky inheritance that was tearing away her child. 
 The abbe was gazing after them from the window of the 
 tower and waving his handkerchief. 
 
 At last the baron took his son by the hand, and, 
 conducting him to his horse, he said, — 
 
 " Let us part bravely, my son. E.eniem1)er that you 
 are eighteen years old, and that, consequently, you are 
 a man." 
 
 Roger mounted Christopher, who, Avith drooping head 
 and tail, seemed to partake of the general depression; 
 but the mother once more ran toward her son with out- 
 stretched hands, which he covered with kisses. At last 
 the baron tore his wife away from those endless em- 
 braces, and, with all the fortitude he could muster, said 
 to his son, — 
 
 " Spur on, monsieur, I command you." 
 
 Roger obeyed and was off. At a hundred paces', how- 
 ever, he looked back to see his mother once more. Then, 
 when he saw her lying so helpless and weeping in the 
 baron's arms, he went back, again kissed her, again 
 pressed his father's hand, again galloped away, and five 
 minutes later he had disappeared behind a clump of 
 trees. 
 
 Then in his poor heart Roger felt that there remained 
 still other adieux to be said. He would not, he could 
 not, go away without seeing Constance once more. 
 The day on which he was to leave had been mentioned 
 before Constance, and he hoped she had understood that, 
 although it would take him slightly out of his way , he
 
 THE chevalier's MARRIAGE NEARLY ARRANGED. 137 
 
 would pass Beuzerie. He therefore urged Christopher 
 on, and soon, rising beyond the warren, he saw the 
 weather-vanes of the chateau. 
 
 Roger continued to advance, hut all the while he kept 
 glancing right and left with a remnant of timidity in 
 the depths of his heart due to the former interdiction of 
 the viscount and the viscountess. At a turn of the road, 
 through the trees, he caught a glimpse of a white dress. 
 He spurred on. It was Constance, who, sitting on the 
 moss with a hook in her hand, was pretending to read. 
 
 In an instant Eoger was beside her, and, springing 
 down from Christopher, he dropped upon his knees. 
 
 "Ah! here you are, Roger!" cried the young girl, 
 " I expected you. " 
 
 " And I, Constance," said Roger, " vras sure of finding 
 
 you." 
 
 " You are going then ? " 
 
 " I must go. You know our happiness is at stake." 
 
 " Yes, Roger, yes, " said the young girl ; " my mother 
 has told me all. Our marriage is set for your return. 
 You are to be rich, it seems. How fortunate I am! 
 I shall owe you everything." 
 
 " Oh! you are an angel, Constance," cried Roger. " I 
 too can hardly believe in my future happiness, and I 
 am still afraid lest you escape me." 
 
 " It is you, rather, whom I may never see again, you 
 who are going to Paris, and who will forget me in that 
 great city." 
 
 " I forget you, Constance ? Oh ! never, never. If I 
 have no more to fear on your part than you have to fear 
 on mine, I shall indeed be happy." 
 
 " And what have you to fear about me ? " 
 
 " What have I to fear, Constance 1 I am afraid of 
 losing my lawsuit, and that the viscount will then
 
 138 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 withhold his consent and marry you to the Marquis de 
 Croisoy." 
 
 " I will never marry any one hut you, Roger," replied 
 Constance; "and if 1 am not to ho yours I shall he no 
 cue's." 
 
 " Swear, tlien, that you will marry only when I my- 
 self release you from your oath." 
 
 " I swear it. " 
 
 " That you will helieve nothing that is said to you 
 ahout mo unless you have it from my own mouth or see 
 it written hy my own hand. " 
 
 "I swear it," repeated Constance. 
 
 " And I," said Koger, " swear in turn — " 
 
 But Roger had not time to finish. At that instant a 
 bullet whizzed past, harely ten feet distant from the 
 young people, and the viscount was heard calling to 
 his dogs. 
 
 " My father ! " cried Constance in terror ; " oh , go ! 
 go!" 
 
 Roger pressed his lips to those of the pale and trem- 
 bling girl, murmured the word adieu, and springing 
 upon Christopher, was off at full speed. After riding 
 a short distance he turned his head. Constance had 
 disappeared. 
 
 It then occurred to him that Constance was the only 
 one bound, and that in exchange for the double oath 
 made by her, he had not had time to promise her any- 
 thing. However, as Roger was a man with a conscience, 
 under his breath he swore to himself the oath that he 
 ought to have sworn aloud. 
 
 Poor Roger ! poor Constance ! 
 
 Perhaps, thanks to this imprudent exclamation that 
 has just escaped us, our readers count upon being able 
 to guess beforehand what sad incidents threaten the
 
 THE CIIEVALIEK'S MARRIAGE NEARLY ARRANGED. 139 
 
 future loves of our two young people; but, at the risk 
 of wounding their self-esteem with respect to the pene- 
 tration of which they believed themselves possessed, we 
 assure them that, whatever their suppositions, they can 
 bear no relation to the strange events which remain for 
 us to tell.
 
 1-40 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 X. 
 
 now THE CHEVALIER d'anGUILHEM MADE HIS ENTRY 
 INTO SOCIETY. 
 
 It took eleven days for tlie chevalier's journey from 
 Anguilhom to Paris. While passing through Saint 
 Aignan ho had, in accordance witli his father's sugges- 
 tion, had Christopher groomed and rejuvenated hy the 
 first veterinary of the place. At Orleans he had pur- 
 chased a great coat and renewed the lace of his hat. 
 At Versailles he had longed to stop and visit the court, 
 but on comparing his own state with that of tlie sei- 
 gneurs whom he met, he had been abashed by the con- 
 trast, and had continued his way, and had thus reached 
 Paris with no stops other than for eating, sleeping, and 
 resting Christopher, all which, as we have said, did not 
 prevent his consuming eleven days on the road. 
 
 The chevalier arrived at Paris by way of Chaillot. 
 This entrance to the capital was far from being at that 
 time what it is to-day, hence Roger was not too greatly 
 impressed by what he saw, and he maintained, with 
 regard to the great city, a respectable degree of dignity. 
 Yet he drew rein to admire the stately prison which 
 arose below the convent of the Filles-Sainte-Marie, and 
 which he at first took for a palace ; then he followed 
 the Quai de la Savounerie and entered the Cours-la- 
 Keine. Here, it must be admitted, his astonishment 
 increased. The Louvre was in front of him. The 
 Invalides, with its resplendent dome, was at his right. 
 Then, as it was a fine summer day, a throng of carriages
 
 THE chevalier's ENTEY INTO SOCIETY. 141 
 
 filled with the handsomest seigneurs and the most ele- 
 gant dames of the time coursed the thoroughfare at his 
 left. Soon he found himself in the middle of a 
 marble-j^ard, a vast, roofless atelier where Louis XIV. 
 had the statues hewn with which he made France bristle, 
 and which, extending along the Hue de la Bonne-Morue, 
 covered the very spot to-day occupied by the Place de la 
 Concorde. God rest the souls of those who have substi- 
 tuted stone and iron for the marble and bronze with 
 which it was filled at that epoch! 
 
 On arriving at this marble-yard, which obstructed his 
 course, the chevalier was embarrassed to know whether 
 he should turn to the right or the left. He questioned 
 a workman. 
 
 "Monsieur," answered the latter, "although your 
 horse looks like a good strong animal, he seems thor- 
 oughly tired out. Don't take the quay, then, for the 
 pavement is very bad. Go by the Porte Saint-Honore. 
 Leave at your left the Pilles de la Conception and the 
 Hotel de Luxembourg; then you will come to the Place 
 Louis-le-Grand ; you will readily recognize it. It is a 
 large square with a statue of the king on horseback. 
 It is a good quarter in which to choose a hotel." 
 
 The chevalier followed the route and the advice. 
 He found the Place Louis-le-Grand at the point indi- 
 cated; but, not daring to venture upon staying in so fine 
 a quarter, he kept on his course a little distance beyond, 
 and, finding a hotel of sufficiently modest appearance to 
 seem in keeping with the state of his fortunes, he halted. 
 Its sign was " The Golden Harrow." 
 
 With an air quite assured for a provincial, the che- 
 valier cleared the grand entrance, and, being fatigued, he 
 abandoned Christopher to the care of a groom, ascended 
 to a small room on the fifth floor, which was assigned to
 
 142 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 him from liis appearance, went to bed, went to sleep, 
 and awoke only on the morrow. 
 
 The morrow come, his first thought was to go and 
 present to a certain Marquis do Crette a very strong 
 letter of introduction wliich his father had received from 
 Monsieur d'Orquinon of a neighboring country-seat. 
 But, as he stood at tlio Avindow, the chevalier remarked 
 so great a difference between his own toilet and those of 
 the people who passed on horseback and in carriages that 
 he blushed for his own costume, notwithstanding that 
 he had always thought it very gallant in the country. 
 He therefore learned where he could find a dealer in 
 second-hand clothing, whither he immediately repaired, 
 and where he bought a coat that was almost new, a vest 
 still presentable, a pair of clocked stockings, and a"sword. 
 Thus transformed, the chevalier, thanks to his excel- 
 lent personal appearance, was presentable even in Paris, 
 notwithstanding that his sky-blue coat bore a knot of 
 apple-green ribbon on the shoulder, a union of colors 
 that might seem somewhat hazardous, but Avhich was 
 undoubtedly an amorous fancy of its former proprietor. 
 When he was arrayed in his new costume the chevalier 
 thought he had better study the effect of his brisk attire 
 upon less noble material than the marquis and the society 
 that our debutant must meet at his house, and in order 
 to experiment in animd v'di, Roger repaired to the 
 house of Maitre Coquenard, his father's attorney, Rue 
 du Mouton, near the Place de Greve. 
 
 Roger, as we have said, was a handsome fellow, and 
 although from the province, his bearing was that of a 
 gentleman. The country tan would without doubt be 
 recognized upon his rounded face and brawny hands; 
 but he had a well-shaped leg, and from time to time his 
 eye sparkled through his timidity. Yet his sword in- 
 
 I
 
 THE chevalier's ENTEY INTO SOCIETY. 143 
 
 convenienced him sorely by beating the calves of his 
 legs, for at Anguilheni he had not been in the habit 
 of wearing a sword. The perpetual slapping caused him 
 annoyance. Nor did he know, either, that he should 
 require clowns to give way while he himself should yield 
 the pavement to his superiors. Hence he turned out for 
 a chair-porter, and jostled a man of quality; but his 
 look of surprise saved him from the displeasure of the 
 latter, while his athletic figure spared him the raillery 
 of the former. In fact, as we have said, the chevalier 
 stood five feet and seven or eight inches in height, and 
 was of conformable build, a size which, in every land on 
 earth, always inspires a degree of respect. 
 
 Maitre Coquenard received Roger very graciously. 
 And in turn Roger, a gentleman never standing on cere- 
 mony, accepted the invitation extended him to share 
 a stewed hare of most delicious aspect, and a hot pate of 
 most savory odor. They took places at the table without 
 further ceremony, and both began to feast in excellent 
 style, and then they entered upon business matters. In 
 order to deaden as much as possible the force of the blow 
 that he was about to deal him, Maitre Coquenard em- 
 ployed many delicate circumlocutions to inform Roger 
 that the suit at law for the succession, which had brought 
 him to Paris, was of all things the most difficult and the 
 least certain; that, in accepting the right to inherit, the 
 Baron d'Anguilhem was pledged by the very act of that 
 acceptance in the sum of twenty thousand livres charged 
 to the account of the dead man's debts. 
 
 Roger was appalled at this preliminary statement. 
 
 But this was not all. Maitre Coquenard further ex- 
 plained that the initial expenses of their application 
 during the last eight days already amounted to nine 
 hundred livres.
 
 144 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 This time Rogpr turned pale, and lost his appetite, 
 for under all this, aside from the money lost, lay the 
 contingency of his marrying or not marrying Constance; 
 and we must say to the credit of our hero tliat, although 
 twelve days had passed since he had left Mademoi sells 
 de IJeuzerie, and he had since then seen a goodly stretch 
 of country, and on the day before had gained his first 
 taste of the capital, the maiden's image was as present 
 to his memory as at the moment of his leavetaking. 
 
 As for the effect produced on the chevalier's appetite, 
 let us add that the dinner was approaching an end when 
 he learned this news. 
 
 I'rovided with this lugubrious intelligence, Roger re- 
 entered The Golden Harrow with a step much less 
 assured than that with which he had gone forth. 
 
 To fulfil the promise made to his father, the chevalier 
 began a letter to him in which he announced his fortu- 
 nate arrival in Paris, his interview with Monsieur 
 Coquenard, and the unpleasant news that he had gath- 
 ered at the worthy solicitor's. He terminated his letter 
 by saying that he was at that moment setting out to 
 make use of Monsieur d'Orquinon's letter to tlie Marquis 
 de Crette. 
 
 In fact, his letter written and confided to the post, 
 the chevalier cast a more critical glance at his toilet, 
 changed his cravat, put on his cuffs, and set off, not 
 without a beating heart, in the direction of the residence 
 of the Marquis de Crette, situated in the Faubourg 
 Saint Germain, Rue du Four, about two hundred yards 
 from the Hotel de Montmorency. 
 
 The especial cause of the chevalier's quickened pulse 
 was his expectation of meeting a grave old man, severe 
 and formal, after the pattern of Monsieur de Beuzerie, 
 a style that was naturally antipathetic. Then, behind
 
 THE chevalier's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 145 
 
 this grave old man, severe and formal, he could see a 
 crotchety dowager with dull eyes and a shrill voice, 
 and, attending this amiable old couple, a dozen insolent 
 lackeys. There was hut one consolation for the cheva- 
 lier in all this, — that old men are somewhat provincial 
 even in Paris. 
 
 But, on arriving at the hotel, quite contrary to what 
 he had expected, he discovered lialf a dozen blooded 
 horses, caparisoned in the very latest fashion, held by 
 five or six valets in different liveries, but all of them 
 so brilliant and gay that one could not but suppose 
 that both animals and men belonged to young noble- 
 men thoroughly versed in the fashions of the day; 
 and all this, it must be said, disconcerted Eoger far 
 more than the picture of an antique household which he 
 had anticipated finding. 
 
 The porter stood erect at the entrance, a three- 
 cornered hat upon his head, a broad baldric across his 
 shoulder, and a cane in his hand, warning off with 
 equally aristocratic gesture both dogs and louts that 
 loitered with gaping jaws and mouths before the gate of 
 the hotel ; but when he saw Roger he carried his hand 
 to his hat with the instinct that tells a lackey that he 
 has to do with a gentleman, and inquired in what way 
 he could serve him. Roger replied that he wished to 
 speak with Monsieur le Marquis de Crette; whereupon 
 the porter spoke to one of the valets who were holding 
 the horses. The latter made a sign to a tall, ungainly 
 fellow, whose seams were all covered with galloon, who 
 introduced the chevalier into an elegant salon on the 
 ground-floor looking into the court on one side and into 
 tlie garden on the other. 
 
 An instant later six young gentlemen, all of distin- 
 guished appearance, jaunty and gay, descended the grand 
 
 10
 
 146 SYLVANDIRE, 
 
 staircase, leaping four steps at a time. One of tliem 
 turned aside toward the salon ; the five others scattered 
 about tlie court, each running to tlie liorse that was being 
 held for him. 
 
 " Who asked for me ? " cried, while still at a distance, 
 the gentleman who had directed his course toward the 
 salon. 
 
 "Monsieur le Chevalier d'Anguilhem," answered the 
 lackey. 
 
 " The Chevalier d'Anguilhem," repeated the young 
 man, as if searching his memory, " I do not know him." 
 
 "That is true, monsieur," responded Roger, opening 
 the door himself ; " and I beg a thousand pardons for 
 having so ill chosen my time as to arrive just as you are 
 ready to go out; but I pray you to fix yourself a time 
 at which I may have the honor to return." 
 
 This was said with a little awkwardness, but also 
 with an amount of dignity that impressed the Marquis 
 de Crette. 
 
 " By no means, monsieur," responded the marquis, 
 " I am quite at your service, now as always. Will you, 
 therefore, kindly tell me to what I owe the honor of 
 your visit? " 
 
 These words were accompanied by a bow of exquisite 
 politeness. 
 
 "Monsieur le Marquis," answered the chevalier, "I 
 present myself through the kindness of Monsieur 
 d'Orquinon, your friend, I believe, and I wish to de- 
 liver a letter from him." 
 
 " I have not the honor of knowing Monsieur 
 d'Orquinon personally," returned the marquis; "but 
 he was, I remember, one of my poor father's most inti- 
 mate friends, of whom I have heard him speak many 
 a time."
 
 THE CHEVALIEE'S ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 147 
 
 " All! " thought Roger to himself, " the nicarquis loves 
 his father. He will not ridicule me very much." 
 
 Then, while the marquis hroke the seal and read his 
 letter, Roger examined him in turn. 
 
 He was a handsome, elegant youth of from twenty-two 
 to twenty-four years of age, rather slight, but of perfect 
 figure, and whose attire might have served as a model 
 of elegance, as his speech, his gestures, his bearing 
 would have served as a model of good manners ; a sur- 
 vival, indeed, of the old nobility with an anticipatory 
 graft of the new aristocracy, so soon to bloom in the 
 reign of the regent. 
 
 When he had read the letter, he raised his eyes to the 
 chevalier. 
 
 " Alas, monsieur, " he said, " this letter was addressed 
 to the Marquis de Crette, my father, whom we have had 
 the misfortune to lose during this last year; but I com- 
 prehend that you had not learned of it in the country." 
 
 Roger flushed. The phrase, "in the country," 
 brought the blood to his face. 
 
 " And yet, monsieur, I think we sent a letter to 
 Orquinon; but this letter which you have done me the 
 honor to bring proves that the death of the Marquis de 
 Crette has not been heard of down there." 
 
 Roger turned redder still than he had on the first occa- 
 sion. " Down there " sounded to him like the antipodes. 
 
 " No matter," continued the marquis, doubtless per- 
 ceiving the young man's embarrassment, " the son takes 
 the father's place among the friends of our family, and 
 as you have kindly come to see us, you are welcome. 
 Pray count upon me, then, without the least hesitation." 
 
 " Monsieur le Marquis, you really overwhelm me. I 
 am only a poor provincial, very ridiculous, I feel, and 
 very tiresome, perhaps, for I have never been outside of
 
 148 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Anguilhem; but, I assure you, I know how to be grate- 
 ful for your gracious reception." 
 
 " But now you overwhelm mo in turn, monsieur," re- 
 sponded the marquis as he saluted Roger with a cordial- 
 ity that penetrated his heart. 
 
 Then, turning to his friends who were chatting on the 
 steps, he called, — 
 
 "Come, messieurs, if you please, and let me present 
 to you Monsieur le Chevalier d' Anguilhem, who is 
 introduced to me by one of my father's most faithful 
 friends." 
 
 The young people drew near, and at their approach 
 Roger saluted them with a bow that was not lacking in 
 dignity. 
 
 " We are just starting out for Saint Germain, cheva- 
 lier," said the marquis; "are you at leisure to-day? 
 If so, and if our society is not too disagreeable to you, 
 we shall be delighted to have the honor of yours." 
 
 " But, messieurs, you seem to be setting off on horse- 
 back," observed Roger. 
 
 " Yes, I understand," returned the marquis, "and you 
 came by coach or chaise, and so you have no mount." 
 
 " I have my own horse at the hotel ," Roger said with 
 a smile; "but, I must confess, in all humility, that he 
 would cut too sorry a figure beside yours for me to risk 
 my poor Christopher in their company." 
 
 "What! he is outspoken at his own expense," 
 thought the marquis; "why, the lad is not so provin- 
 cial as I supposed. Well," he resumed aloud, " we 
 can manage that. I have a horse in the stable, one that 
 we rejected because he is pretty difficult to manage. 
 You shall take my horse and I will mount Marlborough. 
 Besides, as you know, messieurs," added the marquis, 
 laughing, " he owes me revenge. Marlborough has
 
 THE chevalier's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 149 
 
 treated me as his namesake was in the liabit of treating 
 Monsieur de Villars. He threw me the other day, flat 
 on my back, as our friend Gueriniere says." 
 
 " P)ut," timidly remonstrated Eoger, " do not incon- 
 venience yourself for me. Monsieur le Marquis." 
 
 The marquis mistook his meaning, and, approaching 
 Roger, he asked in a low tone, — 
 " You ride, do you not, monsieur 1 " 
 "A little. Monsieur le Marquis; but you did not 
 understand me. I have the honor to suggest that you 
 mount your usual horse, and permit me, if you will, to 
 ride Marlborough." 
 
 "Ah! ah!" ejaculated the marquis, as he gazed in 
 astonishment at Roger. 
 
 " Why not? " said Roger; " for my own part, I am a 
 countryman, messieurs. I have ridden a great deal, so 
 much that I do not know whether it is because I under- 
 stand horses or they understand me, but my seat is very 
 secure. Therefore, have no concern about me, and if 
 my society is not less welcome than it was a moment 
 ago", and you still wish me for a comrade, why, have 
 Marlborough saddled. " 
 
 "Faith, monsieur, I will not deprive you of the 
 honor. Boisjoli," cried the marquis to one of his men, 
 " saddle Marlborough ! " 
 
 The groom turned toward the stables, thrusting out 
 his tongue with a wink at his fellows, as if plainly 
 saying, — 
 
 " Good! now we shall have some fun." 
 " But," said the marquis, " you are in shoes and silk 
 hose. You must at least have boots and spurs, 
 certainly." 
 
 " I can go to my hotel and get them," replied Roger. 
 " Where are you staying 1 "
 
 150 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "Rue Saint Honors." 
 
 " No, it is too far. Eameau-d'or," cried the marquis, 
 addressing another servant, " go to my bootmaker's and 
 have him bring live or six pairs of riding-boots; 
 quickly ! " 
 
 The valet left. 
 
 "Now, my dear chevalier," said the marquis, "you 
 shall know at least where I am taking you. We are 
 having a bachelors' party at Saint Germain's. You see 
 that you have come very opportunely, for I presume that 
 you are not averse, on coming to Paris, to learning how 
 they behave here. Then, your education perfected in 
 this respect, you will go away carrying ofif your millions, 
 — for you should know, messieurs," continued the mar- 
 quis, turning to his comrades, " that IMonsieur d'Anguil- 
 hem comes to Paris, I am informed, to enter into a 
 poor little inheritance of fifteen hundred thousand 
 livres." 
 
 " Peste! " exclaimed the young men in chorus; " ac- 
 cept our sincere congratulations." 
 
 "Take my advice, Monsieur le Chevalier," said one 
 young man with the quick familiarity that obtains among 
 people of rank, "cut that down a figure or two before 
 taking it away, and let us show you how to set 
 about it." 
 
 "Ah! pardleu ! chevalier," cried the Marquis de 
 Crette; "you may trust that to d'Herbigny; he is past- 
 master in that sort of undertaking. He has already 
 eaten up two uncles and an aunt." 
 
 "Come," said another, "who is the worthy defunct 
 that has given up a million and a half % " 
 
 " My cousin, Monsieur le Vicomte de Bouzenois," said 
 Roger. 
 
 " In that case, my dear chevalier, give me your hand.
 
 THE chevalier's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 151 
 
 We mast be of kin to each other, liy the left hand. I 
 have succeeded to his hist mistress." 
 
 " Is your portion worth as much as mine 1 " asked 
 Roger, shaking his hand. 
 
 "Come, come, not so bad! " exclaimed the Marquis 
 de Crette; " what do you say, Treville? " 
 
 " I say that Monsieur le Chevalier d'Anguilhem will 
 give the lie to the saying, 'stupid as a millionaire.' 
 He will be rich and witty: gaudeant bene nati." 
 
 "Amen," said Crette. "Chevalier, here come your 
 boots." 
 
 Roger accompanied the bootmaker to a small dressing- 
 room. 
 
 " Well, messieurs," said the marquis, looking after 
 him as he disappeared, "agree with me that this lad is 
 not at all bad for a provincial. He will bore us much 
 less than we might have expected in the beginning." 
 
 Five minutes later Roger emerged from the dressing- 
 room, booted and spurred in a way to have made any 
 courser other than Marlborough tremble. On gaining 
 the steps a groom handed him a riding-whip. 
 
 The young gentlemen mounted their horses and 
 Boisjoli led up Marlborough. 
 
 He was an admirable dark-bay, with waving mane, 
 fiery nostrils, bloodshot eyes, and slender legs, whose 
 veins stood out and crossed like network. Roger 
 looked him over like a connoisseur, and understood that 
 he had a worthy adversary ; nor did he neglect any neces- 
 sary precaution. He separated and gathered up the 
 reins, settled himself in the stirrups, and then, when he 
 found himself firm in the saddle, he made a sign to 
 Boisjoli to let him go. 
 
 It was the moment for which Marlborough was 
 waiting. Scarcely was he free before he began to jump,
 
 152 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 to rear, to shy, to execute, in sliort, all the mancEuvrcs 
 by whose aid he was accustomed to unseat his riders; 
 but this time he liad met his master. Roger permitted 
 him for a time to perform all his capricious antics, and 
 contented himself with so accommodating his own 
 movements to them, that horse and rider seemed but one. 
 Then, when he thought the time had come for putting an 
 end to all those whims, he began to make his knees felt 
 so effectually that Marlborough understood that liis 
 affairs had reached a crisis. Thereupon, he redoubled 
 his efforts; but this time both whip and spur played 
 their part in such fashion that the horse began to 
 whinny with pain and toss flakes of foanv. At last, after 
 ten minutes of desperate struggle, Marlborough recog- 
 nized that he was vanquished. Roger then amused 
 himself by making him execute circles, as in a train- 
 ing school. Then he put him through a course of paces, 
 of curvettings, and of all, in short, that the famous 
 La Gueriniere, the Franconi of the day, was in the 
 habit of teaching to the best broken horses. 
 
 Our young gentlemen had at first watched the proceed- 
 ings with the greatest curiosity, but later with the 
 greatest pleasure. The Marquis de Crette, especially, 
 •was very proud of Roger's triumph; and, when Master 
 Marlborough was entirely quieted, he advanced to con- 
 gratulate the chevalier, upon which the eulogies of the 
 other young people mingled in chorus. 
 
 They started for Saint Germain. All along the 
 way the entire conversation Avas of the dulness into 
 which the rigorous strictness of Madame de Maintenon 
 and the austerities of Louis XIV. had plunged France. 
 These madcaps invoked all the devils to fly away with 
 the widow Scarron, whom they spoke of only as " the 
 old woman."
 
 THE chevalier's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 153 
 
 There was, indeed, already a party that ridiculed 
 Pere Lachaise and his august penitents, — a party that 
 was beginning to rally around the Due d' Orleans and 
 making opposition to the old order of things; but the 
 faction was very weak as yet, and as it was in great dis- 
 favor at Versailles, it was rather hazardous to avow 
 openly that one belonged to it. 
 
 Koger, having been raised among the provincial 
 nobility who made, as we have said, a systematic oppo- 
 sition, felt himself quite at home, and took his part 
 quite acceptably in the refrain of maledictions with 
 which they reviled the favorite. He even enriched the 
 subject with ditties of Touraine about Pere Lachaise 
 and the directress of Saint Cyr, composed by some wits 
 near Loches. Moreover, he thought he was being very 
 audacious, and was only gay. 
 
 But, on the whole, what Eoger particularly admired 
 was the way in which these gentlemen trifled with 
 their frills and fingered their ruffles, the exceeding 
 superiority of the cut of their garments, the marvellous 
 choice of stuffs whose colors harmonized so pleasantly, 
 each with another, that this very harmony filled him 
 with dread. He did not believe that he could ever 
 manage so to pinch his waist and yet wear his clothes 
 with such ease. In spite of this naive admiration, 
 which Roger did not even endeavor to conceal, not a 
 single scoff was aimed at him, for which he was so 
 grateful that he became humble, and sought every 
 opportunity for self-abasement, but he could hardly open 
 his mouth in depreciation of his own alarming costume 
 and his provincial manners before some one of the young 
 people would gently interrupt him. 
 
 Arrived at Saint Germain, they ordered dinner, but 
 as an hour at least must pass before the dinner could
 
 154 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 Le ready, Monsieur dc Crctto proposed a game of 
 cards. 
 
 Roger trembled on hearing that proposition. 
 
 "Ahis!" tliought he, "these people phiy as high as 
 three or four pistoles." Poor Roger! 
 
 He cast a glance of misgiving at his host, who quickly 
 understood him. 
 
 "Messieurs," said the marquis, " [jcrhaps tlie Cheva- 
 lier d'Anguilhem does not know our game very well. 
 Let us limit the stakes to twenty luuis to give him time 
 to learn it without ruining himself." 
 
 At this chivalrous announcement a cold sweat bathed 
 Roger's face. 
 
 " Half of all I possess," he said to himself. " I am a 
 lost man ! " 
 
 Then, in a single second he understood all the vani- 
 ties of existence. Anguilhem, La Guerite, La Pintade, 
 the economies of a half century heaped in the paternal 
 strong-box, all could be squandered in an hour at cards, 
 and with people who played a small game besides. It 
 was not calculated, it will be agreed, to increase his 
 sense of importance. 
 
 Monsieur de Crette divined that Roger was burning 
 with a desire to speak with him in private. He there- 
 fore rose when they began to prepare the table for a 
 game, and sauntered indifferently into the next room. 
 Roger followed him. 
 
 " My faith, marquis," said Roger with the frankness 
 that had won the liking of his comrades from the 
 beginning, " I do not wish to sail under false colors 
 among honest men. My father is not rich. He has 
 given me a little money for my journey, and I am 
 afraid — " 
 
 "Of losing?"
 
 THE chevalier's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 155 
 
 "iSTo, but of losing too much." 
 
 " Nonsense! get rid of that notion, then. One of the 
 qualifications of a gentleman is to be a good player." 
 
 " Yes; but to be a good player a man ought not to lose 
 more than he possesses." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "What, of money?" 
 
 " Money ? A man always has money, if not in his 
 own pockets, at least in his friends'." 
 
 " Excuse me, marquis, but I do not like to borrow." 
 
 " You are a child, chevalier. Nobody borrows; every- 
 body plays en Vair; that is the way we do. How 
 much do you think we have among us all? A hundred 
 louis, perhaps; but at the bottom of the purse is the 
 word, chevalier, and a gentleman's word is as good as a 
 gold mine. And besides, when a man is playing among 
 honorable men like us, the good luck balances the bad. 
 We play all the year around among ourselves. We win 
 and we lose prodigious sums, and on the thirty-first day 
 of December the unluckiest of us is not more than a 
 hundred pistoles behind. Play, then, fearlessly, lose 
 cheerfully, or I forewarn you that I shall look black." 
 
 " I shall do everything in my power to keep in your 
 good graces, marquis," returned Roger, smiling. 
 
 " Then come back without farther delay. I hear the 
 gold jingling." 
 
 The marquis and Eoger re-entered the room ; the table 
 was prepared ; the game was ready. D' Anguilhem lost 
 his twenty louis in three rounds. 
 
 During that one half hour all that terror holds of 
 poignant anguish gripped the chevalier's heart. Yet, 
 although his temples twitched a little, his smile did 
 not fade for an instant. The marquis challenged him 
 to stake anew.
 
 156 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Tho chevalier drew twenty louis more from his pocket. 
 
 At tlie end of five rounds tho chevalier had won back 
 his twenty louis and forty others. Then he began to 
 play cautiously. 
 
 " This excellent d'Anguilhem is a veritable monopo- 
 list," remarked the Marquis de Crett^ as he shoved over 
 to the chevalier some fifteen louis which were his due, 
 and which tlie chevalier had just won from him with a 
 pair-royal of knaves. " He comes to Paris to get fifteen 
 hundred thousand livres, and wishes to carry olf our 
 money besides." 
 
 Koger took the hint, thanked his friend by a frank 
 smile, and began to play as freely as when he was losing. 
 
 But Roger was in luck. At the end of ten minutes 
 he had three hundred louis stacked in front of him. 
 
 It must be said that if the chevalier's terror had been 
 profound, his joy was delirious. 
 
 Dinner was announced. D'Anguilhem inwardly 
 thanked heaven for giving him this chance to achieve 
 what is technically called a Charlemagne. Crette saw 
 the expression of satisfaction tliat passed over his coun- 
 tenance, slight as it was. 
 
 " Chevalier," said the marquis, " you would like us to 
 think you very elated over your winnings, and that is 
 modesty on your part; but I know you. I will wager 
 that you are going to risk your winnings of three hundred 
 louis against d'Herbigny, who has lost four hundred, 
 I think, on the first twenty-one that comes to hand." 
 
 As he spoke he gave Roger a significant look. 
 
 " You are right, marquis; but as a twenty-one, how- 
 ever, does not occur in every coup, I propose to Monsieur 
 d'Herbigny that we play three hundred louis, one 
 against the other, on the first round and without looking 
 at our cards. We take what we "et."
 
 THE chevalier's ENTKY INTO SOCIETY. 157 
 
 " Agreed ! " exclaimed d'Herbigny. 
 
 The cards were dealt. No one entered upon the game. 
 The two laid down their cards. Roger had twenty-nine 
 and d'Herbigny thirty. 
 
 Eoger reddened slightly, but that was all. 
 
 " Here are your three hundred louis, vicomte," he 
 said with a laugh. 
 
 " You are a very fine player, Monsieur d' Anguilhem," 
 responded d'Herbigny with a bow. 
 
 " Accept my compliments, chevalier," said the Comte 
 de Chastellux. " You play like a true gentleman." 
 
 " And mine," added the Baron de Treville. 
 
 "And ours," continued the others. 
 
 Crette took his hand, and as he pressed it he mur- 
 mured in his ear, — 
 
 " Well done ! A man is known by the way he plays 
 and fights. Keep on as you have begun to-day, and in 
 three months you will be an accomplished cavalier," 
 
 "Compliments enough," thought Roger as he rose. 
 " I appear to have done something very fine," Rutin 
 going from the gaming-table to the dinner-table he 
 heaved a great sigh that nearly strangled him. 
 
 The dinner was of the gayest. The Marquis de Crette 
 and his set piqued themselves on their drinking; but 
 they were, in this respect, mere babes beside their pro- 
 vincial convive. Roger complained in all seriousness 
 that the glasses were small and the wine weak. 
 
 " Zounds ! " exclaimed d'Herbigny ; " you play as well 
 as you ride, and you drink as well as you play. Every- 
 thing seems to be well done at Anguilhem." 
 
 Roger was amazed at finding himself not only equal 
 but even superior in some things to these marvels of 
 elegance. 
 
 During the entire dinner the talk was of hunting and
 
 158 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 duels and conquests. On the first and last heads the 
 chevalier could relate a sufficient number of feats, al- 
 though his amours were not of the same sort as those of 
 his new friends. But on the second sulyect he could 
 boast neither prowess nor triumph. Never had he been 
 engaged in even the smallest duel. Never had he seen 
 one. It was humiliating, and he figured as a rather 
 sulky listener. 
 
 The dessert was reached when a second group arrived. 
 Those who comprised it Avere as noisy on their arrival 
 as were the Marquis de Crette and his convives at the 
 end of their dinner. 
 
 " So we fire to have the Messieurs de Kollinski," said 
 the JMarquis de Crette, with an air of vexation that did 
 not escape Koger. 
 
 Roger leaned from the window and saw four gentle- 
 men, two of whom, superbly attired in foreign costumes, 
 strutted across the threshold with great boisterousness. 
 
 They were two Hungarian gentlemen whose array was 
 so sumptuous as to amount to extravagance. Their 
 luxury was insulting even in that epoch of luxury. 
 
 Instantly a hush fell upon the first comers, as if they 
 feared to encourage the familiarity of these last arrivals. 
 
 Roger leaned toward the marquis and inquired, — 
 
 " Who are the Messieurs de Kollinski ? " 
 
 " Two honorable Hungarian noblemen who live here 
 after the manner of their country," responded the mar- 
 quis, " beating landlords, maltreating lackeys, barring 
 the way of passers-by, — all which would be delightful if 
 duelling were not prohibited and so stringently punished. 
 They are brave for that matter. No fault is to be found 
 with them in that respect." 
 
 Roger profited by the information. 
 
 The Messieurs de Kollinski then entered the great
 
 THE CIIEVALIEE's ENTRY INTO SOCIETY. 159 
 
 hall of the inn, and tlicy all courteously saluted one 
 another. But the first compliments were hardly ex- 
 changed before the Marquis de Crette arose, an example 
 that was imitated by the gentlemen of his party, paid 
 the reckoning, and departed, followed by Roger and his 
 other companions. 
 
 From the foot of the staircase Roger heard the Mes- 
 sieurs de Kollinski burst into a shout of laughter, and 
 the words " apple-green ribbons " struck his ear several 
 times. Now Roger wore, as we have said, a knot of 
 apple-green ribbons on his shoulder. It was an orna- 
 ment in very bad taste, especially on a sky-blue coat. 
 Roger was not aware of it in the morning, but he had 
 discerned it by evening. He was, therefore, enraged at 
 the laughers, and he began to detest them from the 
 bottom of his heart. Roger felt that in their eyes he 
 was ridiculous. 
 
 Monsieur de Crette, for his part, had not lost a word 
 of their raillery, for, as he mounted his horse, he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 " 3fon Dieuf but these Messieurs de Kollinski are 
 provokingly insolent! " 
 
 Roger divined that the jest of the Hungarians had 
 been understood by his comrades. He suffered cruelly, 
 but, having said nothing at the moment, he was con- 
 strained to swallow his wrath. 
 
 Again in Paris, Roger affectionately thanked the mar- 
 quis for his many kind favors, asked each gentleman 
 present for permission to call on him, and accepted 
 an invitation to make one of a tennis-party on the 
 morrow. 
 
 " Remove your apple-green knot," the marquis said to 
 him in an undertone as they separated, " and put on one 
 of poppy-color. It is the fashionable shade."
 
 IGO SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Eoger would liave prciferred a dagger-thrust to tliis 
 delicate attention from his new friend. 
 
 "Decidedly," thought he, "I was insulted, and I 
 did not demand satisfaction for the insult. Am I, then, 
 a man of no si)irit? "
 
 THE YALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 161 
 
 XI. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER PROFITED BY THE FENCING 
 LESSONS GIVEN HIM BY THE BARON d'aNGUILHEM, 
 HIS FATHER. 
 
 During the whole night, this idea kept Roger awake. 
 He looked at the matter from a hundred standpoints ; he 
 thought of a thousand arguments in his own favor ; but 
 the sum total remained that he had been jeered at, and 
 he had permitted it. The memory of it spoiled all that 
 day before, so beautiful still to him. This thought, 
 combined with the information given him by Maitre 
 Coquenard concerning the state of the lawsuit, was not 
 calculated to conduce to a good night's rest; and so 
 Koger, after having slept an hour or two, awoke in a very 
 bad humor. 
 
 However, as he had on the previous day learned the 
 value of a good coat, before taking his chocolate he sent 
 for a tailor and ordered him to have ready, by ten o'clock 
 in the morning, a complete costume made in the best 
 taste that he could command. At ten o'clock the tailor 
 returned to Roger's apartment with a coat of chatoyant 
 taffeta, the cuffs embroidered in silver, a vest of violet 
 gray silk, also embroidered in silver, and knee-breeches 
 like the coat; the rest of the toilet was completed by a 
 neck-scarf of Mechlin lace, embroidered clocked-hose and 
 new buckles; a sword, finer than the one he wore the 
 day before, and having a perfect edge, cocked up in 
 cavalier fashion the left skirt of his coat. 
 
 11
 
 162 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 He then frankly confided to tlic tailor his misgivings 
 as to the manner of creditably carrying off all those beau- 
 tiful things. The latter, who was an artist, gave him 
 invaluable advice. Roger wished to put it into practice 
 on the instant; he walked away, he turned, he came 
 back before his instructor, who in the end declared him- 
 self perfectly satisfied with the way the chevalier caressed 
 liis chin and thrust his hat under his left arm; these 
 were the chief things. Roger paid the tailor and dis- 
 missed him, already somewhat diverted from the dis- 
 agreeable thoughts that had engaged his mind during all 
 the night. He set out, then, with a light step for the 
 Rue de Vaugirard where the tennis-court was situated. 
 
 Only a single thing was lacking to the perfect gratifi- 
 cation of his self-esteem, — to be seen, thus dressed, by 
 Constance ; and his regret was the keener as he evidently 
 produced a great sensation upon all whom he encountered, 
 a sensation demonstrated by their turning about and 
 following him with the eye. In fact, no one could un- 
 derstand where this handsome youth with such a self- 
 satisfied air could be going, at ten o'clock in the 
 morning, arrayed as if for a wedding. 
 
 Roger arrived first at the rendezvous; the markers 
 executed profound obeisances, which seemed to him to 
 augur well. It was the first time Roger had seen a 
 tennis-court ; he had expected to find himself in a Louvre, 
 — he was in a barn, or little better. 
 
 So powerful already was caprice in the capital of the 
 civilized world that the fact did not prevent this tennis- 
 court being the most popular one in Paris. 
 
 Roger took advantage of the opportunity which he 
 owed to his great punctuality, to gain from the markers 
 some theoretical instruction concerning the course of the 
 game, and some practical lessons as well. As he was
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 1G3 
 
 possessed of a quick intelligence, he then and there mas- 
 tered the order of the play and as he had an accurate eye 
 and a strong wrist, he drove a straight enough ball for a 
 beginner. 
 
 In the meantime, Roger's new friends arrived. The 
 chevalier's stupefaction was great; they were in morning 
 breeches and dressing-gowns. Alas ! to become a Parisian, 
 the poor chevalier still had much to learn. 
 
 The Marquis de Crette observed his surprise. 
 
 " We live in the quarter," said he, " hence we come in 
 like neighbors." 
 
 " I," said Eoger, " have some visits to make on leaving 
 you, and I dressed beforehand." 
 
 " You would have done better to have come in 
 neglige, " returned the marquis ; " you will find that you 
 must go to your hotel from here; this costume will 
 hinder you greatly." 
 
 " I did not expect to play, " said Roger, biting his lips. 
 " I do not know the game, and — " 
 
 "Oh," returned the marquis, "we will knock about 
 the balls a little to put us in breath and give you an ink- 
 ling of the thing, then we will play a regular game." 
 
 At that moment, a noise of ill-omen echoed in the 
 antechamber. Several voices were heard, and among 
 them Roger thought he recognized the voice that had 
 ridiculed the apple-green ribbons on the previous after- 
 noon: he felt a presentiment. 
 
 In fact, almost immediately, the Messieurs de Kollin- 
 ski entered with their two companions of the day before; 
 a cold perspiration gathered upon Roger's forehead. 
 
 " Let us make haste and take our places, " said the 
 marquis, " or we shall have a disfjute with these bullies 
 about who shall play the game." 
 
 The marquis removed his dressing-gown, his friends
 
 164 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 did the same; Roger, for his part, despoiled himself of 
 coat, vest, and sword. 
 
 The game began. 
 
 Koger commenced by perpetrating a few of the blunders 
 inseparable from apprenticeship in a game so difficult, 
 and not witliout shouts of laughter from the spectators. 
 But his play improved, little by little. As a rule, all 
 branches of physical culture are related. Apt in matters 
 requiring skill and address, Roger made visible progress. 
 On the other hand, the strength of his wrist aroused the 
 admiration of his new friends; his balls Avhistled like 
 cannon-shot, and a man certainly needed courage to be 
 a third against him. 
 
 The young gentlemen were greatly amused to see the 
 display of most unlooked-for expedients on the part of 
 that powerful creature. Sometimes, in order to take a 
 ball far above his head, Roger took such a leap into the 
 air that one would have said a spring-board was under his 
 feet; sometimes, to make a hit, he would shoot forward 
 or dart backward with a strength of limb and a calcu- 
 lation of distance that were amazing in a beginner; nor did 
 his friends withhold their eulogies. Roger was exultant. 
 
 The onlookers seemed less entertained. The Messieurs 
 de Kollinski had come to play, and they discovered tliat 
 the game of the Marquis de Crette lasted rather too long 
 to suit their convenience. For that reason, by way of 
 passing the time, and while his brother sneered with his 
 usual impertinence, Monsieur de Kollinski the elder 
 placed himself where he could throw the balls into the 
 pockets (blouses). 
 
 As the transaction took place on the Marquis de 
 Crette's side, it was to him that it seemed particularly 
 disagreeable. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Marquis de Crette became more and
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSOXS. 165 
 
 more annoyed, and paid so much less attention to his 
 play that with his increased annoyance he began to lose. 
 
 The ^larquis de Crette was a good-natured player 
 when he lost by his own fault or by that of people 
 whom he liked; but he was quick-tempered when he 
 lost through others, if the others were people whom 
 he disliked. And so, another ball being pocketed by 
 Monsieur de Kollinski, the Marquis de Crette lost his 
 temper. 
 
 " Parbleu! monsieur," turning toward the meddler, 
 " you pocket my balls and cause me to lose. That 
 probably amuses you, but for my part, I fail to find it 
 amusing." 
 
 "Very well, marquis: then I will pocket monsieur's," 
 said the Hungarian as he passed to Koger's side. 
 
 Roger cast a questioning glance at the marquis, to 
 which the marquis responded by a significant look, 
 
 " You may, if monsieur permits it, " said the Marquis 
 de Crette. 
 
 " Ah ! but I shall not permit it, " said Roger, with an 
 indescribable beating of the heart, as he took a few steps 
 toward Monsieur de Kollinski. 
 
 " Look ! " exclaimed the Hungarian, " here is the man 
 of the apple-green knot. Why are you not wearing your 
 apple-green ribbon, friend 1 " 
 
 Roger felt the blood mount to his temples, and yet he 
 stood as if nailed to the spot. 
 
 He tried to reply to Monsieur de Kollinski, but his 
 tongue was paralyzed. 
 
 " It is true that monsieur has no longer his apple-green 
 knot, " spoke up the Marquis de Crette, " but he has a 
 new sword." 
 
 The words Avere as the spark that touches off the keg 
 of powder.
 
 166 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 Roger approached close to Monsieur tie Kollinski, and 
 bowing gravely, he added, — 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, a new sword with which I shall have 
 the honor to run you through tlie body, if that will be 
 agreeable to you." 
 
 All present burst into a loud laugh on hearing Roger's 
 unique challenge. Monsieur de Kollinski was about to 
 reply in his usual noisy manner, but the Yiconite d'Her- 
 bigny had also approached him ; placing a finger on his 
 lips, he said, — 
 
 "Not in public, messieurs, T beg; we shall meet 
 again." 
 
 The Hungarians saluted, turned, and went to the foot 
 of the hall, Avhere they began to laugh maliciously 
 together. 
 
 "Why, what is the matter, chevalier? " said the mar- 
 quis in a low tone to Roger, who, after the rush of blood 
 to his face, had turned very pale ; " one would say that 
 you were ill ! " 
 
 "No, monsieur; but I am somewhat disturbed." 
 
 " Is your disturbance of such a nature as to keep you 
 from fighting if we need a fourth 1 " 
 
 " Keep me from fighting, — me ? " returned Roger, 
 bearing in mind his father's instructions. " I will fight 
 ten times, if necessary, and against ten men, if you think 
 proper; but there is something going on inside of me 
 that is stronger than I am, and I tremble. It is rage, I 
 think." 
 
 The marquis smiled at the simplicity with which Roger 
 described his sensations. 
 
 " Do you fence ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh yes, a little." 
 
 " Who is your master ? " 
 
 " My father taught me."
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 167 
 
 " Dlahle ! then you are not likely to accomplish any 
 great things." 
 
 " I think I can defend myself. " 
 
 " If only you could draw a sword as well as you ride ! " 
 
 " Why, I hope I am as skilful at least at the one 
 exercise as at the other." 
 
 " Fact 1 " 
 
 " Yes; but I have fenced only with foils." 
 
 " And you do not know how you Avill fight when once 
 on the ground ? " 
 
 " I know that I will fight, that is all, and without 
 drawing back a step, I promise you." 
 
 " Ah ! if you promise that, " answered the marquis, " I 
 am tranquil." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 "Very well!" 
 
 The marquis donned his dressing-gown, adjusted his 
 neck-scarf, and went to find the two brothers who were 
 sitting on the markers' bench with their two friends, and 
 who arose at his approach. 
 
 The gentlemen exchanged the usual civilities. The 
 Messieurs de Kollinski had grown perfectly polite. It 
 was quite simple ; they were going to fight. 
 
 They fixed upon a rendezvous for four o'clock, and 
 agreed to meet at the rear of the convent of the Filles- 
 du-Saint-Sacrement. 
 
 Our four young men returned to the hotel of the 
 Marquis de Crette. 
 
 " Faith, messieurs, this is a serious affair, " said the 
 marquis throwing himself on a sofa, and by a sign 
 inviting his companions to do likewise. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " demanded d'Herbigny. 
 
 " Well ! my dear vicomte, the Messiei;rs de Kollinski 
 are absolutely determined to fight four against four."
 
 168 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Well, are there not four of us? " said Trdvillc. 
 
 " Undoubtedly, baron ; but for the second day that 
 ■we have been togotlier, I should be glad to keep the 
 chevalier out of tliis business." 
 
 " And why me, more than another ? " demanded Roger. 
 
 "Because, chevalier, a first affair — is a first affair." 
 
 " Ah ga ! perhaps you Parisians, then, have discovered 
 the way to begin with a second, " returned Roger. 
 
 " No, not yet, it is true, " said Crett^ with a laugh. 
 
 "In that case, make use of me, I beg, monsieur," 
 replied the chevalier; "if it is a matter of getting a 
 sword-thrust, why, the deuce! I am as good as another." 
 
 "Very good!" exclaimed d'Herbigny. "That is the 
 sort of talk I like." 
 
 " I will answer for the chevalier, " declared Treville. 
 
 " Chevalier, if we get out of this, " said Crette, " you 
 shall be my friend. But do not deceive yourself. 
 The Messieurs de Kollinski are accomplished duellists; 
 they have fought with rapiers in their country from the 
 time of Charles IX." 
 
 " Well, what of that, marquis ? However terrible they 
 may be, we will try to make up their party," 
 
 " So be it, then ; but you are forewarned. There is 
 still time for you to withdraw honorably, chevalier; 
 and in your stead we can resort to Clos-Renaud who has 
 a pretty stroke." 
 
 "I shall be greatly chagrined, marquis, if you repeat 
 what you have just said. I am at your service and that 
 of our Hungarians. " 
 
 " Well, messieurs, at four o'clock, this evening, " said 
 Crette. " Let us make our wills, for in all probability 
 we shall have a warm time of it. Come with me, Roger, 
 and I will give you a good sword; what you have there 
 is only a hilt,"
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 169 
 
 The marquis took leave of his companions, and he con- 
 ducted Roger to a species of armory where tliere were 
 swords of every magnitude, with hilts adapted to differ- 
 ent hands. 
 
 Eoger chose like an expert : he took a handsome blade, 
 neither too long nor too sliort, not too heavy nor too 
 light, a three-edged carlet as sharp as a needle, which, 
 widened a little fourteen or fifteen inches from the hilt 
 in such a way as to give strength in parrying. 
 
 The marquis keenly observed the chevalier while he 
 was making his choice. 
 
 " Come, come, " he said ; " I see that you have good 
 enough judgment. Toss your sword into a corner, — it 
 is good for nothing, — and put this one in its place. 
 Excellent ! This evening, behind the convent of the 
 Filles-du-Saint-Sacrement, you understand?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Wait for me ; I will call for you as I pass. Or, 
 rather, on second thoughts, be here at two; we will have 
 a bite together." 
 
 " You overwhelm me, marquis." 
 
 " There, there, don't use that word again; it is not 
 current among friends, and it smells of Loches six leagues 
 away." 
 
 Once returned to his hotel and shut within his room, 
 Roger gave way to very lugubrious reflections. That 
 remark about their wills, dropped by way of advice 
 by the Marquis de Crette, kept running through his 
 head. 
 
 " Parbleu ! " he exclaimed, " it would be an odd thing 
 if I have come from Loches to Paris just to get myself 
 killed." 
 
 With that, the chevalier rested his elbow on the table, 
 leaned his head on his hand, and began to think of Con-
 
 170 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 stance, of liis mother, of the baron, (jf the delights of his 
 native province, so real, and yet appreciated only when 
 distant, whose reality was felt only when wanting ; then 
 he wrote a few pages to Constance, and to his father and 
 mother, weeping quite openly as he went on writing. 
 
 He wept so much that he could at last weep no more ; 
 and besides, there was a magnificent sky, the sun shot 
 across the window-bars a long stream of light, in which 
 played millions of motes. Death does not look so ugly in 
 fine weather ; it has been remarked that many more people 
 have been brave in August than in December. 
 
 Koger, therefore, tossed his head, took up the marquis' 
 sword and unsheathed it ; it weighed, in his robust hand, 
 scarcely more than a foil. He drew at the wall, and 
 went through a few exceedingly swift and vigorous passes 
 in quarte and tierce; in short, he was in the end well 
 pleased with himself, being convinced that he had lost 
 none of his skill, although he had not touched a foil for 
 nearly eighteen months. 
 
 By two o'clock he returned to the hotel of the marquis. 
 Crette was awaiting him in the armory with d'Herbigny 
 and Treville. 
 
 A table was spread ; on the table were some cutlets, a 
 pate, and two bottles only of old wine. 
 
 At the sight the chevalier declared that, having had 
 only his chocolate at nine o'clock in the morning, he was 
 literally perishing of hunger. 
 
 The three others chimed in chorus. 
 
 The repast was as gay as if they were to set out for 
 the opera on leaving the table. Yet from time to time 
 the chevalier felt a nervous spasm seize his heart ; but the 
 sensation was merely transient, nor was it strong enough 
 to banish the smile from his lips. 
 
 They sat an hour at the table ; but they drank not a
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 171 
 
 glassful more than the two bottles. The four friends 
 embraced at the dessert. 
 
 " Listen, chevalier," said d'Herbigny, Avho passed for 
 the best swordsman among the young gentlemen compos- 
 ing the ]N[arquis de Crette's set. " It was easy to see yes- 
 terday wlien you rode Marlborough, and to-day when you 
 were playing tennis, that your legs are of iron and your 
 arms of steel ; do you flail that blackamoor of a Kollinski, 
 for I am pretty certain that he will wish to deal with 
 you, — and it is quite natural, since you so gallantly 
 offered to run him through with your sword. He em- 
 ploys feints. Break his wrist for him, disable him, then 
 you Avill liave the advantage." 
 
 " In my second duel," responded the chevalier, " I will 
 do that, perhaps, for, as my father has always told me, 
 breaking a wrist is not running away; but in my first, 
 pardieu ! I will not recede a step, and, to make sure, I 
 warn you that if there is a wall, I will set my back 
 to it." 
 
 " That 's right ! then he can pin you like a butterfly 
 to the wainscot. Xo boasting, my dear fellow ; remember 
 that when he has finished with you, he will fall on ovir 
 backs." 
 
 " I will try to give him enough to attend to without 
 meddling in your little affairs," replied Roger. 
 
 " Amen ! " was d'Herbigny's response. 
 
 " Amen ! " repeated Crette and Tr^ville. 
 
 All three put on their swords ; the chevalier had not 
 taken off his; then they entered a carriage. 
 
 Arrived at the corner of the convent of the Filles-du- 
 Saint-Sacrement, Crette pulled the strap; the coachman 
 drew up ; a little jockey sitting beside him descended and 
 opened the door. 
 
 " You are to wait here, Basque, " said the marquis,
 
 172 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " to see if any one comes, as we sliall probably liave much 
 more need of a carriage returning tban coming." 
 
 The four young men sprang to the ground, 
 
 " Well, how do you feel, Roger 1 " asked the marquis. 
 
 " I ? I feel marvellously well, and to do credit to the 
 company I am in, I would fight with the devil in person." 
 
 A second carriage arrived. Our young people's four 
 adversaries descended. They were the Messieurs de 
 Kollinski, the Comte de Gorkaiin, a Saxon, and Monsieur 
 de Bardane, an officer of the light-horse. 
 
 They advanced toward the Marquis de Crette and 
 saluted. 
 
 It befell with regard to Roger as Monsieur d'Herbigny 
 had anticipated. The elder Kollinski was bent upon 
 fighting him, and as Roger on his part wished to fight 
 Kollinski, the discussion was not long. 
 
 The rest of the match was arranged as follows: the 
 Marquis de Crette engaged Kollinski the younger, 
 d'Herbigny was content with Monsieur de Bardane, and 
 Treville with the Saxon, 
 
 They put themselves on guard, and as they were liable 
 to interruption at any moment, they immediately crossed 
 weapons. 
 
 The Marquis de Crette received a sword-thrust in the 
 wrist, d'Herbigny slew outright Monsieur de Bardane, 
 and Treville was killed by the Comte de Gorkaiin. 
 
 As for Roger, he was, without suspecting it, a first- 
 class swordsman ; as he had promised, he did not yield a 
 step. On the other hand, he lunged at his adversary three 
 times: the first time, with a straight thrust, and he 
 pierced his cheek; the second, with a parry and thrust, 
 and he made a hole in his neck ; the third, with a feint, 
 and he ran him through the breast. 
 
 Monsieur de Kollinski, the elder, fell.
 
 THE VALUE OF FENCING LESSONS. 173 
 
 " Peste ! " cried Crette, wlio was sitting on the grass, 
 "what a battering- ram tliat fellow is! he would break 
 down a wall." 
 
 Seeing his brother fall, the younger Kollinski sprang 
 at Eoger, but his way was barred by d'Herbigny. 
 
 "One moment, monsieur," said d'Herbigny to the 
 Hungarian. " If you are willing, I shall have the honor 
 of serving you in the same fashion tliat my friend Roger 
 has served monsieur, your brother." 
 
 And with that, he put aside Roger, who was rushing 
 forward, maintaining that as he had begun with the 
 family he wished to stay by it; but there was no time to 
 continue the discussion. 
 
 The Saxon was upon him. 
 
 " Bardon, my tear monsieur, " he was saying, " but I 
 tink not we should stand mit folded arms." 
 
 " Unfold your arms, then, " retorted Roger, resuming 
 his guard. 
 
 "Be quick, be quick, messieurs!" cried Crette; 
 " Basque is signalling that some one is coming." 
 
 " Attend, attend, " said Roger ; " parry that ! " 
 
 He lunged, and ran his sword through Comte de 
 Gorkailn's shoulder. 
 
 " Monsieur, " said the latter, gravely, " if efer you 
 should gome to Dresden, I shall pe enchanted to enter- 
 tain you." 
 
 " Monsieur, " returned Roger, alive to the compliment, 
 " you may count upon having my first visit." 
 
 The two adversaries saluted. 
 
 During this time the younger Kollinski and d'Her- 
 bigny were interchanging thrusts; d'Herbigny ran Kol- 
 linski through the hip, and Kollinski scratched his 
 adversary's thigh. 
 
 At the summons of the Marquis de Crette, the car-
 
 174 SYLVAN DIRE. 
 
 riage came up at a gnllop. Basque and Monsieur de 
 Kollinski's coacliman grouped Monsieur de Burdane and 
 the Vicomte de Trdville together in such a manner that 
 they might be supposed to liave slain each other; the 
 elder Kollinski, who was still alive, was home to his 
 carriage; his brother and the Saxon took their places 
 beside him, and the carriage set off with the horses at a 
 run. For their part, Crette, d'Herbigny, and Roger 
 sprang lightly into their own coach, and the horses boro 
 them away at full speed. 
 
 " My dear chevalier, " said the marquis, " I ask for 
 your friendship, and in all sincerity offer you mine." 
 
 " And I, too," added d'Herbigny. 
 
 " You overwhelm me, " was Roger's response. 
 
 " Roger, Roger," protested the marquis, " you know 
 very well that you have agreed not to use that word to 
 me again. Saeredieu! how my wrist pains me! " 
 
 "And poor Treville, " said d'Herbigny; "to think 
 that I owed him two hundred pistoles ! " 
 
 " "What would you have, my dear fellow ? " said the 
 marquis ; " that account is settled. " 
 
 And all three re-entered the hotel of the INIarquis de 
 Crette, whence d'Herbigny and Roger did not emerge 
 until after nightfall.
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 175 
 
 xir. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'aNGUILHEM BECOMES AC- 
 QUAINTED WITH THE SON OF THE EAST INDIAN, 
 AND THE KIND OF PERSON HE FINDS HIM TO BE. 
 
 All these adventures had passed with the swiftness of a 
 dream. 
 
 Roger had had time to live, it is true; but he had 
 scarcely had leisure to perceive that he was living. He 
 discussed this phenomenal activity with the Marquis de 
 Crette. 
 
 " My dear fellow," said the marquis, " that is the way 
 we live in Paris. However, we shall lose our evening 
 to-night, or I shall, at least, as my wrist will prevent 
 my going out. But as for you, your two wrists are very 
 sound. You can worthily employ your time from now 
 to midnight." 
 
 " Xo, thank you," said Roger; " I shall not be sorry 
 to return to my hotel. However, at the rate at which 
 I am going, and with the example that I have before my 
 eyes, I hope that in a week I shall be an accomplished 
 cavalier. " 
 
 " Pardieu ! I can well believe that. You are not 
 recognizable after these two days. Yet there is really 
 one thing more urgent than the dinners at Saint Ger- 
 main, the games of tennis at the Rue de Vaugirard, and 
 the promenades back of the convent of the Filles-du- 
 Saint-Sacrement. That is your lawsuit, and I advise 
 you to attend to it. "
 
 176 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "Such is my intention, indeed," replied d'Anguil- 
 hem ; " and to-morrow I shall 8et about it. " 
 
 "You understand, my dear fellow, that for all your 
 business I place either coach or horse at your disposal. 
 Only let me know every morning your hour and your 
 ■wishes, and one or the other, as you choose, shall be at 
 your door. " 
 
 "And do you think I shall win my suit?" asked 
 Eogcr. 
 
 " Ah! bless me, my dear fellow, you are asking more 
 than I know. Were you to ask if I thought you could 
 break Bucephalus, I should answer yes; whether I 
 thought 3'ou could spit Berthelot and Boisrobert, our 
 best fencing-masters, I should say it is quite possible; 
 but, 2:)este ! my dear friend, a judge is not to be won 
 over as a horse is broken or a man is killed. There are 
 attorneys, tipstaves, counsellors, chief justices, adminis- 
 trators, creditors, a world of big-wigs, a hell of dirty 
 rascals. You must first try to get the names of all these 
 fellows. Then you will tell me, and then we will con- 
 trive to beguile some of them with fine words, and to 
 bribe others with money." 
 
 "As for the fine words that is all very well," re- 
 turned Roger; " and I am in funds so far as they are 
 concerned. I studied rhetoric with the Abbe Dubuquoi, 
 who is an intellectual fellow, and philosophy with the 
 Jesuits of Amboise; but as for money, that is another 
 thing. My father gave me fifty louis for six months' 
 expenses, and in two days I have already made away 
 with twenty pistoles." 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, I have told you that among 
 gentlemen there need be no anxiety about such matters. 
 Help yourself from my purse. I have an income of 
 sixty thousand livres, and if it were not for my steward
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 177 
 
 I should scarcely get rid of it. Take it, my dear fel- 
 low, take it. You shall pay it all back when you are a 
 millionaire." 
 
 " And if I lose my suit ? " demurred Roger. 
 
 " Well, what of that, chevalier 1 You would not need 
 to hang yourself! We Avill take what is left of your 
 money and sit down to a card-table. One cannot always 
 lose. Fortune will owe you revenge, and she will give 
 it to you." 
 
 "All that is rather precarious, my dear marquis, and 
 I confess that the future does not look very rosy." 
 
 "Ah, yes! You have great reason to complain, it 
 seems to me. What should Bardane and Treville say 
 if you are not satisfied 1 By the way, my dear Roger, 
 if you are questioned on the subject, don't fail to say 
 that they quarrelled at tennis, and that they ran each 
 other through. If some busybody asks how you know, 
 say that I told you." 
 
 " Very well," said Roger; and he prepared to leave. 
 
 " And one word more. Send to KoUinski's to-morrow 
 morning to learn whether he is dead or alive. You 
 certainly owe him that. If he is dead, rest his soul! 
 all is over. If not, send every day until he either passes 
 away or is cured. Did you not give the Saxon a little 
 scratch, tool " 
 
 " I believe I ran him through the shoulder." 
 
 "Ah! you believe! Well, kill two birds with one 
 stone, and send to both places at the same time." 
 
 " But their addresses ? " 
 
 " Petitpas will take them to you in the morning." 
 
 "Who is Petitpas?" 
 
 " A messenger of mine." 
 
 "Well, a good-night to you, marquis." 
 
 " Thanks for the wish, but I am skeptical. My wrist 
 
 12
 
 178 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 I)ains mo as if possessed. That beast of a Kollinski 
 might liave given me a tlirust somewhere else! What 
 brutes tliose Hungarians are! Well, good-night, my 
 friend, you know what to expect from to-day, — for life, 
 for death between us." 
 
 On his way to his hotel Roger reflected that, even if 
 he had not killed, he had severely injured that day , a man ; 
 and he was astonished, in spite of the Ijehests of God 
 and the church, which command us to love our neighbor 
 as ourselves, — he was astonished, I say, that he expe- 
 rienced no great amount of remorse. 
 
 More than that, when he saw Monsieur de Kollinski 
 fall, far from any regret whatever, he had felt a sensation 
 of the keenest joy, so true is it that the instinct of self- 
 preservation overrides every other sentiment. 
 
 However, one fact came to Roger's relief in the midst 
 of the low opinion that he was forming of himself, — 
 the fact that between his two friends scarcely had men- 
 tion been made of poor Treville who had been slain, 
 save that, as we have said, after his death, d'Herbigny 
 had recalled his indebtedness to him of a hundred 
 louis, a circumstance that, perhaps, might not have 
 been so faithfully recalled to mind had Treville 
 lived. 
 
 And yet Crette and d'Herbigny had been intimately 
 acquainted with Treville for ten or twelve years. 
 
 But, on the other hand, Treville undoubtedly had a 
 father, a mother, a sweetheart, whom his death would 
 plunge into deep mourning. Roger shuddered when he 
 thought that he, too, had all these, and that it had been 
 quite possible that, at the very time when he was mak- 
 ing these reflections, he himself, Roger, might have been 
 lying in Treville's place. 
 
 The thought made the chevalier double his speed, for
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 179 
 
 he was in great haste to write to Anguilhem and pour 
 out to those he loved all the sentiments of which his 
 heart was full. 
 
 Roger wrote indeed to his father and to his mother. 
 He was so happy that his joy broke over him in floods. 
 It is such a delight to live when one has but just escaped 
 death, and when to the happiness of preservation is 
 added the pride of triumph! Then, still another thing 
 helped to reassure Roger. He would never hereafter 
 feel that beating of the heart which is the uncertainty 
 of the brave. He knew his own skill, and others 
 knew it. 
 
 He entreated his mother not to forget that, after the 
 love he bore her and his father, the one and only senti- 
 ment of his heart was for Mademoiselle de Beuzerie. 
 He begged that she would let it be known in the country 
 that, being admitted to the intimacy of the Marquis de 
 Crette, he was starting out in Paris in good shape. 
 Then he described in detail his costumes, slipped in a 
 few words about his rising reputation, and asked if the 
 other fifty louis could not be forwarded soon. At the 
 last came a postscript of a page and a half in length for 
 Constance. 
 
 In his letter to the baron , — for the chevalier would 
 have regarded it as sacrilege to confound his heart affairs 
 with business matters, — in his letter to the baron Roger 
 explained at length the apprehensions of Maitre Coque- 
 nard. He outlined the critical position in which the 
 case involved the little fortune of Anguilhem, and, as at 
 bottom the conceited youth, convinced that nothing 
 could now withstand him, did not doubt of winning his 
 suit, he took pleasure in exaggerating the difficulties 
 that he might seem the more gloriously victorious. 
 
 The postscript of this second letter was consecrated to^
 
 180 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Christopher, who was living at oaso and on tho fat of 
 the land in tho stables of The Golden Harrow. 
 
 Yet tho business which had brought Koger to Paris 
 was in progress. Monsieur de Bouzenois had died of an 
 apoplectic attack without signifying by word or writing 
 his intentions, for the worthy gentleman had believed 
 himself still to have ten or twelve good years of life 
 ahead. His hotel, in the Place Louis-le-Grand, was 
 suddenly deserted. The son of the East Indian, — thus 
 the woman was always spoken of whom the Vicomte de 
 Bouzonois had brought from beyond the sea, — tlio son 
 of the East Indian, I say, had come forward to take pos- 
 session, but as he had neither title nor established rights, 
 the seals had been put on the house, and the property 
 sequestered. 
 
 Roger had promised himself to visit the hotel at the 
 very first opportunity. He therefore took advantage of 
 the occasion when he was leaving his card at Monsieur 
 de Kollinski's, who lived in the Hue des Capucines, 
 and Monsieur le Comte de Gorkaiin's, who resided in 
 the neighborhood of La Ferme-des-Mathurins, to pause, 
 in passing, in front of his future property. 
 
 He recognized it by the uninhabited appearance of its 
 sealed doors and windows. It was a grand and liand- 
 some h6tel which might of itself have been worth three 
 hundred thousand livres, an enormous sum in those 
 days. Roger remarked a stone escutcheon upon which 
 was graven the dead man's coat of arms, and upon which 
 he promised himself that his own should be graven as 
 soon as the probable winning of his suit would permit 
 his vanity that little gratification. To be brief, he came 
 and went before the h6tel in order to view it under every 
 aspect, when he noticed a gentleman who, having arrived 
 ^t almost the same time as he, was performing the same
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 181 
 
 manoeuvres with an air as preoccupied as his own. For 
 that reason he observed the gentleman the more 
 attentively. 
 
 He Avas a man to whom it was almost impossible to 
 assign a definite age, although it was evident that it 
 must lie between twenty-five and forty years. An 
 orange-yellow hue overspread his face and even en- 
 croached upon the whites of his eyes. He had small 
 white teeth, jet-black hair, a coat whose seams were 
 covered with lace, and whose color was most striking, 
 two watch-chains, and rings on every finger. At the 
 other side of the street there waited for him a great 
 gilded coach, on the box of Avhich sat a coachman still 
 yellower than he. To the door clung a valet in the 
 costume of a Lascar who was yellower still than the 
 coachman. 
 
 At the same time that Roger appeared to remark this 
 strange-looking personage, the latter also seemed to 
 observe Roger. Both repeatedly and successively con- 
 veyed their glances from the hdtel to the other and from 
 the other to the hdtel. Then the great door of the h6tel 
 aforesaid being half-opened to give passage to a sort of 
 steward habited in black, the two observers hastened to 
 the doorway at the same moment and thrust their heads 
 into the opening, and that, too, with such precipita- 
 tion that their heads met in collision. 
 
 Roger, who was very well-bred, offered apologies to 
 the unknown. As for the unknown, he gave utterance 
 to a sort of low growl which might have been inter- 
 preted to mean, — 
 
 " The deuce! that rascal is no soft-pate." 
 
 Thereupon both together exclaimed, — 
 
 " My faith, this is a fine h6tel! " 
 
 " Is it not so, monsieur? "
 
 182 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " That is my opinion," was the stranger's response. 
 
 " And when the grass that is beginning to dot the 
 court has been weeded out — " 
 
 " And when a coat of paint has been given to the 
 shutters and doors — " 
 
 " And when all is enlivened in the daytime by hand- 
 some carriages and horses — " 
 
 " Illumined at night by a thousand liglits — " 
 
 " Faith! I shall have one of the most magnificent 
 hdtels in Paris," declared Roger. 
 
 "Your pardon, monsieur," said the stranger; "you 
 mean to say that I sliall have one of the most magnifi- 
 cent hdtels in Paris." 
 
 " Not at all. I did not say you; I said /." 
 
 " But who, pray, are you? " 
 
 " I am the cousin of Monsieur de Bouzenois." 
 
 " And I, monsieur, am his stepson." 
 
 " What! you are the Indian? " 
 
 " And you are the provincial 1 " 
 
 " Monsieur," said Roger, " the word is not polite. I 
 am from the province, it is true, but I am not provin- 
 cial for all that. I am the friend of Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis de Crette, of Monsieur le Vicomte d'Herbigny, of 
 Monsieur le Chevalier de Clos-Renaud, and yesterday I 
 gave three sword-thrusts to a Hungarian who was a head 
 taller than you." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, what do you mean by that? " 
 
 " I mean, monsieur," replied Roger, " that as I have 
 had the honor of meeting you, I shall do myself the 
 honor of making you a proposition. " 
 
 " Of compromise ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, of compromise." 
 
 " Of what nature ? Proceed. " 
 
 " It is this. Come around with me to the rear of the
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 183 
 
 convent of the Filles-du-Saint-Sacrcmeut, and as man's 
 judgment is always fallible, let us, like the chevaliers 
 of old, confide the decision of our suit to the judgment 
 of God." 
 
 " Why, you are proposing a duel! " cried the Indian, 
 turning from orange-yellow to pale yellow. 
 
 "If you kill me," continued Roger, "the h6tel is 
 yours beyond dispute. If I kill you that is the end of 
 the lawsuit." 
 
 " Excuse me, monsieur," replied the Indian, regaining 
 his coach; "I am sure of winning my suit, but I am 
 not sure of giving you a sword-thrust. We will abide 
 then, if you are willing, by the judgment of man." 
 
 And the Indian entered his coach and set off at full 
 speed, after closing it even to the sashes of the doors. 
 
 " Pavdieu ! " exclaimed Roger, "there goes an 
 original! " 
 
 And he proceeded to inscribe his name at Monsieur de 
 KoUinski's, who was still alive, and at the Comte de 
 Gorkalin's, who was as comfortable as circumstances 
 permitted. 
 
 After which he returned to report to the Marquis de 
 Crette, to whom he also related his conversation with 
 the Indian. 
 
 The marquis suffered constant pain from his wrist, 
 which, however, had not prevented his paying two or 
 three morning calls in order to mislead people who 
 might have heard that he had fought and had been 
 wounded. The precaution was not unnecessary, for the 
 duel of the preceding day had made a great stir, but as 
 it had been impossible to lay hands upon any one, 
 and as the two dead men had maintained the profoundest 
 silence, no one was compromised. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, prevented the marquis from tak-
 
 184 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 ing up tho chevalier's case, and making his visits along 
 with him. 
 
 There were three chief judges and the conseiller- 
 rajyporteur. 
 
 Tho chevalier and the marquis began by visiting the 
 judges. They were three eccentrics, having each a de- 
 cided liking for different animals. One adored his cat, 
 another his ape, the third his parrot. Tlie chevalier 
 was very friendly with the three judges, and the mar- 
 quis was very attentive to the three animals; but as soon 
 as either of them wished to broach the subject of the 
 suit, the judges gave the gentlemen to understand that 
 they would much prefer to speak of other matters. 
 
 As to the conseiller-rapporteur, he was a Puritan, 
 and so austere that he refused even to receive them. 
 
 " Peste / " exclaimed the marquis; "it looks to me 
 like a bad omen." 
 
 However, they learned one fine morning that the case 
 was evoked at the Palais. Two months had rolled by, 
 for it had required at least two months to draAV up the 
 official report, to complete the inventories, and to inves- 
 tigate the relative titles of the claimants. During all 
 this time Roger had debated whether it were not best to 
 effect a compromise with the son of the East Indian. 
 But the marquis was opposed to all overtures of such a 
 nature, while the Indian everywhere announced that his 
 case was not at all doubtful, and that he could furnish 
 the court a document so authentic that the Messieurs 
 d'Anguilhem, father and son, would, to their confusion, 
 find their pretensions overruled. 
 
 Meanwhile the business dragged on at its usual pace. 
 Justice is not only blind, but halt and lame as well. 
 The chevalier felt a keen distaste for all these excur- 
 sions to the Palais and the Saint-Chapelle. However,
 
 THE CIIEVALIEK MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 185 
 
 every eighth day found his coach, or rather, the Mar- 
 quis de Crette's coach, in the neighborhood, — the day, 
 usually, after the baron's weekly letter. 
 
 Had not Eoger been in some sort the guest of the 
 Marquis de Crette, had he not found in him friend, 
 banker, and adviser all in one, he might of necessity 
 have resolved to proffer a compromise to the son of the 
 Indienne, who was waging the war with plenty of 
 money. 
 
 But that unfortunate " authentic " document espe- 
 cially tormented Roger. As for the Baron d'Anguil- 
 hem, to whom every new letter from his son brought a 
 new subject for anxiety, he no longer slept. 
 
 "Try," he always wrote, "to discover what that 
 vaunted document is, whether it is an entail, a will, or 
 a deed of gift." 
 
 Roger sought and found not. 
 
 He assembled his council, composed of the Marquis 
 de Crette, d'Herbigny, Clos-Renaud, and Chastellux, 
 to learn what he should do. He had been told of one 
 Sieur Viellere, who engaged in all sorts of clandestine 
 transactions, such as gaining information from secret 
 papers, gauging the contents of hermetically sealed 
 boxes, or the abstraction even of deeds and titles. It 
 is clearly to be understood that it was not now proposed 
 to steal the document from the other party, but to pro- 
 cure a copy in order to aid the advocates in defeating 
 it. The council of gentlemen unanimously repelled this 
 proposition as dishonorable. 
 
 One day d'Herbigny thought that he had discovered 
 a means of assisting matters. As he was passing the 
 Porte de la Conference he recognized, from the descrip- 
 tion that Roger had given of him, the Indian, who was 
 coming through the gate in his coach with a woman who
 
 186 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 had onco been the viscount's mistress, and who was, it 
 would appear, on the best of terms with Roger's adver- 
 sary. Like a devoted friend, d'Herbigny believed that 
 here was a chance to terminate the lawsuit in which 
 languished the fortunes and the peace of Anguilhem. 
 
 Thereupon he made a sign to the coachman to stop, 
 very impudently approached the door, staring meanwliilo 
 at the lady who belonged to the Comedie-Franqaise and 
 was called Mademoiselle Poussette. Mademoiselle 
 Poussette, recognizing the viscount of whom she had 
 once been very fond, smiled affectionately. 
 
 " Pardieu ! monsieur and madame," said d'Herbigny, 
 " what say you to a little supper for us three ? It seems 
 to me that we should enjoy it — " 
 
 "I do not know you," sharply replied the Indian, 
 whose eyes turned perfectly yellow, " and I do not eat 
 with strangers." 
 
 " But madame knows me, and she will tell you that I 
 belong to good society. Poussette, my dear," continued 
 d'Herbigny, " I beg that you will do me the favor of 
 presenting me to monsieur. " 
 
 " Let me introduce Monsieur le Vicomte d'Herbigny," 
 said Poussette, laughing at her old lover's impertinence. 
 
 "Ah! very good — d'Herbigny — d'Herbigny," re- 
 peated the Indian. " I remember that name. You are 
 a friend of that little d'Anguilhem, and you have come 
 to pick a quarrel with me in order to secure his succession 
 to Monsieur de Bouzenois' estate. Try that elsewhere, 
 my fine gentleman. My lawyer has warned me against 
 such accidents ! " 
 
 " I have the honor to be one of the friends of Mon- 
 sieur d'Anguilhem, who, by the way, is a head taller 
 than you or I. But you have put upon me a mortal 
 affront by attributing to me such an intention. And so,
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 187 
 
 monsieur, I regard you as an ill-bred savage, and I beg 
 you to state when and where my seconds may confer 
 with yours. " 
 
 " Good! you persist in your purpose, only you take 
 another road. You are still bent upon a quarrel. 
 Well, let me win my case, and then we shall see 
 about it." 
 
 This conclusion seemed such a burlesque to d'Her- 
 bigny that he burst out laughing. 
 
 " Pardieu ! " he exclaimed to the Malabar, " you 
 are a good-natured Indian, and I should be delighted 
 to have supper with you, only for the pleasure of 
 making your further acquaintance. If you are so 
 agreeable when fasting, you must be charming when 
 drunk. " 
 
 "Another way of inheriting," returned the Indian. 
 " You would poison me. " 
 
 " Ah ! you are a buffalo ! " exclaimed Mademoiselle 
 Poussette. " I will not remain an instant longer in your 
 coach. Open the door, vicomte. I will have supper 
 with you." 
 
 D'Herbigny opened the door and Mademoiselle Pous- 
 sette leaped to the pavement. Then, after taking leave 
 of the nabob, the one with a bow, the other with a cour- 
 tesy, they walked away together, arm in arm. 
 
 And then Mademoiselle Poussette informed him that 
 the other was the most ridiculous man that she had ever 
 seen; that he could talk of nothing but his inheritance, 
 saw on all sides only emissaries of the chevalier, and 
 that he had this very day demanded of the criminal lieu- 
 tenant an escort, which he was on the point of obtaining. 
 
 This seemed important to d'Herbigny, who, on leav- 
 ing Mademoiselle Poussette's the next morning, hastened 
 to the Marquis de Crett^'s and related the circumstance
 
 188 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 to him. The marquis augured from it that the Indian 
 had already expended a great deal of money, -without 
 counting tliat ho was besides undouhtedly supported hy 
 the Naval Department, with which Monsieur de IJouze- 
 nois had been on excellent terms. 
 
 In his last letter Roger had acquainted his father 
 with tlicse unpleasant details. 
 
 Day by day the indications became more alarming. 
 Soon a rumor was spread that the son of the East Indian 
 had exhibited to the three judges the document upon 
 which he relied for the support of his pretensions, and 
 that the three judges had assured him of the successful 
 issue of his cause. This news fell like a thunder-bolt 
 on the Anguilhem party. The matter began to be 
 regarded as desperate by the little group of gentlemen. 
 They were already considering how to raise the money 
 necessary to defray the enormous expenses of the exam- 
 ination, and the damages likely to be awarded to Mon- 
 sieur de Bouzenois' stepson, for the Baron d'Anguilhem 
 had appeared as plaintiff in the case. The ex- 
 penses were estimated at six thousand livres. In addi- 
 tion Maitre Coquenard laid claim to an honorarium of 
 four thousand livres. Roger's sojourn, with the ad- 
 vances made by his friends, had cost almost five thousand 
 livres. The case being lost, nothing would remain to 
 the baron of all his little fortune, and the day was 
 approaching when the sad truth was about to be revealed 
 to him. 
 
 The Marquis de Crette's behavior toward Roger was 
 perfect under the circumstances. He offered him ten 
 thousand crowns payable at his convenience; but Roger 
 replied that neither he nor his father could accept a sum 
 which they knew in advance that they would be unable 
 to repay. He then declared that he would meet the
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 189 
 
 blow with his own resources, and that in case of neces- 
 sity he would enlist in one of the regiments setting out 
 for Flanders. 
 
 D'Herbigny, too, did everything in his power. 
 Thanks to his influence with Mademoiselle Foussette, 
 he prevailed on her to return to the Indian, in order to 
 make sure of the existence of that document, and if the 
 document had no existence, to discover on what re- 
 sources lloger's adversary relied. 
 
 As for Roger, he sought out his advocates, Maitre 
 Branchu and Maitre Verniquet, and begged them to over- 
 look notliing in their pleadings; but, despite all the 
 vanity natural to practitioners, they shook their heads 
 and deplored having been retained in such a bad cause. 
 Roger was urgent, and they confessed that the three 
 judges to whom they had spoken had left them little 
 ground for hope. They advised Roger to go back and 
 make desperate overtures to the cat, the ape, and the 
 parrot, which were such delights to those respectable 
 jurists. But it was advice given as doctors prescribe 
 health resorts, — that they should not have to reproach 
 themselves with negligence of any sort. Had they 
 known, they said, that the defence was in possession 
 of a title Avhich, it was asserted, could be supported, 
 nothing in the world could have induced them to take 
 charge of his case. Roger, who neither dared nor was 
 able to promise them momitains of gold, hung his head 
 before these alarming previsions, and as he was only his 
 father's man of business, he faithfully transmitted to 
 him all that was unpleasant in the lawyers' reluctant 
 attitude. 
 
 But it was in his letter to his mother that his despair 
 burst forth. To her he deplored not only the loss of 
 the suit and the consequent loss of his fortune, but that
 
 190 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 most cruel loss of all, the loss of Constance. For, amid 
 all his dinners, his duels, his drives, and his visits, to 
 the chevalier's credit lot us say, the image of Constance 
 had not for a moment left his heart. 
 
 He confided to Crette the advice given him by his 
 counsel to attempt a last assault upon the judges. He 
 stulfed his pockets with cakes for the cat, almonds for 
 the ape, and macaroons for the parrot; but, far from 
 being sensible of these attentions, the cat scratched hira, 
 the ape bit him, and the parrot called him a country 
 lout. 
 
 " You are a ruined man! " exclaimed the marquis, on 
 leaving the house of the third judge. " You will lose 
 with costs. " 
 
 That evening the conduct of the jurists and their 
 respective pets was explained to Roger and his com- 
 panions by Mademoiselle Poussette. As the judges 
 were men of probity, they would not have been willing 
 to accept bribes. But the Indian had given a ring worth 
 two thousand pistoles to the cat, had donated ten thou- 
 sand crowns to the ape, and had bestowed a life-annuity 
 of three thousand livres upon the parrot. 
 
 As to the conseiller-rapporteur., all attentions had been 
 thrown away upon him. His door had been constantly 
 closed against the Indian as well as Eoger, and no one 
 knew of any beast, savage or domestic, to Avhich one 
 could offer jewelled rings, make donations, or present 
 life-annuities. 
 
 Roger and the marquis tried a last attack upon him, 
 but with no greater success than had attended the first. 
 
 Such an upright man was Maitre Bouteau, the con- 
 seiUer-rapjjiorteuT ! 
 
 As may be supposed, all these successive disappoint- 
 ments had, in spite of his light-hearted nature, gradually
 
 THE CHEVALIER MEETS THE EAST INDIAN'S SON. 191 
 
 led the chevalier into a deep melancholy. The pros- 
 pect of the ruin of his entire family, of the loss of Con- 
 stance, whom he had found again only to he separated 
 from her the second time yet more cruelly than the first, 
 and of enlistment as a simple volunteer in the Royal- 
 Italien, the Picardie, or the Nivernais, all held nothing 
 but despair. The chevalier, too, abandoned himself to 
 hopelessness, and was unwilling to listen to any conso- 
 lation. He refused all the diversions proposed by his 
 friends in their efforts to distract his mind, and spent 
 his time in his room at The Golden Harrow writing to 
 his mother or composing elegies to Constance. For we 
 must add that, as a last misfortune along with the 
 melancholy, a taste for poetry had come upon him.
 
 192 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 HOW, JUST AS THE CHEVALIER HAD FALLEN A PREY TO 
 THE PROFOUNDEST DESPAIR, A STRANGER VISITED 
 HIM TO MAKE A PROPOSITION NOT EXPECTED BY 
 HIM NOR BY THE READER. 
 
 One morning, while Roger was viewing liimself in a 
 small mirror to see how grief became him, and was at the 
 same time putting the finishing touches to a very bad, 
 but excessively tender, quatrain intended for Mademoi- 
 selle Constance de Beuzerie, just as he had hit upon a 
 rhyme sufficiently exquisite to end the last line, there 
 came three knocks at his chamber-door. 
 
 "^ Come in, " answered d'Anguilhem. 
 
 The door slowly opened, and the person who had 
 knocked entered. 
 
 He was a man whose countenance bore a strong resem- 
 blance to the fox ; he was evidently an habitue of the 
 Palais, a sort of hanger-on, a rat of La Sainte-Chapelle. 
 During the four months that Roger had been frequenting 
 the Salle des Pas-Perdus he had learned to recognize the 
 lowest tool of Themis by his claw-like fingers and hooked 
 beak. 
 
 The visitor had red hair which was plastered upon the 
 forehead, a great purple wart on each cheek, an eye as 
 changing as the opal, a great void between the teeth of 
 the upper jaw, and a sharp chin, the underside of which 
 hollowed out rather than projected upward from the 
 throat.
 
 THE CHEVALIER RECEIVES A STRANGE VISITOR. 193 
 
 " Good ! " exclaimed Roger to himself, " here is some 
 new exploit adduced for my benefit; if it should be 
 necessary to pay the expense at once, I shall have to part 
 with my last pistole. No matter, let us put on a bold 
 face." 
 
 And, with a moderately firm bearing, he awaited the 
 man with the Avarts. 
 
 The man with the warts bowed profoundly. 
 
 " Have I the honor to address Monsieur Roger Tan- 
 crede. Chevalier d'Anguilhem, of La Guerite, La Pin- 
 tade, and other estates 1 " 
 
 Roger reflected that Avere he still lord of all those sei- 
 gneuries, he was on the road to be disembarrassed of them, 
 a reflection which, although he was astonished at the 
 preamble, did not prevent his replying quite steadily, — 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, I am he." 
 
 " Is there nobody, " continued the man with the warts, 
 " who might be concealed in the closet that I observe 
 back of your alcove 1 " 
 
 "Nobody, monsieur," replied Roger; "and permit me 
 to remark that the question seems a strange one." 
 
 "Yet nothing could be simpler, monsieur; you might 
 have had with you either a mistress or a friend. You 
 are too handsome a fellow and too good a comrade to be 
 wanting either. You might, I say, have had with you a 
 mistress or a friend, and, in order to receive me more 
 at your ease, have employed the closet as a place of 
 concealment. " 
 
 " I was alone, monsieur, " insisted the chevalier, " and 
 that closet is quite solitary." 
 
 " Will you permit me to assure myself ? " returned the 
 man with the warts. 
 
 " Parhleu! monsieur; it appears strange that you do 
 not believe my word." 
 
 13
 
 194 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "Oil! I l)(jlieve you, monsieur le chevalier," said the 
 unknown, slowly edging his way toward the closet, " I 
 believe you, for I know you to be a man of honor; how- 
 ever, without your permission or your knowledge, some 
 indiscreet person may have slipped in — " 
 
 And the visitor partly opened the door and thrust in 
 his little weasel-like head. 
 
 " Well," said he, " nobody is here." 
 
 "What the deuce can this queer individual wish with 
 me 1 " the chevalier asked himself. 
 
 "And the walls," continued the man with the warts, 
 "are they thick?" 
 
 "My faith! go and examine them, monsieur," cried 
 d'Anguilhem ; " you are really begixuiing to try my 
 patience." 
 
 " Don't fly into a passion, monsieur, don't fly into a 
 passion. I very humbly ask your pardon for taking all 
 these precautions; but you will presently understand 
 that they are strictly necessary." 
 
 " Then, proceed, monsieur, proceed ; look into the 
 wardrobes, under my bed, behind the curtains, and, if 
 you wish the keys of the commode and the secretary, ask 
 for them, — make yourself quite at home," 
 
 The unknown profited by the permission, opening the 
 wardrobes, looking under the bed, searching behind the 
 curtains, and casting a scrutinizing glance at the two 
 pieces of furniture aforesaid, to assure himself that they 
 were not of a shape to conceal a lurking listener; but as 
 both undoubtedly seemed too restricted to be employed 
 for such a purpose, he politely declined by a wave of his 
 hand the keys which Roger had already drawn from his 
 pocket, and which, upon this refusal, he replaced. 
 
 " Now, monsieur le chevalier, " said the unknown, 
 " now that I am quite sure that we are alone, I have the
 
 THE CHEVALIER RECEIVES A STRANGE VISITOR. 195 
 
 honor to beg you to listen to me seriously, for I have come 
 to speak to you on a matter of the highest importance." 
 
 "Good or bad?" 
 
 " Take your choice, " answered the man with the 
 warts; "it will be Avhat you make it." 
 
 And he went to the door, turned the key, and shot the 
 two bolts. 
 
 Roger cast a furtive glance at the fauteuil where lay 
 his sword, beginning to think, like the Indian, that some 
 one might have been despatched to do him an ill turn. 
 
 The man with the warts intercepted the glance, 
 endeavored to reassure Roger at once by smile and ges- 
 tiire, and advanced a chair to the fauteuil in which 
 Roger was sitting. 
 
 By an involuntary movement, Roger pushed back his 
 chair. 
 
 The stranger remarked this second movement, as he 
 had already remarked the first, and indulged in a hideous 
 little smile as if to say, " Yes, yes, I see indeed that 
 you have no great confidence in me; but wait a little." 
 
 Roger waited. The man with the warts cast a look 
 around him, as if the certainty of being alone with the 
 chevalier could not satisfy him, and bending toward his 
 ear, he said, — 
 
 " Monsieur, have you any repugnance to marriage ? " 
 
 " To marriage 1 " echoed Roger, with stupefaction. 
 
 "To marriage," repeated the stranger, wagging his 
 head with the same hideous smile that seemed habitual 
 to him. 
 
 " But to what marriage 1 " demanded Roger. 
 
 " How ! to what marriage 1 why, a real marriage." 
 
 " I do not understand," said Roger; " but pray go on." 
 
 " Then, " said the stranger, " I will put the question 
 differently."
 
 196 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "Proceed, monsieur." 
 
 " Do you wish to win your suit 1 " 
 
 " Ti'tehlvu! I should say so," cried Roger, "and very 
 mucli indeed." 
 
 "Well, well," returned the man with tlie warts, 
 smiling his peculiar smile, " we shall come to an. 
 understanding." 
 
 "Let us hear," said Roger, as he imparted a slight 
 movement to his fauteuil. 
 
 " Well, monsieur, " continued the unknown, " I am 
 the man that can put you in a way to win that suit of 
 yours. Ah!" 
 
 In his enthusiasm, Roger was drawing close to the 
 man with the hideous smile, and seemed as if ready to 
 put his arms around his neck. 
 
 Poor human nature, which thinks it has sympathies 
 and antipathies, and has only interests! 
 
 " What is to be done ? " demanded Roger. 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! almost nothing, " replied the stranger. 
 
 "But Avhat?" 
 
 " You must marry." 
 
 Roger scanned this man a second time, hut more nar- 
 rowly than at first, and he began to conceive the idea 
 that he had to do with a lunatic. 
 
 " I shall be fortunate if he does not grow violent, " 
 thought Roger. 
 
 Then, as the silence was prolonged, Roger having con- 
 tented himself with the mental observation, and this re- 
 sponse not sufficing the man with the warts, the latter 
 demanded, — 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " You say, then — " hazarded Roger. 
 
 " I say. Monsieur d'Anguilhem, that you must marry." 
 
 " I marry 1 I ? "
 
 THE CHEVALIER EECEIVES A STRANGE VISITOR. 197 
 
 " You yourself, in person ; another would not answer 
 at all ! " 
 
 " Come, now, you are jesting! " exclaimed Roger. 
 
 " Had I the honor to be better known to you, " replied 
 the messenger of Hymen, " you would know, monsieur, 
 that I never jest." 
 
 " Then, the question becomes serious 1 " 
 
 " Extremely serious, monsieur. I beg, therefore, that 
 you will consider it from that point of view." 
 
 " And so I must marry 1 " 
 
 " Oh, viou Dieu ' yes." 
 
 " And whom 1 " demanded Roger with an effort. 
 
 " Ah ! whom 1 " returned the man with the warts, with 
 a repetition of that horrible smile; "ah! whom? There 
 you let slip the great question ! " 
 
 " Certainly, whom 1 " repeated Roger. " Do you 
 think, indeed, that I will marry with my head in a 
 bag?" 
 
 " It is just the way that you must marry. Monsieur 
 d'Anguilhem." 
 
 " Are you quite sure that you are in your right mind ? " 
 demanded Roger. 
 
 " What ! Am I quite sure ? " 
 
 "Yes; because, if not, as the joke might be carried 
 on a long time in this vein, I must confess that I am 
 pressed for time. I have an engagement, and I should 
 like at once to terminate the game we are playing." 
 
 " It is no game ; not the least in the world, monsieur, " 
 replied the stranger with a very serious air. " Or, if it 
 is a game, it is one, at least, in which your entire future 
 is at stake, since yon can win fifteen hundred thousand 
 livres. " 
 
 " Then, for God's sake, monsieur, " returned Roger, 
 " explain yourself more clearly. "
 
 198 SYLVAN DIRE. 
 
 " xVre you in love ? " demanded the man with the 
 Avarts, as lie fixed upon Koger his little opaline eyes, 
 whose regard seemed to the latter literally to penetrate 
 the depths of his soul. 
 
 " As for that, " said Koger, blushing deeply, " you must 
 excuse me, monsieur, from replying." 
 
 " Since you demand that I respect your secret, mon- 
 sieur, " retorted the unknown, " I have the same right to 
 demand that you respect mine." 
 
 " But you, — it is very different." 
 
 " In what way 1 " 
 
 " You should tell me, me especially — " 
 
 " On the contrary, monsieur le chevalier, you are the 
 last person whom I should tell. However, I do not 
 forbid your guessing." 
 
 "Ah! that is vevy kind; thanks for the permission, 
 monsieur; unfortunately, I am not good at enigmas." 
 
 " In that case, it is a study that you should enter upon, 
 since, for my part, I can only repeat what I have already 
 said." 
 
 " jNIonsieur, " said Roger, rising, " you understand — " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, I understand that you are a disin- 
 terested person, " interrupted the stranger, rising also, 
 " and it matters little to j'ou whether you lose or win 
 your suit. A bagatelle, after all, for a gentleman like 
 you, — only a sum of fifteen hundred thousand livres, 
 more or less." 
 
 " Feste / " exclaimed Eoger, " a bagatelle ! not at all, 
 monsieur. I do not regard it in that light; but, frankly, 
 just consider : certainly I cannot marry thus, — it is 
 absurd ! " 
 
 " Monsieur, monsieur, " said the stranger with an air 
 of profound commiseration for Roger's ignorance, " I tell 
 you that you do not know what you are refusing. "
 
 THE CHEVALIER RECEIVES A STRANGE VISITOR. 199 
 
 " But, in short, monsieur, if I should consent to con- 
 sider the proposition, what is to be done ? " 
 
 " A proposition of this sort, monsieur, once considered, 
 must be carried out." 
 
 " Then it is a positive contract that you require 1 " 
 
 " Positive. " 
 
 " And I agree to marry — " 
 
 " The name is blank." 
 
 " This is not common sense." 
 
 " Yet permit — " 
 
 " Xever, monsieur, never ! " 
 
 " That is your last word 1 " 
 
 "The last, —it is final." 
 
 " Keflect again." 
 
 " I have reflected, or rather, I will not reflect on such 
 an absurdity. I to marry 1 I, without knowing whom, 
 without having seen my intended, without having spoken 
 to her, without knowing whetlier she is young or old, 
 beautiful or ugly, stupid or intellectual! Come, come, 
 my dear man, you are losing your head ! " 
 
 " And you, your suit, monsieur ! " 
 
 And the stranger took his hat. 
 
 This devil of a man possessed so much assurance that 
 Roger was disconcerted. He strode about the room; he 
 paced from alcove to window, from door to commode, and 
 at last fell back into his arm-chair with a stealthy glance 
 at his interlocutor, who, with the most natural manner 
 in the world, was alternately scratching his warts and 
 his chin. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Roger, the first to break the 
 silence, " what ! monsieur, do you absolutely refuse to 
 give me even the least information 1 " 
 
 " Upon my honor, monsieur, I am willing, " answered 
 the stranger, " but I am expressly forbidden."
 
 200 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Only tell me if the young person — li'iu ! " broke off 
 Eoger, " — but is she young? " 
 
 The unknown continued to scratch his warts. 
 
 " Come, — is she beautiful or ugly ? " 
 
 The unknown passed from his warts to his chin. 
 
 " Ikit certainly I shall be permitted to inquire whether 
 my fiancee is maid or widow." 
 
 Tl'.e unknown remained impassive. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Koger, striking his forehead, " it 
 would be a mad thing to do! " 
 
 " I will give you until to-morrow, monsieur, to reflect 
 on my proposition, " said the stranger. 
 
 " And to-morrow? " 
 
 " To-morrow I will return at this hour. " 
 
 " Alone ? " 
 
 "No; I will bring the contract with me." 
 
 " The contract 1 " 
 
 " Oh, that binds you to nothing, " said the unknown ; 
 " you will not sign it unless you like. Be tranquil, my 
 gentleman, " added he with his habitual smile, " you will 
 not be kidnapped." 
 
 So saying, the mysterious man backed out, bowing 
 still lower than he had done on entering, and when he 
 was far away, Koger still sat, dismayed, his brow, humid 
 with perspiration, held between his hot and trembling 
 hands.
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 201 
 
 XIV. 
 
 HOW THE MTSTEKIOUS MAX APPEARS A SECOND 
 TIME, AND HOW, IN THIS SECOND INTERVIEW, 
 MATTERS SEEM A LITTLE CLEARER. 
 
 Roger remained some time under the weight of the 
 blow that had just been dealt him; but at last, gathering 
 himself together, he rose, took his hat, and hastened to 
 the Marquis de Crette, his staunch support, his constant 
 resovu'ce. 
 
 Happily, the marquis was at home. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he cried, on seeing the 
 chevalier. " Have you lost your suit 1 " 
 
 The marquis put this question to the chevalier, so 
 agitated was the other's countenance. 
 
 " No, thank God, not yet, " answered Roger. " The de- 
 cision is to be rendered, you know, in three days; and I 
 even — " 
 
 " Even what 1 " repeated the marquis. 
 
 "I even have some hope of winning," continued 
 Roger with a sigh. 
 
 " It seems to me that there is nothing in that to call 
 for such a sigh as you have just given." 
 
 " Of course it seems so to you ; you know nothing of 
 the conditions." 
 
 " Ah ! there are conditions 1 " 
 
 " Alas ! " exclaimed Roger. 
 
 And he threw himself into his friend's arms. 
 
 " Come, speak, " cried the marquis ; " you really 
 alarm me."
 
 202 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The chevalier then told tlie marquis of his interview 
 with the man of the opalhie eyes, Crette listened to the 
 recital with the greatest attention; then, when the 
 chevalier had ended, he exclaimed, — 
 
 " This is a queer piece of business! Is it some bastard 
 of Bouzenois' that they wish to provide for, — or, grand 
 Dlen ! my poor friend, it may be — " 
 
 " May be what % " cried the chevalier, turning pale at 
 the marquis' forebodings. 
 
 " It may be that the old begum herself thinks of mar- 
 rying again." 
 
 Roger shivered to the very marrow of his bones; but 
 one reflection reassured him. 
 
 " Impossible," said he; " she is dead." 
 
 " Then it is improbable that you have anything to fear 
 from tliat source." 
 
 " For all that, " said Roger, " I have known of people 
 who were thought dead, but they came back." 
 
 "Ah! mon Dleu ! " ejaculated the marquis. 
 
 " However," continued d'Anguilhem, " I do not think 
 it is so, in this case." 
 
 " Then let us seek for some other solution. What if it 
 were a snare of your opponent's ? What do you say 1 " 
 
 "I have thought of that; but what interest could 
 Monsieur Afghano have in getting me married 1 " 
 
 We forgot to say that the Indian answered to the 
 name of Afghano. 
 
 " Ko one knows; you must distrust him always." 
 
 "Yes, certainly I distrust him; but my distrust will 
 not gain me a day longer. To-morrow I must give an 
 answer of some sort." 
 
 " Consult your father." 
 
 " But my father is fifty leagues from here ; besides, I 
 must confess, marquis, I do not see how I can marry in
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 203 
 
 such a way. I idolize a young girl in my part of the 
 country, a love, an angel, one who is attached to me with 
 an affection equal to mine for her, and who will die if I 
 marry another." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " said Crette, putting out his lips 
 with a skeptical air. 
 
 " I am sure of it; I have her word." 
 
 " As to dying 1 " 
 
 " No, but as to her living for me alone." 
 
 And then Roger related to the marquis all his adven- 
 tures with Constance, but without pronouncing the 
 latter's name. 
 
 " What can you do, my dear fellow? After that, you 
 have no chance to reflect. Do you love mademoiselle — 
 is it indiscreet to ask mademoiselle's name 1 " 
 
 "No; her name is Constance de Beuzerie." 
 
 " The deuce ! the first name is suggestive, I admit. " 
 
 " You were asking — 1 " 
 
 " I was asking if you love Mademoiselle de Beuzerie 
 more than you love an income of sixty thousand livres." 
 
 " If I had but myself to consider, I should love her 
 more than fortune, more than life, more than all; but 
 unhappily I have a father and a mother who worship me 
 and whom I ruin by refusing." 
 
 " Yes, you are right, " said Crette ; " there lies your 
 real obligation. This, my dear friend, as you well under- 
 stand, is a question of conscience that you alone can solve." 
 
 Roger gave a deep sigh. 
 
 For his part, the Marquis de Crette became silent and 
 relapsed into a long reverie ; then, of a sudden, he seized 
 Roger's hand with a movement so brusque as to startle 
 the latter. 
 
 " You are a thrice-lost man ! " he declared. " I divine 
 the source of these propositions."
 
 204 SYLVAXDIRE. 
 
 " All ! " cxcliiimed Roger in affright, 
 
 " Tlie gcntlonian willi tlie wtirts is some juilge, some 
 associate, some tip-stull", with a hunch-backed daugliter, and 
 he feels the need of establishing her advantageously." 
 
 " Marquis, I entreat you not to say such things ; you 
 make my flesh creep." 
 
 " My dear, one must speak the truth to one's friends! " 
 
 " Alas ! " groaned Koger. 
 
 " However, " pursued the marquis, " speak of it to your 
 fatlier, and ask his opinion, but, in my mind, there is no 
 doubt on the subject." 
 
 " There might be still another case ! " responded the 
 victim, dwelling on each word with a lamentable accent. 
 " It might be that one of these gentlemen whom you have 
 just mentioned has a daughter who — " 
 
 "I thought of that," replied Crette, "but I did not 
 like to say it. Of the two defects, Avhich would you 
 prefer ? As for me, I confess that I should choose the 
 incurable deformity." 
 
 " It is a horrible trap," cried Roger, in a rage. 
 
 " You must decide, however, " said the marquis ; " there 
 is no middle course. It is a matter of losing your suit, 
 or of leaping into a gulf blindfold." 
 
 " Alas ! Alas ! " reiterated Roger. 
 
 " My poor friend, " said Crette, whom the chevalier's 
 situation touched, even to tears, " you are in a trap ; but 
 you need not give up all hope before the second visit. 
 Take advantage of the opportunity, when you get hold of 
 that devil of a man, to turn him inside out; demand 
 information; insist on knowing the necessity. If he 
 refuses you, do you refuse him. I will be concealed at 
 the door, I will follow the demon even to hell, and we 
 shall at least have the satisfaction of getting our revenge, 
 I will answer for that. "
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 205 
 
 " Yes, but I shall lose my suit." 
 
 " All ! pshaw ! what of that 1 You cannot have every- 
 thing." 
 
 As all that the chevalier and the marquis could sug- 
 gest in no way advanced matters, Roger took his way 
 back to his hotel, and re-entered The Golden Harrow. 
 
 Roger then sat down to write to his father; but lie 
 reflected that a letter required four days to go to Loches 
 and four to return, which made eight days, supposing 
 even that the baron answered by return post. Now, 
 judgment was to be rendered within three days; it 
 was therefore, literally impossible to receive a seasonable 
 answer from Anguilhem. The poor fellow, however, 
 indeed needed an impulse from his father in order to 
 come to any decision. 
 
 He remained then, confronting himself, shedding bitter 
 tears, his hands plucking at his hair, despairing of the 
 future, and calling aloud upon Constance, La Pintade, 
 La Guerite, the woods of Garenne, upon all the memo- 
 ries, in short, of his youth; and then he reproached him- 
 self with his unsophisticated foolishness, and admired the 
 profound speeches of the marquis, when the latter, lis- 
 tening to Roger's narration of his pastoral amours at 
 Beuzerie, the apparition of Constance in Roger's room, 
 and the flight of both to La Chapelle Saint-Hippolyte, 
 had cried, — 
 
 " How unsophisticated you were, d 'Anguilhem ! How 
 artless you were, my handsome Roger ! — ah, but you 
 were silly, my poor friend ! " 
 
 And Roger repeated, — 
 
 "Ah yes, I was very silly; yes, I was very artless; 
 yes, yes, I was very unsophisticated ! " 
 
 It can be seen that his sojourn in Paris began to 
 operate efficaciously upon Roger.
 
 206 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 But necessity was there, stretching out lier ruthless 
 hand, armed with its gads of iron. Every minute was 
 worth a day, every day had the importance of a year. 
 On tlie morrow would return the man witli tlie warts, as 
 inexorahlo as time, as punctual as death. 
 
 Roger spent the night in seeking a way to extricate 
 himself from his position ; needless to say, he found none. 
 
 The day came. Armed with a mass of new i)roposi- 
 tions, an arsenal of insidious questions, Roger awaited tlie 
 man with the warts. 
 
 The man did not keep him waiting long. At tlie very 
 hour, the very minute, the very second designated, Roger, 
 who sat with listening ear, heard the sound of his step on 
 the stairs ; then at last, at the Avords, " Come in ! " pro- 
 nounced by Roger with trembling voice, the door opened^ 
 and the fatal emissary entered, humbler, blander, more 
 obsequious than he had been on the day before. 
 
 With a sweeping glance around, his eyes took in the 
 whole room. 
 
 " You are quite alone 1 " he asked. 
 
 "Look for yourself," d'Anguilhem answered. 
 
 The unknown renewed his inspection with the same 
 minuteness of detail that he had employed on the former 
 occasion; then, his inspection concluded, he approached 
 Roger, who was sitting in his chair, as pale as a con- 
 demned man exposed upon a scaffold. 
 
 " Well, monsieur le chevalier," said the mysterious 
 man, " have you reflected 1 " 
 
 " I have done more, indeed, " answered Roger, " I have 
 made a guess, monsieur; and so, let us speak frankly, 
 and make an end of the matter with the present 
 interview." 
 
 "It is my most ardent wish, monsieur, " replied the 
 unknown.
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 207 
 
 " You are sent by some one that wislies to get rid of 
 his daughter." 
 
 " To get rid of 1 Oh ! monsieur, that is a harsh 
 expression." 
 
 " Let us not cavil at the phrase, — I am, unfortunately, 
 but too certain that it is the correct one." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I would undertake to change your 
 opinion." 
 
 "Now, this father is one of my judges, is he not? " 
 asked Eogcr, gazing steadily into the changeable eyes of 
 the man with the warts. 
 
 The stranger stared at Roger, in his turn, and Avith a 
 degree of surprise bordering upon amazement. 
 
 " Faith ! yes, monsieur, you have guessed it." 
 
 " Ah ! I knew it, indeed ! " exclaimed Eoger, tri- 
 umphantly. 
 
 "Well, and what then?" 
 
 " It leads me to conclude that I shall lose my suit if I 
 do not espouse her." 
 
 " And also to the certainty that you will win if you do 
 espouse her." 
 
 " It is very sad, " said Roger. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur, " said the stranger, " you do wrong to 
 complain; you are on the high road to fortune. Go 
 ahead, chevalier, go ahead, — that is all I have to 
 say." 
 
 " Yes, and I, a gentleman, against whose honor not a 
 breath can be whispered, I shall have married the daugh- 
 ter of a man that sells justice." 
 
 " Oh ! you look at the matter from a deplorable stand- 
 ing-point, INIonsieur d' Anguilhem, " replied the unknown ; 
 " your point of vieAV is absurd, if you will permit me to 
 say so ! A man that has influence makes use of it; he 
 serves his friends, and the law of gratitude, which in the
 
 208 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 law of fine natures, being granted, his friends, in their 
 turn, do liim a service in exchange for his kind ollices." 
 
 " Yes, I know, indeed; but tlie demoiselle? " 
 
 " Well, the demoiselle 1 " 
 
 " The demoiselle — is she a demoiselle 1 " 
 
 The stranger chuckled. 
 
 " Or a widow 1 " continued d'Anguilhem. 
 
 The stranger chuckled still more. 
 
 " The devil ! monsieur, " cried the chevalier in a rage, 
 " I believe you are mocking me. " 
 
 "God forbid, chevalier; but I laugh at j'our appre- 
 hensions." 
 
 " Which are groundless, perhaps, " returned d'Anguil- 
 hem, " when I am required to buy a pig in a poke ! " 
 
 " Your surprise will be the pleasanter, Monsieur 
 d'Anguilhem." 
 
 " Ah! I know how to be satisfied as to that, monsieur. 
 Only let me see the demoiselle — the young person — the 
 person I am to marry — the lady in question, in short." 
 
 " Impossible, monsieur, impossible." 
 
 " But come, — the father, then, — let me see the father. 
 That is not asking too much, eh 1 " 
 
 "On the contrary, monsieur, it is asking everything. 
 Having seen the father, within twenty-four hours you will 
 know who is the daughter." 
 
 " You will drive me mad ! " exclaimed d'Anguilhem. 
 
 " Come, monsieur le chevalier," remonstrated the man 
 with the warts, speaking in his most honeyed tones, " do 
 not thus excite yourself. The transaction is an honest one, 
 believe me, and you will repent having raised difficulties, 
 for, in giving way to all these petty considerations, which, 
 I see with regret, have a ridiculous importance in your 
 estimation, you are in a fair way to lose a fortune of fif- 
 teen hundred thousand livres and a case that entails from
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 209 
 
 thirty to forty thousand livres of costs; -while in marrying 
 you are assured of your million and a half, plus furniture 
 worth sixty thousand crowns, jewels and precious stones 
 worth more than one hundred and fifty thousand livres, 
 to say nothing of the money in the strong hox, — and the 
 box is heavy, I can answer for it; I was present when 
 they put on the seals." 
 
 '^Ah, ga ! ansAver one question." 
 
 " Proceed, monsieur, proceed, and if I am at liberty to 
 answer, I will do so." 
 
 " How does it happen," said Koger, " that my would- 
 be father-in-law did not offer his daughter to Monsieur 
 Afghano, my adversary % " 
 
 " Because he wished to give you the preference." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged to him ! " 
 
 " Then, the Indian is ugly, and you are a handsome 
 fellow; then, too, your adversary may be a very great 
 lord in his own country, but here his nobility is not 
 recognized; in short, the name of d'Anguilhem sounds 
 better to French ears than the rather barbarous one of 
 Afghano. Madame Afghano! you understand, — how 
 could that be announced at court? However, if you 
 refuse to-day — " 
 
 " Well, if I refuse to-day ? " 
 
 " I shall go to Monsieur Afghano to-morrow." 
 
 " "Why, the father is determined, then, to establish his 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " She is old enough to be settled." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I believe it. In short, I am chosen for the 
 sacrifice." 
 
 "I repeat, monsieur, that you are wrong, and your 
 words are those of a page. You are given fifteen hun- 
 dred thousand livres; they are laid in your hand; for 
 that purpose you are run to earth in the worst room of a 
 
 14
 
 210 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 bad hotel, and j'ou call yourself a sacrifice ! Ah ! really, 
 you wear me out." 
 
 " Well, monsieur, let us come to terms," said d'Anguil- 
 heni. " Does the one who sent you wish a hundred, or 
 two hundred, or three hundred thousand livres? I con- 
 cede tliem, I offer tliem, I give tliem to him! " 
 
 " This proposition of yours is not common sense, cheva- 
 lier. Tlie hundred thousand crowns that you are offering 
 are not yours to give; they form your wife's dower." 
 
 " What ! my wife's dower 1 " 
 
 " Eh ! yes. On marrying the young girl, you settle a 
 hundred thousand crowns on her; that is very natural, 
 it appears to me, when the father has made you the win- 
 ner of fifteen hundred thousand livres." 
 
 " You said ' the young girl, ' monsieur ! " cried the 
 chevalier ; " ah ! you said it ; the demoiselle is young, 
 then?" 
 
 " You lucky, lucky d'Anguilhem ! accept, I advise you, 
 accept ! " 
 
 " Listen : you know me ; I live in open daylight. There 
 is no mystery about me, and I play with my cards on the 
 table." 
 
 " Well, may you play a fine game to the end ! " 
 
 " I ask nothing better ; but I need some evidence of 
 your credit, a proof of your influence." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Delay for eight days the judgment to be pronounced 
 on the day after to-morrow, and in exchange for this as- 
 surance I will pledge you my word on two conditions." 
 
 "Which are — ?" 
 
 " That the girl shall not be deformed, and shall not, 
 or, rather, she shall — " 
 
 " I understand, chevalier." 
 
 " Well 1 "
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 211 
 
 "Agreed." 
 
 " To what 1 — you will guarantee — " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " In that case, you have my word." 
 
 " In ten days, then 1 " 
 
 "In ten days." 
 
 " I shall be here on the morning on which the decision 
 is rendered." 
 
 "I shall expect you." 
 
 " Very well, chevalier, very well. Ah ! you were bom 
 under a lucky star. Monsieur d'Anguilhem ! " 
 
 And the man with the warts took his hat and backed 
 out of the room, bowing more humbly than ever. 
 
 Five minutes later he returned in alarm. 
 
 " Monsieur, " he cried, " perhaps you thought to save 
 yourself by a bold stroke, and for that purpose stationed 
 your friend, the Marquis de Crette, in ambush in his 
 carriage twenty steps from the door of the hotel; do not 
 deny it. I recognized the livery and the coat of arms ; but 
 you are making a mistake, be assured of that. The delay 
 accorded is a guaranty to us as well as to you. If, in the 
 interval, anything of our projects should be noised abroad, 
 if anything transpires of any nature whatever, if any 
 sort of proceeding on your part gives us umbrage, I, 
 the sole witness, — pray understand, the sole one,^ 
 will deny everything, and you will lose your suit in 
 disgrace. " 
 
 Roger was astounded at this new threat, which cor- 
 responded so well with his secret intentions ; for, as 
 we have said, he had conspired with the marquis to 
 unravel the mystery and to visit upon his tormentors the 
 annoyance which they had inflicted upon him. 
 
 However, on finding his plans discovered, he fell back, 
 disheartened.
 
 212 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " What must Le iloue, monsieur, tluit you may be sat- 
 isfied 1 " he demaiuled of the unknown. 
 
 " Descend first, monsieur," replied tlie latter, " and 
 when I have seen you depart with the marquis, I, too, 
 will go away." 
 
 Koger put on liis hat and obeyed with a crestfallen air, 
 followed, a flight of stairs behind, by the mysterious 
 man. 
 
 He found Crett^ impatiently waiting in his carriage. 
 He warned him that he was discovered, and they were 
 together driven to the Luxembourg, where they con- 
 versed a long time. 
 
 Meanwhile, the man with the warts went his own 
 mysterious way. 
 
 " There is nothing to do now, " the marquis told the 
 chevalier, " unless, very quietly, to set on foot some in- 
 quiries, in order to engage your mind somewhat, and by 
 preparation to deaden the blow which cannot be avoided. 
 After all, my dear chevalier, assume tliat the thing is 
 done, and that you have made a bad match. On the 
 other hand, you can easily console yourself on looking 
 around and seeing by how many other queer households 
 you are surrounded. " 
 
 " Yes, but the wives have entered those households in 
 the usual manner, while I — I am being hunted down in 
 fine shape ! Good Lord ! what will all ovir friends say 1 " 
 
 " They will know nothing about it; you do not intend 
 to speak of it, do you ? " 
 
 "God forbid!" 
 
 " Well, it is not likely that your father-in-law will for 
 his part boast of his novel invention for lighting Hymen's 
 torch." 
 
 " Alas ! have you not yourself more than once told me 
 that everything is known in Paris 1 "
 
 THE MYTERIOUS MAN AGAIN APPEARS. 213 
 
 " Everything is known, or nearly so ; but a tiling can 
 be concealed if one is bent upon it. Besides, a pistol is 
 at your head, and you must escape either by the door or 
 by the window, as they say. Recall your studies among 
 the Jesuits of Amboise, and since you have taken a 
 course in philosophy, why, my dear fellow, be a 
 philosopher." 
 
 "Ah, marquis! that is a very easy thing for you to 
 say. Come, be frank — would you make this marriage 1 
 Answer! " 
 
 " I, the Marquis de Crette, possessing an income of 
 sixty thousand livres, as I do, without counting my 
 mother's property, — no, I confess, I would not marry 
 this girl without seeing her; but if I were Roger Tan- 
 cr^de d'Anguilhem, and I must, in case of refusal, die 
 of hunger, I would marry Alecto herself, possibly separat- 
 ing from her afterwards, or, the opportunity offering, 
 breaking a bed-post over her back." 
 
 " You are speaking sincerely ? " 
 
 " On the word of a gentleman ! " 
 
 " But, reflect, — I am in love." 
 
 " That is always folly ; but, in your case, it is a 
 misfortune. " 
 
 " But think of it ! I shall lose Constance ! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! Only mountains never meet, and some 
 day you and Mademoiselle Constance will meet." 
 
 " She will lose faith in my loyalty. " 
 
 " You will explain matters." 
 
 " She will curse me. " 
 
 " Ah ! in that case, the wrong will all be hers, and 
 she will be unreasonable." 
 
 " She will not believe it possible that I could have 
 resolved to be so unfaithful." 
 
 " You will say that your father was responsible,
 
 214 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 and slie will think it was Anguilliem's revenge on 
 Beuzeiie." 
 
 " But she too will marry." 
 
 " So niucli the Letter for you, my dear fellow ! so 
 much the better ! In the first place, you will not have 
 it on your conscience that you have caused her to remain 
 single. Then, once she is married as well as you, others 
 will forget your little romance. You will go into tlie 
 country, you will hunt with her husband, you will in- 
 vite him to dinner; while he is paying compliments to 
 your wife, you will be talking over old times with his. 
 However he speeds, you will always have the advantage 
 of taking up the affair just where you left off." 
 
 " Ah ! if Madame de Maintenon were to hear you, my 
 dear Crette." 
 
 " She would think herself forty years younger, that is 
 all." 
 
 The two friends arose to go and pursue their inquiries.
 
 HOW THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 215 
 
 XV. 
 
 HOW THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 
 
 The chevalier and the marquis spent the next three days 
 in running about. Valets talked, concierges talked, the 
 very clerks of the court themselves opened their mouths, 
 so adroit were the ruses and ingenious the methods em- 
 ployed by the two friends in order to learn what they 
 wished to know. 
 
 However, after all their inquiries, they found that 
 twelve judges and sixty councillors had marriageable 
 daughters, so that after all their research, Roger and the 
 marquis were but little further along than when they 
 started. 
 
 There were, moreover, certain of these damsels whom 
 the chevalier held in dread, as they could by no means be 
 regarded as prizes. One had been surprised at night in a 
 half-ruined cloister back of the Rue Saint Benoit. 
 
 Another had made a journey into Picardy, without 
 either her father or her mother, and there were very ugly 
 rumors that her cousin, the musketeer, had brought her 
 back. 
 
 A third, indeed, had been recognized, it was said, in a 
 fiacre, at Marly, at one o'clock in the morning, leaving 
 the notorious inn with the sign of The Golden Calf. 
 
 Nothing went to prove that the demoiselle he was to 
 marry was one of these three; but there was nothing to 
 prove that she was not one of them. As a result, Roger 
 remained plunged in the deepest perplexity.
 
 216 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 In the meantime, lie learned that, in accordance with 
 the desire that he liad expressed to the mysterious man, 
 the judgment was to be postponed eight days. It was to 
 him a significant mark of his persecutors' good will 
 toward him, as well as of their iniluence in connection 
 with the courts of justice. 
 
 On the eighth day after he had written, that is, two 
 days before a decision would be rendered, he received a 
 letter from Anguilhem. 
 
 The baron had been sparing of neither ink nor paper, 
 for the letter contained eight large pages. He announced 
 to the chevalier that he would himself have come to Paris, 
 had not lack of money detained him at his chateau. He 
 deplored the fatal necessity that weighed upon his dear 
 son, and he left him absolutely free to act according to 
 the dictates of his understanding or of his heart; which 
 seemed to Roger to be a touch of the most exquisite 
 paternal delicacy, and which, amid a thousand sobs, 
 caused him to adopt the cruel resolution of renouncing 
 Constance to secure the happiness of his parents. 
 
 "Do not be influenced by consideration for us," wrote 
 the baron in this model letter. " You are young, Roger, 
 and you have long years to live; do not sadden your 
 entire existence for the sake of easing the remainder of 
 ours. This suit will have ruined us, your mother and 
 me, — but, what matter ! we are used to privations. 
 Besides, you have strength, good will, powerful friends; 
 you will obtain employment which will admit of your 
 assisting us a little until our deaths, which now cannot 
 be very far distant." 
 
 Roger went no further. He wiped his eyes, bowed his 
 head with reverence, and when in due season the man 
 with the warts arrived at his apartment, the chevalier 
 said, —
 
 HOW THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 217 
 
 " Monsieur, I am ready ; what have you for me to 
 sign ? " 
 
 " This, " said the emissary, drawing from liis pocket, and 
 displaying, a paper covered with writing. 
 
 " Very well, " said Roger. 
 
 And he signed without reading. 
 
 " Pardieu / monsieur, " said the man with the warts, 
 " you are a straightforward gentleman, and however 
 slow you are to decide, you at least act magnificently 
 when you have made up your mind. That generous 
 oversight will cost you nothing; read, however." 
 
 With terrible anguish, Eoger read, trembling at every 
 line lest he should encounter the name of one of the 
 three redoubtable damsels; but he had the good fortune 
 to see another name. 
 
 This paper was a document imposing the obligation to 
 marry Mademoiselle Christine Sylvandire Bouteau, sole 
 daughter of Maitre Jean Amedee Bouteau, conseUler- 
 rapporteur of the King's High Parliament, and contain- 
 ing an aknowledgment to the said Christine Sylvandire 
 Bouteau, of a dot of one hundred thousand crowns, paid 
 on the day on which the very noble and very honorable 
 Eoger Tancrede d'Anguilhem won his suit-at-law against 
 the Sieur Afghano, the stepson of the late Vicomte de 
 Bouzenois. 
 
 Maitre Jean Amedee Bouteau was that austere coun- 
 cillor who would receive neither Roger nor Afghano; 
 the one that had no cat to which one could offer jewels, 
 nor an ape on which one could bestow surreptitious dona- 
 tions, nor a parrot on which one could settle a life 
 annuity. But he had a marriageable daughter. 
 
 " Is she very ugly, monsieur % " demanded Roger. 
 
 " T have orders to reply to none of your questions, 
 Monsieur le Chevalier. Make your toilet, follow me to
 
 218 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the Palais, be present at the judgment to be rendered in 
 two hours, and I sliall have the lionor to conduct you 
 thereafter to the hotel of Monsieur Bouteau, your father- 
 in-law. " 
 
 " For what purpose 1 " cried Roger, with an impulse of 
 terror which interfered with his comprehending the in- 
 congruity of the question. 
 
 " Why, to return tlianks, in the first place, for the 
 possession from that moment of something like a million 
 and a half more than you now have, and next to salute 
 your alhanced." 
 
 The chevalier's legs failed him. 
 
 " My father will be saved, and my mother will die in 
 peace at Anguilhem, " he murmured, falling into an arm- 
 chair. 
 
 " Come, come, " said the man with the warts, " I see 
 indeed that you need to be alone in order to compose 
 yourself ; you shall go your own way to the Palais, and I 
 will go mine." 
 
 And the man with the warts took his departure 
 cavalierly enough, this time. Roger noticed the differ- 
 ence in his manner. 
 
 " It is to be expected, " said he. " He is now sure of 
 the matter. I have signed my own sentence." 
 
 And, as Maitre Bouteau's envoy had suggested, he 
 began his toilet. 
 
 Koger felt death in his heart. He detested in advance 
 the woman he was going to see, and yet, by a prompt- 
 ing of the vanity inherent in the heart of man, he did 
 not wish his first interview to give her a bad impression 
 of his face and figure. 
 
 He donned a black velvet coat frogged with gold, and 
 a white satin waistcoat whose seams were covered with 
 rich embroidery. He then sent a messenger for the Mar-
 
 HOW THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 219 
 
 quis de Crette, who soon arrived in his most magnificent 
 equipage. 
 
 Behind this carriage followed the coaches of d'ller- 
 bigny, Chastellux, and Clos-Renaud. Mademoiselle Pous- 
 sette brought up the rear in a reraise. 
 
 The marquis ascended to Roger's apartment alone. 
 
 As soon as he saw the marquis, the chevalier extended 
 his arms, crying, — 
 
 "Alas! alas! alas!" 
 
 " The sacrifice, then, is made 1 " 
 
 " Made and executed, " was Roger's response. " I have 
 signed. Poor Constance ! " 
 
 " And have you any new intelligence of your affianced 1 " 
 hesitatingly inquired the marquis. 
 
 " Her name is Sylvandire." 
 
 " Ah ! the devil ! a charming name ; that is already 
 something. But that is only her baptismal name ; what 
 is her family name ? " 
 
 "Bouteau." 
 
 " The daughter of our councillor ! " cried the marquis. 
 
 " The same, " said Roger. " Alas ! it is some little 
 monster tliat he has concealed from all eyes, and of 
 whom he unburdens himself in ray favor." 
 
 " Or in favor, rather, of your barony. I have occa- 
 sionally met Maitre Bouteau." 
 
 " And what sort of man is my father-in-law ? " 
 
 " A Jew grafted on an Arab ; enormously rich, besides, 
 according to all accounts." 
 
 " And, in spite of his wealth, " cried Roger, " he is 
 driven to employing such means to establish his daughter ! 
 Ah ! my friend, my friend, nothing but filial devotion — " 
 
 " True ; Cleobis and Biton were not to be compared 
 with us, chevalier, in my opinion ; but we must not stay 
 here lamenting, let us go to the Palais. If your wife is
 
 220 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 too — queer, wliy, you can put her in one corner of tlie 
 house with servants of her own, and a hundred thousand 
 francs for licr maintenance. You will sulFer the aflliction 
 of her bearing your name, that is all ; and with the other 
 fourteen hundred thousand livres that remain, — well, 
 you will find enjoyment elsewhere. You have read the 
 contract carefully ? There was nothing of your being 
 forced — " 
 
 " Xo." 
 
 " Well, my dear fellow, you are to be pitied then ! 
 Come, come, we must be off." 
 
 And Crette preceded d'Anguilhem, who went to the 
 doors of their carriages to salute d'Herbigny, Clos- 
 Eenaud, Chastellux, and Mademoiselle Poussette, one 
 after the other, and who then entered the coach of the 
 marquis. 
 
 They reached the Palais; a crowd was assembled. 
 The begum's son had decided to be present at the de- 
 nouement of this long drama. It was supposed that he 
 must have dispensed nearly fifty thousand livres in mak- 
 ing himself agreeable to the judges. He was so beaming 
 of aspect that Roger lacked little of fainting, and Crette 
 became quite pale. 
 
 The judges were in the next room; they were in 
 consultation. 
 
 At the end of an hour's deliberation the chamber was in 
 session. Koger recognized his three judges, and trembled; 
 behind them modestly came the conseiller-rapjyorteur. 
 
 " What is the name of the conseiller-ra2)2:>orteur ? " 
 Roger timidly asked his neighbor. 
 
 " IMaitre Bouteau, " answered the latter ; " a very 
 worthy man." 
 
 Roger endeavored to read the face of Maitre Bouteau; 
 but it was impossible.
 
 now THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 221 
 
 The judges took their places with the grave aspect 
 characteristic of those gentlemen, permitted the judicial 
 regard, fixing upon nothing, to wander around the hall, 
 and Maitre Bouteau unfolded a paper. 
 
 " Courage ! " said Crette, leaning toward the cheva- 
 lier's ear; " it is our father-in-law." 
 
 " I am aware of it, " returned Roger, 
 
 Maitre Bouteau coughed, spat, and. read as follows : — 
 
 " Whereas, The Sieur Afghano, a native of India, has 
 been unable to produce the document that he should have 
 tendered the tribunal, and there exists no authentic proof of 
 his right to the succession : and 
 
 " Whereas, The Sieur Baron Tancrfede Palamfede d'Anguil- 
 hem, represented by his son, Roger Tancrfede d'Anguilheni, 
 is the next of kin to the deceased, and has presented docu- 
 ments in due form establishing that relationship, therefore 
 
 "Be it ordered by the court that the Sieur Baron Tan- 
 crfede Palamfede d'Anguilhem shall immediately enter into 
 possession of the estate of the late Vicomte de Bouzenois, 
 consisting of all properties real and personal and general 
 possessed by the deceased, as is just, and that 
 
 " The Sieur Afghano, a native of India, is condemned to 
 pay all charges without reserve or costs." 
 
 Maitre Bouteau delivered the whole without once 
 glancing at Roger, who could scarcely steady himself on 
 his bench. 
 
 The marquis put his arm around his friend and 
 whispered, — 
 
 "D'Anguilhem, your father-in-law is a grand man." 
 
 " Yes ; but patience, " said Roger. " The Indian is 
 going to produce his document." 
 
 " He would not have waited until this time," returned 
 Crette. " Be easy ; as he has not produced it, it is be- 
 cause he has none."
 
 222 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 In fact, the Indian produced no document. He low- 
 ered liis liead an instant as if overcome by tlie blow ; 
 then, raisiiif^ it immediately with a pompous air, in a 
 voice loud enough to be heard not only by the judges but 
 by the audience as well, he said, — 
 
 " Well, it was a good thing that my mother did not 
 give everything to that wretched Bouzenois. Here is a 
 proof of how dangerous it is to enrich lovers. " 
 
 Roger felt his anger rising, and moved as if about in- 
 continently to avenge the memory of a relative of whom 
 he had just been recognized the heir. 
 
 " Are you mad?" cried Crette, detaining him. "Let 
 the wretch whine, then, that has just been flayed. Your 
 name is not Bouzenois, but d'Anguilhem; and, j^ar- 
 dieu! the lawyers have just said something very 
 different." 
 
 At this moment, the Indian came toward the group of 
 young people. Roger thought he was coming to him, 
 and was ready to receive him ; but the Indian passed 
 near them, that was all. Only, in passing, he said loud 
 enough to be heard, — 
 
 " You made a mistake. Mademoiselle Poussette, when 
 you betrayed me. I still have an income of one hundred 
 thousand livres. " 
 
 "I congratulate you, monsieur," said Roger; "it is 
 more than enough to support your name worthily." 
 
 " There, there, do not get into a quarrel," said Crette; 
 " let us go home and have a jolly supper." 
 
 "Alas! Crette," replied d'Anguilhem, "you forget 
 that I have to go and see my fiancee." 
 
 However, Roger pronounced these words in a tone less 
 contrite than one might have expected from him. He 
 was thinking of his father's pride, his mother's joy, on 
 suddenly finding themselves so prodigiously rich. And
 
 now THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 223 
 
 the poor chevalier was so good a son that he began 
 to shake off the thoughts of Constance's grief. 
 
 And then one is quickly habituated to prosperity. 
 Eoger left the court-room with a springing gait and an 
 inflation of chest that would have done credit to one who 
 had been a millionaire from birth. 
 
 Crette lent him his coach to go and pay his visit to 
 Maitre Bouteau, and he took leave of his friend, remind- 
 ing him that the supper would be ready at eight 
 o'clock, 
 
 Roger now discovered the man with the warts who was 
 standing behind him. His opaline eyes glowed with fire. 
 
 " Maitre Bouteau has just left the Palais to return to 
 his home. Will not Monsieur le Baron go at once and 
 present his compliments 1 " 
 
 " Certainly, my dear monsieur, " responded the cheva- 
 lier, " it is my most earnest desire." 
 
 " Well, are you satisfied, chevalier 1 " 
 
 "Yes, monsieur, you have kept your word, it is truej 
 but there are yet two conditions to be fulfilled." 
 
 " And they shall be fulfilled, monsieur, as exactly — 
 let us hope so, at least — as the first has been." 
 
 " Be so kind, then, as to get into my carriage, monsieur, 
 and we will be off. " 
 
 The man with the warts got into the coach ; but not- 
 withstanding Roger's insistence, he would sit only in 
 front. 
 
 They reached a hotel in the Rue Planche-Mibray ; they 
 ascended to the third floor. 
 
 Maitre Bouteau was sitting in his office. He was a 
 rather small man, with an immense brow, small eyes hid- 
 den behind spectacles, thick eyebrows sprinkled with 
 gray, and an imperceptible mouth which was lost in the 
 wrinkles of his cheeks ; in a word, he was a very ugly
 
 224 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 father-in-law, but it Avns not he that the chevaHer was 
 on tlie point of marrying, llogcr bowed ahnost graciously, 
 and was opening his mouth to express his gratitude. 
 
 "No thanks, monsieur," said Maitre Bouteau, "you 
 had an excellent case ; besides, I have but followed the 
 dictates of my conscience, and my colleagues, however 
 prejudiced against you they may have been, allowed 
 themselves to be persuaded by my feeble arguments in 
 favor of justice." 
 
 A second time Roger bowed to Maitre Bouteau; the 
 latter did not appear to be examining liim, but, while 
 returning his salute, he eyed him narrowly over his 
 spectacles. This scrutiny ended, he turned toward an 
 embroidered screen which stretched behind him, and said 
 with perfect naturalness, — 
 
 " My daughter, come hither and pay your respects 
 to my client, Monsieur le Chevalier Roger Tancrede 
 d'Anguilhem." 
 
 Roger thought the earth was slipping from under his 
 feet. A cold perspiration oozed from his forehead, his 
 heart suspended its beating, and his eyes, staring and 
 haggard, fixed their gaze upon an angle of the screen. 
 
 Suddenly, Roger beheld a delicious creature appearing. 
 
 Tall, of graceful figure, lithe, and agreeably propor- 
 tioned, with black eyes veiled by velvety lashes, and long 
 black hair that hung in heavy curls upon her white 
 shoulders, — Sylvandire was eighteen years of age, at 
 most, and would have passed as a miracle of beauty, 
 
 Roger, breathless, stupefied, petrified, did not think 
 even to make a bow. He remained motionless, in 
 ecstasy, his lips parted like the statue of Apollo about 
 to speak. 
 
 " My child, " continued the councillor as he took Syl- 
 vandire by the hand, " this is Monsieur le Chevalier
 
 HOW THE JUDGMENT WAS GIVEN. 225 
 
 Roger Tancr^de d'Anguilhem who does us the honor 
 of asking your hand in marriage." 
 
 Sylvandire raised her great black eyes to Roger, and 
 cast upon him a look that penetrated the very depths of 
 his heart. 
 
 " Oh, I am lost ! " cried Roger to himself ; " such a 
 beautiful girl must already have been loved by some one, 
 unless she has been kept in a closet. " 
 
 " Will you permit Monsieur le Chevalier d'Anguilhem 
 to prefer his suit ? " continued the councillor. 
 
 Sylvandire glanced a second time at Roger with a 
 mingling of astonishment, fear, and languorous passion; 
 but she was silent. 
 
 " Silence gives consent, monsieur le chevalier, " resumed 
 Maitre Bouteau. " Now, you shall know that Sylvan- 
 dire is my only daughter, and that she brings her hus- 
 band a dower of three hundred thousand livres." 
 
 Sylvandire pressed her father's hand as a sign of 
 gratitude. 
 
 " Pardieu ! " said Roger to himself, " he could give 
 her six hundred thousand for all the money it costs him. 
 No matter! I ought to thank him for being so modest." 
 
 " As to the wedding, when do you say, monsieur le 
 chevalier 1 " asked Maitre Bouteau. 
 
 " Why, " said Roger, " it is for mademoiselle to fix the 
 date, and when she will consent — " 
 
 Sylvandire bent her head^ still without speaking. 
 
 " She is a mute ! " cried Roger, believing that he had 
 discovered the probable infirmity, and incapable of mas- 
 tering the new fear by which he was just seized. 
 
 Sylvandire burst out laughing very frankly, and 
 replied, — 
 
 "No, monsieur le chevalier; thank God, I can speak." 
 
 "Perhaps she is only foolish," thouglit the chevalier, 
 15
 
 226 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " ami yet with such eyes it is impossible not to possess 
 intellect." 
 
 However, as this first interview could only he cmhar- 
 rassing to all, the councillor gave his daughter a side- 
 glance, and she courtesied as if about to retire. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Roger, " are you going away, 
 mademoiselle, without deigning to say at what date 
 you — " 
 
 " I leave you to my father, monsieur," answered Syl- 
 vandire. " Although he is a man of law, he does not 
 like affairs to drag along. What he does is well done." 
 
 " Come, " said Eoger to himself, " I was deceived in 
 that respect. She is not very stupid." 
 
 The fortunate chevalier went from one surprise to 
 another. 
 
 Sylvandire withdrew, leaving Koger alone with his 
 future father-in-law. 
 
 The marriage was set to take place in fifteen days. 
 
 The arrangements settled, Koger took leave of Maitre 
 Bouteau, and descended the stairs with a step lighter than 
 that with which he had entered. 
 
 At the street-door he found the man with the warts. 
 
 " Well, monsieur, " said the latter, " are you satisfied 1 " 
 
 " So well satisfied, " replied Roger, " that if the last 
 condition is as faithfully kept as the first two, you shall 
 have a thousand louis, my fine fellow." 
 
 " That is just the same as if I had them in hand," said 
 the unknown, bowing almost to the ground. 
 
 Roger heard this exclamation, and sprang into the 
 coach without touching the steps. 
 
 " To the marquis ! " he shouted to Basque with a 
 voice in which lingered no trace of his recent fears. 
 
 Ten minutes later, the coach drew up in the court- 
 yard of the hotel.
 
 THE CHEVALIEE IS RESIGNED. 227 
 
 XVI. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM PHILOSOPHICALLY 
 RESIGNS HIMSELF TO A PRETTY WIFE, A MAGNIFI- 
 CENT HOTEL, AND AN INCOME OF SEVENTY-FIVE 
 THOUSAND LIVRES. 
 
 There was a numerous company at the house of the 
 marquis. 
 
 Roger entered with a beaming countenance. All 
 approached and overwhelmed him with congratulations. 
 
 The marquis allowed this storm of felicitations to 
 subside, and then he took Eoger by the hand and drew 
 him into a boudoir. 
 
 " Well," he said, " the fiancee? " 
 
 " Charming," responded Roger, with a rueful look. 
 
 " As pretty as Constance 1 " 
 
 "Alas! prettier." 
 
 " Why, then, what the devil are you still so gloomy 
 about 1 " 
 
 " Ah ! my friend," murmured Roger with a deep sigh, 
 " I am perfectly sure that Constance — " 
 
 "Well, yes, I comprehend," said the marquis; "but 
 what can you expect, my dear fellow ! that also would 
 be too much good luck, and you are getting unreason- 
 ably exacting. Consider yourself very fortunate to be 
 let off with that, and then, besides, who knows 1 Every- 
 thing that happens to you is so extraordinary ! " 
 
 "Oh! no, my friend, you will not persuade me that 
 there is not some serpent hidden among all these roses. 
 But what of it, marquis! The die is cast, and be-
 
 228 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 sides I havo reflected that the most honorable man on 
 earth might be deceived in my position. My wife's 
 past is beyond mo. Well, I shall content myself with 
 watching her future. " 
 
 "That is right; that is tlie way I like to see you! 
 Now, let us go back. A bold face, and trust me to 
 manage at the table, happy millionaire! " 
 
 They sat down to supper. The gold, the crystal, the 
 candles, all were resplendent. At the sight Roger re- 
 flected that he, jwor gentleman, two hours before, with- 
 out fortune, could the next day, if he wished, receive 
 in a handsomer hotel and with a magnificence equal to 
 that displayed in his honor, this friend which a timely 
 thrust had made for him. Then, while thinking all 
 this, he remembered the fencing-master, so kind and so 
 disinterested at the time, who had, Avithout knowing it, 
 assured the fortune of his family by demonstrating a 
 flanconade to his son. 
 
 " My dear friends," said the marquis, "yon are aware 
 that we have gathered this evening to rejoice over the 
 winning of the famous suit which gives our friend an 
 income of seventy-five thousand livres. " 
 
 " You are the one that brought me luck," returned 
 Roger with a bow to the marquis. 
 
 " Here 's to the health of d'Anguilhem and his 
 seventy-five thousand livres ! " then cried the guests 
 together. 
 
 "But wait," said Crette,"and you shall drink two 
 healths at once, unless you prefer to drink twice." 
 
 "What is it then?" at once demanded d'Herbigny 
 and Clos-Renaud, 
 
 "Our friend d'Anguilhem," said the marquis, "has 
 suddenly fallen in love in Paris, and who can guess 
 what dainty bit the rascal has chanced upon 1 "
 
 THE CHEVALIER IS RESIGNED. 229 
 
 " A maid of Saint Cyr, dowered by Madame de Main- 
 tenon 1 " ventured Chastellux. 
 
 " A princess palatine ? " asked Clos-Kenaud. 
 
 "A daughter of the royal blood? " demanded d'Her- 
 bigny. 
 
 "Ah! well, indeed ! D'Anguilhem is noble enough 
 already, and he is looking for money. The daughter 
 of a lawyer, messieurs. " 
 
 " Phew ! " whistled some of the guests. 
 
 "Ah! chevalier, you are retrograding," said d'Her- 
 bigny. " You should marry an actress of the Comedie- 
 Franqaise or an opera-singer; that would be more like 
 the grand seigneur. " 
 
 "But stay, messieurs," resumed the marquis. "The 
 damsel is as beautiful as Venus, and has a dower of six 
 hundred thousand livres. " 
 
 "Festef chevalier, we congratulate you," cried the 
 young men in chorus. 
 
 " Which means the chevalier settles in Paris, and 
 establishes himself in the hotel of the Vicomte de 
 Bouzenois, and gives us banquets, — banquets beside 
 which this one is only a grub-shop dinner." 
 
 " In that case, long live the chevalier and the cheva- 
 liere ! " cried d'Herbigny, raising his glass. 
 
 And all, in the same terms, did justice to d'Her- 
 bigny's toast. 
 
 " Now, said the viscount, replacing his glass on the 
 table, "as you are on a good footing with the lawyers' 
 guild, my dear d'Anguilhem, find for me, too, a daugh- 
 ter of one of your father-in-law's colleagues, some pretty 
 little rohine. I will take her even with five hundred 
 thousand livres." 
 
 " Then, here 's to the future marriage of the Vicomte 
 d'Herbigny," said the chevalier, lifting his glass.
 
 230 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Then ■wliilo all were drinking lie quickly turned to 
 Crette, and extundiug liis hand, said, — 
 
 "Thanks, marquis, thanks! You have been kind, 
 excellent, as always." 
 
 In fact, Crette had saved his friend from all ridicule 
 on the subject of his marriage. It is also true that 
 Mademoiselle Bouteau's six hundred thousand livres 
 had produced a magical elFect. 
 
 In brief, the supper was so gay that, whatever his 
 preoccupation, d'Anguilhem made merry even to the 
 dessert. 
 
 Eoger left the marquis two hours after midnight, 
 making an appointment for the morning at eleven 
 o'clock. He wished to take possession of the Hotel de 
 Bouzenois accompanied only by his friend. 
 
 At the appointed hour the marquis was at Roger's 
 hotel. They set out together for the Place Louis-le- 
 Grand, and this time the two doors of the grand entrance 
 opened to the chevalier. For an hour the representa- 
 tives of the court had been waiting to remove the seals. 
 
 All that the man with the warts had said was scrupu- 
 lously true. The strong box was full ; the caskets were 
 gorged with jewels; the collection of engraved gems 
 and of medals was magnificent. 
 
 Eoger was dazzled at sight of such wealth. He, 
 ■who had come to Paris with fifty louis, did not know 
 that so much money existed in the world. He wished 
 to repay on the spot the eight or ten thousand livres that 
 he owed Crette; but the marquis made him understand 
 that he was in rather too great haste by saying that he 
 would send Basque in the morning to take charge of 
 all that hardware. 
 
 The chevalier at once selected some of the diamonds 
 and precious stones to send to his mother. Perhaps,
 
 THE CHEVALIER IS RESIGNED. 231 
 
 wliile doing this, he was thinking of Constance; for, 
 although he did not pronounce her name, Crette under- 
 stood by his involuntary sighs that he had not forgotten 
 her. 
 
 The hotel, although very sumptuous, needed to be 
 overlooked by a man of taste. Again it was Crette who 
 undertook the task. He sent for his upholsterer, gave 
 him his orders, and granted him eight days. The 
 upholsterer declared that it was impossible to have 
 everything done in so short a time. Crette contented 
 himself with replying, — 
 
 " You will be paid the day it is finished." 
 
 By the seventh day the hotel was refitted and in order; 
 and, in accordance with Roger's ambition, the arms of 
 d'Anguilhem had replaced on the hatchment the arms 
 of Bouzenois. 
 
 In the meantime Roger had sent his mother the best 
 carriage he could find in the coach-houses. It was 
 Rameau-d'or who conveyed it, travelling post. He 
 had to return by the mail-coach. Crette was Roger's 
 never-failing resource. When he was not lending his 
 advice, he was lending his money. When he was not 
 lending his money, he was lending his servants. 
 
 As Rameau-d'or was a trustworthy man, he was noti- 
 fied that one of the coach-boxes, whose key was given 
 him, contained a thousand louis, and was bidden to 
 keep watch over it. 
 
 Roger wrote also to his father and mother to come 
 and take possession of the rest of their fortune, sending 
 them an account, even to the last sou, of all that he had 
 been obliged to expend, adding, moreover, that by 
 unheard-of good fortune his fiancee was beautiful and 
 perfectly bred, and it seemed impossible that any one 
 could be more spirituelle.
 
 232 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The joy of the baron ami tlie baroness was extreme 
 when they learned tliat their daughter-in-law seemed to 
 be quite above reproach, and the baron declared that 
 he would settle upon his son an income of fifty thousand 
 livres, and keep the remainder to improve Anguilhem. 
 
 " Yet, " he added, " perhaps we shall buy a town resi- 
 dence at Loches, in order to receive there during the 
 winter. " 
 
 The report of the winning of the suit and tlio marriage 
 to follow was spread abroad as far as Beuzerie. The 
 viscount and the viscountess, who, while consenting to 
 their daughter's marriage with Roger, had always pre- 
 served a leaven of ill-feeling toward the d'Anguilhems, 
 hastened to transmit the news to their daughter; but 
 Constance shook her head, smiling, and would not be- 
 lieve a word that was told her. 
 
 " Has Eoger written 1 " she asked. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He told me to believe nothing but what I should 
 hear from his own lips, or should see written by his own 
 hand." 
 
 " Consequently — " 
 
 " I believe in nothing but his love." 
 
 The viscount and the viscountess insisted as long as 
 they were able; but Constance, like the doubting 
 apostle, would not believe without seeing. 
 
 Before his departure for Paris the baron felt con- 
 strained to pay a visit to his neighbors, and explain to 
 them by what necessity Roger was forced to fail in his 
 engagement. The viscount listened very tranquilly to 
 his discourse from end to end, and then he bade his 
 wife bring Constance down from her room. Constance 
 descended, and Monsieur de Beuzerie begged that the 
 baron would repeat to his daughter what he had just said
 
 THE CHEVALIER IS EESIGNED. 233 
 
 to him relating to Koger's marriage. The baron repeated 
 word for word the little speech that he had framed as he 
 came along the road; but during all the time he was 
 speaking Constance kept shaking her head, with a smile 
 that was full of adorable trust. Then when he had 
 ended she asked, — 
 
 " Did Koger send you a letter for me 1 " 
 
 "No," answered the baron. "His position was too 
 embarrassing. He would not have dared avow to you 
 that he had been compelled, in spite of himself, to be 
 unfaithful to you." 
 
 " In that case, you are trying to deceive me," replied 
 Constance. " Roger told me to believe only what I 
 heard from his own lips, or saw written by his own 
 hand." 
 
 " Consequently," repeated Monsieur de Beuzerie. 
 
 " I believe in nothing but his love." 
 
 And they could get nothing further from the girl, 
 who, moreover, appeared to take no sort of interest in 
 the rumors which soon spread throughout the province. 
 
 The departure of the baron and the baroness, travel- 
 ling post with four horses and a courier in advance, was 
 an event to be talked of a week for ten leagues around. 
 It was said that Roger had found chests filled with 
 diamonds and a gold-mine in the cellar. 
 
 During this period Roger was wooing ; but his fiancee 
 was kept under the strictest guard. Maitre Bouteau did 
 not leave his daughter a moment, — a paternal assiduity 
 that continued to nourish Roger's misgivings, Never- 
 theless, he went daily to pass an hour with Sylvandire, 
 and the girl, to the great amazement of her future 
 spouse, displayed a most varied culture and a most agree- 
 able mind. Roger never ceased to look and to listen. 
 
 All the customary formalities, moreover, had been
 
 234 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 observed, and only tlic arrival of the great relatives was 
 awaited to proceed with 11 le marriage ceremony. 
 
 Tluit arrival was too stately a sjDectacle for us to neg- 
 lect attempting to give some idea of it to tlie reader. 
 Monsieur and Madame d'Anguilhem had spiritedly 
 ordered their wardrobes from J'aris. Hence they 
 appeared dressed in the latest styles of the court, and 
 as both were of ancient lineage and possessed the noble 
 bearing that two revolutions have not yet been able to 
 efface from our real nobility, they presented a suitably 
 imposing appearance; but the nephews and cousins from 
 tlie country, and the distant relatives from Saintonge 
 and Perigord, produced a profound sensation. They 
 came in the felt hats, doublets, breeches, and cloaks 
 of the time of Louis XIII. One would have said that 
 a collection of family portraits had emerged from the 
 garret. 
 
 Roger, who dreaded ridicule above all things, was 
 married at night at Saint Roche, thus postponing the 
 wedding-feast until all the relatives, loaded with gifts, 
 would have departed in the conveyances by which they 
 had come. The baron and the baroness lavished 
 caresses on the lawyer's daughter, who smiled affection- 
 ately at her husband and lent herself admirably to their 
 endearments. 
 
 Roger thanked the Marquis de Crette for all the ser- 
 vices rendered him and the honor done him, and prom- 
 ised to write to him on the subject which had so 
 tormented and which still tormented him more than 
 ever. Then he set out with his wife for a little 
 country-seat at Champigny, which had long been used 
 as a place of residence by Monsieur de Bouzenois. 
 
 As for the baron and the baroness, they went back to 
 Anguilhem, impatient to heighten by a little necessary
 
 THE CHEVALIER IS RESIGNED. 235 
 
 outlay the splendor of the escutcheon that was falling 
 into reproachful decay above the gateway of the chateau. 
 The day following Eoger's departure for Champigny 
 the Marquis de Crette received from the chevalier by 
 special courier, a letter which contained only these few 
 lines: — 
 
 " I am the most fortunate of men ! 
 
 " Do me the favor, my dear marquis, to ask my father-in- 
 law for the address of the man with the warts, and remit to 
 him, in my name, one thousand louis. 
 " Yom* sincere friend, 
 
 "Le Chevalier d'Anguilhem."
 
 236 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 now THE CHEVALIER FOUND HIMSELF IN SUCH LUCK 
 THAT HE "WAS READY, LIKE POLYCRATES, THE 
 TYRANT OF SAMOS, TO CAST A RING INTO THE SEA. 
 
 Thus Koger had set his conscience at rest with regard to 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie. 
 
 If nothing weakens love like possession, nothing 
 nourishes it like hope; but hope once lost, the strongest 
 love retires, if it is not destroyed, before stern necessity. 
 Hence when Roger knew that he must no longer indulge 
 in his old-time fancies, and found himself face to face 
 with one of the most seductive realities that could exist 
 in all the world, he wept and he moaned, but in the end 
 he sacrificed himself, and with a very good grace even. 
 
 He took advantage, then, of his mother's return to 
 Anguilhem to write Constance a most touching letter. 
 He told her that one of the necessities that gentlemen 
 sometimes encounter, and by which their courage is 
 tried, had come upon him, and that, in sacrificing him- 
 self to the happiness of his family, he was about to re- 
 nounce the hope of ever being happy himself. He tlien 
 entreated Constance to forgive and to forget him. But 
 he closed by swearing to his dear love that, in spite of 
 the inexorable decree that he was forced to obey, — the 
 style is that of Corneille, still much in vogue at that 
 date, — he, Eoger, should love Constance until death. 
 
 Constance, thus released from her promise, became 
 free again, and could marry in turn.
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIMSELF IN LUCK. 237 
 
 When Eoger was writing Constance the letter whose 
 substance we have just given, he had not yet liad occa- 
 sion to write to the Marquis de Crette the one whose 
 contents we gave at the close of the preceding chapter. 
 He was then yet distrustful of Sylvandire, and he 
 thought that, deceived beforehand, in all probability by 
 his wife, he would always have the best side of the 
 conjugal scene if ever the two rivals should compare 
 notes, and one of them should show the other the letter 
 that she had received. 
 
 Roger had been deeply moved while inditing the 
 mournful sentiments that we have set forth, and, with 
 eyes still wet with tears, he took the letter containing 
 them to the Baronne d'Anguilhem. She, good dame, 
 still possessed of faith in the undying nature of love, 
 even when crossed by insurmountable obstacles, hastened 
 to refer the matter to her husband, the more especially 
 because Roger had charged her to forward the letter to 
 Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, and to see above all things 
 that it was placed in her own hands. 
 
 Monsieur d'Anguilhem was extremely embarrassed by 
 this overture. To fail in the fulfilment of his son's 
 desire was, in his own estimation, to betray a trust, and 
 it must be confessed that during the last four months 
 Roger had so grown in the paternal opinion and esteem , 
 owing to the way in which he had borne himself in the 
 capital, that the baron respected his son almost as much 
 as he loved him. On the other hand, to convey to 
 Constance a letter filled, undoubtedly, with vows of 
 undying love was, perhaps, to rekindle the embers that 
 were very certain to die out if left alone. It was, per- 
 haps, to foster culpable thoughts, to foment a revolution 
 at the hearthstone of the Beuzeries. 
 
 For the baron had not sought to learn the contents of
 
 238 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the letter, and ho would as soon have cast himself into 
 the fire as to have done it, such was his delicacy in tlio 
 matter. The baroness, for her part, could give him no 
 information save that, knowing Roger's unalterable 
 ailection for Constance, the letter must contain dreadful 
 lamentations against fate and cruel accusations against 
 destiny. As a result, after the baron had considered 
 and reconsidered the subject of Roger's letter in all its 
 bearings, he prudently decided that it would be better 
 hot to remit the letter to Mademoiselle de Beuzerie; 
 and in order that he might not reverse his decision, he 
 double-locked the epistle in a cabinet. 
 
 The carrying out of this resolution was for some time 
 a source of much torment to the Baron d'Anguilhem; 
 but he gradually gained comfort from the thought that 
 chance often makes use of accident to do a great deal of 
 good in this world. 
 
 As a result. Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, not having 
 received the letter which released her from her vows, 
 would admit nothing of what was said to her about 
 Roger's marriage, replying to the most positive asser- 
 tions of her father and her mother, — 
 
 " They have made him believe that I am dead ! " 
 
 During all this time, Roger, supposing that he had 
 restored her freedom to Constance, was very much at 
 peace, and, were we not afraid of giving our readers too 
 bad an opinion of our hero, we would even add that he 
 was very happy. 
 
 I do not think there could be a marriage, unless it 
 united a tiger and a panther, that could not pretend to 
 the enjoyment of peace for a fortnight after the wedding- 
 day. 
 
 Moreover, aside from her beauty, which was perfect, 
 and of which Roger was unusually appreciative, Syl-
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIMSELF IN LUCK. 239 
 
 vanilire seemed an adorable combination of simplicity, 
 grace, and virtue. 
 
 Her newly-made spouse had questioned and cross- 
 questioned her. He had exhausted his wisdom and 
 logic in an effort to involve her answers in contradic- 
 tion, bl^t on no subject had he been able to surprise her 
 in an untruth ; and so he unceasingly asked himself 
 why Maitre Bouteau had taken so many precautions, 
 such care and pains to secure the settlement of a treasure 
 so desirable. 
 
 " But what did you do at your father's, dear? " Eoger 
 once asked. 
 
 " Oh! it was very dull," responded Sylvandire. 
 
 " But did he never entertain 1 " 
 
 "Oh! certainly, old counsellors, old lawyers, old 
 judges, — all men whose talk was very tiresome." 
 
 " They were all ? " 
 
 " Oh I mon Dieu, yes, absolutely all." 
 
 Thereupon Roger, after having dreaded a deformity, 
 an infirmity, and something worse, upon recovering 
 from these three terrors concluded that his wife must 
 be addicted to a secret vice. 
 
 " Perhaps she is a gourmand," he said to himself. 
 
 It was a vice of the day. See Saint Simon. 
 
 And he essayed to provoke her appetite by the help 
 of the exquisite wines that Monsieur de Bouzenois had 
 kept in his cellar for twenty years; but, after tasting 
 the best Tokay and the most exquisite Constance, 
 Sylvandire made a little grimace of disgust, and re- 
 turned to her pure cold water, the only drink that she 
 liked. 
 
 On one occasion, having taken a sip of Syracuse, a 
 flush overspread her face, and she was uncomfortable 
 from it during the remainder of the evening. She de-
 
 240 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 clurcJ tliat henceforth slio wouhl abstain from so much 
 as ■\vettiiig her lips with any sort of wine. 
 
 " My wife is not foml of tlie ta1)le," thought Roger. 
 " Let u.s look for some other vice, for certainly she must 
 have one." 
 
 "Ah! now I have it!" he said, one fine morning. 
 " My wife is a gflmhler. " 
 
 And that very evening he placed a roi;leau of gold 
 before her and handed her the cards; but Sylvandire 
 understood no game, laughed like mad when she won, 
 and made a face for the loss of a twelve-sous piece. 
 
 "My wife is not a gambler," said Roger, " it is true; 
 but perhaps she is miserly." 
 
 Roger put his wife into her carriage, crammed her 
 pockets with gold, and took her to the most fashion- 
 able milliners and dressmakers in Paris. Sylvandire 
 spent three hundred louis on bonnets, laces, and gowns, 
 and that without bargaining. 
 
 " The devil ! " exclaimed Roger. " She must be ex- 
 travagant, then." 
 
 However, when he one day intentionally offered her 
 a slight reproach for having paid ten louis more for an 
 English guimpe than it was worth, Sylvandire thanked 
 him for the remonstrance, and begged that he would in 
 the future himself regulate her expenditures. 
 
 " So much the worse ! So much the worse! " thought 
 Roger. " It must be something very serious." 
 
 Then Roger stood guard and watched to see if there 
 might not come prowling about the conjugal mansion one 
 of those creatures of both night and day called cousins, 
 a dangerous species of which one can be rid only by 
 slaying them on the spot. 
 
 But not a plume of a lover, as Mademoiselle Scudery 
 would have said, not a muzzle of a gallant, as Moliere
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIMSELF IN LUCK. 241 
 
 would have said, showed itself in the neighhorhood of 
 Champigny. 
 
 "Most decidedly, I possess a treasiare," Roger said to 
 himself in aif right; "and I was born, it must be ad- 
 mitted, under some lucky star as yet undiscovered by 
 the modern astronomers." 
 
 It was true, however, or at least it seemed to be true. 
 
 To say that Sylvandire felt great love for her husband 
 is a thing we dare not affirm. Perhaps Sylvandire 
 loved nothing, and in the eyes of poor Roger, that 
 absence of love was a virtue ; but there is nothing like 
 these apparently indifferent people for waking up, for 
 suddenly taking fire. There is nothing like a sunset 
 behind the clouds for producing hail, rain, and storm. 
 
 Maitre Bouteau visited his children at Champigny. 
 Eoger, who adored his own parents, and wrote to them 
 twice a week, thought Sylvandire very cold toward this 
 kind father who had accomplished so much for her. He 
 meditated for two or three days upon her indifference, 
 and as he was in a mood to discover good reason for 
 everything, he persuaded himself in the end that her 
 love for himself had extinguished all other love. We 
 see that Roger was already far advanced in the study of 
 his role as husband. From a pessimist he had become 
 an optimist. 
 
 Moreover, Roger paid a thousand and one attentions 
 to Maitre Bouteau, and Maitre Bouteau reciprocated 
 them. But the one had an object in view; the other 
 had none. Roger determined to attain a certain footing 
 with Maitre Bouteau, and when he had reached the 
 desired point, to sound him to the depths. After a 
 hearty country dinner which had lasted until seven 
 o'clock in the evening, Roger thought his opportunity 
 had at last arrived. 
 
 16
 
 242 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Come, Maitre Bouteau," lie said, as he drew his 
 father-in-law into an embrasure of the window, " come, 
 speak frankly, now that you no longer fear I shall escape 
 you, and, I will also add, now that I no longer even 
 wish to escape; tell me — for I must admit that, so far, 
 I have not discovered for myself — what the fault was 
 with Sylvandire. Of course you must have had your 
 reasons for disposing of her in so strange a fashion." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to speak freely, my dear son- 
 in-law. In the first place, you can see for yourself," 
 said the good man whose tongue had been loosened by 
 the muscatelle, " I made Sylvandire 's dot by the busi- 
 ness, — a hundred thousand crowns." 
 
 " I know the figure," remarked Roger. 
 
 " A sum that you will get back after I am gone, with 
 interest. Then, again, I made sure that my daughter 
 would not marry one of these provincial lordlings 
 whose possessions consist of cloak and sAvord, nor one 
 of these tradesmen who credit their debts and debit their 
 credits, in a word, who are ruined unless a wife comes 
 to the rescue." 
 
 "You knew, then, the amount of Monsieur de Bouze- 
 nois' fortune ? " 
 
 " To the last franc, sou, and denier, my dear son-in- 
 law. I had myself verified everything, computed every- 
 thing, made every estimate." 
 
 " But there were certainly gentlemen of the court to 
 be preferred to me. " 
 
 " Without doubt; but they had no lawsuits that deliv- 
 ered them up to me, bound hand and foot. Then, too, 
 fortunes of fifteen hundred thousand livres are rare, 
 even at court. Besides, I had always said that I would 
 dower my daughter from the first important case that 
 came in my way. To take money as your judges have
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIMSELF IN LUCK. 243 
 
 done is to rob both justice and the suitor; but, on the 
 other hand, to throw into the bargain and give that same 
 suitor who is indebted to you for his fortune, a charm- 
 ing girl, is at once, I think so at least, to perform a 
 duty and to render a service. " 
 
 "Quite the same thing," thought Roger. "In fact, 
 the idea is very reasonable, and in an extreme case one 
 can believe it. And so," he added aloud, " and so, my 
 very dear father-in-law, you were not the least in the 
 world embarrassed with Sylvandire 1 " 
 
 " Oh ! mon Dieu, not at all, unless it was that she 
 found it pretty dull with me, and that, as she is of a 
 very decided character — " 
 
 " Ah ! my wife has a decided character 1 " 
 
 "Her little head is iron, my dear son-in-law. As I 
 was saying, since she is of a very decided character, I 
 trembled from one hour to another lest she should 
 commit some mad act. She is a girl of broad intellect, 
 and requires above all things to be constantly enter- 
 tained. " 
 
 " She likes pleasure, then? " demanded Roger. 
 
 " I know nothing about it, having never provided her 
 with any. However, from what I am able to gather 
 from her character, I should say that she would not 
 dislike amusements." 
 
 "Father-in-law, you certainly believe that I Avish to 
 make Sylvandire happy, do you not? " 
 
 " You are doing all in your power toward that end." 
 
 " Well, let us hear now. If, with that end in view, 
 I were to consult you about her tastes and her character, 
 what advice would you give me 1 " 
 
 " I should say : have confidence in her — " 
 
 " Ah ! indeed, so much the better," interrupted 
 Roger.
 
 244 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "But wait, wait, " continued the father-in-law. "I 
 should say : have confidence in her, but watch her 
 always." 
 
 "The devil!" ejaculated Roger, ill-pleased enough 
 with the conclusion. 
 
 The next day Maitre Bouteau set out for Paris, leav- 
 ing his son-in-law quite preoccupied with their conver- 
 sation of the night before. 
 
 In fact Koger was so happy that it was evident such 
 happiness could not last. And indeed Roger's very 
 happiness was torture. 
 
 A strange thing is the heart of man. We do not 
 speak of a woman's, which we know only by sympathy. 
 
 A strange thing, we repeat, is the heart of man, and 
 one knows not what to think of the indefinite assortment 
 of loves it contains. Certainly Roger had loved Con- 
 stance well. Roger loved her even to the extent that 
 had he learned of her marriage he would have been in 
 despair. Well, Roger also loved Sylvandire with a 
 difi'erent love, it is true. He loved Constance as one 
 loves a beautiful lily, admiring its purity, intoxicated 
 with its perfume, cherishing it in a corner of the garden 
 of one's heart, away from all eyes, far from all gaze. 
 He loved Sylvandire as one loves a beautiful dia- 
 mond, causing it to flash its fires at every light, wear- 
 ing it in the sight of all, gaining the envy of the 
 ambitious. 
 
 The love he had experienced for Constance was the 
 purest glow of the soul. The love he felt for Sylvan- 
 dire was a somewhat commoner blaze, which, kindled 
 in the depths of the heart, gradually won upon all the 
 senses. Roger could have spent his life in looking at 
 Constance, and he would have been happy in looking 
 at her. In his relations with Sylvandire he would have
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIMSELF IN LUCK. 245 
 
 died of love, like Narcissus, had he been compelled to 
 limit himself merely to the sight of her. 
 
 And now that I have sketched Roger's two loves, it 
 is for the women to say with which of the two they 
 prefer to be loved. 
 
 But in very truth Roger cherished them both, the 
 one in his soul, the other in his heart; and perhaps 
 even he was so happy, and feared so much to alter his 
 condition, only because the one completed the other.
 
 246 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 HOW THE CONJUGAL HORIZON OF THE CHEVALIER 
 d'aNGUILHEM gradually CLOUDED OVER. 
 
 A FEW more days were passed in perfect happiness. 
 But, constantly tormented by the confidences made to 
 him by his father-in-law with regard to Sylvandire, 
 Roger resolved to make a proposition to his wife that 
 would perhaps put to a test the calmness which seemed 
 an affectation on her part, so profound it was. 
 
 And Roger was wrong, we must admit. To enjoy 
 present blessings and trust in heaven for those to come 
 is one of the first precepts of human wisdom. It is 
 also one of the least practised. Question three-fourths 
 of the men who have been unhappy, and they will con- 
 fess that they searched for their first grief, as Diogenes 
 searched for a man, with a lantern. 
 
 To be brief, one fine morning Roger lighted his lan- 
 tern and went to find Sylvandire. 
 
 "My beautiful darling," he said to her, "I have 
 some news to announce that will certainly delight you; 
 for of course, as I am greatly pleased, you will be 
 greatly pleased." 
 
 "Why, certainly," responded Sylvandire, lifting to 
 Roger a slow glance which was not exempt from some 
 anxiety. 
 
 "This happiness arises from our love, Sylvandire; 
 and you, of course, like me, prefer seclusion in love." 
 
 Sylvandire remained silent.
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON CLOUDED. 247 
 
 " Now," continued Roger, "as just we two love eacli 
 other," and Roger somewhat emphasized liis words, " to 
 be by ourselves, to be far from society — " 
 
 Sylvandire gave ear like a horse at the whistling of 
 the lash. 
 
 " We will sell the Hotel de Bouzenois and have the 
 furniture stored. Then we will live, if you like, at 
 Anguilhem, where Maitre Bouteau will delight us by 
 coming to spend his vacation." 
 
 " And why should we bury ourselves in the coun- 
 try 1 " demanded Sylvandire with some spirit. 
 
 " Why, to live with my family." 
 
 "Your family is not mine," replied Sylvandire; 
 " and save for the month that he would come to stay 
 with us, my father would spend the rest of the year in 
 Paris." 
 
 "Yes, my dear, you are undoubtedly right. But, 
 between ourselves it may be said, Sylvandire, I do not 
 think you care the least in the world to live with Maitre 
 Bouteau." 
 
 "You deceive yourself. I dearly love my father; 
 and besides, I have no intention of exiling myself in 
 that wa}'." 
 
 " Do you call residence with me exile ? Oh ! the 
 word is not pleasant, Sylvandire." 
 
 "But, my dear," rejoined in a much milder tone the 
 young wife, who in a first discussion dared not go too 
 far, "are we not rich enough to live in Paris, and to 
 live there magnificently even? " 
 
 "Certainly," answered Roger. "Yet I wished to 
 learn if you cared more for Paris than for me. At the 
 first trial, you have settled it, — thanks! " 
 
 " Oh! by no means; you are deceived," cried Sylvan- 
 dire effusively, as soon as Roger had committed the
 
 248 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 imprudence of letting her see that his proposition was 
 only a jest. " By no means; I will live wherever you 
 wish, my darling, and provided I am near you that is 
 all I require." 
 
 She was quite sure, while speaking thus, of returning 
 promptly to Paris. 
 
 " Yes, " returned Koger. " But you prefer that we 
 should go back to the capital and amuse ourselves a 
 little this winter, do you not? " 
 
 "You are wrong, my dear, to think that. I have no 
 preference for one place more than another, and I wish 
 everything that you wish." 
 
 What return can be made to a woman so submissive, 
 except to outstrip what one supposes to be her desire? 
 
 Roger therefore gave orders to make immediate prepa- 
 ration for their departure, and they returned to Paris. 
 
 Roger had few acquaintances besides his old friends, 
 and Sylvandire had none at all; for the judges, the 
 counsellors, and the lawyers that frequented Maitre 
 Bouteau's hotel could not be termed acquaintances. 
 They were therefore satisfied to write to Crette, d'Her- 
 bigny, Clos-Renaud, and Chastellux that they had come 
 back to Paris, and that they dined every day at two and 
 received every evening at eight. 
 
 Madame d'Anguilhem did the honors of the Hotel de 
 Bouzenois marvellously well, and was, on the whole, 
 accounted charming. 
 
 On the first evening the Marquis de Crette drew Roger 
 apart, and having led him into an alcove, he said, — 
 
 " My dear chevalier, as I do not wish to be debarred 
 from your house — " 
 
 " What ! debarred from my house ! " interrupted Roger. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "My dear fellow, you are young," answered Crette.
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON CLOUDED. 249 
 
 " Your heart is pure and your soul is innocent. Now 
 learn one thing. While the wife's friends are almost 
 always the husband's, the husband's friends are rarely 
 the wife's." 
 
 MVhy is that?" 
 
 " Why 1 It would take too long to tell you. Per- 
 haps I shall write two or three volumes on the subject 
 some day when I have learned how to spell. I wish to 
 tell you now that, whatever may be said to you against 
 me, you have my permission to believe it, save only if 
 it comes to pass that you are told I am paying court to 
 Madame d'Anguilhem. You know me, Roger. I give 
 you my word as a gentleman that your wife shall always 
 be as sacred to me as if she were my sister. " 
 
 " And never shall you be treated in my house as other 
 than a brother," replied Eoger. " Never shall you be 
 excluded from my house until it pleases you to exclude 
 yourself. Perish wife and fortune sooner than friend- 
 ship like ours ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " responded Crette. 
 
 The marquis was, in fact, very assiduous in his attend- 
 ance at the chevalier's. But he was so scrupulous as 
 never to arrive alone, and to make his hours coincide 
 with those of everybody else. Then, too, he almost 
 always left at the same time as the group of friends 
 whom he had brought. In a word, faithful to his 
 promise, Crette limited his attentions to the husband, 
 causing Madame d'Anguilhem to begin by despising 
 him as an indifferent person, and to end by hating him 
 as an enemy. 
 
 HoAvever, in a short time, the Hotel de Bouzenois, 
 now the Hotel d'Anguilhem, became the rendezvous of 
 a goodly company. Sylvandire, beautiful and gracious, 
 attracted gallants as honey draws flies. But Crette,
 
 250 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 firm at his post with d'Herbigny and Clos-RenauJ, 
 drove away the flies Avith his conquering airs and his 
 jests, which were always applauded by Roger. And so 
 six months sped away without Madame d'Anguilliem's 
 having given any grounds for gossip, Avhatever inclina- 
 tion toward it she might at heart, perhaps, have had. 
 
 She would have liked, nevertheless, to go to Ver- 
 sailles, and had, with this object in view, turned all her 
 batteries in the direction of religion. But the marquis 
 and his friends were one and all outspoken against the 
 Old Woraan, as they called Madame de Maintenon, 
 against the Jesuit, as they called Pere Letellier, against 
 the Antiquities, as they styled the courtiers, against the 
 old Machine, as they styled Louis XIV. 
 
 In this, as in everything, Roger was ranged on the 
 side of his friends. And when Sylvandire insisted 
 upon receiving into her house a more Christian society, 
 he gave her to understand that he did not intend to con- 
 vert the hotel into a monastery, and that if the abbes 
 appeared, he would offset the black cloth with muske- 
 teers of all colors. 
 
 As will be seen, there was a great distance between 
 Roger of Paris and Roger of Amboise, between Sylvan- 
 dire's husband and Constance's lover, between the free- 
 thinker in revolt against the cloth and the student 
 resolved to turn Jesuit. 
 
 Sylvandire, who felt that she was not the stronger, 
 was forced to yield. 
 
 About this time Maitre Bouteau was soliciting the 
 position of president. Roger spoke of his father-in- 
 law's wishes to Crette, and Crette, with his habitually 
 obliging spirit, threw himself into the campaign, his 
 friends doing likewise. But, however earnest their 
 solicitations, however skilful their plans, they saw
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON CLOUDED. 251 
 
 clearly that, depending only on their own forces, they 
 would not succeed. 
 
 Some one then spoke to Maitre Bouteau of a certain 
 Marquis de Royancourt, a great gulper of masses, and 
 one high in favor with the Maintenon. Maitre Bouteau 
 promptly recalled to mind that this same Marquis de 
 Koyancourt had, three or four years previously, been 
 engaged in a lawsuit which he had won before the tri- 
 bunal of which he was tlie conseiller-rap2)orteur. 
 
 Maitre Bouteau proceeded to call on Monsieur de 
 Eoyancourt, by whom he was very well received, and 
 he reminded the marquis of the incident of the suit 
 which tlie latter remembered perfectly. 
 
 Now, as Maitre Bouteau thought the recommendation 
 of a pretty woman could do his affair no harm, he re- 
 quested Soger's permission to present Monsieur de Koy- 
 ancourt to him and his wife, — a presentation to which 
 Koger, not being distrustful, offered no opposition. 
 
 The Marquis de Royancourt was therefore introduced 
 to Roger, who made a thousand polite speeches, and to 
 Sylvandire, who modestly cast down her eyes. 
 
 Roger showed Monsieur de Royancourt every cour- 
 tesy, partly out of politeness, and partly because he pre- 
 ferred to stand well rather than ill with him. He was 
 an all-powerful favorite admitted to the solemn suppers 
 of Madame de Maintenon, and lording it over the ante- 
 chamber of Pere Letellier. 
 
 On the next day after this visit Maitre Bouteau was 
 appointed president. 
 
 It was quite natural that one should entertain with 
 his best a man to whom one was under such obligations. 
 Therefore, on his second visit, the marquis was still 
 more feted than at the first. As for Monsieur de Roy- 
 ancourt, he expressed to the Chevalier d'Anguilhem his
 
 252 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 surprise that such a man as he, young, rich, and talented, 
 shoukl not solicit some place at court or in the army. 
 He obligingly tendered his services. Roger, who at all 
 times had possessed a certain fund of ambition deep in 
 his heart, replied only with the most sincere thanks. 
 
 Thus far, — he avowed to Crette who felt for the new- 
 comer a degree of antipathy , — thus far, we say , the mar- 
 quis had in his eyes appeared to be very kind and 
 gracious. 
 
 But, as we have implied, there was a difference of 
 opinion between the two friends, Crette looked upon 
 the Marquis de Eoyancourt with an unfavorable eye. He 
 knew how tortuous were the paths of tliose courtiers with 
 the sanctimonious ways, who had just established them- 
 selves as extinguishers upon all the brilliant pleasures 
 that had marked the first two-thirds of the great king's 
 reign. " Tartufe " would certainly not have been played 
 in the period of Monsieur de Eoyancourt's influence. 
 
 As for Sylvandire, she begged her husband to accept 
 the good offices of Madame de Maintenon's favorite. 
 
 " We shall be admitted at Versailles," she said. 
 "Perhaps, even, we shall be assigned an apartment." 
 
 " What then 1 " replied Crette. " Is it not much 
 better to be one's own master, as Koger is, than to have 
 to obey the peevish whims of an old king always in a 
 bad humor, and Avhom nobody can amuse any longer, 
 not even Madame de Maintenon ? As to apartments, 
 you have a dozen of them here, in every way more con- 
 venient, I promise you, than those at Versailles. 
 Granted, however, that a regiment is given to d'Anguil- 
 hem. Why, by all the devils! although d'Anguilhem 
 is as brave as Alexander or Hannibal or Csesar, to me 
 he does not seem to have the least vocation for war. I 
 had a regiment once myself. Well, I sold out. I will
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON CLOUDED. 253 
 
 resume active service wlien Madame de Maintenon is no 
 longer the minister of war. " 
 
 "You, monsieur," sharply retorted Sylvandire, "are 
 sated with pleasures and honors, and I can understand 
 your speaking thus; but Monsieur d'Anguilhem and I 
 are novices and are thirsty." 
 
 Crette then turned upon his friend a questioning 
 look, to which Roger replied by a sign in the negative. 
 Vanquished, Sylvandire went to find her father and sent 
 Maitre Bouteau to the charge. Maitre Bouteau urged 
 forward Monsieur de Royancourt. 
 
 It happened that one day at a banquet, one Wednes- 
 day, I think, Monsieur de Eoyancourt, who fasted four 
 times a week, affected to eat only fish, and reproached 
 the chevalier politely but quite severely, nevertheless, 
 for the small observance he gave to the commandments 
 of the church. 
 
 Crette and his friends anticipated a sharp retort on 
 the part of d'Anguilhem to that importunate personage, 
 but they waited for some time. At last Roger replied, 
 but less sharply than the marquis' unseemly reproach 
 merited. 
 
 "Come, come," said Crette aside to his friend; " we 
 are declining, and the Royancourt is in the ascendency. 
 Look out, d'Anguilhem, look out, you are ruled." 
 
 In fact Monsieur de Royancourt became a daily guest 
 at the hotel. He arrived with a grand train, with mag- 
 nificent horses and insolent valets. From him Sylvan- 
 dire learned all the news of the great world in which 
 she longed to appear, but which was closed to her, like 
 one of those enchanted gardens of the " Arabian 
 Nights," which are guarded by dragons. 
 
 The dragon that forbade her entrance into this garden 
 was the Marquis de Crette, and she hated him cordially.
 
 254 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Koger, too, began to see clearly through these manoeu- 
 vres, and the new-comer tried his patience exceedingly. 
 
 " This Royancourt annoys me greatly, " Roger said to 
 his friend one morning. " He took my wife and my 
 father-in-law yesterday to that Jesuit, Letellier. All 
 this sermonizing suits me little." 
 
 "Well, go away from it all," said Crette, who was 
 on the most cordially familiar footing with him. " Take 
 Sylvandire into Touraine, leave me with full power, and 
 in your absence, never fear, 1 will clear the premises." 
 
 " Parbleu ! that is an idea! " exclaimed Roger. 
 
 Thereupon, he made everything ready for their depar- 
 ture, but said not a word to any one, save that two 
 hours before entering the carriage he notified Sylvan- 
 dire that he should take her into the country. 
 
 Sylvandire was astounded at this bold stroke, of 
 which she had deemed Roger incapable. Then she 
 wished to discuss the subject, but Roger stood his 
 ground. Then she wept, but Roger was insensible to 
 her tears. Then the hour arrived, and she had to start 
 without receiving the adieux of Maitre Bouteau or those 
 of Monsieur de Royancourt. 
 
 " Oh! this is monstrous! " exclaimed Sylvandire, as 
 she entered her carriage. 
 
 "But," replied the chevalier as he took his place 
 beside her, " but, my darling, since you are happy 
 wherever I am, as you have assured me, of what do you 
 complain? Let me hear." 
 
 "Monsieur, you might at least have warned me in 
 time to take leave of my father and my friends." 
 
 " Impossible, my angel. The idea of going occurred 
 to me just when I communicated it to you." 
 
 " Are we to stay long on your estates ? I warn you 
 beforehand that I hate the province. "
 
 THE CONJUGAL IIOIIIZON CLOUDED. 255 
 
 "But nothing compels us to stay there eternally. 
 We shall stay as long as we are both pleased. " 
 
 And just then the postilion cracked his whip, and 
 the carriage dashed off at full speed. 
 
 At the fourth relay they stopped for supper. Sylvan- 
 dire requested that she might send news of themselves 
 to her father, to which Roger was not at all opposed. 
 
 Sylvandire then wrote a letter, whose contents Koger's 
 delicacy would not permit him to seek to learn. How- 
 ever, that letter finished, she continued to write others, 
 which proceeding gave rise to some suspicions. But 
 what Koger dreaded above all things was a first scene 
 that should be at all serious; for he knew that the 
 conjugal sea, once troubled, would never again become 
 perfectly calm. 
 
 Nor was he willing, moreover, to question the maid 
 who posted the letters. It seemed to him an indignity 
 to communicate suspicions of such a nature. Then, 
 too, perhaps he reckoned that, lucky so far, his star 
 would always remain bright. 
 
 At Chartres, Sylvandire asked him to stay a few hours 
 that she might pray in the cathedral. 
 
 Since Sylvandire had, as we have said, affected great 
 piety, from the time of Monsieur de Royancourt's appear- 
 ance at their house, her request did not surprise Roger. 
 Yet, as he did not know what to do with himself during 
 those three or four hours, he informed Sylvandire that 
 he would take a horse and visit d'Herbigny, who had a 
 country-seat in the neighborhood. Sylvandire took her 
 way toward the cathedral, and Roger set out for the 
 viscount's. Roger remained there three hours; but as 
 he was less intimate with d'Herbigny than with Crette, 
 he said to him only that he and his wife were taking a 
 pleasure -trip to Touraine.
 
 256 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 On going back to the inn, Roger learned that Sylvan - 
 dire had not returned. He waited about an hour. 
 Then, as she did not return, he walked as far as the 
 cathedral. Sylvandire was not at the cathedral any more 
 than she was at tlie inn. He therefore went back to the 
 Golden Cross, called for the host, and asked for infor- 
 mation. He then learned that Sylvandire had gone off 
 in her post-chaise with her maid. This was a cruel 
 blow, yet he preserved entire presence of mind, and said 
 to the landlord, — 
 
 " Nothing was wanting, was there? " 
 
 "No, monsieur," replied the host; "and madame 
 appeared to be quite satisfied." 
 
 " That is well," returned Roger, and he ascended the 
 stairs with wrath in his heart. 
 
 He entered the room that his wife had occupied, and 
 found on the toilet-table, still in disorder, a letter from 
 Sylvandire, on which his address was traced in small 
 characters, very firm and very bold. 
 
 This is what the letter contained : — 
 
 " Monsieur, — You thought proper to take me from home 
 upon two hours' notice. I, who am a woman, and under 
 this title lay claim to a few more privileges than you, am 
 returning to Paris, and I notify you two hours afterwards. 
 
 " Sylvandire. 
 
 " Continue your journey or come back. Do not incon- 
 venience yourself. You know I have my father and my 
 house in Paris." 
 
 " She has outwitted me, " said Roger, " but she shall 
 pay for it. Ah! Crette, you Avere quite right. I am 
 no longer master; but let us wait a little, and we shall 
 see."
 
 THE CONJUGAL HOKIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 257 
 
 XIX. 
 
 HOW THE CONJUGAL HORIZON OF THE CHEVALIER 
 d'ANGUILHEM grew suddenly TEMPESTUOUS. 
 
 As we have said, it was a cruel blow, and the more 
 cruel in that it struck a man still on the threshold of 
 life, still in the dawn of illusion, one whose heart had 
 already suffered much, and tlie happiness of which had 
 been too brief for it to be surfeited. 
 
 Roger, therefore, felt at once all the transports of rage, 
 shame, and jealousy. 
 
 He ordered Breton, his valet, to procure three post- 
 horses, and as soon as the horses were at the door of 
 the inn, he leaped upon one, and Breton sprang upon 
 another. The postilion bestrode the third, and all 
 three were off at full gallop. 
 
 Motion is one of the irresistible necessities of tortured 
 souls. The gallop of a horse that is carrying us toward 
 certainty, a greater misfortune, perhaps, but sometimes 
 also toward revenge, Is a species of physical balm poured 
 \ipon the wounds of the soul. The road vanishes behind 
 us; the trees flee. One feels that one is advancing, 
 nearing, arriving. A thousand feverish visions pass 
 before the eyes. A thousand plans, each more senseless 
 than the other, spring up in the heated brain only to be 
 overthrown. The madder the horse's pace the more he 
 is urged; and a demon shrieks in your ear, "Faster! 
 faster! faster! " 
 
 17
 
 258 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Roger made tlie journey in five hours without resting 
 a moment save to change horses; and yet he did not 
 overtake Sylvandire. lireton was bruised to a pulp, 
 but he himself was unconscious even of fatigue. 
 
 When Koger turned into the court of his hotel, Syl- 
 vandire had been at home an hour and a half. Roger 
 entered the salon, booted and dusty, with riding-whip 
 in hand. Sylvandire was already arrayed in evening 
 dress, and was gracefully leaning on her elljow on a 
 sofa. She was conversing with Monsieur de Royancourt 
 and three or four of his friends whom he had introduced 
 at the Hotel d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Such audacity astounded Roger. He felt his legs 
 failing under him. He leaned against the door. He 
 was as pale as death. 
 
 " It is Monsieur de la Fontaine's fable over again," 
 murmured Roger. " ' La Lice et sa compagne.^ There 
 are four of them. Well, I will get Crette and two 
 friends. Then we will take a turn behind the Convent 
 de Saint Sacrement." 
 
 However, on Roger's arrival, all rose and pressed 
 around him, displaying so much politeness in behalf of 
 the new-comer that none but a rustic would not have 
 waited for a different occasion to exhibit liis anger. 
 
 Besides Roger instinctively felt that sooner or later 
 the opportunity would come. 
 
 As for Sylvandire, she contented herself with making 
 him a sign with her hand. Then with a little gesture 
 full of pouting coquetry, she cried, — 
 
 " What! you could appear in such disorder — ah! bad 
 husband that you are! I certainly think I deserve 
 that a suitable toilet should be made by one entering 
 my salon. Will you not go and dress, my dear? " 
 
 Roger stood aghast at her self-possession. He was
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 259 
 
 seized by a strong desire to clear the house on the in' 
 stant with the whip that he held in his hand; hut the 
 dread of scandal restrained him. 
 
 "You are right, niadame," he responded. "But, as 
 3'ou knew that I was about to return, I had hoped to 
 find you somewhat more retired." 
 
 And he stared steadily at IMonsieur de Eoyancourt 
 for the purpose of causing him to feel that the admoni- 
 tion was aimed especially at him. 
 
 Like well-bred people, Monsieur de Royancourt's 
 three friends understood that they must raise the siege. 
 They, therefore, incontinently withdrew. As to Mon- 
 sieur de Ivoyancourt, he lingered behind them a few 
 moments. Then, rising in turn, he saluted Sylvandire 
 and Roger, and effected his retreat, having delayed it, 
 undoubtedly, only by way of silent protest against the 
 husband's manifesto. 
 
 " What, monsieur! " exclaimed Sylvandire as soon as 
 Monsieur de Royancourt had withdrawn, "do you thus 
 drive people from my house 1 " 
 
 "What do you call your house, madame?" retorted 
 Roger. " My first impression is that it would sound as 
 well to speak of otir house." 
 
 "Ours, yours, or mine, no matter which, I shall not 
 discuss words with you; but, once for all, I intend to 
 receive here whom I like. " 
 
 " And I — intend to drive away from here whom I 
 dislike." 
 
 " You are a very — " 
 
 "Well, speak out." 
 
 "A very provincial gentleman." 
 
 " And you are a sharp little limb of the law." 
 
 " Monsieur! Do you think to frighten me? " 
 
 " Frighten or not, you are going to set out with me at
 
 260 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 once for Anguilliem, Tliis second time, however, you 
 will not return so quickly as you did the first time." 
 
 " You speak in this manner because you think me 
 alone and helpless," said Sylvandire, throwing off all 
 restraint. " Ihit I warn you that you deceive your- 
 self, and, upon my word, you will find that there 
 are those who will make you rei)ent of your behavior 
 toward me." 
 
 "All! your Marquis de Eoyancourt ! " cried Koger 
 with exasperation. " Ah ! you mean that Marquis de 
 Eoyancourt of yours, do you not, madame? Well, in 
 one hour from now, your Marquis de Royancourt shall 
 hear from me, and, 2^(1 nlieu / if, as I judged but just 
 now, he understands neither my looks nor Avords, he 
 will, I hope, understand actions at least." 
 
 Sylvandire knew of d'Anguilhem's affair with the 
 Kollinskis, which had made some noise in society. 
 Besides, she had often heard of her husband's courage 
 and skill from Crette and d'Herbigny. She was, there- 
 fore, very much afraid of what might happen, and, 
 darting after Roger, she stopped him as he was setting 
 foot on the stairs to ascend to his own room for the pur- 
 pose of changing his attire; for Roger was one of the 
 men who perfectly comprehend that when honoring his 
 enemy with a proposal to cut his throat, the proposition 
 must be made in velvet coat and lace ruffles. 
 
 But Sylvandire did not desire a scandal, as she had 
 grand schemes based on Monsieur de Royancourt. 
 
 She clung, then, to Roger's arm, as we have said, and 
 sought by her tears to soften his wrath. It was the first 
 time that Roger had seen Sylvandire Aveep. His heart 
 was not iron; and so, in this struggle, when he should 
 have won at least the field of battle, he lost all. That 
 very evening, Monsieur de Royancourt played a game
 
 THE CONJUGAL IIOEIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 261 
 
 of backgammon in tlie salon with Maitre Bouteau, and 
 Sylvandire was smiling. 
 
 On the same evening, Crette, having learned of his 
 friend's return, presented himself at the Hotel d'Anguil- 
 hem; but Sylvandire's orders had been issued, and he 
 was told that, while monsieur and madame had indeed 
 returned, they were not receiving. 
 
 On the morrow the marquis wrote to Roger that he 
 should never again set foot in his house, since its door 
 had been closed to him at an hour when he had seen in 
 the court, at the very foot of the steps, the coach of 
 Monsieur de Royancourt. 
 
 He added that their friendship was ended forever. 
 
 In despair, Roger hastened to Crette's; but he found 
 him deeply wounded. 
 
 Roger had no difficulty in persuading him that he had 
 nothing to do with the orders given on the evening 
 before. Sylvandire had assured him that there had been 
 a misunderstanding, and he was absolutely determined 
 to convince his friend on this point; but Crette yielded 
 with difficulty and upon one condition. 
 
 " Listen, chevalier," said the marquis. " That refusal 
 was an insult, an insult given by your people, and, 
 consequently, in the eyes of everybody, proceeding from 
 you. Reparation must be made, therefore. Some day 
 when my carriage is at your door. Monsieur de Royan- 
 court must receive the same answer that was given to 
 me. On this condition, I will overlook what has hap- 
 pened and say no more about it. " 
 
 Roger promised the marquis that it should be as he 
 wished. 
 
 He then went home and informed his wife of the 
 agreement that he had just made with his friend. 
 
 Sylvandire began to laugh.
 
 262 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Hut Tioger was by no means in a mood for josting, and 
 he insisted very seriously, and pronounced, for tlie first 
 time, the terrible words that a wife never forgets and a 
 husband always repents, — 
 
 "It is my will." 
 
 Then there was a dreadful quarrel. Sylvandire 
 showed that she was really a veritable despot, and there 
 followed between the two a long succession of " I 
 insist ! " and " I will not ! " 
 
 "Well, if you will not," at last said Iloger, who 
 thought to triumph by means of one of those speeches 
 so terrible to a good woman, " well, if you will not, I 
 shall think, madame, that you entertain very peculiar 
 sentiments toward Monsieur de Royancourt. " 
 
 " Think whatever you are pleased to think," returned 
 Sylvandire. 
 
 " If Monsieur de Royancourt does not leave my 
 house," said Roger, "then I shall leave it; but, take 
 heed, madame, I shall not enter it again." 
 
 "As you please, monsieur. The world is wide, you 
 are young, and travel will improve you." 
 
 "Reflect, madame, I leave this moment." 
 
 " Go, monsieur, I am not keeping you," was Sylvan- 
 dire 's response. 
 
 Roger had taken a false step, and he perceived it, but 
 it was too late. Instead of discussing the subject with 
 his wife, he should have given orders at his door, and 
 all would have been said. He had broached polemics, 
 and the demon of feminine skill had got the better of 
 his simple wrath. 
 
 " Well, are you still there ? " asked Sylvandire, seeing 
 that he had stopped, stupefied at such audacity. 
 
 Roger took three steps toward that shameless woman ; 
 but a sense of his own dignity checked him.
 
 THE CONJUGAL HOKIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 263 
 
 " Breton," he said to his valet de chambre, " have my 
 trunks and my carriage ready in an hour." 
 
 Then he left the salon without Sylvandire's taking a 
 step or saying a word to detain him, and he ascended to 
 his room. 
 
 The hour sped quickly. It was certainly the most 
 agitated and the most sorrowful hour of lioger's life. 
 At the slightest sound he trembled and listened, think- 
 ing to see his wife enter, with repentance in her heart, 
 entreaty on her lips, and tears in her eyes. He would 
 have given ten years of his life that Sylvandire might 
 have taken such a course. But, on the other hand, he 
 would have given up all his life rather than make a 
 single advance toward her. His sole virtue in such a 
 case was obstinacy. It is much to have a strong head 
 when one has a weak heart. 
 
 The hour was spent amid such anguish and heart- 
 beating as cannot be described, and Roger took his hat 
 and descended to the salon. 
 
 Sylvandire sat alone at her tambour embroidery. 
 
 " And so the thing is decided," she said, as indiffer- 
 ently as if she were speaking of a promenade in the Bois 
 de Satory, " you are leaving us? " 
 
 " Yes, madame, " replied Roger, amazed at her cool- 
 ness; " and I have the honor to wish you good-day." 
 
 " When shall we see you again 1 " 
 
 " I shall have the honor to apprise you hereafter." 
 
 " Adieu, chevalier." 
 
 "Adieu, madame." 
 
 And, refusing the hand extended to him by Sylvan- 
 dire, Roger precipitately rushed down the flight of steps, 
 sprang into his carriage, and shouted, — 
 
 " Drive to the Hotel de Crette." 
 
 At that name he had the satisfaction of hearing Syl-
 
 264 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 vandire angrily shut the salon window which had re- 
 mained half open, and behind which she was watching 
 to see what happened. 
 
 Crette sincerely pitied his friend. 
 
 Roger wished to go and seek Monsieur de Royancourt, 
 to provoke him to a duel, but Crette restrained him. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said, "you are in a false posi- 
 tion. You have only yourself to complain of. You 
 have brought it about. You must be patient. Watch 
 your wife and the marquis, get possession of proof, and 
 then, supported by your evidence, send a challenge to 
 Monsieur de Eoyancourt. But you have seen nothing ; 
 you know nothing. Yesterday, moreover, you received 
 the man in your own house. Has anything new hap- 
 pened since then? Have you anything to reproach him 
 with since yesterday? No; he has not even entered 
 your house. Monsieur de Royancourt will tell you 
 that he does not know what you are talking about; that 
 you are a visionary; and everybody will blame you, I 
 first of all." 
 
 " What is your advice, then? " 
 
 " Why, bless you! go away, since you have announced 
 that you are going on a journey. Go to Italy , Germany, 
 England. Take a dancer, take anything, in fact, that 
 will distract you." 
 
 " I detest women ! " 
 
 " Well, yes, that is understood, of course; but there 
 is nothing to console a love like a fancy. Why, no 
 longer than eight days ago, if it had not been for little 
 Poussette, I should have blown out my brains or turned 
 Trappist. Try it." 
 
 " No, I am going away. I shall leave Paris. I shall 
 go mad if I stay here." 
 
 " Why do you not pay a visit to Anguilhem? "
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 265 
 
 " And wliat excuse could I give for my wife's 
 absence ? " 
 
 " Pooh ! Mademoiselle Constance will not ask you for 
 one." 
 
 " Constance has forgotten me, and she has done well. 
 Constance is married, without doubt. Ah! Constance, 
 Constance, what a difference between you and Syl- 
 vandire ! " 
 
 " Ah! my friend, you are quite right. Nothing less 
 resembles one woman than another woman. Well, go 
 to England. You will get some pretty ideas on the 
 way to reduce the sex to obedience. Our neighbors 
 across the channel are extremely knowing on the 
 subject. " 
 
 " Faith, I have a great mind to follow your advice." 
 
 Crette embraced his friend, and made no effort to 
 comfort him. He knew perfectly well that, for such 
 hurts, time is the only balm. 
 
 Eoger Avent to England. He stayed there three 
 months, and he saw two Englishmen that were unfortu- 
 nate in their marriages, who led their wives to market 
 with ropes around their necks. 
 
 One sold his wife for ten guineas, and the other for 
 seven. 
 
 " Pardieii ! " exclaimed Roger. " I would give mine 
 away for nothing, for my part! I would even pay some- 
 thing to boot." 
 
 Unfortunately Roger was not an Englishman. 
 
 At the end of three months he was seized with a long- 
 ing to return to France. As he was perfectly free 
 and nothing hindered his doing as he pleased, he imme- 
 diately set out for Dover and embarked. 
 
 Twelve hours later he landed at Calais, having suffered 
 greatly at sea, which had been of the roughest. As
 
 266 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 soon as he had set foot on the wharf, he was met hy 
 Crette's valet, who Avas himself waiting to embark. 
 Koger recognized him. 
 
 "What! you here, Basque?" he said. "What the 
 devil are you doing here? " 
 
 "Ah! mon Dleu, monsieur le chevalier," returned 
 Basque. " It was the will of heaven that I should meet 
 you here. I was going in search of you." 
 
 " For what purpose 1 " 
 
 " To carry you a letter from my master. But speak 
 softly, if you please, monsieur le chevalier, for I fear 
 some one is listening to us." 
 
 " And who should listen, pray ? " 
 
 " Everybody, monsieur, everybody. You do not 
 know, then, what has happened over here? " 
 
 " Whereabouts over here ? " 
 
 "In Paris." 
 
 " It is three months since I have had news." 
 
 " Well , my master was questioned day before yester- 
 day and threatened with the Bastile. " 
 
 " What is that ? Crette threatened with the Bastile ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur le chevalier, it is true." 
 
 " And why the Bastile ? " 
 
 " Because he challenged Monsieur de Boyancourt, 
 who would not fight." 
 
 " And you say that you have a letter for me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Which gives the details? " 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 " Then deliver the letter." 
 
 " Ah, dame! monsieur, it is not an easy thing to do, 
 seeing that it is sewed into the lining of my vest; but 
 if monsieur will go with me to the Hotel du 
 Dauphin — "
 
 THE CONJUGAL HORIZON TEMPESTUOUS. 267 
 
 " But why all these precautions 1 " 
 
 " Monsieur will presently he informed, without douht, 
 on reading my master's letter. When monsieur le 
 marquis saw the police officers enter his hotel, he sus- 
 pected something, and he at once wrote this letter to 
 monsieur le chevalier, ordering me to conceal it care- 
 fully, and then he said, ' Go, little Basque, and do not 
 rest until you have found the Chevalier d'Anguilhem.' 
 I started immediately, and here I am." 
 
 " Then let us go to the Dauphin, my friend, without 
 further delay, for I am in great haste to read that 
 letter. " 
 
 They moved off at once with long strides, and, on 
 reaching the hotel, they ascended to a room and locked 
 themselves in. 
 
 " It is disrespectful to monsieur to remove my jacket 
 in his presence," said Basque, " but I cannot avoid it." 
 
 " Go on, and be quick about it, my lad." 
 
 Basque ripped the lining of his jacket and drew forth 
 a letter which he handed to Roger. 
 
 Eoger eagerly opened it, and read as follows: — 
 
 "My dear Chevalier, — This is the fourth letter that 
 I have written to you ; the three others have undoubtedly 
 been intercepted. Your wife has disappeared, and in spite 
 of every effort I have been unable to discover her where- 
 abouts. Yesterday morning, I met Monsieur de Royancourt 
 on the Cours-la-Reine, and, as I had no doubt that he was 
 concerned in Sylvandire's disappearance, I told him outright 
 that he was a miscreant. Thereupon, supposing that he 
 would answer me as a gentleman should, I drew my sword ; 
 but I was deceived. To my great astonishment, Monsieur 
 de Royancourt appeared not to have heard me. At the 
 same time, I saw some officers of police approaching, and 
 d'Herbigny carried me off. Last evening I sent Clos- 
 Renaud and Chastellux to him to make an appointment ;
 
 268 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 they were not received, however. This morning they have 
 come to arrest me, it is likely. I am despatching Basque to 
 you ; if he is so lucky as to find you, don't lose a moment, 
 but hasten back to Paris and clear all this up." 
 
 "Oh! yes," cried Eoger. "Yes, I will start for 
 Paris." 
 
 And he summoned a post-horse at once, with the 
 fixed determination, since his wife's imprudence gave 
 him just grounds, of slaying Monsieur de Royancourt 
 and all his friends whom he might encounter, were there 
 a hundred, a thousand of them; and, as one may readily 
 believe, the speed of his journey only heated his blood. 
 But, arrived at the Cours-la-E.eine, as the chevalier 
 was about to enter Paris, an officer stopped his chaise 
 while he bowed almost to the ground. Roger's first 
 desire was to run the man through and through with 
 his sword, and inaugurate with him the butchery that 
 he meditated; but the officer took three steps backward, 
 and, producing a document from his pocket, said, — 
 
 "By the order of the king, Chevalier d'Anguilhem, 
 you are commanded to deliver up your sword." 
 
 An hour later the chevalier was registered at For- 
 r^vgque.
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 269 
 
 XX. 
 
 FINDING THAT PERMISSION TO LEAVE IS NOT GRANTED 
 HIM, THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM RESOLVES TO 
 LEAVE WITHOUT PERMISSION. 
 
 A MAN struck by a thunder-bolt does not burst into tears 
 and lamentations; on the contrary, he remains motion- 
 less, senseless, breathless, bewildered; but, under the 
 apparent apathy, nature acts, the connection between 
 senses and organs, for a moment broken off, is re-estab- 
 lished in his being, and feeling returns when he has 
 regained strength enough to realize his condition and to 
 endure it. 
 
 Eoger, therefore, entered For-l'Ev§que like one struck 
 by a thunder-bolt. He had not notified Basque of his 
 determination ; he had, on the contrary, advised him 
 to lie down, advice which Basque had gratefully taken, 
 and while the poor devil was sleeping with clinched fists, 
 Roger had leaped upon the post-horse and started at full 
 speed for Paris. 
 
 He had not been willing to have Basque follow him, 
 in the first place, because the poor fellow was worn out, 
 and next, for fear of compromising Crette. Moreover, 
 he had at once burned the letter that lie had received 
 from the marquis, in order that none could accuse the 
 marquis of being concerned in his action. All that 
 Basque had told kept running in his head, and he had no 
 suspicion that all the spies of Maitre Voyer d'Argenson 
 were at his heels.
 
 270 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 AVlieii witliin ton leagues of Paris lie took a carriage; 
 he had niado fifty leagues in fifteen hours, and he was 
 brui.sed to a jelly. In tlie carriage he began to regain his 
 spirits, for lie still divined nothing. The officer took it 
 upon himself to give him a clue to the enigma in the 
 shape of his arrest. 
 
 And Iloger was astounded, as we have said. 
 
 " Ah ! I am arrested, " he kept repeating to himself 
 along the road. "Ah! I am arrested." 
 
 And, at each exclamation, the olhcer bowed with great 
 courtesy, but made no reply. 
 
 The carriage turned into the court-yard of the chateau. 
 Roger descended. A man in a coat of orange-colored 
 velvet, with gold buttons, came forward, and indicated 
 aloud to an officer the room assigned to INlonsieur 
 d'Anguilhera ; he then read over in a muttering way the 
 official report of the arrest, which had been scrawled in 
 the carriage on the road by one of the officers, without 
 the prisoner's having even noticed it. 
 
 Then he spoke, — 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 And he made a sign that tlie Chevalier d'Anguilhem 
 should be conducted to the room designated. 
 
 Roger followed his guide, without speech, without sign 
 of protest. 
 
 At that moment they might have shown Roger a scaf- 
 fold covered with black cloth, with its block and ax; they 
 might have made him a sign to kneel at the block and 
 bow his head to receive the fatal blow, and he would 
 have obeyed withovit the slightest hesitation. All the 
 adventures which were following so closely upon each 
 other seemed to have such intimate relations that he 
 submitted to their results without knowing the reason ; 
 but he kept on, he went mechanically, bending his head
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 271 
 
 and accepting his ahsurd destiny, as in a dream one per- 
 forms without hesitation and without astonishment the 
 most monstrous follies. 
 
 This is why he passed almost unconsciously, almost 
 without seeing, from a gloomy staircase into a very hand- 
 some gallery ; then, from the gallery he took a Avinding 
 stairway, went up an infinite number of flights, passed 
 along another corridor, from the corridor into a sort of 
 himber-room and thence into a small apartment, dark but 
 quite neat. The door closed behind him, the bolts grated, 
 and Roger was aroused by the sound. 
 
 He found himself sitting on a sort of stool ; he shook 
 liis head, looked around him, arose and went the length 
 of his room, which was not far. 
 
 Then, moved by an instinct stronger than all others, 
 he came to a standstill before a narrow, double-grated 
 window through whose crossed bars a little light and air 
 were permitted to infiltrate. 
 
 Light! air! life! 
 
 This poor Roger, this poor country gentleman, accus- 
 tomed to take into his great lungs such quantities of the 
 vital fluid, while hunting the woods and fields of Anguil- 
 hem, was reduced to struggle for breath and a ray of 
 light at a chink in a wall ! 
 
 "We say to struggle, because the window was so narrow 
 that a man could not put out his head. It was hewn with 
 four sharp edges out of stones of enormous size, and two 
 sets of bars at a distance of a foot apart crossed each other, 
 as we have said, in the depths of the wall; then, at the 
 outer aperture of the window, the prisoner could get a 
 glimpse of a strip of sky against which nothing was out- 
 lined, not even a tree, not even a weathervane. 
 
 On fine days, Roger watched there for a cloud; on 
 rainy days he watched for a bit of azure.
 
 272 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The situation was sad, and it M'as all the sadder that 
 Roger had often pondered over the misfortunes that 
 might happen to him, to the end that he miglit be pre- 
 pared for them, but never had he dreamed of imprison- 
 ment; hence lie was not at all prepared for it. 
 
 He sat down on his stool to reflect, then he looked at 
 the worm-eaten table over which had been thrown a piece 
 of tapestry, then he got up and proceeded to try his bed, 
 which was very hard; and then, at last, he went back 
 and sat down on his stool where he gave himself up to 
 the strangest reveries. 
 
 That he was in prison was incontestable ; but who had 
 caused him to be cast into prison, and for what reason 
 was he imprisoned? This was the problem to be solved. 
 
 No one can tell whither will wander the thouglits of a 
 man who has nothing to do but to think ; Roger's over- 
 ran the whole earth, and every possibility. His first and 
 foremost belief was that he must be the victim of an 
 error. 
 
 " Perhaps, " he thought, " my father has formed a con- 
 spiracy in the province, and I am supposed to be his 
 agent. " 
 
 Although Monsieur le Baron d'Anguilhem had been 
 infinitely less displeased with the government of Louis 
 XIV. since he became the heir of Monsieur de Bouzenois, 
 his son, who had often heard him launch forth into com- 
 plaints against Madame de Maintenon and Pere Letellier, 
 could indulge in such a supposition without great absurd- 
 ity. And, for the moment, this idea was almost satis- 
 factory to Roger. 
 
 " I shall prove," he thouglit, " that I have been in 
 England for three months, that I have come directly 
 from there, that it is eighteen months since I was last at 
 Anguilhem, and that I have not seen my father for a
 
 THE CHEVALIER KESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 273 
 
 year. In the light of such evidence, my innocence will 
 be apparent, and I shall be released in triuinpli." 
 
 And Roger was quite tranquil for the space of half an 
 hour. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, " he began at the end of the half-hour, " but 
 what if they think I have been in England to act in con- 
 cert with the Prince of Orange, who has sworn eternal 
 enmity to Louis XIV. 1 What if tliey think my journey 
 to England was taken for tlie purpose of fomenting 
 rebellions! In that case, I am lost!" 
 
 And Roger sat plunged in despair for another half 
 hour. 
 
 " But still," he said to himself at the end of this half 
 hour, " may not my affair liave some connection with 
 Crette's 1 " 
 
 In fact, he could not think it was because of his 
 affair with l^rlonsieur de Royancourt that Crette had 
 been arrested, or rather, that it was solely because of 
 that affair. 
 
 " Crette, " he told himself, " has the reputation of be- 
 ing an enemy of the Old Woman, as he is, in fact, and 
 he has incurred her dislike. This Royancourt must 
 execrate him. The king is severe with respect to duel- 
 ling ; perhaps he shut his eyes on our first affair with the 
 Kollinskis, and spared our heads that time only for want 
 of proof. To-day, on Crette's simple challenge they base 
 a second offence. Yes, but for my part, I am quite 
 innocent of that, as I was in London when the marquis 
 challenged Monsieur de Royancourt in Paris." 
 
 He then fell to thinking of his wife. 
 
 " She has disappeared, " he said ; " can it be possible 
 that they think I have murdered her?" 
 
 And, at this thought, his mind dwelt no longer on 
 anything but his wife's strange conduct toward him; and 
 
 18
 
 274 SYLVANDIBB. 
 
 then lie fell into an access of rage, for Roger, as the 
 reader must liave perceived, was as jealous as a tiger, and 
 it must be admitted that Sylvandire had given him some 
 occasion for jealousy. 
 
 The hour for exercise had arrived ; they came to fetch 
 Koger. 
 
 For tw^o hours daily the prisoners were allowed a 
 promenade. 
 
 The promenade took place on tlie platform. 
 
 Roger found eight prisoners on the platform, eight 
 companions of misfortune, all of greatly dilfering equip- 
 ment and countenance. 
 
 One could almost read from their faces and habiliments 
 the dates of their incarceration. 
 
 " What is the news in Paris, monsieur 1 " cried all the 
 eight voices together, 
 
 "Faith, gentlemen," answered the Chevalier d'An- 
 guilhem, "the news of my arrest; however, as the event 
 happened five or six hours ago, perhaps they no longer 
 speak of it now, and are beginning to occupy themselves 
 with something else." 
 
 " Ah ! you are arrested ? " 
 
 " Parbleu / you certainly see that; you are not here 
 of your own accord, are you 1 " 
 
 "No, certes." 
 
 " Well, neither am I." 
 
 " But why were you arrested 1 " 
 
 " That is what I have been trying to discover ever 
 since morning, and if you can tell me, you will really 
 extricate me from a great difficulty." 
 
 " What ! you do not know why you were arrested 1 " 
 
 " No, — and you ? " 
 
 " No more than you." 
 
 " And you 1 "
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 275 
 
 " No more than you. " 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " No more than you." 
 
 He found that the same question, addressed eight 
 times to the prisoners, eight times produced the same 
 response. 
 
 Among these eight captives, not one knew the cause 
 of his captivity, and one of them moreover had been in 
 For-l'^veque for ten years. 
 
 He was the most calm, the most resigned. 
 
 Roger shuddered. He had not j'^et spent in prison as 
 many hours as his companion had spent years. 
 
 And yet he had found the time very wearisome 
 already. 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Roger, gloomily, " I am as good as 
 dead." 
 
 However, one always hopes that the fate of others, 
 when bad, may not be one's own, so Roger asked his 
 companions in captivity if he could speak to some of 
 the authorities of the chateau. 
 
 " You can summon the governor when you please, " 
 was the reply. 
 
 " What ! I can summon the governor ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Simply by asking for him ? " 
 
 " Simply that." 
 
 " Then I shall ask for him this evening. Messieurs, I 
 bid you adieu." 
 
 "Adieu! anTi why? " 
 
 " Because I shall probably not have the honor of see- 
 ing you to-morrow." 
 
 " And why not ? " 
 
 " If I see the governor this evening, I shall to-morrow, 
 without doubt, be set at liberty."
 
 276 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " murmured the prisoners as they shook 
 tlieir heads. 
 
 Neither exclamation nor gesture prevented Roger's 
 returning to his room in a state of elation. 
 
 His dinner was served, and he very resolutely ate the 
 king's bread and beans. 
 
 Then, toward the end of the repast, he begged the 
 turnkey to say to the governor of For-l'J^veque that 
 his new prisoner desired very much to speak with him. 
 
 "It is too late to-night," replied the turnkey, "but 
 monsieur le gouverneur will come to 3'ou to-morrow 
 without fail." 
 
 " You are sure of it, my friend 1 " 
 
 " I am sure of it." 
 
 " To-morrow, then, " said Roger, gathering patience as 
 he reflected that a night is soon past. 
 
 And he went and sat down on his stool to watch 
 through the bars of his w^indow the last gleam of day. 
 
 He sat there, gazing at the sky and lost in meditation, 
 when it seemed to him that he heard a slight noise close 
 at hand. 
 
 He lowered his eyes to the floor and discovered a 
 mouse nibbling the crumbs that had fallen. 
 
 Roger hated mice. He seized his hat and flung it at 
 the poor little creature, which scampered away in terror 
 and crept under the door into the large room adjoining, 
 where she had, in all probability, taken up her abode. 
 
 For a moment, Roger was greatly disturbed at thought 
 of the intruders that might come to pay him a visit 
 during the night. In consequence, as long as there 
 was a ray of light in the room, he sat with his eyes 
 fixed upon that little aperture. Then, when night 
 was closing in, he took the cork from his bottle which 
 still remained on the table, and, thanks to this mate-
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 277 
 
 rial obstacle to a second visit, he remained quite at 
 ease. 
 
 However, three or four times he awoke Avith a start, 
 thinking always that he felt the little paws running over 
 his face and hands; but, each time he managed to con- 
 vince himself that there was no living creature in the 
 room besides himself. 
 
 But such was not the case with the neighboring room, 
 which seemed to be the rendezvous of all the cats, rats, 
 and mice in the chateau. 
 
 In spite of all this Roger passed a good night : he hoped. 
 
 At noon of the next day, an hour that seemed a long 
 time in coming, an unusual noise sounded in the corridor. 
 Soldiers were presenting arms, steps were approaching 
 Roger's door, a key turned in the lock, the door opened, 
 and the governor entered. 
 
 He was a tall, spare man, whose lips scarcely moved 
 when he spoke, and whose eyes said absolutely nothing. 
 He held his hat in his hand, probably that he need not 
 remove it upon entering. 
 
 " Monsieur le gouverneur, " said Roger, springing to 
 meet him, " I am the Chevalier Roger d'Anguilhem." 
 
 " I know it, monsieur, " replied the governor, with an 
 almost imperceptible movement of the lips. 
 
 " You know it 1 " demanded the chevalier in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 The governor bowed. 
 
 " Well, as you know who I am, monsieur le gouver- 
 neur, I should like — " 
 
 " Have you any fault to find with the regimen of the 
 house, monsieur le chevalier ? " 
 
 " No, not yet, monsieur. Besides, I have not had 
 time to learn very precisely what it is ; but I should like 
 to know — "
 
 278 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Is there anything that you lack, monsieur le cheva- 
 lier?" 
 
 " Nothing, just at present; but can I know — " 
 
 " Have any of the servants of the chateau been wanting 
 in civility, monsieur le chevalier ? " 
 
 " No, monsieur. I have even remarked the politeness 
 of those who serve me." 
 
 " In that case, monsieur le chevalier, since you have 
 nothing to complain of, permit me to retire." 
 
 " Pardon me, monsieur, pardon me. I complain of 
 being in prison." 
 
 " Ah ! that does not concern me, " returned the 
 governor. 
 
 " But, tell me, why am I here 1 " 
 
 " You must know better than I, monsieur le chevalier." 
 
 " Better than you ! Why so 1 " 
 
 " Because it concerns you, while, as I have had the 
 honor of telling you, it does not concern me, and I 
 meddle only with my own affairs." 
 
 " But you must know — " 
 
 " I know nothing, monsieur." 
 
 " But you can guess — " 
 
 " I guess at nothing, monsieur. The king sends me a 
 prisoner, I enter him in the register, I lodge him, I see 
 that he wants for nothing so long as he is my boarder. 
 It is my duty, and I discharge it scrupulously." 
 
 " But the king may be deceived. " 
 
 " The king is never deceived." 
 
 " But the king may be wrong." 
 
 " The king is never wrong." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I swear that I have done nothing 
 at all." 
 
 " Monsieur, excuse me from listening to you longer." 
 
 "Monsieur, I protest that I am innocent."
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 279 
 
 " jMonsieur, permit me to retire." 
 
 " But tell me, at least, if I shall remain here long, — 
 yes or no? Monsieur, I implore you." 
 
 " As long as it shall please the king." 
 
 " Ah ! that will do, " cried Roger, " you drive me mad." 
 
 " I am your humble servant, monsieur." 
 
 And the governor saluted Roger, and withdrew, hat in 
 hand, and attended by his guards. 
 
 This time the door closed, it seemed to Roger, with a 
 sinister sound. Only then did he feel himself a prisoner. 
 He sank upon his bench, and then his eyes, fixed and 
 mournful, settled on that door, and, after a little time, 
 filled with tears. 
 
 Roger thought of his parents, his friends, his God. 
 
 And then all the tales of captivity, more terrible at 
 that period than at any other, came into his head : Bas- 
 sompierre, for ten years a prisoner of the Bastile ; Lauzun, 
 held thirteen years at Pignerol; Fouquet, alive or dead, 
 none knew where. He saw passing, one after the other, 
 before him all those gentlemen who had been spirited 
 away by night, and had disappeared. There were Mat- 
 tioli, the Man of the Iron Mask, and that man even whom 
 he had seen the night before, and who had been there 
 ten years. True, all these men had committed some 
 offence: Bassompierre had essayed to strive against 
 Richelieu ; Lauzun had compromised a granddaughter of 
 Henry IV. ; Fouquet had dared vie with Louis XIV. in 
 luxury; Mattioli had betrayed a state secret; the Iron 
 Mask was a political enigma. But in vain did he, Roger, 
 rack his memory, qviestion his past, scrutinize every day 
 of his life ; there was no crime, no misdemeanor, no im- 
 prudence even, with which to reproach himself, while all 
 the world knew of the wrongdoing of those whose remem- 
 brance arose in his mind.
 
 280 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Yet the world did not know what tliat man had done 
 who had spoken to hitii the night hefore, whose name, 
 even, he did not know, and wlio had heen there ten years. 
 
 Ten years ! But did tlie man, then, have no relatives 
 to solicit his pardon, or friends to take the proper steps 
 with the ministers? Was the man quite obscure, then? 
 Yet, if he was obscure, why had he been ten years in 
 ror-l':^veque ? 
 
 This question harassed Roger greatly for an hour or 
 two; then he returned to the charge, and he made out 
 such an excellent case for himself, that by degrees the 
 feeling of security inspired by his innocence began to 
 regain the upper hand, and all his gloomy thoughts were 
 dissipated. 
 
 At the hour for exercise, Roger was taken out as on 
 the preceding day ; he was led to the esplanade, where, 
 as on the preceding day, he found his eight companions. 
 
 He went up to the one who had been there ten years 
 and asked his name. 
 
 " I am the Comte d'Olibarus, " responded the latter. 
 
 Roger searched his memory ; that name was quite un- 
 known to him. 
 
 " And what is the cause of your being here ? Come, 
 comte, just between ourselves, tell me that." 
 
 " I can only repeat what I have already told you, mon- 
 sieur, — I know nothing about it." 
 
 " You know nothing about it 1 " 
 
 " Nothing, monsieur. " 
 
 "But," said Roger, lowering his voice, "during the 
 ten years of your imprisonment have you made no at- 
 tempt to escape 1 " 
 
 The Comte d'Olibarus gazed steadily at Roger, and 
 turned his back upon him without replying. He took 
 liim for a spy.
 
 THE CHEVALIER RESOLVES TO LEAVE PRISON. 281 
 
 *'Pardleu!" muttered Roger to himself. "If T had 
 been here ten years, I think I should have tried ten times 
 to escape." 
 
 Then he added, still to himself, — 
 
 " Stop, stop, stop ! although I have not been here ten 
 years, why should I not try to get away, just the same ? " 
 
 This reflection made, Roger drew near to his compan- 
 ions; but they all scattered from his path as if he had 
 been the plague. 
 
 The Comte d'Olibarus had communicated to them his 
 suspicions, and the confidence bore its fruit. 
 
 Roger was unable, therefore, to exchange a word with 
 his fellow-prisoners, which put him into a very bad 
 humor, and confirmed him in his mental determination 
 to quit For-1'Eveque as soon as possible. 
 
 He resolved, then, to give the king eight days, reck- 
 oning from that moment, in which to repair the injustice 
 which had been committed against himself, and if, at the 
 end of those eight days, the injustice were not repaired, 
 to bend all the faculties of his mind to one single idea : — 
 
 Escape !
 
 282 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 HOW THE KING NEGLECTED TO REPAIR THE INJUS- 
 TICE DONE THE CHEVALIER d'aNGUILHEM AND 
 WHAT FOLLOWED. 
 
 Under similar, although less important circumstances, 
 we have already seen Roger at work. His resolution 
 once taken, the reader knows with what persistence he 
 sets 'about its accomplishment. 
 
 Eight days passed away, during which time Roger 
 would have thought himself lacking in the confidence 
 due to His Majesty, had he thought the least in the 
 world of a project to be executed only in case of neglect. 
 A thousand ideas presented themselves to his mind, all 
 relating to flight, but he courageously repressed them. 
 During the eight days time did not pass very heavily, 
 although his companions of the terrace continued to 
 shun him. Hope was always at his side, and every 
 time his door opened he thought that the king, attacked 
 by remorse, was about to repair his error. 
 
 The king probably had something else than remorse 
 on hand. He therefore did not relent, and the eight 
 days ran away without reparation of the wrong com- 
 mitted against the Chevalier d'Anguilhem. 
 
 The last minute of the last hour of the last day ex- 
 pired, and Roger returned seriously to his project. 
 
 He began by examining his prison. There were, — 
 
 An oak door three inches thick. 
 
 A window with double grating. 
 
 Walls four feet through.
 
 Louis Xiy.
 
 TIIR KING DOES NOT REPAIR THE INJUSTICE. 283 
 
 That was the sura of his discoveries. 
 
 It left him no great degree of hope. 
 
 Eoger shook the door. Two locks and two bolts were 
 answerable for its security. 
 
 Roger tried the bars at the window. They were 
 deeply imbedded in the masonry. 
 
 Eoger sounded the walls. They everywhere gave 
 back a dull sound indicating that they were perfectly 
 solid. 
 
 It would have taken a crowbar to pry the door open. 
 
 It would have taken a file to cut the bars of the 
 window. 
 
 It would have taken a pickaxe to dig a hole in the 
 walls of that room. 
 
 Eoger had none of them. 
 
 But he had the intelligence of a man bred in the 
 country, and vised to extricating himself from the thou- 
 sand and one little embarrassments of life. He had the 
 patience of the prisoner pursuing for hours, days, years, 
 the prisoner's one and only thought, — deliverance. 
 
 He examined the interior. He would examine the 
 exterior. 
 
 According to the custom, they came to take him out 
 for the promenade. On leaving his little room, he 
 crossed the large chamber which preceded it, and in 
 which all the cats and rats of the vicinity continued 
 every night to congregate for sport. 
 
 It was a sort of store-room with one ungrated window, 
 opening Eoger knew not where, for he was not alloAved 
 to go near the window, and for his part, he took good 
 care not to ask permission to do so. This store-room 
 was filled with old mattresses, bed-covers, curtains of 
 serge, and chests. One would have said it was tho 
 shop of a retail upholsterer.
 
 284 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 One can understand why cats, rats, and mice enjoyed 
 a room like that. 
 
 Roger had to follow a long corridor. This corridor 
 was closed by two doors, one opening into the room in 
 front of his own, and the other upon a winding staircase 
 leading to the platform. 
 
 These two doors were carefully bolted. A sentinel 
 paced up and down the space between them. 
 
 This time Koger made no attempt to engage in con- 
 versation witli his companions in captivity. His plan 
 appealed to him, and to it he applied his thought. 
 
 Koger spent the two hours in waiting for the time to 
 come for bim to re-enter bis prison. It was useless to 
 think of escaping by way of tlie platform, as there would 
 be two doors to beat down and a sentinel to overcome. 
 
 All his hopes, therefore, were centred on the store- 
 room. Hence, on re-entering, Roger observed it with 
 greater attention than he had yet bestowed upon it. The 
 sounds that reached him from the window indicated that 
 it overlooked the street. There was plenty of cloth in 
 the bed-ticking and blankets for making a rope. 
 
 Everything was to be hoped for, then, from the store- 
 room. 
 
 Roger went into his room, and the door was shut upon 
 him with its double lock and double bolts. 
 
 The prisoner's mind was centred iipon one idea, — 
 that his escape, if it were possible, could be accomplished 
 only through the store-room. 
 
 Roger was separated from liberty only by a door. 
 But what a door ! A wall of oak three inches thick 
 fitted into a wall of stone ! 
 
 Not a screw, not a nail, was on the side toward 
 Roger's cell. All the work of construction was on the 
 outside. Consequently, there was no chance to unscrew
 
 THE KING DOES NOT REPAIK THE INJUSTICE. 285 
 
 bolts or locks even with the proper tool with which to 
 do it. 
 
 But the tool, — he had not even that. 
 
 Supper was brouglit to the prisoner. He cast a long 
 look through the open doorway and heard the cries of 
 passing street- venders. 
 
 Koger ate his supper. Then, supper over, he threw 
 himself upon his bed. 
 
 After a while he heard a slight sound. He craned 
 his neck and saw the little mouse, which, reassured by 
 the stillness, ventured to come and eat again of the 
 crumbs from his table. 
 
 This time Roger was quite astonished that he felt 
 none of his former dread of the rodent species. This 
 little animal coming to visit the prisoner and petitioning 
 to be allowed to live from his superfluity already inspired 
 him with more of interest than of repugnance. Besides, 
 Roger began to suffer ennui, and the visitor promised 
 diversion. 
 
 And so, in his pride, he wished to address to it some 
 words of encouragement, convinced that the mouse Avas 
 waiting only for those few words to come, full of grati- 
 tude for the honor paid him; but the mouse, having, 
 on the contrary, ventured into the room only on the 
 conviction that its enemy was not there, had scarcely 
 heard the chevalier's voice before it disappeared like a 
 flasli. 
 
 Having railed against the injustice of man, Roger 
 now railed against the ingratitude of mice. 
 
 Then night came. Roger undressed and went to bed. 
 As it was against the regulations to give prisoners a 
 light, the prisoners Avent to bed at sunset. 
 
 Unfortunately for Roger, he had, since leaving 
 d'Anguilhem, lost the habit of going to bed early. On
 
 286 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the contrary, during his visit to Paris, he had contracted 
 tliat of sitting up very late. That was the epoch of 
 little suppca-s, and lloger went to bed only about two 
 o'clock in the morning. Besides, when he used to 
 retire at eight o'clock in the evening, at Anguilhem, it 
 was after a hard day spent in hunting, riding, or fen- 
 cing. In that life, physical weariness very quickly 
 invited sleep; but in prison it was a very different 
 thing. The turgid stream that boiled in his veins had 
 now no outlet of escape. The blood rushed to the 
 prisoner's head. His arteries throbbed as if he had a 
 fever. He closed his eyes, and fell into the sort of 
 somnolence which is neither waking nor sleeping. And 
 then the most extraordinary visions would pass before 
 his eyes. This night wore on as he turned and tossed. 
 Then, at about two o'clock in the morning, he fell 
 into a leaden sleep, into which, after a time, crept 
 troubled dreams. He grew wings like a bird and flew 
 away through the window. He turned into a mouse 
 and slipped out under the door. Then just as he was 
 running along the gutters, or traversing the skyey plains, 
 feet or wings would suddenly fail, and he v/ould find 
 himself whirling down through infinite depths, to 
 awake before reaching the bottom , his heart bounding, 
 his lungs panting, and his forehead dripping with 
 perspiration. 
 
 From then until daylight there was no going to sleep 
 again. 
 
 With the sun's first ray, Eoger sprang out of bed. 
 Forthwith he began to prowl around his cell like a 
 bear in a cage, examining window and walls, but always 
 ending by halting in front of the door. 
 
 That accursed door, which wanted only the inscription 
 of despair to resemble that of the infernal regions!
 
 THE KING DOES NOT REPAIR THE INJUSTICE. 287 
 
 It was certainly through that door that he would have 
 to pass. 
 
 Roger's morning meal was brought. He ate rapidly, 
 scattering as much bread as possible on the floor, throw- 
 ing crumbs as far as the door, and stationed himself on 
 his stool in the corner farthest from the door. 
 
 Thanks to all these preparations, he very soon saw 
 his neighbor's sharp nose. 
 
 In spite of the impunity with which she had invaded 
 the room on the night before, and of Roger's encourage- 
 ment, the little creature hesitated long before venturing 
 further. She withdrew her nose, put it back, again 
 withdrew it; but at last attracted by the crumbs strewn 
 over the boards, and especially by Roger's immovability, 
 she darted into the room, stopping suddenly as if fright- 
 ened at her own hardihood; but soon, reassured by her 
 apparent safety, she began to nibble at the crumbs with 
 a multitude of little grimaces, skips, and antics which 
 greatly amused Roger. Roger Avould never have be- 
 lieved that a mouse could be so diverting. 
 
 Unfortunately, Roger, who had sat as motionless as 
 a statue, felt himself seized by a cramp in the leg, and 
 made a movement so abrupt that the mouse took to 
 flight. 
 
 On the instant Roger reflected that under either of 
 two conditions he could do as the mouse had just done. 
 First, if he were the size of the hole; second, if the hole 
 were the size of him. 
 
 It was evident that only one of the two conditions 
 was among the possibilities. 
 
 This proposition being thoroughly demonstrated to 
 Roger, since its meaning was, as we have said, perfectly 
 evident, he put to himself the following question, — 
 
 " How can a hole be made in wood 1 "
 
 288 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 And Im answorod, — 
 
 " In two ways: with iron and with fire." 
 
 To procure an iron implement was impossible. 
 
 To obtain fire was difficult merely. 
 
 Roger arrived at this conclusion, — 
 
 " I must have fire. " 
 
 Unhappily there was no excuse for complaining of 
 cold. It was midsummer, and Roger well knew that 
 he would never have patience to wait for winter. And 
 besides, between this time and that the governor might 
 take it into his head to change his room. 
 
 Roger then began to study the ways and means of 
 procuring fire. 
 
 That very evening his plan was decided upon. 
 
 At nine o'clock the sentinel on duty in the corridor 
 heard groaning. He listened at each end of the pas- 
 sage alternately, and was satisfied that the groaning 
 issued from Roger's room. 
 
 At ten o'clock, when the first round was passing, the 
 sentinel communicated his observations to the officer in 
 command. The officer approached the door and satis- 
 fied himself as to the truth of the sentinel's report. 
 Moans and groans were issuing from Roger's room, and, 
 as Roger was alone on that side, there could be no 
 mistake about it. It was he that was doing the groaning 
 and moaning. 
 
 A turnkey was called. 
 
 The turnkey came, opened Roger's door, and found 
 the prisoner extended upon his bed and complaining of 
 horrible pains in his stomach. The resident physician 
 was summoned. He came, and ordered an infusion of 
 linden-leaves for the sick man, tea not having been dis- 
 covered at that date. 
 
 The next morning Roger kept his bed, still complain-
 
 THE KING DOES NOT KEPAIR THE INJUSTICE. 289 
 
 ing of pains which, he said, resembled burning. About 
 two o'clock, nevertheless, he ate some soup brought to 
 him from the governor's own table. But the soup 
 swallowed, the groaning recommenced. The doctor 
 ascended again, and Koger informed the doctor that he 
 knew they meant to poison him. 
 
 The doctor immediately administered antidotes; but, 
 as he had suspected, he found not an atom of any poison- 
 ous substance in what the prisoner had eaten. 
 
 Roger nevertheless persisted in representing himself 
 as a victim of poison, and he declared that he would die 
 of hunger rather than eat any food from that moment 
 that had not been prepared by himself. 
 
 The remainder of the day Roger kept his word. He 
 did not touch his supper, which the warden found 
 intact on taking him his breakfast the next morning. 
 
 At the hour of exercise Roger asked to be let out; 
 but he was told that the hour had been changed. It 
 was feared that if Roger found himself on the platform 
 with the other prisoners, he might complain to them 
 of having been poisoned, and that the calumny might 
 be received by his comrades as truth. 
 
 They did not come for him, therefore, until about 
 five o'clock. Roger had not eaten since noon of the 
 day before. He was very pale and apparently suffered 
 much. He was unable to continue standing on the 
 platform, and they were obliged to bring him a chair. 
 He remained seated all the time. 
 
 On returning through the store-room which led to his 
 own room, he felt ill, but did not faint quite away. 
 Then, in weakened tones, he asked for air, and was 
 led to the window. 
 
 Roger put his head outside of the dormer, and he saw 
 that the opening overlooked the Quai de la Vallee-de- 
 
 19
 
 290 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Misero. A distance of sixty feet, at the least, separated 
 him from the ground, and, as all the other windows in 
 the stories below wore furnished with iron bar^, he saw 
 beneath him a forest of gratings, wliose points were 
 iijiturned toward him. Roger shuddered at the sight, 
 which circumstance his warden naturally set down to 
 his illness; but Koger decided nevertheless that he 
 would escape by tliat route. 
 
 Again in his room, Roger persisted in refusing every 
 form of nourishment, continuing to declare that he 
 would much rather die of hunger than of poison. 
 
 Such an accusation was too grave not to disturb the 
 governor. So the next morning at breakfast-time, he 
 presented himself at his boarder's room. He found the 
 supper just as it had been left the night before. It 
 was almost fifty hours since Roger had eaten. 
 
 Hence Roger was very weak and greatly changed. 
 The governor entered the most reassuring protests, offer- 
 ing to taste in his presence everything that was brought 
 to him; but Roger steadily refused to eat, saying that 
 such a demonstration would prove notliing, since the 
 governor, either before or after eating, could take some 
 antidote and thus neutralize the effect of the poison. 
 
 The governor Avas very much perplexed. He had not 
 been told the cause of the Chevalier d'Anguilhem's im- 
 prisonment. It might be for a trivial offence, or it 
 might be for a serious one, and, in either case, the king 
 might at any time wish to have his prisoner produced 
 alive, Avhether to set him free or to punish him. He 
 therefore asked Roger what he desired, promising him 
 to do all that he was able to satisfy him, if, however, 
 the desire came within his power. 
 
 Roger renewed the request that he had already made, 
 that is, that he might himself prepare his own food.
 
 THE KING DOES NOT REPAIE THE INJUSTICE. 291 
 
 Otherwise, he declared that he had suffered so much 
 from the two poisonings to which he liad been subjected 
 that he was ready to let himself perish of hunger. 
 
 As, upon the whole, the governor saw no great harm 
 in doing what Eoger asked, he granted his request. 
 In the meantime, as Roger was very weak, they sent him 
 up two eggs so newly-laid that they were yet Avarm, and 
 a bottle of Bordeaux wine. 
 
 As the eggs had no visible crack, as the bottle of Bor- 
 deaux seemed to have been corked a long time, and as 
 the seal upon it was perfectly intact, Roger made no 
 difficulty about swallowing the two eggs and drinking a 
 glass of wine. 
 
 Needless to say, the prisoner experienced no indispo- 
 sition after taking this light repast. 
 
 But, light as it was, it somewhat restored Roger's 
 strength, Roger, who was little used to observing fasts, 
 had suffered terribly from this one which had been self- 
 imposed, and, had the governor not so obligingly extri- 
 cated him from his predicament, he might perhaps have 
 lacked courage to play much longer the comedy that he 
 had planned. 
 
 At last he had gained his end. They brought him a 
 chafing-dish, a pair of bellows, some embers, a few 
 plates, a few earthen saucepans, and then eggs, vege- 
 tables, and butter. 
 
 Besides there was a great urn full of water. 
 
 Roger was a hunter, which means that more than once 
 when coursing the Anguilhem estate, or neighboring 
 territory, he had had occasion to prepare his own dinner. 
 He Avas therefore not at all embarrassed when it became 
 a question of putting to use the utensils that had been 
 "brought him; and, whether fasting had prepared him to 
 enjoy the meal, or whether indeed his ideas of the culi-
 
 292 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 nary art were instinctive or acquiref], — or, as says 
 lirillat-Savarin of gastronomic fame, whether he had 
 become a cook or was born a chef, — he did ample justice 
 to the dinner prepared by himself. 
 
 Dnring the night following this meal no groans dis- 
 turbed the sentinel, who, moreover, was reputed to have 
 a very acute ear. Also, on that night, Roger, suspect- 
 ing that the strictest watchfulness had been enjoined, 
 was content to go to sleep, and he slept even more 
 soundly, it is probable, than he had done at any time 
 since entering the prison. 
 
 The next morning the governor came in person to 
 inform himself concerning his prisoner's health. He 
 found him risen, and engaged in preparing his break- 
 fast. These promising conditions exempted the gov- 
 ernor from a prolonged interview. He contented him- 
 self, therefore, with asking Roger about his health, and 
 receiving thanks for his favors. He then took his leave 
 with the same vacant look, the same immobility of 
 the lips that the prisoner had remarked in his host 
 at the time of the first visit that he had received from 
 him. 
 
 At five o'clock they came to take Roger for his cus- 
 tomary exercise. The measure adopted by the governor, 
 of allowing him no communication with the other pris- 
 oners, was still enforced. Roger walked alone, then, 
 and meditated on his plan, which he had decided to put 
 into operation the following night. 
 
 The remainder of the afternoon and all the next day 
 passed without event. Nothing occurred to change the 
 plan as decided upon. The auguries were neither good 
 nor bad. There was neither comet nor eclipse of the 
 sun. Roger therefore experienced not even a moment 
 of indecision.
 
 THE KING DOES NOT REPAIR THE INJUSTICE. 293 
 
 A stout heart, moreover, was Roger's ordinarily, as 
 we have said, and one especially unyielding in carrying 
 out his resolutions. 
 
 Yet it was with beating heart that he saw night 
 arrive. But, we hasten to add, his emotion did not 
 arise from the dangers to which he was about to expose 
 himself, but from the fear that some unforeseen circum- 
 stance might prevent his escape. Nevertheless, he dined 
 at his usual hour, and with his ordinary appetite, and 
 when his room was visited, as usual, at about eight 
 o'clock in the evening, he was found already in bed and 
 quite settled for the night. 
 
 There were two hours to wait. The first round was 
 made at ten o'clock in the evening, and the second at 
 three o'clock in the morning. Now, it occasionally 
 happened, rarely it is true, but it had already happened 
 twice since Roger had been in For-l'Eveque, that the 
 officer caused the doors of the cells to be opened, and scru- 
 tinized the walls and the bars to assure himself that the 
 prisoners were meditating no attempt at escape. Hence 
 Roger could not act upon his plans before ten o'clock. 
 
 And Roger did well to wait. For, at the usual hour, 
 the steps of the patrol began to be heard, then the steps 
 drew nearer, then the store-room door was opened, then 
 that of Roger's room. Roger feared for a moment that 
 all was discovered; but he immediately reflected that 
 the thing was impossible, since no preparations had been 
 made in advance that could betray him, nor had he any 
 confidant who could denounce him. He thereupon com- 
 posed his countenance, and appeared to have been aroused 
 from the deepest slumber. As Roger had supposed, it 
 was merely a precautionary measure, and, after sounding 
 the walls, shaking the bars, and scrutinizing the door, 
 the officer went out saying, —
 
 294 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Very well ! " 
 
 The prisoner sat up in his bed, listening to the sound 
 of the retreating footsteps. Then, wlien every noise, 
 every sound, every echo had died away in the prison 
 depths, he cautiously got out of bed, walking with bare 
 feet. He went to the door and listened. All was 
 quiet, all was silent. He breathed again. 
 
 In an instant Roger was dressed. 
 
 Having been arrested just as he was, since Basque 
 was to bring his trunks, which, setting off at a moment's 
 notice, he had been unable to take with him, Roger had 
 succeeded in having some shirts made and some hand- 
 kerchiefs bought. From the chest, then, in which his 
 linen was kept, he began to take everything that could 
 be twisted into rope or woven into strands, to form, in 
 short, a substitute for a ladder. Then he laid it all on 
 his bed, and, to lose no time, he heaped against the door 
 a pile of charcoal which he lighted. After that he 
 returned to his ladder. 
 
 First, the sheets and coverlets of the bed were used. 
 Next, at the end of the sheets and coverlets, torn into 
 strips, he knotted the twisted shirts and braided hand- 
 kerchiefs. During all this time the coal was burning, 
 and, in order not to be asphyxiated, Roger was obliged 
 to go to the window every five minutes for air. The 
 night was pitch-dark, and such as was needed for a plan 
 as hazardous as Roger's. 
 
 Meanwhile, the coal, converted into embers, accom- 
 plished its work. A horrible smoke ensued; but, for- 
 tunately, the wind blew in at the window from the quay, 
 so that all smoke was driven back into the room of the 
 prisoner, whom it would certainly have suffocated, had 
 he not, as we have said , thrust his face between the bars 
 of the window from time to time.
 
 THE KING DOES NOT REPAIR THE INJUSTICE. 295 
 
 Eoger heard eleven o'clock strike, and half-past eleven. 
 
 At last, toward midnight, the hole made in the door, 
 and shaped like the mouth of an oven, seemed to him 
 large enough to pass through. He extinguished the fire 
 with water, cleared away the dead emhers, enlarged the 
 opening still more by breaking out portions of the 
 charred wood, and then he lay down on his back, and, 
 with the part of the rope already prepared in his hand, 
 he crawled through like a snake, and a moment later 
 found himself in the store-room. 
 
 Here he was able to breathe more freely. Then he 
 went and listened at the door of the corridor, where he 
 heard the slow, measured tread of the sentinel. 
 
 All was going well. 
 
 He then proceeded to grope his way toward the place 
 where, when passing through, he had seen a heap of 
 blankets, and to the rope already made he began to add 
 the strips which he noiselessly tore off, and by the aid of 
 which he thought to give his perilous ladder a length 
 sufficient to carry him to the ground. 
 
 The rope completed, he looked about for a place to 
 which it could be fastened; but the window presented 
 no brace strong enough to risk his life upon it. He 
 remembered then that his bed had four posts, originally 
 designed to carry a tester now wanting. He returned to 
 his room by the same route that he had come out, un- 
 screwed one of the four posts, transferred it to the store- 
 room, tied the rope to the middle of the post, placed the 
 post across the window in such a way that it was per- 
 fectly secure. Then, recommending his soul to God, 
 murmuring the names of his father and mother, and 
 giving a last thought to Constance, he crept backward 
 through the window, and, clutching the rope with both 
 hands and knees, he began his slow and perilous descent
 
 296 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 into tho al)3'ss, down which tlie morning hcfore, he liad 
 been unable to look without a shudder. 
 
 As we have said, tlie distance between the window 
 and tho ground was more tlian sixty feet. In addition 
 to the courage required for undertaking this task, mar- 
 vellous skill and strength were needed for its execu- 
 tion. But Roger was strong and agile. He did not 
 hiirry himself in any way. Kot one of his movements 
 was quicker than another. At every knot, he paused 
 a moment to rest, using his feet to clear himself from 
 the sharp bars of the windows. He counted thus three 
 stories that he had passed. Then, suddenly, he felt 
 nothing more between his knees; he searched in vain. 
 He had come to the end of the rope. He groped about 
 with his feet for some support, but he found nothing. 
 He tried to penetrate the gloom around him, but tho 
 night was so black that he could see nothing. It might 
 have been a bottomless abyss. For an instant he thought 
 of climbing back and adding new strips of linen to 
 those he had knotted together, but he felt that his 
 strength would desert him before he had gone half-way. 
 Then a cold sweat overspread his forehead. He was 
 as likely to be twenty feet as two feet from the ground. 
 He knew that it had become a question of good luck 
 or bad luck, that his life was in tlie hands of fate. He 
 lowered himself to the very end of the rope. Then, 
 murmuring a few words of prayer, he abandoned him- 
 self to his fate and let go the rope. 
 
 Almost instantly a half-stifled cry of pain reached the 
 sentinel, and he gave the alarm. The people ran out 
 with torches, and discovered Roger, who had fainted 
 away, caught on the top of an iron bar whose point had 
 pierced his thigh.
 
 THE KIlN^G AT LAST KEMEMBEES THE CHEVALIER. 297 
 
 XXII. 
 
 HOW THE KING AT LAST KEMEMBEKS THE CHEVALIER 
 d'ANGUILHEM, and WHAT COMES OF IT. 
 
 When Roger came to himself he was in a strange room. 
 A doctor was at his side, and he was in a better and 
 cleaner bed than prison beds are wont to be, hence for an 
 instant he thought he was free; but, unfortunately for 
 the chevalier, such was not the case. The governor had 
 caused him to be transferred for the time being to a room 
 of his own suite. 
 
 The wound was severe without being dangerous, 
 although Roger was very weak, owing to the loss of an 
 enormous quantity of blood. His first thought was to 
 discover whether he could not profit by the accident itself 
 to attempt a second escape. On a pretext of needing air, 
 he begged the physician to open the window; like the 
 other windows of For-l'Eveque, the window was pro- 
 vided with a grating on the outside. 
 
 When the surgeon took his leave, charging Roger to 
 rest, Roger heard the door secured behind him with 
 double fastenings. Roger was in a prison, a trifle more 
 commodious, a trifle more elegant, but it was still a prison. 
 
 The next morning, the governor in person came to pay 
 him a visit, and to learn directly from himself the reasons 
 that had induced him to attempt so perilous an escape; 
 he desired, he said, to be assured that it had been neither 
 the fare, which was rather frugal, perhaps, nor the 
 rules of the house, somewhat strict, it might be, that had 
 led him to the desperate act. Roger replied that neither
 
 298 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 had been tlie cause. He knew tliat people were as well 
 oil" in Fur-rEveque as they could be in any prison, and 
 only his desire to regain the liberty that he had not 
 deserved to lose had brought him to that extremity. 
 The governor entreated him to sign a declaration to 
 that effect, which, he said, would constitute his own 
 defence with the authorities. Roger instantly complied 
 with his request. 
 
 Indeed, Roger saw a ray of hope in that very declara- 
 tion. In his simplicity of soul, the poor boy still 
 believed himself the victim of a mistake, which, one day 
 or another, could not fail to be recognized. Now, one 
 means of gaining recognition was, in his opinion, to bring 
 his name as speedily as possible before the eyes of the 
 authorities, and in any manner whatever. 
 
 This simple circumstance gave Roger fresh courage. 
 So little it takes to buoy up the hopes of even those who 
 should despair! 
 
 He waited, then, with more patience than he Avould 
 have done but for this incident, and his wound progressed 
 favorably. At the end of eight days Roger sat up, and 
 at the end of fifteen he began to be able to walk unaided 
 about his room. In the meantime, the governor had 
 visited him three times, and, on each occasion, Roger had 
 asked the governor if he were quite sure that his declara- 
 tion had come to the eyes of the minister of police. At 
 his first inquiry, and at the second, tlie governor had 
 replied that he hoped so; but the third time, he was 
 able to assure the prisoner that it was so, since, as a 
 reward for the active surveillance which he had displayed 
 on that occasion, he had just been made a chevalier of 
 Saint Louis. 
 
 The prisoner congratulated the governor very sincerely 
 on the favor just shown him by the king, nor did he
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBEKS THE CHEVALIER. 299 
 
 doubt that, following upon the inquiry that must be made 
 regarding his own accident, he himself would soon be set 
 at liberty. There were even moments when he thought 
 that his release could not fail to be marked likewise by a 
 favor from His Majesty; the king, in his opinion, was 
 too just to allow such injustice to pass without reparation. 
 However, it is due to Roger to say that he did not dwell 
 upon this idea of extreme justice except in moments of 
 optimism, which he himself regarded as somewhat exag- 
 gerated after they had vanished. 
 
 However, more than fifteen days had passed since 
 the elfort to escape which we have just chronicled, the 
 chevalier improving more and more, when the governor 
 one night entered his room. 
 
 " Monsieur le Chevalier d'Anguilhem, " he said, in his 
 usual tone of voice, and without Roger's being able to 
 catch his roving glance, " rise and dress yourself." 
 
 " Rise and dress myself ? " repeated Roger. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur; we are to part," 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Roger, " I knew indeed that, sooner 
 or later, my innocence would be established." 
 
 The governor made no reply. 
 
 " Monsieur le gouverneur, " said Roger, while hastily 
 dressing, " trust me, if I am questioned with regard to 
 you, I shall endeavor, as I have already done, to render 
 justice to your excellent treatment of me." 
 
 The governor bowed without other response. 
 
 " And if either I or my friends can render you any 
 service, I shall seize the opportunity, not only Avith 
 eagerness but also with gratitude." 
 
 The governor stammered a few unintelligible words. 
 
 " But, " continued Roger, " I am still too weak to go on 
 foot. Will you have the kindness, monsieur le gouver- 
 neur, to have a carriage called 1 "
 
 300 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " There is one at the door. " 
 
 " Then, mcany thanks, monsieur le gouverneur. I will 
 not ask for the pleasure of seeing you again at your house, 
 but at mine, the old Hotel Bouzenois, Place Louis-le- 
 Grand." 
 
 The governor again bowed witliout speaking; how- 
 ever, as the chevalier was now ready, he paid little atten- 
 tion to tlie fact, but extended his hand to tlie governor, 
 and, leaning on the arm of a soldier, he took his 
 departure. 
 
 The chevalier advanced to the door through a double 
 line of guards; at the door, he saw in fact a carriage 
 awaiting him, and he turned to bow to the governor a 
 last time, but the governor had remained behind. 
 
 Roger sprang into the carriage very lightly for a 
 wounded man, and as they were shutting the door, cried 
 in joyful tones, — 
 
 " Place Louis-le-Grand, H6tel Bouzenois. " 
 
 It seemed to him that a burst of laughter greeted his 
 direction, but giving it no thouglit, he extended his 
 wounded leg on the seat in front of him, and leaned back 
 in a corner of his carriage. 
 
 After a while, he observed two musketeers galloping 
 on either side of the carriage. The excessive honor shown 
 him by His Majesty in sending him home with an escort, 
 began to disturb Roger. 
 
 Then, instead of descending the quay, the carriage 
 seemed to be crossing La Cite ; this was by no manner of 
 means the route to the Place Louis-le-Grand. 
 
 Roger, therefore, approached the window and ques- 
 tioned the guards ; but doubtless the noise of the carriage- 
 wheels and the clatter of the horses' hoofs on the pave- 
 ment prevented their hearing him, for in vain did he 
 reiterate his questions; they won no responses.
 
 THE KING AT LAST KEMEMBEES THE CHEVALIEK. 301 
 
 At last, after bowling along for nearly a quarter of 
 an hour, Roger distinguished a great isolated building. 
 He put his head outside the window, fixed his eyes on 
 that black mass carved out of the darkness, and, to his 
 infinite terror, he recognized the Bastile. 
 
 What Eoger had taken for a release was merely a 
 transference ; and the favor that the king had done him 
 was to take him from For-l'Eveque to place him in the 
 Bastile. 
 
 Under the archway, Roger was required to descend 
 and be searched, as was usual with prisoners that were 
 brought to the Bastile. Then he was taken over the 
 bridge and the door of the guard-house was opened. He 
 was to wait there until his room Avas ready. 
 
 Roger was so stunned that he made no movement, 
 offered no word. They came for him at the end of a 
 quarter of an hour. One of the musketeers that had 
 escorted his carriage offered him his arm to lean upon. 
 Roger let himself be led like a condemned man that is 
 taken to the scaffold. However, in passing through a 
 very dark corridor, he felt his guide slip a little note 
 into his hand. He trembled. 
 
 " From the Marquis de Crette," whispered the 
 musketeer. 
 
 Roger was about to speak, but the musketeer at the 
 same moment gave place to a comrade and disappeared. 
 
 The prisoner had just been searched, and consequently 
 he had nothing to fear on that score. He put his hand 
 into his pocket and dropped the note into it. Then he 
 rested his hand on the shoulder of his new guide. They 
 soon came to a staircase. Doubtless they had taken into 
 consideration the prisoner's wound, for he was made to 
 ascend to the second floor only. Arrived there, a door 
 was opened, then a second, then a third, and Roger found
 
 302 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 himself in a room wliere, by the light of the torches fol- 
 lowing him, he saw something like a hed. Almost 
 'immediately, the door of the cell was closed. He heard 
 the locks and bolts of the other doors grate in turn. He 
 was again a prisoner. 
 
 As he was very tired and his leg was giving him great 
 pain, he took his bearings for the purpose of finding his 
 bed, and turned in the direction in which he supposed it 
 must be. He found it in fact; but just as he was sitting 
 down upon it, a voice said, — 
 
 " Monsieur, may I ask what you desire ? " 
 
 " Pardon, monsieur, " cried Roger, rising, " I did not 
 know that the bed was occupied." 
 
 " It is, monsieur, as you perceive," returned the voice; 
 " and as mine is the right of priority, allow me to 
 keep it." 
 
 " Why, that is very proper, monsieur," replied Roger; 
 " but since, in your capacity of pioneer, you doubtless 
 know the premises better than I, kindly tell me whether 
 there is a chair, a bench, a stool, a seat of any kind, in 
 short, on which I can sit. I am wounded in the thigh, 
 and I feel that if I am kept standing any longer I may 
 faint away." 
 
 " Search around, monsieur, " answered the voice ; " there 
 ought to be an arm-chair somewhere." 
 
 Roger searched about, with his hands outstretched like 
 a man playing blind-man's buff, and he at last came in 
 contact with the arm-chair. 
 
 He sank into it and began to reflect. 
 
 In the first place, at the sound of that voice, it seemed 
 to him that he had heard it somewhere, but he could not 
 tell where. In vain he sought to apply it to some one 
 of his acquaintances. His mind became more and more 
 confused. Then he thought that a better way to con-
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBERS THE CHEVALIER. 303 
 
 duct liis reseai'cli would be frankly to ask his fellow- 
 prisoner who he was. 
 
 " Monsieur, " said Koger, " when people are destined, 
 as I fear we are, to live for some time in the same 
 room, the best thing to do is promptly to form acquaint- 
 ance, that we may know whom we have the honor 
 to address." 
 
 " But who are you yourself ? " said the voice. 
 
 " I am Roger Tancrede d'Anguilhera, — a prisoner by 
 mistake," said Roger; "and you are right, it is quite 
 proper that I should give my name first. And now, 
 who are you 1 " 
 
 "I, monsieur, am number 158." 
 
 " What does that mean, — number 158 1 " 
 
 " It is the designation that has taken the place of my 
 name and title. To-morrow, you will no longer be 
 called the Chevalier d'Anguilhem; you will be number 
 159, or 160, or 161." 
 
 Roger groaned at the thought that, having lost his 
 liberty, he was about to lose his name, and, having been 
 a man, he was to become a number. 
 
 " Have you been here long enough to forget your 
 other name 1 " 
 
 " No ; but I might be punished, perhaps, if I remem- 
 bered it," said the voice. 
 
 " Diahle I you are cautious ! " exclaimed Roger. 
 
 " When you have been, like me, ten years, three months, 
 and five days under lock and key, " returned the voice, " it 
 is, I promise you, a virtue that you yourself will practise." 
 
 " Ten years ! " cried Roger, " ten years, three months, 
 and five days ! I would ten times rather dash my brains 
 out against these walls." 
 
 " Monsieur, " said the voice, " you will not take it 
 amiss if I no longer answer you."
 
 304 * SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " And wliy not, pray 1 " 
 
 " Because our great king, Louis XIV., whom God 
 preserve, is indeed our master, to call us by what name 
 and number he pleases, and to keep us in his chateau as 
 long as it suits him." 
 
 " Oh, to be sure, I know you," cried Roger; "your 
 very caution has betrayed you — you are the Comte 
 d'Olibarus! " 
 
 " I am not the Comte d'Olibarus," cried tlie voice; " I 
 am number 158." 
 
 Just then, steps were heard in the corridor. 
 
 " Ah ! you have undone me ! " cried the poor count, 
 " and this is the second time. The first time, you spoke 
 to me on the terrace of For-l'^veque, and as it was 
 found that you meant to escape, I was believed to be your 
 accomplice and was brought here. You have just spoken 
 to me the second time, and I shall be placed in some 
 dungeon, which I shall never leave." 
 
 The outer door was heard to open. 
 
 " But, monsieur le comte — " began Roger. 
 
 " Silence ! monsieur, in heaven's name, silence! Keep 
 still, not a word; I do not knoAV you; I have never 
 spoken to you; I have never seen you." 
 
 And Comte d'Olibarus muffled himself up in his 
 blankets, and turned his nose to the wall. 
 
 The poor prisoner was mistaken in his gloomy fore- 
 bodings ; they were coming merely to set up a cot for his 
 cell-mate. 
 
 This attention gave great satisfaction to Roger, who 
 would momentarily have been reconciled to his situa- 
 tion, had he been able to read Crette's note, which he 
 kept fingering in his pocket; but the wardens turned 
 their backs not a moment during the time while the 
 bed was being made, which, for that matter, did not
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBEES THE CHEVALIER. 305 
 
 take long, and when they went away, they carried the 
 candle. 
 
 Koger thought himself rid of their presence, when one 
 of them returned and, opening the door, said, — 
 
 " By the way, the last comer is number 169." 
 
 " Peste! " ejaculated Roger to himself, "it seems that 
 between the Comte d'Olibarus and me, His Majesty has 
 received ten lodgers." 
 
 And he went to bed with tlie comforting reflection 
 that if the Bastile filled up in that ratio, they would 
 soon be obliged to put the earliest out of doors, or make 
 eight or ten prisoners sleep in the same room, which, 
 in the first instance, would meet with his entire ap- 
 proval, or, in the second, would at least afford him some 
 diversion. 
 
 Upon which, he fell asleep, holding fast in his hand 
 Crette's note, which he assured himself he would read by 
 the first ray of daylight that penetrated his prison. 
 
 But man is no more sure of himself in misfortune than 
 in good fortune. Roger slept as well as if he had been 
 perfectly happy, and he did not awake until broad day. 
 At first it was with great difficulty that he recalled where 
 he was. The sight of Comte d'Olibarus sitting on his 
 bed and sewing the tassel on his nightcap, bewildered 
 him quite ; but, after gazing around him, and delving in 
 tlie depths of his memory, Roger soon remembered that 
 he was in the Bastile. 
 
 Then all the details of his removal recurred to his 
 mind, and he remembered that a musketeer had given 
 him a note from Crette which he had not been able to 
 read the night before, and that he had gone to sleep with 
 the note in his hand, promising himself to read it at the 
 first peep of day. 
 
 Roger shuddered at the idea of losing this note; he 
 
 20
 
 306 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 immediately began a search, and he found it, fortunately, 
 under his bolster. 
 
 Crette's note contained these few lines : — 
 
 " I know that you are being transferred from For-l'lilveque 
 to the Bastile, and through the agency of Clos-Ilenaud, 
 ■who is a lieutenant of the Gray Musketeers, I am sending 
 you this note. Your wife has not yet reappeared, and, 
 should it drive you to despair, I shall say that I do not 
 think her a stranger to your detention. Royan court is in 
 greater favor than ever, and by the way in whicli I am an- 
 swered when I ask for your release, I am convinced that the 
 blow comes from that source. Moreover, they pretend to 
 have found at your house, written in your hand, some song 
 or other against La Maintenon ; one of those, probably, that 
 you sang to us at Saint Germain. You see indeed that only 
 your wife could have been guilty of this petty treason. 
 
 " We can accomplish nothing therefore toward your 
 release ; but try to escape, and hasten to my house. Two or 
 three disguises will be ready; you can travel night and day, 
 and, in twenty-four hours you will be in a foreign country." 
 
 This letter came like a thunder-clap to Iloger. He 
 really believed his wife guilty, he even suspected that 
 Sylvandire had betrayed him; but that she could have 
 been equal to having him imprisoned in For-1'Eveque, 
 was a thing that could never have entered his mind. He 
 was forced to believe it, however; his arrest must have 
 created some stir ; it was impossible that Sylvandire could 
 be ignorant of it, and if she was not ignorant of it, and 
 was not a party to the affair, how did it happen that she 
 was not in Paris soliciting his freedom ? Why had she not 
 already mustered into service all the friends of Maitre 
 Bouteau and of Monsieur de Royancourt ? Why had she 
 not sought and obtained what is very rarely refused a 
 woman, an interview with her husband, even though it
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBERS THE CHEVALIER. 307 
 
 were in the presence of witnesses? He was indeed 
 forced to believe wliat Crette said. Besides, Crette had 
 not been wrong when he had predicted the future ; all 
 the more reason, therefore, that he should be right in 
 what related to the past. 
 
 Roger tore Crette's note into impalpable bits and 
 threw them into the fireplace ; for, in the Bastile, from 
 the second floor up, the rooms had fireplaces. Then he 
 rose, planning, for his part, the most terrible scliemes of 
 vengeance against the Marquis de Royancourt and 
 Sylvandire. 
 
 But to achieve revenge he must be free, and Crette 
 said that he must rely only on himself for that, con- 
 vinced that any measures of his would be futile. Roger 
 then set about inventing some new way of escape. He 
 had come so very near escaping from For-r]6veque that, 
 after all, he did not see why he should not get out of 
 the Bastile. 
 
 Only, there was one great obstacle to any attempt at 
 flight. It was the presence of the Comte d'Olibarus. 
 
 Roger meditated on his project for several days; but 
 he meditated in vain; he hit upon nothing. During 
 all this time, his companion showed himself more and 
 more prudent, avoiding all conversation and replying to 
 Roger only when the latter addressed him by his number. 
 
 Three weeks rolled away, Roger meanwhile spending 
 his days in plotting escape and cursing the cowardice of 
 his room-mate who, the moment the subject was 
 broached, would threaten to call the watch. Many 
 times was he seized with a fierce desire to strangle the 
 count and declare that he had died of a fit of apoplexy ; 
 but, fortunately, Roger always stayed his hand in 
 good season, reserving this extreme measure for a last 
 expedient.
 
 308 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 We have avowed tliat in spite of liis preoccupation 
 Roger slept well, lloger was scarcely twenty-one years 
 old^ and a man sleeps well at that age. Yet, occasion- 
 ally, in the midst of his slumbers, strange sounds reached 
 his ears, which he took for a pliase of his dreams. 
 
 As for the count, he appeared to he still more addicted 
 to sleep than Roger, for almost invariably, when Roger 
 awoke, the count was still asleep. 
 
 However, one night when Roger had gone to bed 
 revolving a neAV scheme in his brain, and was lying 
 motionless with the bed-covers up to his ears, and 
 reflecting upon all the chances, good and bad, of this 
 new scheme, it seemed to him that the singular 
 noise which he had more than once vaguely heard in 
 his sleep was beginning again. He at once listened 
 most intently, and recognized the sound as that of a 
 muffled file proceeding from the window under which 
 the Comte d'Olibarus had his bed. Then, without 
 interrupting his breathing, to which, on the contrary, 
 he applied himself, giving it all the regularity and the 
 depth of sleep, he half-opened his eyes and directed 
 their gaze toward the window, which, in spite of the 
 darkness of the night, spread around it at least a faint 
 diffusion of light. At first Roger could distinguish 
 nothing; but by degrees his sight became accustomed to 
 the gloom, and he then discovered the Comte d'Olibarus 
 kneeling on his bed and filing at the bars of the 
 window. 
 
 If ever a man was astonished, certainly Roger was. 
 Hence he lay for a time Avith bated breath. The count, 
 no longer hearing the soimd of his breathing, paused at 
 once. Roger saw that he was being watched. He 
 made one or two movements in bed, yawned, stretched, 
 muttered a few incoherent words like a man in a dream,
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBERS THE CHEVALIER. 309 
 
 and seemed to fall asleep again. The count remained 
 some time on his guard. Then, when Roger's breath- 
 ing, calm and regular, was re-established, he resumed 
 his task. 
 
 There was not a doubt of it. The Comte d'Olibarus, 
 so fearful, so timid, so cautious, was himself planning 
 to escape. 
 
 Roger promised himself to take a hand in it. 
 
 Four o'clock in the morning sounded. As in all 
 probability the event would not come off that night, 
 Roger went to sleep again. 
 
 On waking, Roger found the count as serene as usual. 
 He then tried to engage him in conversation; but he 
 succeeded no better than on other days. The count 
 even complained aloud of the ill-luck that pursued him, 
 of continually having thrown in his path a man so 
 compromising as Roger. 
 
 Underlying all these complaints was such an accent 
 of genuineness that Roger, looking first at the bars and 
 then at the count, began to believe that he had been 
 dreaming. 
 
 The day passed without Roger's succeeding, even by 
 word or look or gesture, in surprising the count's secret. 
 Then came night, for which Roger was impatiently 
 waiting. 
 
 This time Roger did not go to sleep, but he made a 
 pretence of doing so. Nevertheless the count lay still 
 in bed for more than two hours, regulating his breath- 
 ing by Roger's. Convinced at last that his companion 
 slept, he rose on his knees and began again his work of 
 the night before, and in all probability of preceding 
 nights. Roger let him work in the greatest tranquillity. 
 
 About two o'clock the count broke off, and, rising in 
 his bare feet, he advanced toward the fireplace. Then
 
 310 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 he drew up the stool, and, standing on it, he spoke in a 
 low voice, although not so low but that Roger could 
 hear these words, — 
 
 " To-morrow everything will be ready." 
 
 A voice then said a few words in reply ; but the words 
 readied Roger's ears only as enapty sound from which he 
 could gather no meaning. However, the count replied, — 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 Then he listened. The same voice hummed again in 
 the chimney, and he replied, — 
 
 " Agreed, at two o'clock." 
 
 And he very carefully returned the stool to its place, 
 went back to his bed, lay down, and apparently went to 
 sleep. 
 
 As for Roger, now knowing what to expect, he went 
 to sleep in earnest. 
 
 The next day passed, like the day before, without the 
 count's betraying by any nervousness, any flush, or any 
 sign of impatience the plan fixed for the following 
 night. He was the same man, so silent, so apprehen- 
 sive, so timid, that Roger, who, as we have seen, was 
 himself rather self-contained, stood in admiration before 
 this master of dissimulation whom chance had sent 
 him, and who so far surpassed him. 
 
 Night came. The two prisoners prepared for bed. 
 Roger merely pretended to undress, and lay down with 
 his clothes on. 
 
 Without doubt the count, on his part, did likewise. 
 Soon both were snoring at a great rate, though neither 
 the one nor the other was asleep. 
 
 Toward midnight the count rose in bed and began 
 to saw the last bar. He worked an hour nearly. Then 
 he got up, went to the fireplace, mounted the stool, 
 and said, —
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBERS THE CHEVALIER. 311 
 
 " Everything is ready." 
 
 The voice replied with a few words that Eoger still 
 could not understand, but which seemed to be in per- 
 fect harmony with the wishes of the count, for he con- 
 tented himself with replying, — 
 
 " Good ! very good." 
 
 Then the count got down off his stool and cast him- 
 self upon his bed. 
 
 Half an hour went by. 
 
 Then the count arose, went to the door and listened, 
 and, after assuring himself that the deepest quiet 
 reigned throughout the interior of the prison, he stood 
 a moment like one in a dream. Then, with a slow 
 step, the sound of which his room-mate could scarcely 
 detect, he drew near Roger's bed. 
 
 For a moment Roger had an idea that the count was 
 coming to assassinate him, and thus make sure of his 
 silence. He lay on guard then, certain, although 
 he was defenceless, of easily getting the better of an old 
 man who would have for a weapon merely a stiletto, a 
 knife, or a poniard. He therefore held himself in 
 readiness to grasp his arm the moment it should be 
 lifted above him. 
 
 But the count did not raise his arm. He extended it 
 merely, and touched him on the shoulder. 
 
 Instantly Roger was on his feet before the count, who 
 recoiled a step. 
 
 " Silence ! " said the count. 
 
 " The more willingly as I know all, my dear count," 
 returned Roger. 
 
 " How so 1 " 
 
 " For three nights I have not slept, nor have I lost, I 
 will not say sight, but hearing, of you." 
 
 " Then you guess what I am about ? "
 
 312 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Perfectly, and I am ready." 
 
 " Dress yourself." 
 
 " I am dressed. " 
 
 " Capital ! " 
 
 " You perceive that you did me injustice in not 
 trusting me." 
 
 " You are so young! " 
 
 " Yes, but I have courage and determination." 
 
 " I know it, and that is why I had resolved to notify 
 you when you would need only those two virtues. 
 The time is at hand; get ready." 
 
 " I am ready ! What are we to do 1 " 
 
 "As you are aware, I have succeeded in communi- 
 cating with two prisoners in the room above us. One 
 of the two is a friend of mine, and we were on the 
 point of escaping together from For-l'Eveque, when 
 your own flight caused us to be sent to the Bastile. 
 Happily, we have been separated only by one floor, 
 and have succeeded in communicating with each other 
 through the aperture of the chimney. We have a file. 
 Each of us has sawed the bars of his window. Our 
 two neighbors will let down to us a rope that they have 
 made with their own sheets and blankets, to which we 
 will add our sheets and blankets. They will then 
 pull up the rope, attach it to one of the unsawed bars, 
 and, as the two windows arc directly one above the 
 other, we shall descend, they from their window, we 
 from ours." 
 
 " Capital ! " 
 
 " Then it suits you 1 " 
 
 " Perfectly. Yet, my dear count, now that we are to 
 flee together, come, tell me frankly, why are you in the 
 Bastile ? " 
 
 " Do you wish to know ? "
 
 THE KING AT LAST EEMEMBEKS THE CHEVALIER. 313 
 
 " Yes, truly it would give me great satisfaction," 
 said Roger. " By yours I can rate my own offence. 
 You have been a prisoner ten years. I shall know 
 about how long the king was counting upon retaining 
 me as a boarder." 
 
 " Well, I had the imprudence to say — " 
 
 " You had the imprudence to say ] " repeated Roger. 
 
 " That the king — " continued the count, lowering 
 his voice. 
 
 "Well, that the king?" 
 
 " Was getting so blind that— " 
 
 "That — " 
 
 " That he saw only through Madame de Maintenon's 
 spectacles. " 
 
 " What ! " cried Roger. " Ten years for that 1 " 
 
 "Hush, pray!" 
 
 " You have been in prison ten years for that ? " 
 
 " Ten years, three months, and five days." 
 
 "Ah! mon Dieuf Well, in that case, I am in for 
 life." 
 
 " What have you done 1 " 
 
 " I ? I composed one or two songs about her. " 
 
 " And it is known 1 " 
 
 " It seems that my wife has parted with the originals." 
 
 " In your handwriting 1 " 
 
 "In my handwriting." 
 
 "Then, my dear friend, you are very fortunate to 
 have found a chance to escape, for, as you have just 
 remarked, you were in for life." 
 
 "Or for theirs," returned Roger, 
 
 "Which may still be a very long time," replied the 
 count. "Egotists live a hundred and fifty years, like 
 parrots; but hush, here is our rope coming down." 
 
 Thereupon the count approached the chimney, in
 
 314 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 which the cud of a sheet was hanging. The two prisoners 
 then set to work to join their sheets and blankets, end 
 for end, with tlie one that had been lowered. Then, 
 the operation finished, the prisoners in the upper story 
 drew up the whole. 
 
 The count then approaclied the window, and, with 
 Roger's help, wrenched away the two bars which were 
 now held in place only by a bit of iron, and which, on 
 being broken out, left a space wide enough for a man to 
 pass through. 
 
 It was agreed that the count should go first and 
 Roger next. 
 
 Both got up on the bed, holding themselves in readi- 
 ness. 
 
 They heard the sound of the rope lightly touching as 
 it descended. 
 
 Then they could distinguish an opaque body. It was 
 one of the prisoners from the uj)per story. He reached 
 the ground without accident and waited. 
 
 The second passed in his turn, and he also stood in 
 safety beside the first. 
 
 Then it was the turn of the count, who reached the 
 ground with the same good fortune. Then, last of all, 
 went Roger, and he joined his companions. 
 
 Twenty steps away there was a sentinel who kept 
 pacing back and forth, sometimes turning his back upon 
 the fugitives, sometimes coming toward them. 
 
 There was no way of escape except by going within 
 ten steps of him. They must leap from the rampart 
 into the foss, swim the foss, scale the opposite slope, 
 let themselves down from there on some low-roofed 
 house of the Faubourg Saint Antoine, and escape by 
 way of the mansards or the gutters. There were twenty 
 chances of breaking their necks.
 
 THE KING AT LAST REMEMBERS THE CHEVALIER. 315 
 
 It was nevertheless agreed that, just as the sentinel 
 was about to turn, the four fugitives should make a 
 dash, every man for himself. 
 
 So said, so done. The soldier went the length of his 
 beat; then he turned. 
 
 At the same instant the four fugitives ran straight for 
 the ditch. 
 
 Roger heard the sentinel's challenge, "Who goes 
 there? " saw a long flash followed by a report, felt one 
 of his comrades roll between his legs, and became con- 
 scious at the same time, by a sensation as from the 
 violent lash of a whip, that he was struck in the side ; 
 but he plunged into the ditch, nevertheless, and began 
 to swim for the opposite bank. Meanwhile a great 
 hue and cry arose from the Bastile. Windows became 
 alight, torches began to move rapidly about, and the 
 soldiers shouted : " To arms ! to arms ! " 
 
 Roger kept on swimming. The water prevented his 
 feeling pain. Hence he reached the bank thinking 
 himself but slightly wounded ; but he had barely set 
 foot upon the ground before he felt that his strength 
 was failing. 
 
 He summoned, therefore all his courage, and, aiding 
 himself with his hands, continued to toil up the grassy 
 slope; but it seemed to him that the sky had turned the 
 color of blood. A ringing noise like that of a bell 
 sounded in his ears. He tried to speak, to call mechani- 
 cally for help, and his voice died in his throat. Then 
 he raised himself again, beating the air with his hands, 
 made a last effort, in which his remaining faculties Avere 
 exhausted, and fell back fainting. 
 
 His two remaining comrades continued their flight. 
 As we have said, it had been agreed that each mac 
 should think only of himself.
 
 316 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'aNGUILHEM WENT FROM THE 
 BASTILE TO THE CHATEAU DE CHALON-SUR-SAONE, 
 AKp MADE THE JOURNEY IN COMPANY WITH AN 
 OFFICER OF VERY SPRIGHTLY CHARACTER. 
 
 The Comto d'Olibarus was killed, and Eoger was 
 dangerously wounded. The count was buried as Kumber 
 158, and Roger was returned to the Bastile. 
 
 But Roger was a Hercules. In three weeks' time 
 he was on his feet again, still weak, but quite out of 
 danger. What is more, his two accidents had sobered 
 him very much with regard to attempts at escape, and 
 he was, for the time being at least, almost cured of his 
 mania for flight. 
 
 But, what he was not cured of, what he promised 
 himself never to be cured of, was hatred of Sylvandire, 
 to whom, according to what Crette had told him, he 
 owed, first, his incarceration, and next the two wounds 
 that had resulted from it. True, in ridding herself 
 of Roger by means of For-l'Eveque and the Bastile, 
 means so commonly resorted to in those days, Sylvandire 
 could not foresee that he would have the bad taste to 
 attempt to escape, and that those two attempts would 
 end so unfortunately for him ; but it was not the less 
 true that the cause of it all was Sylvandire. 
 
 Hence the chevalier promised himself, once free, to 
 visit upon her a cruel vengeance. But what should 
 that vengeance be ? Roger had no idea as yet. He 
 knew only that some day he would be revenged.
 
 THE CHEVALIER MAKES ANOTHER JOURNEY. 317 
 
 One evening, after he had all day given himself up 
 to these soothing reflections, he heard steps in his 
 corridor. As it was at an unusual hour, and as, after 
 four or five months of prison life, he was beginning to 
 know the ways of such establishments, he was convinced 
 that a new turn was to be given to his affairs. In fact, 
 two soldiers entered and stationed themselves at either 
 side of his door. The governor followed them, and 
 after saluting Roger, he invited the latter to gather up 
 his belongings in the room and follow him. The 
 inventory was not long. One of the turnkeys shouldered 
 ■ the little bundle, and Roger obeyed the governor. 
 
 They traversed the corridor that opened upon the 
 inner court, then the court itself, then the archway, all 
 between a double line of guards. Then, on the other 
 side, they found a carriage. Another transfer was on 
 foot. 
 
 Roger, who was beginning to be skeptical as to the 
 memory of His Majesty, Louis XIV., did not deceive 
 himself this time. Besides, there was a mounted 
 musketeer at either door of the carriage and an officer 
 was sitting inside. The prisoner then saluted the 
 governor, thanking him for the care bestowed on his 
 wound, and took his place beside the officer. Instantly 
 the door Avas locked, and the vehicle set off at full speed. 
 
 Part of Paris was crossed without Roger's being able 
 to see in what direction the carriage was taking him. 
 It was the kind of night that is usually chosen for the 
 transfer of prisoners. However, by the fresher and 
 purer atmosphere, he soon felt that they were outside 
 of the capital. He leaned toward the window, from 
 which he could make out trees and fields; but as he 
 appeared very much absorbed in the sight, the officer 
 remarked, —
 
 318 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " I warn yon, monsieur, that the coach is locked, that 
 two musketeers arc galloping beside us, that I have a 
 pistol in each pocket, and tliat my orders are to fire on 
 you at the slightest effort on your part to escape. You 
 see, I tell you this," the officer continued, "because I 
 am an old soldier, and I should not like to kill a gentle- 
 man without telling him why. Now, you have your 
 warning. The rest is your affair." 
 
 With a sigh Roger flung himself back into the depths 
 of the carriage. He was beginning to entertain a lively 
 esteem for material force, which he had heretofore 
 known only as something to combat and to vanquish. ' 
 
 " But, in short, " said Roger, " where am I to be taken 
 now 1 " 
 
 " I am forbidden to say," responded the officer. " Ah ! 
 You were recommended to me as a keen fellow that 
 takes advantage of the slightest indiscretion." 
 
 Roger gave vent to a deep groan. 
 
 "Come, now! come, now!" continued the officer. 
 " Use a little reason and you will not give up for that. 
 I have conducted women who put a better face on the 
 matter than you." 
 
 " Then you are taking me to another prison 1 " said 
 Roger. 
 
 " Oh! as for that, if I were to say no, you would not 
 believe me. So I will answer frankly, yes." 
 
 "To Pignerol or to the lies Sainte Marguerite," 
 murmured Roger. " Ah ! Fouquet ! ah ! Lauzun ! " 
 
 «'Sh!" exclaimed the officer. " 'Sh! Don't spoil 
 matters by talking to me of all those great men. Let 
 us go along quietly now, and not meddle with politics. 
 Come, I am a good-hearted fellow myself, and it is 
 very fortunate that you did not fall into the hands of 
 some of my confreres, so surly and uncivil that they
 
 THE CHEVALIER MAKES ANOTHER JOURXEY. 319 
 
 would not have said a word to you the whole way. 
 I, on the contrary, like a man to be a gentleman. I 
 detest not talking, and I consider it much better to 
 make the poor prisoners laugh than to make them cry, 
 being at quits afterwards to show them teeth and claws 
 if they are ungrateful for my consideration; but I must 
 say that has never happened to me. Come, be a good 
 fellow like the rest, and I promise you the journey 
 shall not seem long." 
 
 "Ah!" said Koger, with a shudder. "That is it; 
 we are going to the other side of France. Ah ! Mattioli ! 
 oh ! the Iron Mask ! " 
 
 "Again, again!" resumed the officer. "Oh! i' 
 faith, my gentleman, you promise me a very disagree- 
 able journey, while I would like nothing better, for my 
 part, than to make the trip a cheerful one. Come, 
 rouse up, put a good face on it. I do not mean literally, 
 as your face is not to be seen, — although I can guess 
 that you are making a wry mouth, — and I will talk 
 to you, although I am expressly forbidden to do so." 
 
 " And what will you talk about 1 " asked Eoger. 
 
 " Ah! dame! of matters and things, of rain or shine. 
 Anything is better than sulking like a pike." 
 
 " But there is only one thing that I wish to know. 
 There is but one point on which I wish to be 
 enlightened." 
 
 " Well , speak out, what is it ? " 
 
 " "Where are we going 1 " 
 
 " I am forbidden to tell you. " 
 
 " Ah! you see, indeed." 
 
 " Yes ; but I am not forbidden to tell you where we 
 are not going. " 
 
 "Oh! tell me, then." 
 
 "First of all, let us settle some trifling conditions.
 
 320 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Promise that you will not try to escape, and that you 
 will not be sad any longer. Ah! look here, sadness is 
 the death of me ! " 
 
 "But will you, in return," said Eoger, "give me 
 your word as an old soldier that you will deliver a mes- 
 sage with which I may charge you ? " 
 
 « I ?" 
 
 "Yes, you." 
 
 " You might offer me one hundred crowns and I 
 would promise you nothing. Why, think of it, my 
 dear monsieur, your demand is absurd. Come! And 
 why should the king have you under guard if not to 
 keep you from sending messages? Now, pray be 
 sensible ! " 
 
 Roger reflected that he would gain nothing from his 
 comrade's ill-will, while he might, on the other hand, 
 lose a great deal by it. Escape seemed impossible. 
 Besides, as we have said, he was for the time being 
 cured of that monomania. So, after a moment's silence, 
 he said to his fellow-traveller, — 
 
 " Well, monsieur, I pledge you my word as a gentle- 
 man that I will make no attempt at escape, and that I 
 will be as gay as I can. " 
 
 " Well said I Now we are growing reasonable, and 
 we shall have a charming little trip. Come, come, ask 
 the questions and you shall be answered. " 
 
 " Are we going to the lies Sainte Marguerite ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " To the Tour Saint-Jean 1 " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " To Pierre-en-Scise ? " 
 
 " You are warm. " 
 
 " To the fortress of Dijon ? " 
 
 " You burn ; you burn. "
 
 THE CHEVALIER MAKES ANOTHER JOURNEY. 321 
 
 " Then we are going to the Chateau do ChCilon 1 " 
 
 Silence, absolute and prolonged. 
 
 " But, answer me now ! " cried Eoger, impatiently. 
 
 "That Avas not our agreement, my dear monsieur," 
 protested the officer. " I promised to tell you where 
 you are not going, but I am forbidden to tell you where 
 you are going. Suppose that I am compromised by my 
 kindness to you, and that I am compelled to swear that 
 I did not tell you that you were going to the Chateau 
 de Chalon. In that case, I lift my hand, and give 
 my oath conscientiously, for I have not told you." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then we are on our way to the Chateau 
 de Chalon," murmured Eoger with a sigh, as he fell 
 back, silent and thoughtful, into the corner of the 
 carriage. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said the officer. " Here we are, given 
 over to melancholy. We are to have a lively journey, 
 it appears, and two days of it ! Ah ! I warn you, in 
 the start, that I will not put up with it." 
 
 " What ! " said Roger, " you will force me to be 
 gay?" 
 
 "I have your word, monsieur, and, as a man of 
 honor, you will take pity on a poor officer and live up 
 to it. Why, think of it, I was not born to be an 
 officer; not I. I was meant for a ballad-singer at 
 Turlnpin's. Hah ! speaking of songs, excellent ! I 
 am glad I thought of that. It may cheer you up. 
 Ah ! you have composed some droll songs, my dear 
 monsieur ! " 
 
 " What do you mean 1 " demanded Roger. 
 
 " Good ! you are not going to deny it ? They were 
 found at your house, and in your handwriting." 
 
 " I have no idea of what you mean. " 
 
 " I see, I see. I am not trying to extract an acknowl- 
 21
 
 322 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 edgment; Imt you are of a satirical turn, my dear 
 monsieur." 
 
 And tlio exempt began to sing, to the tune of a popular 
 air: — 
 
 " On (lit quo c'est la Maintenon 
 Qui renverse le trOue, 
 Et que cette vieille guenon 
 Nous v^duit h Taunione. 
 Louis le Grand soutient que non, 
 La faridondaine, la faridondon, 
 Et que tout se regie par lui, 
 
 Biribi, 
 A la fa9on de Barbari, 
 Mon ami." 
 
 ['* They say that 't is la Maintenon 
 
 Doth cause the throne's downfall, 
 And that that same old harridan 
 
 Doth make us beggars aU. 
 But it is not so, says Louis the Great, 
 
 La faridondaine, la faridondon, 
 And I the trouble will regulate, 
 
 Biribi, 
 As they do it in Barbary, 
 My boy."] 
 
 " I was not the author of it ! " cried Roger. " I had 
 the misfortune to copy it, that is all." 
 " And this one ? " said the officer. 
 And he sang again to another tune : — 
 
 " Tout ce que fait la Maintenon, 
 Ne saurait jamais etre bon. 
 Cette vieille sempiternelle, 
 A donne la guerre au Voisin, 
 Et je crois que Polichinelle 
 Aura les finances demain."
 
 Madame de Maintenon.
 
 THE CHEVALIER MAKES ANOTHER JOURNEY. 323 
 
 [" Whatever la IMaintenon does, my son, 
 Is never done as it should be done. 
 That sempiternal old baboon 
 Made Voisin IMinister of War, 
 And Master Punch himself eftsoon 
 Will have the Treasm-y, I swear."] 
 
 "But I tell yon," rejoined Eoger, "that I did not 
 compose that song either." 
 "Good! and this one? " 
 The officer resumed, to a different tune: — 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! ah ! Maintenon, 
 Margoton, 
 Dit le bon roi, 
 Laisse-moi, 
 Car c'est toi 
 Qni me feras rire 
 Dans la poele h frire." 
 
 [" Ah ! ah ! ah ! Maintenon, 
 Margoton, 
 
 The king, says he. 
 
 Don't nag at me, 
 
 For can't you see 
 If you have your way 
 There 's the devil to pay ! "] 
 
 "But," cried Roger, "how does it happen that you 
 can sing those songs without being arrested ? " 
 
 " I am singing them to you, dear monsieur, and to 
 no one else. JPeste ! It would never enter my head 
 to sing them in public nor to copy them in my own 
 hand. Not that I do not find them very droll, and to 
 prove it, as you see, I have not changed a word, heh ? 
 Am I wrong? Come, now, if I have made a mistake, 
 do you, as the author, point it out."
 
 324 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " On my honor," replied Eoger. " I protest — " 
 
 "Hush! No more! Certainly, I will pretend to 
 believe you. Well , no ! It was not you. Come, we 
 will say no more about it." 
 
 "Oh! luckless wretch that I am!" cried Roger. 
 " Oh ! how imprudent I was to sing such things ! " 
 
 "On the contrary, they must be sung. There is no 
 harm in it; but they must be sung in private, while 
 tete-a-tete, as we are. But copies of them should not 
 be kept at home, and especially copies in one's own 
 handwriting, or, i' faith! a man is liable, if his wife 
 needs to get rid of him. Ah! damie ! She is so easy 
 to tempt, woman ! " 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Eoger, "do you know of my 
 misfortune, too? " 
 
 " What misfortune 1 " 
 
 " Why, in short, what you were just speaking of." 
 
 " I ! I know nothing," said the officer. " I spoke of 
 that as I might have spoken of anything else." 
 
 Then he began humming, — 
 
 " On dit que c'est la Maintenon 
 Qui renverse la trone." 
 
 As for Roger, quite overcome by his singular posi- 
 tion, and beginning to fear lest his mind should give 
 Avay in the conflict of ideas besieging him, he closed his 
 eyes, and, resting his head against the side of the car- 
 riage, he endeavored to recover somewhat his clearness 
 of mind, while the officer, passing from one song to 
 another, continued to hum the seditious stanzas for 
 which he seemed to entertain especial admiration. 
 However, as Roger had not slept for three nights, in 
 the end he succumbed to sleep, nor did he awake until 
 broad daylight the next morning. He found beside
 
 THE CHEVALIEK MAKES ANOTHER JOURNEY. 325 
 
 him, still fresh, alert and smiling, the officer, who 
 inquired, with the liveliest interest as to how he had 
 passed the night. As for himself, he asserted that, 
 relying on his prisoner's word, he had enjoyed all the 
 delights of slumber. 
 
 Just as they were leaving the carriage for breakfast, 
 he asked Roger if he had any money. Roger was 
 without a sou. They had taken away everything that 
 he possessed, even his jewels, through fear that he 
 might use them to bribe his keepers. The prisoner 
 therefore made humble confession of his poverty. 
 
 Thereupon a certain conflict between a good and a 
 bad impulse appeared to be taking place in the officer's 
 mind. But the good impulse won the day. 
 
 " Listen, I could keep fifteen sous of the two livres 
 allowed by the king for your meal ; but you have 
 been very amiable, you have kept your word. Instead 
 of being extortionate, as certain of my confreres would 
 be, I will give up some of it, and, with your permis- 
 sion, if my company is not too disagreeable, why, we 
 will breakfast together." 
 
 "With great pleasure," replied Roger, who, in such 
 matters had never possessed very exaggeratedly aristo- 
 cratic ideas, and who, moreover, did not care to fall out 
 with his companion. 
 
 And they both sat down to the table. As the officer 
 had hoped, the meal was really good. Roger ate like a 
 convalescent twenty years of age. 
 
 " What a fine time of life is yours ! " remarked the 
 officer, regarding him with envy, notwithstanding that, 
 for his own part, he had come off with some distinc- 
 tion. " What a delightful appetite ! Yet I was the 
 same at your age. But I was much gayer, always 
 singing, singing at the top of my voice, with mouth
 
 326 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 stretched from morning till niglit, singing like a lark, 
 like a goldtinch, like a nightingale, but always careful 
 to sing other people's songs, and never my own, unless 
 I was alone with a friend like you. For I used to 
 make songs, too; not so good as yours, perhaps, but 
 they had their merit nevertheless. Listen, now, here 
 is one of them." 
 
 And the officer began to sing to an air from " The 
 Chimes:" — 
 
 " Tonton, ton temps est passd, 
 
 Vieille coquette 1 
 Touton, ton timbre est cassd, 
 Vieille pendule I tu repetes, 
 
 A soixante ans, 
 Le carillon de la clochette 
 
 Dans son printemps. 
 
 Mais, h present, 
 Ton tocsin tiutant 
 Ne reveille personne, 
 Quand sur le tendre ton 
 Ta grosse cloche sonne, 
 Non, non, non. 
 
 Si Ton t'entend, 
 
 Ce n'est qu'au son 
 De ton argent comptant." 
 
 [" Tonton, past is thy time. 
 
 Old coquette ! 
 Tonton, cracked is thy chime, 
 Old clock ! that dost repeat, 
 
 Though past thy prime, 
 The carillon so sweet 
 
 That joy-bells sing 
 
 In their spring. 
 
 But now, old crone, 
 Thy wheezy ting-a-ling
 
 THE CHEVALIER MAKES ANOTHER JOURNEY. 327 
 
 Will serve to waken none, 
 When in its tenderest tone 
 Thy hoarse old bell doth groan. 
 
 Ding, dong, ding. 
 
 Whoever is listening, 
 
 He listens to the ring 
 Of thy good hard cash alone."] 
 
 " Hey 1 what do you say to that, my cavalier ? " 
 demanded the officer, when he had ended and had 
 allowed Roger a moment's silence in which to appraise 
 his verse. 
 
 " Why, I say," replied Roger, " that you are very 
 imprudent to sing such things." 
 
 " Why so 1 " 
 
 " What if 1 were to denounce you 1 " 
 
 "Bah! who would believe you? I should say that 
 you wanted to take revenge for my strictness, and it 
 would all recoil on you." 
 
 During the night they arrived at the Chateau de 
 Chalon-sur-Saone. 
 
 Roger was conducted forthwith to the room assigned 
 to him; but, as he was very tired from the journey, and 
 very much weakened by his recent wound, which Avas 
 not yet healed, he cast himself on his bed without even 
 looking to see what his room was like. 
 
 He remarked merely that it was lighted by a lamp 
 hanging from the ceiling, and this attention pleased 
 him.
 
 328 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'aNGUILHEM BECOMES AS 
 WISE AND AS WARY AS HAD BEEN THE LATE 
 COMTE d'OLIBARUS. 
 
 When Roger first awoke, lie saw the lamp still burn- 
 ing. Thereupon, thinking that it was not yet day, he 
 turned his face to the wall and again fell asleep. 
 
 But the next time that he awoke, he wondered at the 
 delay of sunrise, and gazed about him. Then the 
 terrible truth dawned upon him. He was in a cell 
 without windoAvs. The lamp, whose light he had 
 hailed as a blessing, was henceforth his only sun. A 
 revolving dumb-waiter, designed to serve his meals, 
 contained the breakfast, — proof positive that the day 
 was already advanced. 
 
 Ah, then ! Brave as Koger was, his misfortunes 
 bore heavily upon his soul and rent his breast. He sat 
 down on his bed, his arms listless, asking himself what 
 he had done to God or man to be thus abandoned by 
 the one and maltreated by the other. 
 
 He sat thus in the deepest dejection for a period 
 whose duration he was incapable of reckoning. Only 
 his dumb-waiter moved, turned, and came back laden 
 with his dinner in place of the breakfast that had 
 returned as intact as it had come. 
 
 Yet, in the midst of this profound grief by which 
 Roger was crushed, nature, ever exacting, claimed her 
 rights. Roger was hungry. Roger was thirsty. Me-
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY. 329 
 
 chanically approaching the dummy, he ate and drank 
 as a thirsty, starving animal would have done. Then, 
 with a slow and regular tread, he began to range the 
 limits of his room like a wild beast in a cage. 
 
 The hours rolled on unmarked by change of day- 
 light and darkness. The days went by without his hear- 
 ing a single rumor. Roger's sole distraction was the 
 sound made by the turning of the dumb-waiter when his 
 meals vrere served, or the motion of his lamp as it dis- 
 appeared through the ceiling for a supply of oil and a 
 new wick. 
 
 But the hand that caused the dummy to creak and 
 the lamp to ascend remained invisible. Once or twice 
 Roger addressed the unknown agent, asking the day or 
 the hour, not for the sake of knowing either, but simply 
 to hear the sound of a human voice. But never did 
 his questions win the slightest response, and the prisoner 
 very soon ceased to repeat attempts whose futility he 
 recognized. 
 
 At first he was beside himself with despair. Then 
 exhaustion succeeded despair. Sometimes he slept 
 twelve hours at a stretch. He either sprawled like a 
 brute or sat stock-still like an idiot. 
 
 He once hoped that he was going mad; and at the 
 thought he burst into wild shouts of laughter. 
 
 But he was not so fortunate. As a stone cast into a 
 pool momentarily troubles the water and sends the 
 mire to its surface, so had rage and despair filled 
 Roger's brain at the blow received in his heart. But 
 just as the water gradually becomes pure and pellucid, 
 the prisoner's brain grew calm, and, after a month of 
 this captivity, a casual glance would have led one to 
 think him subdued and almost resigned. 
 
 The truth was, the bitterness which had at first
 
 330 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 rankled in his mind had gradually been precipitated, 
 and it filled his heart. 
 
 Then the appearance of resignation came upon him. 
 He looked as if he lived like any one else. His mind 
 grew active with repose of body, his ideas were reor- 
 ganized. By dint of studying his situation he cauglit 
 glimpses of a thousand confused possibilities of which, 
 when outside, at liberty and among people, his mind, 
 diverted by exterior objects, would never have per- 
 mitted him to suspect even the existence. 
 
 He went back over his life day by day, hour by hour, 
 almost minute by minute, from the day on which he 
 became Sylvandire's husband to the hour of his arrest 
 at Cours-la-E,eine. He reviewed the brief love that 
 Sylvandire had seemed to entertain for him, but which 
 was merely the physical attraction that a woman feels 
 for the first man that has caused her to experience 
 unknown sensations. He saw that false love gradually 
 disappear and make way for indifference. Then he 
 recognized the springing up of the first symptoms of the 
 dislike to which Sylvandire had since sacrificed him. 
 These symptoms had followed close upon Monsieur de 
 Royancourt's appearance at the Hotel d'Anguilhem. 
 This dislike was very soon reenforced by that which 
 Sylvandire conceived for her husband's intimates. 
 From that time strife was established between those 
 two natures so dissimilar. Both had summoned their 
 natural allies. Roger had called in Crette, d'Herbigny, 
 Clos-Renaud, and hosts of true-hearted gentlemen, who 
 had at first counselled an open and aggressive war, and 
 later a wise retreat. Sylvandire had called to her aid 
 the Marquis de Royancourt, Monsieur Bouteau, with- 
 out doubt, and the Jesuit, Letellier. Probably they 
 had resorted to tortuous measures, to underhanded sub-
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY. 331 
 
 terfuges, to evil machinations, and they had succeeded. 
 E-oger was now in their toils, bound hand and foot, 
 held under an accusation that had nothing to do with 
 the real cause of his arrest. His imprisonment would 
 last as long as Monsieur de Royancourt's passion, love, 
 or fancy endured for Sylvandire, and perhaps longer; 
 for, to tlieir dread of the wronged husband's accusation 
 would be added fear of the injured prisoner's vengeance. 
 His detention, then, might be indefinitely prolonged, 
 either because the love with which Sylvandire inspired 
 the marquis might defy time, or because the fear with 
 which Roger inspired Monsieur de Royancourt might 
 prove stronger than remorse. 
 
 Then, too, Roger analyzed his own conduct with the 
 same attention to details that he had just exercised in 
 the analysis of that of others, and he discovered a 
 thousand ways, under the same conditions, of avoiding 
 all the misfortunes that had befallen him. 
 
 "Yes," said Roger to himself, "yes, I have been 
 nothing but a fool. I should have done as do so many 
 husbands that I know who are happy and respected, and 
 are at this moment walking up and down the streets of 
 Paris in the full enjoyment of their liberty. I should 
 have shut my eyes, and taken up with Mademoiselle 
 Poussette, as Crette advised me. Decidedly, the others 
 were all men of sense. As for me, I am a fool. 
 
 "Instead of being a poor prisoner as I now am, I 
 should be the colonel of a regiment. I should have to 
 mortify the flesh three days in the week, it is true. 
 But on other days, in some very elegant, commodious, 
 retired little house of the Faubourg Saint Antoine, I 
 should be living on the fat of the land with mistress and 
 friends. The king would bestow on me his blandest 
 smile. I should kiss the dry hand of Madame de
 
 332 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Maintenon once a week. I should pay court to P^re 
 Letellier. I might hold a duke's patent, be a peer of 
 France, perhaps. 
 
 " Ah ! really I am a fool. 
 
 " But, no ! no ! a hundred times no ! I did what 
 I should have done. I did what I would do again. 
 Honor is everything in this world, and there is but 
 one way of looking at it. Besides, I loved that 
 woman, not with my heart, — my heart has always 
 belonged to poor Constance, — but I loved her with 
 pride. I loved her because she was beautiful, perhaps 
 also because I have done much for her, perhaps because 
 she owed everything to me. But however that may be, 
 I loved her, in short. I should not, I could not, have 
 allowed her to be taken from me. I did therefore just 
 as I should have done, and not I am the fool. The 
 fools are they who are branded with infamy. 
 
 " But, let me be free for one day and I will avenge 
 myself ! Ah ! when will that be 1 " 
 
 That was the question. 
 
 At For-r;^veque E,oger had told himself that if his 
 liberty were restored to him he Avould pardon all. At 
 the Bastile he had made a few mental reservations. 
 At Chalon he told himself that he was twenty-two 
 years old, and the king was seventy-five. That, grant- 
 ing the king ten years to live, that is, until he was 
 eighty -five, it was all that a crowned head, however 
 exacting, could demand. Then, the king being dead, 
 the prisons would be thrown open. At the very worst, 
 therefore, Roger would leave prison at thirty-two. 
 
 Now Roger asked himself which he would prefer, to 
 leave prison at that very moment and have no revenge, 
 or to leave in ten years and take his revenge quite at 
 his ease.
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY, 333 
 
 Boger answered that he would prefer to leave prison 
 in ten years and avenge himself like an able-bodied 
 man. 
 
 So at the end of three months of isolation and seclu- 
 sion, Roger had become a deep thinker, a consummate 
 politician, a Machiavelli of the first rank. 
 
 At times, could a person have looked in upon him, 
 he would have been seen sitting on his stool with his 
 legs crossed, his elbow on his knee, his chin in his 
 hand, his gaze fixed, and a smile on his lips. Such a 
 person might then have supposed that Roger was dream- 
 ing of his father, his mother, Mademoiselle de Beuzerie, 
 the beautiful days of his youth, or of some pleasant 
 memory. 
 
 No, Roger was dreaming of vengeance. 
 
 Eleven months thus rolled away, the prisoner's heart 
 never despairing, his courage never failing him. His 
 sunburnt face may have whitened somewhat during 
 this long night; his Herculean outlines were reduced 
 by fasting; but the pallor lent him an air that he had 
 lacked, and the falling-off gave him an elegance that 
 one had vainly sought in him. Roger remained strong 
 and handsome ; but Roger was becoming a hypocrite. 
 
 Every night he prayed aloud for the king's length of 
 days and for Madame de Maintenon's; because, you 
 see, eyes might be watching what he did, ears perhaps 
 were listening to what he said. True, at the bottom 
 of his heart and in the same breath he sent them all 
 to the devil ; but that was inwardly, and only God and 
 himself knew anything about it. 
 
 One morning as he was gnawing at a crust of bread 
 that was serving as his breakfast, the door of his cell 
 opened. A voice that he recognized reached his ear. 
 His eyes, accustomed to the darkness, — for often he
 
 334 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 went liours, whole (lays, even, without any one's think- 
 ing to religlit his expired lamp, — distinguished a 
 superbly dressed gentleman, who advanced two or 
 three steps and spoke his name. 
 
 It was Monsieur de Royancourt coming with out- 
 stretched arms to meet Koger. 
 
 Roger seized his stool and raised it with the intention 
 of breaking Monsieur de E-oyancourt's head. His 
 enemy stood before him. He had but to drop his 
 massive arm to annihilate him. Roger reflected, flung 
 the stool on the bed, and ran toward the Marquis de 
 Royancourt with open arms. 
 
 Thanks to the obscurity in which he was enveloped, 
 the threatening gesture, which in his first impulse had 
 escaped him, passed unobserved. 
 
 These two men, who mortally hated each other, pressed 
 heart to heart like friends, like brothers. 
 
 "You are here, then, my dear Anguilhem ! " ex- 
 claimed the marquis, drawing him outside. " Ah ! 
 how long we searched without finding you ! " 
 
 In spite of his presence of mind, Roger was astounded 
 at such boldness; but he concealed his amazement 
 beneath the smile that he had practised, accepted the 
 hand that Monsieur de Royancourt extended to draw 
 him from his cell, and following his lead while effusively 
 pressing his hand, he reached a room belonging to the 
 governor's apartment. 
 
 Passing in front of a mirror, Roger hardly knew 
 himself. His beard was long, his hair bristling, and 
 his clothes hung in rags. 
 
 He smiled at himself with the same smile that he 
 had bestowed on Monsieur de Royancourt. 
 
 " You are free, my dear Monsieur d' Anguilhem," 
 said the marquis. " But, vwn Dieu ! how does it
 
 THE CHEVALIEK BECOMES WISE AND WARY. 335 
 
 happen that Ave have had no news of you for these fif- 
 teen months? However, we will speak of all that 
 later. Let us be off now as expeditiously as possible. " 
 
 "The most expeditious way, my dear liberator, my 
 friend, my brother," said Roger, "would be, I think, 
 to ascertain from monsieur le gouverneur, whether I 
 am really free, — a thing I cannot yet believe." 
 
 " You are free, my dear chevalier, thanks to our 
 entreaties," returned the marquis. 
 
 " Believe that I am truly grateful. I should say, 
 then, that the first thing to do would be to ascertain 
 whether monsieur le gouverneur would kindly lend me 
 a room, order a bath, and send for a tailor and a 
 hairdresser. " 
 
 " Of course, my dear chevalier, you shall have all 
 that, with the exception of the tailor, who is not 
 needed. I foresaw your destitution, and I have in my 
 chaise some clothes that I brought from your hotel. 
 They shall be laid out for you ; and at the same time, 
 if you will permit, my valet shall attend you." 
 
 " You overwhelm me, my dear marquis; but I accept. 
 It is delightful to owe everything to you." 
 
 Roger was conducted to a room, a bath was brought 
 him, and, while he was in the bath. Monsieur de 
 Koyancourt's valet shaved him and dressed his hair. 
 
 Then, on emerging from his bath, Roger made his 
 toilet. 
 
 Not before did he himself perceive the change that 
 had taken place in him. The one quality formerly 
 wanting in Roger had been refinement of mien, that 
 distinctive mark of breeding. Fasting and perhaps 
 reflection had lent him that refinement. Roger was 
 now a finished cavalier. 
 
 Monsieur de Royancourt was himself astonished at
 
 336 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 sight of liira. There was a look of power in the man 
 which lie had never seen, and it made him shudder. 
 Resolution shone in his eye. For the first time Mon- 
 sieur de Royancourt thought of how much the man had 
 to fear who had Roger for an enemy. 
 
 The governor desired to detain the gentlemen to 
 breakfast; but Roger smilingly answered that the 
 governor doubtless forgot that his own had been served 
 just before Monsieur de Royancourt had entered his 
 cell. The governor stammered a few excuses, falling 
 back on the rigid rules of the institution which would 
 not permit him to show his guests all the attentions that 
 were sometimes their due. Roger thereupon replied, 
 with his unfailing smile, that, as for himself, he could 
 not complain, so thoroughly well treated had he been. 
 
 The chaise stood before the entrance. Post-horses 
 were attached. Monsieur de Royancourt and Roger 
 entered, and the carriage departed at full speed. 
 
 It was with deepest ecstasy that Roger, oppressed for 
 eleven months by the noisome air of a cell, inhaled the 
 pure, balmy air of the month of May. It was with 
 inexpressible happiness that Roger beheld, instead of 
 the gloomy boundary of four walls, the landscape with 
 its wide plains and distant blue mountains, but all this 
 pleasure, all this enjoyment was confined within. He 
 was as impenetrable in his happiness as in his hatred, 
 and he looked again upon this nature that he so loved 
 with the same smile with which he looked at the man 
 he so hated. 
 
 And from time to time he answered the other's 
 questions with an affectionate glance or a friendly tone, 
 and renewed his assurances of gratitude and devotion. 
 
 At last the conversation, marked for a time on the 
 marquis' side by a certain embarrassment of which he
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY, 337 
 
 was not quite master, and on Eoger's by an emotion 
 that he had not power entirely to stifle, assumed a more 
 even tone. 
 
 Roger summoned up all his courage, steadied his 
 voice, and asked for news of Sylvandire. 
 
 "Alas ! poor woman! " returned Monsieur de Eoyan- 
 court. "You have caused her great sorrow, and you 
 owe her great amends." 
 
 " Ah ! " murmured Eoger, " indeed ! " 
 
 "Unquestionably," answered Monsieur de Eoyan- 
 court. " At first, although you had threatened to leave 
 her, she would not believe in your departure, and 
 thought it only a joke. But when she saw one, two, 
 three days go by without your return, she was indeed 
 obliged to succumb before the evidence. Then she 
 became almost demented. For a week there was noth- 
 ing but sighs and tears. Finally, she Avent to Monsieur 
 d'Argenson to find out where you were. Monsieur 
 d'Argenson knew only that you were no longer in 
 France. As you may suppose, at this news her despair 
 increased, and one fine day, on presenting himself at 
 your house, her father learned that she had set out that 
 very morning to discover and to rejoin you wherever 
 you might be. For three months no one knew what 
 had become of her, poor woman ! And the king, who 
 knows everything that happens in his realm, learning 
 of this adventure, declared that j'-ou were a bad hus- 
 band, a wicked example, and ordered that you should 
 be arrested." 
 
 " Good and excellent king! " cried the chevalier most 
 earnestly. 
 
 " Then it was that the search was made at your house 
 Avhen the unfortunate verses were found which have 
 caused all the trouble." 
 
 22
 
 338 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " And wliicli I sincerely repent having preserved. 
 For you do not think nie capable of such ingratitude as 
 to be the author of them, do you? " 
 
 "Oh! I have never thought so. It was in that con- 
 viction that I pleaded your cause." 
 
 " My deliverer ! " cried the chevalier, gra'^ping both 
 hands of Monsieur de Royancourt. " Uut let us return 
 to Sylvandire, I beg." 
 
 " Well, my dear friend, Sylvandire arrived in London 
 after you. She learned that yovi had just set out for 
 France. She followed you. At Dover she was a day 
 too late ; at Calais, two hours. " 
 
 " Dear Sylvandire ! " murmured the chevalier with 
 the most conjugal emphasis. 
 
 "At Calais she learned of your departure for Paris, 
 and, without losing a moment, without stopping to rest, 
 much as she must have needed to do so, she also set out, 
 hoping to overtake you on the Avay; but her hope was 
 deceived. Not having overtaken you, she hoped to 
 find you at the hotel, and she sat up all night without 
 rest, because she looked for you to arrive at any moment; 
 but you did not come. Judge of her grief ! " 
 
 "Ah, marquis, marquis, you torture my soul! " cried 
 Koger, as he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. 
 " What then 1 Continue. And I could suspect such 
 a wife! ah, you are right, marquis; I am guilty. 
 What next did she do? What next? " 
 
 " Well," resumed the marquis, deceived by - the 
 naturalness with which Roger played his part, " what 
 could you expect me to tell you after that ? Her days 
 were spent in grief, in tears; for you did not appear, 
 and we did not know what had become of you." 
 
 "You did not know that I was in prison? Well, 
 on my word of honor, I suspected as much."
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY. 339 
 
 "Oh! won Dkn ! no, we did not know it. Monsieur 
 d'Argenson, dreading to be solicited by Madame 
 d'Anguilhem, or forced by me, whom he knew to 
 have influence, Monsieur d'Argenson apprised us of 
 your imprisonment only about a fortnight ago. And 
 then, as you may suppose, Sylvandire took the field. 
 Monsieur de Bouteau and I, for our parts, did like- 
 wise, and we have so begged and entreated and besought 
 Madame de Maintenon, so encompassed the king, that 
 we have at last obtained your pardon. Ah ! my dear 
 Anguilhem," added the marquis feelingly, "ah! how 
 we have suffered ! " 
 
 " And all that time I was accusing you of lukewarm- 
 ness. Ah! wretch, ingrate that I am! You have 
 pardoned me; but do you think that she will ever 
 pardon me, marquis ? " 
 
 "A woman's soul is a treasury of indulgence," 
 replied the marquis. " Hope, then, my dear chevalier." 
 
 " And now that you have reassured me somewhat 
 upon that point, a word of my parents, my dear marquis. 
 My conjugal affection, you see, has caused me to forget 
 filial affection. The baron and the baroness are in 
 good health, I trust? " 
 
 "Yes, thank God! and, through your wife's fore- 
 thought, they are both notified that you are about to 
 return from a long journey; for they, like us, were 
 ignorant of your captivity." 
 
 " Thoughtful Sylvandire ! And our acquaintances, 
 d'Herbigny, Clos-Kenaud, Crette?" 
 
 The last name escaped Roger carelessly rather than 
 deliberately. 
 
 The marquis was caught by the careless manner. 
 
 "Why, as you know," he returned,"! see little of 
 your friends, who pass at court for libertines, haunting
 
 340 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the Palais Royal. I believe, however, that they are 
 well, especially Monsieur de Crette, with whom I 
 regret having had some differences ; but, thank heaven, 
 everything is adjusted between us." 
 
 "Ah, indeed! You have had differences on account 
 of Madame de Maintenon ? Of course it is wrong of 
 Crettd not to admire that noble, that saintly woman. 
 But, as you have just remarked, the man is dissolute, 
 an associate, I believe, of Broglie, La Fare, and 
 Canilhac." 
 
 " All lost souls ! " declared Monsieur de Royancourt, 
 clasping his hands with an air of compassion. 
 
 " Supposing them to have any," said Roger. 
 
 Monsieur de Royancourt made a sign of misgiving, 
 and for a time there was a lull in the conversation. 
 
 Roger was delighted with himself. He had just 
 put into practice the rules which his fifteen months of 
 prison life had taught him. He saw that he had duped 
 Monsieur de Royancourt, and he hoped to deceive his 
 wife as he had deceived the marquis. 
 
 With slight variations, the remainder of the journey 
 was abridged by conversations of the same sort. The 
 travellers journeyed day and night, halting at Auxerre 
 and stopping only for a moment at Fontainebleau. 
 
 At last they reached Paris. 
 
 Roger saw For-l'Eveque in the distance, and rode 
 along the foot of the walls of the Bastile. 
 
 Ten minutes later they were at the gates of the Hotel 
 d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Evidently Roger was expected. The entire house- 
 hold had been apprised, and were drawn up to receive 
 him. On entering the court of the hotel, Roger saw 
 lackeys at all the doors, and his wife at the window. 
 
 He leaped from the coach, and hastened toward the
 
 THE CHEVALIER BECOMES WISE AND WARY. 341 
 
 salon. Sylvandire, followed by Monsieur Bouteau, 
 advanced to meet him, so that he encountered her at 
 the door. 
 
 At that moment, beyond the calmly hypocritical face 
 of his wife, Eoger caught sight of the portraits of his 
 father and mother smiling at him from their frames. 
 Then, seared as his heart was by fifteen months of 
 imprisonment, the tears sprang to his eyes at sight of 
 the only friends on whom man can rely. 
 
 His emotion was so overpowering that Roger fainted. 
 
 Sylvandire could possibly have thought, and she 
 doubtless did think, that his love for her and his joy 
 at seeing her again had deprived the chevalier of his 
 senses.
 
 342 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 now THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM SET FIRE TO 
 HIS HOTEL TO FIND OUT WHETHER HE WAS OB 
 WAS NOT WHAT HE FEARED. 
 
 Three days after the scene we have just described, a 
 spectacle patriarchal to behold was atforded by the 
 Hotel d'Angnilheni, thanks to Maitre Kouteau's 
 charming cordiality, to Sylvandire's extravagant 
 caresses, to Monsieur de Royancourt's eager sympathy, 
 and to Roger's hypocrisy. 
 
 All these people appeared to love one another accord- 
 ing to the apostolic injunction. 
 
 Now, as we view everything in this world merely on 
 the surface, we all allow ourselves to be deceived by 
 it, even when self-interest requires us to sound the 
 depths of other people's motives. Even Roger, finding 
 himself enveloped by such tender affection whichever 
 way he looked or turned, was occasionally conscious of 
 doubt in his heart. 
 
 Crette, unfortunately, had been absent from Paris 
 about eight days. Roger had secretly gone to his 
 house and arranged with little Basque that as soon as 
 his master returned Roger should be told. 
 
 Meanwhile Sylvandire was unable to be demonstrative 
 enough toward her husband. She asked him how he 
 spent his time in prison, and if he sometimes thought 
 of her. 
 
 Roger assured her that the prison was a very pleasant 
 abode; that the jailers made very attentive servants;
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 343 
 
 that he dined every day at the governor's table ; that he 
 went out with him in his carriage every afternoon, and 
 that they played at ombre or checkers together every 
 evening, after which, with every possible mark of 
 respect, he was shown to a pretty room whose only 
 defects consisted of a door with two bolts and a window 
 with four bars. The chevalier feared that if he told 
 Sylvandire the real state of the case, she must under- 
 stand that a man who had suffered so much had much 
 to avenge. 
 
 As to thinking of her, Roger fondly assured Syl- 
 vandire that he had done nothing else from morning 
 until night, and from night until morning. In this 
 instance, we know that Koger told the exact truth. 
 
 Then Sylvandire in turn assured Roger that she 
 found him very much improved, and that prison life 
 had wonderfully agreed with him. 
 
 One morning, little Basque came and told Roger that 
 the Marquis de Crette had returned half an hour 
 before, 
 
 Roger left his hotel on foot, took a carriage at the 
 corner of the street, and proceeded to the Hotel Crette. 
 The marquis was expecting him. The two friends cast 
 themselves into each other's arms. 
 
 Crette had learned much of what had happened to 
 Roger, and particularly the details of his two escapes 
 and the injuries resulting therefrom. But the marquis 
 was ignorant of the solitary confinement, the sunless 
 cell, the torture of living days that cannot be reckoned, 
 and last, the firm resolution taken by Roger to be 
 revenged upon his wife, if, as he believed, his wife 
 had been concerned in his imprisonment. 
 
 Crette could but repeat what he had written of 
 Sylvandire's disappearance, his own quarrel with
 
 344 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Monsie\u' de "Royancourt, and his certainty that the 
 ■wife liei'self liad brouglit to liglit the unfortunate songs 
 that liad been, if not the cause of his imprisonment, 
 at leaat the pretext for it. 
 
 As to Roger's release, it was due, as the prisoner had 
 suspected, to the persistent elforts of Crette, d'Herbigny, 
 and Chastellux, especially of the last, who was dis- 
 tantly related to Monsieur d'Argenson through the 
 women of the family, — a relationship which he had 
 until then almost denied, and to wliich he began to lay 
 claim as soon as it was likely to prove serviceable to 
 Eoger. Yet, when Monsieur de Eoyancourt found 
 matters so far advanced that there were no means left of 
 prolonging Roger's captivity, from persecutor as he had 
 been, he became defender, and, as his influence was real, 
 he had hastened the prisoner's release. 
 
 The rest is known. 
 
 All that Crette told his friend accorded so well with, 
 what he had twenty times repeated to himself, that he 
 did not for a moment doubt that they had arrived at a 
 most accurate estimate of cause and effect. 
 
 Realizing that they must meet only on urgent occa- 
 sion, the two friends parted with renewed assurances of 
 their undying friendship which, for that matter, had 
 been sufficiently tested for them to be able to count upon 
 each other. 
 
 Yet, for the entire acquittal of his conscience, 
 morally convinced though Roger was, he wished to 
 gain possession of material proofs that would admit of 
 no appeal on the part of the voice of doubt, which, 
 at the bottom of his heart, still clamored at times. 
 " Perhaps — " 
 
 In his cell he had learned to think without speaking. 
 Thus far, he had put into faithful practice the enforced
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 345 
 
 lesson. No one had a suspicion of what was passing 
 in the depths of his soul. He began, therefore, to act. 
 
 He summoned Breton. 
 
 Breton was a faithful servant and one on whom he 
 could rely. 
 
 Questioned as to Monsieur de Eoyan court, Breton 
 replied that during the chevalier's absence the marquis 
 had come every day to the h6tel, and that his visits had 
 ceased only on the day of Madame d'Anguilhem's 
 disappearance. 
 
 Now it became clear to Roger that, had his dear 
 wife cherished the laudable purpose of setting out to 
 find him, she would not have failed to inform her 
 household, whereas, Monsieur de Eoyancourt himself 
 had admitted to Roger that, on going away, Sylvandire 
 had said nothing to any one. 
 
 Madame d'Anguilhem had, a month before vanishing, 
 dismissed a maid that had served her for ten years. 
 To Roger this seemed very suspicious, since jMade- 
 moiselle Clarisse was a person whose faithfulness and 
 efficiency were too remarkable for her to be sent away 
 without reason, and on the eve of undertaking alone a 
 fatiguing journey. 
 
 Roger hoped to extract something from Sylvandire 
 herself; but when, hypocrite even in love, he in turn 
 tried to learn from his wife how she had employed her 
 time in his absence, there were endless affectations and 
 coquettish refusals to tell. It was substantially im- 
 possible to prove that she had resided in any place 
 whatever. Sylvandire merely admitted having spent 
 two months in the Convent des Filles-Dieu, which, it 
 is true, was a convent widely renowned for the austerity 
 of its rules, but one where Monsieur de Royancourt, 
 Madame de Maintenon's friend, came and went at will,
 
 346 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 his sister being the superior and liis cousin the treasurer 
 of the convent aforesaid. 
 
 To seek information at the Filles-Dieii wouhl he 
 procL^iining aloud his diatrust; hence liogor signified 
 his faith in all that was told him, and in turn assured 
 Sylvandire that convent life had greatly enhanced her 
 beauty. They continued, withal, to live as a model 
 houseliold. More frequently than ever Roger greeted 
 Monsieur Boutcau with the allectionate appellation of 
 father-in-law, and heaped upon Monsieur de Koyancourt 
 the most friendly courtesies. 
 
 Those of his friends who did not know, as Crett^ 
 did, that all this tenderness concealed something enig- 
 matical, mysterious, tragic perhaps, sneered not a little 
 when the conversation turned upon the young couple's 
 unsophisticated fondness for each other. Nor in cer- 
 tain circles, as will readily be understood, did they 
 fail to make merry at the expense of Madame 
 d'Anguilhem, the virtuous Penelope who, instead of 
 awaiting her Ulysses, had gone in search of him, no 
 one knew where, but certainly where he was not. 
 
 Meanwhile Roger had given Breton full power, and 
 charged him to bribe any of Monsieur de Royancourt's 
 people. One morning, while attending his master, 
 Breton announced tliat the marquis' coachman, whom 
 his master had ill-treated the day before, had consented 
 to speak, for the sum of one hundred louis. Breton 
 advised the chevalier to take advantage of the momen- 
 tary dissatisfaction. 
 
 The chevalier followed Breton's advice. He sent 
 the coachman a hundred louis, and this is what he 
 learned the same day from the mouth of the knave 
 himself. 
 
 Beginning witlt the date of Sylvandire's departure,
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 347 
 
 Monsieur de Royancourt had every niglit after supper 
 visited the little hamlet of Luzarclies, sometimes on 
 horseback, sometimes by carriage. He spent four or five 
 hours there; and regularly at two o'clock in the 
 morning, he took the road back to Paris, where he 
 arrived at four. He then went to bed and feigned not 
 to have been away from home. By way of additional 
 precaution, his carriage returned to the hotel at mid- 
 night, and the household — with the exception of the 
 coachman who knew that he sent the carriage back 
 empty, and the valet de chambre who sat up for 
 Monsieur de Eoyancourt until four o'clock in the 
 morning — supposed that the master had returned. 
 
 Roger was on their track. He resolved to follow to 
 the other extremity this clew, of which he held one 
 end in his hand. Consequently, he set off himself for 
 Luzarches. 
 
 There he began his inquiries, and learned that a 
 young woman had come and established herself in a 
 house in Avhich she lived alone. A nun attended her. 
 A man, whose name they did not know, but who was 
 of very distinguished appearance, came to see her every 
 evening. Sylvandire was described with absolute accu- 
 racy, and the portrait of Monsieur de Royancourt was so 
 like him that there was no mistaking it. 
 
 Another than Roger would have made a disturbance, 
 would have challenged Monsieur de Royancourt to a 
 duel, or had him assassinated by a couple of ruffians 
 in some corner. But for the disturbance, there was 
 For-l'Eveque, for the duel, the Bastile, and for the 
 assassination, a mode of vengeance, which, however, 
 did not even enter Roger's head, — there was the 
 rack. 
 
 All that, therefore, was no revenge, since such
 
 348 SYLVAXDIRE. 
 
 revenge brought its own piinisliment. What Roger 
 required was a revenge tliat left hiiu free, happy, and 
 yet avenged. 
 
 Besides, his hatred was concentrated especially upon 
 Sylvandire. It was Sylvandire who had betrayed him; 
 it was Sylvandire whom he had loved; it was Sylvan- 
 dire who had given liim a moment's hai)piness; it was 
 Sylvandire whom he hated so cruelly that he feared he 
 loved her still. 
 
 From the hour that Roger bad resolved upon revenge, 
 he had determined what that revenge should be. He 
 therefore returned to the plan stored in a corner of his 
 brain, where lie had placed it for use when the time 
 came. His soul, it must be said, from the date of his 
 release from prison, was nothing else than a stormy 
 sea whose vast waves rose high and died away. Like 
 tempests brooded his thoughts, athwart which, from 
 time to time, gleamed a good motive with lightning- 
 like flash, but as quickly also it expired. 
 
 Now sure of his luihappiness, now certain of having 
 been duped, he felt strong and considered himself 
 justified. 
 
 It was necessary, first of all, that Roger should 
 ascertain to a certainty that he no longer loved this 
 accursed woman, lest the execution of his project should 
 be arrested by one of those heart pangs that are mis- 
 taken for twinges of conscience. We have said, and 
 we repeat, that Roger so bated Sylvandire as not yet to 
 be sure that he did not love her. 
 
 Therefore, one by one, he analyzed his feelings 
 toward Sylvandire. 
 
 When he came upon her without warning, there was 
 a keen shock of the heart, a deep pain, a sudden chill, 
 something like the cold sensation of a lancet's blade
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 349 
 
 piercing a vein. At such times, in spite of his self- 
 control, Roger grew pale, and the blood rushed back 
 upon his heart. The next moment his gorged heart 
 would expel the blood with such violence as to cause a 
 giddiness that made him think he was about to be ill. 
 Yet, in the midst of all these sensations, so varied, so 
 conflicting, so convulsive, he must live his ordinary 
 life, must converse indifferently, must smile graciously. 
 It was torture more cruel perhaps than that of the 
 prison at Chalon-sur-Saone. 
 
 Sometimes, in the middle of the night, startled out 
 of a dream in which he thought himself still a prisoner 
 on a wretched pallet in an infectious cell, Roger would 
 wake with bounding heart, panting breast, and his hair 
 standing on end, to find himself softly couched under 
 silken canopies in a room voluptuously lighted by an 
 alabaster lamp, and there, sleeping tranquilly beside 
 him, would be Sylvandire, that glowing siren, that 
 enticing enchantress, who, under a marvellous exterior, 
 concealed such a hideous entity. Then he would rise 
 on his rigid arm, gaze at her with eyes fixed, searching, 
 and deadly, and recall that story of Galland's, which 
 had just appeared and was creating such a furor, the 
 tale of a man who had married a vampire, and who 
 saw her return to the conjugal couch after her mon- 
 strous feast in a graveyard. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sylvandire was dreaming a pleasant 
 dream, breathing an amorous sigh, and disclosing in a 
 voluptuous smile the white enamelled teeth beneath 
 her coral lips. 
 
 Then would Roger be seized with a fierce desire to 
 stifle the woman in a loving embrace, and receive with 
 his own mouth her last sigh, that, her life having been 
 another's, her death, at least, should be his. But he
 
 350 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 carried out only the first pait of his design. Tlis lieart 
 failed liiiu for the second. 
 
 As for Sylvandire, so confident was she of her power 
 over Itoger that her days were happy and lier niglits 
 peaceful. Never had she chanced to surprise the fierce 
 look that enveloped and held her unwittingly; hut, it 
 must bo said, never hy word or gesture did Koger 
 betray himself. 
 
 Monsieur de Royancourt continued to visit the hotel; 
 but he was visibly becoming disenchanted. 
 
 " Naturally," said Koger to himself, following up the 
 cooling process as he had followed tlie course of their 
 love, " naturally, possession has brouglit indifference." 
 
 And he redoubled his own attentions to Sylvandire, 
 who, on her side, impelled by a sense of guilt, returned 
 her husband's caresses with forced ones in such measure 
 that, aside from the madness of revenge by which he 
 was possessed, E-oger was really quite happy. 
 
 Sylvandire was very guarded, and yet it one day 
 happened that, tired of having waited in vain expecta- 
 tion of Monsieur de Royancourt for nearly a wliole 
 week, without his deigning to send her even a message, 
 she wrote a very reproachful little note, and rang for 
 one of her own people to have it sent by her confidential 
 attendant. 
 
 But Madame d'Anguilhem's servants had gone out, 
 and it was Breton that answered her bell. As Sylvan- 
 dire was holding the letter in her hand, she dared not 
 postpone sending it. Besides, Breton announced liim- 
 self as quite unoccupied at the time, and suggested to 
 Madame d'Anguilhem that he himself undertake her 
 commission. To refuse was, plainly, to give the valet 
 grounds for suspicion. She put on a bold face, there- 
 fore, handed Breton the letter, and said indifferently, —
 
 THE CHEVALIEE SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 351 
 
 " To be taken immediately to the IMarquis de 
 Royancourt. " 
 
 Breton was ascending to change his dress when he 
 met his master on the stairs. He therefore displayed 
 the letter of which he was the bearer, with a question- 
 ing glance as to whether he should carry it to its 
 destination. 
 
 Eoger was about to yield to temptation and take it, 
 when he heard behind a door the rustle of a satin robe. 
 He knew that Sylvandire was spying. 
 
 " A letter from madame to Monsieur de Eoyancourt," 
 said the valet. 
 
 "Very well; deliver it at once," answered Roger, 
 " and say to the marquis for me that it is unkind of 
 him thus to neglect us; that I have not seen him for 
 eight days ; that I am highly indignant at such indiffer- 
 ence, and that I forgive him only on tlie condition that 
 he comes to dine with us this very day. " 
 
 "But, monsieur," said Breton. 
 
 " Quite right, quite right, go, my friend, go," pursued 
 Roger. " I am not needing you at present." 
 
 Then he descended ten or twelve steps, and, to 
 Breton's great amazement, entered Sylvandire's room. 
 
 "It was very good of you, my dear," said he, as he 
 drew down his ruffles, and arranged the folds of his jabot, 
 " very good of you to send for dear Roj'ancourt. I 
 wish him to taste the roe that my father has sent us from 
 Anguilhem. " 
 
 Sylvandire, who, in this brief space, had turned red, 
 white, yellow, all the colors of the rainbow in short, 
 collected her wits and resumed her smile, 
 
 " What a delightful husband I have!" thought she, 
 kissing Roger on both cheeks, 
 
 " What a weak master I have the misfortune to
 
 352 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 serve!" said Breton to himself. "Would any one 
 suppose this to l^e the same gentleman that gave Mon- 
 sieur de Kollinski such a terrible sword-thrust at his 
 first affair? Mere luck!" 
 
 At dinner-time, Monsieur de Royancourt was 
 announced. The double invitation that he had received 
 had touched him undoubtedly, for he was excessively 
 friendly. As for Sylvandire, she was radiant. Iloger 
 observed them not too closely, was witty without being 
 caustic, and animated without seeming forced. 
 
 At dessert, he surprised some very expressive glances 
 exchanged between his wife and their guest. 
 
 Soon after they had risen from the table, and as 
 they were passing into the salon for coffee, he saw the 
 marqiiis, who was escorting Sylvandire from the one 
 room to the other, slip a note into her hand. Sylvan- 
 dire concealed it in her bosom. 
 
 "Shameless woman, impudent rascal! " muttered 
 Roger. " I could kill them both where they stand ! " 
 
 But he controlled himself, and only a lace frill at 
 liis wrist was the worse for it. He tore it into bits. 
 
 He must secure that note. It was a very difficult 
 thing to accomplish, but a very essential one. Iloger 
 thought about it the entire evening; then he believed 
 he had found a way. 
 
 The success of his scheme depended on calculating 
 the probable moment when Sylvandire would seek to 
 learn the contents of the note. 
 
 "It will undoubtedly be this evening at her toilet," 
 he said to himself. 
 
 During the whole evening he did not for an instant 
 lose sight of Sylvandire. He assured himself that she 
 had not had a moment in which to read the billet in 
 question, and, after Monsieur de Royancourt had gone,
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIKE TO HIS HOTEL. 353 
 
 he concealed himself in the salon adjoining his wife's 
 dressing-room. He then listened until he heard her 
 enter, and when he divined that she must he in the 
 act of reading, he set fire to the curtains at one of the 
 windows. Quickly the flames leaped to the ceiling, 
 and a few panes of glass broke. 
 
 "Fire! fire!" shouted Roger, 
 
 And he rushed headlong into the boudoir. 
 
 Sylvandire still held Monsieur de Royancourt's note 
 in her hand. She made a movement to hide it; but, 
 on seeing the wreaths of flame and smoke that filled 
 the salon, she drew back, gave a shriek, and lost 
 consciousness. 
 
 Roger opened her fingers, while the salon burned, and 
 rapidly read as follows : — 
 
 " Let us forget the past, Sylvandire ; often have I re- 
 pented of what we have done. As for your proposition, to 
 flee together and leave France, it is madness, and I reject 
 it ; besides, I begin to be ashamed of deceiving, as we are 
 doing, an honest man who overwhelms me with kindnesses. 
 Therefore, if you take my advice, Sylvandire, we shall sever 
 all connection. You say tliat you are dying for love of me ; 
 live for the husband who adores you, it would be more 
 Christian-like." 
 
 "Well, well, you twofold idiot!" said Roger to 
 himself. " Will you now hesitate 1 " 
 
 And he replaced the note in Sylvandire 's hand, still 
 cold and lifeless. Then, closing the door of the boudoir, 
 he rang for Breton. 
 
 The fire had consumed the curtains, caught in the 
 window-ledge, and scorched the wainscoting; but, no 
 longer finding easily assimilated food at hand, it licked 
 its feeble tongues along the casings and curled about 
 the wooden balustrades. 
 
 23
 
 354 SYLVANDIIIE. 
 
 The entire liutel was on foot in an instant, and ten 
 minutes later there was neither fire nor smoke. 
 
 Quito alone, Sylvandire came to herself, recognized 
 that she Avas in her boudoir, found the note crumpled 
 in her hand, believed that Roger had discovered noth- 
 ing, and, quite jubilant at having escaped safe and 
 sound from the doubly tlireatening disaster, issued 
 forth to mingle with tlie workers. 
 
 As soon as Roger saw her, he hastened to her side. 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu ! my darling Sylvandire, what a 
 misfortune ! Your room is quite spoiled. It was so 
 fresh, so bright! The repairing will debar us from 
 receiving for a month at least." 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Sylvandire in the sweetest of 
 tones, " let us go to Champigny." 
 
 " To Champigny ? " repeated Roger. 
 
 " Yes. Do you dread the memories the place will 
 recall ? " 
 
 Roger opened his mouth to say, " And why not to 
 Luzarches?" but he checked himself. 
 
 " Assuredly not, " he said aloud. " And you know 
 how precious to my heart are the memories that would 
 recur to me in the house that you have rendered so 
 dear; but to my mind, if you were as given to adventure 
 as you are adorable, we Avould take a thousand pistoles 
 and go off by ourselves, like two fond 'lovers, on a 
 visit to that beautiful Provence whose airs you sing so 
 marvellously to your harpsichord." 
 
 "Oh! my dear," said Sylvandire, making a charm- 
 ing little face, " would not such a journey be too 
 long ? " 
 
 "Very well, very well, dear! Let us say no more 
 about it; it shall be just as you wish." 
 
 But Sylvandire was too pleased at having escaped
 
 THE CHEVALIER SETS FIRE TO HIS HOTEL. 355 
 
 detection to Le obstinate in her refusal. Besides, she 
 decided that by going away she was likely to wound the 
 pride of Monsieur de lloyancourt who had just wounded 
 her love, and, as she desired to avenge herself on the 
 faithless one, she returned to Koger's proposition. 
 
 " Xo, dear, no," said she. "I will not deprive you 
 nor deprive myself of such a pleasure; and besides, I 
 have resolved to devote myself to pleasing you. Com- 
 mand, then, I am yours to obey." 
 
 Roger restrained the triumphant joy that filled his 
 breast. He made all his preparations; but, notwith- 
 standing the haste he made. Monsieur de Royancourt 
 and Sylvandire were reconciled during the interval. 
 
 Hence, one fine morning, the marquis proposed to 
 the chevalier and his wife that he should accompany 
 them to Provence. 
 
 This was not to Roger's mind. Nevertheless, he 
 appeared to hail Monsieur de Royancourt's proposition 
 with delight; but he invented a business pretext, by 
 means of which he postponed their departure. 
 
 He hoped that meanwhile a fresh quarrel would arise 
 which would bring about another falling out. 
 
 He was not deceived. 
 
 Roger intercepted a second note from Monsieur de 
 Royancourt, in which he announced to Sylvandire that, 
 in order that their rupture might not this time be 
 subject to the usual opportunities for reconciliation, he 
 was on the very eve of departure for Utrecht. 
 
 Sylvandire endeavored in vain to conceal her vexa- 
 tion. Roger could follow its progress in her face and 
 heart. 
 
 On the very day of Monsieur de Royancourt's 
 departure for Holland, she first resumed the subject of 
 .their journey through Provence.
 
 356 SYLVA.NDIRE. 
 
 "Oh! on my soul," groaned Roger within himself. 
 " I am playing the most ridiculous and the most revolt- 
 ing of all roles; but, thank God! we are nearing the 
 end." 
 
 He then seized with alacrity upon his wife's over- 
 ture, and, as every preparation had long before been 
 completed, on the next day, the first of June, 1713, the 
 young couple left Paris, as loving, apparently, as two 
 turtle-doves.
 
 A CHARMING EXCURSION TO PROVENCE. 357 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 HOW ROGER AND SYLVANDIRE MADE A CHARMING 
 EXCURSION TO PROVENCE, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 EoGER had played his little part so well, in the words 
 of King Charles IX. of Catholic memory, that up to the 
 very moment of his departure everybody was talking of 
 his love for his wife. Every one took him seriously, 
 even d'Herbigny, even Clos-Renaud, even Chastellux, 
 and it was said on all sides that, although the king had 
 been unable to regulate Richelieu's household by means 
 of the Bastile, the Chateau de Chalon-sur-Saone had 
 served the great monarcli's ideas of matrimony a better 
 turn in the case of the Chevalier d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Even Crette himself was his friend's dupe, and gave 
 credence to the public rumor. He knew what a beautiful 
 and persevering woman could accomplish, and, whenever 
 he saw Mademoiselle Poussette, he recommended her to 
 study Sylvandire as the model of a great coquette. 
 
 "Look at his wild schemes of vengeance, — all still- 
 born," he said. "Poor Roger! he wished to kill every- 
 body, and here he is now doing anything but that. 
 However, perhaps it is the wisest course; but certainly 
 the chevalier's example will not lead me to surrender 
 ray liberty." 
 
 While all Paris was engaged in conversation of this 
 sort, Roger and his wife were on their way to the South ; 
 two days after setting out they were passing through 
 Chalon. The chevalier desired to observe what effect 
 the sight of the prison in which he had been confined
 
 358 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 would have on his wife. He therefore conducted her 
 to tlie castle walls. 
 
 " Well, " demanded Sylvandire, after having two or 
 three times looked first at the walls and then at him, 
 " why do you wish me to see this horrible building 1 " 
 
 " Because it is where I spent eleven montlis while you 
 were searching all the world over for me, darling," an- 
 swered Roger. 
 
 Sylvandire made a charming little motie which 
 meant, — 
 
 "Goodness! however amiable the governor, one could 
 not find it very entertaining in that place." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Roger, in answer to his wife's thought; 
 " yes, I sufTered much there, but more from our separa- 
 tion than from my imprisonment." 
 
 " And we were so far from suspecting it," was Sylvan- 
 dire's response. The " we " struck Roger as charming. 
 
 On the following day, Roger and Sylvandire reached 
 Lyons, where they stayed two or three days. In his 
 constant solicitude for Sylvandire, Roger would not per- 
 mit her to become fatigued. 
 
 During these two or three days, Roger and Sylvandire 
 made a pilgrimage to Notre Dame de Fourvieres, tlie 
 most famous of all the madonnas of France for preserving 
 perfect harmony in families where it exists, and restoring 
 it to those from which it has departed. 
 
 On the part of Sylvandire and Roger, this, of course, 
 was an unnecessary precaution: they loved each other 
 devotedly, they anticipated no diminishing of their mu- 
 tual affection. 
 
 After a stay similar to the one they had made at 
 Chalon, the couple quitted the second capital of France, 
 and halted successively at Valence, Orange, and Avignon. 
 
 At Avignon, especially. How could one pass by
 
 A CHAKMIXG JOURNEY TO PROVENCE. 359 
 
 Avignon and fail to visit the fountain of Yaucluse? 
 That would have been high treason against poetry. 
 
 Now, in those days, lovers Avere very fond of poetry, 
 and especially fond of nature; they loved hill, valley, 
 and stream. See " Astree " and " Cleoputre." 
 
 They therefore made a pilgrimage to the fountain of 
 Vaucluse, just as they had made one to Notre Dame de 
 Fourvieres, and all the way Roger kept calling Sylvan- 
 dire his dear Laura, and Sylvandire addressed Eoger 
 only as her handsome Petrarch. 
 
 Beggars to whom they gave alms along the road shed 
 tears at sight of the beautiful pair. 
 
 They continued their journey and came to Aries. 
 They desired to see the ruins of the city which at one 
 time disputed with Byzantium the title of queen of the 
 world. Save for the mistral, according to the savants, 
 Aries was Constantinople. 
 
 But there was just then much less interest in antiquity 
 than in an event that had happened within a fortnight. 
 
 A worthy bourgeois of the town of Aries, whose mis- 
 fortune it had been to take unto himself a wife with a 
 character the very opposite, it seemed, of his own, un- 
 able to endure the daily annoyances due to their clashing 
 temperaments, resolved for his part to become a wid- 
 ower. But to become a widower would avail nothing, 
 unless he could achieve his purpose in such a way as to 
 be shielded from the rigors of the law. 
 
 Now, here is the expedient to which that worthy 
 Arlesian resorted to attain his end. 
 
 On the banks of tlie Bhone he had a country house very 
 TOUch liked by his wife, whose custom it was to spend all 
 her Sundays there. The means of transportation usually 
 employed by the lady upon these occasions was a charm- 
 ing little mule, appropriately caparisoned, and of which,
 
 360 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 as the country-side said, as much care was taken as of the 
 pope's. What did the murderer do 1 For the three days 
 preceding the accustomed journey, he deprived the poor 
 animal of all drink; it followed that, on Sunday morning, 
 accompanied by her husband, who, for once, wished to 
 be of her party, the dame set out, riding her mule. The 
 latter, constantly on the lookout for water, had no sooner 
 caught sight of the Rhone, than she broke into a run that 
 nobody could check, and dashed into the flood with the 
 speed of a stag as it leaps into a stream when hard pressed 
 by a pack of hounds. Fortunately or unfortunately, as 
 the reader cliooses to adopt tlie point of view of husband 
 or wife, the Khone was at that point so swift that both 
 dame and mule were swept away by the torrent; and, again 
 fortunately or unfortunately, the water, being as deep as 
 it was swift, both very soon disappeared beneath tlie 
 waves, while the husband, chained to the bank undoubt- 
 edly by grief, raised a great hue and cry, tossing his arms 
 and shouting for help in the hope that no help would 
 come. 
 
 His hope was realized. The wife and mule were 
 drowned together. The liusband regretted the mule; 
 but great causes demand great sacrifices. 
 
 However, the affair had made such a noise that justice 
 bestirred itself. The husband was summoned to appear in 
 court; but he had seemed so disconsolate, he had shed so 
 many tears over the death of his consort, that, in the ab- 
 sence of evidence, the judge had set him at liberty. 
 
 Sylvandire was deeply moved by the poor woman's 
 fate, and lioger declared, in his indignation, that if the 
 man were not a clown he would seek him out and de- 
 mand satisfaction for his infamous conduct. 
 
 And they hastened to leave the unfortunate town, and 
 the next day arrived at Marseilles.
 
 A CHARMING JOURNEY TO PROVENCE. 361 
 
 As this was the goal of their journey, they made 
 arrangements to stay for a time at a hotel. On the very 
 day of their arrival, they went for a stroll on tlie Can- 
 nebiere and the Allees de Meilhan, everywhere making 
 open display of their affection, as evinced by the most 
 extravagant endearments. People took them for a recently 
 wedded pair enjoying their honeymoon, and they gazed 
 in admiration. 
 
 In the hotel where they stayed, among the people 
 whom they met, everywhere, in short, favorable com- 
 ment was made upon this fortunate pair. 
 
 " What a handsome man, and how his wife adores 
 him ! " exclaimed the women. 
 
 All Marseilles was talking of Roger and Sylvandire. 
 
 One day, Roger, who had gone out alone in the early 
 morning, returned to their rooms and told his wife that 
 toward noon they would go to pay a visit to a Sardinian 
 broker through whom he had just disposed of a trouble- 
 some piece of property. 
 
 On Sylvandire's asking what toilet would be suitable 
 for the occasion, Roger replied, — 
 
 " The handsomest you have, my dear. I wish this 
 stranger to report in his own country that in all his 
 travels he has seen no woman more beautiful than you." 
 
 Such advice Sylvandire always followed with an 
 alacrity that did credit to her conjugal obedience. Her 
 beauty, moreover, enhanced by elegant laces and flash- 
 ing diamonds, was truly supernatural, and when she 
 entered her chair, the bearers themselves were dazzled. 
 
 The Sardinian lived in the Rue du Paradis. He was 
 a tall old man whose beard was gray and pointed, as worn 
 in the time of Cardinal Richelieu by Jew, Greek, Arab, 
 everybody, in short, Sardinian excepted, and he spoke 
 all tongues. He seemed to be impatiently awaiting
 
 362 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 his two visitors; with brightening countenance ho 
 hastened forward to meet them. Sylvandire's beauty 
 seemed to electrify all who came near her. 
 
 Nothing breeds confidence like success. Sylvandire 
 observed the effect that she produced; she was adorably 
 gracious and amiable. 
 
 Like a gallant husband, and to show to advantage the 
 treasures of his wife's intellect, Roger turned the conversa- 
 tion sometimes upon trivial, sometimes upon grave, topics. 
 
 Sylvandire supported Boileau's test, and passed with 
 perfect ease " from grave to gay, from lively to severe." 
 
 Roger swelled with pride ; from time to time he would 
 give the Sardinian a significant nod which might be 
 taken to mean, — 
 
 " You see that I told you the truth." 
 
 And the broker would reply with a look that clearly 
 meant, — 
 
 " She is a woman such as one seldom sees. " 
 
 Roger begged Sylvandire to speak Italian, and for half 
 an hour Sylvandire engaged in conversation in the Tuscan 
 idiom and with a Roman accent. 
 
 Roger begged Sylvandire to play something on the 
 harpsichord, and Sylvandire played a bit from the opera 
 of " Orphee, " and sang to her own accompaniment. 
 
 The strains terminated in the midst of applause, and 
 the listeners exchanged nods and smiles afresh. 
 
 The Sardinian whispered a few words in Roger's ear. 
 
 " Oh ! as to that, " replied the chevalier, " it is impos- 
 sible! and I fear that madame would never consent, 
 whatever my entreaties." 
 
 " Why, what is monsieur saying, dear ? " asked 
 Sylvandire. 
 
 "Nothing," answered Roger. 
 
 " But what is it ? "
 
 A CHAKMING JOURNEY TO PROVENCE. 363 
 
 "He requests an impossibility." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " He says that he has seen the Spanish gypsies dance, 
 the almchs of Egypt and the bayaderes of India. " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " And he pretends — " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " He is convinced that you surpass them all in grace, 
 and he is sure that if you would dance a minuet or a 
 gavotte — " 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Sylvandire. 
 
 " There, I told you so, my dear," returned Roger; " it 
 is not to be thought of." 
 
 "Yet, my love," said Sylvandire, not wishing to stop 
 on the high road to coquetry and conquest, " if I had 
 some one to go through the figures with, I would will- 
 ingly dance a minuet." 
 
 " Here , take me, " cried the old Sardinian. 
 
 " Very well, " said Roger, " and I will supply the 
 music." 
 
 And he struck up the air of the minuet of " Exaudet, " 
 while Sylvandire, with her grotesque partner, executed 
 its figures with ravishing grace and precision. 
 
 Sylvandire's success rose to a triumph. 
 
 " How old is madame ? " inquired the merchant in 
 tones of profound admiration. 
 
 "Nineteen years, seven months, and fifteen days," re- 
 plied Roger, " not yet twenty years old, monsieur, not 
 twenty years old! " 
 
 " You did not say a word too much, my dear mon- 
 sieur," returned the Sardinian; "and your eulogies of 
 madame have, I must admit, fallen below the trutli." 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur ! " exclaimed Sylvandire, casting a 
 grateful glance at her husband.
 
 364 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " No, upon my word, " proceeded the broker with a 
 leer, " you are the most charming lady I have ever met, 
 a truly Oriental beauty, a pearl of the seraglio, a veri- 
 table houri, a priceless woman." 
 
 " It seems to mc, dear Roger, that I am very gallantly 
 complimented in your presence," affectedly remarked 
 Sylvandire. 
 
 " No, dear, " returned Roger ; " you are worthily appre- 
 ciated, that is all." 
 
 Thereupon they took their leave; but, as he was 
 showing them out, the Sardinian invited the couple to 
 breakfast with him, tlie next morning, on board of a tar- 
 tan riding at anchor off the harbor. Besides the break- 
 fast, there would be the sport of fishing; it was the 
 season of the year for sardines. 
 
 A pleasure party so novel seemed enchanting to Syl- 
 vandire, who was accepting cordially, but on ^ observing 
 that Roger made no response, she turned uneasily 
 toward him. 
 
 "Well," she asked, "why are you silent? Would 
 you refuse 1 " 
 
 " No, my dear ; but I have my fears." 
 
 "Fears! and of what?" 
 
 " That you may not prove to be a good sailor." 
 
 " Oh ! there is no danger. " 
 
 " Then you wish to join this fishing excursion ? " 
 
 " I am dying to do so. " 
 
 " Your will is law." 
 
 " Delightful husband that you are ! " 
 
 " Very well, then, my dear host, " said Roger, " expect 
 us to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow, " repeated Sylvandire. 
 
 " To-morrow, " echoed the Sardinian. 
 
 On the morrow, at the appointed hour, they were at
 
 A CHARMING JOUEXEY TO PROVENCE. 365 
 
 the Sardinian's. A neat and handsome little shallop 
 awaited them at the quay a short distance above the 
 custom-house. All three got into it and they were taken 
 out to the tartan, which was moored off the Chdteau 
 d'If. 
 
 It was a beautiful vessel, built for speed, and it 
 skimmed the waters like a sea-bird. It was commanded 
 by a captain thirty or thirty-five years old, who was 
 noticeable for his Oriental face and his foreign costume. 
 The captain spoke only Italian, which afforded Sylvan- 
 dire fresh opportunity for displaying her linguistic 
 talent. He had magnificent eyes, a Grecian nose, and 
 teeth like pearls. 
 
 They breakfasted heartily. They saw the nets drawn 
 in, breaking with the weight of the fisli, and they agreed 
 forthwith to be present at the torchlight fishing on the 
 next night. 
 
 As they went back to their lodgings, Sylvandire was 
 tireless in her praises of the captain; how handsome he 
 Avas, how strong, how brave, what a loftj'^ style of expres- 
 sion he had, how luxurious had been his entertainment 
 of his guests, how obedient his crew at a word, a gesture. 
 
 a sign 
 
 " Most assuredly, " said Sylvandire as they walked 
 along the quay, " that man is above his station. " 
 
 " Most assuredly, " answered Eoger. 
 
 The next morning Roger went back to the Sardinian's; 
 on his return, he found his wife laughing and dancing 
 quite alone. 
 
 "Good!" said he, "she is in love with the captain 
 already." 
 
 They were not to start until six o'clock in the after- 
 noon. Every ten minutes Sylvandire glanced at the clock; 
 she would have liked to turn the hands forward. Roger
 
 36 G SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 smiled Ijilterl}^ aiul shook liis head; but Sylvandire was 
 not tliiuking of liogcr. 
 
 At tlio monieiit of embarking came tlio permit from the 
 inspector of the port. Koger asked the Sardinian if 
 they would have good weather. 
 
 " Superb, " answered Sylvandire. 
 
 ]>ut the Sardinian winked very significantly, as if to say, 
 " Never fear, we shall have the sort of weather we need. " 
 
 They entered a small boat, and, as they were rowing 
 against the wind, they advanced very slowly. As a 
 result, night came on, and they were still only off the lie 
 de I'ommegue. During the passage, great clouds had 
 gathered on the horizon, and were rolling in like a tide ; 
 then they surrounded the moon, which, losing itself amid 
 their cottony billows, seemed like an island of fire ; but, 
 little by little they drcAV it within their dense folds and 
 extinguished its light. 
 
 The sea itself was threatening, and dashed noisily 
 against the rocks and the shore. 
 
 Through the darkness, long streaks of phosphorescent 
 foam were seen speeding like trails of fire. 
 
 " Hon Dieu ! " cried Sylvandire, " it seems to mo that 
 we are going to have a storm." 
 
 " What do you say to the weather, my dear host, " 
 inquired Roger of the Sardinian. 
 
 " Fine weather for feezing ! fine weather for feezing ! " 
 answered the latter, with a mocking look which Sylvan- 
 dire caught, and which frightened her. 
 
 " What do you mean, monsieur ? " she asked, shrink- 
 ing back against Roger. 
 
 Roger shuddered at the touch of this woman whom he 
 had loved so well, and whom perhaps he still loved. 
 
 Mechanically he drew away. 
 
 " I am afraid, " said Sylvandire.
 
 A CHAEMING JOURNEY TO PROVENCE. 367 
 
 Hogor did not speak, and he let his head fall into 
 his two hands. 
 
 The Sardinian at that moment lighted a torch, and, 
 rising, he waved it for some time in tlie air, and then he 
 extinguished it. 
 
 Tlie wind moaned in melancholy gusts; it sounded 
 like the wailing of human souls. 
 
 Suddenly, a flash illumined the heavens, and by its 
 light the tartan was seen tacking about, only five hundred 
 feet away. 
 
 Presently, they descried something advancing through 
 the gloom ; it was a yawl manned b}' five men. 
 
 Two men were rowing; two men were standing in the 
 bow; the fifth was sitting in the stern. 
 
 In the last, Sylvandire recognized the captain of the 
 tartan. 
 
 But the face that she had deemed so handsome the 
 day before, she now thought stamped with a sinister 
 expression. 
 
 " Come alongside ! " shouted the captain in Italian. 
 
 And tlie two boats lay side by side. 
 
 " Moil Dleic ! " exclaimed Sylvandire, judging from 
 the expression of the new-comers' faces that they had 
 nothing to do, as she had supposed, with a pleasure party, 
 " Mon Dieuf what is the matter? What are they going 
 to do 1 " 
 
 She had barely uttered these words when both oars- 
 men and the two men in front boarded their boat; and 
 while the two oarsmen seized, or pretended to seize, 
 Roger, the others took Sylvandire in their arms and bore 
 her away. 
 
 "Roger!" she cried, " Eoger ! help! help! save me, 
 "Roger! save me, save your Sylvandire!" 
 
 Instinctively and mechanically Eoger sprang up; but
 
 368 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 the two men held him fast. True, had Roger wished, he 
 could have taken one in each hand and hurled both 
 together into the sea. 
 
 Mean wl die, white with terror, Sylvandire was taken 
 from the boat into the yawl. 
 
 "Roger, Roger!" she essayed to cry once more. 
 "Roger, help! I am dying!" 
 
 And she lost consciousness. 
 
 As Sylvandire's voice died away in its last appeal, 
 Roger was forced to recall all the hardships that he had 
 endured, all the dishonor that had been heaped upon 
 him, all the shame that he had suffered, to refrain from 
 leaping into the yawl and snatching her from the hands 
 of those men. 
 
 He lifted his head, and he let it fall again between his 
 hands. 
 
 " Push off! " cried the Sardinian. 
 
 The captain took Sylvandire from the arms of the 
 men that had kidnapped her, the oarsmen sprang to their 
 oars, and the yawl moved swiftly away. 
 
 " Addio, 2>adrone ! " shouted the captain. 
 
 " Addio I " returned the trader, with the malicious 
 little laugh peculiar to him. 
 
 Roger sent a long look after Sylvandire. He could still 
 see her white dress shining out in the night; and, as 
 men and yawl were already lost to sight in the darkness, 
 one might have fancied it a ghost gliding over the surface 
 of the sea. 
 
 But, in a few moments, it, too, had disappeared in the 
 fog, and nothing more could be seen. 
 
 The old man immediately seized the oars and began to 
 row away from the yawl, and in the direction of the 
 land, with a sturdiness that one would never have looked 
 for in his thin and debilitated frame.
 
 A CHARMING JOURNEY TO TROVENCE. 309 
 
 " Well, " he said to Roger, after almost ten minutes of 
 silence, and easing up the movement of his oars, " well, 
 now you are free, monsou le sevalier. Have matters 
 gone as you wished, and are you satisfied with us? " 
 
 " Yes, " replied Roger, gloomily, " yes, I am free, 
 thanks to a crime! " 
 
 " Bah ! a crime ! " repeated the old man ; " you need 
 not look at it so. It is a joke, that is all. Your lady is 
 going straight to Tunis. The captain has orders from an 
 Indian prince Avho wishes a French wife. You were tired 
 of yours ; now both are suited. " 
 
 Roger took a last look at the horizon and saw indeed, 
 in a field of moonlight, the tartan speeding away into the 
 Avhite fog in the direction of Tunis. 
 
 " Come, " said the old man, " we must think of our- 
 selves now, for we are nearing land. Rend your clothes 
 quickly, wet yourself from head to foot in the sea-water, 
 and Ave must break a bench or two of the boat." 
 
 With respect to himself, Roger silently executed 
 these orders, and, aided by the Avind Avhich became more 
 and more threatening, they arrived in port at about one 
 o'clock in the morning. 
 
 As soon as the Sardinian came in sight of the Round 
 ToAver, he set up such a clamor of sobs and groans and 
 A'^ociferations that Roger Avas aroused from a horrible 
 trance into Avhich he had fallen. 
 
 "Opovero! o povero marito ! " he cried. " OJiime! 
 oliime ! " 
 
 These ejaculations, Avith all their changes rung in a 
 variety of tongues, brought out the custom-house officials 
 and their body of guards, Avith here and there a scatter- 
 ing of belated citizens. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " shouted the chief of the 
 excise-men. 
 
 24
 
 370 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 " The matter! You can ask wliat is the matter! Ahf 
 che schiagure, such a beautiful woman I Oh ! die 
 'peccato ! " 
 
 And, all the while the old man was venting his unin- 
 telligible cries, the bark continued to advance. 
 
 "But tell us what has happened!" cried the by- 
 standers, 
 
 Tlien, while landing, the old man declared tlmt just as 
 they had reached the tartan where Roger, Sylvandire and 
 himself were about to join a fishing party, a boat caught 
 by a big wave had crashed into them, breaking the 
 rudder and a bench, and the shock was so violent that 
 Madame d'Anguilliera who was standing, had been pre- 
 cipitated into the sea. 
 
 The old man went on to say that Roger had immedi- 
 ately jumped after his wife, but in vain. The sea was 
 heavy, the night was black. The unfortunate Sylvan- 
 dire had been seen no more. 
 
 And you should have seen the Sardinian's frantic ges- 
 ticulation, his mad pantomime! You should have heard 
 him embellish his recital with all tlie amplifications of 
 Italian rhetoric ! 
 
 Six times Roger had dived. The Sardinian had 
 endeavored to hold him back by his coat-skirt, but in 
 vain; finally, when he was about to go down the seventh 
 time, he had seized him round the waist, had mastered 
 him and held him by main force, assuring him that his 
 wife had been picked up by the other boat. At last 
 Roger had fainted away and he himself, poor old man, 
 had meanwhile brought the skiff into port. As for the 
 men in the yawl, they had not been seen again nor did 
 he know what people they were, the violence of the 
 waves having instantly swept them out of sight. 
 
 Monsieur d'Anguilhem was pitied; some of the by*
 
 A CHARMING JOURNEY TO PROVENCE. 371 
 
 stauders, more sympathetic than others, shed tears. He 
 stood speechless, downcast, motionless. His dejection 
 was taken for despair bordering on madness, and their 
 interest in him was augmented by his forlorn attitude. 
 Had he been poor, he would have been overwhelmed 
 witli alms, the circumstances were so evident, his grief 
 so real. 
 
 Upon returning to his hotel, Roger shut himself up. 
 His patron escorted him back, and narrated to every one 
 the night's sad accident. Roger had given orders that he 
 should be left alone with his grief ; and so no one entered 
 his room except the Sardinian trader, who came the next 
 morning at ten o'clock to learn how the bereaved husband 
 had passed the night. 
 
 Then each looked to the bolting of the door, and Roger 
 counted out five hundred pistoles to the Sardinian ; in 
 exchange for which, the latter presented him an official 
 report signed by four known citizens of the place, setting 
 forth in minutest detail the nocturnal misadventure 
 which had caused Madame d'Anguilhem's death. 
 
 The Chevalier d'Anguilhem despatched this official 
 report to Maitre Bouteau, together with a letter full of 
 chastened reflections. 
 
 He also announced the loss of his well-beloved wife to 
 the Marquis de Crette, d'Herbigny, Clos-Renaud, and 
 Chastellux. 
 
 Then he started for Anguilhem, where he arrived 
 twelve days after Sylvandire's embarkment for Tunis. 
 
 Now, let us frankly avow a fact which our readers 
 have undoubtedly already guessed. 
 
 The Chevalier Roger Tancrede d'Anguilhem had 
 purely and simply sold his wife to a Tunisian corsair, 
 whose agent in France was the Sardinian broker. 
 
 It was not badly planned for a provincial.
 
 172 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 HOW TTIE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM LEARNED THAT 
 HIS FATHER HAD NOT DELIVERED TO MADEMOI- 
 SELLE DE BEUZERIE THE LETTER RESTORING HER 
 FREEDOM, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 
 
 The Baron d'Anguilhem, it will readily be understood, 
 "with his mingled love and respect for the chateau of his 
 fathers, had not experienced such a change of fortune 
 without thought of affecting a few changes for the better 
 in his estate. The marriage over, his affairs with Roger 
 settled, back at Anguilhem, in short, he had set about 
 the great work that had so long engaged his mind, and 
 which want of funds alone had kept him from undertaking. 
 
 The first of these improvements had been a grand av- 
 enue of sycamores, which he had laid out in front of his 
 house, and which in these two years and a half had already 
 become very handsome; moreover, between the trees had 
 been set a hedge of elder and hazel. At the end of the 
 avenue, which was nearly an eighth of a league in length, 
 was seen to rise the manor of Anguilhem, enlarged by a 
 story, which was itself surmounted by a belvedere pavil- 
 ion, a fashion that was beginning to be introduced, even 
 in the environs of Loches. 
 
 Needless to say, in this architectural renovation, which 
 lent the house a lordly little air that was delightful to 
 behold, the famous tower of La Guerite had been scrupu- 
 lously respected. 
 
 Then, having enlarged his house, the baron bethought 
 himself of extending his domains. He bought the famous
 
 THE CIIEVALIEK FINDS IIIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 373 
 
 marsh, two leagues in extent, which offered nothing but 
 fine snipe and duck hunting for winter, but wliich gave 
 the estate the same stretch that the old barony had pos- 
 sessed ; then, one after anotlier, he had bought up all the 
 little woodlands that had so long been objects of covetous- 
 ness with him, so that the baron was now able to speak 
 of my woods, my marshes, my meadows, — a privilege 
 which, to do him justice, he did not abuse. 
 
 Finally, dependents were added in proportion to the 
 estate. 
 
 He had two farmers instead of one, three horses were 
 in his stable, and among them figured Christopher, whom 
 he had brought back with him from Paris, and who, like 
 tlie old soldiers that fought at Steinkerke and Bergen-op- 
 Zoom, was looked upon as a pensioner ; then, besides the 
 two women, Mesdemoiselles Marie and Gothon, and the 
 gamekeeper, Lajeunesse, he had two additional men 
 servants. 
 
 Nor have we made mention of the Abbe Dubuquoi, 
 who, no longer needed as a tutor, was elevated to the 
 rank of librarian, and who spent his time among the 
 booksellers of Loches, extolling tlie two hundred and 
 forty ill-sorted volumes that formed the utmost extent 
 of his empire. 
 
 Thanks to this establishment, beneath, however, rather 
 than above his means, the Baron d'Anguilhem was con- 
 sidered the richest landholder of the neighborhood. 
 
 The three hundred thousand livres which he had re- 
 tained out of Monsieur de Bouzenois' fortune brought him 
 in, therefore, a million a year in bows, and bows that 
 were the most sought after in the province. 
 
 As for the baroness, she remained precisely the same, 
 that is to say, the most perfect type of the excellent 
 wife, the excellent mother. However, she had added to
 
 374 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 tlie six gowns already in her possession, the two gowns 
 that she had had made in Paris; but, upon great occa- 
 sions, she still continued to make the pastry herself, 
 which she did, moreover, to perfection, and to dry with 
 her own hands the handsome Japanese plates that Roger 
 had wiped so carefully. 
 
 We have led back to Roger by this route, because, in 
 the midst of their changed fortunes, the good father and 
 the tender mother thought only of the son to whom they 
 owed it all. When they were together, which happened 
 often, the chevalier's name, uttered by the one or the 
 other, was very certain to turn the conversation on the 
 topic of this well-beloved son; and yet, it must be said, 
 there were moments when the baron and the baroness 
 accused Roger of ingratitude. 
 
 This was because Monsieur and Madame d'Anguilhera 
 had known nothing of Roger's imprisonment. Crette had 
 rightly comprehended that the announcement of such 
 news would prostrate them, and since they, confined in 
 their province and possessed of no relative in Paris, could 
 in no manner assist their son's friends in the steps they 
 were taking, he had determined to spare them useless 
 grief. He had therefore written them that the chevalier, 
 having been charged with a secret mission, had set out 
 for Holland, notifying them, in addition to this, that, as 
 his place of residence must be concealed from all, they 
 would probably receive no letter from him for a time, 
 owing to the measure then recently adopted by the gov- 
 ernment, and so happily continued even to our own day, 
 of opening letters for the very innocent purpose of know- 
 ing what they contained. They had, therefore, had no 
 news of Roger for fifteen months, and this, thanks to 
 Crette's letter, his parents had clearly understood; but 
 what they had been quite unable to make out, on the other
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS HIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 375 
 
 hand, was that Lochcs did not lie on the shortest route 
 from Paris to The Hague. 
 
 Upon his release from prison, Roger had written to 
 Anguilhem; but, warned by Crette, he had maintained 
 liis parents in error. His letter, as may be supposed, had 
 been welcomed with delight. Yet, after so long an al> 
 sence, they especially longed to see him. Invitations to 
 come and spend a month at the Chateau d'Anguilhem 
 had then succeeded each other with the unweariedness of 
 maternal love ; but, in the midst of his grave purposes, 
 Roger had not had time to attend to the claims of his 
 good parents. 
 
 When starting for Marseilles, Roger had at last written 
 that lie was about to make a trip through Provence, and 
 that he would return by way of Anguilhem, where he 
 would stay a month or two. 
 
 At once, all Avas put in readiness at the chateau to re- 
 ceive the heir apparent, to feast the prodigal son. Men 
 were set at work tipon the finest room in the house, and 
 more furniture was ordered from Loches, in order that 
 Madame d'Anguilhem should want for nothing on her 
 arrival. 
 
 Hence, when a chaise made its appearance at the end 
 of the sycamore avenue, advancing with a smartness of 
 pace that did not bespeak the province, a shout rang 
 through the chateau : " The chevalier ! the chevalier ! " 
 and all fell into line. 
 
 The chaise came on at full speed. It stopped at the 
 entrance. The door opened, and Roger fell into the arms 
 of his father and mother, who wept tears of joy ; then 
 from their arms he turned to those of his old tutor, the 
 Abbe Dubuquoi. 
 
 A few steps behind them stood the servants, the old 
 drawn by their affection, and the new by curiosity.
 
 376 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 01(1 and new found the young master a very handsome 
 lord. 
 
 As for Castor, he was barking from the kennel, and 
 bounding as if he would break his chain. 
 
 After the first excitement, the baroness remembered 
 that one of her children was missing. She glanced at 
 the carriage, and, seeing it empty, she cried, — 
 
 " And where is Madame d'Auguilhem ? " 
 
 A vivid blush overspread Koger's covmtenance, and a 
 tear that was not hypocritical fell from his eye. 
 
 Let us hasten to say that only one fell. 
 
 " I have met with a great misfortune, mother, " said 
 Koger. " I have lost Madame d'Auguilhem. But let 
 us go in; I will tell you about it." 
 
 It would be difficult to convey to the reader an idea oi' 
 the outcry of grief and amazement that met, in the salon, 
 the recital of the catastrophe at Marseilles. 
 
 The baroness thought herself about to faint away with 
 grief, and fell to repeating like Geronte, — 
 
 " What business had she to be in that vessel ? " 
 
 However, Roger very soon consoled her, and, to 
 accomplish the great miracle, he had needed only to take 
 his mother aside and say to her these few words, — 
 
 " God, who knows all, mother, knows that Madame 
 d'Auguilhem did not make me happy, and, unfortunately, 
 the world knows also that she has not always held our 
 name in the respect which was its due ; her misfortune is 
 therefore but a punishment." 
 
 Forced to lie on many points, on this one, at least, 
 Roger did not lie. 
 
 It had been more than three years since Roger had 
 seen Anguilhem ; but his absence had not been long 
 enough for him to have forgotten anything. All its asso- 
 ciations were still fresh in his heart, and every one of
 
 THE CHEVALIEE FINDS HIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 377 
 
 them was connected with his love for IMademoisclle de 
 Beuzerie. Older memories he had none; it seemed to 
 him as if he had begun to live only on the day on which 
 he first saw Constance. 
 
 As we have said, the baroness had made ready the 
 finest room in the chateau ; but Koger asked to sleep in 
 his little room. It will be remembered that it was there 
 that the young girl, whom he thought dead, had appeared 
 to him, bidding him live. He approached the picture of 
 Christ, knelt, as he had formerly been accustomed to do, 
 and tried to recall his childish prayer; but, when he had 
 prayed in those days, he was young, pure, full of illusions 
 and of faith ; and above all he had not committed an act 
 that, take it altogether, strongly resembled a crime. 
 
 Roger went to bed ; but he lay there a long time with- 
 out going to sleep. At last, sleep came, and dreams with 
 sleep ; the picture seemed to be swinging back again as 
 in his boyish vision ; but this time, not Constance 
 appeared, but Sylvandire, who descended from the ped- 
 estal and came, cold and icy, and lay down beside him. 
 
 Three times Eoger awoke, and three times, on falling 
 asleep again, did he dream the same dream. 
 
 He rose in the morning at dawn, went himself to the 
 stable and saddled Christopher, and, as he hoped to 
 drive away the memory of Sylvandire by one more 
 tender, he followed the road to the place where, on a 
 certain Easter night, he had found Monsieur de Beuzerie's 
 coach upset in the marsh, and had returned in triumph 
 with Constance on this same Christopher who, after an 
 interval of six years, was taking him back to the same 
 spot. 
 
 Roger recognized the place. It seemed to him that 
 the event had happened but yesterday, and that all that 
 had happened since was a dream.
 
 375 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 At breakfast time, iu a calmer mood aiul a more tran- 
 quil frame of mind, lloger returned to the cliiiteau. The 
 reminiscences of morning had gained the better of the 
 dreams of night; Constance had vanquished Sylvandire. 
 
 During the breakfast, Roger inquired after the entire 
 neighborhood; but, as is usual with people who think 
 very much of one person, of that one he dared not say a 
 word. He kept hoping that his father or his mother 
 would pronounce the name of Mademoiselle de Beuzerie; 
 but that name did not leave their lips. 
 
 To tell the truth, however, Roger's impatience was 
 not exempt from anxiety. Every moment, among the 
 genealogical enumerations of the province, he was expect- 
 ing to hear from his father's mouth these fatal words : — 
 
 " By the way. Mademoiselle Constance de Beuzerie has 
 married Monsieur de Croisey, " — or some other person. 
 
 But, to Roger's great surprise, the baron and the 
 baroness appeared to have a mutual understanding, and 
 neither of them mentioned Constance. 
 
 After breakfast, Roger mounted Christopher, who 
 moved off with a very bad grace. He Avas beginning to 
 think, having recognized in the chevalier a few old unre- 
 linquished traits, that his love-chases were about to begin 
 anew. Now, Christopher had grown older as well as the 
 other people in this story. Christopher, in short, was 
 six years older. 
 
 This time, Roger pursued a route that the poor animal 
 again recognized. It led to La Chapelle-Saint-Hippolyte, 
 whither Roger and Constance had fled, and whose good 
 cure had so scrupulously betrayed them. 
 
 He hoped that the cure, on recognizing him, would 
 inquire about Constance. 
 
 Alas! the cure was dead, and his place was filled by 
 another cure sent from Lorient. The new pastor had
 
 THE CHEVALIER FINDS IIIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 379 
 
 never known Constance; there was no likelihood then of 
 his mentioning Constance. 
 
 As for the new cure's housekeeper, he had brouglit her 
 with him from Lorient : there was then no chance of her 
 knowing more than her master. Besides, she spoke 
 nothing but low Breton, a language that Roger liad little 
 knowledge of, albeit the savants have since discovered 
 that it was the ancient Celtic tongue. 
 
 Roger therefore returned to the chateau as ignorant as 
 when he went away. 
 
 The same silence was maintained at dinner. Roger, 
 too, was silent and preoccupied; he ransacked every 
 corner of his brain for some phrase by which he might 
 broach that important topic. Finally, after a thousand 
 circumlocutions which brought him no help from his 
 parents, he ventured. 
 
 " And — and — you say nothing about our ancient feud 
 with the Beuzeries, father," he said, trying to smile. 
 
 " It lias quite calmed down, and we are cruelly 
 avenged," answered the baron. 
 
 "Indeed! and how is that?" cried Roger, trembling 
 in every fibre at the thouglit that perhaps Constance was 
 dead or unhappily married. 
 
 " Think of it, " replied the baron, the baroness mean- 
 while regarding her son uneasily, " think of it, Constance 
 is not married; she is still single." 
 
 Roger shook like a leaf. He reddened and grew pale 
 by turns. He essayed to rise from his arm-chair and fell 
 back into his place. Then tears came to his eyes, and 
 with a deep sigli he let his head sink upon his breast. 
 
 " Yes, " said the baroness, " she has been in retirement 
 now almost a year at the convent in Loches, and it is not 
 quite certain that, in spite of her parents' opposition, she 
 will not take the veil."
 
 380 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Now, when Roger tlioiight tliat he had lost C6nstance, 
 he had wished to join the Jesuits. So, when Constance 
 lost Roger, slie had desired to become a nun. 
 
 God, then, is at the bottom of all true love. 
 
 "Unmarried," thought Roger; "unmarried, and lov- 
 ing me, doubtless, all the time! " 
 
 " She, who was so proud, " said the baron, ignorant of 
 what was passing in his son's mind. 
 
 " You mean, " corrected tlie baroness, "whose parents 
 were so proud; as for Constance, God knows that she was 
 a dear, sweet girl, and I loved her as if I had been her 
 mother." 
 
 Roger thanked the baroness with a look. 
 
 " And — and what did she say of my marriage ? " he 
 hesitatingly continued. 
 
 " 1' faith, I know nothing about it, " replied the baron 
 with a slightly embarrassed air, " we have not seen the 
 Beuzeries since your marriage." 
 
 The conversation was dropped there ; but Roger grew 
 more thoughtful than ever, and he rose from the table 
 without having added another word. 
 
 After dinner, Roger took his gun, unchained Castor, 
 whose joy at going out with his old master restored for 
 the moment all his ancient vigor, and he resumed his 
 walks of other days in the direction of the warren ; but 
 in three years how many days have rolled away, and with 
 the days, how many events ! At every step of the way 
 he was confronted by regret or remorse; behind every 
 bush he dreaded to see Sylvandire and grieved tliat he 
 did not see Constance. 
 
 Roger's homecoming, however, was feted by all the 
 country-side ; the depression occasioned by the death of 
 the young baroness was not of long duration. Very few 
 had known her.
 
 THE CIIEVALIEK FIXDS HIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 381 
 
 Then there was another reason why the effect pro- 
 duced by the accident recounted by Roger to his mother, 
 and by his mother imparted to every one else, sliould 
 make so brief an impression : as a widower, Roger was a 
 marriageable man; Roger was twenty-two years old; 
 Roger was handsomer than he had ever been, even in the 
 days when he had been known as " handsome Roger " or 
 " handsome Tancrede ; " in short, Roger possessed, not 
 counting what would come to him at the death of his 
 parents, that is, not counting his expectations, as they 
 say in that infamous slang which is called the language 
 of business men, Roger, we say, possessed in liis own 
 right at the time the pretty income of fifty thousand 
 livres. * 
 
 Hence every mother began, little by little, to resume 
 her cherished idea of a match between Roger and her 
 daughter. 
 
 Roger was the hero, therefore, of the chase, of balls 
 and of fStes, but, alas ! he was a very melancholy hero. 
 Yet, at these gatherings he sometimes saw a face still 
 more melancholy than his own: it was the Vicomte de 
 Beuzerie's. Roger avoided him, for the sight of that old 
 man whose obstinate pride had been the chief cause of 
 his sorrows, hurt him grievously, summoning up as it did 
 a horde of bitter memories. 
 
 One day, when hunting, he met the viscount near the 
 very warren where, almost three years before they had so 
 violently quarrelled, and where, later, when setting out 
 full of hopes and illusions, Roger had taken leave of 
 Constance. 
 
 Monsieur de Beuzerie, who had at first crossed a 
 clover-patch in order to avoid a meeting with the che- 
 valier, changed his mind, and, going directly up to him, 
 he said, —
 
 382 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Monsieur d'Anguilhem, kindly tell mc yourself, that 
 I may have it from your own mouth, whether or not you 
 are married." 
 
 " I am a widower, monsieur, " replied Koger, tremhling, 
 
 "Then come with me, monsieur," rejoined the vis- 
 count, " and you will save my family from despair. My 
 daughter has gone into retirement at the Conception, she 
 ■will not listen to us ; she insists that we have deceived 
 her, that you are still single, that you have not released 
 her from her promise, in short, that she can give herself 
 only to you or to God ; and then, too, perhaps she has 
 gone mad, for her mother and I are unable to account for 
 her behavior during these last two years." 
 
 Roger dropped his gun and stared at the baron like a 
 man about to faint. 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " exclaimed tlie old man, moved even to 
 tears, " all has been visited upon our own heads, Mon- 
 sieur d'Anguilhem, and we are truly very unhappy." 
 
 Roger felt that his knees were giving way beneath 
 him. 
 
 " Oh ! monsieur le vicomte, " cried he, " forgive me, 
 forgive Constance. But I think I catcli a glimpse of the 
 truth; before going with you, permit me to return to 
 Anguilhem. I need to ask a word of explanation from 
 my father; after that, I am entirely at your service. At 
 what hour to-morrow do you desire to see me at 
 Beuzerie 1 " 
 
 " Wait for me, monsieur le chevalier, " answered the 
 viscount, " and to-morrow in passing I will call for 
 you." 
 
 " I will wait for you. " 
 
 " But, consider, this is no idle engagement. Monsieur 
 d'Anguilhem. I count upon you ; I may count upon you, 
 may I not 1 " he continued with kindly insistence, for he
 
 THE CIIEVALIEE FINDS HIS LETTER UNDELIVERED. 383 
 
 (lid not know whether the old insult that he had inflicted 
 upon Roger were not still rankling in his young neighbor's 
 heart. 
 
 Roger made him a sign with both head and hand at 
 the same time, and immediately set off along the road to 
 Anguilhem, However, after he had gone a hundred 
 paces, he turned and saw that the old man was sitting 
 down, motionless, and with bowed head, like a statue of 
 Resignation. 
 
 Two hours later, Roger had reached Anguilhem, 
 
 " Father," said Roger to the baron who was picking 
 some apricots in the orchard, " father, did you not, then, 
 deliver to Mademoiselle de Beuzerie the letter announcing 
 my marriage, which I begged you to hand to her 1 " 
 
 Monsieur d' Anguilhem, thus taken unawares, hesi- 
 tated a moment in embarrassment. 
 
 This confusion on the part of his father whom he pro- 
 foundly respected seemed to Roger like a grievous 
 reproach. Hence, instantly seizing the baron's hands 
 with his own, he cried, — 
 
 " Oh ! my dear father, be assured that whatever you 
 have done was done for the best." 
 
 " Well, no, my dear Roger, " said the baron, " I did 
 not deliver it. You had not told me what the letter con- 
 tained, and I must confess that, considering the delicacy 
 of our position, I feared the unfortunate letter might do 
 more harm than good." 
 
 " And the letter 1 " 
 
 " It is still upstairs." 
 
 And the baron, followed by Roger, returned to the 
 chateau, ascended to his room, drew from an oaken 
 cabinet, where it had grown yellow, the fatal letter, 
 elaborately sealed, and handed it to his son. 
 
 " Oh ! I comprehend it all, now, " cried Roger ; " I
 
 384 SYLVANDIEE. 
 
 had told her to believe only my own words, spoken or 
 written. She would believe nothing that did not come 
 from me, she has all this time been waiting for me to 
 make good my word; and she would have waited until 
 death ! Oh ! noble being, how she loved me ! " 
 
 Roger took tlie letter and went to his room, in order 
 that, quite undisturbed, he miglit reflect upon past 
 events, and perhaps also upon events to come.
 
 THE CHEVALIEK AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 385 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 HCW THE CHEVALIER d'anGUILHEM AND MADEMOI- 
 SELLE CONSTANCE DE BEUZERIE FIND TBEMSELA'ES 
 MORE IN LOVE THAN EVER, AND SOME OF THE 
 PERPLEXITIES INTO WHICH ROGER IS THEREBY 
 PLUNGED. 
 
 Roger passed a very restless night. Again, in his 
 dreams, he saw the picture turn, and this time it was 
 Constance who appeared ; but, just as she was stepping 
 down and approaching his bed, Sylvandire, Avith threat- 
 ening attitude, rose between her and Roger, and, try 
 as the unhappy young people might, they were ever 
 unable to come near each other. 
 
 However small Roger's faith in dreams might be, 
 this Avas so like the actual state of affairs, and so mar- 
 vellously prophetic that it left on his mind an impres- 
 sion not yet dissipated when, about eight o'clock in the 
 morning, Monsieur de Beuzerie arrived. 
 
 The old gentleman was on horseback. Roger at once 
 had Christopher saddled; for, since the day before, he 
 had guessed that he was to accompany the viscount to 
 the convent at Loches. Together they set off in the 
 direction of the town. 
 
 At times, as they rode along, the thought that he 
 was to see Constance again would cause the chevalier 
 such acute anguish of heart that he would suddenly rein 
 in his horse and grow so pale as to look as if he were 
 about to fall. Then Monsieur de Beuzerie would 
 
 25
 
 386 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 himself stop and regard him anxiously; but Roger 
 would at onco summon all his strength and proceed 
 again. 
 
 Soon Loches came in sight. Roger was conscious 
 of nothing hut that, amid that mass of houses, was a 
 house that enclosed Constance. Roger could think of 
 nothing save that, in half an hour, in a quarter of an 
 hour, in five minutes, he would he standing face to face 
 with her whom he had not seen for nearly three years, 
 and from whom, during those three years, he had 
 tliought himself eternally separated. 
 
 They entered the town; they entered the street. 
 They knocked at the convent door. The attendant 
 opened it. Monsieur de Beuzerie asked to see his 
 daughter, and the attendant answered in the calmest of 
 accents, — 
 
 "Very well, monsieur le vicomte. Go into the 
 parlor, and she will be summoned." 
 
 The reply was very simple and very natural , yet it 
 caused Roger to shiver. He was expecting to be told 
 that Constance was no longer in the convent, or per- 
 haps, as at Chinon, that Constance was dead. 
 
 They entered. A nun showed Roger and the vis- 
 count into the parlor, then left them alone. 
 
 The viscount and Roger exchanged not a word with 
 each other; but the father drew near the grating, while 
 the young man stood back, almost hidden in the half 
 light. 
 
 At the end of a few moments the door opened, and 
 Constance, dressed all in white, appeared and advanced 
 to the grating slowly and with a foot-fall that seemed 
 to make no sound. 
 
 She was pale and wan, but more beautiful, more 
 graceful than ever. One would have said that all that
 
 THE CHEVALIER AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 387 
 
 was earthly in her had been consumed by the fire of 
 love, and that, of the suffering woman of this world, 
 there remained but a blessed angel ready to wing its 
 flight heavenward. 
 
 But suddenly, on glancing beyond her father, Con- 
 stance's eye met Roger's. She faltered and uttered a 
 loud cry. Thinking her about to fall, Roger sprang 
 toward her, and, thrusting his arms through the grating, 
 he cried, — 
 
 " Constance, Constance ! I know that you are an 
 angel; but, perfect though you are, will you ever 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 " It is he! " exclaimed Constance. " It is indeed he." 
 
 And, lifting her clasped hands to heaven, with 
 upturned look, she said, — 
 
 "0 God, I thank thee. I did well to believe. I 
 did well to hope. He has come back to me." 
 
 "But it is nevertheless true that he was married," 
 said the Vicomte de Beuzerie, wishing to prove to his 
 daughter that he had not deceived her. 
 
 "Married!" repeated Constance. "Married! Roger, 
 is it true 1 " 
 
 "Alas!" said Roger. "I was forced to yield to 
 necessity, and here is the letter that I wrote you at the 
 fatal date, and which my father, inspired by God, I 
 believe, failed to deliver." 
 
 " Then why do you come here, Roger? " 
 
 " To tell you that I am — free, and to thank you for 
 your generous devotion." 
 
 " Free, Roger! Did you say that you were free ? " 
 
 " Yes," murmured Roger, in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 "Father," cried Constance, "let me leave this place! 
 God, God, I who have begged for death, wish 
 now, dear Lord, to live. Roger is free! "
 
 388 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Each tender word from the girl's lips was like a 
 dagger-thrust in Roger's heart. 
 
 Ho turned to Monsieur de Beuzerie, and begged for 
 a few moments' conversation with Constance. 
 
 The old man was so rejoiced to have his daughter, 
 whom he thought forever lost, again restored, that he 
 instantly granted Roger's request, and even left the 
 parlor. 
 
 The door had barely closed when Roger seized 
 Constance's hand and covered it with kisses. 
 
 " Constance ! " he said. " I was at the mercy of 
 an unconquerable necessity. Tell me, do you truly 
 forgive me ? " 
 
 " I forgive you, and I love you, Roger, more than 
 ever." Then, suddenly breaking off and covering her 
 face with her hands, she cried, — 
 
 " Oh ! wretch that I am ! I talk of my own happi- 
 ness, Roger, and give not a thought to the soul of the 
 poor dead woman whom I wrong, and who perhaps 
 curses me." 
 
 Roger felt a cold chill creep through his veins, and 
 he gave a sigh. 
 
 "You regret her, Roger," said Constance; "for 
 undoubtedly she was beautiful, oh, more beautiful than 
 I. That is not difficult to imagine, especially now; 
 but oh, she did not love you as I love you. Of that I 
 am very sure." 
 
 "No, Constance," replied Roger. "But I ought at 
 least to observe the proprieties. A certain length of 
 time is obligatory for mourning." 
 
 "Oh, yes, dear, yes, of course. Oh, with hope, 
 waiting is nothing. It is the waiting in despair that 
 kills. Now that you have come back to me after three 
 years, I am sure of you, Roger."
 
 THE CHEVALIER AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 389 
 
 And she held out her hand to liim with the angelic 
 trust that made her, all unconsciously, a woman sub- 
 lime in resignation and devotion. 
 
 Just then Monsieur de Beuzerie entered. The two 
 young people regarded each other with a smile. They 
 had said all they had to say, and yet it had been three 
 years since they had seen each other. But so much is 
 contained in the three words, " I love you," that when 
 these have been spoken, all has been said; and if one 
 would hear something new, they must be repeated. 
 
 " Well, Constance, are you ready 1 " said the old man. 
 
 Constance looked at Koger, as if to ask once more 
 •whether it were indeed true that she was to leave the 
 convent. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," said the chevalier to the Vicomte 
 de Beuzerie. "Yes, mademoiselle consents to give us 
 back all the happiness of which absence from her has 
 robbed us." 
 
 Constance pressed both hands upon her heart and 
 drew a deep breath. Then her lovely eyes glowed with 
 feeling, a sense of joy sent the blood to her cheeks, and 
 she looked as radiantly beautiful as an angel. 
 
 Yet Monsieur de Beuzerie and his daughter could 
 not leave abruptly. That step would have looked 
 exceedingly strange. Roger, on the other hand, could 
 not remain. He therefore saluted Monsieur de Beuzerie 
 and Constance, whose hand he kissed a last time. And, 
 while father and daughter Avere taking leave of the 
 superior and preparing for their departure, Roger, stung 
 with remorse, the prey of conflicting emotions, returned 
 alone to the Chateau d'Anguilhem. 
 
 His mother saw him pass, his face distorted. On 
 tiptoe she followed. She listened at the door of his 
 room and heard him burst into sobs.
 
 390 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Sadly shaking her liead, like a poor woman who has 
 some foreljoding of disaster, without knowing what is 
 wrong, the dear dame returned to her chamber; and 
 because her son was weeping, she wept. 
 
 Soon tlie rumor spread through the whole province 
 that the Yicomte do Beuzerie and the Chevalier 
 d'Anguilhcin had together visited Mademoiselle Con- 
 stance de Beuzerie, and, as a result of this visit, the 
 novice had renounced her design of taking the veil, 
 and had returned to her father's house. 
 
 In this unlooked-for return of the young girl to more 
 mundane ideals, all thought they saw a ready solution 
 of the differences that had formerly arisen between the 
 two families, and which Roger's marriage had caused to 
 spring up with intensified bitterness. 
 
 Constance herself had not a doubt of her future hap- 
 piness. She had kept her faith in Roger when absent. 
 How, then, could she bring herself to doubt him when, 
 after three years, he had returned to her, as fond as 
 ever? 
 
 And, in point of fact, surrounded by all the associa- 
 tions of his youth, Roger had reverted to his first, his 
 only love. Now that he was again with Constance, 
 he well knew the sentiment with which he had regarded 
 Sylvandire to have been a very material love, a delirium 
 of the senses, a surrender to the spell of beauty; and 
 that love, never attaining an elevated plane, had always 
 been love fraught with jealousy and unrest. His 
 feeling for Constance, — it was happiness. 
 
 But his happiness was cruelly troubled by the 
 memory of the accident at Marseilles. At times Roger 
 succeeded in forgetting that terrible night, and then his 
 face would lighten up with supreme joy. A smile of 
 ineffable happiness would settle upon his lips. Then
 
 THE CHEVALIER AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 391 
 
 a sudden thought would cross his mind. Roger would 
 grow as pale as death, his flesh creep, and a cold 
 perspiration start from every pore. 
 
 The unhappy man always saw that white fog on the 
 horizon, with the tartan fleeing in the direction of 
 Tunis. 
 
 As we have said, Roger had expressed to Constance 
 the wish to appear in mourning for a year, and Con- 
 stance had commended his observance of the conven- 
 tionalities. Roger had not said a word of marriage. 
 But Constance, having remained faithful to Roger in 
 spite of his infidelity, seeing Roger return, had not 
 thought it necessary to speak of a union which she 
 considered as long before contracted in the sight of God. 
 Consequently, when Roger, hoping that the distractions 
 and the tumult of the capital might expel from his 
 mind the terrors by which it was assailed, spoke of the 
 necessity of a journey to Paris, on the pretext of attend- 
 ing to his afi'airs, Constance raised no objection, and 
 merely asked when he intended to return. 
 
 "As soon as I can possibly do so," replied Roger. 
 
 And, to the confiding girl, that reply was sufficient. 
 
 Thereupon Roger took leave of the Chateau d'Anguil- 
 hem, of the baron, of the baroness, of the Abbe 
 Dubuquoi, of Christopher and Castor; and, having 
 written to the Marquis de Crette that he would be with 
 him in eight days, he set out, travelling by short 
 stages. 
 
 But, after the third day, Roger could not endure the 
 sluggish progress. It left him too much time for 
 thought on subjects that he wished to forget. He took 
 post-horses, and reached Paris on the fourth night after 
 his departure. 
 
 There was yet another terrible moment for Roger.
 
 392 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 It was when lie entered liis hotel, which he had left in 
 company with Sylvandire. He scarcely dared raise 
 his eyes, fearing to see a light in his wife's apartment, 
 and dreading to hear a servant say , — 
 
 " Madame returned in the absence of monsieur le 
 chevalier, and begs that monsieur le chevalier will 
 go to her." 
 
 But the apartment was dark and closed, and no voice 
 was raised to speak of Sylvandire. Breton attended his 
 master. Roger trembled in the presence of this old 
 confidant of his jealousy. It seemed as if Breton, 
 who knew all his grievances against Sylvandire, looked 
 at him in a curious way which said, — 
 
 " Well, now we have taken our revenge ! " 
 
 But a more trying ordeal than any of these was one 
 that awaited Roger as he presented himself at Monsieur 
 Bouteau's. The father-in-law's eye was searching. 
 One is not a judge for nothing; but Roger had mar- 
 shalled all his reserves for this occasion, and he bore 
 it without flinching. The president did not love 
 his daughter, whose character he had been able duly to 
 estimate in the nineteen years during Avhich he had 
 watched over her; but to question had become a habit 
 with him, and he would not have been averse to a 
 petty criminal process, even in his own family. How- 
 ever, this time, he discovered no grounds. For why 
 should he set about sounding the depths of that shrewd 
 Roger, a man who, moreover, renounced his right of 
 inheritance 1 
 
 It followed that Maitre Bouteau mourned with 
 Roger the loss that both had sustained, but in such 
 moderation that he continued to dine occasionally with 
 his son-in-law, and they became greater friends than 
 ever. It was the admiration of everybody that Roger's
 
 THE CHEVALIEK AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 393 
 
 affection, even after his wife's death, still extended to 
 her family. 
 
 The intimacy existed three months, to the great 
 edification of those in a position to appreciate it. But, 
 one fine morning, while heatedly reproving a lawyer 
 who had been too bold of speech, Maitre Bouteau, a 
 man of an irascible temperament, and possessed of a 
 short, thick neck, fell in a fit of apoplexy, and died 
 without recovering consciousness, an event that was not 
 unalloyed with pleasure for Koger, nor one that would 
 have displeased the best son-in-law in the world, who, 
 had he been placed but twenty-four hours in Roger's 
 position, would have understood how the worthiest 
 of fathers-in-law can sometimes become an irksome 
 load. 
 
 At the first news of this accident, the housekeeper, 
 who had been with Maitre Bouteau for fifteen years, 
 hastened to summon Eoger. Eoger repaired to the 
 home of his father-in-law, but, as we have said, the 
 honored president did not regain consciousness. 
 
 The will was opened, Maitre Bouteau left three 
 hundred thousand livres to his son-in-law, five thousand 
 livres to Mademoiselle Fanchon, his housekeeper, and 
 one hundred thousand livres to be divided up in pious 
 legacies among churches and hospitals. 
 
 As to cash on hand, it was out of the question. Nor 
 was there found a single stray sou. Mademoiselle 
 Fanchon was a systematic woman. 
 
 With all the honors due to his social position, 
 Maitre Bouteau was buried in the cemetery of Pere- 
 la-Chaise, which was beginning to be the fashionable 
 cemetery of the day. 
 
 The hundred thousand crowns bequeathed to him by 
 his father-in-law proved a great embarrassment to Koger.
 
 394 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 The money weigliod upon him singularly. It was 
 Sylvandire's inheritance; but how was he to get the 
 money to her? There was the rub! Besides, with 
 that amount, Sylvandire could ransom herself and return 
 to France, Roger trembled at the thought. 
 
 He resolved, nevertheless, to hold that sum always 
 available in bonds payable to the bearer. 
 
 Let us turn from Maitre Bouteau, of whom we are 
 glad to be rid, to the Marquis de Crette, with whom, 
 thank God, we have not yet done. 
 
 If Maitre Bouteau had had a germ of suspicion, in 
 Crette the germ had attained full growth.; but he was 
 that rare combination, a courtier and a man of delicacy. 
 Moreover, he loved Roger as he would have loved a 
 brother. Hence he asked his friend no questions about 
 his wife; but, in the course of conversation and paren- 
 thetically, he said, — 
 
 "By the way, my friend, you know I had an old 
 account to settle with Royancourt, " 
 
 " Yes, " said Roger, 
 
 " Well, knowing that you must not be implicated, I 
 went to look him up at Utrecht, and there I publicly 
 trod on his toes in such a fashion that I at last got him 
 to fight." 
 
 " Well 1 " demanded Roger, 
 
 " I gave him a pretty little sword-thrust in the 
 abdomen," 
 
 " You have killed him then ? " 
 
 "No, not exactly. He is just now in the hands of 
 an excellent surgeon. Yet, as the wound was serious, 
 I doubt that he will survive the winter. Do not be 
 too grievously afflicted if you learn at any moment that 
 he has passed from here to the hereafter. " 
 
 In fact, one morning they read in the " Holland
 
 THE CHEVALIER AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 395 
 
 Gazette," the following notice, under the heading of 
 Amsterdam, March, 1714: — 
 
 " Monsieur le Marquis de Royancourt died this morning 
 from the eifects of a wound received while hunting. This 
 gentleman came to us eight months ago, charged with a 
 special commission from His Most Christian Majesty." 
 
 "Come, come," thought Roger. "It looks as if 
 God must be watching over honest men, after all, since 
 He is ridding me of all my persecutors one after 
 another. Indeed, the proverb is right that says, ' God 
 helps those who help themselves ! ' " 
 
 It was Crette that showed Roger the death notice. 
 
 " Your prison debts are paid," he remarked when the 
 chevalier had read the article in question. " I have 
 discharged one, and you have discharged — " 
 
 But Roger turned so pale that Crette broke off 
 abruptly, and, holding out his hand to his friend, 
 said, — 
 
 "Forgive me, chevalier. I am not prying into your 
 secrets. But you know that if those secrets were of 
 such a nature as to compromise you any day, you will 
 find me in the future what you have found me in the 
 past. " 
 
 Roger pressed the hand of the marquis and heaved a 
 great sigh ; but he made no other response. 
 
 This caused the marquis to understand that the 
 matter was very serious. 
 
 Then Crette fell back upon his usual advice, — dis- 
 traction; and, knowing no greater distraction than that 
 afforded by a mistress, Crette advised Roger to take 
 Mademoiselle Poussette, were it only for a short time. 
 The matter would be very simple, as she was just then 
 solacing Chastellux, who, having also suffered severely
 
 396 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 through his affections, had also been in need of 
 consolation. 
 
 But Koger answered that his own sorrows were 
 incurable. 
 
 Crette saw that he must leave it all to time. 
 
 However, as time wrought no change in Roger's 
 melancholy, and as, on the contrary, it became more 
 and more deep-seated, Crette concerted with his friends 
 to procure him some diversion from time to time, and 
 in spite of himself, as it were; but the diversion 
 almost always had a different result from what that 
 excellent friend intended. 
 
 Thus, one day when d'Herbigny had persuaded Roger 
 to ride with him to Saint Cloud, and being convinced 
 that Roger's decline proceeded from grief at the death 
 of his wife, as a lady passed them in an open barouche, 
 d'Herbigny remarked, — 
 
 " Ah ! that lady looks like poor Sylvandire ! " 
 
 Then, as he turned to observe the effect of his sym- 
 pathetic words, he beheld Roger gripping the saddle 
 with both hands, wild-eyed, and as pale as death. 
 
 " What a weakness he had for that woman ! " said 
 d'Herbigny to himself, as he shook his head. " Really, 
 it is of no use; he will never get over it." 
 
 And he brought Roger, more dead than alive, back 
 to his hotel. 
 
 On another occasion, when Roger, d'Herbigny, Crette, 
 and Chastellux had all four dined together, Chastellux 
 proposed to his friends that they go to the Comedie- 
 Frangaise, of which he was a constant frequenter, in 
 consequence of his connection with Mademoiselle 
 Poussette. Crette and d'Herbigny accepted, in the 
 hope of amusing Roger. Roger accepted without 
 knowing what was proposed.
 
 THE CHEVALIER AND CONSTANCE AGAIN IN LOVE. 397 
 
 " PhMre," which was beginning to find favor with the 
 public, was being played, and " Monsieur de Pourceau- 
 gnac," which then, as now, was privileged to excite the 
 audience to the highest pitch of hilarity. Roger, all the 
 time plunged in reverie, had listened to " Phedre " with- 
 out hearing it, yet he was beginning to be somewhat 
 diverted by the comedy, Avhen they came to the scene 
 where the two lawyers sing to the unhappy Limosin 
 spouse, accused of having taken two wives: — 
 
 " Polygamy 's a banging matter." 
 
 Now this scene, which threw the people into spasms 
 of delight, had a wholly contrary effect upon d'Anguil- 
 hem. He uttered several inarticulate sounds which 
 his friends took for laughter. Then, throwing himself 
 backward, he fell fainting into Crette's arms. 
 
 They carried him back to the h6tel, very ill, and all 
 through the night he was delirious. 
 
 Crette had the forethought to send every one away, 
 and he watched alone beside him. 
 
 On the next day the Marquis de Crette seemed 
 almost as care-ridden as his friend, who very soon 
 rallied from this attack, although at the same time 
 falling into a despondency that deepened day by day.
 
 398 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 HOW THE PERSIAN AMBASSADOR, MEHEMET RIZA BEG, 
 CAME TO PARIS TO PRESENT THE RESPECTFUL COM- 
 PLIMENTS OF HIS SOVEREIGN TO LOUIS XIV., AND 
 HOW THE CHEVALIER d'ANGUILHEM WAS CON- 
 STRAINED TO PAY A VISIT TO THAT ILLUSTRIOUS 
 PERSONAGE. 
 
 What rendered Roger more and more melancholy was 
 the fact that time was passing with frightful rapidity, 
 and that of the year required for mourning already 
 nine months were gone. 
 
 As we have seen, Roger had not, strictly speaking, 
 made Constance any promise; but it was evident that 
 Constance was in no need of promises from Roger 
 to regard their union as a settled thing. From the 
 moment that Roger had gone to beg her to withdraw 
 from the convent and she had agreed to return to the 
 world, there had been a tacit understanding that she 
 was to become Roger's wife. Besides, everybody 
 thought so, — the viscount, the viscountess, the baron 
 and the baroness, the neighbors, all, in short, that had 
 known of the old love affair between Roger and Con- 
 stance, and had heard the news of their recent 
 engagement. 
 
 Then, let us add, Roger himself loved Constance 
 more than he had ever loved her. Every other day he 
 received a letter from the maiden, and every letter was 
 a new leaf from the book of her heart, where Roger 
 read the promise of inetfable joy. The situation was a
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET RIZA BEG. 399 
 
 terrible one. Fear held Roger back. Love urged him 
 on. His union with Constance presented two faces, 
 the one happily smiling, the other deathly sad. 
 
 Twenty times Roger was on the point of setting out 
 for Anguilhem to confess everything to his father and 
 to Constance; but as Minerva restrained Achilles, so 
 Roger's good genius restrained him. 
 
 At last, urged on by all, driven to his last entrench- 
 ment, and at his wits' end after another delay of six 
 months, he pledged his word for the beginning of 
 December, 1714. Then he affected to fall ill, hoping 
 to die; and finally, he fixed positively upon the month 
 of February, 1715. 
 
 Any excuses sufficed to Constance, who did not even 
 question them. All delays she had accepted with 
 saintly resignation. In the interval, also, she had lost 
 her mother, and she too was wearing deep mourning. 
 
 It had been decided that the wedding should take 
 place in Paris, and eight days before its celebration 
 the baron and the baroness established themselves in 
 the Hotel d' Anguilhem, while the Vicomte de Beuzerie 
 and his daughter stayed at a neighboring house, where 
 Roger had provided for their entertainment. 
 
 At the Hotel d' Anguilhem all had been changed: 
 furniture, hangings, pictures, everything, even to the 
 mirrors. Roger would have regarded it as profanation 
 that Constance should make use of any article whatever 
 that might have belonged to Sylvandire. 
 
 It will be remembered that Roger had sent his 
 mother her share of the diamonds left by Monsieur 
 de Bouzenois. These were the baroness' wedding 
 present to her daughter-in-law. 
 
 Now, the approaching marriage of the Chevalier 
 d' Anguilhem made a great stir in society. People
 
 400 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 talked only of that and of the arrival of the Persian 
 ambassador, Mehemet Riza Beg, who had, as we have 
 said, arrived at the capital, as the bearer of gifts from 
 his sovereign to Louis XIV. The ladies called on the 
 ambassador in the afternoon, and the gentlemen in the 
 morning. 
 
 One word about this singular personage, who, al- 
 though introduced in our story a little later on, never- 
 theless requires especial mention, 
 
 Mehemet Riza Beg, as we have said, was the per- 
 sonage who, for the time being, divided popular atten- 
 tion with the Chevalier d'Anguilhem. However, with 
 the modesty of which in the course of this most vera- 
 cious history we have given so many proofs, we must 
 admit that only a certain circle of Parisian society was 
 interested in Roger, while Mehemet Riza Beg was the 
 theme of all France. 
 
 In fact, since the year 807, when Abdallah was 
 despatched on an embassy by Haroun, the ruler of 
 Persia, to Charlemagne, the Emperor of the West, and 
 who brought from his sovereign a live elephant, which 
 was regarded as a great wonder, our succeeding sover- 
 eigns had never received any direct communication 
 from the land of the " Arabian Nights " until about 
 the middle of the year 1714, when the news was spread 
 that Hussein, the Shah of Persia, grandson of the great 
 Sephi, and son of the Sultan Soliman, having heard 
 the virtues of the great King Louis XIV. , extolled 
 even in Ispahan, his capital, had resolved to despatch 
 an ambassador to him with presents. This news, as 
 yet unconfirmed, had seemed singularly to flatter the 
 pride of the conqueror of Flanders; and as if Providence 
 was willing to offer an indemnity to his vanity at the 
 moment of reminding him of the nothingness of human
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET RIZA BEG. 401 
 
 grandeur, the news came that Mehemct Eiza Beg had 
 disembarked at Marseilles. 
 
 Great news for Versailles was the ambassador's arrival ! 
 The old king, grievously tormented by his circle of 
 bastards, stricken by the hand of God in the persons of 
 his sons and grandsons, was becoming more sullen than 
 ever, so much so, that Madame de Maintenon, although a 
 woman of resources, complained to her confidantes of 
 the terrible task she had undertaken of amusing a man 
 the most difficult to amuse of all, not only in France 
 and Navarre, but in the whole of Europe. 
 
 Mehemet Riza Beg was coming, then, it would 
 appear, in the very nick of time to galvanize, as we 
 nowadays say, the great sepulchre, as Versailles was 
 called, and the great cadaver, as they called Louis XIV. 
 
 Also there were people who said under their breaths 
 that Mehemet Riza Beg was not an ambassador of 
 Hussein, the Shah of Persia, but of Madame de 
 Maintenon, the anonymous queen of France. 
 
 However that might have been, and whencesoever 
 he may have come, Mehemet Riza Beg had been 
 received with great pomp. It was barely learned that 
 he had landed at Marseilles, when the king sent 
 Monsieur de Saint-Olon, his ambassador, to the King 
 of Morocco, to receive him. In fact, the honors due to 
 special envoys were rendered to Mehemet Riza Beg, 
 who reached Charenton on the twenty -sixth of January, 
 made his entry into the capital on the seventh of the 
 following February, and was admitted to a formal 
 audience on the nineteenth of the same month. 
 
 Now, as we have intimated, the ambassador was the 
 lion of the day. Nothing was talked of but his 
 grandeur, his peculiarities, and the anxiety to which 
 his capricious whims subjected the Baron de Breteuil, 
 
 26
 
 402 SYLVANDIIIE. 
 
 commissioned by the giciit king to entertain this envoy 
 doubly-extraordinary sent him by his brotlier, the 
 Shah of Persia. 
 
 It was therefore quite natural that, having seen 
 Paris and Versailles, Monsieur de Beuzerie and his 
 daugliter should request to see the ambassador. 
 
 Eoger, who was growing more cheerful with the 
 approach of his new happiness, saw no reason for deny- 
 ing his fiancee a gratification so small. 
 
 Consequently, as the nuptial blessing was to be 
 pronounced at noon, and as nothing is more tedious to a 
 newly married couple than the wedding day, during 
 which they are obliged to receive the congratulations of 
 parents and friends, it was decided to make the pro- 
 posed visit to the said ambassador between the ceremony 
 and the dinner. 
 
 The twenty-sixth of February was the day appointed 
 for the union of Constance and the chevalier. By 
 hardily confronting that moment so solemn to all, and 
 so terrible to him, Eoger had ended, not by forgetting 
 the position in which this second marriage was placing 
 him, but by disregarding it. 
 
 In brief, he was like one who had offered his life as 
 a sacrifice, who knew that at any moment it might be 
 taken, but who, meanwhile, was resolved to enjoy to 
 the utmost the days that were left. 
 
 Since morning Roger had surrendered to the intoxi- 
 cating delight of beholding Constance again. In gaz- 
 ing upon her all else was forgotten. 
 
 On emerging from Saint Roch, where the marriage 
 had been celebrated, her attendants escorted Constance 
 to her apartments for the purpose of exchanging her 
 bridal attire, and Roger and Crette took their way to the 
 Hdtel des Ambassadeurs, where Mehemet Riza Beg was
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET RIZA BEG. 403 
 
 installed in state. Gentlemen, as we have said, were 
 received in the morning, and ladies in the afternoon. 
 
 The Marquis de Crettd was acquainted with the 
 Baron de Breteuil, and had secured letters from him. 
 
 Thanks to their letters, they were at once ushered 
 into the presence of His Excellency. There was a 
 throng of visitors, and they passed in groups of four in 
 front of the ambassador, who, seated on a mat in the 
 middle of his salon, gravely bowed as they passed. The 
 names of the visitors were announced as they were 
 successively admitted. 
 
 When the turn of the friends came, the INIarquis de 
 Crette and the Chevalier d'Anguilhem were announced 
 as the others had been. 
 
 Riza Beg was at that moment engaged in smoking, or 
 rather, a slave, kneeling before him, was in the act of 
 lighting his pipe. 
 
 Roger observed that the slave, whose back alone 
 could be seen, had a comely figure. 
 
 On hearing the names of the Marquis de Crette and 
 the Chevalier d'Anguilhem, the ambassador started, 
 and the slave turned. 
 
 Having already advanced four steps into the room, 
 the two gentlemen stopped short and looked at each 
 other, pale and motionless, as if the slave's face, like 
 the head of Medusa, had turned them to stone; and 
 then, after a moment of bewilderment, they took one 
 another by the hand, saluted, and withdrew backward 
 out of the salon, without having even glanced at the 
 ambassador. 
 
 "0 Roger!" exclaimed the marquis, on reaching 
 the antechamber, " what a resemblance ! " 
 
 "Crette," replied d'Anguilhem, "it is no resem- 
 blance. It is Sylvandire herself, and I am lost! "
 
 404 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 Then, in few words, he related his story to the 
 marquis. However, he had left himself but little to 
 tell. During the night of his delirium he had revealed 
 nearly everything. 
 
 " In that case, " cried Crette, " you must flee at once. 
 Quickly secure all your gold and diamonds, and start 
 for Flanders, Holland, or England. Go to the ends of 
 the earth , but go at once. " 
 
 Roger did not move from the spot. 
 
 " But how does she happen to be with this beast of 
 an ambassador?" said Crette. 
 
 " Who can fathom God's designs ? " gloomily returned 
 Roger. 
 
 "Come, come!" cried the marquis, hurrying him 
 along. " No theology. Don't lose a second. Send 
 for post-horses, get a carriage, and be off ! " 
 
 " Without Constance ? Never ! never ! " 
 
 " But, my dear friend, do you know to what you are 
 exposing yourself 1 " 
 
 "To death, I know; but what matters death, pro- 
 vided I do not die until to-morrow 1 " 
 
 " Permit me to say that your reasoning is perfectly 
 absurd. To-morrow, my dear friend, you will, I hope, 
 have still less desire to die than you have to-day. You 
 must live, morbleu f and live a long time. So leave 
 to-day, this very instant. Only tell me where you are 
 going, and to-morrow or to-night I will send you your 
 wife. I will take her, if necessary, to you wherever 
 you are, and once together, you will forget the am- 
 bassador. You will forget Sylvandire; you will 
 forget the universe." 
 
 " No, Crette, no. Abandon me; you see, indeed, that 
 I bring only misfortune ! " 
 
 "Oh! if you lose your head, chevalier, that will
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEIIEMET RIZA BEG. 405 
 
 really be past endurance. Why, do j'ou wish to be the 
 laughing-stock of all France ? Do you wish — Diahle ! 
 bear in mind the gallows of Monsieur de Pourceaugnac. 
 Ajiropos , was that the reason — " 
 
 " Alas ! yes, my friend." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! But I urge you again to make up 
 your mind, Eoger. Peste ! the king makes no joke 
 of morals. Remember For-1'Eveque, the Bastile, 
 Chalon-sur-Saone. Fifteen months' imprisonment for 
 neglecting your wife. Then what would it be for 
 selling her ? " 
 
 Arguing thus, they arrived at the Hotel d'Anguil- 
 hem. Constance had gone with the baroness and her 
 young friends to pay her call at the ambassador's. 
 
 Crette profited by the opportunity to urge Roger to 
 action. Roger had nearly thirty thousand francs in 
 his cofi'er, and diamonds to the vakie of two hundred 
 thousand francs. It was more than enough for im- 
 mediate needs. He had therefore almost decided to 
 flee, when all the ladies returned. In consequence of 
 one of Mehemet Riza Beg's caprices, the doors of the 
 Hotel des Ambassadeurs had been suddenly closed, 
 and the reception postponed until five o'clock in the 
 evening. 
 
 The sight of Constance produced its efi"ect. Roger 
 possessed neither the strength to fly, nor the courage to 
 reveal the situation. Dinner was announced. Mechani- 
 cally, Roger followed his guests and took his place at 
 the table in such a state of preoccupation that it was 
 observed by all. 
 
 But, on his wedding day the head of a newly-married 
 man may be a prey to thoughts of such conflicting nature 
 that none would be indiscreet enough to ask him of 
 what he was thinking. Yet from time to time Constance
 
 406 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 regarded liim with misgiving, and at the least sotiiid 
 d'Anguilhom and Crctte would give a start and turn 
 their eyes upon tlie door. 
 
 In this manner the dessert was reached. Roger and 
 Crette began to be somewhat reassured. Roger smiled 
 upon his bride, and his smile was life to her. With 
 the charming high-bred manner that so few people have 
 preserved in these days, Crette was telling some of the 
 anecdotes that no one dares tell any more, when sud- 
 denly a hideous looking negro boy entered and asked for 
 Monsieur le Baron d'Anguilhem. 
 
 Monsieur d'Anguilhem^ere had already risen, when 
 Roger, comprehending that he was the one to whom 
 the summons was addressed, made a sign to his father 
 to be seated again, and, with blanched countenance, he 
 himself followed the negro. 
 
 Without strength to ask his guide a single question, 
 Roger descended the stairs. Besides, if any doubt had 
 remained to him, the matter would have been promptly 
 explained. In the centre of the court he saw a two- 
 seated chaise, and in the chaise, on the farther side, 
 sat the young slave that he had recognized in the 
 morning, and whose recognition had given him such a 
 terrible turn. 
 
 The slave made a sign for Roger to enter the chaise 
 and take the opposite seat. 
 
 Roger obeyed without a word, and sat down before 
 her. The husband and wife of other days confronted 
 each other. 
 
 " At last, dear Roger," said Sylvandire, " after many 
 difficulties, I see you again, thank God! " 
 
 Roger bowed. 
 
 "You did not count on me as a guest to-day, did 
 you? " proceeded Sylvandire, deriving from Roger the
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET EIZA BEG. 407 
 
 same pleasure that a cat has in pLaying with a mouse 
 before eating it. 
 
 " No, I confess I did not, " returned Roger. 
 
 " No. You thought me at Constantinople, at Cairo, 
 or at Tripoli at the very least. But I loved you so 
 much, my dear, that I could not endure absence from 
 you, and I eagerly seized upon the first opportunity 
 presenting itself to return to Europe." 
 
 "Excessively kind," muttered Roger. 
 
 "But how has my love been rewarded? I come, I 
 inquire about you. I am told that you are about to 
 take another wife, and that to-day, to-day even, you are 
 married; but understand that I am jealous, — ingrate ! " 
 
 Every one of her words froze poor Roger. Finally, 
 after a moment's silence, during which Sylvandire not 
 once took her eyes from his, Roger asked, — 
 
 " But what do you wish of me now 1 " 
 
 " I wish to know at what price you sold me, that I 
 may add the sum to the other small claims that I have 
 against you. " 
 
 " 3Ia fol," said Roger, "all things considered, I was 
 justified in selling a wife that had caused me to be 
 imprisoned. " 
 
 " I ought to have done worse than that, miscreant 
 that you are," answered Sylvandire in purring tones. 
 
 "Had me killed, perhaps? Ah! indeed, madame, 
 had you done that, you would, I admit, have rendered 
 me a valuable service." 
 
 "Listen," said Sylvandire. "A truce to jesting, 
 and let us talk business. " 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Roger. "But I swear 
 that for my part I am neither jesting nor in the least 
 disposed to jest. Therefore speak as seriously as you 
 will, I listen."
 
 408 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Roger, " resumed Sylvandire, " without a suspicion 
 of it, you liave created my happiness. I became 
 acquainted with Mehemet Riza Beg; I pleased him, 
 and he has made me his wife." 
 
 " What! " exclaimed Koger with a ray of hope, "and 
 you too are married ? " 
 
 " Yes, but in the Mohammedan way, which does very 
 well for that country, but which would certainly be 
 worth nothing here. So that I have really only one 
 husband, Avhile you have two wives. Now, you know, 
 my dear husband, polygamy is — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," said Roger. 
 
 "You are, therefore, nicely caught, completely in my 
 power, for I waited until the thing was done, you 
 understand ; and in any case, even though you had not 
 politely come and made me a call this morning, you 
 would have had mine this evening." 
 
 " Why, would you ruin me 1 " cried Roger. 
 
 " Fool ! What would I gain by ruining you? No, 
 no, dear Roger. In the first place, I wish you to give 
 me the hundred thousand crowns that you have inherited 
 from my poor father." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," cried Roger, " it is no more than 
 just, and I have kept the sum in bonds payable to 
 bearer, all ready to be sent to you." 
 
 And Roger moved as if to descend from the carriage 
 and go for his portfolio. 
 
 But Sylvandire checked him. 
 
 "Not so fast, now, not so fast," said Sylvandire. 
 " Oh ! that is not all. You are not to be let off so 
 cheaply. " 
 
 " I am waiting, " said Roger. 
 
 " Next, the one hundred thousand crowns of my 
 dot."
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET PJZA BEG. 409 
 
 " What ! your dot ? You know very well that I 
 never received any one hundred thousand crowns." 
 
 " I know that sum is specified in my marriage con- 
 tract, and that I must not wrong my second husband, 
 whose behavior, you will acknowledge, has been very 
 different from yours, since he bought me, and you — 
 you sold me." 
 
 "Very well, "said Roger, " as you will, the one hun- 
 dred thousand crowns shall be yours. " 
 
 "Next," began Sylvandire. 
 
 " What ! " cried Eogcr, " is there anything more 1 " 
 
 " Certainly, there is the price of my person, Diable! 
 my dear Roger, if not of age, I was at least emancipated, 
 and I owned an interest in myself. I am not a lawyer's 
 daughter for nothing." 
 
 "As to that," said Roger, " I can give you my word 
 of honor that I did not receive a sou, and I even — I 
 even — well, I gave five hundred pistoles to boot." 
 
 "Oh! it is ungallant of you to tell me that, mon- 
 sieur," coquettishly protested Sylvandire. " But as you 
 are a man of honor, and as you give me your word, I 
 believe you. So, if you like, it shall be six hundred 
 thousand livres." 
 
 " When do you wish the money 1 " asked Roger. 
 
 " I had a great mind, however," continued Sylvandire, 
 without replying to the question, "I had a great mind 
 to appear in the salon in place of staying in the court, 
 and be suddenly announced by the faithful Breton. 
 You still have Breton ? " 
 
 Roger bowed affirmatively. 
 
 "And have the faithful Breton suddenly announce 
 Madame d'Anguilhem, just to see your look of con- 
 sternation at finding yourself between your two wives, 
 Turk that you are ! But I preferred other satisfaction.
 
 410 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 As I said, give me six liunclrcd thousand livres, and 
 then we shall see." 
 
 " Where do you wish me to send tliis sum ? " asked 
 Eoger. 
 
 "To the embassy," replied Sylvandire. "Ask for 
 the favorite slave of His Excellency, Mehemet Eiza 
 Beg. I shall know what that means, and will respond 
 to the call." 
 
 " And when must you have the six hundred thousand 
 livres? " demanded E,oger, repeating the question that 
 had remained unanswered. 
 
 " In two hours. " 
 
 " In two hours ! " exclaimed Roger, " Why, you 
 might as well ask me at once to blow out my brains. 
 How do you expect me to get one hundred thousand 
 crowns togetlier in two hours t " 
 
 " Why, you have diamonds, sell them. You have 
 friends, draw on their purses. I am sorry to seem so 
 unreasonable, but we are leaving very shortly, my dear 
 Roger. His Excellency, Mehemet Riza Beg, has 
 remained solely at my request that he would wait until 
 your marriage was solemnized." 
 
 " In two hours ! in two hours ! " cried Roger. " Why 
 it is impossible. Wait at least until to-morrow 
 morning. " 
 
 " I will not wait a moment." 
 
 "Then do your worst." 
 
 " My worst, oh ! mon Dieu, that is simple enough. 
 I will enter the hdtel, go to your room, get into bed, 
 and wait till you come. Angola," pursued Sylvandire, 
 addressing the negro, and making a movement as if to 
 get out, " open the door, I wish to descend." 
 
 The negro grasped the door-knob. Roger detained 
 Sylvandire.
 
 THE CHEVALIER VISITS MEHEMET KIZA BEG. 411 
 
 "But think of the consequences." 
 
 " There are no consequences, save only for you. 
 Mehemet has no chiim on me but that of having bought 
 me. Now, I suspect that such a sale is decidedly 
 illegal in France. Besides, it was you that sold me. 
 It would come with a bad grace for you to reproach me 
 with what happened while I was in the hands of my 
 owner." 
 
 " But, madame — " 
 
 " Listen, " said Sylvandire. " I have said that I 
 would give you two hours, and, as I am as good as my 
 word, I still grant them; but if, in two hours — heed 
 me well — " 
 
 " Oh! 1 am not losing a word," returned Eoger with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " If in two hours the six hundred thousand livres have 
 not reached the hotel of the embassy — " 
 
 " Well ? " demanded Roger, anxiously. 
 
 "Well, dear Koger," replied Sylvandire, " expect to 
 hear Madame Eoger d'Anguilhem announced, and to 
 see me appear." 
 
 So saying, Sylvandire dismissed her husband with a 
 captivating little nod and an adorable smile. Then, 
 at a sign from his mistress, the negro opened the 
 carriage door, and Eoger alighted. 
 
 The carriage immediately began to move away; but 
 as far as the grand entrance, Sylvandire, her head 
 entirely out of the window, continued waving her 
 hand to Eoger.
 
 412 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 now THE MARQUIS DE CRKTTE NEGOTIATED MATTERS 
 IN THE NAME OF THE CHEVALIER d'AXGUILHEM, 
 AND BROUGHT THIS ENTIRE STORY TO A MOST 
 UNEXPECTED ISSUE. 
 
 KoGER found Crette waiting for him at the foot of the 
 staircase. 
 
 " Well ? " interrogated the marquis. 
 
 " Well, my friend, it was she ! " 
 
 " I suspected as much. What does she want 1 What 
 does she demand 1 " 
 
 " An impossibility. " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Six hundred thousand livres in two hours." 
 
 " Six hundred thousand livres in two hours! " repeated 
 Crette, " excellent ! " 
 
 " Excellent ! what do you mean 1 Why I have only 
 three hundred thousand livres in hand, and, in two hours 
 from now, if I have not found three hundred thousand 
 more, which is impossible — " 
 
 " Well, if you have not the other three hundred thou- 
 sand, what then ? " 
 
 " She will come to the h6tel and have herself publicly 
 announced as Madame Roger d'Anguilhem." 
 
 " She will not do it." 
 
 " Why 1 " 
 
 " I don't know why ; but if she could do it she would 
 have done it."
 
 THE MARQUIS DE CRETT^ NEGOTIATES. 413 
 
 "Ah! my friend." 
 
 "Listen, Koger: when people demand money and fail 
 to take their rights, they are in hiding; there is some- 
 thing back of it all." 
 
 " But, my friend, she is not in hiding, since she tells 
 me that in two hours she will announce herself in my 
 house as my wife." 
 
 "Yes, I know, it is alarming.'* 
 
 " My dear fellow, I shall go to my room and blow my 
 brains out." 
 
 "There is time enough for that yet; leave things 
 to me." 
 
 " But what can you do 1 " 
 
 " I do not know, but I shall try to save you." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear Crette, my only friend ! " cried Roger, 
 casting his arms around the marquis' neck. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand all that," returned Crette; 
 " but we must not waste our time weeping in each other's 
 arms. " 
 
 " Wliat must I do ? I place myself in your hands ; 
 command and I will obey." 
 
 " Detain your guests in the salon ; it is only half -past 
 eight, that will be an easy matter, therefore. Look as 
 cheerful as you can, • — I will not be too exacting, poor 
 fellow. Prevent any one's entering the salon without 
 Breton's knowledge. " 
 
 " I will station him at the door. " 
 
 " Now, give me the three hundred thousand livres that 
 are payable to bearer, all your jewels, and the cash that 
 you have. I will go to my notary and drain his purse. 
 The devil is in it if we do not get the requisite sixm." 
 
 " Yes, yes, Crette, get me the money, sell everything, 
 save me." 
 
 And Roger ascended the stairs with his friend, got the
 
 414 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 three liundrcd thnuf^and livres, went witli liim to Con- 
 stance's chamber and took all tlie diamonds that he had 
 given to liis wife. Then, Crette, leaping into the carriage 
 which had been ordered in the meantime, dashed away 
 with his horses at full speed. 
 
 Eoger went back to the salon, and as Crette had 
 directed, he put on as good a face as he was al)le. 
 
 Meanwhile, Crette hastened home antl secured twentj'- 
 five thousand livres; he proceeded thence to his notar}', 
 who gave him fifty thousand. These sums, with the 
 thirty thousand livres in cash that Eoger had given him, 
 and the diamonds rated at their inventory value, almost 
 made up the six hundred thoiisand livres demanded. 
 
 All this chasing about had consumed an hour and a 
 half. Hence there was no time to lose. 
 
 On leaving his notary, Crette gave orders to proceed to 
 the Hotel des Ambassadeurs. 
 
 Five minutes later, he alighted at the door. 
 
 He ascended the stairs. Thanks to the cliange made in 
 the hour of their reception, the ladies were descending. 
 
 He encountered Mademoiselle Poussette, who had just 
 made her call, and, who, with peals of laughter, was 
 returning to her carriage. 
 
 Crette, fearing that she would cause him to lose valu- 
 able time, endeavored to avoid her, but it was not to be 
 done. Mademoiselle Poussette had seen him; overcome 
 with laughter she permitted herself to sink into his arms. 
 
 " Well ! let us hear what has happened, " demanded 
 Crette. " Why are you laughing so, mademoiselle 1 " 
 
 " Ah ! my dear marquis, " cried Mademoiselle Pous- 
 sette, " the queerest adventure, the most unheard-of, 
 most unexpected, most mythological, most fabulous ! " 
 
 " 3Ion Dieu ! " thought Crette, " can she by any 
 chance have recognized Sylvandire 1 "
 
 THE MAEQUIS DE CEETT^ NEGOTIATES. 415 
 
 " An adventure such as one meets with in stories, in 
 fairy-tales, in tlie 'Arabian Nights,' an adventure that 
 you will not believe." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ! " cried Crette, " of course I shall 
 believe you ; but talk fast, my love, as I am pressed for 
 time." 
 
 " You are going up to the ambassador 1 " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then look at him well and squarely in the face, as I 
 am looking at you this moment; in imagination, divest 
 him of his beard, of his mustache, and then come to see 
 me to-morrow morning, that is all I have to say; or this 
 very evening, if you prefer it, monsieur le marquis," 
 added she, with a little squeeze of the hand and a most 
 gracious smile. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Crette, " I am to look the ambas- 
 sador well and squarely in the face, divest him of beard 
 and mustache 1 Poussette, my dear friend, do you 
 happen to know the ambassador ? " 
 
 " Do I know him ! — as well as I know you, as well 
 as I know d'Herbigny, as well as I know Chastellux, as 
 well as I should probably have known your friend Roger, 
 had he not always proved cruel." 
 
 " Poussette, my dear child, " cried the marquis, " you 
 can save my life." 
 
 " Your life, marquis 1 " 
 
 " No, not exactly mine, but my best friend's which is 
 absolutely the same thing — Roger's." 
 
 " What must I do 1" 
 
 "Who is this ambassador? His name, Poussette, his 
 name ! Twenty thousand livres and the good graces of 
 the handsomest gentleman in Paris. I pledge my word 
 for him; if he fails to pay, I will pay. Poussette, my 
 dear girl, what is the ambassador's name ? "
 
 416 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 " Ah ! for shame ! you think me selfish, marquis, you 
 deserve indeed — " 
 
 " His name, Poussette ! and by midnight I will bring 
 you the twenty thousand livres; expect me." 
 
 " Well, marquis, it is — you will never believe it. " 
 
 " Go on. I invariably believe what women tell me." 
 
 " It is — " 
 
 " Poussette, you torture me ! " 
 
 "Well, it is the Indian." 
 
 " What Indian ? " 
 
 " Why, the Indian, you know, my yellow lover. " 
 
 " Roger's opponent ? that man of the lawsuit ? 
 Afghano 1 " cried the marquis. 
 
 " Himself." 
 
 " Ah ! Poussette of my heart, come to my arms ! " 
 
 And, heedless of being seen by the people that con- 
 tinued to descend from the ambassador's, Crette folded the 
 demoiselle to his heart. 
 
 " But are you quite positive 1 " continued he, unable 
 to credit such good news. 
 
 " I tell you that I recognized him in spite of the beard 
 that he has grown, in spite of his blackened teeth, in 
 spite of his pink-tinted nails, and yet the monster made 
 believe not to see me ! Ah ! marquis, marquis, how 
 ungrateful men are! " 
 
 " My dear Poussette, " said Crette, " I will be proof to 
 the contrary. I shall be with you at midnight; expect 
 me to supper." 
 
 " And if Chastellux comes 1 " 
 
 " You Avill say that you have a headache." 
 
 "How you arrange things, monsieur le marquis!" 
 exclaimed Mademoiselle Poussette, endeavoring to blush. 
 
 " Not so well as you, I know, my Venus ; besides, I 
 rely entirely on your sagacity. Adieu, Poussette, and if
 
 THE MARQUIS DE CRETTlfi NEGOTIATES. 417 
 
 you liave told the truth, well, you have rendered me a 
 service that I will never in my life forget." 
 
 Mademoiselle Poussette regained her carriage, and 
 Crette mounted the stairs four steps at a time. At the 
 ambassador's door he was stopped by the negro. 
 
 "What do you want?" said he. "His Excellency's 
 reception for gentlemen is over." 
 
 " I am not seeking His Excellency, " returned Crette, 
 " but his favorite slave. " 
 
 " Then you come — " 
 
 " On behalf of the Chevalier d'Anguilhem." 
 
 " In that case, enter." 
 
 And the negro ushered Crette into a room furnished in 
 the style of the Orient; then, saying that he would ac- 
 quaint the person whom the marquis sought he left him. 
 
 And five minutes later Sylvandire entered. 
 
 " Ah ! it is you, monsieur le marquis, " said Sylvan- 
 dire. " I had a presentiment that I was about to have 
 the pleasure of meeting you again. My presentiment 
 was not at fault. Have you the six hundred thousand 
 livres 1 " 
 
 " No, " boldly answered the marquis. 
 
 " Then why are you here ? " 
 
 " To speak with your master, His Excellency Mehemet 
 Eiza Beg." 
 
 " From M'hom, seigneur 1 " asked Sylvandire, lightly. 
 
 " From Monsieur Voyer d'Argenson, lieutenant of the 
 police of the realm." 
 
 Sylvandire paled; Crette noted the effect of his 
 words. 
 
 " His Excellency cannot receive at present ; he is in 
 bed." 
 
 "Well," said Crette, "I will go and find some one 
 that will make him get up." 
 
 27
 
 418 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 "Stay," said Sylvandire. "I will see if His Excel- 
 lency is visible." 
 
 " Pardon, fair lady, " said Crette, " but I have reasons 
 of my own for Avishing to accompany you, otherwise — " 
 
 He made a step toward the door. 
 
 " Come with me, " said Sylvandire. 
 
 And she opened a door that led into a corridor. 
 
 The marquis followed, and with her penetrated to the 
 salon of the ambassador, who, seated on his mat, assumed 
 an air of lordly consequence that was ridiculous in the 
 extreme. 
 
 " Wait, " said Sylvandire, " I will summon the inter- 
 preter." 
 
 " It is quite unnecessary, " remarked Crette. 
 
 " What ! do you, then, know Persian, marquis 1 " 
 
 " No ; but His Excellency will be so kind as to speak 
 French." 
 
 " He has no knowledge of our language." 
 
 " Do you think so 1 " said Crette. 
 
 Then, approaching the ambassador and tapping him on 
 the shoulder, he said, — 
 
 " Am I not right, my dear Monsieur Afghano, in sup- 
 posing that, in my case, you will have the extreme good- 
 ness to remember that you speak French 1 " 
 
 The ambassador uncrossed his legs, threw back one 
 hand as a support, and, with blanched face, stared at 
 Crette. 
 
 " Oho ! " said Crette. " My dear monsieur, had I 
 thought the face of an old acquaintance could produce 
 this effect, I would have instructed madame to prepare 
 you." 
 
 " What do you wish, monsieur? " said the Indian. 
 
 " There, you see," said Crette to Sylvandire. " I told 
 you that His Excellency would make an exception in my
 
 THE MARQUIS DE CIIETTE NEGOTIATES. 419 
 
 favor ! I wish, dear Monsieur Afghano, " resumed Crette, 
 again turning to the false ambassador, " to notify you that 
 within one hour a warning will have been sent to the 
 king whom you have mystified, that lie has been made 
 your dupe." 
 
 The Indian became livid, and his liand stole toward 
 his poniard. 
 
 " There 1 there ! " said Crette, " no tragedy, I beg, 
 dear Monsieur Afghano, it would be useless ; for I warn 
 you that I am seconded by one who knows your whole 
 history, and who will in one hour start for Versailles, if 
 in that time I do not return to the hotel. However, my 
 dear friend, don't let that hinder you; kill me if you 
 like. I have never been able to distinguish myself, and 
 by such a death I should be almost immortalized. The 
 Marquis de Crette killed by His Excellency, Mehemet 
 Kiza Beg, Ambassador Extraordinary of His Most Sub- 
 lime Majesty, the Shah of Persia. Dlahle ! I should be 
 in great luck. But no : you \a.j your Aveapons aside ; you 
 return to more pacific ideas. Well, so be it, I am myself 
 a good-natured fellow; whatever suits you suits me. Let 
 us talk business." 
 
 The ambassador arose and went himself to bolt the 
 door. 
 
 " Yes, I understand, " continued Crette. " You pur- 
 chased madame, and you have a good bargain, for madame 
 is charming. You then formed each other's acquaintance, 
 which is quite natural; on acquaintance you discovered 
 that you each had a grievance against the same man, — 
 against poor Eoger. You then said: 'Very well, since 
 we have a hatred in common, let us have our revenge in 
 common.' Meanwhile, the report reached you that no 
 one could any longer amuse the king, and, being a man 
 of inventive turn, you improvised this embassy. Bravo !
 
 420 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 my dear fellow, bravo! There was everything to gain; 
 you pocketed the presents that His Very Christian Ma- 
 jesty had the kindness to grant you in exchange for the 
 baubles that you brought liim from your sovereign, for 
 whom, by the way, you have secured the reputation of a 
 niggard. As for my lady, her thoughts ran something 
 like this : ' I sliall make him surrender my father's inheri- 
 tance ' — which is just — * and my dnt,^ — which is much 
 less just, since madame never had a dot. With these 
 ends in view, you come to Paris, and fortune favors you 
 beyond expectation. You learn that Monsieur d'Anguil- 
 hem is about to marry, and you wait until the marriage 
 has taken place. Then when the deed is done, when 
 there is no retreat, you immediately begin to work the 
 gold mine that has just been opened up before you. And 
 so, you at first extract six hundred thousand livres through 
 dread of the rope that hangs from the neck of a bigamist. 
 But this is not all : after this demand comes another, and 
 this other is followed by still another. During your en- 
 tire life, you haunt the shadow of this blessed gibbet, 
 fleecing the chevalier until the inheritance from Monsieur 
 Bouzenois gradually reverts to the hands of Monsieur 
 Afghano. I think I have stated the case accurately, 
 have I not, jVEonsieur Afghano 1 have I not, madame ? " 
 continued Crette, alternately casting upon each a glance 
 that was half of amusement, half menace. " Didble ! we 
 are French, and, consequently, born wicked, says Mon- 
 sieur Boileau-Despreaux, whom madame must have read 
 in her youth." 
 
 Sylvandire and Afghano were crushed, and they cow- 
 ered before Crette like two criminals before their judge. 
 
 " Ah ! and now, " continued Crette, " as the position 
 of each is clear, the chevalier can be hanged for bigamy, 
 Monsieur Afghano can be quartered for forgery, Madame
 
 THE MARQUIS DE CRETT^ NEGOTIATES. 421 
 
 Sylvaudire can be sent to Saint Lazare as an adventuress. 
 Let us come to the point. 
 
 " You have received a million, or thereabout, from the 
 King of France, my dear Monsieur Afghano. In this 
 portfolio are three hundred thousand livres, your father's 
 bequest, my dear Dame d'Anguilhera, You, Monsieur 
 rindien, have nearly two million of your own; altogether 
 that makes, according to my reckoning, three million 
 three hundred thousand livres : a very pretty penny with 
 which to retire to Tripoli, to Constantinople, to Cairo, to 
 Ispahan, to Pekin, to any place you wish, in short, and 
 to lead the life of a sultan everywhere." 
 
 " Monsieur le marquis," said Afghano, " I swear I will 
 start to-morrow." 
 
 " Not so fast, not so fast ! I intend that you shall 
 start; but on two slight conditions that I am about to 
 name. " 
 
 " Speak, monsieur, I listen." 
 
 " Monsieur, do you swear never again to return to 
 Paris ? " 
 
 " I swear it." 
 
 " I believe you, for your oath is vouched for by your 
 fear of discovery. I will ask no other security than your 
 word, and I am quite sure that I shall never see you 
 again. " 
 
 The Indian inclined his head. 
 
 " But that is not the case with madame. Let her once 
 be separated from you, let you once go away, as soon as I 
 can no longer prove you an impostor and madame your 
 accomplice, madame might any day be seized with a de- 
 sire to return and seat herself at the conjugal fireside, 
 which would embarrass us greatly, since at this fireside 
 there is room only for two. Therefore I shall not leave 
 myself at the mercy of madame's word. Madame shall
 
 422 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 give mc a little letter, which I will dictate myself, and, 
 when I have that letter in my hands, why, madame may 
 follow you to the ends of the earth." 
 
 Sylvandire rebelled. 
 
 " You must, " said Crette. " It is hard, I admit, to 
 have come to lay down the law and to have it dealt 
 out instead; this is a condition sine qua no7i." 
 
 " And if I refuse 1 " 
 
 " On leaving here, I shall go to the chief of police. I 
 shall expose your little fraud, and in half an hour you 
 will be in the Bastile." 
 
 " But, " said Sylvandire, " we are not friendless, mon- 
 sieur le marquis ; we did not come here without having 
 taken precautions. We have powerful allies." 
 
 " As Monsieur de Royancourt cannot be in question, 
 since I have had the honor to run my sword through his 
 body, I presume that you have reference to the Jesuits." 
 
 " Possibly." 
 
 " Alas, my dear Madame d'Anguilhem, although you 
 have had some slight association with those gentlemen, 
 you do not yet know them. You would compromise 
 them outrageously by making use of their name. They 
 are not simpletons, they would sacrifice you." 
 
 " It is true, it is only too true ! " murmured Afghano. 
 
 " In that case, " said Sylvandire, " what must I do ? " 
 
 " What monsieur le marquis exacts, my dear, " replied 
 the Indian; " believe me, it is our wisest plan." 
 
 " But, if I give you this letter, Avill you swear that you 
 will let us and our money leave France unmolested ? " 
 
 " I give you my word of honor on it, I, Alphonse, 
 Marquis de Crette." 
 
 " I am ready, monsieur, " said Sylvandire, seating her- 
 self at a table on which there were paper, ink, and. pens. 
 "Dictate; I will write."
 
 THE MARQUIS DE CRETT^ NEGOTIATES. 423 
 
 Crette dictated : — 
 
 "Tunis, Oct. 11, 1713. 
 
 " Monsieur d'Anguilhem, — Cease grieving for my 
 death, for I am told that yoiir whole life is wrecked. I 
 live. Although I fell into the sea, although I seemed to be 
 drowned, it was a subterfuge to rid myself of the dominion 
 of a husband whom, despite all his attentions, I could not 
 bring myself to love, and in order, at last, to reach the arms 
 of the man whom I adore. To-day, monsieur, under other 
 laws, human and divine, I have become his wife, and you 
 will never see me again. Dead to all, I wish to be especially 
 so to you. Therefore, from this day, consider yourself 
 wholly widowed and also perfectly free. 
 
 " And now, that you may be as happy as I am, is the last 
 wish for us both of her who once was 
 
 " Sylvandire, dame d'Anguilhem. 
 
 " P. S. This letter will be conveyed to you by a trust- 
 worthy man whom my husband is despatching to France." 
 
 " How can this letter serve you ? " inquired Sylvan- 
 dire, as she handed it to the marquis, after having 
 addressed and sealed it. 
 
 " That, madame, you will learn, should you, failing to 
 keep your word, ever force us to make use of it." 
 
 And, bowing to Afghano and to Sylvandire, he pro- 
 ceeded to the door, which he opened, and at its thresh- 
 old said to the ambassador, loud enough to be heard by 
 his people, — 
 
 " Deign, Your Excellency, to accept my sincere 
 compliments." 
 
 Afghano, wholly prostrated by the scene that had 
 just taken place, remained where he was. But Sylvan- 
 dire followed Crette. 
 
 " Marquis, " she said, in a low voice as she crossed the 
 antechamber with him, " tell me frankly, is his wife 
 pretty 1 "
 
 424 SYLVANDIKE. 
 
 " Not so pretty as you, madame, " replied Crette, " but 
 slie loves liiiii more." 
 
 " What would you have 1 " retorted Sylvandire. " I 
 wished to be a princess." 
 
 "Another marriage like this one, madame," said 
 Crette, " and you will attain your end ; you are already 
 an ambassadress." 
 
 Sylvandire gave a sigh, and slowly regained the depths 
 of the hotel.
 
 CONCLUSION. 42 i 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Crett:e sprang into his carriage, the horses set off at a 
 run, and he returned to the Hotel d'Anguilhem. 
 
 He found Constance, alone and desolate, in a little 
 salon, weeping to find her husband so gloomy and 
 preoccupied. 
 
 " He believed himself in honor bound to keep his 
 word, " thought she ; " but most assuredly he no longer 
 loves me." 
 
 "When Crette opened the door she thought her husband 
 was coming to seek her, and she quickly sprang forward 
 to meet him; but, on seeing the marquis, she dropped 
 back into her chair. 
 
 Crette understood what was passing in the mind of the 
 poor young wife ; he went up to her reassuringly. 
 
 " Come, come, " said he, " dry your beautiful eyes, 
 dear lady, and let us return together to the salon. In 
 fifteen minutes Roger will be himself again, and I can 
 answer for your future." 
 
 Then he took her by the hand and led her toAvard the 
 grand salon. 
 
 Breton was on guard at the door, in obedience to his 
 orders. 
 
 The marquis beckoned to him ; Breton came. 
 
 " My good fellow, " said Crette, " throw open both 
 leaves of the door, and in your most pompous tones 
 announce Madame Roger d'Anguilhem." 
 
 Having no reason for preventing the entrance of his 
 master's wife and his friend, Breton obeyed on the
 
 426 SYLVANDIRE. 
 
 instant, and, inflating his lungs, lie swung back the doors 
 and made the arches echo with the name so dreaded by 
 the chevalier, — 
 
 " Madame Roger d' Anguilhem ! " 
 
 At this announcement, Roger, who, in the farthest corner 
 of the room, was endeavoring to converse with d'Herbigny 
 and Monsieur de Beuzerie, felt his legs give way beneath 
 him, and sinking into an arm-chair, he covered his face 
 with his hands. 
 
 Then, with a radiant smile on her lips, Constance 
 entered, leaning on Crette's arm. 
 
 They advanced toward Roger, who, hearing the 
 sound of their steps, and not daring to look up, wished 
 himself a hundred feet under ground. 
 
 " Well, my friend," said Crette, as he clapped his 
 hand on the other's shoulder, and thereby made Roger 
 shiver to the very marrow of his bones, " what is the 
 matter? Here is Constance." 
 
 " Ah ! Crette ! ah ! Constance, " cried he, " I thought 
 — I beg pardon ! " 
 
 "You thought what? Ah! Madame d'Anguilhem 
 has come to look for you, and you are afraid, " said the 
 marquis, taking his hand and slipping Sylvandire's letter 
 into it at the same time. " It is eleven o'clock, cheva- 
 lier, take away your wife." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! " cried Roger, " to the end of the world, 
 if needs be." 
 
 " No, not so far," replied Crette," that is useless now." 
 
 Then, while the young couple were crossing the salon 
 on the way to their apartment, he called out, — 
 
 " Have you heard the news ? The Persian ambassador 
 leaves to-morrow with all his suite. I propose, messieurs 
 and mesdames, that we see them off, — they embark at 
 Chaillot."
 
 CONCLUSION. 427 
 
 " We •will not go, will we ? " said Constance, as she 
 opened the door of their room, 
 
 " No, indeed ! " answered Roger, as he closed it. 
 
 The next day Crette informed his friend of his two 
 promises to Mademoiselle Poussette, the first of which, 
 the payment of twenty thousand livres, the niarqnis had 
 scrupulously kept the night before. 
 
 As the chevalier was a man of honor, and incapable of 
 belying his friend's word, we have no doubt but that in 
 due place and season the second promise was kept with 
 tlie same fidelity. 
 
 It is needless to add that Roger and Constance are still 
 quoted, not at Paris, where great examples are soon lost, 
 but at Loches and its vicinity, as a model pair. 
 
 THE END.
 
 120312
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 865 484 o
 
 
 :■;■<■ ■}■ 
 '>, /■ ■ 
 ■(■>. ■■