THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 3flC8b anb Bloob
 
 This Novel was typed by a Chancery Lane Firm in 1893.
 
 Jflesb anb Bloob 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 " HERNANI THE JEW " 
 
 LONDON 
 HUTCHINSON & CO. 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW 
 
 1808
 
 gb 
 
 R. D. BLACKMORE, ESQ., 
 
 WITH RESPECT, ADMIRATION, AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 cr rr" *" " 
 RESERTO
 
 Jflesb anb 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN the Province of Champagne, mid-way, or there- 
 abouts, between Fumay and Mezieres, the sinuous 
 course of the river Meuse described a wider and more 
 pronounced curve. On the right bank it was bounded 
 by silvery osiers, rich meadows and corn land ; on the 
 left towered a rocky height, which, after frowning for 
 a brief distance, melted into a well-wooded hill. In the 
 space which separated the grim rock and the leafy 
 recesses of the wooded hill from the bold encroach- 
 ments of the river, nestled a village ; a few red roofs, 
 a thin and quaintly-shaped church-spire, a grey-walled 
 chateau, starting up from amidst smiling gardens 
 and blossoming orchards. Conceive that, and you 
 have the French village of La Jonquieres before you. 
 
 A woman stood in the doorway of one of the red- 
 roofed cottages, and, shading her eyes from the glare 
 of the sunlight, gazed up the street in the direction of 
 the chateau. 
 
 " Lisette, Lisette ! " she called excitedly. " Do you 
 not hear me ? How deaf you are ! " 
 
 " What is it, mother ? " replied a voice from within. 
 
 " The new cure", Father Bernard, is coming down 
 the street." 
 
 " And what of that ? I shall see him time enough." 
 
 " Do as I tell you ; come and look. Ah ! he has
 
 8 <Smi Jflesb 
 
 stopped to talk to the Widow Lemaitre ; she always 
 has her nose poking out of her door." 
 
 "Then take yours in, mother, and you won't see 
 it," laughed Lisette. 
 
 " Give me no sauce, child. Mon Dieu ! there's 
 more of that in you than anything else. As for the 
 Widow Lemaitre, she's a busy-body you know 
 that and I never liked her. Now, he has left her, 
 and is coming this way," she continued, still shading 
 her eyes, and staring intently at the approaching 
 figure. 
 
 " Now for a sight of the good Father," said Lisette, 
 who had come to the door, " though, as I said, I shall 
 see him time enough." 
 
 " How young he is ! " said the elder woman. 
 
 " Ma foil too young to hear all the ills we shall 
 have to tell him. How I should laugh to myself, 
 were I in his place, if only for once, to hear old 
 Brunot whine through his sins, and say how much 
 he'd envied, robbed, and made love. And then the 
 Count himself, what fun it would be to hear him 
 confess. He should tell me everything, but I should 
 never be able to keep it to myself. I've often 
 wondered how priests can." 
 
 " Hush, child, you are impious," said Mere Chotard 
 sternly. 
 
 "Why, mother, there's no harm in wondering," 
 retorted Lisette, a shadow of temper crossing her 
 face, as she deftly arranged a bright-coloured bow 
 which ornamented her bodice. 
 
 " I tell you there is. Holy men are holy men, and 
 to talk of them, ignorant as we are, won't help us. 
 Besides, you were laughing. How pale he is. That's 
 from study. A young life given to pouring over 
 books, and fasting, and trying to understand le bon 
 Dieu." 
 
 " If he's pale, he's beautiful," said Lisette, her eyes
 
 ant) 
 
 sparkling, and her voice betraying the admiration 
 which, as a young girl, she entertained for good looks. 
 Then lowering her voice, for Father Bernard was 
 nearly opposite, she added, " Shall I tell you what his 
 face reminds me of, mother ? " 
 
 " What, child ? " 
 
 " The little ivory Christ in the petit sanctuaire 
 yonder." 
 
 "Hush!" 
 
 Both women curtsied profoundly, as with a bow, a 
 kindly smile, and a " bon-jour, mesdames," Louis 
 Bernard passed them. M&re Chotard looked after 
 him, whilst an ugly cloud settled upon her face. 
 
 " Well, there," she said, " I'd like to know why he 
 can find time to talk to Madame Lemaitre, and yet 
 sees fit to pass me by." 
 
 " Perhaps he's tired," suggested Lisette " and then 
 his parents." 
 
 " Tired bah ! His parents ! Is he a child ? " 
 
 " He has gone into his house, anyhow, mother, and 
 I'm sure he might easily be tired on a day like this. 
 Why, the sun just scorches one." 
 
 " Well, well, child, you may be right, we shall see ; 
 but I never liked the Widow Lemaitre." 
 
 Lisette allowed her full red lips to part sufficiently 
 to show two rows of perfectly sound white teeth. 
 She could not help smiling thus, for she knew why 
 her mother disliked the Widow Lemaitre. They had 
 been girl rivals, and that fact, to her mind, supplied a 
 reason for hatred infinitely deep and durable. 
 
 " And now, since there's nothing more to be seen," 
 observed Lisette, after a brief pause, " if you don't 
 want me I'll go upstairs again. I feel so terribly hot. 
 These stockings are too thick, and for that matter, so 
 is this bodice. I was just going to change them when 
 you called me down. Have you found your knitting?" 
 
 Mere Chotard nodded, and, without saying any-
 
 10 (Smis Jflesb ant> Block 
 
 thing more Lisette ascended the little wooden stair- 
 case, and shut herself up in her bedroom. 
 
 It was furnished much like most humble cottage 
 chambers, with merely a bed, a chest of drawers, a 
 table, and a couple of chairs ; but the wood of which 
 these necessaries were made, though old and worn, 
 was polished till it shone like a mirror, and like the 
 white window-curtains and coarse counterpane, as 
 spotlessly clean as hands could achieve. 
 
 To free herself of the offending bodice, or more 
 properly speaking blouse, and the equally obnoxious 
 stockings, was only momentary employment for 
 Lisette's nimble fingers ; but as though not content 
 with the freedom and coolness she had thus acquired, 
 she hastily removed the pins which confined her hair, 
 and let it fall about her shoulders in thick, silky 
 masses. At that instant, Lisette presented the most 
 perfect picture of health and shapeliness possible to 
 conceive a type of French peasant beauty. True, 
 to some she might not have been altogether attrac- 
 tive, for her hair and eyes were as black as a gipsy's ; 
 but the rich bloom in her cheeks, and the whiteness 
 of her skin, must have awakened admiration, whilst 
 the most hypercritical could scarcely have failed to be 
 struck by the compactness of her frame, the roundness 
 of her well-turned limbs and bosom. 
 
 " There," she said, with an irritable exclamation of 
 annoyance at the closeness of the room, " if I don't 
 feel cooler now, I don't know what I shall do, for I've 
 got to finish my sewing. That must be done, and 
 then then for a walk with Andre. AndreY' she re- 
 peated softly to herself; "well, if Andr6 could have a 
 peep at me now, he would be in love with me. Lucky 
 he can't, though, at least for him," and with a glance 
 at her white shoulders in a small painted looking-glass 
 which stood on the chest of drawers, Lisette gave vent 
 to a wicked little laugh of conceit and contentment at
 
 <S>nl jflesb ant> 
 
 the reflection she saw, and sat herself down to her 
 sewing. 
 
 Her needle sped with the regularity of a machine, 
 and there was not a sound to be heard but that which 
 was made by piercing the material she was at work 
 upon. The glare of the sunlight disappeared, and 
 Lisette rose and drew up the blind. Then she re- 
 turned to her work and laboured on, unconscious of 
 the soft cool wind which came to her through the 
 open casement, sweet with the scent of the roses which 
 clustered about it. What did she care for roses and 
 their fragrance ? Just then she only wanted to feel 
 cool and to finish her task. The completion of it meant 
 Andr^ and a couple of hours' freedom, which was a 
 sufficient inducement to cause her to work her hardest. 
 Curiosity got the better of her at length, however, and 
 she laid it aside to see what was going on in the 
 street below. She glanced to the right towards the 
 chateau. There was not a soul to be seen, so she 
 turned her head, and her eyes encountered the figure 
 of a man with a gun over his shoulder and a brace of 
 spaniels trotting soberly at his heels. 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte ! " she exclaimed, craning her 
 head to see to greater advantage. " What can have 
 brought him back ? Love of Madame la Comtesse ? 
 I think not. But yet she is very beautiful. Ah, if he 
 were my husband, I'd make him love me." 
 
 Lisette supported herself upon her elbows, resting 
 her face upon her hands in such a position that the 
 symmetry of her arms could be seen to advantage, 
 and in that way, her black hair falling about her, she 
 peeped from amidst the clustering roses, never taking 
 her eyes off the advancing figure of the man with the 
 gun and the dogs. She was right when she had ex- 
 claimed " Monsieur le Comte," for Rudolph, Comte de 
 la Jonquieres, owner of the land for miles round, was 
 the personage upon whom she had fixed her eyes,
 
 12 nl^ Iflesb an& 
 
 and fixed them so pertinaciously that it seemed as 
 though she meant to compel him to look at her. If 
 such was her object, it was attained with ease, for 
 when within a few yards, the Count raised his eyes 
 and encountered her gaze, slackened his pace, and 
 ceased humming to himself the strains of a song which 
 just then happened to be the rage in Paris. That he 
 had all his wits about him, and was by no means 
 blind to such charms as Lisette displayed, was soon 
 manifested by his conduct, for when exactly under the 
 window he stopped, whistled to one of the spaniels 
 which had lagged behind, and, twirling his moustache 
 with one hand whilst he bestowed a glance of uncon- 
 cealed admiration upon her, he said : 
 
 " The roses don't equal your cheeks, mademoiselle, 
 but next to your cheeks come the roses. Will you 
 give me one ? " 
 
 He looked swiftly about him, as much as to say, 
 " Be quick, I don't want to be noticed." 
 
 Lisette never hesitated an instant. The warm 
 blood mounted to her face, and she felt her pulse 
 quicken ; but with a steady hand she plucked one of 
 the roses, and, with all the meaning she could convey 
 lurking in the depths of her eyes, she flung it to him. 
 She did not attempt to speak, she might have been 
 overheard ; besides, there was no time, for the Count 
 caught it, fixed it in his buttonhole, and darting an 
 amorous glance that was without doubt meant to re- 
 pay Lisette's with interest, he strode away up the 
 street towards the chateau gates. 
 
 Lisette watched him with parted lips and an ex- 
 pression of undisguised satisfaction until he was no 
 longer to be seen, and then she gave vent to her 
 feelings. 
 
 " Now, who would have thought that Monsieur le 
 Comte de la Jonquieres would have condescended to 
 notice me, would have deigned to ask me for a rose,
 
 jflesb anfc Bloofc. 13 
 
 to say nothing of paying me a pretty compliment ? 
 Why, he must know that I'm only the daughter of 
 Pierre Chotard the ferryman. But there, if I've got 
 no place in the world, and not a franc besides what 
 mother gives me and I can earn by sewing, I've got 
 a face that even Monsieur le Comte, with all his 
 knowledge must pay some attention to, when I will 
 it so. I've got that, and a little foot and ankle that 
 no one would say are not shapely. It's all I possess, 
 but it is not to be despised, and I'm disposed to be 
 thankful for small mercies. Now, brother Pierre 
 would tell me over again that I'm wicked. I daresay 
 I am, but I can't help it. Let Madame la Comtesse 
 look after her husband herself. I shall not help her." 
 Lisette paused, pulled on the thinner stockings, 
 gartered them tightly to her liking, slipped on a loose 
 blue-striped blouse, and, with a few dexterous 
 touches got ready to go out, but at length added, 
 before opening the door, " I must be careful not to 
 let Andr6 suspect, for he's got such a diabolical 
 temper when he's roused, and he does love me, I 
 know. Ah ! I'm afraid Paris has changed me, as he 
 says, in more ways than one," and Lisette laughed.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE Count had scarcely passed the house in which 
 Louis Bernard had come to live as Abbe" of La Jon- 
 quieres, and paused under Lisette's window as 
 described, than it so happened that Louis Bernard, 
 disturbed and restless in mind owing to the newness 
 of his surroundings, quitted his door, and bent his 
 steps in the direction pursued by the Count. Being 
 thus close at hand, he was a witness of what passed. 
 He had not made the Count's acquaintance, as his 
 arrival in La Jonquieres was a question of hours only; 
 still, the Count's dress and bearing caused him to 
 notice the circumstance more than he otherwise would 
 have done. When, following in the Count's footsteps, 
 he saw him enter the chateau gates, there no longer 
 remained a doubt in his mind, he felt sure that the 
 man who had walked before him, with his gun over 
 his shoulder, and his dogs at his heels, was the most 
 important personage in the place. Yet, so ignorant 
 was he of the world and its ways, that the little 
 episode which had been enacted before him was with- 
 out significance for him. With the resolve to call at 
 the chateau on the morrow, he dismissed the circum- 
 stance from his mind. 
 
 That he should be a prey to a sensation of restless- 
 ness entirely foreign to him, was not singular. From 
 the early age of thirteen his existence had been made 
 over, as it were, to those men whose age, piety, and 
 learning were such, as, in the eyes of the Church, fitted 
 them to mould the minds of those who were to go 
 forth and preach her doctrines. Before a man can
 
 fflesb an& 3Bloot>, 15 
 
 do this, he must undergo long years of the most rigid 
 discipline. From this protracted and trying ordeal 
 Louis Bernard had just been released. 
 
 He had quitted le Grand Semmaire, and had be- 
 come Abbe of La Jonquieres. He had held scarcely 
 any intercourse with men. He had been suddenly set 
 to advise them. With the exception of his mother, it 
 might be said he had never spoken to a woman. Full 
 of the fire, the passion of youth, he had been suddenly 
 set to counsel, to admonish, to listen to, and to even 
 hear confessions of weaknesses and sins, of the exist- 
 ence of which no other mortal was aware. In such a 
 position were there not pitfalls cunningly concealed, 
 snares on all sides, grave dangers which Louis might 
 or might not elude ? He was young but little over 
 four-and-twenty. Lisette had poetically compared 
 his face to that of the ivory Christ in the petit 
 sanctuaire. If a casual glance could discover so much, 
 might not other women become aware of the existence 
 of much more, after a careful scrutiny ? Possessing 
 this knowledge, would they keep their feelings to 
 themselves? Would they do this, would they con- 
 sider him in the light of a holy man, and not as 
 mortal, or would they be carried away by some 
 strange power perhaps possessed by him, perhaps 
 imagined, and then would they wield their strength, 
 would they show themselves in witchery of word and 
 glance, would they display the charms which might 
 well tempt anything mortal ? Ah, there was danger 
 for Louis. Danger of the substance of which he was 
 as ignorant as is the newly-born child of the source 
 of its daily nourishment. 
 
 With Louis Bernard just then, as he set forth for his 
 walk, dwelt no very deep thoughts. He was mainly 
 possessed with the desire to explore the recesses and 
 windings of the place, where he had good reason to 
 think much of his life would be spent.
 
 1 6 nl jflesb ant> 
 
 The existence of La Jonquieres began, as it were, 
 with the chateau, and following the simple village 
 street until the houses ceased to be, ended in the 
 petit sanctuaire, a deep niche hewn out of the solid 
 rock, guarded with an iron grating, and within, the 
 little ivory figure of Christ, of which Lisette had 
 spoken. 
 
 When he had arrived at the head of the street, he 
 struck to the left, skirting the chateau wall,and, leaving 
 it behind, penetrated a narrow gorge, which, when rain 
 was plentiful, was merely the channel for a small hill 
 torrent. Lessened by warmth it was reduced to the 
 dimensions of a streamlet, and by art'ficc it had been 
 diverted from its course, so that it entered the 
 chateau grounds, and flowed through them in a suc- 
 cession of cascades, thence dipped under the road, 
 which a few yards further became the main, the one 
 street, of La Jonqui&res, and blended with the Meuse 
 itself. On the left of this gorge was the rocky, 
 though partially verdure-clad, cliff, which formed a 
 background to the village ; on the right the wooded 
 height, which, further afield, melted away into plea- 
 sant slopes and waving plantations of fir, larch, and 
 oak. It was the summit of this hill that Louis set 
 himself to gain, his object being to see the ruins which 
 crowned it, which, he had been told, were the rem- 
 nants of the ancient and once magnificent chateau 
 of the old Counts of La Jonquieres. 
 
 The way he had chosen led him amidst the stems 
 of gnarled and twisted thorn trees of great age, yet 
 healthy and white with bloom, wild cherries, covered 
 with delicate falling blossoms, which whitened the 
 path, and detached specimens of larch and fir, whose 
 summits were yet gilded with the rays of the depart- 
 ing sunlight. The near recesses of shadow were 
 wondrously painted with softly-blending greens, and 
 when the eye dropped from the foliage to the ground,
 
 tflesb an& Bloofc* 17 
 
 there, too, the Great Artist had done His work mag- 
 nificently. Mosses and lichens of all shapes and 
 fineness of texture were bedecked with wood ane- 
 mones, bright purple violets, hyacinths, and cowslips. 
 Wild strawberries gleamed in scarlet ripeness from 
 amidst the leaves, and even the dark stems of 
 the sloe bushes, to which he clung to prevent him- 
 self from slipping backwards, had put forth a 
 covering of blossoms which nearly hid their naked- 
 ness. 
 
 To a man of Louis' temperament sensitive in the 
 extreme, an intense lover of Nature in all her quiet 
 beauty such a scramble was a pleasure so great that 
 even while he breathed hard and scratched his hands 
 in clutching for support, a quiet, a peace, as soothing 
 as the sound of the wind rustling through the bright 
 green foliage of the larches, stole upon his mind. He 
 gained the ruin, and stood in what he conceived might 
 have been the banqueting hall. Some partridges rose 
 at his approach, and whirred into space like spectral 
 birds of bronze. A cherry tree of great size grew in 
 the very middle of what at least must have been a 
 stately apartment. The only roof now was the sky. 
 He climbed to the jagged edge of one of the windows. 
 It might have lighted the very chamber of some 
 lovely Countess of La Jonquieres. Here was food for 
 reflection ; but his thoughts were interrupted by some 
 distant sounds. Two other people had approached 
 and entered the ruin ; but since their presence was of 
 no interest to him, Louis speedily forgot their entrance, 
 and remained where he was at the window, hidden 
 from sight by some large blocks of fallen masonry, 
 being thus quite out of earshot of a little love-scene 
 between Andre* and Lisette. 
 
 " You accuse me of having changed towards you. 
 Nonsense, Lisette! You know better. You say it 
 to tease me, and why do it ? Come, don't spoil a 
 
 B
 
 1 8 nig fflesb ant) Bloo&, 
 
 moment of our time together, it's short enough. If 
 there is a change at all, it is on your side." 
 
 " I suppose you mean since I went to Paris. You 
 are always saying that," broke forth a woman's voice 
 in answer to the remark made to her. 
 
 "Assuredly yes, and you know there is truth in 
 what I say ; but don't let us quarrel." 
 
 " My dear Andre", when I quarrel with you there'll 
 be no mistake about it" 
 
 " Then I hope you never will. But all this comes 
 of my telling you, as I could not help doing, that 
 there seems to me to have been a time when we 
 understood each other better. To get to you when 
 the work was done, and I could slip away, was the 
 joy of my life " 
 
 " And isn't it now ? Ah, Andre"." 
 
 " You know. A woman does. But you in- 
 terrupted me. In those days you seemed to like to 
 meet me better. You never objected ; you would 
 come. You never failed, in the face of any obstacles, 
 and now " 
 
 " Now you want to find fault" 
 
 " I don't, Lisette. Man Dieu, I love you so much 
 that all I want is to make you care for me as de- 
 votedly, ah, as desperately as I do for you. Yonder 
 is the farm, and I want you in it as mistress. I am 
 honest towards you. The old people can't live long, 
 and what's to become of me if you change as all 
 things seem to ; if you pass away from me, as they 
 soon must, and I am left alone all alone ? " 
 
 There was a quiver of intense feeling in the 
 speaker's voice, but with a merry, thoughtless laugh, 
 Lisette replied : 
 
 " Don't get sentimental. Bah ! I can't bear it. 
 Wait a little, and perhaps I'll come to the farm." 
 
 " Why not now ? They won't interfere. You 
 shall be mistress."
 
 fflesb an& Bloofc. 19 
 
 " No ; can't make up my mind. Kiss me, Andr6, 
 kiss me again, and don't talk stuff." 
 
 There were the sounds of an embrace and broken 
 expressions of affection accompanying it, then once 
 again the ruin was empty, save for Louis Bernard, 
 and the grey and green lizards that darted and lived 
 midst the stones that had once sheltered men. 
 Sobered by the silence, the loneliness for the thought 
 had come to him that he was very solitary Louis 
 descended the hill, and by a slightly different 
 path into which he had turned inadvertently, arrived 
 at the back of the chateau, within a few yards of a 
 summer arbour, fashioned and painted like a Turkish 
 kiosk. He paused, for he was out of breath. Two 
 squirrels were cracking nuts overhead. He dis- 
 covered them by the noise they made, and was 
 amused at the adroitness with which they extracted 
 the kernels. But for those squirrels, he would have 
 gone straight homewards, and would never have 
 heard the sound of voices in the kiosk, over the fence 
 in the grounds of the chateau. They were those of 
 a man and woman who were apparently in hot 
 altercation. Since their conversation was not audible 
 he did not trouble himself to move. He liked watch- 
 ing the squirrels. At length he shook the lower 
 branches of the tree they were in. A panic ensued, 
 a series of bounds of astonishing agility followed, and 
 the woodland acrobats had vanished. 
 
 Louis Bernard laughed at the antics he had wit- 
 nessed, remembered it was getting late, and set off 
 again. When immediately behind the kiosk he 
 stopped dead, for a woman's sobs were plainly 
 audible. Grieved, and wondering what misfortune 
 had occasioned such unhappiness, and whether he 
 could alleviate it, he stood still. The sounds ceased 
 at length, and, after some moments of profound 
 silence, a white dress gleamed, a woman's head and
 
 20 <smis jflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 shoulders were outlined against the sky for an in- 
 stant, and then were lost amongst the leaves. 
 
 If he lacked knowledge of the world, of mental 
 suffering and the anguish of it, Louis Bernard was 
 not ignorant. He had witnessed it in its most 
 appalling form. He had seen young minds abso- 
 lutely unhinged by the persistency with which re- 
 ligious doctrines they could not grasp, and were in- 
 tellectually too sensitively strung to receive, were 
 thundered into their terror-stricken ears. Amidst 
 such scenes, where stern religious discipline was 
 prescribed for one temperament as for another, 
 he had been bred. The effect upon him had been 
 distinctly beneficial rather than the reverse, for the 
 existence of sorrow, in whatever shape it might 
 appear before him, was an ill to which it was im- 
 possible for him to be deaf. 
 
 When he reached his own door the sounds of 
 distress he had heard were still ringing in his ears. 
 Who could have given vent to them ? Somehow he 
 thought he should be able to recognise the head and 
 shoulders he had caught so fleeting a glimpse of, 
 should he come upon them again. Still musing, 
 and in an absent frame of mind, he hung up his hat 
 in the lobby. Had he been less preoccupied, he 
 would have remarked that there was a discussion 
 going on between his father and mother, that they 
 were talking rapidly, and with raised voices. He 
 turned the handle of the door where he knew he 
 should find them, gently, because of his mood. 
 These words, in his father's voice, struck upon his 
 ear: 
 
 "Ah, well, you have gained your ends, wife, 
 Louis is a priest ; our bread is assured now, 
 but" 
 
 He was in the midst of them. A dead silence 
 ensued. He glanced fixedly and inquiringly at each
 
 in turn, then sat down without a word, but full of 
 wonderment at the strangeness of what he had heard, 
 for to his quick wit, the brief sentence, cropped in its 
 expansion, teemed with a variety of meanings.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE Chateau de la Jonquieres, architecturally, could 
 scarcely be said to belong to any distinct period. 
 One wing enclosed a considerable portion of the re- 
 mains of a hunting lodge, said to have been built 
 during the reign of Charles IV., surnamed the Fair, 
 and to have been the result of a whim of the then ex- 
 isting Comte de la Jonquieres. 
 
 Some said that he had ridden forth to meet the 
 daughter of a neighbouring noble, and that upon that 
 spot they had first exchanged greetings. Captivated 
 by her great beauty he had speedily offered his hand 
 in marriage, was accepted, and in memory of the 
 happiness he found in her, had shortly after caused 
 the lodge to be built where her soft eyes had first 
 met his. Others and here the romance vanishes 
 related that, being an enthusiastic sportsman, but a 
 martyr to a disease of the nature of gout, he had 
 ordered its erection simply because its position facili- 
 tated a descent into the more open country beyond 
 the river. In any case, there stood the ancient rem- 
 nants, enclosed in the more modern masonry, which, 
 with the central building and remaining wing, was, 
 without doubt, of Louis XIII. style. White stone, 
 dressed with red brick, the two wings supporting 
 pointed roofs, the rooms beneath which were venti- 
 lated by quaintly characteristic sculptured chimney- 
 stacks. 
 
 A terrace as is so common in France with a 
 stone balustrade, extended the whole length of the 
 chateau, and with the steps approaching it from 
 
 22
 
 iflesb ant> 3Bloot>. 23 
 
 the garden below, was ornamented by richly-carved 
 vases containing brightly-flowering plants. In the 
 rear of the building were the stables and domestic 
 offices, and these, joined to the wings, enclosed a 
 court-yard in which were walnut trees, whose roots 
 were nourished by the moisture they derived from 
 a pond, large and deep enough to contain some 
 venerable carp. This pond was in the middle of 
 the court-yard, and, overshadowed by the delightful 
 green of the walnut trees, seemed ever cool and 
 refreshing. 
 
 Blanche, Comtesse de la Jonquieres, was in the 
 drawing-room, the long French windows of which 
 opened on to the terrace. Alone and seated in a 
 softly-padded bergtre, which she had drawn before one 
 of the windows, her eyes strayed over the landscape, 
 steeped in the languorous warmth of an unclouded 
 noontide sun. Not a breath ruffled the surface of the 
 river, which gleamed like burnished steel under the 
 hot rays. Save an occasional fish which leapt clear 
 of the water, and returned to it again with a splash, 
 old Pierre Chotard alone seemed to be endowed with 
 energy. He plied his punt-pole, and cracked jokes 
 with the dusty, coarse-featured farm women, who 
 were returning homewards with empty baskets, hav- 
 ing been up with the lark, the earlier because it was 
 market-day. Never a word did his sallies provoke 
 beyond common courtesy. They knew the temper 
 of his wit, and being too tired to enter into the lists, 
 blinked contentedly in the sunlight, seeming to be as 
 much inclined to sleep and reflection as the cattle, 
 who chewed the cud in the shadow of the trees, or 
 stood knee-deep amidst the soft murmur of the stream 
 as it swept past them. Madame la Comtesse was 
 not unconscious of the beauty and peace of the scene, 
 as she sat looking forth upon it ; and yet, somehow, 
 it found no reflection in the expression of her face.
 
 24 nli? jflesb ant) Bloot>. 
 
 Her cheeks were as fair as as the petals of the rose 
 which Lisette had flung to the Count, her husband. 
 Too probably in the very heart of that rose there 
 were symptoms of decay. Had something markedly 
 cankerous asserted its existence in the very centre of 
 her being ? It was just possible, for the face is no 
 bad indicator of the mind ; in which case Madame la 
 Comtesse had a most sensitive and sympathetic one. 
 Just the mind to be so afflicted. Yet a headache or the 
 weather might have much to account for. Certainly 
 the Count himself looked contented enough. He was 
 on the terrace with his spaniels, courting the sunshine 
 and smoking a cigar. 
 
 The heavy gilded doors of the salon were flung 
 open by a servant. Madame had heard the noise, 
 and turned in her chair. 
 
 " Monsieur L'Abbe Bernard, Madame la Comtesse,' 
 announced the domestic. 
 
 Louis Bernard had not forgotten his resolution to 
 call at the chateau, and as he entered between the 
 great white gilded doors, the panels of which were 
 ornamented by paintings of fruit and flowers by Mig- 
 nard, Madame la Comtesse looked upon a man of 
 more than middle height, broad-shouldered and spare, 
 but well-knit ; and though the face was pale, as 
 Lisette had said, the features were straight and good, 
 and the eyes were grey, deep, and fearless, whilst 
 above them was a forehead already seamed by 
 thought, from which the dark-brown hair was drawn 
 backwards. Madame la Comtesse was prepossessed 
 at a glance ; but while she was examining him, Louis 
 Bernard's eyes were not idle. He was nervous, and 
 unaccustomed to society of any kind ; yet, in a mo- 
 ment, the face and form of the woman before him 
 were photographed upon his mind. Keen powers of 
 perception are given to some. Once having seen, they 
 never forget. Louis Bernard was of this sort. As he
 
 Jflesb ant) Bloot). 25 
 
 looked at her, he saw that she was tall and gracefully 
 formed, that the slim waist supported a well-rounded 
 bust, and that the shoulders and arms were in perfect 
 proportion. Advancing, he bowed with all the 
 studied politeness of French etiquette ; but she held 
 out her hand frankly. Retaining it in his for an 
 instant, he glanced swiftly at her face, and encountered 
 the steady gaze of eyes that seemed as blue as the 
 sky on a summer day. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse, I am the new vicar of La 
 Jonquieres," he said falteringly, for he was ill at ease. 
 
 " The Abbd Bernard," she said smilingly. " Mon- 
 sieur, I do assure you your name was familiar to 
 me before you were announced." 
 
 " But I have never had the pleasure of seeing you 
 before, Madame la Comtesse," he answered, still with 
 apparent nervousness of manner, and he added, " I 
 am not known." 
 
 " Indeed you are, monsieur, far better than you 
 think, and I myself have quite looked forward to your 
 coming. Welcome to the chateau, monsieur, and I 
 am sure I may add with as much safety, to La 
 Jonquieres." 
 
 The shyness began to vanish. Louis no longer 
 felt as though he scarcely knew what to do with 
 himself. 
 
 " I cannot thank you sufficiently for your kind 
 words, Madame la Comtesse," he replied, and then 
 after a few trifling remarks he added ceremoniously, 
 "and now, allow me to take my leave, Madame la 
 Comtesse, for you will understand that a new vicar 
 has many calls to pay." 
 
 " Very well, my dear Abb ; but if you must leave 
 me so quickly, you must not go without promising to 
 come back soon to dejeuner, for I want you to meet 
 the Count" 
 
 Delighted with the kind reception he had met with,
 
 26 <smi fflesb 
 
 Louis slipped away. Having made the numerous 
 visits he had alluded to, and almost without an excep- 
 tion won the good approval of his parishioners, after 
 the lapse of a week or so, he again called at the 
 chateau. 
 
 " Ah, now you have taken me at my word, and I am 
 delighted to see you," exclaimed Blanche, with the 
 utmost affability. 
 
 " You overwhelm me, Madame la Comtesse. But 
 you are not French, I think ? " answered Louis, who 
 could no longer find it in his heart to be shy. 
 
 Blanche laughed good-temperedly. 
 
 " Ah, have you found me out so soon, monsieur ? " 
 
 "You speak very perfectly, but there is a something? 
 
 " If I merit so much praise, monsieur, I owe a deep 
 debt of gratitude to those who taught me. I am 
 English." 
 
 " I thought so, madame." 
 
 " As a kind of basis upon which to build what will, 
 I trust, be friendship, I will give you an outline of my 
 life. Come nearer the window though, we shall get 
 the cool breeze from the river. There." Blanche 
 seated herself in the bergere, and Louis drew close to 
 her. " Well, let me see ! " she began. 
 
 " Madame, what is that ? " interrupted Louis. 
 
 The broad terrace and the gay parterre lay before 
 them. Louis pointed to a long thin shadow which 
 was suddenly flung across the glare of sunlight It 
 altered in shape while the words were leaving his 
 lips. 
 
 " That, monsieur, why, that must be the Count's 
 shadow," replied Blanche, bending forward to glance 
 sideways from the window ; " he is smoking outside I 
 know. Rudolf! Rudolf! come here, I want you! 
 Come and be introduced to Monsieur L'Abbd 
 Bernard. Ah, he does not hear," she added, " but 
 you will see him presently, monsieur."
 
 fflesb anfc JSlook 27 
 
 The shadow changed in form, then faded and 
 vanished. 
 
 As she leant to call, a shaft of sunlight touched her 
 hair, and it shone in the brilliant gleam like burnished 
 gold. She seated herself more comfortably, and 
 shook the folds of her dress so that it covered a high 
 instep and foot hidden in a black embroidered 
 stocking and satin shoe. Was there a trace as of 
 annoyance or sadness marking her face; had the 
 delicate tinge of pink faded as though the shadow 
 outside on the terrace had left its shade ? When she 
 looked at him, Louis thought so. 
 
 " How odd it was of me to notice so trifling a 
 circumstance, Madame la Comtesse," he said, to cover 
 a brief pause. 
 
 " Perhaps ; but yet, no ; as perfection is made up of 
 trifles, so trifles become great with significance at 
 times. We notice them acutely, we do not know 
 why. It must be the mood one is in. Are you 
 superstitious, monsieur ? " 
 
 " All nervous people are to a certain extent, 
 Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 " Does that mean that you are nervous ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so." 
 
 " But education destroys superstition." 
 
 " Perhaps, in its crude forms, but it sharpens the 
 senses, and makes one more keenly alive to all things 
 mystical and incomprehensible," 
 
 The Count's entrance interrupted them. Advancing 
 he said : 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Monsieur L'Abbe", and 
 to know that you are our guest to-day. Well, what 
 do you think of your parish ? Already I hear that 
 you are a favourite." 
 
 Talking in this strain they sat down to dtjeuner, 
 which, after the French fashion, was quickly dis- 
 cussed.
 
 28 nls fflesb ant) 3Bloob. 
 
 Not an hour after, the Count strode away with his 
 dogs, remarking as he went : 
 
 " You must excuse me, Monsieur L'Abbe*, for a 
 little while, but Madame la Comtesse will take my 
 place." 
 
 After a few trivial remarks exchanged with Blanche, 
 with whom Louis now found himself alone, he 
 ventured to say : 
 
 " May I remind you that you were going to tell me 
 about yourself, Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 " Or we shall have a passage of arms, you would 
 add." 
 
 " I think not, because we should agree," replied 
 Louis quietly. 
 
 " Well, be it known unto you," began Blanche 
 playfully, " that my maiden name was Fox, that my 
 father is a colonel in the English army, and at this 
 present moment in India. There are only two of 
 us my sister and myself. I am the elder. My 
 mother died when I was fifteen." 
 
 " Then, madame, you sustained an irreparable loss, 
 when you were ill able to bear it." 
 
 " Indeed, monsieur, you speak truly. It would 
 have been impossible for me to have met with a 
 greater misfortune. I thought then that rather than 
 have lost mother " the low, sweet voice shook, the 
 blue eyes were for a moment bright with moisture 
 " I may tell you, monsieur, you will understand. I 
 would have done anything, given up anything. But 
 it was to be as it is. She has gone, and I know 
 now that her going has changed my whole exist- 
 ence." 
 
 " But, madame, it was for the best. It was God's 
 will." 
 
 " So is everything. I admit it ; but the strange 
 windings of that Will are inexplicable and very 
 appalling. I once heard of a man who loved his
 
 fflesb ant) 3Bloo&. 29 
 
 wife so much that, when she was torn from him, he 
 ceased to believe in the existence of a God." 
 
 " How terrible," said Louis gently. 
 
 " He said that he had been taught to think of 
 God, as a Being, Omnipotent, but all loving, all 
 merciful. There was no love, and not a spark of 
 mercy, he said, in the chastisement he had received. 
 But do you think it possible that deep down in his 
 heart a man could think as I have said ? " 
 
 " I doubt it ; I cannot believe it possible, Madame 
 la Comtesse. Buried within, though partially be- 
 numbed, there must be a belief in the Creator." 
 
 " Surely so. Monsieur, that is a likeness of my 
 mother, painted when she was nineteen, and just 
 before she was married. Do you think I am like 
 her?" 
 
 Louis examined the picture minutely. 
 
 " I do," he said abruptly. " There are the same 
 features and fair complexion, the same blue eyes and 
 golden hair. I think you are the living image of 
 what she must have been, madame." 
 
 " I love to think so. But I shall weary you. Let 
 me finish my story. Soon after she was taken from 
 me, I was sent to a convent in Paris. My sister 
 went to live with an aunt who had always been fond 
 of her. I saw nothing of her, though as children, we 
 were devoted to each other. It was considered best 
 that I should remain at the convent ; so there I 
 stayed until I was nineteen, at which age my father 
 returned from India on sick leave. He came to 
 Paris, brought Amy, my sister, with him, and we 
 three lived together there and in other places for 
 some months. Finally I met my husband, the Count, 
 and, monsieur, here I am." 
 
 " With a long, happy, and useful life before you, 
 Madame la Comtesse, I trust. A young and hand- 
 some husband, and a home at once lovely and
 
 30 <S>nl2 fflesb ant) 
 
 luxurious, leave little to be desired that earth can 
 give. Is it not so ? '' 
 
 Blanche merely inclined her head as though 
 acquiescing ; but it would seem that having weighed 
 the suggestions, she found them wanting, for at length 
 she said : 
 
 " With a few bold touches you have outlined 
 a brilliant picture, monsieur ; yet mere pigment 
 fades. Good looks and wealth alone cannot satisfy 
 a thinking person ; but a mind, mental riches, 
 are like a work by an old master. Time in- 
 creases the value, and you never grow weary of 
 admiring." 
 
 Through this web of innuendos, Louis thought he 
 perceived the ideas they were intended to convey, 
 but he was not sure. Did the Countess mean that 
 mentally the Count was a disappointment to her ; 
 that the man as a man was not all she would have 
 wished ? It was clear that he was treading upon 
 dangerous ground, so dexterously he reverted to her 
 former remarks. 
 
 " But you have not finished your story, madame. 
 You tell me that the colonel, your father, is in India. 
 May I inquire what has become of your sister ? Is 
 she here ? " 
 
 No ! " 
 
 " Has she, like you, a husband ? " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Ah, then she is with the lady who is fond of her. 
 Her aunt, I think you said ? " 
 
 " Yes, you have guessed rightly." 
 
 " But I should have thought you would have liked 
 to have her with you, madame, or have years and 
 separation estranged you ? You see, instead of 
 wearying me, you have told me so much that I am 
 becoming very much interested." 
 
 " She will soon be here, monsieur, and when she
 
 ant) 3Bloo&. 3 1 
 
 comes, you shall judge for yourself whether it would 
 be possible for me to become estranged." 
 
 " Ah, you dote on her, madame ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I do." 
 
 " Is she, too, like you ? " 
 
 " Not in the least, unless, indeed, there is a family 
 likeness which exists unknown to me. We are the 
 very essence of opposition in every way." 
 
 " I have heard of the most devoted love exist- 
 ing between people so constituted," replied Louis 
 dreamily. 
 
 " I can well believe it. In our case I'm sure it is 
 so. Amy is a veritable little hoyden. Like a butter- 
 fly she revels in the sunshine. She does not seem to 
 be conscious of the gloom ; she is the very personifi- 
 cation of innocence and goodness, and if you were to 
 ask her why she laughs so lightly, she will tell you 
 that le bon Dieu meant one to be happy. Not to do 
 harm, but to enjoy all things. The lurking shadows, 
 the gravity, the grand mystery of which one is a 
 particle, an atom, she seems to think little about. 
 Tax her with this and she will answer naively, ' Why 
 do you think of things you cannot understand ? ' ' 
 
 " There is something essentially philosophical in 
 her reply, madame." 
 
 " Yes ; but how can one help thinking ? " 
 
 " Our temperaments are accountable for much, yet 
 we cannot do as we please. We are mere instru- 
 ments, dear madame, upon which a master hand 
 plays. But you have drawn such a lively picture of 
 your sister that I am quite anxious to know her. 
 Tell me more plainly though, wherein does the 
 contrast between you lie ? " 
 Blanche smiled pleasantly. 
 
 " Ah, you must discover that for yourself. But 
 you are not alone in La Jonquieres, monsieur ; I 
 hear that your father and mother are with you."
 
 32 <smig jflesb anb 
 
 Louis bowed assent, but asked, a moment later : 
 " How did you learn that, madame ? " 
 " Oh, you have no idea how much we gossip here. 
 The place is so tiny, and there is so little communi- 
 cation with the great world. Everyone thinks of his 
 neighbour's doings, and their doings constitute the 
 daily news. If you want to know everything that is 
 happening, you have only to ask Pierre Chotard, who 
 extracts all the information from those who use his 
 ferry. He sucks them as dry as a bee does a flower. 
 I must lose no time in becoming acquainted with 
 your relatives, monsieur. The advent of anyone, 
 is like a fresh drop of pleasure in a cup by no 
 means full. Our immediate neighbours are limited 
 to Monsieur le Baron de Courcelles, whose estate 
 joins my husband's, but who is seldom here, since 
 this one is the least of his possessions ; Monsieur 
 Brunot, a rich wine merchant ; and a number of lesser 
 bourgeois, whose forefathers have farmed the soil for 
 generations." 
 
 " And you do not find it dull, madame ? " 
 " I ? no. I manage my household, read, play, and 
 ride. Oh, no, the place is charming all that one 
 could wish. You must admit that naturally it is 
 very beautiful ; but perhaps you do not care for 
 Nature ? " 
 
 " Madame, I love it." 
 
 " So do I," replied Blanche pensively. " Monsieur, 
 Nature never deceives one. It is true always true 
 as the Eternal, and fortunately, the capacity to enjoy 
 its silent delights cannot be taken from one. But 
 are you sure that a mass of busy people, and the dis- 
 tractions they afford, the turmoil of a great city, are 
 not more to your mind ? In Paris, for instance, 
 there would be more scope for intellect, for doing 
 good than here." 
 
 " Madame, I know nothing of great cities, I might
 
 nip tflesb an& 3Bloot>* 33 
 
 say with truth, of people. This house is a magni- 
 ficent palace to me. I have never entered such an 
 abode before. Bred honestly, but simply, in this 
 province of Champagne, at thirteen I was sent to the 
 seminary of Rheims, and practically I remained there 
 until I came here. I am ignorant of the world. 
 What chance have I had of knowing it ? Were I 
 to tell you my life, you would be astonished at its 
 monotony, and and what I have felt, perhaps in 
 consequence." 
 
 Louis' face became suddenly very pale pale with 
 the pallor of old and painful recollections recalled, 
 and very grave, too, as he finished speaking. 
 
 " I must tempt you to tell me more when you 
 know me better, monsieur," said Blanche kindly, and 
 in a lower voice, for she had noticed the signs of 
 emotion. 
 
 At this moment the Count entered the salon 
 through one of the terrace windows, and the two 
 spaniels, with their tongues distended, were at his 
 heels. 
 
 " Go down, Fidele ; down, Philos, I tell you," he 
 said, scolding his pets, as they capered about him ; 
 " it won't do for you to follow me here, my fine 
 fellows. Go and wait for me." 
 
 From wagging vigorously, both tails flagged and 
 hung disconsolately. Fidele, with beaming eyes, at- 
 tempted a feeble remonstrance ; then, recognising to 
 the full a despotic will, both dogs shambled off, and 
 stationed themselves on the terrace, occasionally 
 peering into the room to see what was going on. 
 
 " Why do you turn them out ? " inquired Blanche. 
 
 " To teach them to obey," said the Count curtly. 
 
 The tone in which he spoke startled Louis. In- 
 stantly he remembered watching the squirrels, and 
 the voices coming to him from the kiosk. The 
 thought made him examine the Count. 
 
 c
 
 34 nls jflesb anfc 3Bloo&, 
 
 Two ideas were apt to strike one at once on regard- 
 ing him attentively. First he was, or had been, a sol- 
 dier; secondly, there was that indescribable something, 
 which betrayed in every action, no matter how in- 
 significant, a certain good breeding. He looked a 
 gentleman to use a word which, alas ! is so often 
 misapplied, and as oft made ludicrous by being so. 
 A gentleman, but in the same breath, a viveur, even 
 a rout. Small, lean, and muscular, with strongly 
 marked, though delicately formed, features ; a thick, 
 pointed moustache, and above it a slightly hooked 
 nose, set between brown eyes, which might fairly be 
 described as brown eyes with a wild light in them ; 
 the whole face, though bronzed, bearing traces of 
 many a night converted into day. He was attired in 
 an irreproachably cut velveteen shooting suit, brown 
 leather leggings, and boots in keeping. Altogether, 
 Count Rudolf once seen was not to be forgotten. 
 
 " Have you been giving Monsieur L'Abb6 a sketch 
 of the peculiarities of the place ? " he said, addressing 
 his wife. 
 
 " There is little to tell, but I think I have in- 
 terested him." 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse has treated me to one of 
 the pleasantest half-hour's chat I have ever had, 
 Monsieur le Comte," said Louis ingenuously. " As 
 for the place, I shall soon fall into its ways. You 
 see, I look forward to spending many years of my 
 life here." 
 
 " Who knows, you may soon become a bishop," 
 replied the Count gaily. 
 
 " No, I shall be content as I am," 
 
 "Ah, you will find us dull and unimpressionable, 
 then you will want to leave us." 
 
 " On the contrary, monsieur, I am convinced that 
 the more I know you all, the more I shall desire to 
 remain," replied Louis, thus extricating himself grace-
 
 nip iflesb ant) Bloofc. 35 
 
 fully from the corner into which he had been 
 hemmed. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot, I have some news for you," suddenly 
 remarked the Count,addressing Blanche. "When I was 
 out a couple of hours ago, I met one of De Courcelles' 
 keepers, and the man told me that this year they 
 expect him earlier than usual. Of course the fellow 
 was full of regrets that Monsieur le Baron did not 
 come oftener and stay later. I listened to him ; but 
 I thought, my fine fellow, you will fatten better in 
 your master's absence. There is no one to look after 
 you, you are doing well." 
 
 " But the chateau is desolate, and Monsieur Turgot 
 will keep a sharp enough eye on the accounts. 
 Monsieur Turgot is the Baron's notary," continued 
 Blanche, addressing Louis, " Monsieur le Baron de 
 Courcelles, of whom I spoke to you." 
 
 "Monsieur Turgot, like his underlings, will thrive 
 best with the least supervision," retorted the Count 
 sarcastically. 
 
 "How terribly cynical you are," said Blanche; "don't 
 you think so, monsieur ? " she inquired of Louis. 
 
 " I know so little of these matters, madame," he 
 answered evasively. Since the Count's entrance, he 
 had again felt nervous and uneasy, and the sensation 
 seemed to increase. 
 
 " When you do, believe me, you will agree with me. 
 The more one knows of human beings, the more 
 cynical one becomes." 
 
 " There is something morbidly unhealthy in such a 
 statement," asserted Blanche ; and then, feeling that 
 the remarks the Count would insist upon making 
 were not calculated to leave a good impression upon 
 Louis, she added apologetically, " the Count does not 
 really think as he speaks." 
 
 " Indeed he does," persisted the Count, " but let me 
 tell you something that will amuse you more than
 
 36 <mi iflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 discussing the merits or demerits of poor humanity. 
 Monsieur Brunot is seeking to become a Deputy." 
 
 " For where ? " 
 
 " For the Department, of course, for the Ardennes," 
 replied the Count, with marked irony. 
 
 "But he is the most ignorant of old men, is he 
 not?" 
 
 " Without doubt, but he is rich." 
 
 "But that does not qualify him to represent the 
 people," said Louis, entering into the conversation. 
 
 "It probably will, in their eyes, and should they 
 elect him, his ends will have been gained. My dear 
 Abbe", you must not forget that the possession of 
 riches covers a multitude of sins. The people 
 worship wealth, and even the old aristocracy of 
 France, like that of other countries, are to be found 
 at those tables where their stomachs are best attended 
 to. If birth cannot supply a good cook, wealth can. 
 Have the famous chef, and make the money to pay him 
 out of wine, anything you like. It does not matter. 
 People will turn up their noses, but they will eat the 
 dinner. Ah, to be poor is a crime, I assure you." 
 
 "You might be poor yourself, Rudolf, from the 
 way you speak." 
 
 " So I am. However, Monsieur Brunot is not, and 
 accordingly he is like an army flushed with success, 
 he is confident of carrying all before him. I en- 
 countered him rolling along on the road to Mezieres 
 seated in a yellow-painted barouche, emblazoned 
 with armorial bearings. His attire was in keeping. 
 He was dressed in a lavender-coloured coat, a drab 
 waistcoat, and wore gloves of the hue of your cocka- 
 too's crest. Three other men parasites of some kind, 
 probably were with him ; but my dear Abb, forgive 
 me. How terribly gauche I must appear in your 
 eyes, to monopolize the whole conversation, and to 
 forget that it could be of no interest to you."
 
 fflesb anfc JSloofc. 37 
 
 " But it has interested me, monsieur, and I entreat 
 you to proceed." 
 
 "Well, as soon as Monsieur Brunot saw me ap- 
 proaching, he stopped his carriage, and engaged me 
 in conversation whether I would or no. ' Monsieur le 
 Comte,' said he, ' you are the very man of all others 
 whom I most wished to behold.' I felt very much 
 inclined to laugh outright, since we have scarcely met 
 before." 
 
 "But you didn't?" interrupted Blanche. 
 
 "Why do you ask me? No, I was more scrupu- 
 lously polite than I should probably have been to a 
 prince of the blood ; but I need scarcely add, that to 
 see a man who would have been in his place at the 
 head of a factory, masquerading en prince, exasperated 
 me to no small extent. After a preamble, which I 
 did my best to cut short, he said, without a blush, 
 ' Monsieur le Comte, I am here on an electioneering 
 campaign. Your influence in the Department is of 
 the first importance to me ; may I count upon it ? ' I 
 fancy I astonished him, for after deliberating an 
 instant, I replied: 'My dear monsieur, I know nothing 
 of your views. I have never been tempted to dabble 
 in politics, and in confidence, I am willing to admit 
 to you that I am a better judge of a pretty woman ' 
 my dear Abbe", I fear I shall shock you ' than of 
 what constitutes a suitable Deputy.' From that 
 moment Monsieur Brunot despaired, ceased to impor- 
 tune me further, and we parted." 
 
 " Poor man, you were rather hard on him." 
 " I said what I felt, and witness the truth of my 
 assertion, monsieur behold my wife." 
 
 The colour deepened in Blanche's cheeks. She 
 attempted to smile in acknowledgment of the com- 
 pliment, but the effort subsided into doubt and 
 veiled annoyance, and this expression, coupled with an 
 awkward pause, induced Louis to take his leave. So
 
 38 nl jflesb 
 
 terminated his second memorable visit to the chateau; 
 but as he wended his way homewards in the soft 
 summer light, amidst the blossoms and the hum of 
 children's voices playing, more than one idea was 
 agitating him. 
 
 He was sure that Madame la Comtesse was 
 not happy, though she had a beautiful home ; sure 
 that hers were the white shoulders he had seen 
 disappearing through the foliage. It was unfortunate; 
 but what could he do ? It might be in his power to 
 lighten her burden, and if so, he would try his best. 
 She was so beautiful and so kind, and the recollection 
 of the friendly reception he had received, did some- 
 thing towards deadening the words which were 
 constantly recurring to him : " Ah, well, you have 
 gained your ends, wife. Louis is a priest, our bread 
 is assured now, but " How would the sentence" have 
 ended but for his entrance ? What did it mean ? 
 He was too proud to seek to know, since he was not 
 intended to hear ; but he could not forget, and so full 
 was he of these thoughts, that he was scarcely con- 
 scious of the marks of respect paid to him by those 
 he passed, and failed altogether to notice the figure 
 of Andre Moriseau leaning against the Widow Le- 
 maitre's door talking to her earnestly. For that 
 matter, he did not know Andrd Moriseau, or that the 
 Widow Lemaitre was a sworn enemy of the Chotard 
 family, and of Lisette in particular.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LA JONQUIERES was wrapped in profound silence. 
 Not a voice was to be heard, not a trace of a human 
 being to be seen in the rough stone-paved street 
 Even the shaggy-haired, keen-scented dogs of the 
 shepherd breed, which, as a rule, were reposing 
 placidly at the entrances of their masters' humble 
 dwellings, were no longer to be found at their respec- 
 tive coigns of vantage. The moon alone seemed to 
 hold complete sway, and having risen laboriously from 
 behind the hills, to be content to linger in the airy 
 regions from which she looked and flung her silver 
 radiance prodigally. With the exception of her light, 
 the scintillating gems about her and two others, La 
 Jonquikres was in darkness. 
 
 One of these twinkled behind the roses in Lisette's 
 window, the other flung strong gleams upon the terrace 
 in front of the chateau. In the rooms from which those 
 lights proceeded, the prelude to a little life-play was 
 being enacted. Madame la Comtesse and the whole 
 body of domestics had retired to sleep en masse. Why 
 was the Count up alone, with restless steps and restless 
 eyes, the latter gleaming as though they would never 
 need repose ? Old Pierre Chotard had retired to bed 
 with the birds, for he meant to get up with them, so 
 had his wife, and so had Lisette, virtually. She had 
 taken off her clothes for coolness, and had lain down, 
 blowing the candle out as though for the night. 
 In reality that light was extinguished by her for 
 effect, for she lay with a sheet over her, and 
 
 39
 
 40 nil? Jflesb anfc Bloo&* 
 
 never tried to close her eyes, stared rather into the 
 darkness, and did her best to listen for the old clock 
 of the church to chime forth the hour. What hour 
 was she listening for, and why, when it came, did she 
 cast the sheet from her, come to a sitting posture on 
 the edge of her bed, and grope for the match she had 
 placed at hand ? Why, when the candle was lit, did 
 she rise to her feet, and with every care to avoid a 
 sound or a creak of the boards she trod upon, dress 
 herself quickly ? Why, too, while she was about it, 
 did her eyes sparkle, her bosom heave, and her fingers 
 tremble as one in excitement? Her cheeks, warm 
 with rich blood, and her lips, scarlet with health, con- 
 trasted powerfully with the whiteness of her skin and 
 her glossy black hair. Occasionally, as she proceeded 
 with her simple and hurried toilet, the ruddy lips 
 moved, as though some form of inward communing 
 was in progress. 
 
 At length she had finished, and with stockings 
 only on the feet she was proud of, her shoes in her 
 hand, she leant and blew out the candle. With 
 the darkness she paused, standing in the little 
 room half-way to the door. Did the absence of the 
 light bring fear ? Surely not to one of her tempera- 
 ment ; but a rush of thoughts yes. To be truthful, 
 not the darkness, but the nearer approach of what she 
 was about, brought those thoughts, some of them too 
 hard to fling aside. On the brink of her purpose, her 
 head became the battle-ground of a spirited melte of 
 contending ideas. 
 
 " Shall I go?" she thought, and hesitated. "What 
 would Andre" Moriseau think, and father and mother ? 
 Is it right, is it right ? " 
 
 A sharp conflict ensued over this, and the " noes " 
 had it clearly ; but, on the opposing side, counter- 
 acting the effect, came a din of screeching, impish 
 voices.
 
 jflesb ant) Blocs. 41 
 
 " It may not be quite right ; but there's not much 
 harm, and you'll never have any fun in your life if 
 you are so silly. Besides, no one will know, and 
 you'll have all your pleasure without anyone being 
 the wiser. Why, of course, go, and don't make such 
 a fuss about it. You promised. Keep your word, 
 you can't back out of it now ; you promised, so it's 
 too late. What, promised to meet another woman's 
 husband ! yes but. Bother the but's to the devil 
 with them. It's only for a chat in the moonlight, 
 that's all." 
 
 So clamoured the imps and the angels, and while 
 the fight was still fierce, Lisette, wishing hard to go, 
 went. 
 
 Within the spacious walls of the chateau, in one of 
 the stately apartments looking out on to the trim, 
 flower-decked terrace, and the stretch of smooth tree- 
 dotted turf, the Count paced, fidgetted, and was 
 supremely restless ; but good voices, though they 
 still made themselves heard, were weak within him. 
 They had fought often. He had stifled them much. 
 His restlessness came of his desire that his schemes 
 should succeed. There could be little new to him, 
 and a general weariness was the result ; but the 
 charmingly unsophisticated person of Lisette had 
 administered a fillip. Her rustic beauty had allured 
 him as no other type would have done. He 
 thought he understood the fashionable world and 
 its feminine disciples so well ; but this simple wood- 
 land nymph, this creature of the village and its 
 strong fresh air, he was blasd enough to think, would 
 amuse him, act as a sort of tonic, and kill time, in 
 fact. So he had sought and encouraged, not resisted. 
 He was too great a man to be seen talking to Lisette 
 as often as he might wish, before the little world even 
 of La Jonquieres, besides the Countess it would 
 not do ; but to meet her at night was romantic, what
 
 42 nig jflesb ant) 3BIoot>, 
 
 he wished, and attended, in his opinion, with little 
 risk of discovery. 
 
 The people of La Jonquieres were so wooden, and 
 slept like their own cattle, soundly, because they had 
 worked. Of course, if anything did come out, it would 
 be annoying decidedly. The very devil, in fact ; for 
 madame was not of a sort to be trifled with. But 
 well, he would risk that. It was a good deal to do, 
 yet he was enamoured, and risk, after all, was 
 a salt, without which there would have been little 
 savour. 
 
 For him, the time appointed had come, and he 
 was about to step on to the terrace, through one 
 of the long French windows, when he discovered, 
 to his annoyance, that his cigar-case was empty. 
 None of the household would be surprised if 
 they knew him to be stirring at any hour. His 
 constant and protracted visits to Paris, had ac- 
 customed him to retire when the nightingale's clear 
 full warble was hushed by the joyous carol of 
 the lark. 
 
 The great staircase, with its handsome but gloomy 
 panelling, its military relics and battle-piece by Meis- 
 sonier, was quickly ascended, his private sanctum 
 gained, and case filled ; but, in the act of returning, it 
 occurred to him to see whether his wife slept. He 
 passed on into her room. 
 
 There had been a time when to be free to enter 
 where she was at the dead of night, to stand by 
 and gaze upon her beauty unchecked, would have 
 aroused as much feeling as he was capable of, struck 
 a chord as deep as any in his nature. He had 
 pursued her, hunted her down, would take no denial, 
 and married her with the most violent protestations 
 of sincere attachment. Now he could look upon 
 her unmoved, or nearly so, certainly with little senti- 
 ment that was substantial or genuine Yet his con-
 
 Jflesb anb 3Bloot>. 43 
 
 science smote him as she stirred and muttered rest- 
 lessly. He knew that he had done much to fill the blue 
 eyes with tears, to hasten the inevitable coming of grey 
 hairs, to wrinkle the fair skin, and cause the delicate 
 complexion to fade prematurely. Why did he not 
 stop ? There was yet time. She was very forgiving, 
 and susceptible to kindness. Ah, to tread one track 
 long, is to become accustomed to it, so that its wind- 
 ings could almost be followed with closed eyes. Did 
 she deserve ill at his hands ? Not unless goodness 
 and truth, a conduct which he knew to be above 
 blame, merited chastisement She had never wronged 
 him in the smallest matter intentionally. He could 
 not say the same, either in great or small things. 
 A shudder passed over him ; a spasm caused by 
 self-acknowledged guilt. His conscience, compass- 
 like, though subject to no variations, still indicated 
 the straight, the right course. He chose to neglect 
 its promptings. It pleased him to shut his eyes and 
 shrug his shoulders, to ignore good, to meet Lisette 
 at all hazards, and with a stifled exclamation of anger 
 at his own weakness he turned his back upon the 
 chateau to do so. 
 
 At the head of the village, and running at right 
 angles to the main street, was a thin copse composed 
 of an oak or two and some willows and alders, where 
 the ground became moister as it sloped to the river. 
 Lisette gained its shelter by leaving her home at the 
 back, traversing the little garden, climbing the fence 
 at the bottom of it, and running swiftly over a piece 
 of ground which, stretching at the rear of the village 
 was the common property of its inhabitants, and was 
 bounded by the Meuse itself. This copse grew right 
 down to the water's edge, and in its shadow, where 
 some of the longer branches waved to and fro in the 
 stream, she stood and waited. 
 
 " Perhaps, after all, he won't come," she said to
 
 44 nl jflesb ant> 3Bloot>. 
 
 herself, looking about for a sign of the Count, and 
 seeing none. " I've a good mind to go back, and if 
 he doesn't appear soon I will. This comes of meeting 
 a great man. Poor old Andre" would have been 
 waiting for me an hour ago. Ah," she sighed, " I 
 wonder whether I'm foolish not to take him and his 
 farm. He loves me, and is good enough for me. I 
 couldn't expect a better husband, but Pierre was 
 right. I am changed. Paris has spoilt me spoilt 
 me at least for a life of drudgery in the country. I 
 like excitement love it, I ought to say. The Count 
 is so rich and so handsome." Lisette laid great 
 emphasis upon the words " so handsome," and clasped 
 her hands together with a gesture expressive of the 
 blindest adoration. " So handsome," she repeated, 
 "and Andre, with his old farm amongst the trees 
 yonder, will keep. Ma foi> I might be speaking of 
 last year's apples." She burst into a peal of laughter 
 at the queer comparison, and in the midst of her 
 merriment a voice said : 
 
 " You laugh ah ! then you are not cross with me?" 
 
 " Oh, how you startled me ! " exclaimed Lisette, 
 putting her hand to her side. 
 
 " Did I ? " returned the Count. " Is the little heart 
 beating too fast ? Let me feel." 
 
 "Take your arm away. I'm cross," retorted Lisette, 
 pouting her red lips. 
 
 " But you were laughing a moment ago." 
 
 "Yes, but it was at my own thoughts, and not 
 because I was glad you had kept me waiting ever so 
 long, and in the cold, too." 
 
 " Why, it's not cold ; but if it is, let me kiss the cold 
 away." 
 
 "Don't. It's the middle of the night, and ought to 
 be cold if it isn't." 
 
 "Not in these parts at this time of year, sweet 
 Lisette."
 
 nig tflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 45 
 
 " You are not half sorry enough, Monsieur le Comte. 
 Why, you are trying to make fun of me." 
 
 " Indeed I'm not. Fun of you ? Lisette, just think 
 what you're saying. Sorry enough ? I'm not sorry 
 I'm here, that is if you'll be sweet to me as I know 
 you can be." 
 
 " You don't know anything of the kind." 
 
 " As sweet as the roses which grow so near to you, 
 that when I think of it, I become envious." 
 
 " How absurd you are, monsieur." 
 
 " Not at all. Hear me. I tell you I envy the roses 
 that have climbed so near to you that the softest 
 breath of wind can turn their faces, so that they can 
 peer at you through that sweet little chamber window 
 of yours, whenever they chance to be so pleasantly 
 caressed. Ah, Lisette, the roses are more fortunate 
 than I am. Come, let us make it up. I had to get 
 some cigars, and that made me late." 
 
 " Had to get some cigars ? How droll ! Then the 
 cigars were of more consequence than " 
 
 " Of first consequence." 
 
 " Really ? " 
 
 " Yes, because I knew you would come to me, and 
 I had to go and fetch them." 
 
 " Don't talk in riddles. How could you tell that I 
 should come ? " 
 
 " Instinct." 
 
 " Well, it nearly deceived you. I had half a mind 
 not to, and should have gone away again but for my 
 own thoughts, which made me laugh." 
 
 " Exactly ; but made you wait for me." 
 
 " Indeed, I'd forgotten all about you." 
 
 " Ah, you say that. You affect nonchalance. A 
 little trick common to your sex. You shall speak the 
 truth to me, you shall own, and it will be a 
 different tale you will have to confess, my dear girl." 
 
 " How conceited you men are."
 
 46 tils tflesb anb 
 
 " You make us so, by the attentions you can't help 
 paying us." 
 
 " Can't help paying you ? How absurd! Do you 
 suppose we have no control over ourselves ? " 
 
 " None, when you meet the man you like. Then 
 you are, as a woman in love, what that man makes 
 you. Lisette, as a woman in love, come into my 
 arms." 
 
 " Suppose anyone sees us," replied Lisette, posing 
 coquettishly before the Count, who had seated 
 himself on a convenient bough, which swayed with 
 the weight of his small but well-formed figure. He 
 lighted a cigar, and spoke between his efforts to make 
 it burn smoothly. 
 
 " How can anyone see us ? " 
 
 " If they happened to be prowling about in the 
 village. Madame la Comtesse " 
 
 " Do you suppose Madame la Comtesse is likely to 
 be prowling about in the village? " 
 
 " She might follow you. Whatever would she say?" 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense." 
 
 " Or Andre." 
 
 " Who is Andre, pray ? " 
 
 " He would kill me." 
 
 " Confound him. Who is he ? " 
 
 " Andr Moriseau, Monsieur le Comte." 
 
 " What, who has the farm up on the hill ? " 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "And why should he kill you? Ridiculous idea. 
 But what power has he over you ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " None ? Then why did you allude to him ? " 
 
 " Because he loves me." 
 
 " Is that all ? " 
 
 "All, monsieur? If you only heard the way he 
 speaks. He loves me madly." 
 
 " I daresay. He'd be a fool if he didn't."
 
 jflesb an& Block 47 
 
 " And is always pestering me by his offers of 
 marriage." 
 
 " Well, why don't you tell him his attentions are 
 distasteful ? " 
 
 " Because I'm not sure." 
 
 " How droll ! You can scarcely love him, and at 
 the same time consent to meet me here at mid- 
 night." 
 
 " Why not ? This place is so dull, and it amuses 
 one." 
 
 " Oh, it amuses you ? Meeting one here is a source 
 of amusement, eh ? Let .me see. Andre", then, is 
 the real, the acknowledged lover ; but you don't 
 mind filling up your spare time with me. So, if that 
 is it, it strikes me that Monsieur Andre and I have 
 an account to settle." 
 
 " Oh, he can take good care of himself," laughed 
 Lisette, in the same bantering tones. 
 
 " Can he ? He may want all his wits to do it. 
 You little wretch, you shall not annoy me any 
 further. I'll make you admit that you love me and 
 only me, or I'll know why," and the Count suddenly 
 sprang from his seat. 
 
 By an agile movement Lisette contrived to elude 
 him. There was a moment's chase, but the Count 
 was too quick for her, and she was in his arms. 
 
 " Now then, mademoiselle," he said, as he led her 
 back, panting from the exertion, " you shall satisfy 
 me as I have said. First, that plump white arm 
 would rather be round my neck than anyone else's. 
 I know it, so I shall place it there." 
 
 The Count suited the action to the word. 
 
 Lisette was passive. 
 
 " Secondly, that small round waist, so symmetrical, 
 so firm, so altogether charming, would rather be en- 
 circled by my arm than anyone else's. I know it, so 
 behold." He did as he said. " Thirdly"
 
 48 tils jflesb anfc Bloo&. 
 
 " Let me go." 
 
 ;< There is nothing further from my intentions." 
 
 " Let me go. If you don't, and at once, too, I'll 
 never meet you again. And what would Father Ber- 
 nard or anyone say, if they knew that I had done 
 so?" 
 
 " Ah, you should have thought of that before. 
 Now, the fact being known to us only remains 
 a secret, the more sacred because of its sweetness. 
 But why allude to Father Bernard ? " 
 
 " Because I shall have to tell him how wicked it 
 was of me to come here. If I don't I shall never 
 feel happy." 
 
 " Tell him if you like, and let him be the judge of 
 the extent of the evil committed by two people who 
 desire to talk, at the hour when the nightingales claim 
 the silence as their right. Tell him, of course, and 
 you'll be forgiven. But, my dear Lisette, do you 
 suppose that priests never do wrong ; have no 
 passions, in fact, like the rest of us ? " 
 
 "Of course they haven't. But then they are 
 different." 
 
 " Different, my poor, simple, little child different ! 
 They are mortals, I suppose you will admit, and as 
 such, subject to the weaknesses of flesh and blood. 
 Can the leopard change his spots or the Ethiopian 
 his skin, do you fancy, my darling little Lisette ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't know anything at all about it/' 
 replied Lisette, yawning, and showing her white 
 teeth in the act. 
 
 " And you don't want to," answered the Count 
 quickly, seeing that he was carrying her out of her 
 depth. " Why should you ? You were made for 
 love, made to be loved, and that's all you want to be 
 told or to know. Put your arms round me and kiss 
 me." 
 
 Lisette brushed the Count's moustache aside with
 
 fflesb ant> JBloofc* 49 
 
 her moist lips, and he, surprised at her acquiescence, 
 returned the caress till it palled upon him. 
 
 " Do you know, Lisette," he said, " that the sight 
 of you looking down upon me from amongst the 
 roses, was the loveliest picture I've ever seen. I must 
 have you painted like that." 
 
 " Yes, and madame would trample upon the 
 picture. No, I shall not be painted, not even to 
 please you," retorted Lisette. 
 
 " Not even to please me ? Then you would do a 
 good deal if I asked you if I were to entreat 
 you ? " 
 
 " I have come here to-night," said Lisette simply. 
 
 " And that is much, that is a great deal." 
 
 " More a great deal more than you deserve. 
 But I must go, I must. The thought that father or 
 mother might have heard me stirring, by some evil 
 chance, makes me tremble." 
 
 " No one has heard you, and you can't go yet. 
 Why, we have not arranged when to meet again." 
 
 " Oh, I can't promise now." 
 
 "What! that pretty little foot, that has brought 
 you here, will carry you away doubtful of when it 
 shall bear you to me again." 
 
 " Yes ; I can't stay another moment." 
 
 " But I haven't admired it half enough. Let me 
 see, you could wear Cinderella's famous slipper, you 
 are simply " 
 
 But with a swift turn, and the exertion of her 
 country strength, Lisette slipped from the Count's em- 
 brace, and sped away amidst the stems of the trees too 
 swiftly to be followed. The Count looked after her 
 until she had disappeared over the low fence of the 
 garden, which was just visible in the uncertain light 
 and then, when she was no longer to be seen, turned 
 in the direction of the chateau grounds, saying to 
 himself:
 
 5 nip fflesb ant) Bloofc* 
 
 " I don't know when I've seen as pretty a woman. 
 But she's not to be caught like a grisette. Really, this 
 becomes interesting," and he strolled leisurely back to 
 the terrace and to bed, pondering upon what had 
 happened, while Blanche slept in ignorance, and Louis 
 Bernard slumbered in the little home he had made 
 for himself, unconscious even by the warning of a 
 dream, that in the night, dark and quiet, webs were 
 being spun which should affect him. 
 
 As for Lisette, of whom Andr^ Moriseau was 
 dreaming on his rough couch under the thatch, away 
 upon the hill amongst the poplars as for Lisette, 
 she closed her black eyes contentedly, thinking the 
 Count "so handsome," and thinking also that she 
 might acquire power over him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE home in which Louis Bernard had come to live 
 was as simple as could be conceived. So plain in its 
 exterior, that there was absolutely nothing in its gray 
 stone walls to please the eye. Merely a cottage, with 
 a couple of windows on each side of the door, on 
 either hand of which again grew an old and knotted 
 pear tree, trained to conceal much of the bare stone- 
 work. A little garden cut in terraces as it encroached 
 on the rocky heights already described, and rising at 
 the extreme end, so that a view of the village and the 
 grounds of the chateau could be had from it. These ter- 
 races fringed with espaliers of carefully cultured fruit 
 trees,and marked by patches of herbs and old-fashioned 
 flowers. 
 
 The interior of the cottage was likewise stamped 
 with a plainness amounting to severity. A few pieces 
 of old and treasured china, heirlooms from Madame 
 Bernard's side of the house. Two or three prints, 
 upon which the same value was set, and a scanty 
 stock of old furniture in mahogany and cracked rose- 
 wood much thought of, much polished. 
 
 Madame Bernard herself was not altogether out of 
 keeping with her surroundings. Tall, bony, wrinkled, 
 yet pink upon the cheeks ; religiously, as severe as 
 her appearance suggested. Beneath the harsh exterior, 
 a love of her son, though this, alas, almost buried under 
 a veneer of religious enthusiasm and deepest ambition 
 that he should rise to eminence in the Church. Le 
 Pere Bernard, the reverse of her in all things, sleek,
 
 52 (Smis fflesb anfc Bloot), 
 
 good-tempered, content to let his wife rule where he 
 had not the brains, and, except for a bursting bubble 
 of disapproval which rose to his tongue as if by mis- 
 take, quiescent in all things. 
 
 So it will be seen that so far as his parents were 
 concerned, Louis fell between two stools. The 
 mother, incapable of drawing forth love and confidence 
 by kindness, and an effort to understand and sympa- 
 thize. The father, mentally so inferior to his child, 
 that Louis' quick and cultivated intellect shrank un- 
 satisfied from any sustained intercourse. The two 
 old people had chanced to split upon a life-long rock 
 of contention Louis, and his pursuit in life. 
 Madame's religious fervour and dogged vigour of 
 mind had carried the day. Le P&re Bernard, beaten, 
 looked on and occasionally lamented. Beyond this 
 solitary disagreement, husband and wife were strangely 
 happy for so ill-sorted a pair. 
 
 As a boy, Louis had uttered his complaints, vented 
 his feelings of dislike, both of the life he then led and 
 of the outlook it presented. Madame Bernard, in her 
 strength, had chided and turned him back to the 
 course she had chalked out for him. As a man, he 
 had sought to find the consolation naturally needed 
 by a sensitive, speculative, and somewhat restless dis- 
 position, sought for this where he should have dis- 
 covered it in his mother. He had found her barren, 
 beyond holding up before him the skeleton of re- 
 ligion, and telling him to take comfort by clothing it 
 with his daily acts. Being human, and therefore re- 
 quiring human support, he had been driven back upon 
 himself, and although unknown to him, this accident 
 of birth, this parental want, coupled with a boyhood 
 and youth immersed in study, had stored within him 
 a torrent composed of all human passions and weak- 
 nesses, which were pent up only to burst their bonds 
 with greater fury, when the ripe time should come.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AT the chateau, the change, of which Blanche had 
 spoken to Louis, had come. Amy had arrived, 
 and like the butterfly to which Blanche had laugh- 
 ingly compared her, she flitted about the old place 
 enraptured with everything. The court-yard, with 
 its shimmering pond stocked with carp, and shaded 
 with walnut trees, sent her into a reverie. The out- 
 lying woods of the park, the shady alleys, the broad 
 terrace, the brilliant parterre^ and view of the slowly 
 gliding river, transported her into an ecstasy. 
 
 Loving Nature best, and the day of her arrival 
 being propitious, she inspected the exterior first, her 
 arm through Blanche's, her remaining hand full of 
 the gay blossoms she could not resist the temptation 
 of gathering en route. Once within doors again, she 
 insisted upon being shown all the vast rooms some 
 of which were never used and seldom opened, except 
 for dusting purposes and would have poked into 
 every hole and corner, carried away by the novelty 
 the exploration afforded her, had she been left to 
 herself. Finally, however, drawn by Blanche, she 
 concentrated her attention and admiration upon the 
 reception rooms, and there, though she was no 
 connoisseur, the art treasures collected by generations 
 of the Count's ancestors, came in for very honest, if 
 uneducated, praise. 
 
 Common sense told her what labour the short-stitch 
 tapestry of the Louis Quatorze furniture had cost, 
 
 53
 
 54 nig 3FIesb ant> 
 
 and her own innate taste caused her to detect the 
 delicate workmanship and colouring of the old 
 Dresden bonbonnieres. Gilded chairs of rare design 
 upholstered in stately Genoa velvet, Gobelins tapes- 
 try, Venetian mirrors, and clocks of brass and ebony 
 executed in Boule's well-known style, could not be 
 seen even by her uncultured eyes without awakening 
 their meed of praise. Besides, when Blanche witnessed 
 her delight, her own love of the beautiful and artistic 
 was thoroughly aroused, and in the most approved 
 bric-a-brac parlance she discussed the merits of the 
 wonders of which she was mistress. She even sifted 
 her memory, and in examining the portraits of 
 the Count's ancestors, of which he was justly proud, 
 tried to recall the legends he had told her and the 
 remarks he had made concerning them. Then, when 
 Amy had looked, wondered, commented in her own 
 fashion, and in short filled her mind, sponge-like, 
 with as much as it would hold, the two sisters sat 
 down to a cup of tea and a chat. 
 
 " Let's pull the table nearer to the window and 
 then we can see the river," exclaimed Amy, waiting 
 for no answer, but doing as she suggested. " Well, 
 Blanche, you ought to be happy in such a lovely 
 home. I suppose I shall get used to the grandeur of 
 it in time. After aunt's unpretentious substantialness, 
 it seems to me like a palace. And to think that 
 you've been here all this time, and yet I've never 
 seen it before." 
 
 " Not long after all, dear. You must remember we 
 travelled about a good deal, and were in Paris some 
 months before we settled down here." 
 
 " True, so you were." 
 
 " Then, too, you mustn't forget that after I was 
 married, and papa went abroad again, I was inces- 
 santly begging you to come to me." 
 
 " But poor aunt couldn't spare me."
 
 jflesb ant> 3Bloot>. 55 
 
 " That was why I ceased asking you. I thought 
 she might think me unkind." 
 
 " Oh, she never thought that. She knew how we 
 loved each other, and it never entered into her head 
 to think anything bad of you. She always used to 
 say to me, ' Amy, you are pretty, but Blanche is 
 beautiful.' She admired you so much, you know, 
 dear," added Amy naively, and by way of ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " Did she ? " replied Blanche, in a voice which 
 seemed to imply her disbelief in the genuineness of 
 anyone's admiration or regard. 
 
 "Did she? of course she did," retorted Amy 
 emphatically ; " and how could she help it, I should 
 like to know? Look at your beautiful broad shoulders 
 and golden hair. Then you are tall and in proportion, 
 while I am small, and my hair's " 
 
 "Auburn," interrupted Blanche affectionately ; "and 
 you mustn't flatter, me, dear, or I shall become quite 
 vain, and then you won't like me." 
 
 " No, I never shall ; but I shall love you as long as 
 I live, and you won't get me away from you again in 
 a hurry. Can't I stay altogether, Blanche ? " 
 
 " We'll see how it can be managed." 
 
 " I needn't be any expense, for we've both got 
 ample to live on now. I often think how kind 
 it was of aunt. Blanche, I wish she could have lived 
 always." 
 
 " Whatever is, is best," replied Blanche, uncon- 
 sciously quoting a line of Pope's, and with far more 
 meaning in her voice than the subject demanded, 
 for, in reality, she had seen little of the relative in 
 question. 
 
 " I suppose so, if one stops to think, but how 
 seldom one does ; still, it has often occurred to me 
 that when some terrible railway accident happens 
 and scores of people are killed, or a vessel is wrecked
 
 56 nip jflesb an> Bloob. 
 
 and the crew and passengers lost, it becomes diffi- 
 cult to understand how that can be for the 
 best." 
 
 " There are many things beyond our comprehension, 
 dear. It would be better perhaps to say that there are 
 few things we understand rightly, yet, in any case, we 
 must accept them as being for the best. But what 
 has come over you, Amy dear ? I was only telling the 
 Abbd, a little while ago, when we chanced to talk of 
 you, that you were so mercurial, laughing always, 
 and without a gloomy thought ever." 
 
 " Oh, I have them sometimes," said Amy 
 demurely. 
 
 " The Abbd will accuse me of having given him false 
 impressions if sometimes means often." 
 
 " But it doesn't." 
 
 " Certainly there can be no foundation for gloom 
 with you. Healthy, pretty, and sweet seventeen." 
 
 " Eighteen nearly." 
 
 " Well, eighteen." 
 
 Amy nodded, leant back in her chair, and seemed 
 ill-disposed to quarrel with her condition in life just 
 then, while an expression, the very embodiment of 
 innocent mischief, came into her eyes eyes, by the 
 way, of a much darker colour than Blanche's, but full 
 of honesty, simplicity, and understanding. Her 
 features were such as together constituted a very 
 happy whole, but separately, would bear no com- 
 parison with the delicacy and beauty of Blanche's. 
 In each case there was the same wide sensitive mouth, 
 but Amy's complexion, instead of being perfectly fair, 
 and tinged with warm colour like her sister's, was 
 rosier and plentifully besprinkled over the bridge of 
 the slightly retrousse^ nose with minute brown freckles. 
 She wore her hair, which Blanche had justly called 
 auburn, plaited into a long pigtail, which was thick, 
 reached below her waist, and was tied with blue
 
 tflesb anfc 3Blocto. 57 
 
 ribbon. In a few words, such is as faithful a sketch 
 of her as can be given. 
 
 " Blanche," she said, at the end of a pause, setting 
 down her empty cup, " give me some more tea, please, 
 and plenty of cream. It's delicious. Who did you 
 say was coming to dinner to-night ? Someone with a 
 most imposing title, if I recollect." 
 
 " The Baron de Courcelles." 
 
 " How intimidating, so very grand, but nice. Fox 
 sounds horrid after it, and I feel quite small, though 
 papa is a colonel, and of good family. You know 
 I've never dined with a live Baron before, Blanche. 
 Is he very awe-inspiring, with a dark bronzed face, 
 huge curled moustachios, and great brown eyes? 
 because I shall simply shrink up into a little round 
 ball, and say nothing. Does he speak English ? Tell 
 me at once. What is he like ? " 
 
 Blanche enjoyed a good laugh at the picture Amy 
 had drawn, and highly amused at her simple impetu- 
 ous manner, said : 
 
 " Well, give me a moment to think. Yes, certainly 
 he speaks English." 
 
 " That's satisfactory, as I would much rather not 
 air my French." 
 
 " Oh, but you must, you used to speak quite nicely ; 
 besides Rudolf detests English, as you know, and I 
 don't believe the Abb4 Bernard knows a word of it." 
 
 " Poor me. I suppose I'm in for it. What horrid 
 blunders I shall make. I shall keep close to you, and 
 you must come to the rescue. But finish about the 
 Baron. He speaks English, you say ? " 
 
 " Yes, and is not at all like the picture you have 
 imagined. He is slight and thin, but well built. Fair- 
 skinned, fair-haired, and with nice grey eyes. Much 
 more likely to shrink and say nothing, than you are, 
 Miss Amy, with all due deference to you." 
 
 " Oh, then if he's like that, we shall get on nicely.
 
 58 nig fflesb ant> 
 
 I hate to feel myself so horribly small. But you 
 know I'm still quite afraid of Rudolf." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Rudolf likes you," replied Blanche 
 gravely. 
 
 " Perhaps he does, but I'm quite afraid of him, 
 though he used to kiss me tremendously. Why don't 
 you laugh, Blanche, or have I made you cross ? It 
 wasn't my fault. I couldn't stop him. I used to try 
 to look very severe, you know, then he used to seize 
 me, hold me tightly, and I used to laugh. Why, 
 you're not listening, I declare." 
 
 " Yes, I am, dear." 
 
 " Are you cross ? " 
 
 " Not in the least. How could I be with you ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Those blue eyes of yours can 
 flash." 
 
 " But not at you," said Blanche, with amusement. 
 
 "And who else is coming did you say?" asked 
 Amy, ignoring the last remark. 
 
 " The Abbd of La Jonquieres, Monsieur Louis 
 Bernard." 
 
 " What pretty names these Frenchmen have." 
 
 " He is constantly here. We like him, and he 
 knows so much, though he has scarcely been any- 
 where." 
 
 " Learned and religious. You shall talk to him." 
 
 "Very well," laughed Blanche; "and you shall 
 monopolize the Baron, though, when you have rubbed 
 up your French, you'll like the Abbe, or I'm mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " Of course I shall, if you do. You must come and 
 inspect my frocks, and help me to look nice, will 
 you ? " 
 
 Blanche nodded good - humouredly, and Amy 
 strayed into a lengthy description of the things she 
 had bought and wished to buy for her visit, suddenly 
 stopping in the middle of it to dart from her seat at
 
 jfleab an& Bloofc. 59 
 
 the sight of the two spaniels, who, with pretty hang- 
 ing ears and gently waving tails, had trotted along 
 the terrace and thrust their noses in through the 
 window inquiringly. 
 
 "I'm wildly in love with all dogs," she said en- 
 thusiastically with a curly head secured under each 
 arm. 
 
 " And I with horses, though I'm very fond of dogs, I 
 confess," said Blanche, as she watched Amy's pro- 
 ceedings from her seat in the window. 
 
 "What's that about dogs and horses?" said the 
 Count, for the spaniels were never very far from their 
 master if they could help it. 
 
 " Why, we love them both." 
 
 " So I should imagine ; then you shall ride with 
 me sometimes." 
 
 "Oh, but I'm no good on a horse; I've never had 
 any practice." 
 
 " But I'll teach you." 
 
 "Yes, Rudolf taught me but you are wet and 
 muddy," added Blanche, addressing the Count, whose 
 dress was much stained. "Wherever have you been?" 
 
 " Only fishing, strolling along the river bank with 
 a rod. I'm glad I was, too." 
 
 " Why ? Have you had good sport ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then why do you say you are glad, so energetic- 
 ally?" 
 
 " Because I had the opportunity of seeing that 
 of yours prove " 
 
 " Why do you speak of him in that way ? " in- 
 terrupted Blanche. 
 
 " Well, dear, he's more your friend than mine. I 
 don't affect the cloth, as you know." 
 
 " One can't well be anything but friends with the 
 vicar of the place one lives in, Rudolf. But certainly 
 I think he's a good man, and though we've not
 
 60 nls fflesb anfc Bloot*. 
 
 known him long enough to judge, perhaps, I thought 
 you agreed with me." 
 
 "And so I do. I'll go further even, after what he 
 did this afternoon. He ought to have been a soldier, 
 though, instead of a priest." 
 
 " How you tantalize us. What's he done ? " asked 
 Amy impetuously. 
 
 " Oh, you've found your tongue," laughed the 
 Count. 
 
 "Isn't he too bad, Blanche? You know I'm 
 ashamed of my French, Rudolf." 
 
 " Indeed ; then you've got little to be ashamed of. 
 In six months you'll speak like a native. Well, 
 the Abbd is a splendid fellow, and I embraced 
 him on the spot ; that's one reason why I am so wet. 
 But so that you may not tax me with teasing you, 
 I'll tell you the reason for my admiration. Some 
 children were playing on the river bank near where I 
 was fishing. The Abb6 was close to them, and with 
 his breviaire in his hand, stood watching them and 
 smiling at their sports. The ball they were amusing 
 themselves with fell into the river. A plucky little 
 fellow, the noisiest of the group, tried to recover it, 
 slipped and disappeared in the deep water, above 
 the weir, where there is a pretty strong current. 
 Quick as lightning the Abb4 was after him. He just 
 put his breviaire on the bank, and the next moment 
 he had dived and had him in his arms. Then he 
 made a gallant struggle, gripping the child firmly. 
 For a few seconds it looked as though he might be 
 carried over the weir, but he breasted the current, 
 gained the bank, and that's the whole story. Now 
 is he not, as I said, a splendid fellow ? " 
 
 " I should think so," said Blanche enthusiastically. 
 
 " How I wish I had seen him do it." 
 " What, you, Amy ? Why, you'd have fainted, and 
 I should have been obliged to carry you home. Not
 
 fflesb ant> Block 61 
 
 that I should have objected to the burden," added 
 the Count gallantly. 
 
 " How stupid of you, Rudolf," pouted Amy; "as if 
 I should have been so absurd." 
 
 " You couldn't have helped it. There, you must 
 question the Abbe for further details. I must go 
 and change. Oh, I nearly forgot, Blanche ; the 
 Abbe expressed doubts about coming to-night. 
 Wouldn't it be well to send a servant to inquire, and 
 beg him to turn up, if possible? I can't help liking 
 him for his pluck." Having delivered himself of which 
 remark, the Count walked away, followed by his 
 dogs. 
 
 There was a silence of some moments, which Amy 
 at length broke by saying : 
 
 " How brave of the Abbd ; I quite long to meet 
 him." 
 
 Blanche did not appear to hear her at first. Then 
 she said suddenly and bitterly : 
 
 "Yes, men can act like that, as I know, and yet 
 can destroy one's love for them inch by inch." 
 
 The words had left her lips almost before she was 
 aware. The startled expression on Amy's face re- 
 called her to a sense of what she had done, of how 
 indiscreet she had been. 
 
 " Destroy one's love for them inch by inch," re- 
 peated Amy slowly. "Whatever do you mean, 
 Blanche?" ' 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " I don't believe that. You couldn't speak so and 
 mean nothing." 
 
 "Yes, I forgot myself; I was carried away. There, 
 promise me you won't bother your little head any 
 further about a stupid remark without any rhyme or 
 reason in it, and which escaped me only because I 
 was a little out of sorts at the moment" 
 
 " Yes," answered Amy vehemently, " but your true
 
 62 <smig jflesb anfc Bloofc. 
 
 feelings came to the surface then. You may think 
 me a little fool, but I understand you. Trust me, 
 Blanche, won't you ? We ought to be everything to 
 each other." 
 
 "And so we will be, darling Kiss me, and then 
 go and dress. It is time now. I'll come to you in 
 a few minutes, but I must just go and see whether 
 Rudolf has got all he wants." 
 
 Amy went away to her room, but the excitement 
 of her journey and arrival, the pleasure of again 
 meeting Blanche, the pleasant sensation of novelty 
 occasioned by the newness of her surroundings, were 
 dismissed unconsciously, and in a moment, as it were, 
 she became full of her sister. 
 
 The apartment which had been prepared for 
 her reception, and received its finishing touches 
 from Blanche's own hands, had, a few hours pre- 
 viously awakened an almost childish delight, 
 now she unpacked her pretty feminine trifles 
 and treasures, arranged them, and set about her 
 toilette almost mechanically. The room itself 
 seemed in every respect suited to its occupant ; a 
 fitting receptacle for virginal slumbers and the bright 
 awakening of youth and innocence. The furniture 
 was of some light wood, polished or veneered, 
 adorned with groups and sprays of blue forget-me- 
 nots ; the hangings were a charming combination of 
 pale blue silk and white muslin, upon which was a 
 pattern of the same delicate and sentimental little 
 flower. 
 
 When Amy, by a few dexterous touches, and the 
 arrangement of her little trifles, had imparted an air 
 of homeliness, the room looked indescribably cheerful 
 and cosy. Meanwhile the Count, occupied in divest- 
 ing himself of his wet garments, received Blanche's 
 attentions as a matter of course. Clean linen was 
 ready for him, but he never troubled himself to think
 
 tflesb ant) Bloot>* 63 
 
 that his wife's soft hands had put it in order, for this 
 was a task which, from the first, Blanche had taken 
 upon herself, as a delicate attention, rather than as a 
 duty. He answered her gentle inquiries and remarks 
 as briefly as it seemed words would enable him, and 
 having completed his toilette to his entire satisfaction, 
 went off to scan a packet of papers that had just 
 arrived from Paris, to smoke cigarettes, and think of 
 Lisette. 
 
 The Baron de Courcelles and Louis arrived at 
 the chateau almost simultaneously, and when everyone 
 was assembled and Louis congratulated upon having 
 recovered from his exertions sufficiently to come, 
 the Count took the opportunity to dilate upon the 
 part he had played. 
 
 " This is the hero of the hour, De Courcelles," he 
 said, placing his hand on Louis' shoulder. 
 
 " Indeed, then what better fortune could have 
 befallen me than to meet him ? " replied the Baron 
 courteously. 
 
 " You over-rate my efforts, Monsieur le Comte. I 
 hope if I am in danger of drowning, that someone 
 will have the goodness to save me," said Louis, 
 shrinking aside and trying to draw Blanche and 
 Amy into conversation. 
 
 " Why," began the Count, taking the Baron by the 
 arm and relating all that had occurred, " it was 
 splendid. I never did anything half so brave my- 
 self," he added, in a louder voice, at the end of his 
 recital. 
 
 " Nor I," echoed the Baron enthusiastically, " that 
 is a fact, though when you allude to yourself I must 
 take exception to your remark, and tell you plainly 
 I doubt you. You see you are known to be 
 brave." 
 
 This was true, for before his marriage the Count 
 had, on several occasions, proved himself to be a man
 
 64 nil? ff lesb anfc 
 
 of undoubted courage. Cowardice was not one of his 
 failings. 
 
 " Do you know, dear, that these water-lilies smell 
 exactly like cheese ? " he suddenly remarked to 
 Blanche, abruptly and rather oddly changing the 
 conversation, and plunging his nose, as he spoke, into 
 an old-fashioned china bowl, in which the flowers 
 floated ; " why do you have them when others are so 
 much prettier ? " 
 
 " I like them," answered Blanche simply. 
 
 " Am I not right ? " he persisted, appealing to 
 Louis, and plucking him by the sleeve. 
 
 " I confess I fail to detect the resemblance, 
 Monsieur le Comte," said Louis, smelling the 
 lilies. 
 
 " Can't you ? Ah, perhaps I'm mistaken. The 
 flowers are all right," he added quickly, with a smile, 
 " but make a friend of the Baron if you can, his 
 influence would get you a bishopric." Then turning 
 away without noticing an expression of surprise on 
 Louis' face, he said jestingly to the Baron, " Yes, the 
 Abbd will have taken the hearts of the peasant women 
 of La Jonquieres by storm. The spectacle of a priest 
 risking his life to save a child is not of everyday 
 occurrence." 
 
 The Baron said something in an undertone, and 
 the two laughed. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse, dinner is served," an- 
 nounced a domestic, flinging wide the doors of the 
 salon. 
 
 During dinner the conversation was animated and 
 general, and was further enlivened by some amusing 
 anecdotes which the Baron told in a quiet, dry 
 manner, peculiarly his own. 
 
 After the meal everyone made for the terrace, 
 where Blanche had ordered the coffee to be served. 
 
 " Can we not prevail upon you to give us more of
 
 nip jflesb ant> Bloofc. 65 
 
 your society, Monsieur le Baron ? " inquired Blanche, 
 handing him a cup. 
 
 "Nothing would give me greater pleasure, madame." 
 
 " Then why don't you come ? " 
 
 " There are some few reasons against my being 
 much in these parts, madame ; still, I fancy, if 
 Monsieur Brunot does not hunt me out of the 
 country, I shall be here oftener than of late." 
 
 " Why, what's he been doing ? " inquired the Count, 
 with an amused air. 
 
 " Trying to buy this estate." 
 
 " Buy the Chateau de Courcelles ? Impudence ! 
 Why doesn't the fellow make a bid for one's wife 
 at once ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, pity him, he has so much money 
 that his simple bourgeois tastes will not permit him 
 to spend it properly." 
 
 " Ah, diable ! I can't see your point, I confess. 
 Not very simple of him to covet the chateau." 
 
 " He may covet as much as he pleases. He won't 
 get it," said the Baron, and he began to talk to Amy, 
 Louis devoting himself to Blanche, while the Count 
 descended the steps which led into the garden. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, monsieur ? " said 
 Blanche, addressing Louis who had stood at her 
 side some moments without speaking, with his eyes 
 fixed upon the pale, yellow sky. 
 
 " May I say what I think, madame ? " he asked, in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " Of course ; why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because I have not known you long, madame, 
 and I fear " 
 
 " But you have always been welcome, and although 
 the duration of our intimacy, if counted by weeks, 
 might seem short, we have seen much of you. 
 I shall be tempted to think it an impossibility to 
 break through the shell into which it seems your
 
 66 <smi tflesb ant) Bloofc* 
 
 nature to retire, monsieur, if you don't say just 
 what you think. You see, I am not a Frenchwoman, 
 monsieur." 
 
 " True, madame ; I understand. We are con- 
 sidered retiring and ceremonious. Of that I am 
 no judge. Perhaps, when we know, we know well." 
 
 " I feel sure it is so." 
 
 "And you will not consider me egotistical, 
 madame ? " 
 
 " Try." 
 
 " Well, then, to you who are so kind to me I'll 
 frankly admit what otherwise I should bury within 
 myself. To-night I feel prouder than I have ever 
 done, madame." 
 
 " Had I been the means of saving a life, I should 
 experience the sentiments you describe, mon- 
 sieur." 
 
 " Madame, you have guessed why I feel as though 
 my life had not been altogether useless. Hitherto, 
 with me it has been all thinking, studying, mere 
 book work ; but to have saved this little one speaks 
 to me of action, of having done something ; and yet," 
 added Louis pensively, " if that boy's youth is to be 
 as unhappy, as lonely as mine has been, I could 
 almost think him better off were he lying hushed in 
 the death sleep by the murmur of the water, and the 
 waving of the weeds above him." 
 
 The tears stood in Louis' eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " Monsieur, you must not talk like that. You 
 really must not. In any case, you have left that 
 youth you allude to behind." 
 
 " Yet the seeds sown during it will not die. Ah, 
 forgive me, madame, this afternoon's exertion has 
 been too much for me, and I, who ought to cheer 
 others, talk of myself with the selfishness of a child. 
 It is one's duty to lose oneself in others, and then 
 only can one feel happy."
 
 tflesb ant) Bloofc. 67 
 
 " Then I fail signally. I suppose I am very 
 selfish." 
 
 " Ah, you undervalue yourself, madame." 
 
 " No, my whole life seems to be spent in attending 
 to household matters." 
 
 " Duties, nevertheless." 
 
 " But insignificant ones. Mere trifles which leave 
 no mark. The spaces between such work are filled 
 up with recollections of the past, regrets that the 
 present is not different in some way, add to that, 
 hope for the future, a vain effort to peer into the 
 invisible, the hidden, and one's day is gone." 
 
 " Yet in between, there is time found to console 
 those who are poor, friendless, and in pain, madame," 
 said Louis, with sly humour. 
 
 Blanche coloured. 
 
 " Such things, too, are trifles ; selfishness the 
 mainspring ; to forget oneself, the object." 
 
 " What are you two talking about ? " interrupted 
 the Count ; " anything very interesting ? " 
 
 " Come and be the judge, Monsieur le Comte." 
 
 The Count paid no attention to the remark. 
 
 " I told the Abbe that he should cultivate De 
 Courcelles," he observed to Blanche ; " explain to him 
 how influential he is." 
 
 " But why should I do as you suggest, Monsieur 
 le Comte ? " asked Louis simply. 
 
 The Count laughed. Louis amused him. 
 
 " Because, my dear fellow, nothing is done without 
 influence." 
 
 "In the Church, Monsieur le Comte ? " 
 
 " Even in the Church. You want to get on. The 
 De Courcelles are a powerful family. Why, it's a 
 well-known fact forgive me for saying so that 
 men of your calling who are ambitious, are content 
 to haunt the Ministere des Cultes, in Paris, for years, 
 simply to gain their ends. You were ignorant of
 
 68 <mi ffiesb ant) 
 
 this ? How droll ! Really, I must try to instil 
 worldliness into you." 
 
 A moment later, when the Count had left them to 
 chat to the Baron and Amy, who had seated them- 
 selves at the end of the terrace, Louis asked : 
 
 " Is it as Monsieur le Comte has said, madame ? " 
 
 " I am afraid so." 
 
 " Then I shall be the vicar of La Jonquieres 
 always, Madame la Comtesse," he said simply. 
 
 And when the stars were twinkling, he passed 
 under them, going homewards, tired, but wondering 
 how men could sacrifice their inheritance of manly 
 pride, to become sycophants, paltry toadies, owing 
 their success to others, and content to owe.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHILE the Count was amusing himself with Lisette, 
 growing more fond of her, too, than he knew, and 
 Lisette was gradually abandoning herself to the 
 novelty and pleasure of the stolen meetings, though 
 in her turn burning her ringers, Andre Moriseau was 
 wont to issue forth from the old thatched farm on the 
 hill, to toil through the heat of the day, and then, when 
 the work was done, to make himself smart, and stride 
 off through the lengthening shadows to meet Lisette. 
 His heart had been full of her through all those 
 long, hot hours, and he had sighed for release, 
 and a sight of her. How the blood rushed to his 
 sunburnt cheek, and how his pulse quickened, as she 
 came to him, cool, fresh, full of health, seductive, ap- 
 parently true. To be with her was like a glimpse of 
 heaven through a mighty rift in the cloud curtain. 
 In his passion, and had he known, he could have sung 
 with his whole heart 
 
 " There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 
 
 When two that are link'd in one' t heavenly tie, 
 With hearts never changing and brow never cold, 
 
 Love on through all ills, and love on till they die ! 
 One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 
 
 Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss, 
 And oh, if there be an elysium on earth, 
 It is this it is this." 
 69
 
 70 nip jplesb anb IBloofc. 
 
 He could have sung this, for thus, in his rustic way, 
 he felt, Lisette having, with admirable feminine tact, 
 cured his doubts, and attached him to herself more 
 firmly than ever. Yet Lisette was not wholly bad. 
 No one is. She was a born coquette ; but in Mere 
 Chotard's opinion she was without fault, and that be- 
 lief had come because Lisette was devoted to her, 
 the best of daughters, loving her with all her heart ; 
 and such love covers a multitude of sins. 
 
 Within the chateau events were not motionless. 
 Blanche was restless, wondering at the change a 
 change she could perceive in the Count's manner and 
 actions. The cause she could not divine ; she only 
 knew he was different, and had not gone of late to 
 Paris, where, previously, he had been constantly in 
 the habit of betaking himself. 
 
 To have Amy with her was a relief, a great pleasure 
 in fact ; but her presence did not prevent her from 
 thinking. Within this cycle of events, Louis went 
 his way, saying his masses, reciting his vespers, 
 doing all the good he could about him, and listen- 
 ing to not a few confessions which could scarcely 
 fail to enlighten him much as to La Jonquieres, 
 its web-work, its ways. When the day closed in, and 
 he felt he had done his best, he would seek the 
 chateau, where to go was his one relaxation, perhaps 
 his greatest pleasure. During all this, he was himself 
 perfectly conscious that his mind was undergoing a 
 change. By fits and starts, as one becomes alive to 
 the passage of time, the advance of age, he be- 
 came aware that a mental revolution was in progress. 
 It could scarcely have been otherwise. To quit the 
 restrictions, the supervision of the seminary, for inter- 
 course with at least a village world ; women kind and 
 charming, and men like the Count ; could not fail to 
 produce an effect. Louis prayed that it might be for 
 good, fought against what he thought wrong, but none
 
 jflesb ant> 3Bloo&, 71 
 
 the less was disturbed. These mutations were only 
 of a sort calculated to enter a thinking, sensitive mind 
 such as his. He felt this. It occurred to him that 
 many had gone before him holding the same position, 
 and would come after him, to suffer as he did. And 
 yet, these sentiments of his were only beginning to 
 assert their existence, only struggling towards co- 
 hesion and light. 
 
 " Madame," he observed to Blanche one evening, at 
 the end of a sweet and passionate song of Gounod's, 
 which she had played for him, and he had sung in a 
 rich tenor voice only requiring culture, "it is the feel- 
 ing of loneliness which appals one. You will be 
 surprised at my suddenly saying this, but it flashed 
 upon me as you struck the last chord. I went for a 
 long walk this morning, making visits on the way. 
 Coming back the sun scorched me, I became intoler- 
 ably thirsty and tired. In that condition I entered a 
 cottage in search of a crust of bread and some milk, if 
 I could get it. The walls of the place were bare, 
 whitewashed, the floor stone, the furniture of wood, 
 without a sign of paint or varnish. Yes, but madame, 
 upon those hard comfortless chairs, round that rough, 
 unpolished table, was grouped a country picture 
 children and their parents, brown and rosy with health. 
 They had finished their humble meal. The remains 
 of an enormous loaf such as they bake hereabouts, 
 some cheese and a great jug of milk, were thrust to 
 one end of the board. A greasy pack of cards were 
 being dealt round. I begged them to go on with 
 their game. As I refreshed myself, they talked and 
 laughed and seemed so happy so very happy that 
 when I left, I was tempted to ask the woman the 
 mother if it were so." 
 
 " ' Monsieur 1'Abbd,' she said, ' God is good to Jean 
 and me. We have our cares ; but yes, we are very 
 happy, for together we can bear them.' "
 
 72 tils jflesb anfc Bloofc* 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse, would you believe it ? I left 
 her, thinking to myself, Louis Bernard, you yourself 
 stand in greater need of counsel, of human consolation, 
 than that woman." 
 
 It was the remark of a very young man, and in the 
 eyes of some people it might have appeared an ad- 
 mission of too much weakness, but its very frankness 
 pleased Blanche. She had, from the first, judged 
 Louis' temperament to be one to which the balm of 
 human intercourse, nay, even affection, was an impera- 
 tive necessity. 
 
 Courtesy had dictated that polite overtures should 
 be offered to Louis' parents. These had been made, 
 but the intimacy went no further, and the impression 
 she had formed, was that Louis was as much alone as 
 though he had no father or mother. This belief had 
 the effect irrespective of her own opinion of mak- 
 ing her kinder to him, and, in consequence, of causing 
 him to feel that the chateau was as much open to him 
 as his own home. Hearing him speak as he did, 
 her first ideas prompted a suggestion that he ought 
 not to experience the sentiments he had betrayed 
 so markedly. He was not alone in the world. 
 Why should he speak so ? The next moment, she re- 
 flected that Madame and Monsieur Bernard were 
 about the last people she could conceive as being 
 likely to afford him the consolation he had a right 
 to expect from such a source. To that belief 
 she added the opinions she had formed of his 
 character, and the conclusion she drew as to his 
 position, struck her as being so painful, that she 
 preferred turning the point of her remarks away from 
 him. 
 
 "Yes, monsieur," she said, "you have drawn a very 
 strong picture of the benefits to be derived from 
 companionship, from mutual love, but how often do 
 you get it ? "
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloofc. 73 
 
 " Oftener than not, I should think, madame," he 
 replied promptly. 
 
 " I don't agree with you. I maintain that the 
 reverse of that outline of rustic bliss, so pathetically 
 described by you, rises before one most often in one's 
 journey through life. Suppose the peasant woman, 
 her husband and the children, to have their hands 
 turned against each other in the majority of cases, 
 and you will have approached nearer the truth." 
 
 " I can't credit it, madame." 
 
 " Then it is because of the life you have led." 
 
 " In that case, what becomes of the beneficence of 
 the Almighty ? " 
 
 " I cannot explain." 
 
 " Does He bring people together that they may 
 disagree, and make each other's lives unbearable, 
 madame?" 
 
 " Perhaps you can answer that question. I cannot." 
 
 " Alas, Madame la Comtesse, it is beyond me." 
 
 "Why should the sins of the fathers be visited 
 upon the children? That the children when they 
 become parents may have the threat before them, 
 and for the sake of their offspring, control themselves, 
 you will say?" 
 
 " It is a very deep question, presenting many sides, 
 madame," said Louis gravely. 
 
 "To my poor mind, life and its concerns is as a 
 maze, into which the farther one plunges, the more 
 hopelessly one becomes lost." 
 
 " Nevertheless, the Divine Hand guides surely, 
 madame." 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; but if one wishes to comprehend 
 and trace that guidance through its many intricacies, 
 reason fails one wholly." 
 
 Louis evaded the remark ; perhaps he feared to 
 enter upon a lengthy argument, because of the 
 annoyance it might occasion the Count or the Baron
 
 jflesb ant> Bloo&, 
 
 and Amy, who were in the room amusing themselves 
 after their several inclinations. 
 
 " It is wonderful," he contented himself with re- 
 marking, " this spectacle of life, madame ; but if to 
 know more of it is only to conjure shadows, to darken 
 the pure golden of the sunlight which kindly streaks 
 existence, by plunging one beyond one's depth, I 
 prefer my ignorance. I know enough already, to call 
 to mind the wedding-party meeting the funeral 
 cortege, to remember the grotesqueness of the 
 laughter and play of village boys beneath the window 
 of the bed-ridden and dying, to conceive the sound of 
 the minute bell from some old church steeple, pealing 
 forth the solemn note, in the midst of feasting, danc- 
 ing, and merriment." 
 
 Scarcely had Blanche grasped the full meaning of 
 Louis' realistic remarks in all their vigour and truth, 
 than Amy prevented an answer by putting her arms 
 round her neck and whispering : 
 
 "The Baron wants us to see the Chateau de 
 Courcelles, and lunch there. Do consent." 
 
 Blanche returned the caress with affection, and 
 signified her willingness. Amy slipped aside and 
 began to talk to the Count, while the Baron, no 
 longer engaged in conversation, joined Blanche and 
 Louis. 
 
 " Madame," he said, " will you honour me by in- 
 specting the chateau, and giving me the benefit of 
 your opinion and taste concerning some alterations I 
 contemplate ? You see," he added gaily, " Monsieur 
 Brunot is not going to get the De Courcelles' 
 estate." 
 
 " But, Monsieur le Baron, I am wholly ignorant of 
 French architecture." 
 
 " Oh, I want to make what I think will be an im- 
 provement to the interior, and of all things I should 
 like you to give me your advice. I have been
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloo&. 75 
 
 suggesting to Monsieur le Comte that we should all 
 lunch there. We had thought of shooting in the 
 neighbourhood some day this week, and if you would 
 consent to drive over with your sister, it would give 
 me the greatest pleasure. Let me entreat you to 
 come, dear madame." 
 
 " Nothing would delight me more. But take care, 
 Baron, lest I become envious, for I have heard that 
 to see the Chateau de Courcelles is to covet it, and I 
 may be like Monsieur Brunot." 
 
 " In which case, it is yours, madame," answered 
 the Baron gallantly. " Then all is arranged save the 
 day, which must be for your selection. Monsieur 
 l'At>b4, you will come, too, will you not ? " 
 
 " Alas, I must remain here, Monsieur le Baron. I 
 have my duties to attend to." 
 
 " And you cannot lay them aside even for one day ? 
 Come, let me beg of you. I am sure that Madame 
 la Comtesse will agree with me, when I say that 
 without you our party will be incomplete." 
 
 " Nevertheless I am forced to excuse myself. To 
 accept would give me much pleasure, but I have no 
 substitute." 
 
 Reluctantly the Baron dismissed the subject, for he 
 liked Louis. He knew him to be brave, and his 
 views upon paying court to anyone for the sake of a 
 benefice, had reached his (the Baron's) ears, though in 
 an altered form. 
 
 The evening wore on, and at the close of it Blanche 
 stood at her open bedroom window. The gardens, 
 the shady alleys and distant thickets of the park, lay 
 before her. Every star was reflected upon the broad 
 bosom of the river, which was without a ripple, and 
 silvered by the moon, whose rays were foiled by a 
 slowly-gliding network of dappled clouds. The 
 silence was profound, and only disputed by the 
 splash of a hungry fish and the round rich notes of
 
 76 nl iflesb ant) Blocto. 
 
 answering nightingales, almost unearthly in their 
 echoing clearness. 
 
 " To live in such a spot, loving and beloved, would 
 be too much like heaven," said Blanche, aloud to 
 herself, having locked the door, and left the Count 
 downstairs smoking. " Too much like heaven, and 
 therefore too much to expect. Yet the scene might 
 pass ; I would barter it in exchange for a wilderness, 
 shared with some kind being who cared to understand 
 and love me. Why am I so unhappy ? " 
 
 She ceased speaking, tears preventing further 
 utterance. In the midst of her grief, two soft arms 
 were laid upon her shoulders. Believing herself 
 alone, and therefore greatly startled, she almost 
 screamed. 
 
 ' Hush, it is only me," said a low sweet voice. 
 
 'You, Amy?" 
 
 1 Yes." 
 
 ' What a fright you gave me." 
 
 ' I'm so sorry, darling, but I could not help it." 
 
 ' How did you come here ? The door is 
 locked." 
 
 " Why, I was hidden behind the curtains and saw 
 you enter the room. You may have thought I've 
 forgotten the words you said, but I haven't. I didn't 
 like to ask you to confide in me again, dear, but I've 
 watched you, and so certain was I to-night that you 
 felt wretched, although you laughed and talked so 
 gaily, that I risked making you angry and came, 
 confident that, if you would let me, I could be of 
 some use." 
 
 Blanche could not speak, she only hugged Amy 
 tightly. 
 
 " Did you hear anything I said ?" she asked, when 
 her feelings were more under control. 
 
 Amy nodded. 
 
 "Then you know all. I didn't want to trouble
 
 jflesb ant) Bloofc. 77 
 
 you. What good could it do ? It was naughty of 
 you to come here in this way," she added play- 
 fully. 
 
 " Isn't Rudolf kind to you, Blanche ? " 
 
 " It doesn't seem right of me to speak. Why did 
 you come here ? I should never have told you." 
 
 " But, Blanche, whatever you tell me shall go with 
 me to the grave." 
 
 " Don't speak like that And yet," she added more 
 calmly, " that's what must come of the brightest 
 eyes, the kindest heart. For myself I'm not 
 afraid, but " 
 
 " The grave need have no place in your thoughts, 
 dear. It was stupid of me to use such an expression. 
 But say, isn't Rudolf all he might be to you ? " 
 
 " No, and never can be now," said Blanche firmly. 
 
 " Blanche, you horrify me. Rudolf not love you ! 
 There is some mistake, some misunderstanding. It 
 is impossible that any man could see you, live with 
 you, and not love you. You so beautiful. Were I a 
 man I should worship the ground you walk on. I 
 tell you there's some mistake." 
 
 Blanche let Amy put her hands upon her shoulders 
 and peer into her face with frank girlish sweetness, 
 but before that steady gaze, and the love and concern 
 it expressed, she felt her eyes grow dim. Her lips 
 trembled. She strove to control herself, and with a 
 supreme effort did so. 
 
 " No, dear," she said firmly, " I am not mistaken 
 It is not in Rudolfs nature to care very deeply for 
 anyone. For the first year he overwhelmed me with 
 affection, was never happy away from me, and we 
 went everywhere together. At the end of that time 
 came a change. He began to pay attentions to 
 others, to leave me more and more to myself, and 
 this though I was devoted to him, and for no 
 reason."
 
 78 
 
 "But I should never have stood it," said Amy, 
 becoming scarlet in the face. 
 
 " No ; and what would you have done ? " 
 
 " Why, have told him what a brute he was, and 
 that I would not put up with his conduct." 
 
 " Which would have made him laugh, given him a 
 pretext for taunting me with being jealous, and in the 
 end, done no good whatever." 
 
 " I can't believe that. Rudolfs not bad-hearted." 
 
 " No, but he's as changeable as the wind. Any 
 pretty face takes his fancy, no matter who or what 
 the owner is." 
 
 " Oh, Blanche, I can't think that." 
 
 " No, it may seem difficult, and only by slow 
 degrees have I come to know it. I have at 
 length, and had to bear the pain of the discovery in 
 silence. But I don't feel that I am right in making 
 these disclosures to you. In all probability you 
 won't agree with me, and if you do there is no good 
 gained.'' 
 
 " Now, that's unkind, and not a bit like you, 
 Blanche. Why, I've been so troubled ever since I 
 came." 
 
 " I feared it, and that has made me even more 
 unhappy. I've never forgiven myself for making 
 that stupid remark, but I was excited at the time. 
 Why, for whole weeks I have been alone here." 
 
 "Alone! where was Rudolf ?" 
 
 "In Paris, or somewhere. He used to write 
 occasionally, and his letters always bore the Paris 
 postmark ; but, for aught I know, he may have been 
 in Vienna." 
 
 " How hateful of him. I can't understand any 
 living being treating another in that cruel way. 
 But why didn't you go after him and make him own 
 himself in the wrong? Oh, I should have had a 
 tremendous quarrel, and and then, if he had pro-
 
 fflesb anfc Bloofc. 79 
 
 mised faithfully never to behave so brutally again, I 
 should have made it up." 
 
 Blanche smiled. Suddenly it flashed across her 
 mind that Amy was indeed very unlike her. 
 
 " I could never follow a man in that way," she said 
 wearily. " I could never run after him and ask him 
 to love me, as it were. It is not in me. Why, if one 
 were successful, one would own an allegiance not 
 worth having, and if one failed, one's pride would be 
 shattered. It is pride," she added, her eyes flashing, 
 " that has made me bear what I have, as I have." 
 
 " But I don't understand you." 
 
 " Pride has enabled me to wait and hope that of 
 his own free will he would return to me, perhaps 
 owning himself wrong, but, at any rate, showing by 
 his actions that he knew himself to be so. That 
 waiting was agony. My manner towards him never 
 changed until I felt that the hope was gone, and in 
 losing it, I am afraid I lost a good deal of the power 
 to care. I have quarrelled with him, but not because 
 I sought to bring him back to me by asking. Hav- 
 ing married him, I'd rather die than ask." 
 
 Her last words were said with tightly-clenched 
 hands and heaving bosom, and with the final one she 
 stamped her foot upon the floor. 
 
 " Now, let us talk about something else for a few 
 minutes, and then you must leave me,' 1 she added, 
 subsiding into a chair. 
 
 " But, Blanche, can't it all be put right ? " said 
 Amy softly, and taking her sister's hand. " It seems 
 so dreadful to quarrel in that way. Let me go to 
 Rudolf; I'm sure he'd listen " 
 
 " No, let us change the subject, dear ; only, now 
 you know what I meant when I spoke of men killing 
 the love in one, inch by inch, and thought of it first 
 when Rudolf came to tell us that Monsieur 1'Abbe" 
 Bernard had saved that boy's life. The Count would
 
 fflesb anfc 
 
 have acted similarly. As for you, you can do 
 nothing except close your eyes. Be careful that 
 your manner towards him does not change, and 
 and don't fall in love with the Baron," she added 
 playfully. 
 
 Amy grew rather red in the face. 
 
 " How absurd ! As if he would care for me." 
 
 " Well, he seems rather fond of the chateau of late, 
 and I'm sure I'm not the attraction." 
 
 " Kiss me, and let me go to bed," said Amy 
 demurely. " It must be getting very late, and 
 sleep will do you more good than talking." 
 
 Then she slipped away.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE court-yard of the Chateau de la Jonquieres pre- 
 sented an aspect of unusual animation. The morn- 
 ing of the day fixed for the shooting and luncheon at 
 the Chateau de Courcelles had arrived. Some grooms 
 were saddling a couple of horses. A carriage, in- 
 tended for Blanche's use, was being washed, and in 
 the shade of the walnut trees stood the Count, 
 smoking and leisurely regarding the work that was 
 in progress. Over-night the weather had been 
 stormy, and though the Chateau de Courcelles was 
 only some few miles distant, the Baron had been 
 prevailed upon to remain at La Jonquieres, the 
 understanding being that the Count would ride over 
 with him in the morning as early as a start could be 
 effected. With this object, these two enthusiastic 
 sportsmen mounted their horses, and at an hour 
 when Blanche was thinking about dressing, were 
 actually proceeding at a walk along the roughly- 
 paved street of La Jonquieres. 
 
 "We shall have a glorious day, if I'm not 
 mistaken," remarked the Baron, settling himself in 
 the saddle, and looking just what Blanche had briefly 
 described him to Amy, " slight, thin, but well-built, 
 fair-skinned, fair-haired, and with nice grey eyes." 
 
 His features were good, his manner pleasant. He 
 was rich, entirely his own master, and, springing 
 
 81 F
 
 82 nl^ Jflesfo an& 
 
 from an old and powerful family, it seemed as though 
 Fortune, joining hands with Fate, had smilingly pro- 
 duced in Leo, Baron de Courcelles, a man much to be 
 envied. 
 
 " I feel a trifle tired. We sat up too late last 
 night," said the Count, stifling a yawn. 
 
 " How droll ! Fancy a man like you, who has the 
 reputation of being made of steel, talking about going 
 to bed too late." 
 
 " Better say iron, steel is supposed to be 
 brittle," said the Count, straightening his small com- 
 pact figure, twirling his moustache, and looking 
 pleased. 
 
 When nearly opposite Pierre Chotard's cottage, he 
 fell back a few paces. The clatter of hoofs brought 
 Lisette to the door. 
 
 " Now, there's a picture pretty enough to make 
 you rub your eyes and forget all about sleep." 
 
 " Where ? " asked the Count, in the most innocent 
 voice, though he had signalled to Lisette, and prepared 
 to smile his best and look his handsomest. "Where?" 
 he repeated, gazing in the opposite direction. 
 
 " My dear fellow, on your left, in the door- 
 way." 
 
 " Pretty ? I don't admire your taste." 
 
 " Well, you must admit she's a perfect little figure," 
 contended the Baron innocently. 
 
 " Too thick in the waist, clumsy, and a brunette. 
 Give me golden hair any day," said the Count im- 
 perturbably. 
 
 " Ah, perhaps you're right.'' 
 
 " Of course I am. Come along, we mustn't dawdle 
 or we shall never do any shooting to-day." 
 
 "Yes, I think I prefer hair somewhat lighter," 
 said the Baron dreamily, thinking of Amy as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Plentiful, and with a tinge of red in it auburn,
 
 tflesb ant> Bloot>* 8 3 
 
 say eh ? " returned the Count banteringly, divining 
 his thoughts. 
 
 Scarcely expecting such a home-thrust, the Baron 
 was only too glad to touch his horse with the spur. 
 Turning round to see whether the Count was follow- 
 ing him, he was surprised and amazed to detect him 
 in the act of waving his hand, Lisette replying to the 
 gesture by a similar one. Unconscious of having 
 been seen, and no further reason existing for remain- 
 ing behind, the Count, delighted with himself, trotted 
 gaily after his companion. 
 
 " Seems to me that you rather affect brunettes," 
 remarked De Courcelles, as soon as the Count had 
 joined him. 
 
 " Eh ? What's that, my dear fellow ? " 
 
 " And have no such rooted antipathy to what you 
 were pleased to call a thick waist," continued the 
 Baron, with a comical expression, and knowing well 
 that the Count had heard his first remark. 
 
 Seeing that he had been outwitted, the Count put 
 the best face he could upon the matter, which, after 
 all, was of little consequence, he considered. De 
 Courcelles was still looking at him, so he met his 
 glance, and, with a forced laugh, said : 
 
 "Ah, your eyes are too sharp. You can't blame 
 me for trying to throw a little dust in them. An 
 affaire du cceur is best kept to oneself, when good-look- 
 ing fellows like you are so thick upon the ground." 
 
 " An affaire du cceur ! But you wouldn't look twice 
 upon a woman of her class ? " 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " 
 
 " You know well, the girl at the door." 
 
 " Ah, diable ! A pretty face is a pretty face all the 
 world over. Women like me, and I have an eye for 
 them. I admire, but, parbleu ! you are in danger of 
 taking one's remarks too seriously. Come along, we 
 have no time to waste."
 
 4 nis fflesb ant> Bloofc. 
 
 The Baron was blinded. He had never exchanged 
 confidences with the Count, and, though very good 
 friends, knew absolutely nothing of his character. 
 For himself, he was of the type of man likely to 
 make an idol of a woman, never thinking ill of the 
 sex, and not knowing them well, for the simple reason 
 that he habitually felt nervous and uncomfortable in 
 their society. But his ideas upon duty were very 
 rigid, and accordingly he had been well laughed at 
 for broaching them. 
 
 A prey to a sense of annoyance, the Count per- 
 sisted in maintaining silence, and under these con- 
 ditions the two continued their ride. 
 
 At an hour when Louis was immersed in those 
 duties which, as he had explained to De Courcelles, 
 debarred him from partaking of his hospitality, 
 Blanche, accompanied by Amy, set forth to join the 
 sportsmen. She herself was arrayed in a charming 
 costume of some light material, pale blue in colour, 
 and trimmed elegantly with white lace. Her golden 
 hair and fair complexion were further enhanced by a 
 becoming straw hat, which suited her to perfec- 
 tion, and with its broad brim protected her from the 
 effects of the sun. Amy looked cool and engag- 
 ing in a simple white muslin, and needed no richer 
 colouring than her own healthy cheeks. 
 
 " Come, let us forget our troubles. Talk to me, 
 will you ? " said Blanche, trying to draw Amy into 
 conversation. 
 
 " How fortunate I am to be able to say that 
 nothing causes me a moment's uneasiness, except " 
 
 " What ? " inquired Blanche. 
 
 " You." 
 
 " Are all my entreaties to prove ineffectual ? Let 
 us consider this subject of myself tabooed. You 
 know, dear, I've refused repeatedly to discuss 
 it"
 
 fflesb anfc BlooD. 85 
 
 " Yes, but I can't help thinking." 
 
 " Not one yard of this drive, not one minute of 
 this day, must be spoilt by a single melancholy 
 thought. If it is, you will only add to my unhappi- 
 ness. Now, promise me." 
 
 " Of course I will. That is, I'll do my best, but 
 when I think of it, you must feel dreadfully " 
 
 Blanche laid her finger upon Amy's lips, and said, 
 with a smile which lit up her whole face : 
 
 " Hush ! That is not keeping your promise. You 
 must be radiant. I shall be so, and you are to follow 
 my example. The Baron must be captivated 
 with" 
 
 "If you say another word about the Baron I shall 
 hate him," interrupted Amy petulantly. " I believe 
 I do already." 
 
 " Very well, dear, let us talk about something else," 
 replied Blanche good-naturedly. " The scenery be- 
 tween here and the Chateau de Courcelles is lovely, 
 and interesting, too, from an historical point of view. 
 Now, I'm going to amuse you, and you must not be 
 cross with me. I meant no harm." 
 
 Amy's hand slid into Blanche's, and peace was 
 restored. 
 
 As the basis of Blanche's regard for the Count, and 
 when marrying him, she had been under the im- 
 pression that she was receiving as pure and honest 
 an affection as she gave. This, of course, was in a 
 measure due to the long years she had spent at the 
 convent. She remained ignorant of the world. 
 From its walls she had emerged, having acquired all 
 the accomplishments the good sisters could teach 
 her. But she had emerged, too, with a simple and 
 romantic belief in mankind, which, as a young girl of 
 a thoughtful and sensitive disposition, it was but 
 natural she should develop. It never occurred to her 
 to consider the Count, as a man who had roamed the
 
 86 nls tflesb anb Bloob. 
 
 world over, possessed of money, and with the entree 
 to any society caprice might tempt him to select. 
 She had evolved her girlish idol. The Count's know- 
 ledge of her sex had enabled him to form a pretty 
 correct estimate of the shape that idol was likely to 
 take, the attributes it would probably possess. Skil- 
 fully he clothed himself, so that to her he had soon 
 seemed all she had fondly imagined. To do him 
 justice, in winning her love he had meant well. But 
 he did not know himself. He had been under the 
 impression that the possession of so beautiful a speci- 
 men of youth and innocence would work a complete 
 revolution in his existence, would turn him from the 
 pursuit of pleasures which in his better moments he 
 detested himself for seeking. The birth of this idea 
 was due to her. She was so fresh and sinless, he 
 so blackened and blast. Could she not reform him ? 
 He thought so. 
 
 Approaching her in the disguise he had assumed, 
 she had proved willing to consign herself to 
 his keeping. Charmed, deep in the best love he 
 could give, for about a year, as she had said, his 
 baser nature remained suppressed. At the end of 
 that period it had begun to assert its existence, and 
 finally, in spite of her love and beauty, it had come 
 forth boldly. Had religion supported him, this re- 
 lapse would have been less possible. But the Count 
 was a persifleur, an admirer and feeble disciple of 
 Voltaire. 
 
 He had too much sense to attempt any inter- 
 ference with his wife's views. In his inmost heart 
 he did not admire his own, was not sure enough 
 of their merits, or indeed of what they were, to 
 press them home closely. The result, his conduct, 
 proved their looseness and failure to restrain. 
 It was in striving to please and comprehend the 
 manner of man with whom the remainder of her life
 
 jflesb anfc Bloofc. 87 
 
 was to be spent, that Blanche had, particle by particle, 
 dismantled the model, which seclusion, innocence, and 
 youth had combined to construct, until at length 
 nothing but the framework, the mere skeleton, 
 remained to her in the person of the Count. The 
 pain she had endured in the process had been 
 excruciating, and had she herself attempted a de- 
 scription of the anguish she had endured, words 
 would have failed her. Her pride had inflamed, 
 rather than otherwise, because it condemned her to 
 silence. Obeying its promptings, she had never once 
 admitted her weakness and suffering. Resolutely 
 she had scrutinized and torn the veil aside. As the 
 devotee inflicts punishment upon himself, so had her 
 lacerated feelings been scourged by her determination 
 to plumb the nature of the man she had married, 
 cofite que cofite, but not to be his dupe. 
 
 The Count himself was in blissful ignorance of the 
 scrutiny to which he had been subjected. They had 
 quarrelled, but quarrels, it seemed, were only the natural 
 outcome of the married state. He knew that he had 
 injured her in a thousand ways. But that was of no 
 consequence, provided she were ignorant. He was not 
 troubled. And had he summed up all he knew of 
 her, and given his opinion, he would have vowed he 
 had a wife shaped to his hand. 
 
 Woman-like, Blanche was not wholly embittered 
 by the discoveries she had made. Supremely 
 unhappy in the depths of her heart, she still re- 
 tained the belief that there were beings men 
 who, had her lot been cast with them, would 
 have fulfilled, and nobly, all the requirements of 
 her first and fondly-formed conception. Had she 
 been choosing again, she would have paid less atten- 
 tion to a handsome face, more to threading and com- 
 prehending the intricacies of the mind ; but she 
 was too young, too hopeful, to be entirely sceptical.
 
 88 <smig fflesb ant> Bloofc, 
 
 Arrived at the chateau, De Courcelles and the 
 Count were there to meet them. 
 
 " Welcome to the chateau, Madame la Comtesse," 
 said De Courcelles, aiding Blanche to alight ; " and 
 you too, mademoiselle. The master, the house, and 
 all within it are at your disposal," he added, with 
 courtly grace. 
 
 "You are too kind, Monsieur le Baron," said Blanche, 
 accepting the Baron's proffered arm. " But what of 
 the shooting? Has it been good ? " 
 
 "The sport, madame,we have found indifferent. I 
 have been too much away to expect my keepers to 
 remember my existence, and the birds have suffered. 
 But that evil can be repaired," he added, with a swift 
 glance at Amy. 
 
 " You will remain here, Baron ? " 
 
 " As much as possible, madame." 
 
 " That will be delightful, for you and the Count 
 are such great friends." 
 
 " You would not have said so had you been with 
 us all day," replied De Courcelles, with an expression 
 of amusement and a glance to see if his remark could 
 be overheard. 
 
 " Indeed ; and why was that, may I ask, monsieur ? " 
 
 " An argument upon the merits of blondes and 
 brunettes, madame," replied De Courcelles thought- 
 lessly, and smiling as he spoke. 
 
 " Who began the discussion ? " 
 
 " I really forget, madame." 
 
 " But what suggested the topic ? " persisted Blanche, 
 with womanly instinct divining that some unusual 
 occurrence had occasioned the dispute. 
 
 " Oh, the sight of a most charming face, on our way 
 here," replied the Baron, now fairly drawn into a con- 
 versation which had no particular attraction for him. 
 
 " Really, you interest me, Baron. And where 
 may this lovely specimen of beauty be found ? "
 
 jflesb an& Bloofc. 89 
 
 " At La Jonquieres. In the village. You probably 
 know her well by sight, madame ? " 
 
 " Not to my knowledge. At La Jonquieres, you 
 say. Then she is a peasant girl ? " 
 
 " A rustic beauty. A woodland nymph, madame," 
 said the Baron rather awkwardly, for it suddenly 
 occurred to him, that since the Count had been 
 sufficiently interested to wave his hand, he might 
 not be disposed to thank him for making the dis- 
 closures he had. 
 
 He was consoled, however, by reflecting that if he 
 had been guilty, it was an unintentional error. 
 Besides, if the Count were as good as he ought to be, 
 no harm could be done. But in future he determined 
 to be more reticent, mischief-making in his eyes 
 being a detestable vice. 
 
 "After such praise from your lips, Monsieur le 
 Baron, I confess my curiosity is aroused. I should 
 like to see this village Venus." 
 
 " Oh, I daresay I am wrong, and you would be 
 woefully disappointed. Since I only caught a 
 glimpse of her, I would not attach much importance 
 to an impression so hastily formed, madame," said 
 the Baron, with an effort to extricate himself, and 
 beginning to wish that Blanche would drop the 
 subject. 
 
 " And which type of beauty did the Count prefer, 
 monsieur ? " inquired Blanche, more for the sake of 
 something to say than with an object. 
 
 " Ah, how can you ask me, madame ? " rejoined De 
 Courcelles, evasively but gallantly. 
 
 The compliment was too palpable to miss, and 
 Blanche blushed prettily. 
 
 " What, have you, too, learned the art of flattery, 
 and are you, too, of opinion that we women set such 
 store by it ? " 
 
 " The question is an awkward one, madame, but of
 
 90 nig jflesb an& 
 
 course the popular idea is that it has weight with 
 your sex," returned De Courcelles. 
 
 " But what is your own opinion, monsieur ? " 
 
 " It is valueless, madame. But may I inquire 
 whether Mademoiselle Amy, your sister, is to remain 
 with you long ? " 
 
 " How dexterously you extricate yourself from 
 making too frank an avowal. You would have been 
 a shining light in the diplomatic service, had you 
 entered it, Monsieur le Baron. Really, I shall begin 
 to think that." 
 
 " Well, since you leave me no loop-hole for escape, 
 I should say that flattery may be converted into a 
 very potent weapon in dealing with your sex. In a 
 less degree, but yet effectively, with my own." 
 
 " I like you all the better for coming to the point. 
 We English are so brusque. But about my sister. 
 She will be with us indefinitely. Our house will be 
 her home. You see I am the only relative she has, 
 except papa, who is in India." 
 
 In tendering this piece of information, Blanche ad- 
 hered strictly to the substance of a conversation she 
 had held with the Count, who when appealed to, was 
 clever enough to remember that the effect of Amy's 
 presence would probably be good, since she would be 
 a source of distraction to Blanche, and likely to draw 
 her attention away from himself. 
 
 " Her presence will be a consolation to you then, 
 madame," pursued De Courcelles. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, monsieur." 
 
 " Well, your husband's annoyance was complete 
 when, do what we would, there was scarcely a bird to 
 be found. Where they've all got to I can't think," he 
 added, fairly laughing. " But my fellows are so fat, 
 and I have my suspicions that they've lived royally, 
 counting upon my usually protracted disappearances. 
 It was so funny, madame. I, who had spoken of a
 
 Jflesb ant> ffiloofc, 91 
 
 treat in store for us both, in no very modest terms, to 
 be driven to admit that I was no longer the owner of 
 anything worth shooting. Very provoking, too," he 
 added ; " but I am afraid that the most profuse 
 apologies I could make, were not as substantial, in 
 Monsieur le Comte's opinion, as the birds would have 
 been. However, I have done my best, and failed 
 signally." 
 
 " I shall hear another story when I question Rudolf, 
 monsieur. He will have enjoyed himself immensely, 
 I am sure. But you must feel dull, even in this 
 beautiful place, alone. Are you not ? " 
 
 " Well, I must own I am, madame. It is given 
 over to lazy servants, closed shutters, and cobwebs. 
 When I set out, I only meant to stay here for a few 
 days." 
 
 " And, in a measure, we are responsible for your 
 changed intentions, my dear Baron. Is it not 
 so ? " 
 
 " To be honest, yes, madame," replied De Courcelles, 
 with trifling hesitation, a slight colour mounting to 
 his cheeks. 
 
 " Come and stay with us then. I insist upon it, 
 and shall take no refusal. We can place any number 
 of rooms at your disposal, so it will be hard to invent 
 an excuse. You must return with us to-night. 
 Rudolf will be delighted, I know." 
 
 De Courcelles had vague doubts on that score. But 
 the temptation was too great to resist. 
 
 " Madame, I shall be only too pleased," he said, 
 with undisguised pleasure. 
 
 " Then it is settled. You will drive back with us, 
 monsieur." 
 
 The Baron assented, and soon afier, contrived to 
 attach himself to Amy, who was as pleased as a 
 school-girl with all she saw. Certainly, it would have
 
 92 nip tflesb ant) 
 
 been odd had the appearance of the Chateau de 
 Courcelles failed to delight her. 
 
 It was a stately building in Louis XIII. style, the 
 magnificence of which was further enhanced by a 
 terrace, said to be the longest and broadest in Cham- 
 pagne. A handsome balustrade was broken at 
 intervals by spacious flights of stone steps, which 
 descended into gardens designed by Lenotre. The 
 panelling of the grand drawing-room was adorned by 
 groups of flowers painted by Lebrun, and from the 
 windows a view could be obtained which might fairly 
 be said to be unequalled, so exquisitely was water 
 and woodland blended and lost in soft blue dis- 
 tances. 
 
 Such was one of the homes almost perpetually 
 neglected by the young and fortunate Baron de 
 Courcelles. He seemed proud of it though, on that 
 autumn afternoon, and it would have been difficult to 
 imagine a kinder and more courteous host. On the 
 first suitable occasion which presented itself, Blanche 
 took the opportunity to tell the Count of the invita- 
 tion she had given. 
 
 "De Courcelles has consented to return with us, 
 Rudolf," she said innocently. 
 
 " To return with us ! What do you mean ? " asked 
 the Count, in no very honeyed tones, for his equi- 
 librium really had been upset at the commencement 
 of the day. 
 
 "Why, he is bored here. I invited him to stay 
 with us, and he is coming. I thought you would like 
 it" 
 
 " You thought, madame. What right have you to 
 think? Why don't you consult me before you 
 venture to issue invitations broadcast?" replied the 
 Count passionately. With the Baron at La Jonquiferes 
 his time would be taxed. He saw that instantly. 
 Hence his rage.
 
 jflesb anfc Bloofc. 93 
 
 " But we have seen so much of him of late. You 
 have been such fast friends " 
 
 " Friends, mon Dicu " 
 
 " He and Amy get on so well, too," pleaded Blanche, 
 still gently. " I am sorry if " 
 
 " He and Amy get on, do they ? What have I to 
 do with that? Is not my house my own?" fumed 
 the Count. Then a jealous thought shot through 
 him, and in his rage he did not hesitate to give it 
 utterance. " You are in love with the fellow yourself, 
 madame," he said brutally. 
 
 Blanche bit her lip. Her small hands closed con- 
 vulsively. With an effort she controlled herself 
 sufficiently to falter : 
 
 " Rudolf, you are wrong " 
 
 " In love with him yourself," he repeated, " you 
 ought to be ashamed " 
 
 Blanche drew herself up proudly. The moment 
 before, her blue eyes had been dimmed with emotion. 
 They now flashed with scorn and righteous anger. 
 The words which leapt to her lips cut short his 
 abuse. 
 
 " Ashamed ! You forget. I have never done any- 
 thing to be ashamed of, in the sense you mean. You 
 have, and you know it. You have insulted me also, 
 and that, too, should make you ashamed." 
 
 " Mille tonnerres " began the Count. 
 
 Blanche swept aside into another path of the 
 garden. De Courcelles was in sight, but at some 
 distance. He was gathering some flowers for Amy, 
 and the two were talking and laughing happily. The 
 Count was left standing alone. His eyes followed 
 Blanche's figure. His rage diminished. Reflection 
 already told the truth contained in her passionate 
 charge. 
 
 " A little fury," he muttered ; " but what she says is 
 true enough, though that admission is only for my-
 
 94 nls jflesb ant) JSloofc. 
 
 self. Ah, why can't one woman content a fellow 
 always ? I must overtake her or it will look odd." 
 
 The Count carried out his intention, so that a 
 few moments later, when with Blanche at his side, he 
 joined the Baron, there was no trace of dissension 
 noticeable. 
 
 Armed with bouquets of beautiful flowers, which 
 De Courcelles presented with the most winning smiles, 
 Blanche and Amy reseated themselves in the carriage, 
 and the quartette set off homewards, Blanche having 
 delighted De Courcelles by the artistic suggestions 
 she had made concerning the improvements he medi- 
 tated. 
 
 When within a short distance of La Jonquieres, 
 and about to cross the river, Blanche proposed that 
 they should alight, saunter along the banks by a path 
 which was wooded and pretty, and so gain the 
 chateau by taking advantage of Pierre Chotard's 
 ferry. Amy and the Baron enthusiastically supported 
 the suggestion, the Count lit a cigar and was quiescent, 
 so the carriage was dismissed. 
 
 Through stubble, grass-land, and an occasional 
 thicket of trees the party proceeded, keeping well 
 together, and pausing whenever the scenery evoked 
 unusual admiration. This was constantly the case, 
 for La Jonquieres is justly famous for the romantic 
 beauty of its surroundings, the Meuse seeming to 
 delight in winding amidst rugged cliffs, woods, and 
 fruitful fields and orchards. When nearly opposite 
 La Jonquieres, the path plunged into a nut copse, 
 thick enough to exclude the sunshine. On the far 
 edge of it was a stile exposed to the full glare of light, 
 and over it, as though waiting for someone, leant a 
 young girl. She was singing softly to herself, and 
 was oblivious of the approach of anyone. Blanche 
 heard the sounds first and stopped. 
 
 " Listen," she said, " what a sweet voice."
 
 nig fflesb ant> Bloot). 95 
 
 Everyone was instantly attentive. The Count 
 knew the singer at a glance. He was still ruffled, 
 as a certain ring in his ejaculatory remarks 
 betrayed. 
 
 " Enthrilling, stirring. Holds one spellbound. 
 But the thought occurs to me that you women, like 
 peacocks, are never more pleased, never more bril- 
 liant, than when displaying your finery in the sun- 
 light." 
 
 Amy and Blanche were both silent. De Courcelles 
 thought the remark unpleasant in its best sense, and 
 was in no mood to recognise its truth, if truth it 
 contained. The Count chuckled as though his satire 
 was incontrovertible. De Courcelles became triflingly 
 malicious. He, too, recognised the singer, for the 
 position in which she stood rendered her conspicuous. 
 It occurred to him that it would be amusing to drop 
 a bomb at the Count's feet ; but he was doubtful how 
 to do it. Blanche came to his assistance. The 
 singer's voice died away. 
 
 " Have we by any chance discovered your village 
 beauty, Monsieur le Baron ? " she asked. 
 
 De Courcelles hesitated, glanced at the Count, and 
 was rewarded by a lightning-like gleam from his brown 
 eyes. 
 
 " Come, I see it in your face. Have you allowed 
 yourself to be so captivated, monsieur, that you are 
 afraid lest anyone else should admire your 
 Hebe?" 
 
 This was too much for De Courcelles to bear. Amy 
 was listening and looking at him. The consequences 
 must be the Count's concern. 
 
 " Not I, madame," he answered, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Ah, monsieur, it is difficult to deceive a woman." 
 Blanche glanced swiftly at the Count as she spoke. 
 " But beauty," she added, " has no more enthusiastic
 
 96 nig fflesb 
 
 votary than myself. I am about to have my curiosity 
 set at rest. I want to see your idea of a pretty girl. 
 I wonder whether her looks and words are as pleasant 
 as her voice. Come along, Rudolph." 
 
 An oath exploded under the Count's pointed 
 moustache. At that moment he could have kicked 
 De Courcelles. But, divining what had happened, he 
 accepted the position assigned to him by the dis- 
 closures De Courcelles had evidently made. The 
 present was no time for sarcasm, behind which it had 
 at first occurred to him to entrench himself. Clearly 
 this was a moment for resolution and sangfroid, and 
 the Count was equal to the occasion. He offered his 
 arm to Blanche, to enable her to pass some overgrown, 
 brambles. 
 
 "Yes, let's have a look at her," he said. " De 
 Courcelles and I both thought her pretty ; but then we 
 had but a hasty glance." 
 
 In this manner they approached Lisette, for Lisette 
 it was. Waiting, too, on this, the further side of the 
 river, because she judged it to be quieter, her 
 object being to meet Andrd Moriseau. 
 
 " Why, is she not Pierre Chotard the ferryman's 
 daughter ? " queried Blanche. 
 
 " Eh, yes, perhaps so. It's so difficult to remember 
 faces. Don't you find it so, De Courcelles ? " 
 
 " Sometimes," returned De Courcelles ironically. 
 
 " But how changed. She has grown so much," 
 pursued Blanche. " Now I think of it, did she 
 not go to Paris to be with a brother about a year 
 ago?" 
 
 " Really I don't know, my dear. You may be 
 right," said the Count, with imperturbable coolness. 
 
 " I remember something of it. My good girl," 
 continued Blanche, standing in front of Lisette, " are 
 you not Pierre Chotard's daughter ? " 
 
 Lisette courtesied.
 
 jflesb an& 3BlooD. 97 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Comtesse," she said simply. 
 
 " Ah, I thought I knew you. I seldom forget a 
 face. But you have grown and altered immensely." 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Comtesse," assented Lisette, for 
 under Blanche's beautiful eyes, and influenced by her 
 kind words, a sense of guilt and regret took posses- 
 sion of her. 
 
 " What, you think so yourself? " said Blanche, with 
 amusement. 
 
 " Everyone tells me so, Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 " And did you learn to sing so sweetly in Paris ? " 
 
 " No one has ever taught me, Madame la 
 Comtesse." 
 
 " Dear me, then your voice ought to be cultivated. 
 Don't you think so, monsieur ? " she asked, appealing 
 to De Courcelles. 
 
 " I do, indeed, madame," answered the Baron ab- 
 stractedly, for the question interrupted him in the 
 midst of some opinions he was uneasily forming of 
 the Count. 
 
 " Get her to come and sing to us," whispered Amy, 
 who was interested and full of admiration for Lisette's 
 beauty. 
 
 Blanche took the hint intended for her. But at 
 that moment the Count yawned, and otherwise 
 evinced signs of impatience. He had good reason 
 for desiring a speedy termination to the interview ; 
 but he was also a prey to a spirit of jealousy and 
 annoyance, for, to his way of thinking, Lisette's 
 presence, where she was, meant an assignation. 
 She was there to meet some man therefore a lover. 
 All the same, the compliment Blanche had paid to 
 Lisette in speaking to her, had occasioned him satis- 
 faction. It was at once an acknowledgment of, and 
 a tribute to, her beauty. True, he had experienced 
 some slight twinges of shame at sight of the two 
 talking together his wife with such innocence and 
 
 G
 
 98 nls jflesb ant> Bloofc, 
 
 kind intent. But such faint traces of right feeling 
 were quickly put to flight, by the coarser reflection 
 that Lisette might become his toy when he chose. 
 So far, though she was mistress of herself, in thinking 
 of her, he would scarcely admit it. It pleased him 
 to consider her, more or less, as his. This sense of 
 possession and the pleasure it occasioned him, was, 
 however, evanescent, and disappeared before the grow- 
 ing irritation he experienced as he thought of Lisette, 
 perfidious, and permitting attentions from another. 
 The Count's palpable ill-humour was not without its 
 effect upon Blanche, and this became apparent in 
 her words, which, by their brevity, partook of the 
 nature of a command, though of this she was uncon- 
 scious. 
 
 " You must come to the chateau. I will send to 
 you. You shall sing to me, and I will see what can 
 be done. Who knows, your voice may be of value." 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Comtesse," assented Lisette 
 placidly, yet with the words quivering upon her lips, 
 an injurious spirit of false pride entered her bosom. 
 Her ignorance fostered this sentiment. She did not 
 comprehend the nature of Blanche's intentions. Was 
 she to be ordered to attend at the chateau to sing, 
 just as a ballet girl might be to dance ? It was true 
 her father, Pierre Chotard, was a simple ferryman, as 
 his forefathers had been before him. But the ferry 
 brought bread, honestly earned, sufficient, and for the 
 rest, Lisette wanted nothing from those who considered 
 themselves so much above her. The position she 
 stood in towards the Count swelled her resentment. 
 Madame la Comtesse might be in a situation to 
 patronize her. That was so. But could she, with 
 all her beauty and breeding, keep her husband to 
 herself? Here Lisette knew Blanche's imbecility to 
 be complete, and with the reflection that this noble 
 gentleman, this gallant Count, was only too ready to
 
 jflesb ant> Blocto. 99 
 
 do homage to her beauty, she experienced a sensa- 
 tion of supreme exultation, which instantly choked 
 all struggling traces of good in her. 
 
 " You will come, then ? " said Blanche sweetly, 
 and in blissful ignorance of the evil she had aroused. 
 
 " Thank you, Madame la Comtesse why, yes ; " 
 and then, as she spoke, and fearing lest she should 
 lose the opportunity, Lisette allowed her spirit of 
 malevolence to find vent in a lightning-like glance at 
 the Count, full of meaning, and at once seductive. 
 His answer was as swift. But by mere chance 
 Blanche, on the point of continuing the walk, sud- 
 denly became aware of the mute play in progress. 
 When the Count, uneasily, and fearing detection, 
 glanced at his wife, he found, to his dismay that 
 her eyes were fixed upon him, full, of an expres- 
 sion, moreover, which had but one meaning. Sur- 
 prise, fast developing into suspicion and haughty 
 indignation, was what he read in those blue, fearless 
 depths. Before she had regained her composure, 
 and while some traces of confusion were yet apparent 
 upon the Count's face, some dry, dead branches 
 crackled under a heavy footfall, and Andr6 Moriseau, 
 heated and breathless from running, burst upon the 
 scene. 
 
 Fear of keeping Lisette waiting was the cause of 
 his haste. But though red and perspiring, nervous 
 to the very soles of his boots, his wits were on edge, 
 and his sharp eyes not idle. 
 
 Andr Moriseau was in love, desperately so, and to 
 throw dust in the eyes of a man in such a condition, 
 when once his suspicions are aroused, is not easy. 
 With enemies of Lisette's like the Widow Lemaitre at 
 his elbow, more came to his ears concerning her 
 doings, or. rather, failings, so far as he was concerned, 
 than gave him peace to listen to. So he was on the 
 alert. Blanche had scarcely begun to realize that a
 
 ioo nil? fflesb anfc 
 
 blow had been dealt her, at once the most galling to 
 pride and destructive to peace of mind that a woman 
 can receive, when Andr6 found himself in the very 
 midst of innumerable suspicions, which the sight of 
 the Count's symmetrical figure in sober retreat in no 
 way dispersed. 
 
 Experience had taught Andr that remonstrance 
 words of any kind, were useless. He was powerless 
 to cope with Lisette. His weakness lay in his love 
 for her. So in his heart he shook his fist at the 
 Count, cursed, and resolved to watch and wait. As 
 for the Baron and Amy, they were sufficiently in- 
 terested in each other. De Courcelles was conscious 
 that the Count had fallen in his estimation. But 
 why should he trouble himself about that ? Amy 
 laughed, talked, felt tolerably happy, and fortunately 
 for herself was ignorant of the shaping of this 
 domestic drama, upon the scene of which she had so 
 innocently come.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ONCE within the walls of the chateau, Blanche 
 hastened to be alone. Recognising to the full the 
 weakness and error in judgment of wearing her feel- 
 ings upon her face, she had put upon herself the strain 
 of dissembling. But to do this the effort had been 
 great. The reaction was proportionate. 
 
 The violence of this mental struggle may be gauged 
 by the admission that the instant her chamber door 
 closed upon her, and she had secured it against in- 
 trusion, she paced the apartment in extreme agitation. 
 No tears came. Her lips were parched, her cheeks, 
 burned, and her eyes flashed with anger. The ex- 
 pression of her beautiful face was the incarnation of 
 wrath. Her amour propre had received a crushing 
 blow. Her youth and beauty, nay, her very liberty, 
 she had forfeited in her girlish ignorance, innocence, 
 and blind trust. Ever since, she had been slowly 
 awakening to the consciousness that but trifling value 
 was set upon the priceless treasures she had sur- 
 rendered. The matchlessly beautiful scales of 
 implicit faith, to which innocence and love had given 
 birth, had been thoughtlessly, harshly, torn from her 
 eyes. Many a woman is scarcely conscious of the 
 metamorphosis her husband's affection is undergoing, 
 or if conscious, her temperament, or poor opinion of 
 men in general, enables her to view it with apathy. 
 
 101
 
 102 <smi Jflesb ant> 
 
 But apathy had no place in Blanche's composition. She 
 was as full of passion, and the power to love, as she was 
 lovable. But her pride was immense, and that pride 
 which had elected that she should endure in silence, 
 had likewise dictated that her bearing towards the 
 Count should undergo no change, which, in the 
 smallest degree, infringed upon duty. 
 
 The Count could never have said, with any truth, 
 that he possessed a recalcitrant or callous wife. His 
 position was unique, inasmuch as he believed himself 
 to occupy pretty nearly the same place in her affection 
 as he had secured for himself from the first. She only 
 had suffered, and had she not suffered enough ? 
 
 As in her excitement her supple limbs carried her 
 to and fro, it seemed to her that what she had endured, 
 would only prove to be a series of preliminary 
 attacks upon her position. 
 
 It had come to this, that from the Count's own 
 manner, she had conceived, that a mere village girl, a 
 peasant, might share her place with him. That peasant, 
 moreover, to be actually living within a few hundred 
 yards, upon her very soil. The thought was mad- 
 dening and as it came upon her in all its 
 bitterness and force, Blanche glanced about her 
 with a look that suggested despair. Suddenly 
 the repose and luxury with which she was sur- 
 rounded, and was supposed to enjoy, presented 
 itself in grotesque contrast to the real and pitiable 
 condition of her mind. The very room she stood in 
 was replete with every comfort that money could 
 buy, or the ingenuity of man devise. She had 
 entered it for the first time with the brightest 
 prospects before her. How had they been realized ? 
 Looking back over the past, she could remember 
 some, at least, of the thoughts in which she had once 
 indulged when retiring to rest in that very chamber. 
 
 " I might have known that I was installed here as
 
 Jflesb an& Bloofc* 103 
 
 a mere puppet," she moaned, and then, recollections 
 pouring upon her, she could no longer control herself, 
 and her tears flowed fast. 
 
 From that paroxysm of weeping, which was, in 
 reality, the greatest relief, Blanche roused herself, and 
 with the calmness she had acquired, began to examine 
 the position in which she believed herself to be placed. 
 First of all, had she misjudged the Count, had she 
 wronged him ? Were her suspicions without founda- 
 tion ? Had they sprung from the sense of mistrust 
 which had gradually taken possession of her ? 
 Crushing this idea almost as soon as it occurred, 
 came the recollection of the looks which she 
 had so unexpectedly seen, and so swiftly read. 
 Could she, a woman, be mistaken in the mean- 
 ing of those glances ? The answer was short 
 and decisive. No. Then the deduction was that 
 the understanding between the Count and Lisette 
 was complete? Again she had no hesitation in re- 
 plying to herself in the affirmative. Admitting this 
 state of things then, what was likely to be the 
 upshot ? She trembled to think. There could be 
 no possibility of gauging what Lisette's beauty might 
 effect, if a man of the Count's inflammable disposition 
 felt disposed to lay himself open to its influence. The 
 extent of her power over him, at least for a time, 
 depended mainly upon her own conduct, upon her 
 handling of herself. 
 
 But Blanche shrank from examining this aspect of 
 the affair. There seemed to be no necessity to anticipate, 
 and was it wise of her to seek to probe too deeply ? To 
 probe at all, indeed, was the next idea that presented 
 itself. Where was the wisdom of it ? Would it not be 
 tantamount to rubbing salt into an open sore ? To 
 occasion herself pain was childish. Clearly she had 
 much better close her eyes. Feign blindness for the 
 present, and the very substance of what she dreaded
 
 jflesb an& JSloofc* 
 
 might dissolve. Her position would remain un- 
 changed. Friction with the Count, which, sooner 
 or later, would be certain to ensue, if she pryed too 
 deeply, would thus be saved her. Policy of a cold 
 kind, there could be no doubt, dictated that she 
 should remain immovable. 
 
 On the other hand, was she to be a wife in 
 name and act, and at the same time, to close 
 her eyes to the insults which daily and hourly 
 would be offered to her she conscious of their 
 existence, but refusing to see them ? Pride, and a 
 sense of her own injured innocence, aided her in 
 her decision. She had never once faltered in her 
 allegiance to her husband, though she had been 
 sorely tried. Was she to become his dupe ? Was 
 that to be the nature of her recompense? Not if 
 she knew it. If she had her duty to perform, the 
 Count had his, and if he failed completely, and to 
 her knowledge, what tie any longer existed between 
 them ? What was to be the nature of the bond 
 which was to continue to hold them together? 
 Slowly, and by a roundabout way, she had arrived at 
 a crucial point. It was this. If she discovered 
 beyond all doubt that the Count was absolutely 
 false to her, what steps was she prepared to take ? 
 She was about to solve a problem : should her sus- 
 picions, which dictated that attempt at solution, be 
 realized, what must be her line of action? How far was 
 she disposed to go? and in what direction? But philo- 
 sophy stepped in here, and whispered : " It will be 
 time enough to decide that, when a decision becomes 
 necessary. For the moment it is sufficient for you 
 to stand upon the dignity which is rightfully yours. 
 Your conduct has been exemplary ; see, so far as in 
 you lies, that you receive the same genuine dealing." 
 
 This reasoning approved of and embraced, the 
 next step was to decide upon her immediate actions,
 
 jflesb anfc Bloo&* 105 
 
 upon the course her own conduct was unswervingly 
 to take. 
 
 Had she been in a city like Paris, she would 
 have been tempted to avail herself of the services 
 of those secret agents, who were, she had heard, 
 so dexterous, so silent. Placed as she was, in 
 a tiny village such as La Jonquieres, such aid was 
 not only out of her reach, but unnecessary. All she 
 desired to know, she could learn by exercising patience 
 and subjecting the Count to a cautious system of 
 personal surveillance. Her manner towards him 
 should undergo no change ; she would simply watch 
 and wait. It would be intensely repugnant to her 
 to do this ; but clearly she had the best right to 
 exercise such conduct, and unless she wanted to sit 
 down and play the part of poor patient victim, to 
 know what was going on was her only chance of 
 ever holding weapons which would avail in self- 
 defence. 
 
 If the Count had learned her feelings from the 
 expression of her eyes, when he had encountered 
 them, the momentary impression he was likely to 
 have formed would be dissipated by her unaltered 
 conduct towards him. He would become incautious, 
 and then Triumphantly, though bitterly, she 
 evolved these ideas, until nothing remained to be con- 
 sidered. She clenched her hands angrily, when she 
 reflected that his visits to Paris had not been aban- 
 doned without a reason. He had been busy nearer 
 home. Finally deciding to confide in no one, not 
 even in Amy, and with the further resolution on no 
 account to be the means of bringing Lisette to the 
 chateau, this mentally tempest-tossed woman pro- 
 ceeded upon her r61e of hostess and wife.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " MADAME LA COMTESSE appears to be in unusually 
 good spirits to-night," observed De Courcelles to the 
 Count, when Blanche and Amy had left them, and 
 they were smoking an after-dinner cigarette. 
 
 " Ah, do you think so ? " replied the Count 
 moodily. 
 
 " My dear fellow, how could I think otherwise ? 
 She is always charming, but to-night she surpasses 
 herself. I have never before met a woman who dis- 
 played so much feeling mind I am generalizing 
 and whose tact was so consummate." 
 
 " Hem, do you think so ? " again replied the 
 Count, in accents which plainly denoted that he was 
 not to be drawn into discussing his wife. 
 
 To tell the truth, she had puzzled him. He would 
 have given a great deal to know what thoughts were 
 overlaid and concealed by her apparently bubbling 
 flow of conversation, to which he had sat and listened 
 uneasily and wonderingly. 
 
 Blanche had undoubtedly shone, surprising herself, 
 considering her harassed frame of mind. The Count 
 had accordingly drawn in his horns, the better to 
 watch her closely. The expression he had read in 
 her blue eyes, when in Lisette's presence, had 
 alarmed him ; but an undefinable something, in her 
 manner since, had alarmed him still more. He had 
 
 106
 
 fflesb ant> 36loo&, 107 
 
 flattered himself that he knew his wife ; but at the 
 end of a protracted examination of her, lasting 
 throughout the whole of dinner, and during which 
 she had done all the talking, a still small voice had 
 whispered to him : " You never know a woman. 
 You may think you do, but you deceive yourself, 
 and unless you are careful, you may know too much 
 of this one." 
 
 The Count wanted to think just then. De Cour- 
 celles seemed determined that he should not. After 
 all, time and place were out of keeping. 
 
 " My dear fellow, shall I treat you to some more 
 of my ideas ? " persisted De Courcelles, knocking the 
 ash off his cigarette, and swallowing a little mouthful 
 of wine. 
 
 " Yes, if they are not dull ones," replied the Count 
 lazily, blinking and hooking his thumbs in his white 
 waistcoat. 
 
 He was intensely annoyed at DC Courcelles. He 
 had not got over his vexation at having him billeted 
 at the chateau. In addition, and this was his crown- 
 ing grievance, he considered that the Baron had 
 acted like a duffer in speaking of Lisette to Blanche. 
 He was half disposed, indeed, to set the unpleasant 
 contretemps of the afternoon wholly at his door. 
 
 " Well, you seem deucedly silent to begin with," 
 blurted the Baron. 
 
 " There is nothing more pleasant than the sensation 
 that one may be, without giving offence. Certainly, 
 one is never quite at one's ease with a person until 
 silence on either side passes unquestioned. But I'll 
 admit I'm a dull host to-night. You must forgive 
 me." 
 
 " Please don't apologize or I shall feel uncomfort- 
 able. I was only trying to draw you, and did not 
 mean my remark seriously. Your day has been 
 spoilt, and it's all my fault, or rather the fault of
 
 jflesb an& 
 
 those rascals of mine who have been fattening upon 
 the birds I thought we should have the pleasure of 
 shooting." 
 
 The Count considered that this last remark was a 
 sufficiently direct allusion to the events of the day, to 
 enable him, under cover of it, to put a question he was 
 itching to ask. 
 
 " Ah. that reminds me," he said, in an unconcerned 
 tone, " what induced you to discuss our little brunette 
 with Madame la Comtesse ? " 
 
 " The chances of conversation, a careless remark, is 
 all I can plead. But I have not offended you, eh ? " 
 
 " Offended me, my dear fellow ? " The Count's 
 amazement was deliciously natural. His eyebrows 
 were elevated, his expression perfect. " How could 
 that be ? Just think, if you turned the little brunette 
 inside out er er verbally, I mean what could it 
 possibly matter to me ? My allusion to the circum- 
 stance is due to the reflection that madame probably 
 spoke to her, thanks to your remarks." 
 
 " Lucky for her, I should think." 
 
 " On the contrary, you do not know these sort of 
 people as well as I do. Madame la Comtesse's 
 condescension will be a nice fillip to her ridiculous 
 pride. Did you not see how vain the little hussy 
 was ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, she has a looking-glass, and has 
 doubtless studied herself in it, eh ? " 
 
 " Ah, well, that cannot be helped, since a few 
 centimes will buy one ; but Madame la Comtesse is 
 naturally so kind-hearted, that she is perpetually 
 forgetting that the lower orders must be kept in 
 their place." 
 
 De Courcelles thought this was brazening it out 
 with a vengeance. The recollection of the Count 
 turning round in his saddle and waving his hand, 
 nearly made him laugh.
 
 jflesb anfc Blocs, 109 
 
 " As for me," continued the Count, partly divining 
 what was passing in his mind, " I confess my admira- 
 tion for a pretty face ; but what one does oneself, and 
 what one's women do, are two very different things." 
 
 De Courcelles made no immediate reply, and soon 
 afterwards Louis Bernard dropped in, as was his 
 custom. He had grown to delight in singing to 
 Blanche's sympathetic accompaniments, and was 
 glad to avail himself of the complete relaxation he 
 obtained by visiting at the chateau. It was his one 
 great pleasure, thus to steep himself in an atmosphere 
 of refinement and culture. From it, he even believed 
 he gathered strength. His presence enabled the 
 Count to slip away, for with De Courcelles he was an 
 especial favourite, and seeing them quickly launched 
 in an animated discussion, in which Blanche and 
 Amy joined at will, with a sigh of relief the Count 
 sought his own sanctum, where, with the aid of a 
 cigarette, he proceeded to give the rein to his 
 thoughts. To what extent Blanche suspected him, 
 he was, of course, profoundly ignorant, but he pre- 
 ferred to think that she was sufficiently on the qui 
 vive to necessitate the use of extreme caution in his 
 future dealings with Lisette. That his intentions 
 towards her were unchanged, his resolution to see her, 
 and that very night, was a sufficient proof. Upon 
 that step he decided, for two reasons. First, the very 
 boldness of it insured success. Blanche would be 
 quiescent, in the full belief that he was on his guard ; 
 and, in the second place, he could inform Lisette of 
 the exact state of things, and. having done so, await 
 events more patiently. 
 
 The Count was too clever and worldly a man to 
 omit to put the question to himself, " Am I or am I 
 not, a fool, to permit myself to become entangled in a 
 liaison, such as this will probably develop into ? " and 
 the reply he made himself was an unequivocal " Yes."
 
 no <smi jflesb an& 
 
 " But if you do not, you will lose her," was the 
 answer. True enough, and he was not prepared for 
 that just then. He thrust his hands in his pockets 
 and emitted a cloud of smoke, saying to himself as it 
 curled upwards, " No, no, my charming little Lisette, 
 you shall not escape me. Such an idea is not to be 
 entertained for one moment. The La Jonquieres 
 weakness is my weakness. Supposing there was a 
 rock as high as heaven, and the woman I happened to 
 fancy was at the top, I should try to scale it, forgetting 
 the dangers of the way in the anticipation of the 
 pleasures a-head. There is something so romantic in 
 the pursuit of a fresh and delightful little rustic, some- 
 thing so new and invigorating in stealing forth, when 
 everyone else is abed, to be encountered by a fault- 
 less little woman, aglow with health and brimful of 
 affection ; something deliciously intoxicating in the 
 pursuit of forbidden fruit. It's the devil's sauce, I 
 should be told. Doubtless, but for me it has a 
 pungent relish." 
 
 Having got so far, the Count disposed himself in a 
 comfortable chair, nursed his right leg, and tapped 
 his amplitude of shirt front, while he allowed the 
 smoke from his cigarette to curl slowly from under 
 his moustache. 
 
 He now took into consideration another aspect 
 of the affair. Supposing this attractive little pec- 
 cadillo (for as such he chose to consider it) was 
 really discovered by madame ? What would she 
 think more important still, what would she do ? 
 In all probability there would be a squabble of rather 
 larger proportions a fierce contention, in fact. Well, 
 and what then ? Why, madame would settle down to 
 the inevitable. Just that. He, in his turn, would 
 probably tire of the game. His attitude, having done 
 so, would be of a nature to bring about a complete 
 reconciliation, which she would be sure to attribute
 
 Ill 
 
 to her influence over him. He, knowing better, 
 would laugh in his sleeve, and all would be well. 
 But supposing madame developed a fancy for being 
 stubbornly uncompromising, what weapon could he 
 lay his hands upon to reduce her to a more tractable 
 frame of mind ? Could no defect be found in her 
 armour ? To discover a weak spot in her would be 
 to strengthen himself. He would have something to 
 urge in his own defence. Nothing of the kind existed 
 in reality, he knew, but in a war of words, strategy, 
 finesse, the art of discovering and seizing an advan- 
 tage however trifling might, as in greater matters, 
 serve to turn the whole tide of battle. The idea was 
 worth consideration, and he should not lose sight of 
 it. But after all, his chief strength lay in his personal 
 influence over madame. This he believed to be com- 
 plete, and, if fully exerted, overwhelming. Was it 
 possible that so handsome a fellow as himself, would 
 be unable to dictate terms ? Of course not. He 
 might make his mind easy on that score. So he 
 applied himself to another glass of liqueur, surveyed 
 himself with no small satisfaction in a mirror, and 
 with his brow, which under the pressure of thought 
 had contracted into an ominous frown, once more 
 smooth and smiling, he rejoined Blanche and his 
 guests. 
 
 The evening sped its course, but the day having 
 been a fatiguing one, as though by unanimous con- 
 sent the small party broke up early. 
 
 Louis took his leave. De Courcelles and the 
 Count appeared to be inclined to court the influence 
 of Morpheus, rather than a discussion and cognac. 
 
 Having exchanged a few affectionate words with 
 Amy, and said good-night, Blanche found herself 
 alone, for the Count having kissed her, and re- 
 crossed a small drawing-room which separated their 
 apartments, she no longer feared intrusion.
 
 U2 
 
 Physically, she was tired and in need of rest; 
 mentally, beset with jarring thoughts. To undress 
 and lie down seemed best. Whatever she felt, she 
 would have to endure, and to endure she needed 
 repose. 
 
 But though she was comfortable, and the apartment 
 steeped in a silence which should have induced 
 languor and sleep, results the very reverse ensued. 
 Ideas swarmed She travelled back over the whole 
 span of her life, as it were, in a second. Her im- 
 agination, excited by the events of the day, would not 
 be coerced into restfulness. In vain she closed her 
 eyes, her mind, inflamed and feverish, evolved scene 
 after scene with startling clearness. 
 
 At length, dead silence, the semi-darkness, the con- 
 fined atmosphere, appeared to unite in an effort to 
 stifle her. She rose, examined her watch, and found 
 that she had only been lying down an hour at most. 
 It seemed to her like an eternity. The brilliancy of 
 the moon attracted her ; she pushed the blind aside. 
 Then, enraptured with the beauty of the scene, she 
 opened the window softly, and leant forth. In unsullied 
 purity, the pallid lamp of night soared through space, 
 painting the changing features of the rich landscape 
 with a breadth and power, a wondrous softness and 
 delicacy, that, with all its arrogance and vaunting 
 pride, poor human nature can only dimly copy. The 
 gardens, the fields, the lighted aisles of the park, 
 the broad bosom of the river, reposed in a bath of 
 limpid silver, which plunged into bold relief the 
 solid blackness of the woods. The excessive agita- 
 tion to which she was a prey, struck her as present- 
 ing a powerful contrast to the placid beauty, to the 
 perfect repose of Nature. 
 
 " Ah," she sighed, and her lips quivered painfully. 
 "All things about one slumber, clad in smiles and 
 peace ; but we poor human beings beat our wings
 
 fflesb ant) Bloofc. 113 
 
 against the walls of life, and fret to see beyond. 
 Yes, and dissatisfaction, the restless longing to be 
 understood and loved, are amongst the great causes 
 of this fretting." 
 
 A slight sound cut short her reflections. It was 
 that of a footstep on the terrace beneath her. She 
 leant forward and recognised the figure of the Count. 
 His presence there at such an hour would, under 
 ordinary circumstances, have possessed no significance 
 for her. Ever since she had known him, his habits 
 had been controlled by the vagaries of the moment. If 
 it pleased him to smoke when others slept, he did so. 
 But a prey as she was to suspicions, her feminine 
 mind instantly set down this nocturnal ramble as 
 being in some way concerned with Lisette. 
 
 " I'll follow him. I will know what it all means," 
 she said, and breathlessly she slid her feet into her 
 slippers, enveloped herself in a cloak, and with quick, 
 nervous steps, traversed in succession the spacious 
 staircase and the grand drawing-room itself. 
 
 To gain the terrace through the medium of one of 
 the French windows was simple. Panting from ex- 
 citement and rapidity of movement, her heart beating 
 furiously, she glanced about her. The Count had 
 disappeared. Without hesitating an instant, she 
 descended the stone steps which connected the 
 terrace with the garden, passed swiftly between the 
 parterre of gay flowers, and heedless of the heavy 
 dew which penetrated her satin shoes and chilled her 
 naked feet, she bounded over the smooth lawn in 
 pursuit of the man whom she felt confident was 
 wronging her. Until the low boundary wall was 
 gained which at this point fenced off the chateau 
 grounds from the high road and the river beyond 
 Blanche never paused. 
 
 Cautiously she peered over the barrier. On her 
 left lay the route to Mezieres ; to the right, and only 
 
 H
 
 ant) 
 
 some fifty yards distant, the cottages of La Jon- 
 quieres. As she had anticipated, the Count had 
 traversed the grounds, passed out through the gate 
 she had guessed he would use, and was in the road 
 on her left. Owing to her knowledge of the locality 
 she had intercepted him, having arrived at the 
 nearest point to the village, and immediately opposite 
 the little copse of willows and alders which grew into 
 the river. 
 
 With quick strides he passed under her very 
 nose. She could have touched him with Pierre 
 Chotard's punt pole, and the fumes from his cigarette 
 swept over her face. A few moments more, and he 
 stood beneath Lisette's window. His right arm 
 moved in the action of flinging something against 
 the glass. Breathlessly Blanche watched. Soon the 
 casement opened ; a woman thrust her head and 
 shoulders forth, and she could see from the Count's 
 attitude that he was speaking to her. Then the 
 window closed, a light shone in it, and the Count, 
 evidently satisfied, retraced his steps, until when 
 opposite her, he sought the shadow of the trees. A 
 pause ensued, a period of inaction, and during it 
 Blanche could hear her own heart beat, could catch 
 the sound of snapping twigs as the Count crushed 
 them under foot, could see the occasional glow of his 
 cigarette, and when he moved into a favourable posi- 
 tion, could discern his form in perfect silhouette, 
 backed as it was by the river. 
 
 Suddenly that lull, that period of patient wait- 
 ing, was abruptly terminated by the Count. Starting 
 forward, he advanced, as though the person he ex- 
 pected was coming to him from the direction 
 of the gardens extending in the rear of the 
 cottages. This was in fact the case. In another 
 moment, the firm, compact figure of Lisette, was ex- 
 posed to the full glare of the moonlight. The Count
 
 jflesb atto BlooO. us 
 
 embraced her ardently, their lips met. Blanche 
 could even see the expression of her upturned face. 
 Then the shadows hid them, and sick with humiliation, 
 her worst passions roused by the knowledge that 
 another and that other an illiterate peasant girl 
 was preferred to her, this proud woman, moving as 
 though her strength failed her, retraced her steps 
 through the dew and the flowers. 
 
 Later, when by some slight noises she knew that 
 the Count had returned, she had not closed her eyes. 
 She listened to those evidences of his near presence 
 and shuddered. Even the light of the new day dis- 
 covered her lying amidst the tossed bed-clothes, still 
 awake, her hair dishevelled, her eyes full of weariness, 
 and bloodshot from tears and want of sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 No one would have dreamt, though, that madame 
 suffered, that a blow had been struck at the very 
 foundation of her home life, and that she was aware 
 of it, had they seen her sitting within the open 
 windows of the grand drawing-room. 
 
 With ease, and a grace peculiarly her own, she was 
 laughing and talking vivaciously with Louis Bernard, 
 teasing Amy and the Baron in turn, and receiving 
 some compliments from the Count, who was on 
 the terrace, though well within earshot Every now 
 and then her white teeth would close upon her 
 under-lip, the heavily-fringed lids would veil the 
 blue eyes, moist with meaning ; but those signs of 
 agitation were so well controlled, that as she sat 
 there, her graceful figure disposed easily, and her 
 little feet resting on a carved pearwood footstool, she 
 seemed as perfectly happy as one could wish. 
 
 " I never knew such people," remarked the Count 
 abruptly, changing the whole current of the conver- 
 sation. " I have tried my best, but there is no 
 inducing you to drive or do anything." 
 
 " But why should we move when we are perfectly 
 contented ? " 
 
 " Perfectly contented, Monsieur le Baron ? Can 
 you say that ? " asked Louis. 
 
 116
 
 Bloob* 117 
 
 " I can indeed." 
 
 " What an enviable frame of mind you must be in, 
 monsieur," interposed Amy mischievously. 
 
 " Eh, mademoiselle, and you are you not con- 
 tented ? " 
 
 " Ah, that's another matter," laughed Amy. " You 
 ought to be, Rudolf." 
 
 " Do you hear that ? " asked De Courcelles, raising 
 his voice slightly. 
 
 " No ; what did you say ? " inquired the Count 
 lazily. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Amy says that of all men you 
 ought to be contented ; and, ma foi, with the sun- 
 light and a cigarette, you should be." 
 
 " Ah, do you think so ? Your ideas of what 
 should be conducive to contentment are not bad, but 
 they are not exalted. The sun happens to scorch 
 me, and the cigarette has gone out." 
 
 " Sit in the shadow, then ; and if you want a light 
 I can give you one." 
 
 " Too lazy to move, my dear fellow. As for the 
 light, give it me. Thanks. Tell us something amus- 
 ing, my dear Abb6. A little scandal even would be 
 refreshing, otherwise I shall go to sleep." 
 
 " A distinct compliment to us," interposed Amy 
 pertly. 
 
 " Don't stir him up, for goodness' sake, made- 
 moiselle, or else he will drag you out into that sun- 
 shine en revanche" 
 
 " I maintain you are hard on me, De Courcelles. 
 I should do no such, thing ; but on a day like this, I 
 think it positively sinful to neglect one's health by 
 remaining cooped up in the house." 
 
 " Fancy a man who is made of iron, talking about 
 his health," retorted the Baron ; " besides," he added, 
 " we have already been out half the day, and in an
 
 us nig jflesb ant> 3Bloot>. 
 
 hour's time, when it is cooler, mademoiselle is going 
 to teach me how to catch carp." 
 
 " Only upon the understanding that you bait the 
 hook, Baron." 
 
 " And kill the fish, you said, mademoiselle." 
 
 " And kill the fish, monsieur," replied Amy, with 
 mock solemnity. 
 
 "A piece of feminine cowardice and cruelty com- 
 bined," said the Count ironically. " You are willing 
 to teach the art of destroying ; but you decline to 
 soil your white fingers. Fie, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Don't be so absurd, Rudolf; fish were meant to 
 be caught." 
 
 " And so were women, ma chere" 
 
 " Peste ! but they catch us," said De Courcelles, 
 with a ludicrous grimace. 
 
 " I don't pity you, if you will singe your wings," 
 remarked Blanche, laughing outright at the comical 
 expression of the Baron's face. 
 
 " Ah, madame had you there," interposed the 
 Count, waking up, as it were, blinking, and puffing 
 forth a mouthful of smoke, which slowly formed 
 circles. " She is right, too, my dear fellow. Yet 
 women are our light ; we are content to be destroyed 
 by such warmth, and what we are pleased to consider 
 beauty." 
 
 Blanche's lips curled, and her bosom heaved with 
 momentary agitation ; the blood mantled to her cheeks, 
 and a slight frown contracted her forehead. At that 
 instant, a deluge of scornful words rose to her lips. She 
 was enduring a species of torture, which, owing to her 
 relationship with the Count, might at any moment 
 become unbearable. His last remark maddened her 
 for the moment. She repeated it to herself, "and 
 what we are pleased to consider beauty." To think 
 that such a man was to determine, to deceive, and 
 yet to ensnare. With the knowledge she possessed,
 
 119 
 
 such a sentiment sounded like an insult. But by a 
 strong effort she curbed herself. The frown vanished, 
 the tell-tale blood retreated, her perfectly-developed 
 figure, outlined to advantage by the pale upholstery 
 of the bergere in which she half-reclined, was no 
 longer agitated. She trifled with her rings, and then 
 said in the silence : 
 
 " Really, Rudolf, our material value might be our 
 only one." 
 
 " I did not say so. The idea is yours, not mine." 
 " You hinted as much. Will your conception of 
 what is beautiful women, I mean change ? " 
 " Ah, now I have no words to answer you with." 
 " Because, if so, some of us will be poor un- 
 fortunates. What do you think, Monsieur 1'Abbe" ? " 
 Louis' grey eyes, luminous with feeling, were 
 turned full upon Blanche. 
 
 " A good heart, madame, must always command 
 its value," he said slowly ; " for the rest, small-pox 
 may at any moment supervene." 
 
 " What a horrible idea," exclaimed Amy, clasping 
 her hands expressively. 
 
 " A true one, nevertheless, mademoiselle." 
 " But appalling. Are we, indeed, so frail ? " 
 " The answer is within you, mademoiselle." 
 " Oh, I prefer not to think, then," replied Amy, 
 jumping up from her chair, and pulling Fidele the 
 spaniel's tail until he growled. 
 
 Louis smiled. He had so many thoughts. Strange 
 they might be, but they were his hidden friends. He 
 had no one to tell them to, and already he sighed 
 despairingly in his weak moments for someone in 
 whom he could confide. 
 
 " And now, Madame la Comtesse," he said, rising 
 from his chair, " I must be going. There is someone 
 ill at the Moriseau farm." 
 " Wait one moment, Monsieur 1'AbbeY' interrupted
 
 120 <mi fflesb anfc 
 
 the Count, the remark not lost upon him all the same, 
 " wait one moment. There is someone coming, I 
 hear carriage wheels. Let us see who it is, and then 
 I will walk a few yards with you." 
 
 " Does Madame la Comtesse receive ? " inquired a 
 servant, approaching respectfully. 
 
 Blanche signified assent. She welcomed the pro- 
 spect of a momentary distraction. 
 
 " I have an idea it is Monsieur Brunot, by the 
 glimpse I caught of the carriage," decided the Count. 
 " That fellow has a skin like a rhinoceros. Don't see 
 him, my dear." 
 
 " Oh, we had better not make enemies. It is so 
 easy to be civil." 
 
 " Is it ? I don't agree with you. Brunot is unbear- 
 able. Don't you think so, De Courcelles ? " 
 
 " Hush, my dear fellow, here they are, whoever 
 it is." 
 
 " Monsieur Brunot,'' announced a servant, flinging 
 wide the great folding doors. 
 
 M. Brunot advanced into the room. Tall, angular, 
 and some fifty years of age, his features suggested 
 sharpness accentuated. His eyes were small and 
 piercing. His jaws were square, massive, and adorned 
 with a grizzly stubble. He was over-dressed, and de- 
 spite his efforts at easy assurance, he belonged in- 
 dubitably to the bourgeois class. 
 
 Blanche rose and received him politely. An un- 
 avoidable introduction or two ensued, and then, in 
 the midst of a rather awkward silence, M. Brunot 
 began : 
 
 " The pleasure of calling upon you, Madame la 
 Comtesse, overcame me. I was within a few miles, 
 when the turrets of your delightful chateau caught 
 my eye. I instantly turned my horses' heads ; the 
 recollection of of and, madame, I assure you " 
 Words suddenly failed M. Brunot. The poor man's
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloofc. 121 
 
 embarrassment was almost painful to behold. Per- 
 haps the self-consciousness that he was not adhering 
 strictly to the truth, was not without its effect. In 
 reality he had planned the visit with a view to gloat 
 over a recent success, to talk of himself in that 
 stately drawing-room, and to let the Count know that 
 he had done without the influence for which he had 
 sued. Yes, pure spite was at the bottom of his 
 appearance at La Jonquieres. But there, confronting 
 him, was the compact military figure of the Count, 
 whose keen glances seemed to read his very thoughts, 
 the slight and elegant De Courcelles, whose soft and 
 affable face wore a placidly amused expression. 
 There, too, were the ladies, Madame la Comtesse and 
 someone else, whose name he had not caught, and 
 behind them again, a tall, quiet, and dignified cure". 
 Set in the sober harmony of the tapestry, surrounded 
 by the dull glitter and splendour of the magnificent 
 furniture and porcelain, the actual presence of these 
 people, upon whom he knew he had impudently 
 encroached, took away his breath. Completely out 
 of his element, he made a tremendous effort to 
 recover his self-possession, and, luckily for him, 
 Blanche, who divined his feelings, came to his aid. 
 Really, she felt a little pity for the man, and deter- 
 mined to reassure him. 
 
 " You have timed your visit to perfection, monsieur. 
 It has only one fault, you have delayed it too long. 
 I, for one, was languishing for someone to amuse me. 
 Now, come and tell me something new and enter- 
 taining." 
 
 With admirable tact Blanche drew him aside, thus 
 monopolizing him, from pure kindness. But, though 
 a shrewd business man, M. Brunot failed to grasp the 
 situation. Upon each word of Blanche's he placed 
 his own construction. Here was this beautiful lady, 
 so exquisitely dressed, so altogether charming, telling
 
 122 <smi jflesb ant) Bloo&. 
 
 him, M. Brunot, that her own men-kind were as good 
 as boring her. His self-assurance received an im- 
 mense impetus, his coarse bourgeois blood became 
 inflamed. He really believed himself to be in 
 especial favour, and some absurd notions instantly 
 possessed him. Besides, he held, he considered, an 
 important card, and was eager to play it He sank 
 back in his chair, applied his handkerchief to his 
 forehead with inexpressible satisfaction, and said : 
 
 " Something new and entertaining, Madame la 
 Comtesse ? Well, let me see. But I fear I am at a 
 discount. I have so little time I can call my own. 
 Scarcely sufficient to study the daily papers as I should 
 like. Work, work, work, is, and has been, my motto. 
 True, I scan the political horizon with acute in- 
 terest. And now now I have the power to speak 
 of those reforms which I have long planned and 
 cherished. Is it possible that you do not understand 
 me, madame ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do not. I must plead ignorance," said 
 Blanche, feeling very much like laughing, in spite of 
 her own troubles. " You must remember, monsieur, 
 we live terribly quiet lives here, buried as we are in 
 the country." 
 
 " True. Ah, but, madame, how charming the 
 country is. I love it," and M. Brunot flourished his 
 hand with an airy gesture ; " but, let me tell you, I 
 have worked, and my work has not been fruitless. I 
 am now a Deputy." 
 
 M. Brunot elevated his voice as he made this 
 announcement, glancing about him with unbridled 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Indeed, monsieur, and it was your wish ? " 
 
 " Since I became rich it has been my loftiest 
 ambition, Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 " Then I congratulate you upon having attained it, 
 monsieur."
 
 Jflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 123 
 
 M. Brunot inclined his head in acknowledgment 
 " You are too kind, Madame la Comtesse." 
 
 He was bursting to add, " And I have done this 
 myself. Monsieur le Comte and Monsieur le Baron 
 de Courcelles have done nothing for me. A fig for 
 them." But since he triumphed, he could afford to 
 rest content. Besides, madame was a superb woman ; 
 it was delightful to be near her. Her presence made 
 him forget his spleen. He was confident that she 
 liked him, moreover. 
 
 " It is a favourite saying of mine," he continued, 
 still borne along on the tide of egotism, " that 
 nothing is impossible. I have felt the truth of it 
 here," he pointed to his forehead with a dramatic 
 gesture. " I have indeed proved it I wanted 
 to become rich. A few millions of francs are 
 nothing to me. I chose to become a Deputy. 1 am 
 one." 
 
 " Indeed, you are a man to be admired and imitated, 
 monsieur," replied Blanche, already sensible that she 
 was being punished for her good-nature. 
 
 M. Brunot failed entirely to detect the sarcasm. 
 He rejoiced in himself. 
 
 " I desire only two things now, Madame la 
 Comtesse," he continued, impelled by the sentiment 
 
 " Indeed, monsieur ; then you will doubtless secure 
 them. You cannot fail to." 
 
 " But you do not inquire what they are, Madame la 
 Comtesse." 
 
 " Let me atone for my omission, monsieur. I am 
 curious." 
 
 " I covet a delightful old place, such as this. The 
 very atmosphere of it enchants me. I love nature. 
 I worship refinement and art. In addition to this 
 desire, I want to discover someone who can compre- 
 hend me, and thoroughly sympathize with my aspira- 
 tions. Someone who would be willing to become
 
 fflesb ant) 
 
 Madame Brunot. She need not have a franc for 
 her dot, but her title to position must be indisput- 
 able." 
 
 M. Brunot paused, apparently for lack of words to 
 express his varied feelings. Blanche, disturbed, her 
 heart wrung with her own troubles, felt bored to 
 death, and wished with all her might that he would 
 go. It was so grotesque, to be obliged to talk to such 
 a man, feeling as she did. But she contrived, to 
 endure, being too kind-hearted and courteous, to 
 permit her tormentor to discern that his society 
 was fast becoming obnoxious. So well did she 
 conceal her weariness and annoyance, that, when 
 M. Brunot at length took his leave, he was satisfied 
 that he had made a distinctly favourable impres- 
 sion, and was delighted with the reception accorded 
 him. 
 
 " What an odious pig of a man," exclaimed Amy, 
 the moment the door had closed upon him. 
 
 " An energetic and plain-spoken opinion, if inele- 
 gantly expressed," observed the Count, laughing at 
 Amy's vehemence. 
 
 " I like to say what I think," she retorted. " Why 
 should one mince matters ? I hate people who pick 
 and choose their words, and never say what they feel. 
 But seriously, Rudolf, how did you ever get to know 
 such a person ? " 
 
 " I met him in public somewhere. At a dinner I 
 think, and ever since, on some pretext or other, he 
 has made occasional descents upon us. But, tell the 
 truth. He is enormously rich. Would you not marry 
 him ? " 
 
 " How detestable of you to suggest anything so 
 revolting. If he were the only man in the world, I 
 should pray that seas and continents might separate 
 us. Weren't you terribly bored, Blanche ? " 
 
 " I began by being sorry for him. Poor man, he
 
 nip jplesb an& 3Bloofc. 125 
 
 was so palpably awkward, but I ended by longing to 
 be released from such an incubus. His vulgarity and 
 egotism are without parallel, still, had I been in the 
 best of spirits, I might have been amused." 
 
 "Aren't you in good spirits, then?" asked the 
 Count quickly. 
 
 Blanche regretted her remark. She had said more 
 than she intended. 
 
 " I feel a little tired, thanks," she said quietly. 
 
 " And what has that to do with your spirits ? How 
 odd you women are. You never will give a direct 
 answer." 
 
 " Not unless we happen to like to be catechised," 
 answered Blanche placidly. 
 
 The Count was baffled. He hated to be, and he 
 shot a glance out of the corner of his eye, which 
 said as much. 
 
 Amy had sauntered out of the room. She was 
 leaning over the balustrade of the terrace, looking 
 down upon the gardens, half dreaming, and in a 
 decidedly enviable frame of mind. De Courcelles 
 approached her. But as he did so, he thought how 
 fresh and virginal she looked. Little better than a 
 child, too, but a well-grown and very pretty one, in 
 her simple white frock, with her auburn hair reaching 
 far below her waist, and a suspicion of pale blue 
 ribbon adorning it. De Courcelles would have given 
 a good deal for that ribbon just then. To him, Amy 
 seemed so artless, so unconventional and honest 
 She refreshed him, not because he was the least bit 
 blast. His ignorance of women was against that; but 
 it pleased him to forget the existence of powder, to 
 think of the country, not the town. 
 
 "Well, shall we go and catch the carp, made- 
 moiselle," he asked insinuatingly. A nod and a 
 smile on a tantalizingly dimpled cheek was his 
 answer, and the two, who evidently understood each
 
 126 nls jflesb 
 
 other admirably, were soon busy with rods and lines, 
 on the edge of the pond, in the great court-yard, 
 within the shadows of the walnut trees, and the sound 
 of the deep-toned stable clock.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 So, while the sweet wood smoke, blue as the sky 
 itself, rose over La Jonquieres, while the jackdaws 
 chattered and built their nests in the ruined home of 
 the long dead Counts, while the fish leapt in the 
 river, and the river pursued its course, while the little 
 village itself seemed sleeping amidst its apple 
 orchards and its woods, russet, crimson, and yellow 
 with ripened leaves sleeping there amidst the 
 stillness men's minds were busy. 
 
 Louis' for instance. Mentally and physically, a 
 great change was at work in him. His face no 
 longer wore the hue as Lisette had said of the 
 little ivory Christ in the petit sanctuatre. The 
 straight, delicate, and clearly-cut features were the 
 same, it is true; but the suns which had painted the 
 trees and ripened the corn, had bronzed his cheeks, 
 and his long walks amongst the golden grain, the 
 woods, and the quaint French farms, had strength- 
 ened him wonderfully. His tall, straight figure was 
 erect, and the traces of confinement and close study 
 were no longer discernible. 
 
 Mentally, the alteration was as marked. Subject 
 no longer to galling restrictions, and the observance 
 of a daily routine of rigorously imposed and onerous 
 duties, his naturally vigorous intellect began to expand 
 with astonishing rapidity. Questions of a nature which 
 
 127
 
 izs nip jflesb ant) 
 
 perplexed and alarmed him flitted like phantoms 
 across his mind. These, presenting themselves con- 
 stantly, becoming clearer imperceptibly, and estab- 
 lishing themselves ever more securely, were only 
 compelled to retreat before the activity with which he 
 set about his daily work. At present, vague, shadowy, 
 and perpetually changing in aspect and outline, he 
 found he could thus rid himself of them. And, in 
 accordance with the principles he had been taught, 
 he did so. Yet the moment he permitted himself to 
 think, his strong common-sense recalled them. 
 Afraid, in sore perplexity, again he would be driven 
 to silence the inward clamour by employing himself 
 in some way at once. 
 
 His greatest consolation at this period was derived 
 from the repose, the calm which stole over him, as he 
 reflected that, at least, his life was not useless, since 
 it was in his power to do good. He was in a position 
 to help others, if he could not help himself. The 
 hold he had gained over the minds of the simple and 
 ignorant villagers had only one flaw. This was his 
 intimacy at the chateau. Blanche was beloved. The 
 Count feared. 
 
 Louis' kindness and gentleness had won the hearts 
 of the women, his bravery, the admiration and good- 
 will of the men. To crown his influence and place it \ 
 upon a solid basis, it was only necessary that the 
 rustic minds should be able to think of him as their 
 own their cure* ; a prominent feature in their social 
 system who must belong to them, just as did their 
 cattle and their money. He was called to the sick 
 beds of their wives and daughters. He was the 
 recipient of all their confidences, of whatever 
 nature. 
 
 Yes, but Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Com- 
 tesse were of different flesh and blood to them. Birth 
 stepped in. Pride of race and the possession of
 
 fflesb ant) JSloofc. 129 
 
 wealth, with its concomitant no need to work pre- 
 sented a separating barrier. Intimacy at the chateau, 
 of a marked character, was equivalent to seeking the 
 enemy's camp, and was a species of counterpoise to 
 the good opinions which, it was felt, Monsieur L'Abb6 
 Bernard undoubtedly merited. 
 
 Before his varied musings Louis' parents had re- 
 treated into the shade. His temperament, his educa- 
 tion, his past life, had completely unfitted him to 
 think with them. His culture and natural capacity 
 had, as it were, placed him in another world. They 
 wanted for nothing, which, as a good son, he could 
 offer them. His filial duties, which had become 
 almost mechanical, he never forgot. Beyond that, he 
 barely remembered their existence. This was unin- 
 tentional on his part; in fact, he was unconscious of it. 
 He only knew that he felt intensely lonely at times, 
 and was at rare moments dimly aware that a great 
 longing for something, as yet undefinable, was spring- 
 ing up in his solitary heart. 
 
 Meantime, the Count, vain, fickle, and restless not 
 unlike many men had taken an idea into his head, 
 and was not to be put off it. 
 
 Lisette, ambitious desirous of being something that 
 she was not born to be she could not well have said 
 what, but clearly something a cut above Andr^ and 
 her humble station was in no mood to relinquish 
 the influence she had acquired over Monsieur le 
 Comte. 
 
 Blanche, mistress of the chateau, yet feeling no 
 mistress, wife, yet feeling no wife growing to detest 
 the name as it stood to her even was driven to reason 
 with and console herself. To have taken Amy into 
 her confidence would have been, in her opinion, dis- 
 tinctly selfish, of no avail, and, moreover, hurtful to 
 her pride in the highest degree. 
 
 There was something brave, something that had a
 
 fflesb ant) JSloofc, 
 
 tendency to soothe her wounded spirit, in wrestling 
 with and bearing her sufferings alone. Ever since 
 the night on which she had gone through the moon- 
 light and the dew, she had striven to repress the anger 
 which was so injurious to her reasoning powers 
 striven to determine what was best and wisest, to map 
 out some plan of action which she could pursue with 
 the belief that good sense and right guided her. She 
 took her moral stand upon the platform of her own 
 conduct. She knew that her married life had been 
 sans reprocke. 
 
 If she had begun by loving the Count blindly, 
 in consequence of her extreme youthfulness, had 
 then, gaining reason, proceeded to weigh him in 
 the scales, and, alas ! had found him hopelessly want- 
 ing, she had been the sufferer, not he. An ordinary 
 woman, loving an erring husband, would have be- 
 sought him with tears and supplications to remain 
 with her, to be faithful to her. She had not done 
 this. She could not supplicate. A strong will, sup- 
 plemented by pride, forbade it. In the earlier stages 
 of the Count's disaffection, she had contented herself 
 with redoubling her attentions. Leaving nothing 
 undone to induce him to spend his time with her, 
 ministering to his comforts in every conceivable way, 
 she never once twitted him with his faults. If these 
 proofs of her regard for him could not win him, could 
 not fill the widening rent, she decided that no action 
 on her part would. 
 
 Finding her attempts futile, she had simply set 
 duty before her, and had endured. The result had 
 been the steady decay, the perpetual falling to 
 pieces, and, finally, the annihilation of the love her 
 innocence and girlish fancy had conceived. Had 
 she given the Count occasion against her, had she 
 been disloyal, it would have been impossible for her 
 to have judged him as critically. If she gave little,
 
 tflesb ant> 
 
 she must expect the same. Good herself, she looked 
 for as much. 
 
 She imagined that she should have felt less bitterly, 
 had the object of the Count's attentions chanced to 
 be a lady of cultivated tastes and acknowledged good 
 looks. At all events, she would not have despised 
 him so much, possibly would not have shrunk from 
 his touch with such acute loathing. There was 
 nothing pure, nothing romantic, in this passion for 
 a peasant girl. It could only emanate from base 
 desires. For the Count, setting aside his principles, 
 was an educated man, and his sensitive ear could 
 only be offended by the accents to which he must 
 listen. Sooner or later this would be so. True, 
 there was no accounting for the eccentricities of 
 human nature. The very pages of history proved 
 how men of birth and intellect had stooped to women 
 of obscure origin. However, one resolution Blanche 
 had formed. Since the Count loved Lisette, to Lis- 
 ette, and those who might chance to please him, he 
 must henceforth confine his affections. She had ex- 
 changed her name for that of La Jonquieres ; it might 
 be well, for the sake of all concerned, to bear the 
 burden she had taken upon herself. 
 
 Thus, completely dejected, sore to the heart's 
 core, her existence fenced with unhappiness, at 
 that instant she was in a condition most pitiable, 
 most dangerous to herself. She would have given 
 the world for sympathy, for the love she yet be- 
 lieved in as possible. She had, instead, the bit- 
 terness of considering herself defrauded of this con- 
 solation which she yearned for with all the strength 
 of her nature. This sensation, this longing, was no 
 new one. She had been stirred to the depths by the 
 discovery she had made, and thus her feelings had 
 reached an acute stage that was all. 
 
 In this condition of mind she had retired for the
 
 132 nls fflesb ano 
 
 night, having had a chat with Amy, and left her to 
 dream of De Courcellcs. He and the Count were sit- 
 ting up playing cards and smoking, so on crossing 
 the little drawing-room, Blanche had merely lowered 
 the light which burnt in a quaint Flemish lamp, and 
 had then shut herself up in her own room. 
 
 In accordance with her resolution to hold aloof from 
 the Count, and to receive him as a husband no longer, 
 she had had recourse to delicate feminine subter- 
 fuge. This could not avail her much longer, she 
 knew, and she was therefore conscious that she stood 
 on the verge of an explanation, the consequences of 
 which she could not foresee. She had determined to 
 avoid a public scandal if possible. But the Count, 
 having become repulsive to her, she had decided to 
 extricate herself from the degrading position in which 
 she found herself. 
 
 The means by which she might attain her ends 
 depended upon the Count's attitude. She was 
 anxious to give him his freedom, but at all 
 costs she would maintain her own. The compact 
 she desired was that they should agree to deceive the 
 world. Would the Count consent? In any case, 
 strong in her right, she awaited the issue unflinch- 
 ingly and with confidence. The outlook beyond 
 alone appalled her ; the future with its dreariness, its 
 humiliations, its utter loneliness, seemed to freeze the 
 very life-blood within her, to quench even the desire 
 to exist. But anything would be better than a con- 
 tinuance of the mockery of affection she had so long 
 and so silently endured. 
 
 Pursuing her reflections, and in no mood for 
 sleep, Blanche stirred the fire and sat down before 
 it, for with the falling leaves the night had become 
 chilly. The lamp had burned low, and the light 
 from the half-consumed embers only added to the 
 gloomy severity of the apartment. The ceiling was
 
 jflesb ant> Bloo&, 133 
 
 lofty and profusely decorated, the bed massive, colon- 
 naded, and canopied with russet-hued Genoa velvet. 
 A cabinet of ebony and brass of exquisite work- 
 manship and of Louis XIII. style was fitted with 
 a sliding writing convenience, and on a dressing- 
 table of carved pearwood upon which two Cupids 
 stood supporting a mirror, and grasping in their 
 chubby ringers brass sconces were strewn those 
 trifles which women affect. A pastel by Latour hung 
 over the wide stone mantelpiece, and beneath it, 
 gazing into the fire, sat the real, the living picture 
 Blanche, the young wife, solitary, painfully sad. 
 
 A tap at the door made her start and rise to her 
 feet. She recognised that the eventful moment had 
 come. This explanation which she had evaded could 
 no longer be postponed. 
 
 The Count entered. 
 
 " What ! not asleep, not even undressed. Doing 
 your best to destroy your health, and so forfeit your 
 good looks," he said, approaching her. 
 
 The words, the tone in which they were spoken, 
 and the sense of ownership they implied, irritated 
 but decided Blanche. There should be no vacillation 
 on her part, but plain speaking without delay. 
 
 " Well, I am tired now, and am going to sleep," 
 she said, counting on her reply having a distinctly 
 irritating effect. 
 
 " Tired, and going to sleep, eh ? Well, that's cool ! 
 Decidedly so, when it happens that I've forsaken De 
 Courcelles and a game of cards, packed him off to 
 bed, in fact, on purpose to talk with you." 
 
 " Delightful of you, very, but droll, too, since we 
 could only talk, according to you, at the expense of 
 my health and good looks." 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " he asked, re- 
 garding her attentively from the position he occupied 
 on the chair she had vacated.
 
 134 nl jflesb attfc 3Bloot>. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " A woman's invariable reply." 
 
 " I was thinking." 
 
 " Of what ? " 
 
 " Of many things ; amongst others, of you." 
 
 " Ah, now we arrive at the point But the compli- 
 ment would have been less doubtful, had you not 
 classed me with the items, the ' many things."' 
 
 " But I have no desire to pay you any compli- 
 ments." 
 
 " And why not, pray?" 
 
 " Because you have done nothing to deserve 
 them." 
 
 " How disagreeable of you." 
 
 " The truth often is." 
 
 " Bah ! this sparring becomes wearisome. Come 
 and make love to me." 
 
 " Thanks, I have no desire to." 
 
 The Count was piqued, but not sufficiently so to 
 show it. His passions were partially roused. His 
 vanity fed by the reflection that this woman, at all 
 events, was his. 
 
 " Ah," he said, with some amusement, twirling his 
 moustache, " and so you have no desire. But, do you 
 know, I have a great one. Come now, after all these 
 years what is it ? three or so the pleasure of em- 
 bracing you is as great as ever." 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " she exclaimed, starting aside, 
 for he had followed up his words with the action they 
 implied. 
 
 " Don't touch you ; and why not ? Blanche, are 
 you mad ? " 
 
 She made no answer, but stood before him with 
 palpitating pulse and flashing eyes, her cheeks 
 crimson and her hands clenched. 
 
 " What is all this about ? " he continued ; " what 
 does this absurd conduct mean? Are you rehearsing
 
 Jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 135 
 
 some imaginary drama ? because, if so, I shall be 
 glad when you have ended the part you have allotted 
 yourself. Now I think of it, though, there has been 
 a certain strangeness; a coldness, in your manner for 
 days past." 
 
 "If you have discovered that, it is as well. But 
 there is nothing imaginary in the relationship, in the 
 situation existing between you and me. 
 
 The Count's face was very white, his calmness 
 forced, for he could no longer deceive himself. 
 Blanche had evidently made a discovery. Yet he 
 had no conception of the depth of the chasm which 
 already yawned between himself and his young wife, 
 and the weakness of his position lay in his ignorance. 
 Once more he made an effort to avert the impending 
 rupture. 
 
 " I have never heard you talk like this before, and 
 I don't understand you ; but if you've no objection 
 I'll light a cigarette. Smoking soothes one. Come, 
 give me a kiss, and let us say nothing that we may 
 regret" 
 
 " I have not the least intention of saying anything 
 that I am likely to regret, anything that I shall ever 
 wish to retract." 
 
 " Recollect that." 
 
 " I intend to. Just now, you alluded to our three 
 years or so of married life. Shall I tell you what you 
 have succeeded in doing during them ? " 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " You have crushed, obliterated, the love I gave you 
 at the beginning of them." 
 
 " Ah, and how have I done this, may I ask ? " in- 
 quired the Count placidly, though with the sensation 
 that he was approaching the crucial question what 
 had madame discovered ? 
 
 "To attempt to reply to you fully, would be as weari- 
 some as it would be useless. When you are alone
 
 136 nl jflesb an& 3Bloot>. 
 
 you can interrogate yourself. Your own conscience 
 will supply the answer. Meanwhile, it is enough for 
 me to tell you that I have thought, and that my de- 
 liberations have taught me that I have ceased to love 
 you." 
 
 Blanche kept her eyes fixed upon him, and the 
 words dropped from her lips like shots from a re- 
 volver. 
 
 " Really, now, how intensely dramatic. What's the 
 right thing for me to do under the circumstances ? 
 Prostrate myself at your feet? Go down on my 
 knees and implore you to retract such a cruel an- 
 nouncement ? Tell you with tears and trembling, that 
 banishment from your heart would be worse than 
 death to me ? I would do all this if I happened to 
 be acting ; but since I am not, I will merely thank 
 you in sober earnest for the touchingly delicate way 
 in which you have tendered the information. For that 
 information itself, most ; and then I would remind 
 you, madame, that hearts are as plentiful as chestnuts 
 in autumn time." 
 
 The Count's coolness was exasperating. The effect 
 of it instantaneous, and precisely what he desired. 
 Blanche, irritated to a degree, no longer restrained 
 herself. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Well, then, the kisses you spoke of, 
 you may keep for peasant lips and midnight assigna- 
 tions; I have no further need of them," she said, her 
 voice vibrating with scorn. 
 
 The Count was startled. He had not expected 
 such a withering volley, yet he maintained his com- 
 posure admirably. He recognised that there was 
 nothing to be gained by flying in a rage; the re- 
 verse, in fact. 
 
 " Ah, so you have been playing the spy, and this 
 display of temper is the result. I do not envy you, 
 madame, I assure you. Peasant lips how sarcastic !
 
 nig jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 137 
 
 Well, at least, they are fresh and moist Really, 
 though, I credited you with more sense. To make 
 all this vulgar fuss about a passing whim, a trifling 
 fancy. A mixture of admiration and gallantry 
 provoked by a pretty face. If one is going to be 
 subjected to a system of espionage, the situation at 
 once becomes embarrassing. Shall I give you a 
 piece of advice?" he asked, lolling back in his 
 chair as though he considered himself master of the 
 situation. 
 
 Blanche made no answer. She had expected a 
 violent display of passion, but the Count's cynicism 
 perplexed and alarmed her. She was doubtful how 
 to manoeuvre. 
 
 " You have no reply to make," he continued, " so 
 you are not anxious to receive advice from me. Well, 
 I will stretch a point, and tell it you in any case. 
 This is it. Love me as much as you like. It is only 
 natural, and you can't help it ; but at the same time, 
 learn to close your eyes a little. Practice this, and 
 you will save yourself enormous trouble, I assure 
 you." 
 
 Goaded by his absurd assurance, Blanche became 
 infuriated. 
 
 " Love you as much as I like love you! You who 
 have not scrupled to destroy the happiness of my 
 existence, who have striven to shatter all that was 
 good in me ; and, to crown your infamous conduct, 
 have bestowed your attentions upon a low-born vil- 
 lage girl. Love you, I " 
 
 " Take care, madame, moderate your violence, or 
 believe me, apoplexy will assuredly supervene," in- 
 terrupted the Count, with an irritating little laugh, 
 as though quietly enjoying Blanche's unrestrained 
 vehemence. " What is the use of flying in a rage, 
 pray ? Why can't we discuss matters quietly ? I
 
 138 nil? Jflesb ant) !JBloot>. 
 
 am not a volcano, if you are; at least, perhaps, I 
 should say, I don't happen to be just now." 
 
 By this last sally, the Count had unintentionally 
 overshot the mark. He wished to enrage Blanche, to 
 keep cool himself. But he had said too much. She 
 instantly divined his intention, and recognised her 
 own imprudence. 
 
 " Yes, you are quite right," she said slowly, restrain- 
 ing her anger and the harsh words which rushed to 
 her lips ; " to be passionate, when one's passions are 
 not enlisted, is, as you suggest, a mistake. Mine are 
 not, so let me remember the lesson you teach." 
 
 " It would be well if you would. But why you are 
 incensed by the discovery of a mere peccadillo, which 
 you cannot even magnify into a flirtation, amazes 
 me." 
 
 " I prefer not to discuss it. To you it may seem a 
 trifle and I have no doubt it is to tap at windows 
 at the dead of night, to embrace women tenderly, as 
 though they belonged to you ; to me, if I cared, it 
 would seem much." 
 
 " Why, I do declare you are jealous. I detest 
 jealous people ; they annoy one with their insane 
 suspicions. So this is why you have never extended 
 your patronage to Lisette, as you proposed. Well, 
 she will survive it." 
 
 " Probably y thanks to your fostering care. I 
 wonder how you dare mention her name," she added 
 suddenly, her blue eyes ablaze with indignation. 
 " Do I look like the kind of woman to tamely endure 
 such impertinence?" 
 
 " You look amazingly handsome and but for 
 Lisette " 
 
 " Don't insult me by speaking of me in the same 
 breath with such a creature. Rudolf," she added 
 passionately, some of the old memories, the old love 
 she had once felt for him, sweeping away her resolu-
 
 nig fflesfo an> Blocto. 139 
 
 tion to be calm, " Rudolf, you would make a good 
 woman into a bad one, a saint into a fiend." 
 
 " The deuce ! Are you the good woman the 
 saint ? How touching ! What an ingenious com- 
 parison ! Really, I shall end by laughing outright, 
 and I have no wish to hurt your feelings. Spare me, 
 I entreat you." 
 
 " All I claim for myself is that I have been faithful. 
 It is more than you can say. Such acts as you seem 
 to glory in will not bring you happiness. There will 
 come moments with you, as with me, when sadness 
 will steal upon you, when the life disfigured will 
 seem better ended. When that time comes, you will 
 not be able to forget that you have had one woman's 
 existence in your keeping, and that you have tar- 
 nished and embittered it. You can never undo what 
 you have done ; you can never give me a light heart, 
 such as I had when the convent doors closed behind 
 me and I came to you ; you can never make me love 
 you again as I once did, but you can let me feel that 
 although your wife by law, I am free in the sense that 
 my own rooms are sacred to me. To prevent scandal, 
 let us live as friends ; but to be anything nearer, I 
 refuse. This you can do, and the world need be none 
 the wiser." 
 
 For a moment the Count's better nature almost 
 gained the mastery. Blanche's pathetic voice, and 
 Blanche's blue eyes dimmed with tears, nearly had 
 the effect of making him admit himself wrong, of 
 causing him to lay aside what he chose to deem his 
 prerogative as a husband and a man to swear he 
 was right at all hazards, and without scruple. But 
 no, his authority must be maintained, and his position 
 happened to be such, that a brazen face and sarcasm 
 could alone defend it. Besides, this woman belonged 
 to him. She loved him, too, he felt sure. 
 
 " Madame," he said harshly, " you are a superb
 
 140 nlg jflesb ant) Bloofc, 
 
 actress, and would have made a fortune on the stage. 
 You are a charming woman besides. What a pity 
 you are lost to what the English choose to call the 
 profession. But I am in no mood for mummery 
 just now ; the opprobrium you have heaped upon me 
 I choose to take very much in earnest, I assure you. 
 I have only to say, I have no desire to trespass upon 
 the boundary you have fixed. Good-night." 
 
 With his small figure erect and perfectly rigid, as 
 though fully impressed with the belief that his honour 
 and dignity had been falsely impugned, the Count 
 walked out of the room. 
 
 His disappearance was the signal for Blanche to 
 spring to the door, lock it, and then, woman-like, to 
 dissolve into tears.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 So Blanche, the young wife, had in reality reached 
 the most dangerous condition of mind at which a 
 married woman can arrive. In succession, she had 
 steadily traversed the various phases which lie 
 between a young and pure love, given, and for a time 
 appreciated, and the ashes, the dead sea fruit of 
 admitted indifference. 
 
 She had loved, jealously she had striven to keep 
 the affection she craved in return ; finding the power 
 to do this slipping from her, she had sought for 
 reasons why this should be, and in the search her 
 eyes had gradually opened. The defects of this 
 god whom she had set up, and been so disposed 
 to worship perpetually, were no longer hidden from 
 her. The veil of sentiment had parted in twain, and 
 she saw him this gallant gentleman as he was. 
 Overwhelmed, she had sought the consolation of 
 prayer, for it had seemed to her that the Divinity 
 alone could support her lacerated spirit. Her 
 natural goodness of heart, and perhaps the answer to 
 her petitions, had enabled her to remain long in a 
 semi-benumbed and suffering condition. 
 
 From this partially comatose state, she had been 
 violently awakened by the discovery of the further 
 and more apparent wrong done her Count Rudolf's 
 amour with Lisette. Thereon had followed her anger, 
 
 141
 
 Bloofc. 
 
 silently endured at first, then, in obedience to events, 
 finding outlet. Attendant upon that had ensued a 
 reaction, a depression of spirit which reduced her to 
 the verge of despair. 
 
 Partially recovering from this dejection again, she 
 had become alive to faint glimmerings of a desire 
 for consolation. Was she, not yet in the full vigour 
 of her womanhood, to resign herself to the encourag- 
 ment of a set belief that life and love were to be 
 forever abandoned ; for if she renounced the idea 
 of love, how should she wrestle with, how could she 
 possibly endure the inane monotony, the unutterable 
 ennui which would surely overtake her? The mere 
 contemplation of a perpetual routine of wifely duties, 
 glossed and made palatable by no real interests, was 
 sufficient to appal, nay, almost to paralyze her. 
 
 After having permitted herself to dwell upon these 
 thoughts, she invariably rose to her feet with an angry 
 gesture, pushing the hair from her forehead in sheer 
 weariness ; but with a spirit of rebellion rife and ever 
 growing, she would tell herself that anything on earth 
 would be preferable, and that she should go mad if 
 she were constrained to live such a life always. 
 
 But then, what would change it? Death! To 
 whom would it come, and when ? Apparently it was 
 far distant. Then this sympathy, this consolation 
 for which she yearned, whence was it to appear, how 
 was it to be obtained, and at what price? It was 
 this desire, this eminently dangerous, yet most natural 
 craving, that Blanche now confronted. Whatever the 
 Count thought, there had been no attempt on his part 
 at a further explanation or reconciliation. Blanche 
 had sought none, for to what could it lead. She 
 could only hope that the substance of the understand- 
 ing, already arrived at, might be maintained. For 
 it she had fought, and beyond it she had little that 
 was tangible to expect.
 
 tflesb 
 
 "Mademoiselle Amy, there is something amiss with 
 madame, your sister. I am sure of it," said the Baron, 
 who, in spite of Blanche's clever dissimulation and 
 the impenetrable sang froid maintained by the 
 Count, was not to be completely hoodwinked. 
 
 " Oh, but is there ? I think you must be mistaken," 
 replied Amy nervously, and considering it her duty 
 to mislead, even at the cost of descending to pre- 
 varication, the ground upon which the Baron trod, 
 being, she knew, very delicate. 
 
 " No, I think not," retorted De Courcelles ten- 
 aciously. " I think she looks pale, and I am sure she 
 is out of spirits. Is she coming with us?" 
 
 " For a ride, do you mean, monsieur ? " 
 
 " Why, yes, mademoiselle." 
 
 " I don't think so. Blanche, the Baron is par- 
 ticularly anxious that you should come with us. He 
 will insist upon it that you are out of sorts, and that 
 a gallop would be the perfection of a tonic." 
 
 "Thanks, my dear Baron, but I don't feel suffi- 
 ciently energetic. I shall read, and a quiet time will 
 do me no harm." 
 
 " Ah, but indeed I think you are wrong, madame. 
 I have it from experience that too much quiet is the 
 very deuce. That reminds me I shall have to get 
 back to Paris soon." 
 
 "Madame won't ride," interposed the Count 
 snappishly, "just because there happen to be horses, 
 eating their heads off, entirely at her disposal." 
 
 " You don't do me justice, Rudolf," replied Blanche, 
 accepting the accusation, and attempting to smile it 
 down. " You know I am not so unreasonable." 
 
 " You say so ; very well. But, as a matter of fact, 
 I dorit know. If there were no horses, I'm pretty 
 confident you would discover that, without your ride, 
 you couldn't exist. There are times when you 
 women are really too provoking. What did you say
 
 144 nil? fflesb an& Bloo&. 
 
 about Paris, De Courcelles ? " he added bluntly, turn- 
 ing his attention to the Baron. 
 
 " Only that I'm due there shortly. What are your 
 plans for the winter, by-the-bye, mon cher Rudolf?" 
 
 " But half formed." 
 
 " Well, but have the cold, the rain, and the falling 
 leaves no effect upon you? You should deliberate, 
 and decide without delay. I am not half a Parisian 
 in a sense, but I fancy I shall relish a peep at a good 
 play, and a turn on the Boulevards." 
 
 " Oh, it's all very well in its way, and one is in duty 
 bound to turn up there, I suppose. I'm not sure, 
 though. I've half a mind to try a winter here for a 
 change. Fact is, one gets sick of conventionality 
 and perpetually doing what one ought to do. But 
 come along, we had better get ready." 
 
 " Let me stay with you, dear," whispered Amy, 
 putting her arm round Blanche's neck affectionately, 
 the Count and De Courcelles having left the 
 room. 
 
 " On no account ; I should be wretched if I thought 
 I was the means of spoiling your pleasure." 
 
 " But I would far rather be with you. We could 
 have some tea, and a nice quiet talk without fear of 
 interruption. We never seem to have a moment 
 together now." 
 
 " There, dear, go like a good girl. We can have 
 the talk whenever you like. But give up your ride 
 no, you won't induce me to hear of such a piece of 
 self-denial. Stay, though, one moment ; I have a 
 question to ask you, and mind, it's a very serious one. 
 Do you really like the Baron, because he is evidently 
 very much in earnest, and it would be unkind to 
 trifle with him ? " 
 
 Amy blushed furiously at the point-blank question, 
 but recognising the necessity for speaking her mind, 
 she said simply :
 
 jflesb an& 3Bloot>. 145 
 
 " Yes, Blanche, I do. He's a darling, and I love 
 him ever so." 
 
 Then, as though she had said too much, and was 
 already ashamed of her weakness, she hurried away 
 to put on her habit, her cheeks as crimson as a 
 peony. 
 
 " Love and happiness everywhere but within my 
 heart," muttered Blanche the moment she was alone; 
 " and yet, why do I complain, why am I envious ? 
 How bad of me, how bad I am becoming. But 
 regrets regrets bitter and plentiful will come in 
 spite of all I do to stifle them. This inward empti- 
 ness, this pitiful ache, this ashen-grey of cold, harsh 
 weariness, will make its presence felt, and there are 
 moments when I become half-maddened. Oh, if I 
 could only escape from myself!" 
 
 Mechanically bidding good-bye to Amy, and 
 graciously complimenting the Baron upon the perfec- 
 tion of his horsemanship, Blanche stood and watched 
 them ride away, and then from the windows saw 
 them emerge from the park, and disappear round the 
 curve of the river, on the Meziere road. Still gazing 
 in that direction, she observed a barouche and pair 
 approaching at a rapid trot. M. Brunot and the 
 possibility of a visit from him occurred to her. She 
 summoned a servant. 
 
 " I am not at home to anyone," she said. 
 
 Then shortly after, changing her intention of 
 remaining within doors, she ran upstairs, slipped on a 
 hat and jacket, and, as the silvery chimes of the 
 Boule clock in the grand drawing-room struck four, 
 she quitted the chateau, turning into a side path just 
 in time to see M. Brunot whisk round the gravel 
 sweep to the main entrance. 
 
 "Thank goodness I've contrived to escape that 
 odious man, at all events," was her reflection, as she 
 buried herself among the trees. " Come, I ought 
 
 K
 
 146 nip fflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 
 
 to be unfeignedly thankful that I am not married 
 to that creature. It would be too horrible. If I 
 could only contrive to forget myself and my own 
 grievances, I might succeed in establishing a sort of 
 prosaic contentment. If I had a child, now, upon 
 whom I could dote, and in whose existence I could 
 sink my own. Ah ! if I had. What is the use of 
 repeating that consummately tantalizing little word ? 
 If I had another husband, I should be another 
 woman." 
 
 Threading her way through the gloomy aisles ol 
 the park for at this hour the shadows were dense, 
 the woods of La Jonqui&res being justly famous for 
 their superb timber Blanche hurried on, apparently 
 with an object, in reality with none. Purposely she 
 chose the darkest and least frequented paths, for the 
 profound silence and deep shade seemed to harmonize 
 best with her mental condition. At length, and un- 
 consciously, she emerged from the dense covert, and 
 struck into a foot road which skirted a plantation of 
 young larches. It was a mere grass track, though a 
 public right-of-way to some of the upland farms 
 existed over this portion of the La Jonquieres 
 estate. 
 
 Following it for some short distance, Blanche's 
 attention became arrested by the sight of a simple 
 stone cross. It rose from a solid pedestal embedded 
 amongst the moss and the hyacinth roots, and carved 
 upon it were the words : 
 
 "S tc MARIE PRIEZ POUR NOUS," 
 
 while above them was a little square cavity contain- 
 ing an image of the Virgin bearing an infant Christ. 
 In front of these figures were two half-burned candles, 
 one on either side, and between the bars of the iron 
 grille, which protected them from the vulgar touch,
 
 nip jflesb ant) ^SlooO. M? 
 
 were a few fresh wild flowers. Someone had come 
 and put them there, amidst the silence and the sweet 
 scent of the woods, and someone's simple prayers had 
 ascended into the blue welkin. 
 
 " S te Marie priez pour nous," murmured Blanche, 
 repeating the words. " Ah, I sadly need help," 
 and with the sense of her own imbecility and ex- 
 treme need, she sank on her knees, and hjd her face 
 in her hands. 
 
 Pouring out her whole soul, transported with 
 the hope that an answer comfort in some shape 
 would be vouchsafed in reply, so completely en- 
 grossed did she become, that she was unconscious of 
 approaching footsteps. 
 
 Louis Bernard had done many things latterly. He 
 had worked hard, and, amongst other duties, he 
 had listened to a confession from Lisette. What she 
 had told him was therefore fresh in his memory, very 
 fresh, and it had made an unusually deep impression. 
 He was pondering over it, thinking how hard it 
 was to be a priest, to bear so many burdens, to be a 
 receptacle for the deposit, and burial, as it were, of so 
 many secrets. To know so much, and yet, no matter 
 for what end, never to be able to divulge it. 
 
 Dwelling upon this, and similar matters, he swung 
 along with a free stride on his return homewards, 
 choosing the near cut through the park, as a 
 saving of a mile or more. He had been to the 
 Moriseau farm. Andrews mother was ill, and it com- 
 forted her to see him, so he had made a point of 
 going there often latterly. When within a few paces 
 of the petit sanctuaire, he recognised Blanche's 
 bowed form. Knowing what he did, the situation 
 was grasped by him in an instant. Why she knelt 
 there prostrate, having abandoned herself to the 
 torture she endured, seemed clear to him. An ex- 
 pression of ineffable tenderness stole into his face.
 
 148 nl jflesb an& 
 
 It seemed to rise from his inmost soul, to light up 
 the man, as though a lamp of pity and sympathy 
 were suddenly kindled within him. 
 
 His footsteps made no sound on the short, springy 
 turf. Taking advantage of this, and obeying a 
 sudden impulse, he glided behind her, and there 
 stood with his eyes fixed upon her, his head bowed 
 slightly, as though he, too, prayed. 
 
 Presently Blanche moved, her hands fell to her 
 sides, she rose, turned, and faced him. A cry of 
 surprise at seeing him died upon her lips. Her gaze 
 became riveted upon his, while the blood came and 
 went in her cheeks. The steady gleam of his deep 
 grey eyes conveyed his thoughts ; but she was in 
 that emotional condition of mind when such a look 
 stirred her nature to its depths. Such kindness, and 
 the power to feel, as shone in his glance and beautified 
 his face, awoke innumerable echoes within her, and 
 on the instant her blue eyes filled with a light, which 
 caused Louis to lower his and almost tremble. 
 Neither spoke at once. She was the first to do so, 
 and her voice betrayed that her mind had forced 
 her back upon herself. Just as in that flash of 
 feeling as eye encountered eye, the workings of 
 the heart were revealed, so came the reflex action, 
 which reminded her that she was Blanche de la 
 Jonquieres, and that before her stood M. l'Abb 
 Bernard. 
 
 Her voice nearly failed her, and sounded hollow 
 and strained, as with a forced smile she said : 
 
 " Who could have believed you were so near ? I 
 fancied myself alone, and am disturbed and weak." 
 
 The natural, but unnecessary apology, was lost 
 upon Louis. 
 
 " Those who have suffered, who are always suffering, 
 can best sympathize with sorrow. Thank God for the 
 power to feel, madame," he said, wiih a supreme
 
 jflesb an5 Bloofc, 149 
 
 effort, his pulse beating fast, his composure far from 
 perfect. 
 
 Blanche looked at him, a certain strangeness in 
 his manner, and a ring in his low, strong voice, 
 thrilled her unaccountably. She dare not trust 
 herself to speak, and her failure to reply at once 
 grew into a silence, during which they walked back 
 towards the chateau, scaring the white-tailed rabbits 
 and the deer from amongst the bronze and gold of 
 the faded bracken, exchanging no words, these two, 
 for their hearts were full.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DE COURCELLES had taken his departure for Paris. 
 Amy was in consequence disconsolate. The Count, 
 not knowing quite what to do with himself, and 
 already missing the companionship of the pleasant 
 and frank young fellow whose advent he had so re- 
 sented, had betaken himself to his study, with the 
 intention of whiling away the afternoon with the aid 
 of Moliere's wit and a box of choice cigarettes. 
 Scarcely had he made himself comfortable and opened 
 his book than there came a knock at the door. 
 
 " Confound it," he muttered grumpily, " the devil 
 must be in it, for I never can be quiet. Come in." 
 
 Blanche entered with certain resolutions in her 
 mind. 
 
 " I have something I wish to say to you, Rudolf." 
 
 " Say away, my dear," replied the Count, stifling a 
 yawn, and disguising the surprise he felt at her in- 
 trusion, for they had scarcely spoken latterly, except 
 when the presence of others had demanded the 
 civility. " Say away ; only I warn you that I'm in a 
 contentious mood, and won't be responsible for my- 
 self. Where will you sit ? There ; ah, now do you 
 mind making a long arm and passing me those 
 matches ? " 
 
 The Count puffed at his cigarette and reflected. 
 150
 
 jflesb anfc 3BIOO&* 151 
 
 " What in the world's in the wind now ? " he asked 
 himself. " Well, shall I begin for you ? " he added, 
 aloud, since Blanche did not speak. 
 
 " I don't think you could, thanks." 
 
 " Shall I try ? Let me see ; you've come to say 
 you're no, on second thoughts, I won't. You shall 
 speak for yourself." 
 
 " I've come to tell you that I want you to give up 
 the idea of remaining here for the winter." 
 
 " Oh, is that it ? Ah, and for where would you 
 wish to exchange the healthy atmosphere of La 
 Jonquieres ? " 
 
 " For Paris." 
 
 " Paris ? " 
 
 " Yes ; does it surprise you ? " 
 
 " No, not in the least. All the world and his wife 
 are, or will be there soon. No, that you should want 
 to go to Paris does not surprise me, since it has been 
 our custom to be there in the fall." 
 
 " What do you mean, then ? What does surprise 
 you ? " 
 
 " Monsieur 1'Abbe" Bernard" 
 
 " What has Monsieur l'Abb6 Bernard to do with 
 the question at issue ? " 
 
 "Well," said the Count banteringly, "you can't 
 take him there very well, and what will become of 
 the poor fellow ? " 
 
 Blanche had her back to the light, otherwise the 
 Count would probably have remarked the pallor 
 which overspread her face. 
 
 " I have come here to talk sense, not nonsense,' 
 she replied calmly, but firmly. 
 
 " Well, of course I'm only joking. Since you 
 no longer love me, though, I wondered whether Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abb^ had supplanted me. But you know 
 I'm a confirmed tease. However, let us under- 
 stand each other. If people want me to do things,
 
 152 nip fflesb ant> 
 
 I must know what sort of footing I'm on with 
 them." 
 
 " By ' people,' do you mean me ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Well, we get on famously, don't we ? " 
 
 The Count glared wrathfully. This refractory wife 
 of his, who, his vanity taught him, was longing to 
 fall into his arms, still had a mind to trifle. He 
 was not disturbed by her vagaries ; he would let her 
 see it. She should smart, silly thing that she was. 
 
 " Yes, after all, I think so," he said, with an air of 
 boredom. " Individually we please ourselves. It 
 saves one a vast amount of trouble. I like it." 
 
 Blanche was infinitely relieved. She had feared 
 that in payment of her requirements, she would be 
 compelled to give and accept overtures. His indiffer- 
 ence paved a way for her escape, and to do so, it 
 suited her to pass his remarks unchallenged. 
 
 " I have many reasons for wishing to leave here," 
 she said simply. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ? " 
 
 Having insinuated that he did well without her, he 
 looked for some show of annoyance on her part. 
 There was none. Chagrined, he reflected that women 
 were certainly incomparable actresses. 
 
 " Yes," pursued Blanche, " there are the best of 
 reasons why we should not remain here." 
 
 " Have you any objection to recount them ? " 
 
 " Well, to begin with, it would be dreadfully dull for 
 us for Amy and myself, I mean." 
 
 " True ! What says Moliere ' Paris is a wonderful 
 place ; a hundred things happen in it every day, of 
 which we know nothing in the provinces.' Naturally 
 a village without a shop, becomes especially odious 
 when the snow is on the ground and you are sighing 
 for chiffons and bonbons, dying, in fact, to be in the 
 midst of these ' things ' which Moliere speaks of.
 
 jflesb anfc Bloot). 153 
 
 But dullness is not at the bottom of your wish to 
 leave here." 
 
 " The Baron has gone. Amy is fond of him. 
 What is the use of separating two people who care 
 for each other, and for a whole winter ? " 
 
 " The Baron can get into the train, if he does not 
 change his mind. We shall be glad to see him, I 
 suppose. That is not your reason." 
 
 " How intensely provoking you are. If anything 
 went wrong, Amy would be inconsolable." 
 
 " Would she ? I doubt it" 
 
 " I know my sister better than you do." 
 
 " Very probably ; but do you fancy you'll hook 
 De Courcelles by running after him ? Nonsense, you 
 are too clever for that, and so is he. No, you 
 have another motive. What is it ? Come, a fair 
 question." 
 
 Blanche hesitated. He was right. She had another 
 motive a widely different one so different, in fact, 
 that were it revealed to him he would have been 
 electrified. 
 
 " Shall I tell you what it is ? " he said, seeing her 
 reluctance to speak. " Let me see, then. I am not 
 so desperately devoted to la belle Lisette, as you 
 imagine, therefore, this very natural little ruse of 
 yours to place a railway journey between us shall 
 succeed. I'm " 
 
 " Ruse of mine " 
 
 " There, don't get angry because I happen to have 
 found you out. It could scarcely be otherwise. I 
 only talked about staying here to see what effect it 
 would have upon you ; I had not the least intention of 
 doing so. There, come and give me a kiss, issue any 
 orders you like, and leave me to digest Moliere in 
 peace. I appreciate your regard for me, my dear 
 Blanche, I assure you.'' 
 
 Without trusting herself to reply, fearing to destroy
 
 1 54 nl^ fflesb ant> Bloo&. 
 
 her cause, but utterly ignoring the Count's careless 
 allusion to an embrace, Blanche quitted the room. 
 When the door separated them, she turned, and as 
 though looking at him through it, murmured, " How 
 can I do my duty, with such a husband ? How can 
 I be what I ought ? If he knew, if anyone knew, 
 what would they think of me ? " And just then, 
 Amy came to her from the garden, her hands full of 
 bright blossoms, and that charmingly sympathetic air 
 of Niedermeyer's, " Le lac," upon her lips.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THUS empowered by the Count, Blanche's restless 
 energy effected the necessary arrangements, the 
 result being that the chateau was soon tenanted by 
 only a couple of trusted servants. 
 
 The blinds were drawn down, the superb furniture 
 in the grand drawing-room covered up. Even the 
 stables were empty, the horses having been trotted 
 over to Mezieres, thence to be conveyed by rail to Paris, 
 where the Count, Blanche, and Amy, were installed 
 in the Hotel de la Jonquieres, the family mansion in 
 that gloomy but magnificent quarter of Paris, the 
 Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 As for Louis Bernard, the same world no longer 
 existed for him. The whole face of it was changed. 
 A conventional explanation for this move to Paris 
 had been offered to him, a conventional farewell said, 
 and with that farewell, it seemed to him that the sun- 
 light had departed from his existence. He con- 
 fronted himself, as it were, and the microscopical 
 examination which ensued was attended with many 
 pangs. No longer could he close his eyes to his own 
 condition. It had come to this, that he saw clearly, 
 too clearly. The phantoms which had flitted across 
 his brain so persistently, and been so repeatedly 
 banished by determination backed by hard work, 
 were phantoms no longer. They had at length
 
 156 nl jflesb 
 
 assumed a shape there was no mistaking, a solidity 
 there was no denying. He was a living, breathing, 
 thinking man a man in every sense of the word 
 very weak, very erring, intensely human flesh and 
 blood. 
 
 By a rude shock, the approach of which had 
 not been unannounced by tremors, he had come to 
 understand clearly the nature of the vow he had 
 taken. His thoughts carried him backward. He 
 could recall the entreaties he had made that, before 
 taking it, he should be allowed to become a private 
 tutor for a year, that he might think, that he might 
 see something of the world he was renouncing. He 
 could remember the stern answer with which his 
 superior had refused his petition. He must take the 
 vow, and then he was at liberty to do as he pleased. 
 But although he had had in those days dim fore- 
 shadowings of the seriousness, the awfulness, of the 
 step demanded of him, he had not fully understood it. 
 It was impossible that he should. 
 
 How could he grasp the idea that it was asked of 
 him to go down to the grave, wifeless, childless; no 
 sweet human ties for him, no home, as the word is 
 understood; a life of toil, a death of solitude? And 
 he had done this. He had taken upon himself this 
 burden, had denuded himself of these joys, these 
 consolations. 
 
 The meaning of those words of his father's, 
 which he had overheard and interrupted was plain 
 to him now: "Ah, well, you have gained your 
 ends, wife. Louis is a priest : our bread is assured, 
 but " That meant that no woman could ever 
 come between them, that he should have to keep them 
 only and always, and that thus they felt safe in the im- 
 mutableness of their position. No woman, no ; but a 
 woman had caused the scales to drop from his eyes, had 
 made him see as he had never thought to see ; bred as
 
 jflcsb ant) Bloofc, 157 
 
 he had been between convent walls, cut off from all 
 human intercourse, except that which, like his own 
 mind in those days, had been warped into passive 
 shapelessness by restrictions. 
 
 A woman had stirred the passions natural to him, 
 and had made him know himself as he was poor, 
 pitiful human being. Worse than that, he thought. 
 He had come to ask himself, rationally, calmly, and 
 in the face of day, whether God Himself had ever 
 intended, ever desired, such a sacrifice as he had been 
 called upon to make, from any of the beings it had 
 pleased Him to create. He had come to lie awake 
 and try, with aching head and feverish pulse, to 
 thread his way amidst the mass of theological lore 
 with which his mind was stored. He had come to 
 fall into a heavy sleep towards morning, with all 
 these doubts clashing together unanswered ; but last 
 thing of all, last thought of all, he had sunk into 
 that lethargic slumber, so heated, so unrefreshing, 
 with the image of a woman rising up before him 
 a woman fair and delicately beautiful, golden-haired 
 and blue-eyed. 
 
 How those blue eyes had seemed to burn, as 
 he had encountered them ! How symmetrical had 
 seemed her form ! How he could recall each ges- 
 ture, each varying expression ! Yet that woman was 
 divided from him by a gulf as wide and deep as 
 religious and social laws could make it. No abyss 
 could be more profound, unless death were added to 
 it. For him to think of her, priest that he was, was 
 the gravest sin, and he groaned with remorse and 
 hated himself; but, nevertheless, her image was 
 punctured upon his heart, and pray as he would, he 
 was impotent to efface it. 
 
 So this was the upshot of the carte blanche which 
 had been extended to him, to come and go at 
 the chateau as he pleased. The quiet even-
 
 158 nl jflesb anfc 
 
 ings, the pleasant interchange of ideas, the music, 
 the friendship, had developed into something more 
 for him, and that something, he knew now, 
 meant Blanche, Madame la Comtesse de la Jonquieres. 
 When he had admitted this to himself, he reflected 
 further. 
 
 Here was he, with life before him, bound to the 
 Church by indissoluble ties, looked upon by all as the 
 ne plus ultra of goodness, attached to Blanche, wife of 
 the seigneur of the parish of which he was curd He 
 was ashamed of himself. He had good cause to be, 
 he considered. 
 
 Setting aside religion and his position, was she not 
 his neighbour's wife? And what could justify him in 
 daring to raise his eyes to her? Was it not madness, 
 and to what could it lead ? The destruction of his peace 
 of mind, and, if the world knew, degradation. Besides, 
 how grotesquely ridiculous was the figure he would 
 present to her even, did she but know. Would she not 
 turn from him with contempt and loathing ? Would she 
 not brand him with the name of hypocrite ? He, a holy 
 man, there to correct evil, to teach good, and by his 
 own life to be a living example to others, pointing 
 them, helping them heavenward. Would it not be a 
 revolting sight to her, this spectacle of himself, reduced 
 to owning that he was worse than any of those 
 whom he had come to teach ? And this by a simple 
 admission of his feelings. 
 
 His only refutation of these last interrogations, 
 was the vivid recollection of the long, stead- 
 fast, wistful glance, before which his own had fallen. 
 Of the walk through the bracken and amidst the 
 shadows of the trees, which he had afterwards 
 remembered, had been a silent one. Curious that 
 neither of them had spoken. Never in his whole 
 life had he walked so far with anyone without talking. 
 And he had been unconscious of the flight of time
 
 nip fflesb ant> 3Bioofc, 159 
 
 absolutely unconscious of it and so happy. But that 
 was before he had confronted and cross-examined 
 himself. Now that he had done so, there was only 
 one course for him to take. His thoughts were his 
 own, and he had a right to them. No one must ever 
 know, and then what matter ? 
 
 If he chose to hide within him this sentiment, this 
 conception of what seemed to him the perfection of 
 womanliness, to treasure it deep in his heart, what harm 
 should he do to anyone ? All he had thought and felt 
 would go with him to the grave, and no one would be 
 the wiser. Religiously he felt himself to be guilty, 
 terribly so. But mankind would not be his judges. 
 And as for God well he was prepared to answer to 
 Him. That which had come into his existence should 
 remain with him as long as life itself. He would never 
 part with it, but would keep it locked within his bosom. 
 At times it seemed to him that he was less lonely now 
 that he possessed these sweet thoughts, these dreams 
 of what might have been ; at others a wild tumult 
 raged within him. Was it not maddening to think 
 that his whole existence had miscarried, and he a 
 mere boy. He felt as though his life had been stolen 
 from him, and that he was bound hand and foot, but 
 that the fetters were none of his choosing. He had 
 not been fit to choose. 
 
 But in any case, he was not sure that the Divine 
 Will was not directly opposed to such an existence 
 as stretched before him. Common sense, and all 
 things in nature, were in deadly opposition to it. 
 Then, at the height of the mental strife, when des- 
 peration seized hold upon him, and he felt of all 
 men most miserable, would come a lull, a sense of 
 repose, of peace, mysterious, miraculous, as though 
 the Blessed Saviour stood close by him, invisible, 
 yet quite near. And at such moments, the anger, 
 the rebellion within him, would melt away, and with
 
 160 <smi jfiesb anb 3Bloot>, 
 
 tears, his lips tremulous with feeling, he would go 
 into his little church, and there, in the silence, lose 
 himself in prayer. 
 
 To the simple villagers of La Jonquieres, to whom 
 a gossip was more refreshing than a meal, now that 
 their seigneur could no longer be discussed and abused, 
 their cur6 stood first in importance. So upon him 
 their gaze was mainly directed. Besides, they had 
 never forgiven him for dancing attendance at the 
 chateau as he had. Ambition was at the bottom of 
 it, Mere Chotard declared. 
 
 "Ah, he knows which side his bread is buttered," 
 she remarked to Lisette one afternoon when the 
 work was done, " for all he's so young, and one would 
 think so simple." 
 
 " What do you say, Andrd ? " asked Lisette, for, 
 since the Count was out of the way, she had Andre' in 
 constant attendance, flirting with him furiously, and 
 making the honest fellow's heart beat as though it 
 would burst his best blouse, specially donned for the 
 occasion. 
 
 " I don't know," said Andre' simply, removing his 
 pipe from his lips sufficiently to say the words. 
 
 "No, of course you don't," struck in Mere Chotard; 
 " men are always blind, except to liquor and a 
 woman. Look at Pierre, I've taught him all he 
 knows " 
 
 " How to manage a punt even," suggested Andre' 
 facetiously, and with a merry twinkle in his 
 eyes. 
 
 "That's enough from you, Monsieur reffrontt. 
 You are just a boy, and should be silent," re- 
 torted Mere Chotard snappishly. 
 
 " Ah, bien, out! just a boy, is he?" laughed Lisette. 
 
 "Yes, I can remember the day he was born as 
 though it were yesterday." 
 
 " When will he be a man, ma mere ? "
 
 fflesb ant> 
 
 " When he has carried you off to the farm yonder, 
 in spite of your airs and antics." 
 
 Andre" blushed at the blunt suggestion, and looked 
 sheepish to a degree. M&re Chotard favoured his 
 suit, he knew, and that was half the battle, he thought. 
 
 "Then he's likely to remain a boy all his life," 
 retorted Lisette, coquettishly straightening her plump 
 figure, and bestowing a killing little glance of en- 
 couragement upon Andre" at the same moment ; " but 
 let us talk of Father Bernard. He looks older, I 
 think." 
 
 " Well, and so he is, child." 
 
 " Oh, but I mean much older." 
 
 " He is kind and good. I know that," interrupted 
 Andre; "but for him, I doubt if mother would be 
 alive." 
 
 " And he never smiles as he used, they say," con- 
 tinued Lisette, ignoring Andre's remark ; " he used to 
 look beautiful when he smiled. I have thought I 
 could love him.'' 
 
 " Lisette, do you know what you are saying ? " 
 Mere Chotard asked sternly. 
 
 " Well, mother, I have thought so." 
 
 " Ah, there is enough mischief in you for anything, 
 I do believe. Friend Andre", you must look after her 
 well when you get her." 
 
 " When" repeated Lisette, with emphasis ; " that 
 when will be a long while coming." 
 
 " But it will come," whispered Andre, " it shall." 
 
 " You are so certain. Then you must be happy," 
 replied Lisette provokingly, but in the same low 
 voice. 
 
 "Lisette,'' he said passionately, "if I don't have 
 you, nobody else shall, mind that." 
 
 "What are you two whispering about?" exclaimed 
 Mere Chotard, suddenly turning upon them without 
 rhyme or reason, as old folks will at times. 
 
 L
 
 162 <smis jflesb ant) 
 
 " Only about the good Father," asserted Lisette 
 promptly, and with a bewitching glance at Andrd, as 
 much as to say, "we understand each other, my good 
 fellow, don't we ? How you do love me, and how I 
 shall make you." 
 
 Andre" reddened to the roots of his hair beneath 
 that glance. It went through him like an electric 
 shock. The poor fellow positively trembled. 
 
 " If there is any change in him " said Mere 
 Chotard deliberately, and in ignorance of the little 
 farce so cleverly enacted under her nose. 
 
 " Who are you speaking about ? " inquired Lisette, 
 interrupting her mischievously. 
 
 "Why, of Father Bernard, child, of course. If 
 there be a change in him, as I say, it comes of being 
 up at the chateau day and night. What business has 
 he to go there, I should like to know ? Filling his 
 head with nonsense when he ought to be at his 
 prayers and books." 
 
 "Books; books make him go to the chateau, I 
 should think," remarked Andre" sententiously. 
 
 " And why, pray, Monsieur la sagesse ? " asked 
 Mere Chotard, standing before him with folded hands 
 and an expression of annoyance. 
 
 " Because they understand the stuff in them, and we 
 can't." 
 
 " Besides, he must have some pleasure. Oh, how I 
 should hate to be a priest," said Lisette forcibly, 
 turning up her eyes as though she already felt herself 
 a martyr. 
 
 "Of course, he must," chimed in Andre". " It stands 
 to sense. Otherwise, what is to become of a man. I 
 think he ought to have a wife," he added comi- 
 cally. 
 
 " Voyons ! listen to him ; Andre* is all for marry- 
 ing ! " cried Lisette satirically. 
 
 Andr^ got up, and contrived to slip away, some-
 
 tflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 163 
 
 what astonished at his own temerity, for he had a 
 wholesome dread of Mere Chotard's tongue. 
 
 " Do you know, mother," said Lisette, after a short 
 silence, " I think Andre handsomer every time I see 
 him. I believe I shall have him in the end." 
 
 Mere Chotard gazed with a mother's fondness at 
 her daughter. In her eyes Lisette was faultless. 
 Then, with a Frenchwoman's impulsiveness, she 
 kissed her on both cheeks, and, while embracing her, 
 said : 
 
 " Have him ; maybe you will. It might be best. 
 For, when Andre's past his prime, and ugly perhaps, 
 who knows, the farm on the hill will be as good as 
 ever. Remember that, but," she continued quickly, 
 " the man's not born that's good enough for my girl 
 to marry." 
 
 Pierre Chotard entered at this moment. Hot and 
 irritable because he was tired, Mere Chotard's re- 
 mark struck discordantly upon his ears. 
 
 " Marry," he repeated harshly. " What, talking 
 about it again ? I hear of nothing else from morn to 
 night from you women. If you'd mind your pots and 
 pans instead of talk, talk, talk, it would be better for 
 all concerned. Come, get me something to eat. I'm 
 hungry, and have a thirst, I tell you that." 
 
 Mother and daughter exchanged glances. Nothing 
 was said by either. It was of no use to argue with 
 Pierre when in one of his moods. There was nothing 
 for it but to feed him quickly and well, and to keep 
 silence. Lisette got out of the way. From where 
 she stood at the door, she could see Andre* striding 
 along homewards. 
 
 " Ah, well," she said, looking after him, " you may 
 be big and strong and well-doing. Yes, but you 
 wear a cotton blouse. No, I shall not have you, 
 friend Andre* ; I like someone better. Why did he 
 go to Paris," she added, with a glance at the empty
 
 164 nip fflesb ant> 
 
 chateau. " Ah, I miss him. He is so well so 
 sweet. I have a mind to go to Paris." 
 
 Then she shut herself up in her room, feigning 
 some work to do, in reality to sigh over her lot, and 
 indulge in ambitious dreams. 
 
 Foolish Lisette ! Why do you aspire ? You were 
 not born to wealth and rank. You are not fitted for 
 it if you had it. Take honest Andre, who would lay 
 down his life for you, and be satisfied. You would 
 save much heart-burning.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BLANCHE had entered into no system of deception 
 with herself. After her strange meeting with Louis, 
 and during the whole of the silent walk back to the 
 chateau, she had been transported. 
 
 Those feelings hitherto dormant, had asserted them- 
 selves. They had been called into activity by Louis' 
 sympathetic face, and the light in Louis' grey eyes. 
 And she had admitted her weakness. She had be- 
 trayed herself as she had looked at him. Of this she 
 was conscious. While he was with her, she had been 
 content to abandon herself to a delicious sensation of 
 happiness. For, with a woman's intuition, she had 
 divined the state of his mind. She knew as well as 
 though he had told her, the extent of her power over 
 him. 
 
 By her side, she acknowledged, was a man whom she 
 could respect and love, because of his purity and up- 
 rightness. He represented to her the embodiment of 
 all that was good and noble, and she had studied him. 
 If he had been her husband, what a different aspect 
 life would have worn. But by considering, by think- 
 ing of him for an instant in the light of a husband, 
 she tacitly admitted her own frailty. Once alone, to 
 think, she recoiled from this weakness. How could 
 she be so wicked ? At one bound she had suddenly 
 become worse than she believed her husband to be. 
 
 '65
 
 1 66 nls iflesb anfc Bloofc. 
 
 For, after all, Louis was a priest, and mentally, at 
 least, she had descended to the very depths of dis- 
 honour. And she had hated herself for this descent. 
 But what was to be done ? How was she to act ? 
 What was right, and had she the resolution to do it ? 
 
 When it came to this question she hesitated, and a 
 voice said : " Be passive, remain where you are. Do 
 not seek to alter the current of events. See him just 
 as often ; meet him on precisely the same terms. 
 What harm can come of this ? Nothing. The gulf 
 which separates you cannot be spanned. You are 
 aware of this. Drift along placidly. If you have been 
 so foolish as to allow ideas to enter your mind which 
 should have no place there, you must lock them up ; 
 they must never come to light In this way they will 
 wither, and finally die. You know your own powers. 
 You are strong. Have confidence. Do not deny 
 yourself the pleasure of seeing this man. Why should 
 you ? Will you gain any thanks or satisfaction ? On 
 the contrary. Only control yourself. That will be 
 easy, and all that is demanded of you." 
 
 From this reasoning, so weak, so palpably faulty, 
 Blanche's strength of mind and innate goodness 
 enabled her to swerve. The temptation was strong, 
 but she resisted it. "This is how you should act," 
 her guardian angel insisted. " Leave this place, 
 do not see him. If you would overcome this guilty 
 passion, which threatens to destroy your better 
 nature, that is what you should do. You are human, 
 and as human, weak. Do not cherish evil, counting 
 upon your strength to resist it when you shall have 
 necessity. It may fail you. Then what will happen? 
 This sin has flung aside disguise. It confronts you 
 openly, boldly. Better flee from it while there is yet 
 time. You know what is right now. Do it. It 
 might be very pleasant were you to see each other 
 constantly. Life would seem less monotonous. You
 
 nig jflesb an& 3Bloo&. 167 
 
 might be able to endure, able to crush slowly, and 
 with less pain to yourself, these thoughts which have 
 taken possession of you this love, in fact, which has 
 entered into your heart. Yes, but it is good to use 
 the knife at times. Clench your teeth, and though 
 the agony be intense, you will discover it to be short, 
 and you will find the cure more complete, more en- 
 during. If you give way to the weaker and more 
 dangerous method of dealing with your malady, there 
 may be no cure at all. By a glance, a pressure of 
 the hand, words said without intent, you may 
 suddenly plunge deeper than you had meant, and 
 that plunge will be fatal to you. It is dangerous to 
 play with fire ; lay the warning to heart." 
 
 Convinced, fearful lest this admirable prompting 
 should lose force by delay, dreading herself, Blanche 
 had gone straight to the Count, and then there had 
 been no more halting until within the stately home 
 in the Faubourg St. Germain. 
 
 Once there, she set herself to enter into the exist- 
 ence which opened before her with feverish activity, 
 and apparently with the delight and abandon of the 
 youngest and most frivolous girl. She would give 
 herself no time for thinking. Old acquaintances were 
 assiduously cultivated, receptions given and attended; 
 with her whole heart, it appeared, she flung herself 
 into the vortex of fashionable amusement. Then, 
 not content, this heroic woman set herself another 
 task. The tacit acknowledgment of her own weak- 
 ness had taught her a lesson. 
 
 Previously she had stood upon the pedestal of her 
 own immaculate virtue, and from this height she had 
 examined and judged the Count. After all, had she 
 not been disposed to be too harsh ? Had she even 
 exerted all her powers to please and win him ? 
 Had she not been too prone to think ill of him, when 
 perhaps no real cause existed ? At all costs, it was
 
 1 68 <smi fflesb ant) Bloo&. 
 
 her duty to make this man love her. To influence 
 him for good. This responsibility belonged to her 
 clearly; failing to discharge it, the onus would rest 
 upon her. Was he so indifferent to her, so unim- 
 pressionable, so insincere, so wholly bad ? Perhaps 
 not. 
 
 Besides, now that she knew herself as she had come 
 to, it seemed to her that she no longer had any 
 right to cavil at him. She had been hyper- 
 critical, and even absurd enough to expect an angel 
 for a husband ; there was little, it seemed, that was 
 angelic in herself. She would try. She would exert 
 herself to the utmost. If an ignominious defeat 
 awaited her, there would still remain the satisfaction 
 of having endeavoured to do her duty. Her hopes rose 
 as the noble impulse strengthened in her. After all, 
 their married life might not prove an utter failure. 
 She would do more than her share ; it should be no 
 fault of hers if the future proved no better than the 
 past, and she would begin at once. 
 
 The Count was not long in noticing her altered 
 conduct. Dexterously as she aimed at establishing 
 a better understanding, without attracting his marked 
 attention, the Count, shrewdly observant, was aware 
 of the difference in her demeanour. 
 
 " So madame's tactics are revolutionized," he re- 
 marked to himself, while criticising his faultless attire 
 in a little mirror of delicate Viennese porcelain, which 
 represented Cupid, flower-bedecked, and playing. 
 " If I don't know a woman, no man living does, and, 
 after all, I ought to. The greatest mistake I ever 
 made was in fancying that I could love one only, and 
 always. I begin to think I am too large-hearted. 
 There's something so interesting in a new face, so 
 attractive in a new style of beauty. Features and 
 figure, etc., all different ; above all, something so 
 essentially invigorating in the discovery of distinctly
 
 fflesb ant) 3Bloob. 169 
 
 new ideas on all points. Am I becoming intellectual, 
 I wonder ? Well, well, this woman Blanche adores 
 me. I know it. But then so does the little milliner 
 in the Rue St. Honore" ; what's her name? Adele, ah! 
 So does Mademoiselle Susanne, premiere danseuse de 
 I'opera. Charming she is, too. So does Madame la 
 Duchesse de Brille. Lisette, too ; but then, Lisette, 
 ah, I must see her. Yes, mon cher Rudolf, you are 
 certainly wise in your generation ; you get as much as 
 you can out of life, and you mean to, eh ? 
 
 With which piece of doubtful philosophy, he set off 
 to find Blanche, to bid adieu to her, as he was going 
 to his club, and from thence, wherever caprice sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Are you going out to-night, then, Rudolf? " 
 asked Blanche, as he entered the grand drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " Am I going out ? why, yes. What a question. 
 As you know, there is a new play on at the Theatre 
 Frangais, and De Brille* is giving one of his exquisite 
 petits soupers afterwards. There will be the perfection 
 of women and cooking. Do you know what De Brille' 
 pays his chef per month ? " 
 
 " How should I ? " replied Blanche wearily. 
 
 " One thousand francs, and he is no fool. He 
 understands how to spend his money, and will look 
 to it that he receives its value. And quite right, 
 too, in these republican days. If the ambitious 
 scoundrels want to put by fortunes, with a view to 
 retire and pose as fine gentlemen, we must see that 
 they work and earn their money fairly, mafoi. Then, 
 some fellows I served with in Algeria are making a 
 night of it at the Maison Chevet. It will be a gala 
 affair, I assure you. Am I going out? I should 
 think so. All Paris is astir to-night. Oh, I forgot ; 
 la petite Lola appears at the Alcazar for the first 
 time since her illness. She is charming, dances
 
 170 <smi fflesb anfc 
 
 divinely, and, I hear, has invented some new steps, 
 to witness which'^is positively ravishing." 
 
 " You appear to be enthusiastic," remarked 
 Blanche, not without a suspicion of sarcasm in her 
 voice. 
 
 " Of course I am. I can only be in the perfection 
 of health and the prime of life, for a brief period, 
 and I mean to enjoy myself. Do you blame 
 me?" 
 
 " Not in the least." 
 
 " Ah, now, there is a certain something in your 
 manner, which tells me that you are not pleased." 
 
 " I thought you would have remained at home 
 to-night." 
 
 " And why, may I ask ? " replied the Count, 
 elevating his eyebrows ; " what put such an idea into 
 your head ? I thought you promised to go and have 
 an hour's quiet chat with Madame la Marquise ? It 
 would be a charity since she is lonely and ill." 
 
 " I have already seen her." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " This afternoon." 
 
 " Oh, so that was why you disappeared. All 
 the same, I am going out. Will you do something 
 for me ; will you fetch me my cigarette case ? I left 
 it and the matches, just where you placed them for 
 me when I was reading." 
 
 Blanche returned. 
 
 " Now, will you light one ? Come." 
 
 " You know I detest tobacco," she remonstrated. 
 
 " And I love it. What a pity we don't agree. If 
 we were not married, you would discover a pleasure 
 in lighting that cigarette, I assure you. Ah, if we 
 were only lovers ; if two people could remain lovers 
 always, how charming it would be ; what tie could 
 be more delightful ? But this custom of shackling
 
 jflesb 
 
 two lives together is provocative of restlessness, and 
 an absorbing desire to kick." 
 
 " There is the cigarette," she interrupted, seeing 
 that no good could come of drifting further into the 
 topic he had started. 
 
 " Thanks. Yes, there is the cigarette, as you say. 
 Ah well, what is the use of moralizing ? After all, 
 satiety is at the bottom of this morbid desire for 
 amusement, for originality, for anything, no matter 
 how vulgar or commonplace. Let it be an innova- 
 tion, possessing some doubtful attraction, and it 
 becomes the rage, until, as of its predecessors, people 
 weary, and its little day is done. I wonder how La 
 Jonquieres is looking to-night, and what the folks are 
 doing. Do you ever think of the place ? " 
 
 Blanche made no answer, but she shifted her 
 position slightly, so that he could not see the expres- 
 sion of her face. 
 
 "In another hour's time," he continued, " everyone 
 will be in bed, probably, except 1'Abbe Bernard. 
 The trees will be waving solemnly in the night wind, 
 there will be no sound save that of the stream and 
 the rustling boughs. Not a sign of a light, I 
 should say, except from the window of Monsieur 
 1'Abb^'s study. How confoundedly dull it must be 
 for him, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, intensely so, I should think," assented 
 Blanche, in a strained voice. 
 
 " I have a notion I should go mad. Truly, I am 
 indebted to the gods that I am here to-night, instead 
 of in his shoes ; not but what I could absolve all the 
 women nicely. But fancy striding along over those 
 hills every day, in spite of Jupiter Pluvius, in spite of 
 everything, because an appetite must be had for 
 dinner, and sheer weariness obliges one to quit the 
 fire. Not a soul to speak to, only books, always 
 books, and no one to make love to by any chance.
 
 172 <smi jflesb 
 
 Yes, what that man must endure daily educated, 
 refined, and highly strung as he- is would deprive me 
 of my reason in less than a week. I swear it would." 
 
 Although he could not see it, Blanche's face was 
 drawn and white, as though disfigured by a spas- 
 modic contraction of the muscles. Her voice was 
 firm and clear, however, as she said : 
 
 " To you, of course, such an existence would be the 
 quintessence of misery, and to endure it a man has to 
 be peculiarly gifted, especially taught " 
 
 " I should think so." 
 
 " But religion, duty, the love of right, the wish to 
 do it, may make one happy, surely." 
 
 " Hem ! I daresay." 
 
 " Is there no comfort to be derived from doing 
 right, in spite of everything ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so, but it must be deuced dry work. My 
 opinion on such subjects is not worth having, though. 
 Why do you ask it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! because ideas enter one's mind, that's all.'' 
 
 " Well, au revoir, a bientdt f We shall meet some 
 time to-morrow, I suppose, unless something happens 
 to me. What a confounded gossip I am. Really, I 
 must go. Stay, there is one piece of news I have 
 yet for you ; it just came into my head. That 
 brute, Brunot, has turned up. Paris is not big 
 enough for him. You should have seen the creature 
 and the concern he was driving in gorgeous the 
 worst possible taste. Now then, en avant." 
 
 Humming an operatic air then in vogue, the Count 
 did not wait for a reply, but made his exit. With 
 the remnant of a feeble hope strong upon her, 
 Blanche called to him : 
 
 "Do not go. Stay here to-night, Rudolf!" 
 
 There was no answer. The massive outer doors 
 closed with a crash, and the rattle of wheels next
 
 jflesb ant) Bloot>. 173 
 
 instant, told that he had gone. Passing her hand 
 before her eyes, as though to disperse pain, acute 
 suffering of some kind, Blanche stood looking in 
 the direction of the door through which he had 
 passed. Then with an expression of despair on her 
 face, she paced the whole length of a corridor, re- 
 turned, and entering the grand drawing-room, sank, 
 pale and trembling upon the nearest chair. 
 
 " Why did he speak of La Jonquieres?" she moaned; 
 " why did he speak of of Louis ? All day long, and 
 at night as I lie awake, I am haunted by memories 
 of this man I have decided to forget. In the crowded 
 streets I see a priest's dark cassock, a sister's sad 
 gown ; in the columns of the newspapers some word, 
 some allusion ; when I would sleep, then the church 
 clock of St. Sulpice tolls. There is something to 
 remind one that he lives even in the very atmosphere. 
 I cannot forget religion, and to remember it is to 
 remember him. The distance, the very gulf which 
 separates us, the sin in thinking of him, all seem to 
 have combined together to create a longing within 
 me to be near him to be something to him. In my 
 own eyes, I have long since become vile, for how can 
 I sink lower than to covet this man, from whom 
 heaven and earth have united to sever me? WJto or 
 what will save me from myself? Rudolf, with his 
 contempt for the tie which joins us, his light opinion 
 of women, his love of them, his delight in any empty 
 pleasure, his dull appreciation of what two people 
 might be to each other if they would, his vanity, 
 egotism, and utter selfishness ; am I to be saved from 
 myself by Rudolf, and if not, how, and by whom ? 
 Yet Rudolf seems my last chance, and already the 
 hope I had in him is half gone. What is the use of 
 having set myself this task ? To forget the man who 
 has stolen into my heart and who possesses it ; to be 
 faithful to him whose name I bear, yet who neither
 
 174 
 
 loves nor is beloved by me. It is beyond my strength. 
 How can I ? I am not superhuman. Already I feel 
 the power, the wish to struggle, failing me. To-night 
 a mixture of superstition and hope had made me 
 cling to the belief that he would stay at home ; that 
 together we might have endeavoured to go back 
 some little way up the hill we have come so swiftly 
 down ; for on this night, though he has forgotten it, 
 we were married. What shall I do what shall I 
 do?" 
 
 A weary, hunted glance around the vast and 
 splendid room, as though fearing the presence of 
 someone, a shudder from head to foot as though her 
 agony of mind was too intense to be endured, and 
 Blanche's head sank upon her hands and she wept. 
 From this display of acute feeling she at length 
 roused herself. With her strength gone, her temples 
 throbbing, and her limbs trembling, she again became 
 aware of her own identity. Her eyes smarted pain- 
 fully, and she could not even think. In this condition 
 the fire flickered and crackled, the clock ticked, ticked 
 until imagination magnified that really slight sound 
 into a deafening one. For a moment the monotony 
 of it occasioned her positive pain. She felt as though 
 perfect cessation from sound would be delicious, and 
 the greatest relief. At that instant, when thus dis- 
 tracted and most anxious to be alone, a curtain which 
 concealed the presence of a door was thrust uncere- 
 moniously aside, and her privacy was invaded by a 
 servant. 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron de Courcelles, Madame la 
 Comtesse," announced the man. 
 
 The Baron stepped up to her. There was a certain 
 indescribable charm of manner possessed by De 
 Courcelles. It was as though frankness and honesty 
 had taken possession of him, to the utter exclusion 
 of those conventional traits which one would have
 
 jflesb aito Bloot>. 175 
 
 expected to discover in him whom the world had 
 always caressed. 
 
 " I am of all men most fortunate, Countess," he 
 said ; " I had but one wish to find you alone, and 
 behold, here you are. But first of all I must 
 apologize for disturbing you " 
 
 " My dear Baron, you know you are always wel- 
 come," interrupted Blanche, compelled by courtesy 
 to ignore the fact that no one was welcome to her at 
 that moment. 
 
 " Ah, now I know that I have not seriously trans- 
 gressed, I breathe again. Really, I felt frightfully 
 nervous when your man said, ' Oh, Monsieur le 
 Baron, Madame will see you, 1 am certain ; ' I had 
 my doubts whether the privilege he hinted at was 
 strong enough to support my audacity. But now let 
 me tell you what I have come to talk to you about, 
 and why I wanted so much to catch you alone. 
 Understand, Countess, I approach my subject with 
 fear and trembling." 
 
 At once Blanche comprehended. Was it not like 
 life ? She herself was reeling beneath the grief occa- 
 sioned by recognising that her own existence was a 
 horrible fiasco. At that moment she was to be assailed, 
 importuned for her decision, as to the future of two 
 other people The situation was grotesque, there 
 could be no doubt. Keeping her face in shadow, 
 because of her emotion, she smiled encouragingly at 
 the Baron, and said : 
 
 " I shall listen with rapt attention, and you will 
 find me so easy to deal with, that you need have no 
 dread of my woman's tongue. Come, let me reassure 
 you." 
 
 " Well now, that's kind, that's sweetly said, Countess. 
 So, then, I shall come to the point at once, and con- 
 fess to you that it is of your sister, Mademoiselle 
 Amy, I wish to speak ; in short, I love her."
 
 176 nl fflesb 
 
 " Would you be surprised if I told you that I was 
 already aware of it ? " asked Blanche, smiling at De 
 Courcelles' earnestness, and trying to forget herself 
 and the embarrassment his inopportune arrival had 
 occasioned her. 
 
 " Ah, that's too bad of you," he exclaimed, struggling 
 between the warmth of his feelings and the momen- 
 tary belief that he cut a foolish figure. " Well, I may 
 as well own I've been empresse; but you women 
 are so quick to divine a fellow's thoughts. After 
 all, though, I must admit that you would have 
 been very dense had you not seen the drift of my 
 intentions. Well, I need scarcely say, they are 
 perfectly honest, and I mean to stand by them. I 
 want Mademoiselle Amy to honour me by becoming 
 my wife, and I'll frankly own I've hinted as much to 
 her." 
 
 " As to honour, Monsieur Le Baron, you confer it 
 upon us." 
 
 " Ah, but I think differently," exclaimed De Cour- 
 celles ingenuously. "If everyone will consent, and this 
 can be brought about, I shall be the happiest fellow 
 in Paris." 
 
 "You need fear no opposition from me," said 
 Blanche warmly ; " but have you thought over it 
 seriously enough? You know it is easy to plunge 
 into an affair of this kind ; but since it is for life, a 
 mistake is so fatal." 
 
 " But I have examined myself, I assure you, and 
 for me, no other woman exists. It is a fact. And I 
 think somehow that you credit me with being honest. 
 I love Mademoiselle Amy passionately, devotedly ; 
 will you help me to win her?" 
 
 " No, I won't do that, Baron. To exert any 
 influence I may have in deciding a question which 
 must determine a whole future, would be a responsi- 
 bility I should not c^re to take upon myself; but of
 
 nip jflesb anb 36loo&. 177 
 
 all things, I candidly tell you, I should like you to 
 marry her, because I think she loves you " 
 
 " Do you is that your opinion ? and you are sure 
 to know. How delighted I am to hear you say as 
 much," interrupted De Courcelles excitedly, and with 
 a great amount of gesticulation. 
 
 " You shall have a fair field and no favour," con- 
 tinued Blanche. 
 
 " And with that I shall be content, though it sounds 
 rather severe." 
 
 "Yes, but I think people ought to decide these 
 questions for themselves, and no one should attempt 
 to bias them. I ought to tell you this though ; Amy's 
 dot, contrasted with your own fortune, is insignificant. 
 She is very poor." 
 
 " All the better. I have ample for us both, and 
 no one will be able to say I married her for her 
 money." 
 
 " Have you ever mentioned the subject to the 
 Count, may I ask, monsieur?" 
 
 De Courcelles reddened. 
 
 "That I have, dear madame, and, practically, I 
 have his approval." 
 
 " Well, and you have my best wishes. I love my 
 sister very dearly, but I am certain you will be good 
 to her. I will write to India at once ; though papa, 
 whom you have never seen, can have no objection to 
 offer. Amy ought to be here she only left me to 
 finish some letters; but we'll wait a moment, and then 
 if she does not come, I'll fetch her, and you can plead 
 your own cause." 
 
 The Baron fidgetted, and the conversation flagged 
 now that an important point had been decided, for he 
 was too much preoccupied to discuss trivialities, and 
 Blanche was just as anxious that her face should not 
 betray the feelings to which she had given way before 
 his entrance. 
 
 if
 
 178 nl^ Jflesb anfc Bloo>. 
 
 " I think I'll go and fetch her," she said at length, 
 " that is, if you'll excuse me." 
 
 But at that very moment in came Amy herself, as 
 though talking of her brought her. Ignorant of 
 De Courcelles' presence, she advanced into the room 
 humming an air from a famous vaudeville, her hands 
 encumbered with trifles, and her merry, girlish face 
 full of innocent happiness. When she saw him she 
 started, then, recovering herself, gave her hand, and 
 Blanche came to her rescue. 
 
 " We've been chatting here for the last half-hour, 
 and wondering where you were. Is that the silk 1 
 asked you for ? Thanks. Now, I must get my work- 
 basket." 
 
 " Shall I fetch it for you?" stammered Amy, for her 
 own heart told her how matters stood, and what would 
 happen if left alone with De Courcelles. Apparently 
 Blanche did not hear her, and in another moment 
 she found herself alone with him. Tremulous, her 
 heart palpitating strangely, she sank into a big 
 Henri Deux chair, while Blanche, impressed with the 
 idea that she had effected a clumsy exit, went in search 
 of no work-basket, but with a mind sore and over- 
 taxed, reflected upon the strange coincidences of life, 
 the difficulty and danger of her own position. 
 
 This was her wedding-day. The Count had for- 
 gotten it purposely or otherwise. Unhesitatingly she 
 wished it had never dawned. Convent walls had 
 better have enclosed her perpetually, rather than 
 that she should suffer as she did. In fact the situation 
 was a hopeless one, dragged as she felt herself to be 
 in opposite directions, neither of which presented 
 the flimsiest chance of happiness. 
 
 Yet, lacerated though her feelings were, there 
 was a strange blending of the serio-comic, in the 
 reflection that, under the same roof, along a corridor, 
 and through a partition, a love scene was in progress.
 
 jflesb anfc Bloofc* 179 
 
 Vows of constancy were being exchanged. She 
 could only clasp her hands together, and pray that 
 better fortune might attend them than she herself 
 had experienced. 
 
 And so the Baron had Amy to himself, in that 
 superb grand drawing-room, which the antiquity, 
 wealth, and culture of the La Jonquiercs family had 
 combined to embellish with gems of art. There was 
 nothing disturbing in the presence of Dutch and 
 Italian master-pieces, Sevres and Dresden porcelain, 
 Limoges enamels, and caskets of gold, chased by 
 Ghirlandajo. In fact, the contents of that stately 
 apartment harmonized well with refined love.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THINKING it about time, Blanche forced an expres- 
 sion of serenity, and obeying the dictates of propriety, 
 rejoined the lovers. Amy was smiling and radiant, 
 De Courcelles evidently delighted. It was easy to see 
 that the young fellow had not been repulsed. 
 
 " Countess," he exclaimed enthusiastically as 
 Blanche entered, " she has consented, she is mine " ; 
 then gallantly slipping his arm round Amy's waist, 
 he added, " Behold the future Baronne de Courcelles, 
 and instead of only being able to talk about it, as 1 
 did to you just now, I am, in fact, the happiest fellow 
 in Paris. We shall all be so jolly together, living 
 within a short distance, as we must. The Chateau de 
 Courcelles shall be completely renovated, workmen 
 shall be despatched there, and then you two will never 
 be separated. With your incomparable taste, madame, 
 we shall make a palace of the chateau. Between us, 
 it will be superb. Through the summer we shall all 
 be within a drive of each other, and take my word 
 for it, we shall lead the most delightful existence." 
 
 They stood talking for a few minutes, and then the 
 young fellow suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah, I am saying too much. You will both laugh 
 at me ; that will be my reward for behaving extra- 
 vagantly as I have. But I am overjoyed ; and being 
 
 1 80
 
 jflesb anb Bloofc* 181 
 
 no longer master of myself, I think I had better 
 go. Then you can discuss matters uninterruptedly." 
 
 " But not just yet not so soon surely? " inquired 
 Blanche, with some amusement at his almost boyish 
 frankness, and liking him all the better for his simple 
 behaviour. 
 
 " Yes, I'll be off, Countess ; I shall only cut 
 a ridiculous figure if I stay, and I have a lot to 
 think of." 
 
 " But you'll come again before long ? " inquired 
 Amy playfully. 
 
 De Courcelles took her hand in his, kissed it 
 passionately, and then, not trusting himself to say 
 more, went off. 
 
 " So this was a little plot of yours," said Amy, the 
 moment they were alone ; " you two were conspira- 
 tors? I had my suspicions when you deserted 
 me so abruptly." 
 
 " Yes, I plead guilty ; but I knew how I should 
 please you best, and, as I have told Rudolf, felt that 
 should anything unforeseen happen to estrange you 
 two, there would be very little happiness for you, at 
 least. So you see I did my best to hasten the crisis. 
 Am I to be forgiven ? " 
 
 " Are you to be forgiven ? Do you know, I think I 
 could just squeeze you to death, you dear old thing. 
 But let me look at your face. Blanche, something 
 has troubled you. You can't hide that from me. 
 Oh, I know I've been horribly selfish of late ; I've 
 allowed Leo to engross me. But, dear, I love him so ; 
 all the same there is no excuse for me. I have been 
 a little brute, for having thought of anyone to such an 
 extent that I forgot you." 
 
 " You haven't forgotten me, dear." 
 
 " No, but I've been absorbed in my own concerns." 
 
 " I find no fault with you." 
 
 " No, I blame myself. But of late, I have thought
 
 1 82 nl 3flesb anb Bloob, 
 
 you so changed so much happier since we 
 came to Paris ; you have entered into everything 
 with such zest. Once or twice I have said to myself, 
 ' The quiet of the country depressed her, since the 
 change to town she is a new being.' Well, as it is, 
 I am going to begin, I shall reform at once. I shall 
 sit at your feet, and you must tell me everything." 
 
 With playful force Amy compelled her to sit down, 
 placing herself as she had said, then she drew 
 Blanche's arms about her neck, and reclining against 
 her looked up into her face. 
 
 " Come, be good, and begin at once," she continued 
 half-jestingly ; " I know you have been worrying 
 yourself, and you are not to do it. It's naughty of you. 
 You must first confide in me, and I shall be able to 
 cheer and comfort you." 
 
 With charming nai'vet6 she looked at Blanche, her 
 eyes sparkling, and seeming almost black in the sub- 
 dued lamplight, she herself a perfect picture of 
 innocent freshness and robust English girlhood; while 
 Blanche, upon whom she thus gazed expectantly, 
 displayed womanliness, refinement, and beauty. 
 Clad in a white dress which revealed the shape 
 and hue of her broad marble-like shoulders and 
 splendid bust, the purity of her complexion was 
 such that nothing could have contrasted more 
 favourably with the dead colourlessness of her 
 dress, which was without ornamentation of any kind. 
 Her golden hair was coiled in a careless knot, placed 
 high and rather at the back of the head, and in it 
 appeared a simple diamond crescent. The sad pen- 
 siveness of her expression increased the charm of her 
 face, and with the impulsiveness of a girl, Amy, upon 
 whom her beauty had its effect, exclaimed : 
 
 " Do you know, Blanche, you look positively 
 lovely. Oh, if I were half like you, Leo should adore 
 me."
 
 nig jflesb anfc Bloo&. 183 
 
 " He does that already. But how ridiculous you 
 are." 
 
 " Indeed I'm not, unless speaking the truth has 
 made me so. No, but if I were a quarter as beautiful 
 as you, Leo should be in such a condition that he 
 could never leave me." 
 
 " Poor fellow, would you reduce him to such abject 
 slavery ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should like it of all things." 
 
 " Well, you are a dear girl, and in his eyes perfec- 
 tion. Beauty," she added, in a more subdued voice, 
 " may have fallen to my lot, but it has brought me 
 no good." 
 
 " Don't talk like that, I hate to hear you," ex- 
 claimed Amy impetuously. " I feel in the dumps at 
 once. Don't move your arms, keep them as they 
 are. Now I'm prepared to listen, and as I've 
 said, to comfort you." 
 
 But Blanche remained silent. Amy's suggestion 
 only served to increase her distress. Memory carried 
 her back to the night when Amy had stolen into her 
 bedroom and learned her feelings for Rudolf. If 
 she needed comfort then, now she was in a condition 
 when to confide unreservedly, to be permitted to un- 
 burden herself of the weight within her, and to receive 
 in exchange, genuine sympathy, perhaps advice 
 would have been the most effective curative earth 
 could bestow. But how was this to be ? Could she 
 have persuaded herself to own her weakness, and 
 even guilt, in harbouring thoughts of Louis Bernard, 
 she still would have been prevented from doing so by 
 her desire to do right and not wrong. Although 
 only a small difference in age existed between them, 
 Amy, a maiden, and brought up under the eyes of a 
 religious spinster aunt, was as innocent as a child. 
 It would be a culpable act on her part, to describe 
 her feelings and sentiments for Louis, to one so simple
 
 1 84 nl fflesb anfc 
 
 and artless. The idea of such a step was not to be 
 entertained for an instant, even if she were willing to 
 take it at the sacrifice of pride. The conflict within 
 her was a severe one, but it terminated as might 
 have been expected from a woman of her force of 
 character. 
 
 " No," she reflected, " I may be weak enough to 
 love hopelessly and in spite of myself; but though 
 the burden I bear is heavy, it shall be borne in silence. 
 I am mistress of myself yet, at any rate." 
 
 " Come, why don't you talk to me, why don't you 
 speak ? " asked Amy ; " are you vexed with me ? " 
 
 " Vexed with you dear no. What have you done 
 to vex me ? To be vexed with each other we should 
 have to quarrel. No," she added, deciding to 
 change the conversation, " I am very much interested 
 in all that has happened, and shall think of nothing 
 else for months. You will be in my thoughts, 
 until that which you so much desire has come about. 
 Do you love him with your whole heart, dear ? " 
 
 "Love him, Blanche; I worship him," was the 
 short and emphatic answer. 
 
 Satisfied, Blanche made no reply. She could not 
 help contrasting Amy's remarks with the sentiments 
 she so well remembered a short time back, when she 
 too had felt that she worshipped Rudolf. Now she 
 half-shuddered at the recollection of it, wondered 
 how she could have been so blind, so easily deceived, 
 and yet was disposed to tax herself with lacking depth 
 of character, since anything could produce such a 
 change in her nature. " Ah, but one has to live the 
 life," her heart told her in reply to the accusation ; 
 " one has to live the life, to understand what it is 
 to have the affections sapped by the perpetual 
 attacks of a thousand antagonistic and petty details. 
 After all, the myriad grains of sand compose the sea 
 beach."
 
 fflesb an> 3Bloot>, 185 
 
 " Was it not sweet of him to think of living so that 
 we might be near to each other?" exclaimed Amy, 
 scattering reflection to the winds. " I think it was 
 splendid," she added enthusiastically, and without 
 pausing for a reply. 
 
 " So it was, dear," assented Blanche, almost ab- 
 sently. " He has a number of estates, of which the 
 Chateau de Courcelles is the oldest, but it is certainly 
 the smallest of his possessions, and he has been in the 
 habit of going there so little." 
 
 " Oh, but it's just like Leo ! " continued the 
 delighted girl ; " he is so generous, so thoughtful, and 
 so utterly unselfish ! He considered me, not himself." 
 
 With a woman's intuition Blanche recognised how 
 absolutely Amy's heart had been surrendered to 
 De Courcelles, and impelled by a sudden rush of 
 feeling, she bent over her, saying, while she kissed 
 her: 
 
 " I know how much you love him, darling. I can 
 understand. If thinking and praying for you can 
 bring you happiness, it will be yours," and following 
 swiftly upon the words, came the consoling reflection 
 that this engagement and marriage, would furnish a 
 distraction of which she could honestly avail herself. 
 With an effort on her part, she might really become 
 absorbed in Amy's concerns, and in those of this 
 young and amiable fellow whom she had always 
 liked and thoroughly respected. But following fast 
 on this plan, this scheme which was to enable her to 
 lose herself in others, came an idea which threatened 
 its destruction. The Count's allusion to La Jonquieres 
 recurred to her, and Louis Bernard's slight and yet 
 vigorous figure arose before her. She could discern 
 his clear-cut features and expressive mouth. Even 
 the grey eyes, luminous and truthful, met her own. 
 He was as near to her at that moment, retained in 
 fancy's grip, as though they once more talked
 
 1 86 nip fflesb ant> Bloofc. 
 
 together. What was he doing ? Of what was he 
 thinking ? She was impressed with the belief, at 
 times, that he was as unhappy as herself, and the idea 
 would present itself that she was not wholly irre- 
 sponsible for this condition of affairs. She shook 
 herself. These reflections must be dismissed, she 
 decided.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SHORTLY after the night on which Blanche had 
 betrayed her knowledge of his amour with Lisette, 
 the Count had decided upon following a certain line 
 of conduct towards her, and this he had pursued. 
 His inordinate vanity supported him in his belief that 
 Blanche really worshipped him. 
 
 Women were so prone to fall at his feet, good- 
 looking fellow that he was ; and this one with whom 
 he lived, could not fail to adore him secretly. The 
 best proof of this was the neat way in which she had 
 got him to leave La Jonquieres. His feint of re- 
 maining there for the winter had been a master-piece. 
 
 However, he had resolved that this unruly wife of 
 his should be brought to her senses, compelled, in 
 fact, to retract her words, and to admit that she longed 
 for him ; otherwise he would never be anything to 
 her again. He would take good care of that A 
 reconciliation should not come from his side. She 
 was a deuced fine woman, but fortunately Paris 
 swarmed with fine women, and it just suited him to 
 amuse himself with them. He could reduce this wife 
 of his to submission, without interfering with any 
 of his little amusements. He was going to have 
 no feminine supervisor over him, and he would let 
 her know it. When once she had learnt that, they 
 would get on much better. 
 
 187
 
 fflesb 
 
 He had not forgotten Lisette not in the least. 
 He had seen no one to compare to her physically. 
 But then, his life was such a round of amusement, 
 and since they were separated, he would be a fool not 
 to console himself with the reflection that with the 
 return of the warm weather, if not before, he should 
 meet her again ; she would be radiant with health, 
 and just as ready as ever to put her arms about him. 
 
 So he fenced, rode in the Bois, indulged in petits 
 soupers after the theatre or the opera, played at any- 
 thing that was going till the morning light struggled 
 through the Venetian blinds of the club, then went to 
 bed, and, after a cold douche, appeared as well as 
 though he had been snoring all night. The men at 
 the Jockey Club grew to discuss his constitution. 
 " They were no chickens, and could make a night of 
 it ; but really, Monsieur le Comte was a wonder. 
 There was no tiring him, and, no matter what he did, 
 he was always as fresh as paint when it was time to 
 begin again." Monsieur was rather of their opinion 
 himself. He had told Blanche that he meant to enjoy 
 himself, and he kept his word, going the pace to 
 some purpose, until his name as a viveur, blended 
 with no trifling suspicion of the rout, was thoroughly 
 established. 
 
 Of course, his behaviour towards Blanche was pre- 
 cisely such as completely frustrated her well-inten- 
 tioned efforts to approach him. The barrier erected 
 between them was apparently insurmountable. Had 
 the Count known what was passing in her mind, and 
 had the good sense to pull up, and try to appreciate 
 the amiable qualities of this woman to whom he had a 
 right, there would have been the best of chances of re- 
 establishing himself in her favour. But he acted as 
 though he were oblivious of her beauty and reckless 
 of her virtue. She had never come to kiss his feet, 
 as it was his intention that she should, and, after all,
 
 fflesb ant) Block 189 
 
 the freedom he enjoyed was not displeasing to him. 
 But in the face of this, with unwavering steadfastness 
 and admirable perseverance, Blanche continued the 
 policy she had decided upon following. Her kind- 
 ness and attention was marked and constant. She 
 struggled heroically to overcome the indifference he 
 meted out to her with such persistency. She had a 
 gentle word, a kind look and act always at hand, 
 and witnessed his obdurateness with growing con- 
 cern. 
 
 This man, who was her husband, could alone 
 fortify her against those weaknesses, of the growth of 
 which she was aware ; and, in spite of her efforts to 
 prevent it, this man seemed determined to estrange 
 himself from her. 
 
 Bent upon her purpose of conquering her fondness 
 for Louis, she indulged in every species of gaiety, 
 and was always to be seen where fashion and wealth 
 met ; Amy with her, the young Baron, amiable and 
 admiring, in constant attendance. 
 
 In the love of these two young hearts for each 
 other, she foresaw the realization of the affec- 
 tion she had fancied and steadfastly believed in. 
 There were people in the world who could love 
 passionately and sincerely, and she refused to think 
 otherwise. She set herself to examine the Baron's 
 character with microscopical care, and the result was 
 that she felt confident he would make a model 
 husband. She was indefatigable in conceiving plans 
 for their enjoyment and closer intimacy, so that thus 
 thrown constantly together, they might know each 
 other thoroughly, before taking the irrevocable step 
 they contemplated. This she considered a part of 
 her duty towards Amy. She placed herself in the 
 position of a mother to her, and the responsibilities 
 thus entailed she discharged with admirable affection 
 and forethought.
 
 190 (Smis fflesb ant> Bloofc. 
 
 By these means, and in a perpetual whirl of 
 festivities, the weeks passed. Already the trees 
 in the Bois were clouded with bursting buds, and 
 in some instances a more decided tinge of fresh 
 bright green was noticeable. People were beginning 
 to talk about summer, and a trip to the seaside. The 
 wealthier ones were tempted to discuss the delights 
 and fascinations, to say nothing of the health, which 
 they would derive from the approaching yachting 
 season, or to plan, as usual, the descent upon some 
 distant, but charmingly situated, chateau. 
 
 Soft, balmy winds, and more protracted gleams of 
 sunshine announced the approach of warmer weather. 
 People lounged and sipped their liqueurs outside the 
 cafes. Paris was awakening as from sleep ; joyous- 
 ness prevailed. It was in the atmosphere. 
 
 The restraint Blanche had imposed upon herself 
 was not without its results. Fearlessly she had com- 
 pelled herself to scan the horizon of her life, and 
 had come to think as a woman might, who accepts 
 the belief that she must jog along soberly, and yet 
 not without some enjoyment. Her health was superb. 
 She was an object of admiration. 
 
 Without in the least encouraging them, young 
 men flocked around her. Was there not much 
 to be thankful for in this splendid vigour, in this 
 undoubted homage? Possessed of wealth, the re- 
 spect of the world followed. What had she done 
 to merit these benefits ? Absolutely nothing. In- 
 stead of being clad in Worth's chefs (fceuvre, and 
 attended by liveried servants, solemn, respectful, and 
 ready to obey her slightest behest, why was she not 
 sitting in rags on the steps of the Madeleine, hopeful 
 of receiving a few coins from the numerous lords of 
 creation who flocked thither to be married ? What 
 had she done, she asked herself, that this poverty and 
 pain should have been spared her ? And how wrong
 
 fflesb ant> 3Bloo&. 191 
 
 she was ever to rebel, because God had not seen fit to 
 grant her that earthly love for which she yearned. 
 By a kind of self-imposed hypnotism she became 
 soothed. 
 
 She coaxed herself into imagining that it was 
 not love, not passion, she experienced for Louis ; 
 or, at least, if she had been so far culpable, she had 
 cured herself of such frightful impiety, and was no 
 longer stirred by aught deeper than a sincere friend- 
 ship for him. 
 
 Was it not a proof of what could be done by 
 determination ? 
 
 In reality, she was in a more dangerous condition 
 than ever. She had put out all her strength to erect 
 a line of defence, which a word or a look would cause 
 to crumble into ruins. The consequences would be 
 terrible when, this fortification so stormed, she would 
 have to acknowledge her utter weakness, and bow to 
 the inevitable. 
 
 Her chief dissatisfaction and anxiety, lay in the 
 recognition of the complete failure of her designs 
 upon the Count. Yet even here, impelled by the 
 sense of right which triumphed in her, she did not 
 despair. Some day or other he would be bound to 
 acknowledge her devotion, and then, ashamed of the 
 grief he had caused her, and weary of the empty 
 pleasures he had been wedded to, there would be a 
 reconciliation between them. They would be fast 
 friends. She would have been his guardian angel, 
 and her reward would be the peace which springs 
 from doing right. 
 
 As for the Count, during the pauses in his gaiety, 
 he would sometimes half regret his treatment of 
 Blanche. Latterly he had begun to think he did 
 not understand her. What could he gather from 
 her conduct ? She was certainly obstinate to a 
 degree, in whatever she undertook. If she really
 
 192 <smi fflesb anfc 
 
 loved him, she curbed her feelings to perfection. 
 Her kindly attentions, her evident desire to live 
 amicably, could not be mistaken for a warmer senti- 
 ment. There was a distinct line of demarcation 
 between her actions, as he began to understand them, 
 and love. 
 
 An immense contrast presented itself between her 
 conduct latterly, and the affection she had lavished 
 upon him in the early days of their marriage. This 
 was, in reality, the case. No longer loving, Blanche 
 could not pretend, so as to bear the least critical 
 inspection. Her manner was that of a sincere friend, 
 not a lover. And the Count began to have his 
 doubts. After all, did she love him ? he, the spoiled 
 darling, rich, handsome, and well-born. He was 
 no longer absolutely confident. Nettled, he cast 
 suspicious glances around him. Had madame a 
 lover? he asked himself. But, keep his eyes open 
 as he would, not even the shadow of one could 
 he find. Satisfied on that score, he relapsed into a 
 more complete state of mystification. Hating to be 
 foiled, he would occasionally vent his irritation, with 
 a view to induce Blanche to commit herself. It 
 piqued him to think that he, an undoubted lady-killer, 
 should produce nothing more violent than sensations 
 of the most lukewarm character in the breast of 
 his own wife. 
 
 " What an odd woman you are," he would assert as 
 a commencement. 
 
 "Why?" Blanche would naturally ask. 
 
 " Oh, you ought never to have been married." 
 
 " Can you tell me of a single duty I neglect ? " she 
 would inquire mildly. 
 
 " Duty be hanged ! Are wives only to amuse them- 
 selves and entertain one's friends, I should like to 
 know ? "
 
 fflesb an& Moofc. 193 
 
 " Well, certainly, to do that is a great deal." 
 
 " A great deal the deuce ! but do you suppose 
 you were married for that ? " 
 
 " One is possessed of a great many illusions at the 
 outset of life ; unfortunately one gradually learns 
 that they are as tantalizingly unsubstantial as the 
 Fata Morgana." 
 
 " Oh, a lot you know about it Who filled your 
 head with such sentiments ? " 
 
 " Experience life." 
 
 *H&as; all I know is that you are the coldest 
 woman I ever met. It strikes me that when a man 
 marries, he ought to know what he is doing. If the 
 majority of women were like you, my dear, the world 
 would very soon become a desert, and there would be 
 no one left in it to witness the mirage you allude to." 
 
 When the conversation reached this stage, Blanche 
 would take refuge in silence. There was nothing else 
 for it. Evidently the Count's appreciation of her re- 
 solved itself into a low physical one. And right or 
 wrong, knowing him as she did, she could not stoop 
 to encourage such a sentiment. 
 
 One morning when they were breakfasting alone 
 Amy being confined to her room by some trifling in- 
 disposition the Count rounded off" some previous 
 periods, by an assertion which had some effect upon 
 her. 
 
 " By Jove, you can say what you like," he observed, 
 munching away energetically, "but if fellows don't 
 sail straight, their wives are at the bottom of it. 
 You women are quick enough to discover the bad 
 side of one's nature, but are you ever on the look-out 
 for the good ? I know what I'm talking about, 
 and many a fellow wishes to be a first-rate husband, 
 but is prevented by his wife's attitude towards him." 
 
 After all, there might be something in what he 
 said, she reflected. The words had the ring of an
 
 194 tils jflesb an& Bloofc. 
 
 entreaty. Could it be that, in contending as he had, 
 he had alluded to himself? Was it his wish to "sail 
 straight ? " She had certainly treated him well of late ; 
 but had she gone honestly to work, and as a fair be- 
 ginning, retracted her assertions that she neither loved 
 him nor sought his affection, her entreaty, in fact, that 
 there should be nothing between them ? And, after 
 all, in what did her own perfection consist ? What 
 right had she to set herself up ? Her conduct was 
 none of the best. In her heart she knew that she 
 was not sinless. As she hoped to be forgiven, surely 
 she was constrained to forgive. She was touched, 
 softened. 
 
 Her feelings for Louis partially benumbed, it 
 occurred to her that, if the Count would act up- 
 rightly, she could strive to forget Lisette, and such 
 similar faults, completely. It would cost her a great 
 effort, but expiation for her secret weaknesses was 
 due from her ; could she not make it in this way ? 
 With this desire to discover good in him strong 
 within her, and prepared to sacrifice her pride should 
 her reason dictate it, Blanche observed the Count's 
 actions attentively.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DINNER was in progress at the Hotel de la Jonquieres. 
 The gloomy prospect presented by the Faubourg 
 St. Germain, with the rain falling determinedly 
 amidst gusts of wind, and from a sky without a break 
 in it, was shut out by blinds and closely drawn 
 curtains. Grouped around a table, tastefully decor- 
 ated with exquisite silver-plate, sparkling crystal, and 
 a profusion of rare and beautiful flowers, sat Blanche 
 and the Count facing each other, with Amy and De 
 Courcelles on either side. 
 
 " Well, we shall soon find ourselves at La Jon- 
 quieres again," the Count was remarking, while 
 glancing suggestively from Amy to the Baron, and 
 again at Amy. 
 
 De Courcelles reddened like a turkey cock. 
 
 " Yes," he stammered, taking the remark upon his 
 own shoulders ; " have you heard anything of Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abbe Bernard ? " he added, recovering himself, 
 but sipping his wine with some signs of nervousness. 
 
 " No, we haven't," answered Blanche quietly. 
 
 "You have never written a line to the poor man 
 have you ? " asked the Count. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, don't you call that rather too bad, De 
 Courcelles, considering the intimacy which existed ? 
 Why, Monsieur I'Abbe* was perpetually at the chateau, 
 and was welcome, there. I like him, I must say."
 
 196 <smis jflesb ant) 
 
 " And so do I. I felt drawn to him from the first 
 moment I saw him," responded De Courcelles, with 
 perfect frankness. 
 
 " I should think he'll feel hurt and neglected. I know 
 I should, were I in his place," resumed the Count. 
 
 Blanche made no answer. Each remark, with the 
 reflections awakened by it, occasioned her a species 
 of slow torture. She preferred to take refuge in 
 silence. 
 
 " We shall be able to organize some first-rate 
 shooting-parties in the De Courcelles preserves, eh, 
 my dear fellow ? " observed the Count abruptly, but 
 with evident relish. 
 
 " Oh, now I call it mean of you to rake that up 
 against me. Don't you agree with me, Countess ? " 
 
 Blanche nodded smilingly, but became grave next 
 instant. The whole events of the day spent at the 
 Chateau de Courcelles were at once vividly recalled 
 by the allusion. Lisette's face and figure were 
 daguerrotyped upon her mind. She seemed to see 
 her as upon that evening, and she fancied she could 
 even hear her voice, which she had so remarked upon 
 and admired. 
 
 The Count, who was looking at her, guessed her 
 thoughts. He had no particular wish that Lisette 
 should furnish food for reflection, so he rattled on. 
 
 " We shall drive over to the Chateau de Courcelles 
 occasionally eh, Amy? You know, as near neigh- 
 bours, we really owe it to Monsieur le Baron, and 
 should do our best to enliven him in his bachelor 
 quarters." 
 
 This time it was Amy's turn to blush. 
 
 " Thanks," replied De Courcelles, coming to her 
 rescue, and darting a glance full of meaning and 
 affection at her as he spoke ; " but I hope the said 
 quarters will be as lively as I should wish to see them, 
 some day."
 
 jflesb ant) 3Bloofc>, 197 
 
 The truth was, that the marriage between Amy and 
 the Baron had been arranged to take place early in 
 the year. There were to be only a few friends 
 present, and the ceremony was to be celebrated in 
 the chapel at the Chateau de Courcelles. The 
 affair, it had been decided, was to be simple and 
 quiet, though after it, a fete was to be given to the 
 tenantry, the park illuminated and thrown open to 
 the public, in honour of the event. This was De 
 Courcelles' idea. 
 
 " But you need not joke me about my shooting," 
 he continued, reverting to the Count's previous re- 
 mark. " I have issued strict orders for the preserva- 
 tion of the game, and, under my eye, things will soon 
 improve." 
 
 " All right ; but meanwhile, had you not better buy 
 some first-rate farm-yard fowls to stock the covers ? 
 They will carry you on until " 
 
 " How provoking you are, Rudolf," interrupted 
 Blanche. 
 
 " Am I, dear ? I thought I was making a really 
 valuable suggestion," replied the Count, who was not 
 to be repressed. " You will have to wear an old 
 blouse and a straw hat, De Courcelles, and stalk 
 about the woods all day long, or those fellows of 
 yours will assuredly continue their poaching practices. 
 It will be capital exercise for your long legs, my dear 
 fellow." 
 
 " Ah, do you think so ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I do. You must have a hobby, mind. 
 It is essential. Is it to be that, or shall you prefer to 
 turn horticulturist, and peer into melon-frames and 
 hothouses, become great on manures, soil, etc., and 
 wax into an authority upon the growth and treatment 
 of grapes ? Now, that would really be very inter- 
 esting, I should imagine. I can picture you with 
 Amy on your arm, sauntering amongst those old
 
 jflesb 
 
 box- edged walks, hoeing up a weed occasionally with 
 a spud fitted to the end of your walking-stick. Yes, 
 my dear fellow, you must certainly have a hobby, 
 and had I not known your love for the fresh air, I 
 should have suggested old china, pictures, or some- 
 thing of that sort ; but, then, you would have to be 
 in Paris to do the thing properly. You can't very 
 well have the Rue de la Chausse'e d'Antin in the 
 grounds of the Chateau de Courcelles." 
 
 " You can chaff me as much as you like," returned 
 De Courcelles resignedly, " but I don't intend to go 
 mad about anything. We shall have the perfection 
 of jolly times, I am convinced, and if we tire of being 
 quiet, it will be easy enough to pack the place with 
 guests. I know a sprinkling of really nice, good- 
 natured people, and there are always plenty, who, for 
 a bed and good living, are content to spend their life 
 in moving from house to house, and who really make 
 a business of being agreeable." 
 
 " I had no idea you were so familiar with the ways 
 of the world," replied the Count satirically. 
 
 Determined to give him as good as he gave, the 
 Baron thought a moment. Then he said : 
 
 " You see, I am young. Oh, I am proud of it. 
 Wisdom is the only compensation one gets in return 
 for gray hairs. Of course, you know very well " 
 
 " The deuce, do you mean that my hair is gray ? " 
 
 Amy tittered. 
 
 " Why, it's certainly grizzled, Rudolf," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Grizzled, is it ? "' 
 
 " Why, yes. Don't you know that ? " 
 
 " Know it and suppose I do ? I should speedily 
 forget it if I consented to descend to the trickery you 
 women think nothing of. What about a suitable dye, 
 judiciously applied eh, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Oh, you need not talk at me. I don't dye." 
 
 " Or rouge ? "
 
 jflesb ant> Bloo& 199 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Or use patches and powder ? " 
 
 " I have existed without them so far." 
 
 " Bravo, but then you are not a fair representative 
 of your sex. You know that. De Courcelles, you 
 will be fortunate in possessing a model wife, who 
 neither paints nor powders, and that's something 
 nowadays. But, as for you, my dear fellow. Your 
 words have produced this attack upon me. I shall 
 have my revenge. So look out. Gray hairs, indeed. 
 I feel younger to-night than I have done any time 
 this last dozen years. Younger than I did when, at 
 the head of a handful of Chasseurs d'Afrique, I 
 charged through and through clouds of Arabs. I 
 can tell you, in less time than it takes to relate it, 
 there was nothing to be seen but the backs of a lot of 
 dirty bernouses scudding off through the dust." 
 
 " Eh, they couldn't have fought much, then," 
 laughed De Courcelles provokingly. 
 
 " Couldn't have fought much," repeated the Count 
 indignantly ; " a fine judge of fighting indeed. Well, 
 anyhow, I maintain I feel younger now than then." 
 
 " So you may, and I am glad to hear it ; but it is 
 impossible for me to say how you feel, I only know 
 how you look" 
 
 " Eh, all right, all right," growled the Count, with 
 the sensation of being worsted; " your time is coming, 
 my fine fellow. After Amy has taken you in hand 
 for half-a-dozen years, you'll begin to get gray, I 
 promise you." 
 
 "Now, that's shameful of you. What a wicked 
 insinuation," asserted Amy, crimsoning. 
 
 " All right, we shall see," the Count contented him- 
 self with retorting. 
 
 The dinner drew to a close. With solemn slowness 
 the sedate footmen flung open the doors leading to 
 the drawing-room, and the two men followed closely
 
 200 <smi jflesb an& Bloot>. 
 
 upon Amy and Blanche. A little later, the Count, 
 with his hands in his pockets, was beginning to get 
 enthusiastic over the rival merits of two famous stars, 
 who were at that moment taking Paris by storm, 
 when a servant entered and respectfully handed him 
 a telegram. 
 
 " May I be permitted," he inquired politely, and 
 then, his face bent over the thin blue paper, he read 
 it attentively. Blanche happened to be looking at 
 him, and as an expression of pleasure swept over his 
 face, she innocently asked : 
 
 " Who is it from, Rudolf? " 
 
 Thus suddenly appealed to, he started slightly, and 
 the hue of his bronzed cheeks deepened. 
 
 " Oh," he said, recovering his composure, " it is 
 from the Baron. You know those two magnificent 
 blacks of Pauloff s, De Courcelles ? " 
 
 De Courcelles nodded. 
 
 " Well, I have entreated him to let me have them. 
 They are the grandest animals I have ever seen ; 
 match so perfectly, too, and " 
 
 " Has that telegram to do with them ? " inquired 
 Blanche, interrupting him quietly. 
 
 The Count glanced at her sharply. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear. That is, in a way. Pauloff 
 wants to see me. I am to meet him at the club. De 
 Courcelles, I know you'll forgive me for running 
 away, and you, too, Blanche, won't you ? Amy will 
 look after you both. You won't mind my absence, 
 and really this is important." 
 
 De Courcelles was glad rather than otherwise. He 
 would be perfectly free to talk to Amy A few 
 moments later the Count left the room, returning 
 almost immediately, having slipped on a silk muffler 
 and an overcoat. His crush-hat was under his arm. 
 He advanced to Blanche, touched her forehead with 
 his lips, smiled at Amy, and nodding to De Cour-
 
 jflesb ant> 3Bloo&. 201 
 
 celles, left them, the clash of the outer doors announ- 
 cing that he had gone. 
 
 In the subdued light, Amy and De Courcelles 
 made love in whispers. Blanche, immersed in her 
 own thoughts, became unconscious of their presence. 
 She had divined that the telegram the Count had 
 received, was certainly not from the Baron.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE following morning was a lovely one, and intent 
 on shopping, Amy induced Blanche to set off at an 
 early hour. Having executed their varied com- 
 missions satisfactorily, the delicious buoyancy of the 
 atmosphere tempted them to order the coachman 
 to turn into the Bois. 
 
 The excitement of the day was over for Amy. 
 She had set her heart on purchasing certain odds 
 and ends, and since they were actually at her side, 
 she felt tranquil and supremely contented. As for 
 Blanche, she had talked herself tired in the shops, and 
 was disposed to enjoy the brilliancy of the scene in 
 silence. 
 
 The sky was of the most perfect blue, and the 
 sun shone in uninterrupted splendour. The rain- 
 fall over night had cleansed and freshened the roads, 
 and a succession of stately equipages bowled along 
 them, the sun flashing upon the harness, and causing 
 the glossy coats of the horses to shine like satin. 
 The trees were wearing the perfection of green tints, 
 and freed from the occasional sameness of full leaf, 
 delighted the eye, while the birds twittered and 
 evidently revelled in the return of warmth. It was 
 a morning to be remembered, and events had de- 
 cided that it should not be forgotten. The coachman 
 unchecked, and probably enjoying the drive as much 
 
 202
 
 nip tflesb anfc 3Bloo&* 203 
 
 as his mistress, was soon spinning along the road to 
 Boulogne, 
 
 " Let us get out and walk, the carriage can follow 
 us," Blanche at length suggested, and giving her 
 instructions, the two paced along, enjoying the exer- 
 cise. Ahead of them, at the angle of an intersecting 
 avenue, a man was standing, apparently debating in 
 which direction he should proceed, then, seeing them, 
 he no longer hesitated, but approached with a jaunty 
 and confident air. Amy was the first to notice and 
 recognise him. 
 
 " Why, here is Monsieur Brunot. How annoying! 
 I can't bear that man," she exclaimed. 
 
 " So it is," assented Blanche. " Well, you know I 
 don't like him either ; but he is quite harmless. Do 
 be civil, we need only exchange half-a-dozen words, 
 and he may not stop." 
 
 But, alas, M. Brunot had no intention of allowing 
 two charming ladies to escape him. Besides, since 
 he had become a Deputy, and so realized his ambitions 
 in that direction, other desires had sprung up, and he 
 did not disguise from himself that his admiration for 
 Blanche was profound. In addition, her unvarying 
 politeness to him had actually awakened a belief that 
 she was partial to him ; M. Brunot, like many exces- 
 sively plain men, being inordinately vain. 
 
 " Good morning, Madame la Comtesse, and you, 
 too, mademoiselle," he said, bowing obsequiously, and 
 even in that action betraying the parvenu. " Like 
 myself, you have evidently been inspired by the 
 charms of this superb day. Undoubtedly this is the 
 perfection of weather." 
 
 " Yes, we were unable to resist the pleasure of a 
 walk, monsieur." 
 
 " And there can be nothing better for one. I 
 seldom come so far as this myself, but I ordered my 
 carriage to meet me at this point, and can discover
 
 204 nis jflesb anfc 
 
 no trace of it. I was getting very angry, madame, I 
 can assure you, when I was fortunate enough to catch 
 sight of you." 
 
 M. Brunot was no longer oppressed with nervous- 
 ness. The Count's eyes were not upon him. Besides, 
 he had called as often as he dared at the Hotel de la 
 Jonquieres, and though received with freezing polite- 
 ness, was foolish enough to consider himself quite on 
 a friendly footing. 
 
 " Well, I hope you will find it," said Blanche 
 consolingly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," echoed Amy. 
 " Meanwhile we'll continue our walk, monsieur." 
 Brunot longed for an invitation to accompany 
 them, but seeing no chance, in despair, he proceeded 
 to prolong the interview by affording a piece of 
 information. 
 
 " I presume you are in search of the Count, 
 madame ? " he inquired. 
 
 "The Count, no," replied Blanche, a trifle sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " Oh, forgive me, madame ; since you are within so 
 short a distance of each other, I naturally thought 
 you had arranged to meet hereabouts. Monsieur le 
 Comte is in that direction. I don't think he can 
 have gone far, for he was on foot; though, just amongst 
 the trees there, a man was holding a horse I took to 
 be his." 
 
 " Thanks very much for telling us, monsieur," said 
 Blanche pleasantly ; " we shall doubtless find him." 
 And with a bow she linked her arm in Amy's, and 
 drew her in the direction M. Brunot had indicated. 
 Then, when some distance separated them, she signed 
 to the coachman, and entering the carriage, told him 
 to continue along the avenue. 
 
 " I don't see much good in going further," remarked 
 Amy ; "for my own part, I'm tired, and we are sure
 
 fflesb ant) 3Bloot>, 205 
 
 not to find Rudolf. Besides, I'm simply famished. 
 Come, Blanche, take pity on me and let us turn 
 back." 
 
 " 1 should like to go as far as the corner of the 
 road. Then we'll go home. It's just possible we 
 may meet him, from what Monsieur Brunot has said." 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, his ' short distance ' may 
 mean a mile. Some people are so stupid," retorted 
 Amy, bent on dissuading her. 
 
 But Blanche had decided, and nothing short of the 
 point she had indicated would satisfy her, though as 
 she approached it, a certain uneasiness affected her. 
 She hated to think she was suspicious, but the Count 
 had done so much to shake her faith in him, and 
 cause her at this juncture to say to herself: 
 
 " What can he be doing here ? This is quite an 
 unfrequented part, and had I wanted him Ah ! I 
 have my doubts." 
 
 The telegram, and the uncomfortable sensation she 
 had experienced that he was not speaking the truth, 
 recurred to her. Disturbed, she leant forward in 
 the carriage, glancing searchingly amongst the 
 already thick foliage and maze of tree trunks. A 
 grave and troubled expression stole into her face, 
 which the neat, close-fitting hat she wore suited to 
 perfection. 
 
 " Why do you look so serious ? " inquired Amy, 
 surprising her in the midst of her unpleasant specu- 
 lations. 
 
 Before she could make any reply, they swept round 
 the angle she had indicated, and almost collided 
 with a man who was pacing a horse up and down 
 automatically. 
 
 " That's Tunis certainly," exclaimed Amy, recog- 
 nisrng the animal as a favourite hack of the Count's, 
 " so Rudolf can't be far off." 
 
 The words were still upon her lips when Blanche
 
 206 nlv jflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 caught sight of two figures, a man and woman, 
 amongst the tree stems. A score more revolutions of 
 the wheels, and but a few paces separated her from 
 them. Her heart beat rapidly. She was frightfully 
 agitated, but had just sufficient presence of mind 
 to remember that she did not wish the coachman to 
 see the sight that lay before her. Tremulous and 
 white to the lips, she contrived to call to him 
 sharply : 
 
 " You may turn and go home." 
 
 The man did as he was told. Experiencing 
 some slight relief she sank back in her place, for 
 the moment overcome. She had surprised the Count 
 in the act of embracing a woman, over whom he 
 was bending. Thinking himself safe from observa- 
 tion, he was so absorbed in his occupation of 
 making love, that he had not heard the sounds made 
 by the approaching carriage, until too late. And 
 Blanche's long sustained glance had told her that this 
 woman whom he was fondling was Lisette. 
 
 It was then that she had acted, and her first 
 impulse had been dictated by pride. It seemed 
 detestable that a servant should see how lightly the 
 Count esteemed her, how little the ties that united 
 them were respected by him, so she had given 
 the order which had flung the horses upon their 
 haunches, and sent them flying homewards. 
 
 By Amy's silence Blanche understood that she, at 
 any rate, had observed and comprehended the situation. 
 This was sufficiently annoying. But what neither of 
 them had remarked, was the presence of a third party, 
 further away in the deeper shade of the foliage, and 
 sufficiently hidden to escape them. 
 
 This person was a man, young, powerful, and of the 
 peasant class. A peaked and high-crowned cloth 
 cap sha led his face, and he was clad in his 
 holiday attire his best blouse and, as he watched,
 
 jflesb a^ 3Bloo&. 207 
 
 his energetic face, was distorted by suppressed fury. 
 This man was Andre" Moriseau. Lisette, having at 
 length fulfilled her intention of going to Paris, and 
 having given out as an excuse a desire to visit her 
 brother, Pierre Chotard, Andre", whose doubts of her 
 had steadily increased, had left his farm, and with 
 the caution of an outraged lover, had tracked her. 
 Paris had robbed his beautiful Lisette of her sim- 
 plicity to begin with, he had thought. This time 
 he had a mind to see for himself who her friends 
 were. 
 
 During the homeward drive Blanche never spoke. 
 Amy ventured to once. 
 
 " I am so sorry, darling," she whispered softly, and 
 her hand stole into Blanche's, and remained there 
 until they alighted at the Hotel de la Jonquieres. 
 
 Then Blanche went straight to her own room. The 
 necessity for being absolutely alone was imperative. 
 No one must know how she suffered ; no one ever 
 could know, in fact. This long-sustained fight, this 
 wearisome wrestle for good, had brought her nothing 
 but humiliation. She had clung to the skirts of hope ; 
 but, cling as she would, not even the shreds remained 
 in her grasp. This was her reward for days and 
 nights spent in grappling with her secret faults, for 
 having endured a mental anguish such as seemed, by 
 a retrospective glance, worse even than her idea of 
 death. 
 
 It occurred to her to wonder whether Brunot was 
 aware of what was going on, when he told her about 
 the Count But this, she instantly decided, was not 
 possible. He would not have dared to insult her so 
 cruelly. But was not her position a maddening one ? 
 to know that whatever came of it unless she was 
 content to face a public scandal her life was 
 indissolubly bound to this man, who dishonoured 
 her in the face of day !
 
 208 
 
 Was it not infamous? And what was to be done? 
 How was she to conduct herself? And to think that 
 she should have harboured all the kindly thoughts 
 she had heaped nothing but consideration upon 
 him ! What a consummate little fool she had been ! 
 This time, at least, there should be an end of all such 
 sentiments as she had been stupid enough to indulge 
 in. 
 
 At length, she confronted the bitter fact that her 
 home life was ruined beyond the possibility of repair. 
 And the sooner she clenched her teeth, and compelled 
 herself to become accustomed to the idea, the better 
 it would be for her. She had striven and prayed so 
 hard, too, for the appearance of some little ray of 
 light to illumine the gloom which threatened to 
 engulf her. Henceforth she must harden her heart 
 and ignore fine feeling. She must be content to 
 grope in whatever light she could find. Meanwhile 
 she had to assume a placidity and cheerfulness she 
 was far from feeling. People must not suspect. Her 
 face must be wreathed in smiles ; she must appear as 
 though her path were one of roses. She was curious 
 to know what line of conduct the Count would 
 pursue. He must have seen her. Would he allude 
 to the affair, and attempt to excuse himself with the 
 aid of as many lies as the occasion demanded, or 
 would he adopt the bolder course ignore, behave as 
 though nothing had occurred ? She was not left long 
 in doubt. 
 
 The Count's audacity rose superior to the occasion. 
 He alluded to nothing. His cheerfulness and courtesy 
 were admirable. He adapted himself to the role he 
 had set himself, with perfect savoir faire, and he 
 was not guilty of that commonest of errors, over- 
 acting, because he desired to act well. Being in the 
 wrong, he forgot to open his lips on the subject. 
 That was all. The telegram he had received had
 
 fflesb an& 3Bloot>. 209 
 
 been from Lisette. He had at once met her, never 
 going near his club, or the Baron, as he had said ; 
 and on parting, they had arranged for a quiet talk 
 in the morning, which quiet talk Blanche had shown 
 the stupidity and bad taste to disturb. That was 
 how he coloured the picture. 
 
 So far as his future plans were concerned, they were 
 simple, and remained unaltered. There was this 
 marriage between Amy and De Courcelles on the tapis. 
 Then he had really been going the pace, and stood in 
 need of rest and change of air, so that everything 
 seemed to point to a move to La Jonquieres. True, 
 it was rather early in the season; but, after all, he was 
 becoming tired of Paris, and the life and air of the 
 country would be refreshing, for a time, at least 
 The upshot was, that one fine morning, the blinds of 
 the hotel in the Faubourg St. Germain were drawn 
 down, and an inquiry elicited the information that 
 Monsieur le Comte and Madame la Comtesse had 
 that very day retired to their chateau in Champagne. 
 
 The prospect of the return of le grand proprittaire, 
 the approaching marriage of the Baron, and the pro- 
 bability of the Chateau de Courcelles being the chosen 
 place of abode, had leaked out, and become known in 
 La Jonquieres, forming, for the simple villagers, food 
 for a nine days' wonder. There were to be grand 
 doings, so the speculations and contradictory opinions 
 were varied and amusing. 
 
 Louis Bernard, as an intimate friend of the great 
 folks, was constantly appealed to. Evasion was his 
 only resource. But it was terribly irritating to be 
 perpetually reminded that he did not possess know- 
 ledge for which he yearned. Through the long 
 winter, he had looked for some news of Blanche with 
 feverish and unwearied expectancy. It was so hard 
 to remain in ignorance of where she was, whether she 
 was ill or well, happy or sad. Though, on this latter 
 
 o
 
 210 nls fflesb ant> Bloob. 
 
 point, he had little doubt. She could scarcely be 
 happy, he knew. And this belief increased his 
 suffering. 
 
 In his bitterness of spirit, and when fits of des- 
 pondency seized upon him, he told himself that since 
 his existence was ignored, he was forgotten. She 
 was indifferent. And was it not what he might have 
 expected ? In the opinion of this great lady, whose 
 beauty of mind and person had filled him with ad- 
 miration, he was evidently of no consequence. It 
 was true that at one time she had shown him marked 
 kindness and attention ; but that was because he had 
 afforded her some small amount of distraction. Out 
 of her sight, he was evidently out of her mind. What a 
 fool he had been to imagine that it could be otherwise. 
 He was being punished for his audacity, weakness, 
 and sin. What right had he, a poor priest, to think as 
 he had done? Was he not among the most insignificant 
 of God's creatures a very worm on the face of the 
 earth ? Did he not richly deserve the chastisement 
 meted to him ? And what excuse had he to offer in 
 defence of his own vile conduct ? 
 
 His chief delight, when his thoughts completely 
 arrested him, was to merge his present existence in 
 that of the delicious past. During such moments he 
 would recall minutely and lovingly Blanche's appear- 
 ance, gestures, peculiarities of speech, even some 
 trifling change of dress, which, at the time, he had 
 remarked and admired. By a strong power of will, 
 aided by a singularly lucid memory, he compelled 
 himself to recall almost word for word, long con- 
 versations, to which, when they had occurred, he had 
 attached but slight importance. It was delightful 
 to him to remember them. But when forced to 
 rouse himself from these dreams, in which he had 
 dwelt with ecstasy, the reaction which ensued 
 was agonizing. He had imagined that she was
 
 Jflesb ant> Bloofc. 211 
 
 in the same room with him. Her lips moved, her 
 eyes met his, and they were talking softly, while 
 the very perfume of her hair was inhaled by him as 
 he leant towards her. He was enraptured, intoxi- 
 cated. Suddenly someone would move in the house, 
 enter his room, speak, and, with the swiftness of the 
 lightning, the imaginary vision would vanish. In 
 place of it, appeared the bare walls of his little room, 
 his few books, his poverty, above all, himself, not as 
 simple erring man man,/>r<? but himself as priest, 
 severed from human beings, human ties, human 
 aspirations, semi-apotheosised, profoundly solitary. 
 Sometimes he would cry aloud in the acuteness of 
 his anguish ; sometimes he would sink upon his knees, 
 and, closing his eyes with feverish vehemence, strive 
 to lose himself in prayer. But always, when stronger 
 and calmer, he would silently permit Blanche, as he 
 conjured and conceived her, to enter into him and 
 take full possession. He could never be anything to 
 her, she never anything to him, but he would not 
 have parted with her image, as she existed within 
 him, for whole worlds. No threat, no punishment, 
 would have availed to make him give up this woman 
 who was enshrined in his heart. 
 
 From the moment he had acknowledged to himself 
 his feelings for her, he had silently decided, that with 
 him, it should be one love, one sin. He was power- 
 less to will it otherwise. If to respect, to worship 
 silently, hopelessly, as he did, and intended to do, 
 was to commit a sin, he was content that it should 
 be laid at his door, and, when the great reckoning 
 should come, content to suffer. What could be 
 sweeter to him than to suffer because of his love 
 for her? Fired with this spirit of devotion and adora- 
 tion, he would go swiftly, midst the waning light and 
 the shadows, with a few delicate flowers he had grown 
 clasped in his hand, and his footsteps never slackened,
 
 jflesb an& Bloofc* 
 
 never swerved, until he had gained the edge of the 
 larch wood, and the petit sanctuaire. Then, he 
 would place the blossoms between the bars of the 
 grille tenderly, lovingly, and, on his knees, in the 
 exact spot where she had knelt, he would pray for 
 her, for forgiveness, for guidance, long, earnestly, his 
 face bathed in tears. Tranquillized, comforted, 
 he would pace back to his little home, thinking 
 as he did so, that, occasionally at least, he must 
 be treading upon the very ground her feet had 
 touched. 
 
 Louis Bernard had come to love Blanche in this 
 fashion. Yet, when he heard that she had actually 
 arrived, was within a few hundred yards of him, 
 though he would have given all he possessed to 
 see her, without the delay of a moment, nothing 
 would induce him to go near the chateau. She 
 had not written. He had never received a line from 
 the family. If they wanted him, they must seek him. 
 He would not go to them. So he shut himself up, 
 kept out of the way, but had to own to himself that 
 the self-imposed restraint was torture. 
 
 As for Blanche, so far as the Count was concerned, 
 there had been no scene between them. Like him 
 she had been silent. Words could do no good. 
 There would only be a tremendous quarrel between 
 them. So it was best to spare herself further mortifi- 
 cation. Henceforth he must do as he pleased, and 
 in her turn, she should consider herself free to act 
 as she thought proper. For the present, she was 
 absorbed in Amy and her affairs. When that excite- 
 ment was over, she must seek a fresh one. Much 
 depended upon her choice. In her opinion, to forget 
 herself was the most powerful specific for the condi- 
 tion into which she had sunk. After a few hours 
 had passed, the novelty of the return to her old home 
 had worn off, and a sense of uneasiness began to
 
 nig jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 213 
 
 gain ground. The reception-rooms and the furniture 
 contained in them, reminded her in some shape of 
 Louis. There was no sign of him, however. No one 
 alluded to, or spoke of him, and this silence concern- 
 ing his presence and well-being grew intolerable. 
 She had no actual proof that he was still at La 
 Jonquieres, or even alive. Of course she might 
 assume, that had anything unusual happened, she 
 would have been amongst the first to be apprized. 
 But this amounted merely to conjecture. It was 
 in her power to seek him, but from this step she 
 shrank. Knowing what she did, such conduct would 
 not be right. 
 
 From some of the windows she could see into his 
 garden, and with a glass, could distinctly trace the 
 form of the walks, the fruit trees, neatly trained 
 over the espaliers, and, with an effort, fancied that 
 she could distinguish the very beds of early flowers 
 which he loved and cared for. She deprecated the 
 return of her weakness, but she no longer made the 
 same spirited resistance. The old sensations were 
 awakening within her momentarily, but she no longer 
 strove to repress them. Her heart fluttered like that 
 of a young bird. She longed to see and converse 
 with this man, whose dominion over her was so com- 
 plete. Not made so by words either, but by his 
 simple bodily presence. This spirit of restlessness 
 had laid such violent hold upon her, that she no 
 longer said : 
 
 " I am not guilty of loving him. He is merely a 
 friend," but she allowed her heart to throb. She un- 
 hesitatingly acknowledged, that to be with him would 
 be a delight. Though nothing could come of it, earth 
 could afford her no greater bliss. 
 
 At length her feelings became unbearable, and 
 she summoned the oldest and most trusted of 
 the servants who had been left in charge of the
 
 214 nl fflesb anb Bloofc* 
 
 chateau. Having issued a few orders, she carelessly 
 questioned the man. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Monsieur 1'Abbe was well," he affirmed, 
 " and though changed " 
 
 " In what way ? " demanded Blanche curtly. 
 
 " He is thought to be graver and older looking, 
 Madame la Comtesse," replied the servant respect- 
 fully. " But he is as good to everyone as ever. He 
 was born to be loved, and he has come to the right 
 place." 
 
 Blanche did not care to ask any more questions. 
 Fearful of betraying herself, she dismissed the man, 
 experiencing relief when he was gone. So Louis 
 was well, and loved, though older looking and graver. 
 Reflecting upon these remarks, she instantly strove 
 to set the allusion to his appearance down to mere 
 gossip. One thing was certain, he was offended at 
 the silence she had maintained, and had no intention 
 of coming near her. From her speculations and mis- 
 givings, she was at length aroused by the Count 
 entering the chateau with his arm through Louis'. 
 
 " You must prevail upon Monsieur 1'Abb^ to dine 
 with us," he said to Blanche. " Come, I have caught 
 him, now I leave him with you." 
 
 Then he went off on to the terrace, to enjoy 
 the sunlight. 
 
 Louis and Blanche thus confronted each other. A 
 curious sensation of awkwardness stole over them 
 on thus being abandoned to a tete-d-tete in this 
 somewhat brusque fashion, and after so long a separa- 
 tion. Louis' embarrassment resulted from no change 
 of sentiment. As he had acknowledged to himself, 
 this woman had undoubtedly attached him to her for 
 life. His uneasiness was due to his doubts. 
 
 What did she think of him ? Had his disguise 
 been so transparent that she had penetrated it, was 
 on reflection disgusted, and showed it by maintaining
 
 fflesb ant) Bloo&* 215 
 
 the silence which had so pained and perplexed him ? 
 His heart was torn as he stood before her. Besides, 
 he felt like a criminal, look on which side he would. 
 He was one, in fact. For the life of him he had not 
 been able to resist the Count's friendly advances. 
 Dying to enter the chateau, when asked to, he had 
 acceded. Blanche's image, as she always appeared 
 to him, decided him. But when the Count marked 
 the friendliness of his attitude towards him by taking 
 his arm, and in this manner leading him to his home 
 and his wife, shame completely possessed him. He 
 could only assuage the torture he thus endured, by 
 saying to himself: 
 
 " What can this woman ever be to me, though I 
 do love her to distraction ? I can never tell her so. 
 Death might release her, but my fetters are indis- 
 soluble. Thus, where is the sin in seeing her ? It 
 does not matter. The sweetness of worshipping her 
 I reserve to myself. It is my solace, and nothing 
 living shall rob me of it. Were I deprived of life in 
 the twinkling of an eye, her likeness would be found 
 graven upon my heart. I can never efface it. I even 
 glory in it. The sin I commit, the church tells me is 
 heinous, and I am sufficiently unhappy in the ac- 
 knowledged hopelessness of this passion which ab- 
 sorbs me ; yes, but all the same, I have come to 
 glory in it." 
 
 With these thoughts in his heart, his mind, alas, 
 suddenly a blank, he stood before Blanche, who, in 
 her turn, with a swift, comprehensive glance, scanned 
 him. Was he indeed changed ? 
 
 She received a shock, for she was forced to admit 
 that he was. Study, the winter season, his love, had 
 caused the return of that hue to his countenance 
 which had made Lisette compare him at first sight 
 "to the little ivory Christ in the petit sancfuatre." 
 
 Yes, he was paler and older looking. What had
 
 jflesb 
 
 done it? Was she responsible for alteration in 
 him ? Influenced thus saying to herself that in 
 her desire to do right she had really behaved 
 unkindly, cruelly she at once decided to make 
 amends. The very sight of this man told her that 
 the position he occupied in her heart was that of 
 master master, whatever should come of it. And 
 this instantaneous admission occasioned her shyness 
 and nervous reserve. But since he was silent, she 
 obliged herself to take up the thread where the Count 
 had broken it off. 
 
 " There you see, Monsieur I'Abb^, you will be sub- 
 jected to our united entreaties," she said, with affected 
 gaiety, " and you will be unable to resist them. Yes, 
 the dinner to-night would be incomplete without you. 
 You must rescue us from the reaction which is sure 
 to set in, on exchanging Paris for this quiet exis- 
 tence." 
 
 " You have been very gay, then, Madame la Com- 
 tesse ? " he answered, at a loss for words, and with his 
 eyes upon the ground. 
 
 " You cannot conceive how gay," she replied, with 
 admirably assumed animation ; " we were scarcely ever 
 at home except when we entertained a perpetual 
 round of amusement. The days were accounted for 
 weeks before they were due." 
 
 " And you enjoyed them, madame ? " he ventured 
 to ask. 
 
 Blanche hesitated momentarily. The vivid recol- 
 lection of her suffering made her. 
 
 " Well, yes," she said at length, " in a measure. 
 Society makes demands, the payment of which cannot 
 be ignored. One recognises the inevitable, accepts 
 it, and from that moment experiences a certain amount 
 of horribly unreal and equivocal pleasure. You see, 
 one is irresistibly carried along by the current." 
 
 There was evasion and a ring of dissatisfaction in
 
 fflesb ant) Bloofc. 217 
 
 this reply, Louis thought. How could she have en- 
 joyed ? Knowing what he did, he deemed it impos- 
 sible. He took heart. The desire to ascertain how 
 he stood with her strengthened. It would be delicious 
 to know that they were allied by a bond of unaltered 
 esteem, such as he imagined had existed in days gone 
 by, when he had regarded the chateau as a refuge, a 
 home, where he was always welcome. But he was 
 puzzled how to begin. At present he must content 
 himself with groping in darkness. 
 
 " Of that current, that stream of fashionable life, I 
 am, and always shall remain in ignorance. Do you 
 think it fortunate that it should be so, madame?" he 
 asked, not without some misgivings. 
 
 " For you, for one of your temperament, yes," an- 
 swered Blanche, unhesitatingly. 
 
 Louis experienced a delightful sensation of pleasure. 
 She had evidently studied him, and owned as much, 
 in this opinion so frankly given. 
 
 " You think I should have been an object worthier 
 of pity, had my lines fallen in more worldly places, 
 madame ? " he inquired, with the diffidence of one 
 who fears to occasion annoyance by talking about 
 himself. 
 
 " You would not have been any happier," she said 
 simply. 
 
 " But I should have had less time to think," he 
 answered gravely. " Oh, I assure you, madame, 
 when the snow lies a foot deep in the roads, when 
 for relaxation one must depend upon oneself the 
 whole winter through, one begins to question and 
 cavil." 
 
 " Have you felt very dull, then ? " she demanded 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Such a sentiment ought never to have entered my 
 head, I suppose ; but, yes, madame, at times, very." 
 
 Blanche's heart smote her. She understood him
 
 2i8 nip jflesb anfc Bloofc* 
 
 perfectly. As though he confessed it in plain lan- 
 guage, she comprehended that he wished to say to 
 her, " You ask me, have I been dull ? and I answer 
 you, I have been wretched. I, who have no right to 
 think of you, have had you in my thoughts day and 
 night without intermission. You know what you 
 have done. You, who conferred upon me the honour 
 of your friendship, who taught me to consider that I 
 was no longer without the consolation of a genuine 
 sympathizer, have abandoned me. You understand. 
 Why did you do this ? Have I deserved such treat- 
 ment at your hands ? " 
 
 Blanche's pity was instantly appealed to as much 
 as her love. Seeing him, being with him again, had 
 kindled them both. To have given this man 
 who hung upon her looks, her words, her slightest 
 gesture six months or more of comparative tran- 
 quillity, it had rested with her to take up her 
 pen and indite a few kindly lines from time 
 to time. She need have done no more. And 
 she had failed in this. But it was in her power 
 to atone for the anguish she had caused him. 
 Did she require to have him go upon his knees, and 
 in a torrent of impassioned words declare his admira- 
 tion for her ? Did her intuition deceive her ? Not 
 for one instant. Very well, this man loved her, and 
 would continue to love her. 
 
 Added to this, she knew how little of her heart 
 she could call her own. Well, as mistress of the situa- 
 tion, she could contrive to bring the colour to his 
 cheeks, and remove the careworn lines which had sud- 
 denly advanced his seeming age a good ten years ? 
 There need be nothing criminal between them. It 
 rested with her. Certainly, then, they could indulge 
 in a delicious friendship, a delightful and unrestricted 
 interchange of ideas, without a particle of aught that 
 was harmful tincturing this ideal intimacy.
 
 Jflesb anb 3Bloot>. 219 
 
 Her own knowledge of the world, and this man's 
 simplicity and total ignorance of it, was a combination 
 which lent itself to the maintenance of her authority 
 and influence over him. Seeing the position into 
 which they had fallen, no more tempting and yet 
 reasonable course could be adopted. They would 
 grow to understand each swiftly changing expression, 
 each altered intonation, each gesture, and in the 
 existence of this bond, never made tangible by 
 admission, they would mutually experience ineffable 
 delight. There no longer existed the stern necessity 
 for tearing herself away from him, and thus plunging 
 them both into misery. That was at an end. With 
 this suddenly-conceived idea, she prepared to become 
 charming. All doubts in his mind must be cleared 
 up, and he must suffer no more. 
 
 " I fear you have thought me unkind and forget- 
 ful," she said abruptly, acting upon her resolve. 
 
 " I, madame ? " stammered Louis, overcome by the 
 nature and suddenness of her remark. 
 
 " Yes, you. I must have appeared to you in the 
 light of one who, when with you, promised great 
 things, but when separated by a railway journey, no 
 longer remembered the protestations she had 
 made ? " 
 
 " I, madame ? " again exclaimed Louis, his cheeks 
 red, and nervously twisting his hands. " How could 
 I think such things ? " 
 
 " Oh, but you have, and you had a right. It 
 was thoughtless and inconsiderate of me never to 
 tell you of our doings. I admit it. But come, let us 
 forget everything unpleasant. Forgive me. I assure 
 you I was not silent because I I " 
 
 Louis had simply raised his eyes, those superb 
 gray eyes, so capable of betraying sentiments as yet 
 but partially aroused. Blanche had encountered .the 
 fire, the power that burned in them, and her words
 
 220 nls fflesb an& 3Bloot>. 
 
 had died upon her lips. Again, as at the petit 
 sanctuaire, their very souls seemed to mingle. While 
 that glance lasted they were indestructibly one. But 
 at the end of it, there no longer remained a doubt in 
 either heart. Louis' pulses tingled and throbbed with 
 an unspeakable joy. During those lightening seconds 
 his gaze never wavered. He only wished to look, 
 undisturbed, enthralled, united to her thus. Why 
 should it be otherwise ? Why should he return 
 again, as it were, to himself, lonely, restless, fighting 
 perpetually? Blanche's glance was the first to 
 waver, to quiver, and then the magnetic link was 
 broken, the charm for the moment destroyed. Louis 
 stirred, and regaining possession of herself again, 
 Blanche faltered : 
 
 " Well, and I had not forgotten that we had 
 seen so much of you." 
 
 " How could you condescend to speak of forgive- 
 ness ? What have I to forgive ? You made my 
 gloomy moments bright ; you went away, and full 
 of gratitude, unable to forget the pleasant hours 
 spent with you, I remembered. That is all." 
 
 " Then you are not hurt, you are not offended ? " 
 she asked eagerly, unable to refrain from seeking a 
 complete understanding, while the opportunity pre- 
 sented itself. Carried away by the same desire, she 
 had, while speaking, extended her hand. 
 
 " I hardly know how to answer, madame," gasped 
 Louis, with the nervousness of a child, and affected 
 powerfully by the touch of her cool, firm flesh. 
 
 Blanche saw the effect she had produced, and, 
 secretly delighted, though recoiling instantly, she 
 said : 
 
 " Hush, nonsense, we are very good friends again. 
 I wish it so. You must come and see us just as you 
 have always done." 
 
 Before Louis could reply, a shadow darkened the
 
 jflesb anfc 
 
 room. The long French windows stood wide open. 
 It was the Count's figure that, filling one of them, 
 obstructed the light. 
 
 " Well, it is decided. Monsieur I'Abbe' is going to 
 dine with us. Am I not right ? " he inquired affably, 
 while twisting his moustache and supporting himself 
 against the window frame. 
 
 Louis started at the sound of his voice. How 
 long had he been there ? What had he heard, 
 what did he now suspect? The recollection of 
 the shadow he had noticed so pointedly, in his 
 earlier visit to the chateau, recurred to him. Then, 
 as now, the darkness was due to the Count's 
 person. He was not superstitious, but was the Count 
 destined to cast a gloom over his life ? The reflec- 
 tion, and his momentary silence in consequence, 
 obliged Blanche to speak. 
 
 " Yes," she said gaily, " I have prevailed upon him, 
 and moreover, he is going to give us an unabridged 
 account of everything that has happened in La Jon- 
 quieres since we left.". 
 
 " Well, let me think," replied Louis, rousing himself, 
 and entering into the spirit of the suggestion, " shall 
 I begin at once, madame ? " 
 
 " Yes, or you will have so much of importance to 
 chronicle, that you won't have time, unless we sit up 
 talking half the night," interposed the Count ironi- 
 cally. 
 
 " Indeed you are right, Monsieur le Comte ; such a 
 catalogue of aches, pains, and petty grievances would 
 send you all to sleep, I am cc-nfident. You would 
 not be at home, madame, when I next called." 
 
 There was a laugh, and then the Count said 
 abruptly : 
 
 " I'll tell you what, though; I know two people who 
 really do need your assistance." 
 
 " Mine, monsieur? "
 
 ant) Bloofc, 
 
 " Why, yes ; come and look at them. And I 
 assure you they are resolved to have it." 
 
 As he spoke, the Count drew Louis to one of the 
 windows. 
 
 " Who does he mean, madame ? " asked Louis 
 wonderingly ; " can you not solve the mystery for 
 me?" 
 
 " Yonder is the solution," replied the Count, indicat- 
 ing Amy and the Baron, who, with heads bent close 
 to each other, were pacing to and fro within the shade 
 of the timber which fringed the gardens. 
 
 " But, Monsieur le Comte, are you sure that they 
 want my aid ? " he asked. 
 
 "Certain. Ah, my dear fellow, you have made no 
 effort to ingratiate yourself with the Baron. I'll give 
 you credit for that. But, all the same, you are a 
 great favourite of his. Ah, you churchmen are very 
 subtle. De Courcelles will have you marry him. 
 The bishopric I once talked to you about will follow 
 in due course, and that, without wearing out your 
 patience and shoe leather by haunting the anterooms 
 of the Ministkre des Cultes. I am now divided in my 
 opinion as to whether you should have been a soldier 
 or a diplomatist." 
 
 " If I have won the Baron's approval, monsieur, I 
 am delighted. It is pleasant to be liked. I am, how- 
 ever, conscious that I have done nothing to gain his 
 good-will. I certainly merit such good fortune in no 
 way," replied Louis modestly, and with some show of 
 nervousness. 
 
 " De Courcelles may think differently." 
 
 "In any case, I shall be proud to place myself at 
 his service, Monsieur le Comte," 
 
 " That's right, you shall marry him, and I will sing 
 the epithalamium," rejoined the Count gaily. 
 
 There was certainly nothing in Count Rudolfs 
 manner to occasion Louis the least uneasiness. He
 
 jflesb ant) Bloofc* 223 
 
 was singularly ingenuous and cordial. Thus im- 
 pressed, Louis ceased to trouble, surrendering himself 
 completely to the delight he experienced in being 
 once more in Blanche's society. 
 
 In reality, the Count had experienced a momentary 
 sensation of surprise, on coming upon Louis and 
 Blanche as he had done. But he had detected 
 nothing unusual in the attitude or expression of 
 either. He had arrived upon the scene late, and with 
 his eyes dazzled by the sunlight. But being of a 
 cynical turn of mind where women, or more especially 
 his wife, was concerned, he had said to himself: 
 " Dear me, dash it ! one would scarcely think that 
 those two have not met for months, and that during 
 them, madame chose to treat that poor man quite 
 unkindly. To look at them now, one would say that 
 they could barely exist without each other. But 
 that is madame's doing. Such hypocrisy is positively 
 sickening." And after reflecting thus, he had troubled 
 himself no further. By nature he was intensely sus- 
 picious though, and at any moment a trifling incident 
 might suggest the advisability of putting two and 
 two together. In which case awkward complications 
 might arise. 
 
 Enjoying the last bright rays of the sun together, 
 Blanche and Louis sauntered midst the trim flower- 
 bordered walks, extending their promenade even to. 
 that part of the gardens where choice pears, venerable, 
 yet bearing to perfection, grew side by side, with 
 superb specimens of the peach, apricot, and cherry 
 The substantial and lofty old walls were nearly 
 hidden by the carefully-trained boughs, and the air 
 was laden with the delicate perfume of herbs and the 
 blossoms of old-fashioned flowers half-forgotten. 
 
 At length, with the increasing gloom, came dinner, 
 and the pleasures of sustained and animated conversa- 
 tion. More than that, for these two, this night marked
 
 224 nl jflesb anD 
 
 the commencement of a new departure an epoch. 
 They already began to indulge in the delight of a 
 secret, and yet silent, understanding. They began to 
 affect and sway each other by look and word. Their 
 glances met and mingled, their voices became attuned 
 to harmonize and thrill. They were beginning to 
 indulge in the dangerous intoxication of approaching 
 each other, morally, as near as they dare. Blanche 
 had surrendered herself so far, and Blanche pervaded 
 .Louis' being. 
 
 Finally, having returned home, mechanically, and 
 upon air the whole way, it seemed to him, Louis 
 again found himself enclosed by the bare walls of 
 his little sleeping-room. What a metamorphosis 
 between the Louis who had looked on them 
 last, and the Louis who now sought their shelter. 
 He had been sad, almost devoid of hope, devoured 
 by misgivings and anxiety. Now his cheeks were 
 flushed, his eyes sparkled, and the expression of 
 a conqueror marked his face. Ideas as extrava- 
 gantly varied as the colours of the kaleidoscope 
 filled his mind. He was transported with joy at 
 the thought that this woman, who had become the 
 very breath of his nostrils, the arbiter of his fate, 
 instead of being indifferent to him, had not hesitated 
 to admit, by many indefinable subtleties, that he 
 was a potent factor in her life. 
 
 What admiration her beauty must have awakened, 
 in the breasts of those who had been fortunate 
 enough to enjoy the privilege of her society while 
 in Paris. And yet, now, he was disposed to nourish 
 the enchanting belief that, in the midst of a whirl of 
 beauty, fashion, and wealth, such as he could not 
 even rightly conceive, his image had dwelt with her. 
 He, the poor and simple village priest, had not been 
 forgotten. 
 
 More than that, he had good reason to believe
 
 jflesb ant> Bloot>. 225 
 
 that he possessed the power to quicken her pulse, to 
 force the blood to her cheeks, to compel a languorous 
 light, which thrilled him, to gleam and burn in the 
 shadowy depths of those eyes which no beauty of 
 hue could rival. What had he done that he should be 
 so favoured, that this great lady should condescend 
 to smile upon him ? And her heart, he was firmly 
 convinced, was pure, and, like his own, incapable of 
 change. Was he not of all men most fortunate ? 
 Never again would he experience the agonizing 
 sensation of loneliness, the dull despair which, pre- 
 viously, it had been his lot to endure. His cup would 
 never again overflow with such bitterness. Surely, 
 too, he need have no dread of God's anger, for if He 
 had not countenanced, would He have permitted this 
 great love to enter into and possess him ? After all, 
 circumstances had combined to draw them together 
 this woman and himself. There was a similarity 
 in the actions which had decided their earthly 
 condition. 
 
 When in her childish innocence she had bound 
 herself to the Count, her age had prevented the 
 formation of a sound judgment, and thus her 
 happiness had been destroyed. Had he not, too, 
 plunged into an abyss, the depth and nature of which 
 he had neither fathomed nor understood ? In his 
 heart of hearts, the more he reflected, the more he 
 felt disposed to think that the Almighty in whom 
 he did not doubt existed the perfection of beneficence 
 and love, who indeed was love itself had never 
 intended, and did not wish, any of His creatures to 
 take such an oath as the Church thought fit to exact. 
 He could not associate it with the teaching of the 
 Blessed Saviour. No, no, there was some mistake, 
 something wrong. Man had invented it, and man 
 had erred. Why should he live in solitude, why 
 should he die, and even on his death-bed, in that last 
 
 p
 
 226 nig jflesb anfc Bloofc* 
 
 supreme agony, be cheered by no sweet human ties ? 
 Again he fell asleep, as he had often done, thinking 
 these things. 
 
 Surrendering herself to the greatest happiness she 
 had known, since recognising the failure of her 
 marriage perhaps the greatest happiness she had 
 ever known, for, after all, was she not a child in those 
 days? Blanche had retired for the night. Louis 
 was near to her. They understood each other, and a 
 summer during which they could be constantly 
 together lay before them. True, the position in 
 which they stood to each other was a terribly 
 unfortunate one. But why regard the unfortunate 
 side of it ? There was a bright one. And, after all, 
 life seemed a misfortune, a constant battle, in fact, so 
 long as the pulse should continue to beat, a perpetual 
 and heart-breaking struggle to stem the tide. 
 
 Well, she had fought till she was tired, and in this 
 tired condition, she was disposed to shrink from the 
 contemplation of stern, uncompromising actualities, 
 and to allow herself in spirit to glide midst the flowers 
 and the sunshine, to inhale the sweet odours, and allow 
 the soft, balmy winds to caress her heated cheek, and 
 play midst the tresses of her hair. She and Louis 
 could go thus hand in hand for a little, during which 
 they would be supremely happy, and then Well, 
 she was tired, and could not penetrate the profound 
 gloom beyond ; so, while shrinking from peering into 
 it, she slept like a child.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DREAD lest her influence with the Count should suffer, 
 had supplied Lisette's reason for visiting Paris. 
 Absence, and the distractions afforded by the gay 
 capital, might well cause him to forget her. She had 
 returned to La Jonquieres cured of such doubts, 
 richer by the value of costly presents, triumphant. 
 Her great physical beauty, she was now assured, was 
 sufficient to enchain the Count. 
 
 Intoxicated with her success, ignorant and vain, 
 she indulged in the contemplation of a number of 
 preposterous ideas and schemes for the future. 
 Count Rudolf was wealthy, and so far as she was 
 concerned, weak. This was a very pretty basis upon 
 which to build castles. Anything for her but the 
 prospect of a peasant for her husband, no matter how 
 thrifty and hard-working he might be a peasant 
 home in which she would have to do the drudgery, 
 and count, with care, the francs a peasant life ever 
 and always, with its uninteresting, intolerable mono- 
 tony. No, she would rather die than endure it ! 
 And, with her beauty, why should she? She was 
 convinced that no one would become a stately hotel, 
 fine clothes, and dashing equipages, better than her- 
 self. And it was in her power to obtain these 
 luxuries if she only played her cards well. Foolish 
 Lisette! Has not the familiar adage much truth 
 
 227
 
 228 <smi jflesb 
 
 in it for you : and such as you, " A silk purse 
 cannot be made out of a sow's ear " ? Perhaps you 
 may yet learn wisdom, but, if you do, you will come 
 by it only through much suffering. Meanwhile, for 
 Andre, and such as Andre, you have a contemptuous 
 shrug of your plump white shoulders, an insolent 
 pout of your red lips. With degrees of difference 
 there are not a few in the world like you, Lisette. 
 
 As for Andre Moriseau, what he had seen in Paris 
 he had kept to himself. Returning to the farm, each 
 day saw him working early and late midst the wind 
 and the sunlight. When he saw Lisette, his manner 
 towards her was unchanged. He pocketed her scorn, 
 as he did his pipe, when he had done smoking it. Of 
 what use to remonstrate with her? Better maintain a 
 phlegmatic silence, better keep his pride intact. He 
 had a dull, dogged sense which taught him this. 
 He could watch and wait. 
 
 Only when alone, sometimes, would his pent-up 
 fury, his hatred of the Count, explode. He had to 
 thank him, and no one else, for the misery he endured, 
 for the wreckage of his hopes. Vigorously he spat 
 and cursed him, yet his rage, instead of abating, 
 burned more fiercely. 
 
 And Count Rudolf, dressed to perfection, looking 
 the embodiment of health, with his gun over his 
 shoulder, and his dogs at his heels, amused himself 
 with consuming a vast number of cigarettes, with 
 la chasse, too, and with Lisette when he could get 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE stately Chateau de Courcelles was at length 
 ready for the reception of its new mistress. Lavishly, 
 and yet with the perfection of good taste, the Baron's 
 instructions had been executed. Nothing was want- 
 ing but the arrival of the marriage-day. And it 
 approached swiftly, the two young people, lover-like, 
 watching it draw near with rapture and impatience. 
 In spite of her protestations of future amendment, 
 Amy had again become absorbed in the Baron and 
 the coming event, which was to change her whole 
 existence as radically as her name. She had no time 
 to notice Blanche attentively. This was fortunate, 
 for, being a woman, under other circumstances she 
 could scarcely have failed to detect much that would 
 have surprised and puzzled her. Blanche was no 
 longer the same being. 
 
 What sober judgment would have declined to 
 permit, love, combined with pity, had effected at 
 one bound. How laboriously, and with what 
 mental anguish, had she succeeded in erecting 
 a rampart, which, she had believed, rendered her 
 proof against Louis. Yet it had been assaulted, 
 and carried with a few soft words, a sight of the 
 man, and at a first interview. Now, with the un- 
 reasonableness of love, she failed to see that she had 
 been weak. She regretted nothing that she had 
 
 229
 
 230 nig jflesb anb Blocto* 
 
 done ; believed herself strong still, when really de- 
 fenceless. Content to be blinded by love, she aban- 
 doned herself to the blissfulness of the sensation, with 
 a recklessness that love alone could have produced. 
 What would happen, what would be the result, she 
 made no attempt to anticipate. Her romantic tem- 
 perament was responsible for a new idea which 
 seized upon her after again meeting Louis. " I will 
 worship this man," she said to herself softly. " He 
 shall be to me an earthly Saviour, for through him I 
 shall be saved from myself. He whom I know to be 
 good and pure, is worthy of all the love I can bestow 
 upon him. Fate has cruelly separated us, but my 
 heart shall be none the less his, and I will be true 
 until, perhaps, in some brighter and better world I 
 may belong to him. I can make him happy. Is 
 not that something some reason why I should feel 
 contented, satisfied ? " 
 
 But, alas ! were human beings ever contented and 
 satisfied ? Was it not more probable that passion, 
 sudden and irresistible, would make its demands 
 would refuse to listen to the voice of reason, and, like 
 the mountain torrent, would sweep away all obstacles? 
 She did not realize this did not dream that it could 
 be so with her. But then she did not know how 
 much she loved. 
 
 " Tell me everything that happened to you during 
 those years when I was at the convent of the Sacred 
 Heart, and you were at the seminary at Rheims," she 
 said to Louis, during one of their conversations, 
 which she now regarded as daily luxuries. " Do you 
 recollect that I once said I should persuade you to 
 tell me about your past life ? " 
 
 " I remember perfectly," replied Louis gravely. 
 
 " It seems strange to think that we two were living 
 during all those years, receiving the impressions that 
 have made us what we are, and yet were totally
 
 231 
 
 unconscious of each other's individual exist- 
 ence." 
 
 " Strange, indeed." 
 
 " Were you happy, as, after all, I believe one is, 
 during one's school-days ? " 
 
 " I experienced a little pleasure, due, I now know, 
 to the fact that I was so young ; and a great deal of 
 misery owing to the restrictions and severity with 
 which I was treated. I know I may confide in you, 
 dear madame." 
 
 Blanche winced. She always did whenever Louis, 
 impelled by propriety, let slip the ceremonious appel- 
 lation. She longed with all her heart to hear him 
 call her Blanche. Would the time ever come when 
 openly he might speak to her so ? How could it ? 
 The reflection was a heart-breaking one, and over- 
 come by it, she found strength only to nod her head 
 in reply to him. 
 
 " Then I was profoundly wretched. The life in 
 the seminaries is little known, little understood. I 
 was sent to le petit seminaire at the age of twelve, and 
 remained there until I was about seventeen. During 
 that time, even the letters which were sent to me 
 were always opened before I received them. I was 
 never allowed to stir out without an attendant. The 
 greatest care was taken by the Superior to prevent 
 us from coming into contact with what is termed (une 
 personne du sexe] females. We were strictly forbidden 
 to possess any other than school books, and I 
 remember that one boy was nearly expelled for having 
 hidden some amusing secular work. Even during 
 our holidays, we were forbidden to attend any festivi- 
 ties, such as a simple country fair, for instance. But 
 does this really interest you ? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, go on, please. Whatever has so much 
 affected you, must interest me," she said simply. 
 
 The blood leapt into his face.
 
 232 <mi fflesb ant> 
 
 " How can I thank you enough ? What can I " 
 
 She held up her hand to silence him. 
 
 " By relating everything, as I have asked you." 
 
 With an effort Louis recovered himself. 
 
 "Well," he said, 'Met me think. A really good 
 seminarist would never look one of your sex in the 
 face, even if obliged to talk to her. I have known 
 some, who were so zealous that they would studiously 
 regard the toes of their boots. To prove to you how 
 severely treated we were, I will quote as an instance 
 this occurrence. A boy was found to possess a box 
 some paltry sweetmeat box upon the lid of which 
 was a coloured picture representing a woman's figure. 
 It was immediately confiscated by the Superior, who, 
 not content with that, made a speech in which he 
 dwelt upon the wickedness of such things. He then 
 tore it up, in the presence of the assembled semin- 
 arists. Now, how can such an education as this fit 
 one to be launched upon the world, when but a little 
 older, simply because a vow which has not been 
 understood has been taken ? At the end of five years 
 of this kind of surveillance I was sent to le grand 
 semznaire, where I first wore the cassock and lived in 
 a separate cell. All the rigours I have related to 
 you were there amplified. 
 
 " Once a week only were we permitted to go out 
 for a walk together. We were allowed no amusing 
 books. No kind of recreation, in fact, except on 
 wet days, when we indulged in backgammon, 
 dominoes, or draughts. Fancy, on the finest and 
 brightest of days, our only exercise was to pace 
 backwards and forwards, in groups of three and 
 four, but always facing each other. Oh! it was so 
 tiring, so monotonous, so heart-breaking, shut up 
 in a huge court-yard, when the sun was shining, 
 and one knew that everything was bright and fresh 
 and free, outside those gloomy walls.
 
 Jflesb ant> Bloot>. 233 
 
 " During all this, the principal theory taught us by 
 the Superior, was that salvation stood at the ratio 
 of perhaps five in one hundred. Five souls rescued, 
 ninety-five lost. In some instances, where passion, 
 an unsuitable temperament, dislike for the life, were 
 pleaded as reasons why the vow should not be 
 finally subscribed to, la discipline, or self-inflicted 
 flogging, was invariably recommended. The theory 
 of damnation so perpetually and untiringly taught, 
 as I have described, depresses and strikes such 
 terror into a young, sensitive and credulous mind, 
 that the torture endured is indescribable. It some- 
 times causes madness." 
 
 " How terrible." 
 
 " But you can easily understand how it occurs ; a 
 weakly constitution, combined with an acutely sen- 
 sitive mind, cannot endure the weight of such a 
 burden. Then, in addition to that, add the fact that 
 from the age of twenty-one we were compelled to 
 fast, having but one meal a day, and always rising at 
 five o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " Many men have ruined their constitutions through 
 fasting, and not a few have actually killed them- 
 selves. The Marquis de Gonzaga and Jean Berch- 
 mans, for instance, did so, and were canonized. If 
 I attempted to tell you how wretched I myself felt, 
 words would fail me. How I envied the birds, 
 how I envied anything that was free. I remember 
 looking out of the window of my cell one morning, 
 and seeing on the sloping roof before me two 
 sparrows playing contentedly with a straw. As I 
 watched them my tears flowed fast, so supremely 
 wretched did I feel, for it seemed to me that 
 those birds were far more fortunate than myself. 
 For them, during their brief life, there was love and 
 happiness, and after life, annihilation ; but for me, if 
 I believed what I was taught, what hope was there ?
 
 234 nl jflesb ant> 
 
 My heart was torn, my mind distracted, my " Louis' 
 voice failed him, the anguish of those dead years was 
 with him again as he spoke. At length huskily, and 
 after a long and painful pause, he added the next 
 disjointed words. " So now you will understand 
 something of what I went through. Such was my 
 boyhood, my youth, and so I felt when I became a 
 man. Will you think less of me for being so weak 
 and telling you so much ? " 
 
 The only answer Blanche made was to look at 
 him, and, as she did so, his heart bounded within 
 him, for her lips were quivering and her face was 
 wet with tears. At that instant, a passionate, a 
 maddening desire seized upon him. With his whole 
 soul he longed to fling his arms about her, to kiss the 
 trembling lips, and dry the dear tears which fell for 
 him. But swift as the heart-felt longing, there arose 
 before him a vision of the Count, the recollection of 
 himself as priest. 
 
 Were these thoughts honourable ? were they 
 manly ? were they right ? He shuddered, for he 
 knew they were not. Yet had they cost him his life, 
 he could not have prevented himself from thinking 
 them. Already it was almost beyond his strength 
 to control himself. And the man to whom this 
 woman belonged this woman who had awakened 
 such sentiments in him he knew to be neglectful of 
 her, incapable of appreciating her nobility of mind 
 and beauty of person. Beyond all that, thrusting it 
 into the shade, dwarfing it completely, as priest he 
 was tortured by the knowledge that this man was 
 untrue to her, wholly unworthy. 
 
 Was this not a powerful picture of life, turned to 
 meet his gaze ? As he comprehended its grotesque 
 proportions, and remembered the isolation to which 
 he was condemned, the sharpness of the pain he 
 endured became intensified. He averted his face,
 
 nip jflesb anfc !Blocto. 235 
 
 with clenched teeth, not daring to speak, until he had 
 recovered his tranquillity. At length, as the sun 
 struggles to pierce a mass of wintry clouds, so 
 through his lacerated feelings came a feeble and 
 forced attempt at a smile. 
 
 " I am going to show you that sometimes funny 
 things happened to us, too," he said, with a painful 
 effort at light - heartedness, " although it is but 
 another instance of the severity with which, what 
 were deemed the vanities of the world, were con- 
 cealed from us. I think it will make you laugh. 
 I daresay you may have noticed the little carts 
 upon which itinerant vendors of plaster figures dis- 
 play their wares ? " 
 
 Blanche nodded. 
 
 " Well, one of these men, probably impressed with 
 the imposing appearance of our seminary, which was 
 a huge building of three stories and believing that 
 where so many people lived, he would be able to 
 drive a brisk trade in statues, crucifixes, and images 
 of saints, directed his donkey to the gate, and rang 
 the bell. The door-keeper, a good brother of mature 
 age, on seeing such an array of saints, experienced 
 much gratification, and, without hesitation, allowed 
 the man to pass into our court-yard. We were at 
 that moment amusing ourselves by pacing up and 
 down the ground, as I have described to you. At 
 the sight of so many pretty things, we abandoned 
 our exercise and surrounded the donkey cart. 
 Amongst other saints, I remember a St. Louis de 
 Gonzaga in an attitude of devotion, clasping a 
 crucifix to his breast, several statues of the Blessed 
 Virgin in the attitude of immaculate conception 
 hands clasped together, and eyes directed heavenward, 
 as though rapt in contemplation. But in the centre 
 of these small devotional objects, prominently placed, 
 were two busts of women.
 
 236 nil? Jflesb atto 3Bloo>. 
 
 " ' What saints are those ? ' inquired one of our 
 number, an innocent lad who knew nothing about 
 feminine evening dress. 
 
 " ' Those two are not saints,' answered the owner of 
 the donkey cart ; ' but they are well known, and I 
 sell a great many of them. This one is our dear 
 Empress Eugenie, and this, Queen Victoria of 
 England.' 
 
 " These words were scarcely uttered, than like a bird 
 of prey, his eyes lighted by the fire of indignation, 
 our Superior himself descended upon us. With a 
 gesture of supreme Authority, as one accustomed to 
 be obeyed, he seized the donkey by the bridle, and 
 led him out, quick march, to our intense surprise, and 
 to the unfortunate owner's amazement. Poor man, 
 he had not remarked that as soon as he had entered 
 our court-yard, both he and his wares had been the 
 cynosure of the Fathers, who were themselves enjoy- 
 ing their recreation on the first floor of the seminary, 
 and from the windows were watching all the pro- 
 ceedings. I am not sure whether they at once 
 perceived the two d/collet/s busts, but the Superior 
 did, and promptly turned this emissary of Satan out 
 of the place. Not content with this, the Superior, 
 having made inquiries, discovered that the guilty one, 
 the one who had so recklessly imperilled our inno- 
 cence and peace of mind, was a brother. In order to 
 teach him to be prudent and watchful for the future, 
 the Superior sentenced him to be flogged for fifteen 
 minutes during three consecutive days, and to kneel 
 in our private chapel throughout the morning service." 
 
 Louis paused and looked at Blanche. He naturally 
 expected some evidence that she had listened to and 
 appreciated his story. He received nothing of the 
 kind. She was perfectly silent, and her usually mobile 
 face was expressive of gravity only. She was thinking. 
 What an existence Louis had sketched, and in a
 
 fflesb anfc Bloofc* 237 
 
 few words. What wearing and ceaseless torture 
 he must have endured ! She had no idea that every 
 priest had to go through such a fiery ordeal. And 
 after all those long years, years robbed of lightsome- 
 ness and freshness, what followed ? The spectacle of 
 Louis, lonely, unhappy, morbidly desirous of human 
 companionship, human ties. If ever a nature was 
 formed to love and be beloved, it was his. And 
 yet for him to think of love, in the carnal sense, 
 was a grave sin. There was something unnatural 
 in such a condition, it seemed to her ; and, placed 
 in it, she felt that she should have rebelled. But 
 how rebel ? and with what result ? Here she came 
 to a stand-still. 
 
 The next reflection, following this pause, was the 
 oft-indulged-in and enthralling one, that certainly, 
 Louis had never loved any other woman. She had 
 awakened the sentiment in him, therefore she might 
 the more absolutely believe in its purity and depth. 
 But was she not hideously to blame, then ? Of this 
 interrogation she shook herself free. Had she not 
 struggled ? And what had been the use? Now, no 
 penalty or threat would have induced her to forego 
 this dear delight, which warmed her heart and made 
 it pulsate as she had never thought to feel it. And 
 everything rested with her. She could do as she 
 pleased with this man, of that she had no doubt. 
 But such knowledge as this was almost too delicious. 
 It made her tremble. Was it not too much power to 
 possess, and might she not well fear, that in some 
 wild, weak moment, reason would be annihilated by 
 passion? The more she realized the depth of the 
 chasm dividing them, human-like, the more 
 vehemently did she long that it might be bridged. 
 When she attempted to measure her affection for this 
 man, who appeared to be so hopelessly lost to her, 
 she shuddered; for already she felt that she was
 
 238 nig fflesb an& 3Bloot>* 
 
 capable of doing and enduring without limit, if 
 by such means she might come to call him her own. 
 
 She did not comprehend that she was balancing 
 herself upon the extremity of a precipice, and that 
 though struggling to grow accustomed to the dizzy 
 height, it was questionable whether she would be able 
 to preserve her equilibrium. She was disposed to 
 consider herself strong the greatest proof of weak- 
 ness ; and in reality, she no longer possessed the 
 power to extricate herself from the dangers which 
 beset her. In her condition of mind, her judgment 
 was so warped that it amounted to no judgment at 
 all, such violent hands had love laid upon her. Its 
 grip, too, was tightening. 
 
 She awoke from her reverie Louis having re- 
 mained at her side without attempting to speak. 
 And they were seated thus, in the kiosk, at the 
 back of which Louis had so distinctly heard her sobs, 
 and the Count's voice raised in anger. 
 
 " I shall not tell you what I was thinking," she 
 said suddenly. " I heard every word you said, and 
 was deeply interested. But just as you finished 
 speaking, ideas crowded into my mind, and I 
 preferred to evolve rather than scatter them." 
 
 " I knew it, and took care not to interrupt you," he 
 replied simply. 
 
 " Well, in return for your forbearance, you shall 
 have the best cup of tea I can give you ; and here it 
 comes." Then, to the servant who entered bearing 
 the precious equipage, she added : " Be good enough 
 to tell Mademoiselle Amy that we are waiting for 
 her." 
 
 Seated before the steaming stimulant, doling out 
 the crystal sugar and rich yellow cream, no one 
 could have seemed further removed from aught that 
 could disturb. True, she was engaged in pouring 
 out tea for the man she loved. No wonder, then,
 
 239 
 
 that her eyes sparkled, and that her golden hair and 
 fair complexion, further set off by a perfectly fitting 
 and yet simple attire, made an irresistibly dazzling 
 combination. 
 
 The interior of the kiosk was bright and even 
 elegant. The cunning art of the Japanese had em- 
 broidered the hangings which adorned the walls, 
 with a lightness and brilliancy which was almost 
 startling. Pale blue mountains, calm pellucid lakes, 
 temples, gaudy butterflies and birds soaring beneath 
 blossoming trees and azure skies, were portrayed with 
 a daring but peculiar skill. Thick straw mats 
 deadened the sound of footsteps. The lacquer furni- 
 ture was profusely enriched with gold, and a subdued 
 light was obtained by means of closely-drawn silken 
 curtains, while from the roof a splendid bronze 
 lantern, with coloured glass panes, hung suspended by 
 a metal chain. And it was to this luxurious retreat 
 that these two now frequently came, in the cool 
 evening time, the hour when, with his day's work done, 
 Louis abandoned himself rapturously to breathing 
 the same air as Blanche, feasting his eyes upon her, 
 listening to the soft, bell-like ripple of her voice. 
 
 41 But, do you know," remarked Louis thoughtfully, 
 while tapping his cup with his teaspoon, " it seems to 
 me that you don't quite realize how much I suffered, 
 in the days I have spoken of. True, words are inade- 
 quate to describe what I endured." 
 
 "There may be truth in what you say. It is 
 difficult to place oneself in the exact position of 
 another, impossible in fact, for one thinks with a 
 different mind. But I must have convinced you that 
 I sympathized very sincerely," she replied, in tones of 
 reproof. 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed you have." 
 
 44 Shall I tell you how to treat anything disagree- 
 able ? "
 
 240 nig tflesb anfc 3Bloo&, 
 
 "Consign it to oblivion?" he suggested, hap-hazard. 
 
 " That's it, consign it to oblivion. The worst aspect 
 your revelations wear, is when one says to oneself 
 yes, but these abuses are going on at this very 
 moment. Human beings are enduring, and preparing 
 to endure, what you have felt and are still feeling." 
 
 " Yes, that is it ; and what I shall continue to feel 
 all my life, unless " 
 
 " Unless what ? " 
 
 "Ah, I cannot say. At least, not yet. I have 
 thought very deeply, I assure you, all this long winter 
 through. Some day, when my ideas are clearer, I'll 
 come and tell you, though, when I do, you are more 
 than likely to say, this man is a depraved monster." 
 
 " That's absurd ; but you should not tantalize me 
 by throwing out so many vague suggestions. I am 
 half inclined to try what persuasion will do now." 
 
 ' I could not tell you, until I am convinced that my 
 judgment is sound." 
 
 " Dear me, how seriously you speak." 
 
 " It is a serious subject," he answered gravely. 
 
 " More enigmas. Well, I will not question you. I 
 j-hall await the result of your cogitations. For the 
 present, though, let me entreat you to forget the un- 
 pleasantness of the past, and you shall have my 
 friendship to enable you to do so. Come, is it a 
 bargain ? " she asked sweetly. 
 
 " A bargain, the benefits of which are all on my 
 side." 
 
 " That can scarcely be said, when it affords me so 
 much pleasure." 
 
 The appearance of Amy, looking radiant, put an 
 end to the conversation.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 AT length the ardently-desired marriage day had 
 stolen its silent march upon the two young people. 
 At La Jonquieres, it was evident, during the earliest 
 hours of the morning, that something unusual was in 
 the wind. 
 
 There was to be a general holiday for miles 
 round, which was to terminate with a fte in the 
 beautiful old park of the Chateau de Courcelles. 
 The Baron had persuaded Amy that instead of 
 rushing off to some outlandish place, where they 
 would probably be made excessively uncomfortable, 
 it would be much nicer to spend their honeymoon in 
 the spot so endeared to him by the recollection of his 
 boyhood. Besides, they would be near everyone at La 
 Jonquieres, and could see them, should they wish it. 
 And what could be jollier than to celebrate their 
 happy union by giving the peasants, who cared to 
 come, a feast, and freedom from toil for that day at 
 least? The suggestion charmed Amy; so while a stir 
 was taking place at the Chateau de la Jonquieres, De 
 Courcelles, escorted by a relative or two, whose 
 existence it was impossible to ignore, inspected the 
 preparations, giving hints and directions to the work- 
 men, who were employed in erecting what was 
 intended as a ball-room for the country folk. There 
 was to be a pyrotechnical display upon a grand scale. 
 
 241 Q
 
 242 nls fflesb anfc Bloofc, 
 
 The lake was to be illuminated. There were to be 
 boats decked with flowers and Chinese lanterns, from 
 which musicians were to fill the air with sweet strains. 
 Merry-go-rounds had been put up for the children, 
 an abundance of good things had been provided, and 
 everyone was expected to eat, drink, and be happy. 
 From the first peep of day, the sky had been 
 anxiously scanned, but when the mist cleared away 
 the sun shone forth with a brilliancy that banished 
 all misgivings on the score of the weather. The 
 party from La Jonquieres, consisting of Blanche, 
 Amy, Louis Bernard, and the Count, arrived at the 
 hour arranged. And, at the last moment, M. Brunot, 
 who had got wind of the affair, drove over from 
 Mezieres in his gala barouche, and, as it were, 
 bounced upon the scene, bringing a superb present 
 of sapphires and diamonds. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear fellow ; the man means 
 well," replied De Courcelles, in response to the Count's 
 growls and objections to his presence ; " we can't very 
 well turn him out." 
 
 " But fancy the cheek of the fellow ; was there ever 
 such a piece of impertinence ? " retorted the Count, 
 with unappeased wrath. 
 
 Arranging themselves in the chapel which, if 
 diminutive, was a masterpiece of sculptured marble 
 and costly stained glass, bearing the De Courcelles 
 escutcheon Louis, in a firm and impressive voice, 
 performed the simple ceremony which bound these 
 two together. The park gates were then thrown 
 open, and the public began to take possession of the 
 place. The open-air orchestra made itself heard, and 
 the sounds of laughter and merriment penetrated 
 even into the chateau. 
 
 Amidst mirth, good wishes, and much health- 
 drinking, darkness stole over the sky. The Baron, 
 who had made a speech which had been cheered
 
 jflesb ant> Bloo&. 243 
 
 to the echo, was on the terrace with Amy and 
 those who had come to do him honour. Louis 
 and Blanche were leaning over the balustrade watch- 
 ing the brilliant scene, preparatory to an early 
 return to La Jonquieres, upon which the Count had 
 insisted. The lake was ablaze with dancing lights, 
 beneath which the rippling water, curling before a 
 gentle breeze, shone like silver. Coloured lanterns, 
 of all shapes and hues, had been fixed to the sweep- 
 ing boughs of the ancient trees, and these, with their 
 flickering light, illuminated the woodland aisles and 
 stretches of smooth turf, upon which soldiers from the 
 garrison at Givet strolled and made love to the pretty 
 village girls. Andre\ who was looked upon as already 
 done for, in consequence of his passion for Lisette, 
 was there ; but Lisette, in accordance with the fine 
 ideas she had developed latterly, had preferred to 
 remain at home. This assemblage of peasants was no 
 longer to her taste. 
 
 Louis Bernard's heart was full. The events of the 
 day had suggested much. Had he not united the 
 sister of the woman he worshipped to the man she 
 desired ? And loving Blanche as he did, was it 
 possible for him to stand at her side, with marriage 
 and the thoughts of marriage borne, as it were, upon 
 the soft night air, without thinking of what might 
 have been had Fate decreed otherwise ? Was not 
 his condition one in which the struggle between 
 the fleshly desires of the body, and the purer and 
 loftier aspirations of the soul, was sure to be a 
 desperate one, and on this day more than on 
 others, Amy and the Baron's happiness being so 
 apparent ? 
 
 To enjoy the intimate companionship of a woman of 
 Blanche's beauty, on such a night, without in his 
 weak moments coveting her madly, was beyond his 
 strength. He felt himself to be a man, not a saint.
 
 244 nls jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 
 
 Had there been the least chance for him, a hope, 
 however faint, that time might remove the obstacles 
 which separated them, he would have experienced 
 greater contentment. But his position afforded him 
 no hope. Look on which side he would, darkness 
 confronted him. Morally he was convinced that she 
 already belonged to him ; materially, that they were 
 lost to each other. Beatitude, ineffable bliss, was his 
 on the one hand ; on the other, an abyss, the obscurity 
 of which was profound. 
 
 Nothing either could ameliorate his condition. 
 At first it had appeared possible to him to rest 
 content with her friendship, to lay aside all thoughts 
 of a closer bond, to be satisfied to see and speak 
 with her, to enjoy this inestimable boon of social 
 intercourse, and to wish for no more. He had 
 come to recognise that this was not enough, and 
 now, as he leant over the balustrade at her side, 
 more imperatively than ever. If she had been happy, 
 if she had not loved him in return, he would have 
 torn himself away, sought the rigid discipline of some 
 monastery, perhaps, and trusted in that, and time, to 
 effect some sort of cure. But she did love him, and 
 assuredly she was unhappy. 
 
 Almost identically the same thoughts had entered 
 Blanche's mind, and intuitively she had guessed what 
 was passing in his. She knew that, like her own, his 
 heart-strings were wrung with conflicting feelings, 
 but with a woman's tender devotion, she forgot herself, 
 in her desire to alleviate his sufferings. Could she 
 not say something that would sooth and cheer him, 
 though to make the attempt was like playing with 
 gunpowder? Obedient to this impulse, she remarked 
 softly at his elbow : 
 
 " You are depressed to-night, I think." 
 
 He was conscious of a slight shock, for he had been 
 absorbed in his reflections.
 
 nig jflesb an& 3BIoofc, 245 
 
 " Depressed what makes you think so ? " he asked, 
 recovering himself. 
 
 " Because I have watched you through the day." 
 
 An expression of mingled delight and triumph 
 played over his features. It was so sweet to him to 
 hear her admit that he was an object of interest to 
 her. 
 
 " Oh," he answered, in a low voice. " When look- 
 ing upon some brilliant scene, by some strange 
 perversity of human nature, I often feel tempted to 
 conjure a gloomy one ; to anticipate a metamor- 
 phosis. With festivity before me, so much joyousness 
 in the atmosphere, I have, perhaps, been selfish and 
 foolish enough to think of myself, to contrast my 
 own existence and prospects with the lives and pro- 
 bable futures of those about me." 
 
 " And is the comparison so unfavourable for you?" 
 
 " Sometimes I think so." 
 
 " But you would not change places with any of those 
 people about us ? With the gardener, for instance, who 
 is busy letting off those rockets, with the peasants, or 
 even the soldiers, who are going to eat and drink till 
 they can eat and drink no more, make love to any- 
 thing in the shape of a woman, and return to the 
 barracks in a glorious condition of imbecility ? " 
 
 " I am not prepared to say." 
 
 "Would you wish to possess coarse features, a 
 clumsy frame, and blunted susceptibilities, in order 
 that you might enjoy life as they do? You surely 
 prefer learning and refinement to ignorance and vul- 
 garity?" 
 
 "But is there any necessity to coin such violent 
 contrasts ? Why could not one be simple, honest, and 
 free, without being stupid and vulgar ? " 
 
 She did not choose to notice the remark. 
 
 " Hush, I want to make you recognise how much 
 you have to be thankful for."
 
 fflesb an& IBloofc. 
 
 " I ought to need no such lesson," he retorted bitterly. 
 
 " Please don't be offended with me for speaking my 
 mind." 
 
 " You may make me ashamed of myself, but you 
 can never offend me." 
 
 "Ah, you don't know how terribly brusque and dis- 
 agreeable I can be." 
 
 " No ; experience may teach me much, but it won't 
 teach me that." 
 
 Blanche smiled tranquilly, but her heart beat fast. 
 It was so sweet to her to receive these apparently 
 trivial compliments from this man, knowing that he 
 meant so much more than the actual words he used 
 implied. 
 
 " But listen," she went on, "just consider what the 
 last twenty-four hours have been. You have had a 
 roof to shelter you, every luxury, and any number of 
 friends." 
 
 " All of which the roof and the luxuries, at least I 
 would gladly exchange for the constant companion- 
 ship of someone who loved me," he answered, 
 lowering his voice, yet in tender though vehement 
 accents. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ; you imagine all that" 
 
 " You can say so?" he interrupted, almost threaten- 
 ingly. 
 
 She silenced him with a gesture peculiar to her. 
 
 " It is an acknowledged fact that human beings are 
 seldom contented with what they possess, or can 
 acquire easily. What they have, they think least of. 
 Those one has lost, one loves best. Come, try to 
 be contented. I implore you to be more, even ; be 
 brave, and help me to be so." 
 
 He understood her perfectly. Like him, she was 
 devoured by the fire which love had kindled in her. 
 In her calm moments, perhaps, she hated to think 
 herself so weak so erring. The nobility of her
 
 nig jflesb ant) Bloofc. 247 
 
 nature rebelled against this partial material triumph. 
 And, rather than succumb, she was disposed to call 
 upon him for aid ; to derive strength from an appeal 
 to those good qualities which she credited him with 
 possessing, to urge him to prove that, in a deadly 
 struggle, matter stood no chance against mind. But 
 what a delicious admission of her weakness what a 
 convincing proof of her confidence in him. And 
 thus, having practically said to him, " Come, let us do 
 what is right, let us adhere to the most rigid lines of 
 honour, let us be true to our better natures true to 
 ourselves," was she to be subjected to the pain of 
 finding out that he was less of a man than she 
 thought ? He it was who should have set this 
 example, and yet, though his life had been spent in 
 studying the sacred writings, in the pursuit of good, 
 here was a woman who could teach him his duty. A 
 sense of shame overcame him, but, despite it, his 
 admiration for her was strengthened. Her face, pale 
 and expressive of fear lest she should have said too 
 much, lest she should have given offence, was turned 
 to him inquiringly. Resolutely he encountered her 
 gaze. 
 
 " You are quite right," he said, almost in a whisper; 
 " I deserve reproof. I assure you, I am often dis- 
 gusted with myself; I, who ought to know what is 
 right, and who should be able to do it, but " 
 
 " No, no, you misunderstand me," she interrupted, 
 while casting an anxious glance over her shoulder, as 
 though dreading observation. As she again turned 
 her head, satisfied that no one was watching them, 
 the Count appeared at one of the windows, almost 
 immediately behind her, through which opening a 
 strong light was flung upon the terrace. Striking a 
 favourite attitude by leaning against the woodwork, 
 the Count appeared to be sufficiently interested to 
 notice them narrowly. In this intention he was
 
 248 nip jflesb an& 3Bloot>. 
 
 further aided by the position in which he stood, and 
 the powerful rays from the magnificent crystal chande- 
 lier. He had merely been making a tour of the grand 
 drawing-room, amusing himself by examining some 
 exquisite pastels and certain pieces of china which the 
 Baron set immense store by, but, having completed 
 this inspection, his progress had been arrested by the 
 sight of the two figures before him. 
 
 "You misunderstand me," repeated Blanche 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed I don't. As I have said, you are 
 perfectly right, and certainly, if I contrast my 
 position with that of many a man who has perhaps 
 undergone all, and more than I have, I ought to be 
 unfeignedly thankful. Had there been, for instance, 
 no living soul in this place in whom I could confide, 
 I should have been a thousand times worse off". In 
 that case I might have been justified in indulging in 
 despondency ; as it is, I am ungrateful, and don't 
 deserve to be happy." 
 
 " Listen to me," said Blanche, in anxious tones. 
 
 " But I want you to hear what I have got to say 
 first, or it will be driven out of my head. With you 
 to take an interest in me, to see and be with me, 
 almost every day for at least half the year, instead of 
 grumbling, I should be as joyous and light-hearted as 
 any peasant in the arrondissement. That I am not 
 so is my own fault. I am not genuine not what I 
 seem. If I only had the welfare of others uppermost 
 in my mind, instead of my own, I should be a 
 different being. Come, I will ask you to help me 
 to enable me to become a better man ; and you you 
 can do it." 
 
 This speech, which he believed to be as harmless 
 as true, produced anything but the effect he had 
 intended. She became alarmed. He was annoyed, 
 mortified, she felt certain. Once before, on her
 
 jflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 249 
 
 return from Paris, fear of a coldness, dread of occa- 
 sioning a breach which might not be filled up, had 
 caused her to fling prudence to the winds. Without 
 a moment's hesitation she did so again. 
 
 " I have offended you, and you are sarcastic," she 
 exclaimed. "Well, you have a right to be so. I 
 have said enough to make you angry with me. You 
 whose life has been one long sacrifice, who are 
 beloved by every soul who has ever sought your help, 
 and who would give the very coat you wear to the 
 poor, you are to be altered into something better, and 
 I am to do it I, who have been the one disturbing 
 element in your life. Do you think I don't know 
 that but for me you would have lived here, respected 
 and at peace ? It's all my fault. Better a thousand 
 times that you had never seen me. I am the cause 
 of" 
 
 Her words died upon her lips. With his face 
 transfigured, scarcely believing his ears, he gazed 
 upon her, and as he did so the power of speech 
 forsook her. The blood deserted her cheeks. Con- 
 sumed by her love, she longed to abandon herself, to 
 rest her head upon his shoulder, to cease this strife 
 that was costing her such terrible suffering, and the 
 end of which seemed shrouded in chaotic gloom. 
 Subjugated, trembling, Louis' head swam. The 
 mastery over himself hung as by a hair. 
 
 At that critical moment a step sounded behind 
 them, and in his polished accents the Count said : 
 
 " Ah, I have found you at last. I had a sort of 
 idea that you were strolling about in the gardens, 
 but was beginning to believe myself doomed to search 
 in vain, until I thought of looking for you here. 
 Really, the illuminations are most effective : under the 
 influence of the magic power of light the place has 
 become a sort of fairyland eh ? Well, we have spent 
 a most delightful day, have we not ? However, I
 
 250 tils fflesb ant> 3Bloot>* 
 
 am bound to convey the unpleasant information that 
 the carriage is waiting, and, since we have a long 
 drive before us, we must not start too late." 
 
 While dropping every word deliberately, as though 
 firing them from a revolver, the Count's eyes were not 
 idle, but darted from Louis to Blanche, who had just 
 sufficient presence of mind to say: 
 
 " Then, in that case, we will go. Will you give me 
 your arm, Monsieur 1'Abbe" ? " 
 
 Then, with quickened pulse and crimson cheeks, 
 she swept past the Count, directing her steps towards 
 the Baron, who, with Amy clinging to him on one 
 side, was, on the other, more than balanced by the 
 heavy arm of an enormously fat maternal aunt, the 
 old Duchess D'Aiguillon, whom he really wished far 
 enough, but with whom he was laughing good- 
 naturedly, having just returned from a tour of the 
 gardens. 
 
 " Countess, we must have a last little chat to- 
 gether," he said to Blanche, as they all met. " I 
 have seen positively nothing of you." Then contriv- 
 ing to elude the vigilance of the stout old lady, he 
 drew Blanche aside, and together they descended 
 the steps into the garden. " I fear," he went on, 
 " that this fete of mine has bored you. No ; well 
 I am glad, then. But while I think of it, I want 
 to say a few words, and since the occasion I 
 have chosen is an eventful one, perhaps we shall 
 both remember them better. Now that I am 
 Amy's husband, I don't want to lapse into the 
 orthodox specimen of a legally-made relative of the 
 rather-to-be-avoided type. You may want someone 
 you can depend upon some day ; who can tell ? If 
 you do, will you come to me, that's all ? " 
 
 The young fellow slipped his arm through 
 Blanche's as he spoke, as though he would say, 
 " Come, I have a right to you now. From to-night
 
 jflesb anfc BlooO, 251 
 
 we are relatives in earnest," regarding her at the 
 same time with the ingenuousness which had always 
 so strongly prepossessed her in his favour. 
 
 " Indeed, I won't forget. I will come to you. 
 You are so kind," she answered, endeavouring to be- 
 stow upon him her whole attention, for her brain was 
 still whirling with thoughts of Louis and the Count's 
 interruption. 
 
 " Yes ; but mind we must be sworn friends," per- 
 sisted the Baron. " Now that you have entrusted me 
 with a priceless treasure, you must bestow upon me 
 what stands next in value in my eyes your friend- 
 ship. You know the worst of me by this time." 
 
 " I'm not going to tell you what opinion 1 have 
 formed of you," replied Blanche, with pretty coquetry ; 
 " but I have lived long enough to know how to value 
 disinterested friendship, to remember that blood is 
 thicker than water, and as a proof of the importance 
 I attach to all you have said, see, you may kiss me, 
 and we will be brother and sister." 
 
 Presenting her soft cheek, De Courcelles gravely 
 and reverently impressed upon it the caress she had 
 invited. 
 
 " Now that our compact is sealed," she continued, 
 " you must take me back, or Rudolf will be angry. 
 Already I must have kept him waiting." Then with 
 a sudden burst of feeling, as she recollected her own 
 loveless hearth to which she was returning, she 
 added, " May you be happy, very happy always, 
 happier ever so much than I am." 
 
 No reply was possible, for at that fnstant M. 
 Brunot joined them, and in his loud, vulgar voice 
 said : 
 
 " Ah, Madame la Comtesse, this odour of orange 
 blossoms is intoxicating. The sight of so much 
 beauty disturbs me. Only a moment ago I found 
 myself telling Monsieur 1'Abbe Bernard, that I might
 
 252 nls jflesb anb ffiloofc, 
 
 apply to him sooner than he expected. Ah, I am 
 keeping my eyes open." 
 
 " Quite right ; that is what you should do, Brunot. 
 You will never be complete until you have ceased to 
 be a bachelor, mind that," interposed De Courcelles 
 cheerily, and drawing Blanche past the noisy and 
 ambitious Deputy, he observed, " We have got rid of 
 that fellow, at all events ; but here is Amy with some 
 wraps." 
 
 " Are you coming, Blanche ? " called the Count, 
 from the terrace. " Come along." 
 
 " Rudolf has again been in pursuit of you, dear," 
 remarked Amy affectionately. " He is grumbling at 
 the prospect of a jolt over bad roads in the dark, and 
 declares he wanted to start an hour ago, but that you 
 have eluded him like a phantom. You must come 
 and have some wine before you go, and put this 
 round your throat." 
 
 " But I'm not delicate." 
 
 " Monsieur, to you I intrust this wrap. Envelop 
 my sister in it," retorted the lively girl, addressing 
 Louis. Then, literally making her swallow the wine, 
 they all trooped to the carriage, near which the ob- 
 sequious M. Brunot had already stationed himself. 
 With a last vigorous hug from Amy, Blanche was 
 suffered to take her seat. 
 
 " Now, mind, we must meet soon," called the 
 Baron, and then the wheels began to crunch over the 
 gravel drive, and midst the sounds of merriment 
 from the revellers in the park, they set off for La 
 Jonquieres.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE Count had both seen and heard enough, not 
 only to arouse his suspicions, but to convince him 
 that Louis and Blanche were actually in love with 
 each other. He made no attempt to mince matters, 
 by endeavouring to place some more moderate con- 
 struction upon what he had witnessed. His fury, 
 then, may be imagined. 
 
 During Blanche's brief saunter in the garden 
 with De Courcelles, he had time to consider how 
 he should act. And for the moment he decided 
 to dissemble. They should never suspect anything 
 until he was ready, then the blow he might strike 
 would descend with more crushing effect. In ac- 
 cordance with this determination, he became a model 
 of amiability through the whole of the drive, talk- 
 ing with much verve, and concealing his real feelings 
 with such consummate skill, that Louis, and even 
 Blanche, was completely deceived. 
 
 Once alone, however, the Count presented a very 
 different spectacle. After a violent explosion, and 
 with features distorted with anger, he began to 
 examine the situation with some semblance of calm- 
 ness. All the same, he continued to pace the room, 
 puffing at his cigarettes as though he felt himself 
 capable of disposing of those who dared to cross his 
 path, with the same ease and promptitude. So this 
 
 253
 
 254 nls fflesb anfc 
 
 was madame's lover the lover for whom he had 
 kept such a sharp look-out. And this lover was a 
 priest Mille tonnerres ! Was it not enough to 
 choke him ? This woman, who was in the best 
 Parisian society, who had been surrounded by the 
 most distinguished representatives of the foreign 
 colony, who was a power in the Parisian fashionable 
 world this woman had taken it into her stupid head 
 to fall in love with a poor devil of a priest. 
 
 By Jove, no wonder he ground his teeth. Had she 
 not posed as the most immaculate of her sex ? And 
 really he had believed her to be proof against all 
 attacks. And she chose to open his eyes thus. He 
 reflected with greater deliberation. Like a detective 
 sifting the information placed at his disposal, he 
 cautiously felt his way backwards, laboriously recall- 
 ing words, and reckoning up events, until he stopped 
 dead before his interview with Blanche, the result of 
 which had been their return to Paris. 
 
 Why had she come to him with that suddenly 
 conceived desire? Why had she urged him with all 
 the eloquence and determination at her command ? 
 Fool that he had been ! Her reasons were plain 
 enough now. From that day, or near upon it, the 
 serious aspect of this love affair dated. And to 
 escape from it, she had recognised the necessity for 
 quitting La Jonquieres. Lisette and his amour with 
 her had nothing to do with it, conceited ass that he 
 had been. As she had told him, she was not in love 
 with him. But in that case, her hasty departure, 
 which, now that he thought upon it, amounted to 
 flight, was the action of a good and noble woman, 
 obeying the prompting of a virtuous and upright 
 heart. Her conduct, too, during those months in 
 Paris. It was perfectly obvious. She had sought to 
 discover in him the protection she felt she stood in 
 need of. Under his wing she had endeavoured to
 
 fflesb aiti> ifBlocto* 255 
 
 shelter herself, and he had done his best to drive her 
 from him. But why, then, had she not retracted the 
 expressions she had used to him ? They had stung 
 him to the quick, raised the pride, the devil in him. 
 
 Ever since the night on which she had told him 
 of her desire to be his wife in the world's eyes only, 
 he had kept aloof from her. They had maintained 
 the outward appearances she had asked for ; beyond 
 that, they had been dead to each other. For, what- 
 ever he was, he had not sunk so low as to force 
 himself upon any woman. She had chosen to 
 continue cursedly obstinate, content that her words 
 should lie and rankle in his heart. Well, that was 
 no fault of his. In addition, it was true, she had 
 occasionally stumbled across some peccadillo or 
 other of his ; this had set her by the ears, and here 
 was the result. What was he to infer, then, from the 
 fact that though she had treated this Abbe even 
 rudely while in Paris, on meeting him again and he 
 like an idiot had brought him to the chateau she 
 had received him with open arms ? He recalled the 
 slight feeling of surprise he had experienced when, on 
 returning to them, they had appeared to be sworn 
 friends. Did this mean that she had struck her flag, 
 and, in fact, ceased to make further resistance to 
 him ? Taken in conjunction with the intimacy which 
 had since continued without intermission, it would 
 seem so. A cold sweat broke out upon his forehead. 
 He had not thought he could feel so keenly about 
 this woman. But she was his wife ; she bore his 
 name. And never before had she given him cause 
 to think that she favoured another man. 
 
 All at once he became furiously jealous. What he 
 did himself was one thing ; what ^e might do was 
 another. No comparison could be made between them. 
 There never had been such a comparison rationally 
 attempted since the days of Adam. A little looseness
 
 256 nig jflesb ant) 
 
 on his part might not be quite right certainly was 
 not right ; but then had he happened to live a few 
 centuries earlier, he could have had as many wives as 
 he pleased. But polyandry had practically no place 
 in civilized history. Where he was to blame was in 
 having let her discover his little weaknesses. But 
 how the deuce could he have helped it ? 
 
 And all this had come about been brought to a 
 crisis, at all events in consequence of a stupidflencfrant 
 of his for a peasant girl. Certainly she was pretty, 
 adorably so, and possessed a matchless figure ; but, well, 
 what was to be done? What proportions had the affair 
 assumed? Were these two really anything to each 
 other ? He could not induce himself to believe that 
 she was false, actually bad. However, in any case, 
 she was to blame. She had made love to the man 
 to begin with, or he would never have so far forgotten 
 himself. Certainly, she was very much in love with 
 this Abbe". He had known that the moment he had 
 looked at her. And for the Abb6 himself, he was 
 ready to swear that he had never seen such an expres- 
 sion on any human face. Creeping up close to them 
 unobserved, as he had, he had been amazed. 
 
 There remained no longer a doubt, then ; she did 
 not care for him. 
 
 Well, was there not enough to infuriate him in this 
 sensation that he was not beloved ? He, Count 
 Rudolf, who had won and trifled away so many 
 hearts, counted for nothing with his own wife ab- 
 solutely nothing ! And was he the sort of man to 
 submit to this state of things ? Hardly. This in- 
 fernal scoundrel, this Bernard, should rue the day 
 he had dared to raise his eyes to a woman who 
 bore the name of La Jonquieres, even if she did 
 forget herself sufficiently to encourage him. 
 
 What had a priest to do with love ? True, he 
 was a human being. Warm blood coursed through
 
 jplesb anfc 3Bloot>, 257 
 
 his veins, feeding the fires of affection, tenderness, 
 love of companionship, longing for aught that he 
 might coil about him and cling to ; but by the terms 
 of his vow, this blood should have stagnated, this 
 susceptible heart withered. In any case, this man 
 Bernard must leave La Jonqui^res. His Count 
 Rudolfs influence would effect that. It was cer- 
 tainly in his power to ruin him if he pleased. And 
 he might please. This done, madame would come 
 to terms, sue for pardon, do anything to avoid 
 scandal, anything he told her to do in future. For 
 the weapon he now grasped could be wielded as he 
 should see fit. And for his method of dealing with 
 this ridiculous pair of lovers, he would strike terror 
 into their hearts when they least expected it. 
 
 Were his feelings to be outraged ? his honour 
 tarnished ? They should see. In this kind of mood, 
 the Count shut himself up in his room, keeping his 
 anger and jealousy so warm that he forgot something. 
 He had not insisted on returning to La Jonquieres 
 so early that evening without a purpose. Lisette 
 was at the bottom of this. But he did not remember 
 her, so full was he of his discovery ; and so she cooled 
 her pretty little heels, and stamped them, too, while 
 he slept Poor Lisette ! Honest Andre* would not 
 have treated you so. He was not sleeping could 
 not sleep for thinking of you.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 So, while the Count slumbered, Lisette fidgeted, 
 fumed, and finally regained her bed with the stealth 
 by which she left it hugging something tightly 
 though, and this was her newly-conceived wrath. 
 
 Beneath the red-tiled roof of the old farm-house 
 amongst the poplars, Andr^ Moriseau lay staring 
 at the white -washed walls of his room, and at 
 the ceaseless moving shadows caused by the wav- 
 ing boughs and fluttering leaves of the trees, as 
 the moon soared behind them, and the night wind 
 sped on its way. This waiting, this keeping his own 
 counsel, while love ate him up, was killing him. He 
 was being robbed of his dark-eyed, dark-haired, be- 
 witching little Lisette, by this grand seigneur^ against 
 whom he could not raise a hand. He was as im- 
 potent to contend against him, as the poplar leaves 
 were to cease quivering in the wind. And no good 
 could come to his darling only dishonour. Her dis- 
 honour she whom he worshipped. He pictured the 
 scene. The amorous Lisette, her head turned, yield- 
 ing, conquered, won. In an agony of mind, this 
 strong man lay thinking, goaded to madness, the 
 sweat rolling down his face. 
 
 De Courcelles and his fond girl-bride were alone 
 258
 
 259 
 
 with each other, for the fete was over, the chateau 
 plunged into gloom. 
 
 Blanche, blushing for the weakness she had dis- 
 played, yet while blushing, rejoicing in the delight 
 she now experienced in living, folded her pretty hands 
 last thing of all, and, borne heavenwards, prayed 
 with the tears in her soft blue eyes, that God would 
 give His angels charge over her. 
 
 Louis, afloat upon the high fever of the day's doings, 
 with sparkling eyes, paced between the limits of his 
 four cheerless walls, too excited, too happy to rest 
 for a long while, and finally succumbing to physical 
 exhaustion only to enter into a new life with 
 Blanche. And what bliss, to sink into a delicious 
 slumber and live with her, as he so longed to in 
 reality. During this complete mental transmigration, 
 he joined Blanche where the sky was blue, the sun 
 unclouded. He was her husband. No longer was he 
 fettered. The gulf between them was at last spanned. 
 She was his. He could sit at her dear feet, and listen 
 to her clear, soft voice, pouring out in return all the 
 promptings of his overcharged heart. Those lovely 
 lips he had watched so long, and wanted, were now 
 pressed to his. Her arms encircled him ; their hearts 
 beat only for each other. What rapture thus to 
 merge his being in hers, to see no one, to remember 
 nothing, to have no wish but to be always with her. 
 Then, soon, they were not alone. This exquisite 
 woman had developed into a mother. Children 
 played about them their children. No rough 
 winds shook the blossoming boughs which sheltered 
 these darlings from the dancing sunbeams. The very 
 gravel was smoothed, that the rosy feet of Blanche's 
 dear ones might stray unharmed. His heart was not 
 large enough to hold all the love they inspired. Birds 
 filled the air with their choicest songs, and amidst
 
 260 <smi jflesb anfc 
 
 clear water, the tinkle of fountains, the perfume of 
 flowers and luscious fruits, they rested in harmony, 
 honouring God by the purityof their love one, as He in 
 His goodness had made them. All night long 
 Louis remained steeped in the delights of these vivid 
 conceptions, roused at length from them only by a 
 thundering knock at his door, and his mother's voice, 
 harsh, impatient, bidding him rise. 
 
 What a metamorphosis ! His little room again, 
 with no Blanche ; their dear ones, myths. He, no 
 husband, but Louis Bernard, bound by oath never to 
 become one. He could have wept in his anguish. 
 Everything had been so real, he so rapturously im- 
 mersed in it. Striving to recover himself, he became 
 willing to accept the dream as a happy omen. " Let 
 me be thankful," he murmured, " I shall see her to- 
 day ; " and, like a child anticipating pleasure, he 
 leapt from his bed, flung open his windows, and 
 inhaled the balmy air, in the sweetness of which 
 there was no deception. 
 
 Dressing rapidly, full of what the day might have in 
 store for him, he was on the point of hastening down- 
 stairs, when something on his black coat sleeve caught 
 his eye. A long, shining thread, like fine-drawn gold, 
 had adhered to the surface of the cloth. It was a 
 single hair of Blanche's. Tenderly he handled it, 
 drawing it through his fingers until he measured its 
 full length. Then, winding it into a little coil, he 
 kissed it tenderly. He would keep it always. Chance 
 had given it to him, and while he breathed he would 
 not part with it. So sacred was this treasure, that, 
 his mother calling to him to tell him that people 
 waited for him in the church, he unhesitatingly 
 placed it between the leaves of his breviaire. 
 
 Returning from his duty, he ate his breakfast in 
 silence, while the wind blew in through the windows,
 
 fflesb anfc Moot), 261 
 
 bulging out the curtains like two balloons,and filling the 
 room with the homely scent of wall-flowers, roses, and 
 mignonette. It was no day for work ; he could do 
 nothing conscientiously. So he sauntered off, beneath 
 the cool shade of the trees, through fields waving with 
 ripening grain, scarlet with poppies, and purple with 
 clover, the pleasant rippling of the river in his ears, 
 Blanche in his heart, and God's blue sky above him. 
 The breeze had died away as the heat increased ; even 
 the tiny leaves of the silver birch trees were motion- 
 less. 
 
 In the meadows the cattle no longer browsed, 
 but remained huddled together in the shade, 
 flapping their long ears and whisking their tails in 
 their efforts to rid themselves of the flies. The birds 
 were silent. Only the butterflies and bees stirred 
 freely, fluttering gaily in the warmth, or buzzing with 
 drowsy hum from flower to flower. The blue-bloused 
 workers in the fields paused to wipe their heated 
 brows. The strong scent of the rich land and of the 
 cattle was almost overpowering. This blaze of light 
 deprived Louis of the desire for exercise. He had 
 thought he could enjoy a walk, but his knees felt 
 weak, and, overcome by an irresistible languor, he lay 
 down in the shade with a sigh of intense relief. But 
 though bodily enfeebled by the oppressive condition 
 of the atmosphere, mentally he was restless and 
 imaginative. He endeavoured to recall his vision of 
 the night to live again in that paradise into which 
 sleep had transported him. And to do this he closed 
 his eyes, shutting out all opposing thoughts and 
 sounds by an effort of will, and striving by these 
 means to pass into the elysium in which he had so 
 delightedly dwelt. Then gradually he forsook the 
 imaginary for the real. Again he was on the terrace 
 at the Chateau de Courcelles, and Blanche's dulcet
 
 262 <$ n (g jfiesb anb JBloofc. 
 
 tones rang in his ears. She was urging him, appeal- 
 ing to him, and each entreaty was a confession of her 
 weakness, an admission of her love. Almost word for 
 word he repeated all she had said, and surrendering 
 himself to this intoxicating pleasure, it was long ere 
 sober sense asserted itself sufficiently to destroy the 
 flimsy fabric he had indulged in creating. 
 
 He had dressed that morning, expectant, hopeful. 
 To what was this due ? Had he anything to expect ? 
 Literally nothing, unless it was a further development 
 of the alarming malady, which already practically 
 subjugated him. Was he not, then, mad, thus with 
 his eyes open, aware of what he was doing, to merge 
 his being, to surrender himself to the keeping of this 
 woman ? By constantly seeing her, her power over 
 him must become more firmly established. Could he 
 be so weak as to court this result ? Alas ! he could 
 only sigh. He was so weak. What had she to offer 
 him, what could he yield to her, that would not be 
 dishonouring to both of them ? For this friendship 
 that he had dreamed of was becoming a farce, a mere 
 subterfuge. Did he not well know that it had already 
 been within an ace of overleaping its bounds ? 
 Peevishly he turned from the contemplation of this 
 aspect of the affair. Whatever existed could not be 
 altered. He was prepared now and always to close 
 his eyes to everything that suggested severance from 
 Blanche. He owned to himself that the temptations 
 which had already assailed him, had nearly under- 
 mined him. Morally, he was at that moment in a 
 tottering condition. And yet he had the audacity 
 to say to himself, " I shall not be so sorely tried 
 again. What am I troubling myself about ? When 
 the time comes I shall be sufficiently strong to 
 grapple with all that may present itself." Thus he 
 plainly showed that he had become, as a man, as
 
 jflesb anO Bloofc. 263 
 
 unmanageable as a rudderless ship. He was com- 
 pletely dominated by the subtle charms of this 
 woman, and whatever came of it, was content to be so. 
 
 The shadows were lengthening by the time he 
 had roused himself sufficiently to turn his steps in 
 the direction of home. But while doing so, he 
 became alive to the sensation that some crisis was 
 at hand. The depression which this feeling occa- 
 sioned him increased, and he found himself unable 
 to stifle the idea. 
 
 On arriving at his own door, he was informed that 
 a man was waiting to see him. He went to him at 
 once, and on entering his sitting-room was confronted 
 by Andr6 Moriseau. 
 
 The sleeplessness and distress of the past night 
 had proved too much for Andre", and to ease his 
 mind he had come to unburden himself and make 
 his confession. 
 
 Louis listened patiently, while, with rustic sim- 
 plicity, Andre described his love for Lisette, dwelling 
 upon the happiness they had enjoyed together. Then 
 he drew in the Count, showing how completely he 
 had turned Lisette's head, and transformed her into 
 another woman. Finally, when touching upon the 
 hatred with which he had thus become inspired, his 
 gestures became more threatening. His long pent-up 
 fury obtained the mastery over him, and, with a sweep 
 of his powerful arm, he indicated what he would like 
 to do to this unprincipled aristocrat who had wronged 
 him so atrociously. His brown face became blanched, 
 as the venom hissed and whistled from his lips, and 
 at length, quivering from head to foot, the strong 
 fellow sank at Louis' feet, and in a paroxysm of 
 despair exclaimed 
 
 " I tell you I shall kill him ! " 
 
 " You will do what ? " demanded Louis.
 
 264 nl fflesb anfc 
 
 " What I say. I shall kill him." 
 
 Horrified, Louis fixed his eyes upon him, as though 
 in that glance he was collecting all the mental power 
 at his command, for the purpose of crushing this 
 terrible desire for vengeance. 
 
 "You will not," h at length thundered forth; 
 "you will do no such thing, for God would never 
 forgive such a sin, and I should never absolve 
 you." 
 
 At these words, as though willing to defy even the 
 minister of God, Andre deliberately turned his back 
 upon him and left the room. 
 
 " Poor fellow," muttered Louis, in amazement ; " to 
 such lengths will love lead one." 
 
 Perplexed and troubled beyond measure, Louis felt 
 unfit to go anywhere that day, and it was long ere he 
 could recover himself sufficiently to set off for the 
 chateau, but he did so, convinced that if goaded to it, 
 Andr^ would be capable of any act of violence. And 
 whatever he did, were there not many excuses to be 
 urged in his favour? Was it possible to imagine a 
 situation in which a man might more readily become 
 dangerous ? But by what means could he pour oil 
 upon the troubled waters ? His hands were to a 
 great extent tied. Still, he should endeavour to warn 
 the Count in some way. 
 
 Having pondered deeply, and resolving to do 
 what he could, he entered the chateau grounds by 
 a wicket-gate, the stable clock chiming five as he 
 crossed the court-yard, his object being to reach the 
 kiosk by this short cut, and there to find Blanche. 
 He was disappointed. The summer - house was 
 empty. In quest of her, he mounted the steps to 
 the terrace, passing in full view of an apartment 
 which was dignified by the appellation of the Count's 
 study. Studious only in the enjoyment of a cigarette
 
 jflesb anb Bloofc. 265 
 
 and some klimmel, at the sound of footsteps the 
 Count glanced out of the window and saw him. 
 
 " That pestilent priest here again," he exclaimed 
 passionately, bringing his fist down upon the table 
 supporting the liqueur with a crash that made the 
 glass dance. " Mille tonnerres ! I shall astonish him. 
 We shall have a talk together. Go on, monsieur; 
 madame will be expecting you, and you will receive 
 a welcome from me, I think, to-night." 
 
 Louis, in blissful ignorance of the anger his pre- 
 sence aroused, paused to admire the view but a few 
 paces from where the Count sat fuming. 
 
 A vast globe of crimson, the sun was preparing to 
 pass out of sight behind successive waves of appar- 
 ently dense woods. A magnificent expanse of corn 
 land and pasturage was tinged with the warm hue, 
 while, in the immediate foreground, the river flashed 
 and eddied, mirroring in its cool depths the superb 
 colouring of the sky. 
 
 Old Pierre Chotard was in the act of ferrying over 
 a boat-load of chattering farm women, and their 
 occasional bursts of shrill laughter, mingling with the 
 low, monotonous cooing of the wood pigeons, alone 
 broke the almost oppressive silence. 
 
 Proceeding slowly along the terrace, surveying 
 with delight this charming panorama, Louis en- 
 countered Blanche seated before an open window. 
 With her little satin- shod feet resting cosily on a 
 footstool, she was negligently scanning a paper which 
 had just arrived from Paris. 
 
 His pulse quickened. Suddenly confronting her 
 without a moment's warning, he felt confused, and 
 was only sufficiently master of himself to touch her 
 hand lightly, and ask, pointing to the paper : 
 
 " Is there much news ? " 
 
 " Next to none. A yacht has been upset, and
 
 266 <smi fflesb ant) 
 
 someone drowned. There has been another railway 
 accident, and the remainder consists of political 
 quibbles, which don't interest me, and advertisements, 
 which I never read." 
 
 A certain curious ring in Blanche's voice caused 
 Louis to survey her inquiringly. He had never re- 
 marked it before. Scarcely pausing, she continued 
 irrelevantly : 
 
 " The Count has been riding all the morning, and 
 now he has shut himself up in his study." 
 
 She paused as though expecting a reply. 
 
 Louis made none. He was thinking. What was 
 the matter with Blanche ? What new phase of her 
 character was he about to become acquainted with ? 
 Had he offended her ? By tacit consent, the Count 
 was never alluded to. Blanche was too naughty by 
 nature, to condescend to discuss the unfortunate re- 
 lations which existed between them. Moreover, she 
 not unnaturally thought that in all probability Louis 
 knew far more than she could tell him. On his part, 
 good sense and right feeling had prevented him from 
 attempting to gain any confidences which did not 
 come of her own free will. Why, then, contrary to 
 this established habit, did she thus pointedly allude 
 to him, as though the way in which he chose to 
 employ his time affected her? 
 
 " Yes," she went on, " I think it very selfish of a 
 man to spend his life in amusing himself. Practi- 
 cally, I have been alone all day." 
 
 " But had you expressed a wish to the contrary, 
 Monsieur le Comte would not have ridden," replied 
 Louis quietly, watching the effect of his words. 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand me a bit," she answered 
 irritably. 
 
 This time he fancied he did. Her display of 
 petulance was coupled with a certain nervousness
 
 jflesb anb Block. 267 
 
 and restraint. Her manner towards him was un- 
 doubtedly changed. Did she already regret having 
 spoken so affectionately ? Had some kind of reaction 
 set in ? He had felt so confident, so joyous, and yet 
 so overcome at meeting her again. 
 
 " Don't I ? I thought I did," he replied gently. 
 
 " Well, in this case, you won't understand. I am 
 put out disposed, in fact, to abuse everybody and 
 everything. One reason is, that already I find I miss 
 Amy terribly." 
 
 " How could I know that?" he asked mildly, but 
 confident, as he spoke, that Amy was in no way re- 
 sponsible for the alterations he believed he detected. 
 
 " True, but seriously, this huge house seems de- 
 pressingly empty now she has gone, and already I 
 have been saying to myself that I must go away, or 
 get some people to fill it I have studiously shown 
 so many who have really wished to be with me the 
 cold shoulder, and now I fancy I am about to repent 
 it." 
 
 Louis was momentarily silent. Each instant he 
 was becoming more confident that this random, al- 
 most callous way of speaking, was due to those few 
 rapturous sentences she had uttered on the terrace 
 at the Chateau de Courcelles. And he was right, for 
 with the calmness which came with time and reflec- 
 tion, Blanche had taken herself to task. An intro- 
 spective examination had elicited the inquiry, " What 
 is to happen when you two meet again ? " And she 
 could not answer it, except by saying to herself, " I 
 must strive not to be so weak. It is wrong. I am 
 frightfully to blame." To this reasoning her conduct 
 was due. Pained beyond measure, Louis at once 
 determined to do his utmost to re-establish matters 
 upon their old footing. Unfortunately, though, he 
 began to remonstrate instead of agree.
 
 268 nls jflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 
 
 " But I have never heard you complain of being 
 dull before. And as for leaving La Jonquieres, could 
 you think of such a thing at present ? " 
 
 " I might." 
 
 " That is strange. A little while ago you would 
 not have done so." 
 
 Blanche bit her lips. Of course this was a direct 
 allusion to their conversation at the Chateau de 
 Courcelles. She had compromised herself, she was 
 aware. But what right had he to take advantage of her 
 weakness ? Was it generous to do so ? Her pride 
 instantly revolted. 
 
 "No," she said satirically; "perhaps not. But I 
 am so funny. I don't remember what kind of mood 
 I was in then ; I am so impulsive, changeable to a 
 degree. But," she added relentingly, " I have not 
 yet had time to get used to being without Amy, and 
 find myself longing to see her again. Is it not human 
 to covet what one cannot have ?" 
 
 " You said as much when we talked together last. 
 Then I was discontented ; now " 
 
 " You would say I am." 
 
 A little." 
 
 Blanche shrugged her shoulders. She wanted to 
 appear adamantine. But already she was suffering 
 cruelly. It was clear that she could not deceive 
 this man whom she loved so intensely. But 
 still remembering her resolution to place some re- 
 straint upon herself, and vaguely dreading every 
 turn in the conversation, she replied : 
 
 " Oh, yes, but you are wrong. As I told you, you 
 don't understand me. But come, this is quibbling. 
 I have a new song I should like to hear you sing." 
 
 " The idea of everything new seems uppermost 
 with you to-day," he answered, each word ringing 
 with the alarm and sadness he felt, in consequence of
 
 jflesb an& 3Bloot>, 269 
 
 what seemed her unreasonable behaviour towards 
 him. 
 
 She shuddered at the assertion. How she loved 
 him. How she longed to tell him so. And yet 
 they were to talk to each other like this. What was 
 to become of them ? Leaving him standing near the 
 window, she proceeded to search amongst the music, 
 and having found the song, she returned to him, hold- 
 ing it in her hand. Catching a glimpse of his face, 
 she was startled at its pallor. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she asked, unable to refrain 
 from doing so. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But you seem troubled, or are you ill ? " 
 
 ' Neither." 
 
 " Then I was mistaken, and you will come and 
 sing. I like to hear you so much." 
 
 He brightened perceptibly. 
 
 " Yes, you were mistaken, and I will sing, if it 
 gives you the least pleasure." 
 
 It was his turn to become frigid now. She glanced at 
 him. Was he offended hurt ? Well, she would cure 
 him presently by some judicious means. Striking the 
 key-note for him, in a low voice he tried the song over. 
 
 " No ; let us have one of the old ones," he said ; 
 " do you mind ? I delight in them. I never cease 
 to love anything I have once loved." 
 
 The words thrilled her. She did not dare to 
 speak, but with tremulous fingers she began to 
 play the song he set before her. It was a duetto, 
 and as their voices blended in perfect harmony, the 
 astounding mastery which each possessed over the 
 other asserted itself. For a moment Blanche's sight 
 failed her. She could not see the music ; but gradu- 
 ally she became subjugated by the desire to speak 
 the amorous words, as it were, to him. Influenced
 
 a 70 nls jflesb an& Bloofc, 
 
 by the voice of this woman he so worshipped, the 
 same feeling laid hold upon him ; and becoming in- 
 toxicated, telling each other thus how they loved, 
 they surrendered themselves to the delight, and over- 
 come by the delicious sensation, they imagined them- 
 selves like their voices, blended in one. 
 
 Thus commingled and enrapt, the Count entered, 
 without either of them being aware of the fact. With 
 his figure erect, his face crimson, and his moustache 
 fiercely pointed, he stationed himself some paces be- 
 hind them. Unconsciously they had drawn closer 
 together. Louis was now bending over her so that 
 his face brushed her hair. Infuriated, the Count made 
 a horrible grimace at the two ; then, as the song 
 ended, he advanced, laid his hand on Louis' shoulder, 
 and almost caressingly, certainly without a symptom 
 of anger, said : 
 
 " Charming, charming ; but let me entreat you to 
 come with me, my dear Abb6. I seem to see nothing 
 of you. My wife monopolizes you so completely. 
 But she will spare you for a little while perhaps eh ? 
 Ah, yes, for the fact is, I am dying to have a chat with 
 you. I have so much to tell you; you will be aston- 
 ished. And some funny things, too; but these are for 
 your private ear. Come, this way." 
 
 Blanche knew the Count too well to be deceived. 
 On the eve of slaying a man, he was of the sort to 
 speak most calmly. She was suddenly aware that he 
 had made a discovery, and meant mischief. But what 
 could she do ? Before she could determine, the two 
 men had left the room, for Louis, suspecting nothing, 
 had followed the Count, having merely murmured 
 the briefest apology for his desertion. 
 
 Crossing the great hall, and proceeding to the main 
 entrance, the Count pulled up at the head of the 
 flight of steps which led into the park.
 
 jflesb anb Bloofc. 371 
 
 " Now, my dear Abbd," he said, raising his voice 
 and extending his arm, " do you see that fence, that 
 wall, yonder ? Well, as you know, it separates the 
 La Jonquieres estate from the high road to Mezieres. 
 But look, until now, you have been ignorant of the 
 fact that I should be obliged to you if you will be 
 considerate enough to remain on the other side of it. 
 Oh, you have not got your hat and stick, I see. Fe'lix, 
 attend upon Monsieur l'Abb Bernard." 
 
 The lackey he called, who had heard every word, so 
 loudly had the Count spoken, approached as ordered. 
 
 Thunderstruck, Louis partly grasped his meaning 
 and the reason ; but as if to clear up all doubt, the 
 Count hissed in his ear : 
 
 " I keep my wife for myself, monsieur." 
 
 Louis recoiled a step or two. Then drew himself 
 up to his full height, appearing to tower above the 
 Count 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte," he said proudly, steadying 
 his voice, " a man may control his words and actions, 
 alas, he cannot always control his heart. I am thank- 
 ful I have behaved as a gentleman. With truth you 
 cannot say as much, for before your servants, you 
 have needlessly insulted a man whose cloth alone pre- 
 vents him from striking you to the earth." 
 
 " Mille tonnerres ! threats, such insolence, such d d 
 insolence from " 
 
 " You may live to regret your conduct, Monsieur le 
 Comte ; but henceforth we are strangers." 
 
 Without another word, deaf to a volley of execra- 
 tions and threats which the now infuriated Count 
 hurled at him, with firm tread Louis passed down the 
 massive stone steps, and crossing the park, disappeared 
 without once turning his head.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 HUMILIATED to the dust, Louis continued his course 
 through the La Jonquieres' grounds. Having left them 
 behind him, and feeling that no longer was he tread- 
 ing upon soil that scorched him, he became uncon- 
 scious of where he was going. His head sank upon 
 his chest ; he was aware only of having received a 
 crushing blow, the effect of which was such as to rob 
 him of all ideas. His brain felt benumbed. He 
 seemed to have lost the power to think. In this 
 condition he wandered on, his steps instinctively 
 turning in a contrary direction to that in which lay 
 his home. For what comfort could he look for from 
 that quarter, or indeed from any ? No one would be 
 likely to sympathize with him. 
 
 When at length he began to regain possession of 
 himself, he became aware that he stood within a few 
 paces of the spot where, previous to Andrews con- 
 fession, he had rested, reasoned, and attempted so 
 persistently to recall his dream. But now, in place of 
 the sunlight, the fields of grain were silvered by the 
 rising moon. The woods which bounded the fertile 
 champaign, appeared as black as though composed of 
 ink. Flowing placidly between its rich banks, the 
 river pursued its tortuous course, while a family of 
 swans were energetically feeding within the shadow 
 of the old willow, beneath which he had sat. Except 
 
 272
 
 Jflesb ant) 3Bloo&, 273 
 
 that it was night instead of day, all was the same. 
 His circumstances alone had changed. When 
 last he had sat there, he had been so hopeful, 
 and now Again he seated himself beneath the 
 dome of leaves, endeavouring to analyze and compre- 
 hend the position in which he found himself. 
 
 His first thought was of Blanche. What would she 
 think ? Had he sunk in her estimation ? Would she 
 be tempted to turn against him ? That was unlikely. 
 But their happiness was destroyed. No longer would 
 they be able to see each other. He could never set 
 foot on soil that was owned by the Count of La 
 Jonquieres. All that was over. But neither would 
 she be able to come to him. Worse he was in the 
 Count's power. His influence with the bishop of the 
 diocese would be sufficient to compel him to leave 
 the place. And then what was to become of him ? 
 He could never hope to see this woman, whose 
 existence furnished him with almost his sole wish to 
 live. Certainly death would be sweeter than perpetual 
 banishment from her. And yet this banishment was 
 at hand. 
 
 He had thoroughly aroused the Count's enmity. 
 It was unlikely that he would allow him to remain 
 where he was. Besides, people would talk. For 
 at least one servant had witnessed his degrada- 
 tion. His presumption would provoke laughter, and 
 for his weakness he would be despised. Could he 
 endure that ? And supposing that for Blanche's sake 
 the Count should exert himself to prevent a scandal 
 though even in spite of his efforts there was sure 
 to be a leakage somewhere could he support the 
 anguish of being close to her, of breathing the same 
 atmosphere, and, from his very window, of looking 
 upon the home where she dwelt, without being 
 permitted to approach her ?
 
 274 nl fflesb ant) JSloofc* 
 
 Such a weight would be more than he could bear. 
 Yet, it would be preferable to quitting La Jonquieres. 
 
 If the Count chose to be vindictive, he was practically 
 ruined ; but he scarcely thought upon that. All 
 misfortunes were dwarfed, completely driven out of 
 his head, when contrasted with such a disaster as 
 separation from Blanche. Reason how he would, 
 no other termination to the affair seemed probable, 
 even possible. 
 
 There could be no hope of living the Count's 
 enmity down, and while it lasted, Blanche and he 
 were practically severed. Had they been in Paris 
 they could have contrived to see each other, some- 
 times, at least ; but here, in La Jonquieres where 
 a man's cow could not calve without the whole 
 village talking of it, no room existed for such a hope. 
 They would never be able to meet, and moreover, 
 after a fierce fight against the inevitable, he would be 
 compelled to bid farewell to the place. 
 
 As this reflection came home to him in all its brutal 
 force, he could no longer restrain his grief; and while 
 the river, urged by the breeze, lapped the far-spreading 
 willow roots, and the swans croaked dismally to each 
 other, this man, utterly undone, wept as though his 
 heart would break. Weakened, his face drenched 
 with tears, at that instant a thought flashed upon him 
 which caused him to leap to his feet. It was as 
 though the tempter, finding him thus enfeebled, seized 
 the opportunity to enter into him. His fears for the 
 Count's safety, in consequence of Andrews malignity, 
 had undergone this contortion might it not be as 
 well if the Count were out of the way, might he (Louis) 
 not even expedite matters by some means, because in 
 that case his own prospects would at once become 
 bright again. 
 
 So appalled was he by this terrible idea, and
 
 nig jflesb anfc Bloofc. 275 
 
 so horrified that he should be capable of con- 
 ceiving such villainy, that he decided to warn 
 the Count by some means without further delay. 
 He could divulge nothing that had been con- 
 fided to him, but it was in his power to put the 
 Count on his guard by means of a few simple lines, 
 which he might hope would be understood by 
 this man who had so insulted him. A shudder ran 
 through him. He trembled from head to foot. 
 
 Had it come to this, that because he was in 
 despair, he was such a scoundrel that he could 
 contemplate benefiting by a murder. The place 
 seemed fatal to him. Some evil spirit dwelt beneath 
 that dense dome of waving boughs. With a scared 
 glance about him, he quitted the shelter of the tree, 
 and for the instant, forgetting his own cares, set out 
 in the direction of home, engaged in again deliberating 
 how he should apprize the Count of this great danger. 
 No ill-will lurked in his nature. Besides, he was to 
 blame. He had no right to love Blanche. But if he 
 had done harm, here was an opportunity to do good. 
 As though to urge him in his resolution, on passing 
 the Widow Lemaitre's door, who should he see 
 leaning against the wall, smoking his pipe and talking 
 to the old woman, who was knitting briskly, but 
 Andr6 Moriseau. Ready to sink into the ground at 
 the sight of anyone who knew him, Louis bent his 
 head, relieved when his own roof hid him from sight. 
 Shutting himself up in his room, he placed pens 
 and paper before him, and seating himself, became 
 thoughtful. 
 
 The letter must not contain a syllable which 
 the Count could mistake for an attempt to patch 
 up the rupture. That would be useless, as well as 
 harmful to his pride. This man was powerful, and 
 hated him. Well, though trying to render him a
 
 276 Only jflesb an& Moot)* 
 
 great service, it should be made plain that he asked 
 nothing. Weak he was, because he was poor, but he 
 was not to be trodden under foot. Finally, after much 
 deliberation, he wrote very plainly: 
 
 " MONSIEUR LE COMTE, In view of our irrecon- 
 cilable quarrel, you may deem me presumptuous for 
 addressing you. I am, however, prepared to incur 
 your further displeasure, should these lines awaken it, 
 since I feel compelled to send you this warning, 
 which, I have no doubt will be sufficiently intelligible. 
 It is this. Should you persist in your present 
 conduct, which cannot fail to create a great scandal, 
 I must warn you that your life is in danger. It now 
 remains for you to act as you may think proper. 
 Believe me, Monsieur le Comte, your most humble 
 servant in O.D.L., " Louis BERNARD." 
 
 After reading this note carefully, he addressed an 
 envelope, sealed it, and, as a relief to his mind, 
 despatched it with his own hand. Having done this, 
 he considered himself free to think over his own 
 grievances. And so, through the long night, with his 
 brain on fire, despairing as he had never thought to 
 despair, the daylight found him, pale and sleepless, 
 tortured and broken-spirited. He recoiled from his 
 own reflection. Such ravages had these few hours 
 made, that his mother held up her hands in amaze- 
 ment on beholding him. Obliged to say something, 
 he asserted that he felt unwell ; but it was a trifling 
 indisposition which would pass as quickly as it had 
 come. That was all. 
 
 He possessed one hope that morning. It was 
 Sunday, and Blanche usually attended High Mass at 
 ten. She was in the habit of collecting with a little
 
 nig jflesb ant) Bloofc, 277 
 
 velvet bag, upon which was embroidered the La 
 Jonquieres' arms, and of repeating the formula as she 
 passed before the people, " For the poor, if you please." 
 Would she be there ? Perhaps she might come alone, 
 and then when she repaired to the sacristy to hand 
 in the accounts, he would be enabled to speak to her 
 for a few moments without provoking criticism, even 
 from the most ill-natured. 
 
 An opportunity would thus present itself for a brief 
 interchange of ideas. He would learn from her own 
 lips how she was disposed towards him. Trusting 
 that this might be so, he entered the church earlier 
 than usual. At length the bell began to ring, and 
 singly, or in twos and threes, the sprinkling of well- 
 to-do farmers, their wives, and the customary as- 
 semblage of bronzed, hard-featured peasants, streamed 
 into the place. 
 
 Louis listened, as in a dream, to the grating of the 
 chairs as they were moved, and to the whispered 
 salutations and discussions. The building, with its 
 arched roof, its stained glass windows, its niches, 
 pictures of saints, and oaken confessional boxes, was 
 not seen by him. A gallery, supported upon four 
 iron pillars, ran across the entire foot of the edifice, 
 and it was beneath that gallery, between those pillars 
 where was the entrance door, that his eyes and 
 attention were fixed. Between the heads and 
 shoulders of the people, a glimpse of the river blue 
 as the sky, and flashing in the sunlight was to be 
 had ; but his imagination halted before a tall, grace- 
 ful form, surmounted by a compactly-shaped head, 
 adorning which, wavy golden tresses floated, forming 
 an aureole that no painter could match with his 
 pigment. The fair face, with its clear features and 
 delicate colouring, was 'conjured before him; he 
 could even see, peeping from beneath the long skirts,
 
 78 nls fflesb an& 
 
 two little feet, which, as they advanced up the aisle, 
 made music in his ears. 
 
 But suddenly the bell ceased tolling, and the 
 beadle, with silver-headed cane in hand, dispelled his 
 vision as he closed the door. 
 
 Blanche had not come. As he realized this, a mist 
 clouded his sight, and a confused mass of objects 
 swam before him. But soon, by a supreme effort of 
 will, and the remembrance that this was no place in 
 which to display his weakness, he went through the 
 service, enduring, throughout, the anguish of imagin- 
 ing that all was known, and that every eye was fixed 
 upon him with varied expressions of scorn and 
 ridicule. 
 
 Then, his duty over, in despair he hastened to hide 
 himself, auguring the heaviest misfortune in conse- 
 quence of the absence of every member of the De la 
 Jonquieres family.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 HAVING rid himself of Louis, the Count had cooled 
 down, and although there had been a scene between 
 Blanche and himself, summed up, his utterances 
 amounted to this : " Come, we have both been wrong. 
 Let us square matters. I assure you I am more than 
 willing." To do him justice, his reflections having 
 shown him that he was much to blame at last he 
 was disposed to admit it ; and the spur which impelled 
 him in this direction most effectually, was jealousy. 
 
 This suddenly awakened sensation seemed to have 
 warmed his heart. When Blanche had been so easy 
 to come by, he did not want her. Now that someone 
 else was approaching unpleasantly near, he began to 
 discover in her a host of good qualities, to see in 
 himself a fool, bent upon throwing away happiness 
 by the indulgence of a stupid liaison with a vulgar 
 peasant girl, and to be keenly desirous of effecting a 
 reconciliation. 
 
 Louis Bernard despatched to the other side of 
 France and he would take good care to see to 
 that what was to prevent Blanche and himself from 
 coming together again ? Not Lisette, certainly. He 
 was not disposed to cling too tightly to her. Matters 
 were becoming too serious for trifling, and it was 
 
 279
 
 jflesb 
 
 time he set himself to mend them, if mended they were 
 ever to be. Blanche was good, he was sure of that ; 
 and, if he were honest, a deuced deal too good 
 for him. In due course she would listen to reason. 
 Lurking in her heart, there must remain the remnants, 
 at least, of her love for him. It certainly had existed, 
 and, to some extent, he was prepared to lay himself 
 out to foster and keep it. 
 
 He did not pause to ask himself how long these new 
 ideas of his were likely to last it never occurred to him. 
 But, with vigorous strokes, he at once set about clearing 
 away the obstacles to their realization ; and, as a start, 
 he took steps to secure Louis' removal. Having done 
 this, he exerted himself to pacify his rebellious wife. 
 When Louis' letter came, he instantly grasped its 
 meaning, and was disposed to think less revengefully 
 of him ; but he pocketed it, without, of course, saying 
 anything to Blanche. He was disposed to pooh- 
 pooh the danger it was intended to indicate, but he 
 shook hands with himself over the fact that the policy 
 he had determined upon was not opposed to the 
 advice it contained. Then, spending his time as his 
 new desires necessitated, he dismissed the matter from 
 his mind. 
 
 In this mental condition, after dejeuner one day, he 
 sallied forth, accompanied by his inseparable com- 
 panions, the two spaniels, intending to scour the 
 country for the sake of exercise, and, if the fit seized 
 him, of fishing in a small mere which lay in a distant 
 corner of the estate. This mere he had, at great 
 cost and trouble, stocked with trout, and, in 
 furtherance of the gentle piscatorial art, upon its 
 mossy banks he had erected a substantial shelter 
 in the form of a summer-house, reared upon a solid 
 stone foundation. 
 
 This agreeable retreat which commanded a charm-
 
 nip jflesb an& UBloofc. 281 
 
 ing view, was furnished almost as luxuriously as the 
 kiosk, the floor being covered with four large lion-skins, 
 the walls devoted to neatly-contrived cases, in which 
 were rods, tackle, and some few trophies of the chase, 
 which, like the lion-skins, had fallen to the Count's gun 
 during his wanderings abroad, in his earlier days. An 
 admirable kind of stove, ornamented with expensive 
 blue Delft tiles, occupied the centre, and to this com- 
 fortable place in which to lounge, two persons alone 
 possessed a key the Count and his \it3.& garde-chasse. 
 Laughing at the amusing energy and playfulness 
 of his silky-coated pets, and enjoying the invigorating 
 freshness of the atmosphere, titis grand seigneur strode 
 through the ferns, beneath his ancestral timber, 
 seeming, in truth, lord of all he surveyed. 
 
 He was oppressed with very few cares that after- 
 noon probably because he was planning to do 
 right. He and Blanche would hit it off after all. 
 He felt as vigorous as a young buck, and after a 
 little while, when De Courcelles' honeymoon was 
 over, and he had moped and made love to his heart's 
 content, together they would issue invitations to a 
 number of mutual friends, charming people, and in 
 the coming glorious autumn weather, they would 
 have the very best of good times. De Courcelles 
 was an excellent fellow after all. They understood 
 each other perfectly, and he was glad that he had 
 married Amy. The little hussy had feathered her 
 nest to some purpose. But he had seen how it 
 would be from the first. Now he had only to wish 
 them luck. Thus amiably disposed, after having made 
 a wide ditour, the Count reached the mere, discovered 
 that a nice breeze ruffled the surface, and with the ex- 
 citement of a boy, put his rod together and began to fish. 
 Evidently the finny tribe were voraciously inclined, 
 for they leapt to the bait. The sun was descend-
 
 282 nls jflesb anfc 
 
 ing westward in saffron and polychromatic hues, 
 which were reproduced with exquisite softness and 
 beauty of effect by the water, which sparkled and 
 flashed as though composed of liquid gold. Some 
 moor-hens clucked and dived amidst the lilies and 
 broad-leaved flags, a woodpecker tapped monoton- 
 ously upon the trunk of a neighbouring copper beech, 
 while every now and then a rabbit rustled in the 
 undergrowth, or showed its white tail like a flash of 
 light, as the two spaniels, who were enjoying them- 
 selves hugely, chased it to its home. 
 
 The Count had succeeded in hooking a large fish, 
 and was displaying his skill in handling it. Im- 
 mediatelyat his back, a small plantation of silver birch 
 trees reared their delicately tinted stems. A few 
 moments before he had succeeded in hooking his fish, 
 these thin straight trunks had been threaded by ahuman 
 form and two sharp eyes had scrutinized him through 
 the interlacing boughs. After a while the eyes disap- 
 peared, and the foliage was parted by a clouded gun 
 barrel, which quivered and then became steady. There 
 was a flash, a detonation, and, flinging his arms heaven- 
 ward, the Count sank heavily to the ground. The 
 large fish contrived to swim off triumphantly with 
 rod and line, for a few moments there was a scare 
 amongst the birds, and then, but for the sound of a 
 stealthily retreating footfall in the thick brake, and 
 the whining of the dogs who had returned to their 
 master, the silence was profound.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THAT night, the c/iefat the Chateau de la Jonquieres 
 was in despair. Dinner had been kept waiting, 
 spoiled in fact. Thinking that probably the Count 
 was somewhere near at hand, Blanche had ordered the 
 big bell to be rung, and then, to keep up appearances, 
 though she could scarcely eat a morsel, she sat down 
 and made a pretence of discussing the gloomy meal. 
 She was not anxious about the Count. He had no 
 place in her mind. It was a relief to her to be alone. 
 And the moment she considered that she had enacted 
 the farce of eating satisfactorily, she hastened to 
 avail herself of the perfect seclusion to be found only 
 in her own room. 
 
 With a sigh of supreme relief, she closed the door 
 which protected her from the inquisitive gaze of the 
 servants, and began to indulge in her own painful 
 reflections. She had met the Count's attacks with a 
 coolness, born of the consciousness that whatever her 
 faults were, she was more sinned against than sinning. 
 What right had this man, who had occasioned her so 
 much suffering, to upbraid her ? He had himself to 
 thank for whatever had happened. She did not 
 mind his abuse, any more than she desired his 
 advances. Beyond considering that he had behaved 
 brutally to Louis, she even bore him no malice. Her 
 
 283
 
 284 <smi jflesb ant> 
 
 sentiments towards him might be summed up in one 
 word, indifference. Louis absorbed her. Her mind 
 was on the rack. What was to become of their 
 friendship, of their affection for each other ? Were 
 they to be separated, and was she to drag out her 
 days, chained to this man whom the law called her 
 husband ? 
 
 Worse even, though that was sufficient to dis- 
 tract her was Louis to be ruined by that hus- 
 band? Poor, and comparatively speaking helpless, 
 who was to deliver him ? The Count's influence 
 would undermine him, and he would be regarded by 
 his bishop as a black sheep. Thus weighed down, 
 and with the additional incubus of a father and 
 mother to support, what would become of him ? It 
 was not of herself she thought though if they were 
 torn from each other, she felt that her heart would 
 break but it was of the misery she had brought 
 upon him. Ever since she had quitted the peaceful 
 shelter of the Convent of the Sacred Heart, she had 
 been the shuttlecock of misfortune. And now this 
 man, whose only sin was the great love he bore her, 
 was to suffer through her. How he had been 
 insulted because of that love which he had never 
 allowed himself to own. 
 
 By a comprehensive retrospective glance, she re- 
 viewed the main features of her life. Her mother's 
 early death. Her father wedded to his military career, 
 his gaiety perhaps she did not know anxious, at 
 any price, to obtain entire freedom from the re- 
 sponsibility of looking after a brace of daughters. 
 Her quiet serenity at the convent, terminating with 
 his unexpected return from abroad. Her marriage 
 to the Count, and fast following upon it, the gradual 
 destruction of her peace of mind. Unfortunate 
 throughout, she had now communicated her ill-luck
 
 tflesb anb 3Bloot>. 285 
 
 to the being who had come into her life, at the 
 moment when she had felt weakest and most in need 
 of support. 
 
 She could do nothing but blame herself. She 
 ought to have foreseen this ending. And Louis 
 was so placed that she was powerless. She had no 
 children. The Count was not in love with her. Had 
 this man been free, she would have cast in her lot 
 with him in the face of the world, and of all it could 
 do or say. To have made him happy, as she felt she 
 was capable of doing, she would have sacrificed her- 
 self without a moment's hesitation. Weighed in the 
 balance, what was name or fame compared with 
 the abandonment, the destruction, of a love such as 
 she knew linked them together ? But she was not 
 permitted to do this. Louis was fettered, and there 
 was no hope of breaking the chains which bound him. 
 She had only one comfort. She possessed money, 
 more than a thousand pounds yearly, thanks to the 
 affection of the aunt who had watched over Amy 
 until death had claimed her. Well, with this money, 
 and a clever agent to help her, she could at least con- 
 trive so that Louis should not want. This was a 
 great consolation. 
 
 When she thought of herself she despaired. 
 Her mind had become benumbed by the con- 
 templation of the cheerlessness of the iron walls 
 within which Fate confined her. She could not go 
 to Louis, and was afraid even to communicate with 
 him, lest such conduct should occasion comment, and 
 injure him. Helpless, there was nothing left for her 
 but to endure her suffering, waiting for she knew not 
 what. Thus, surrounded by every comfort, her heart 
 was lacerated. Sitting there in that condition, her 
 reflections were disturbed by a knock, and with it, a 
 voice, exclaiming excitedly:
 
 286 <smi$ jflesb ant) JSloofc. 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse ! Madame ! For God's 
 sake, come ! " 
 
 She sprang to the door, and, on opening it, was 
 confronted by old Pepin, the steward of the ch&teau, 
 who like his fathers before him, had grown gray in 
 the service of the Counts of La Jonquieres. 
 
 " What is it, Pdpin ? " she demanded, with admir- 
 able composure, though alarmed at the ashen hue of 
 the man's face. 
 
 " Oh, madame, forgive my boldness. But Mon- 
 sieur le Comte it is awful. They have carried him 
 home. . . . Think of that. Come, they have him 
 downstairs oh, dear madame the master the dear 
 master." 
 
 And, unable to control himself, tears coursed 
 freely down the old fellow's hale but wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 Feeling that some calamity had overtaken her, 
 Blanche was half-way down the grand staircase 
 while he was yet talking and gesticulating. At the 
 foot of it, in the hall, a group of the servants were 
 gathered, who, with two tall gamekeepers, dressed in 
 rough shooting attire, were bending over an object, 
 the sight of which made her feel faint. The 
 Count, with the pallid majesty of death stamped 
 upon his face, lay stretched upon his back. On 
 seeing her, the men doffed their caps, while some of 
 the women-servants, who already had their aprons to 
 their eyes, addressed her in frightened accents. 
 Tremulous, but making an heroic effort to be calm, 
 Blanche knelt over the prostrate figure. She raised 
 a hand, and its cold dead weight thrilled her with 
 awe. She attempted to feel for the pulse, but, re- 
 cognising her own ignorance, and that this was a time 
 to act, and not to give way to childishness, she 
 addressed the men. 
 
 " Raise him up, and carry him into the study.
 
 tflesb an& Bloofc. 287 
 
 And here, my good girl, run to the stable and tell 
 them to gallop to Mezieres for the doctor." 
 
 " The gendarmes should know of this, too, Madame 
 la Comtesse," stammered old Pe"pin. 
 
 " The gendarmes ! Why ? " 
 
 " Because, Madame la Comtesse, the ruffians have 
 shot Monsieur le Comte in the back." 
 
 " Shot him. Oh, God ! " 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Comtesse," began the taller of 
 the keepers ; " if you please, as my mate and I were 
 going home by the end of the west mere, we heard 
 the dogs howling, and " 
 
 " Yes, yes, that will do," Blanche interrupted. 
 
 It was hideous to her to listen to the horrible de- 
 tails. She could not endure it just then. But she 
 was equal to one more effort in the presence of these 
 people, so touching Pepin on the shoulder she said : 
 
 " Tell the man to ride his hardest. Say to him that 
 Monsieur le Comte's life is at stake." 
 
 " And the gendarmes, Madame la Comtesse," de- 
 manded Pepin tenaciously. 
 
 Blanche made no answer, for with her own hands 
 she was endeavouring to pour some brandy between 
 the Count's clenched teeth. Then, as the hopeless- 
 ness of her task dawned upon her, she broke 
 down, and sobbing, allowed herself to be led from 
 the room. 
 
 Towards midnight the doctor arrived, made his 
 examination, and declared that the Count had been 
 dead some hours. The wound he had received must 
 quickly have proved fatal. " But," he added, re- 
 peating Pdpin's opinion, " the gendarmes must be 
 communicated with at once. I can do nothing. This 
 is a case for them." 
 
 Blanche did not see him. What was the use ? As 
 she had leant over that rigid form, and gazed upon
 
 238 <mi jfiesb anfc Bloofc. 
 
 those pallid features, she had realized that she was in 
 the presence ,of death. And the expression of that 
 inanimate face had tugged at her heart-strings, stir- 
 ring within her the dregs of her early love, appealing 
 to all that was womanly in her. One blow upon 
 another seemed to be aimed at her. What was to 
 come next ? 
 
 In that great silent chateau she lay prostrate, re- 
 membering no longer the wrongs she had sustained, 
 thinking only of all the hard words and unkind acts 
 she had been guilty of, for now, atonement or oblitera- 
 tion was impossible. Unable to close her eyes, 
 she continued to reproach herself unceasingly, dwelling 
 tenaciously upon all the goodness and kindness the 
 Count had ever displayed. She had been woefully to 
 blame. How could she reason otherwise? One, 
 only, could not be guilty. Had she been less exact- 
 ing, more forgiving, the result would have been 
 different. And whilst she taxed herself thus severely, 
 the sun began to climb upwards, penetrating the thick 
 woods, the rabbits again made their appearance, play- 
 ing and nibbling the crisp dew-laden grass, and the 
 birds clamoured noisily or carolled sweetly, while a 
 few of the yet hungry ones alighted upon the window- 
 sill within a few paces of the dead man, pecking con- 
 tentedly some crumbs of biscuit, which the lifeless 
 hand had carelessly scattered but yesterday. 
 
 Yes, Count Rudolf, for you the structure of Time 
 has suddenly crumbled. And such a collapse seemed 
 so far off only yesterday. Were you prepared to 
 understand the problem you were so instantaneously 
 called upon to solve ? 
 
 The moment it was possible, Blanche despatched 
 another mounted messenger, but this one to the 
 Chateau de Courcelles, entreating Amy to come to 
 her. And with the echoing hoofs, as the excited ser-
 
 jflesb ant) 36loot>. 289 
 
 vant spurred through the roughly-paved street, La 
 Jonquieres awoke to turn and twist, to distort and 
 wonder what had happened. 
 
 Quite early in the day, Monsieur Loubet, a zealous 
 and ambitious police officer from Mezieres, accom- 
 panied by two detectives, disguised as well-to-do 
 farmers, arrived at the chateau. Having examined 
 the papers and effects found upon the body, and been 
 aided by Blanche's instructions in every way, Loubet 
 locked up the study, put the key in his pocket, and 
 with a grim smile, went off to survey the scene of the 
 tragedy. 
 
 Towards four in the afternoon, Blanche had the 
 satisfaction of straining Amy to her bosom. Between 
 her exclamations of horror and expressions of sym- 
 pathy, she explained that she and the Baron had set 
 off as soon as they had breakfasted and succeeded in 
 putting a few odds and ends together. 
 
 And they had come to stay. Leo was so good. 
 He had not hesitated. They had no intention of 
 leaving her, but would remain as long as she might 
 wish. Come, she must be comforted. And when 
 Blanche caught sight of the Baron, grave, but so kind, 
 and echoing with sober satisfaction his young wife's 
 words, she experienced a sensation of profound relief, 
 feeling that instead of being alone, two staunch friends 
 would be with her, and with tears of gratitude 
 she assured them that already her heart began to feel 
 warmer.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 WITH Blanche's failure to attend mass, Louis had 
 lost heart. He shrank altogether from meeting the 
 public gaze, and, with the exception of the duties his 
 position imposed upon him, went nowhere, until the 
 friendly dusk enabled him to breathe the strong air 
 and cool his heated brow without fear of recognition. 
 His unremitting acts of charity and sympathetic 
 visits were all at once completely abandoned, and 
 those who had grown accustomed to look for him, 
 and set store by his kind words and pleasant smiles, 
 were not the only ones who wondered what had 
 come over the Abbd 
 
 There were those who had always preferred to rank 
 themselves as his enemies, and now, with slander to 
 employ their tongues upon, these people found them- 
 selves busy. His friendship with the inmates of the 
 chateau had from the first been unfavourably com- 
 mented upon. What did he want there? What good 
 could come of it ? An occasional visit, of course, he 
 was bound to pay, but that was no reason why he 
 should be there everlastingly. They had foreseen what 
 would be the upshot, and now that rumours were being 
 circulated, connecting Louis' and Blanche's names, 
 these wiseacres became triumphantly garrulous. 
 There was no longer any reason why they should 
 
 290
 
 fflesb anfc Bloofc. 291 
 
 hold their tongues, since their prognostications were, 
 they contended, established facts. They dwelt 
 upon his changed appearance during the winter, 
 when Madame la Comtesse had betaken herself to 
 Paris. But, ah, oui ! had he not spread his plumage, 
 like a bird in the sunshine, the moment she returned ? 
 At the sight of her petticoats he had grown younger 
 again by ten years. Well, she was lovely enough to 
 turn any man's head. But a priest and what was 
 she thinking of? Of course, everyone knew what the 
 Count was. He was one of those men who had an 
 eye for every pretty face ; so that the poor lady, 
 though she had never been heard to own it being a 
 deal too proud was certainly not happy. 
 
 When the news of the Count's terrible fate was 
 announced, La Jonquieres was shaken to its founda- 
 tions. The good folk no longer had any time for 
 sleeping and blinking in the sunlight. They had too 
 much to talk about. And it was amongst this babel 
 of tongues this healthy, sun-tanned ignorance that 
 Monsieur Loubet, the smart and zealous police- 
 officer, found himself let loose. Here was his chance. 
 And was it not a good one ? If he could only suc- 
 ceed in bringing the Count's murderer to justice, his 
 future was assured, he told himself. So, aided by his 
 myrmidons, he was not slow to go to work. 
 
 When, in a roundabout way, the news of the 
 Count's death came to Louis, he experienced a pain- 
 ful shock. It was terrible to be told that a man 
 in the prime of life had been stricken down in 
 this deliberate fashion. So his warning had been of 
 no use. It had come too late. But, at all events, he 
 had done his best, and was in no way to blame for 
 the turn affairs had taken. His own gain he 
 forgot in his genuine concern. Of late he had 
 scarcely ventured from his door, but excited and
 
 292 nig fflesb an& JSlooD, 
 
 anxious to learn what was being said, he resolved to 
 brave what he knew would at least amount to unkind 
 scrutiny. On making his appearance, some of the 
 people looked askance at him, from others he received 
 a sober " Bon jour, monsieur," and thus threading his 
 way along the narrow street, which had already 
 assumed a bustling aspect, being blocked with 
 chattering farmers in their rough spring-carts, Louis 
 came face to face with Pierre Chotard. 
 
 " This is sad news. A terrible calamity, indeed," 
 he remarked. 
 
 " Eh, yes, Monsieur 1'Abbe," replied the old fellow, 
 with the air of a man who had much rather be let 
 alone. 
 
 " Tell me. What have you heard ? How did it 
 happen ? " 
 
 " Monsieur le Comte has been shot, that is all, 
 Monsieur 1'Abbe." 
 
 " Oh, of course, yes ; but by whom ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that is what the gendarmes would like to 
 find out." 
 
 " And do they think they will ? " 
 
 " Ah ! what they think is a puzzle they'll keep to 
 themselves." 
 
 " But you have heard no rumour ? " persisted 
 Louis, thinking of Andre, and as sorry for the hand- 
 some young farmer, as he was that the Count was 
 dead. 
 
 "Rumours, Monsieur 1'Abbe*, oh yes, there are 
 plenty going about," replied Chotard, eyeing him slyly, 
 while mopping his face with a red cotton handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " Well, but do they throw no light upon the affair?" 
 inquired Louis nervously, and deciding to ask no more 
 questions. 
 
 "None, Monsieur 1'Abbd You see, it's like this.
 
 nig jflesb anD Bloofc. 293 
 
 We think a good bit, we folks down about the ferry 
 here, but we only know what comes from the chateau, 
 so that all I could tell, monsieur, would be second- 
 hand news." 
 
 There was no mistaking the meaning of this 
 cunning remark, and Louis felt himself grow crimson 
 as he turned upon his heel. Shrinking from passing 
 back along the street through the knots of gossiping 
 people, which, unless he made a wide dttour, was his 
 only way home, Louis walked slowly on midst the 
 thick, white dust, his face turned towards Mezieres. 
 He regretted having come out. Pierre Chotard had 
 as good as said, " Why do you ask me ? Why don't 
 you go to the chateau ? They will tell you. Ah, you 
 would like to ; but unfortunately you can't, and do 
 you think we don't know it ? " Why had he subjected 
 himself to these insinuations ? It was foolish in the 
 extreme. He might have known how it would be. 
 And he was disgraced. No one had any respect for 
 him. He was an outcast in the opinion of every 
 member of this little community. Hot tears smeared 
 his cheeks, and fell upon his black coat. Dashing 
 them aside, he defended himself by reflecting that if 
 it had all to come over again, he should do as he had 
 done. Blanche's golden tresses and fair face arose 
 before him, and, clasping his hands together in an 
 agony of spirit, he murmured aloud, " As God hears 
 me, being flesh and blood, I could only love her. 
 And if I have done harm in His sight, I am content 
 to suffer." A carnage approaching enveloped in dust, 
 he stepped aside on to the turf which fringed the 
 road. But when abreast of him the carriage stopped. 
 De Courcelles alighted, bade the coachman drive on 
 to the chateau, and then joined him. 
 
 " My dear AbbeY' he began, in his kindest manner,
 
 294 nls iflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 "notwithstanding everything, I am delighted to see 
 you." 
 
 Becoming quite pale, Louis could hardly answer. 
 What did he mean ? The Count's untimely end, 
 second thoughts suggested. With a resolute effort he 
 mastered his emotion. 
 
 " And I, Monsieur le Baron I, too, am delighted." 
 
 " I have just come from Mezieres, where I have had 
 a long conversation with poor De la Jonquieres' 
 solicitor. Who would have imagined that this blow 
 would come upon us when last we met ? A fete one 
 day, a funeral the next. That is what happens 
 around one eh ? " 
 
 " Alas, it is so, Monsieur le Baron." 
 
 " What do you think of it all ? Who has done it ?" 
 
 Louis reflected. What a terrible position was his. 
 To know so much, and yet to be bound by the most 
 solemn oath to keep silence. 
 
 " The whole arrondissement is discussing that ques- 
 tion, Monsieur le Baron," he answered evasively. 
 
 " And can make nothing of it. Well, the gendarmes 
 will sift it out, I think. Monsieur Loubet pretends 
 to know a good deal already. They say he is shrewd 
 and believes in himself, which is a good thing if it 
 does not develop into a vice. Clever people some- 
 times overreach themselves." 
 
 " That's true ; they are apt to imagine that they can 
 afford to become careless. But, Monsieur le Baron, 
 forgive me. I have been remiss in the extreme. 
 My mind is in such a whirl. Madame la Baronne 
 is, I trust, in good health ? " 
 
 " Eh, yes, as well as I am. But she is here. Come 
 along with me and satisfy yourself. You are a 
 great favourite, I can assure you." 
 
 "Then I have much to be proud of, Monsieur le 
 Baron. But I must entreat you to excuse me, since
 
 nig fflesb anfc Bloofc. 295 
 
 I could not present myself before Madame la Baronne 
 in this condition, covered with dust and untidy as 
 I am." 
 
 " How ridiculous, my dear Abbe". A little dust must 
 never part old friends. Besides, look at me. I am in 
 precisely the same plight. Come along ! " 
 
 And already the impulsive Baron linked his arm 
 through Louis', and had drawn him a step or two in 
 the direction of the chateau. Greatly agitated, Louis 
 resisted, his heart wrung by his intense longing to see 
 Blanche, and his pride, which forbade him to return 
 whence he had been dismissed in the presence of the 
 very servants. Deciding, he replied : 
 
 " Indeed, but Monsieur le Baron, I have some few 
 calls to make, and so, for the moment, it is impossible 
 for me to avail myself of the pleasure you offer me." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said De Courcelles, disengaging 
 his arm, " if you can't, there's an end of it ; but we 
 shall expect you soon, mind." 
 
 With a pleasant nod he strode away towards the 
 chateau, disappearing through the little gate from 
 which the Count had issued, on the night when 
 Blanche had discovered his amour with Lisette. 
 Soon after the fracas with the Count, De Courcelles 
 had noticed Louis' absence. It was odd in the 
 extreme, that a man who was always to be found at 
 the chateau, should have ceased to visit there, and 
 particularly at such a time. His pressing invitation 
 had been made in accordance with these speculations. 
 Louis' refusal, of course, stimulated his curiosity. 
 Something had happened, and he resolved to learn 
 what that something was. 
 
 Terribly dejected, Louis turned on his heel, 
 quickened his pace, and, with his cheeks burning, 
 threaded his way amidst the vehicles and groups of 
 people, never once lifting his head until he had gained 
 the shelter of his own roof.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ABOUT noon on the following day, La Jonquieres 
 became the centre of increased animation. The 
 rumour had spread through the arrondissement that 
 Monsieur Loubet had got upon the track of the 
 murderer. The immediate consequence was, that 
 every small farmer or peasant labourer who could 
 lay aside his work, and start for the hamlet, had done 
 so. 
 
 The landlord of the " Repos des Artistes," an 
 auberge three doors beyond the Chotards' house, was 
 bursting with good spirits. The influx of people was 
 enriching him nicely. He already began to say to 
 himself, "If this continues, I shall soon have enough 
 to live upon. I shall retire." And the weather was 
 simply delightful. 
 
 The great cliff in the rear of the village had never 
 seemed more exquisitely tinted with delicate shades 
 of green, pearly gray, and patches of bright-coloured 
 flowers, which helped to impregnate the air with 
 a rich, almost overpowering scent. The red roofs of 
 the houses had never appeared cleaner and brighter, 
 and the smoke ascended in straight blue shafts, for 
 there was not enough wind to ruffle the surface of 
 the river, upon which the sun beat in unobscured 
 splendour. 
 
 296
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 297 
 
 At two o'clock there was a stir amongst the men 
 and women, who, seated in their carts drawn aside,' 
 were laughing, chatting, and, in some cases, indulging 
 in boisterous mirth. 
 
 This stir was occasioned by the appearance of 
 Monsieur Loubet, who was seen to emerge from the 
 " Repos des Artistes," cross the street to Louis 
 Bernard's house, knock there, and gain admittance. 
 Louis himself received him. 
 
 " Monsieur 1'Abbe," Loubet said, when they were 
 alone together, " will you do me the favour to walk 
 with me as far as the Chateau de la Jonquieres ? " 
 
 "For what purpose, monsieur?" demanded Louis 
 collectedly. 
 
 " Because the law requires it, Monsieur 1'Abbe"," re- 
 plied Loubet, in dignified tones. 
 
 " The law ! How so, monsieur ? " 
 
 " Well, perhaps I had better speak plainly. 
 Monsieur 1'Abb^ Bernard, it is my duty to arrest 
 you." 
 
 Amazed, but not in the least alarmed, Louis 
 inquired upon what charge. 
 
 *' Upon the charge of having murdered, or con- 
 spired to murder, Monsieur le Comte de la Jonquieres. 
 The warrant, which has been delayed, is now in my 
 pocket." 
 
 " But " began Louis dumbfounded. 
 
 " I assure you, Monsieur l'Abb, remonstrance is 
 useless. Will you come, or " 
 
 Louis bowed his head. His speech was dried up 
 with astonishment and utter confusion. But was it 
 dignified to argue with this man ? He must go. It 
 was enough. To the Chateau de la Jonquieres, though, 
 of all places, and under such circumstances. 
 
 Once more he ventured to expostulate. 
 
 " Let me entreat you, monsieur, not to compel me
 
 298 <smi jflesb ant> 
 
 to accompany you to the chateau. You do not 
 know how strong are my reasons against " 
 
 " Pardon me, Monsieur 1'Abbe," interrupted Loubet, 
 with undisguised relish, " but that is exactly what I 
 do happen to know. Your quarrel with Monsieur le 
 Comte, for instance ; but there, my time is precious. 
 I am anxious to avoid any noise or scandal. You 
 have only to give me your word that you will make 
 no resistance, and we can walk quietly to the chateau 
 without anyone understanding why we are together. 
 None but my own men are aware why I am here. 
 But in case of resistance, or a disturbance of any 
 kind, I have some gendarmes " 
 
 Without another word Louis put on his hat, and, 
 strengthened by the knowledge that he was being 
 deeply wronged, quitted his house with the com- 
 missary. Their appearance together was the signal 
 for every eye to be levelled at them. Heads were 
 thrust out of windows, and the do'orways were filled. 
 People whispered, laughed, or became serious. Louis 
 felt that he was the object of their criticism, while, 
 as though to increase his discomfiture, some ill-bred 
 boys shouted : 
 
 " Oh, look at Monsieur 1'AbbeV' 
 
 Pierre Chotard, who had gained some information, 
 rushed from the " Repos des Artistes " to his cottage, 
 and cried excitedly to Lisette : 
 
 " What do you think ? Loubet has arrested Mon- 
 sieur 1'Abbe Bernard." 
 
 Then, without waiting for an answer, anxious to 
 lose none of the fun, he stepped outside to watch. 
 
 Lisette ran upstairs and stared through her window, 
 around which the roses again blossomed. Secretly 
 she had done nothing but cry since the Count's death. 
 She had cared for him as much as she was capable of 
 caring for any man. Besides, what had become of
 
 fflesb an& Bloofc* 299 
 
 all her fine plans for the future? Was it not heart- 
 breaking ? 
 
 The reason why Louis Bernard and Monsieur 
 Loubet were together, spreading like wild-fire, there 
 was suddenly a clamour of voices, and a rush was 
 made by the mob to close up in the rear of the police- 
 officer and his prisoner. But this manoeuvre was at 
 once defeated. A handful of mounted police, who 
 had been stationed near the chateau gates, bore the 
 disorderly rabble back, and then, in a cloud of dust, 
 the horses champing their bits, the accoutrements 
 glittering in the sunlight, they formed up, and at a 
 walk followed closely behind Louis and his captor. 
 
 Monsieur Loubet had acted with such secrecy that 
 even De Courcelles knew nothing of his plans. 
 Blanche had given instructions that all his wishes 
 should be attended to ; and then, deciding that her 
 presence was useless, she obtained the perfect seclusion 
 she desired, by retiring to the small drawing-room 
 which adjoined her bedroom. Here the Baron and 
 Amy were sitting with her, when the clattering hoofs 
 of the mounted police attracted their attention. 
 Blanche, who at once went to the window, felt petrified. 
 There at her feet was Louis,approaching with Monsieur 
 Loubet, a formidable array of police acting as a sort 
 of rear-guard. All colour deserting her cheeks, her 
 eyes riveted upon the advancing cortege, she gasped 
 out her feelings. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " 
 
 The Baron and Amy sprang to her side. 
 
 " What is it, Countess ? " exclaimed De Courcelles. 
 Then, his own eyesight replying to his question, he 
 added, " Deuce take me if I can answer you. The 
 Abbe is evidently arrested." 
 
 " Arrested ! " screamed Blanche, forgetting that De 
 Courcelles' glance was fixed upon her, and that she
 
 300 nip jflesb ant) Blocto, 
 
 was extremely indiscrete. Astonished and alarmed, 
 he saw that the whole expression of her face had 
 changed, and that she had suddenly become perfectly 
 livid. Surveying her searchingly, De Courcelles 
 almost immediately became possessed of her secret. 
 " So you love the Abb6," he at once said to himself. 
 Then, fearing that she might swoon, he hastened to 
 add aloud : 
 
 " How foolish of me. Of course, I must be 
 mistaken. What reason could exist for such a 
 step ? " 
 
 " What reason, indeed!" articulated Blanche feebly, 
 and with an immense effort to control herself. " There 
 must be some mistake." 
 
 " Go and see at once, Leo," suggested Amy ener- 
 getically. 
 
 " All right, little one," he replied affectionately, 
 " I'll pop down, see what's up, and be back with you 
 in a moment," and away he went. 
 
 Encountering Louis and Loubet entering the 
 chateau, De Courcelles stepped up to Louis, grasped 
 his hand, and, turning to Loubet, demanded an 
 explanation. 
 
 " In the execution of my duty, Monsieur le Baron," 
 the police officer hastened to reply, " I have arrested 
 Monsieur 1'Abbe Bernard." 
 
 " But there can be no reason for such a step," ex- 
 claimed De Courcelles excitedly. " Tell me, my dear 
 Abb^, what does this mean ? " 
 
 " I know no more than you do, Monsieur le Baron," 
 replied Louis calmly, at that moment more fearful of 
 encountering Blanche, than of the law, for what had 
 an innocent man to be afraid of? He had not grasped 
 the situation, he had not thought. 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron," interposed Loubet, " I must 
 ask your pardon, but I have the best of reasons for
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloo&* 301 
 
 the step I have taken. Papers are in my possession 
 which, I regret to say, point to Monsieur 1'Abb^ as 
 having occasioned the death of Monsieur le Comte 
 de la Jonquieres. I must proceed with my duty." 
 
 In the face of such an assertion, De Courcelles could 
 say no more. But as Louis, obeying a sign from 
 Loubet, followed him, for the first time, so far as his 
 own bodily safety was concerned, he became uneasy. 
 No sooner had Loubet admitted possessing papers, 
 than he recollected the letter of warning which he 
 had despatched to the Count. It occurred to him 
 to ask himself where he was when the murder was 
 committed. The question brought him no consola- 
 tion. He had been for a long and solitary walk. 
 He had spoken to no one. He could prove nothing. 
 But he was not permitted to think, for the next 
 moment he found himself ushered into the study 
 where the body lay. Loubet perhaps, influenced 
 by the friendship De Courcelles had manifested for 
 Louis, took the opportunity to whisper : 
 
 " You are to be confronted with the dead man." 
 
 Scarcely paying any attention to the remark, Louis 
 began to examine the faces of several people in whose 
 presence he found himself. His entrance had pro- 
 duced a profound silence, which became painful, 
 as he stood in the darkened room, conscious that all 
 eyes were upon him. Someone drew up the 
 blinds. 
 
 " Monsieur \'Abb6 Bernard, approach," said a harsh 
 voice. " Can you identify this man ? " 
 
 The increased light discovered the Count's form 
 stretched upon a narrow iron bed. 
 
 Stooping over it, and fixing his gaze upon the 
 pinched features, which were already turning blue 
 Louis answered firmly : 
 
 " I can, monsieur."
 
 302 nil? jflesb ant> 
 
 The magistrate's clerk took the answer. 
 
 " Show him the wound," continued the harsh voice. 
 
 And Louis was made to look at a ghastly injury 
 which had been inflicted immediately below the left 
 shoulder. Then, turning to a stout gentleman near 
 him, the magistrate continued : 
 
 " Will you be good enough to tell us the result of 
 your examination, doctor?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, the stout man commenced to 
 relate how he had been summoned to examine the 
 body of the deceased. Then, warming to his work 
 as the love of his profession asserted itself, he poured 
 forth a stream of scientific expressions, from which it 
 seemed that he had discovered a lacerated wound 
 beneath the Count's left shoulder. This, without 
 doubt, had been produced by a gun charged with 
 shot, fired within a few paces of the deceased. That 
 the weapon used had been a shot-gun, was proved by 
 the presence of some of the shot, and the size of the 
 wound, which was about three times as large as that 
 which a bullet fired under the same conditions would 
 have produced. Several of the large blood-vessels in 
 the region of the heart had been injured, and death 
 had been occasioned by hemorrhage. 
 
 " Do you admit having been, directly or indirectly, 
 the cause of the death of Monsieur le Comte de la 
 Jonquieres, on the evening of the fifteenth of this 
 month ? " demanded the magistrate. 
 
 " No, monsieur." 
 
 " What are you prepared to admit? " 
 
 " Nothing, monsieur. I am as ignorant as you are 
 of" 
 
 Louis stopped abruptly. How could he plead 
 ignorance? Though pledged to remain silent, he 
 knew very well that but for Andr^ the Count would 
 still have been alive. The magistrate's penetrating
 
 Jflesb ant) UBloofc. 303 
 
 gaze was upon him, and his voice became sterner as 
 he said : 
 
 " Ah, why do you pause ? Tell me what you were 
 about to say. I insist upon it." 
 
 " Monsieur, I have nothing to tell," Louis said at 
 length. 
 
 " Do you hear that, gentlemen ? You have, doubt- 
 less, observed the prisoner's strange demeanour ? " 
 
 A murmur of assent ran round the room, and the 
 magistrate continued with becoming solemnity : 
 
 " Monsieur 1'Abbd Bernard, will you state what 
 passed between you and the deceased, when you were 
 last together ? " 
 
 The magistrate paused, and instantly before Louis' 
 mental vision flashed the stormy scene which had 
 ended, as he had then believed, in his farewell to the 
 chateau. Even in this instance, his tongue was tied. 
 How could he answer such a question, loving Blanche 
 as he did ; how could he state the cause of the angry 
 words with which they had parted ? His resolution 
 was taken. 
 
 " Monsieur, I can only repeat what I have already 
 affirmed I am innocent." 
 
 " In that case," said the magistrate, rising, as a sign 
 that the examination was now at an end, " it is my 
 painful duty to tell you that I must detain you." 
 
 " You must do as you think proper, monsieur," was 
 all that Louis could answer. 
 
 And that night he found himself incarcerated in 
 the jail at Mezieres.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WHILE this impressive scene was being enacted in 
 the study, Amy was exerting her good sense and 
 gentleness to dissuade Blanche from pursuing a 
 course which at first she seemed determined upon. 
 Amy also had not been behind - hand in arriving 
 at the conclusion which De Courcelles had formed. 
 She could not be deceived. Blanche was in love 
 with the Abbd She experienced a great shock on 
 making this discovery. For what good could come 
 of such a passion ? There was no bright side to it. 
 But now, clearly, was the moment for her to exercise 
 her common-sense and prove her devotion. Blanche, 
 trembling with agitation, insisted upon confronting 
 " those idiots the police," as in her anger she spoke 
 of them. 
 
 " I shall go and hear what they are saying. I can 
 find words to defend him," she affirmed recklessly. 
 
 " Believe me, you would only do harm," insisted 
 Amy. 
 
 " Harm ? Absurd. How could I do harm ? " 
 
 "In many ways." 
 
 " No good reason exists why I should remain here, 
 while under this very roof they are perhaps swear- 
 ing his life away. It is not friendly even. I shall 
 
 go-" 
 
 304
 
 jflesb ant) 3BIoo&. 305 
 
 " Stay, I tell you," answered Amy, catching her 
 by the wrist. " If I must be plain, there is a good 
 deal more than friendship between you and the 
 AbbeV' 
 
 " How how what right have you to say so ? " 
 stammered Blanche, crimsoning. 
 
 " A sister's right to speak the truth plainly, that's 
 all. You love the Abbe". Very well, other people 
 know it. Tell me, was there not some quarrel 
 between him and poor Rudolf?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And you would complicate matters by giving 
 an additional proof of your interest in this man, 
 whose name is already coupled with yours. Take 
 care what you do." 
 
 Thus entreated, Blanche became passive. But she 
 could not sit still. She was distracted. What were 
 they doing to him ? He was caught in the toils by 
 unscrupulous enemies, and what would be the 
 result ? 
 
 She was not kept long in ignorance, for as a closed 
 carriage rolled away through the park, followed by 
 the police, De Courcelles entered the room. 
 
 " Well," she exclaimed, " what has been done? " 
 
 " As I told you, they have been examining 
 him." 
 
 " And their decision ? " 
 
 " My dear Countess, do be calm. Their decision is, 
 that for the moment they must detain him." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " At Mezieres." 
 
 " But how ? " 
 
 " Well, if I must say it, in the jail." 
 
 Covering her face with her hands, Blanche sank 
 into a chair, exclaiming in heart-breaking accents 
 
 "Oh, God!" 
 
 u
 
 306 nip jflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 
 
 Exchanging glances with De Courcelles, and gliding 
 to Blanche's side, Amy slipped her arms round her. 
 But as though roused by this contact of flesh and 
 blood, she leaped to her feet. 
 
 " Yes," she broke forth passionately, " in the pres- 
 ence of both of you, I am not ashamed to own my 
 love for this man. I am to blame, you will say. 
 This passion of mine amounts to a crime. Judge me 
 as you please. But let me tell you that I have fought 
 against it, and have resisted, only to be conquered. 
 Can one bestow one's heart where one pleases ? Is 
 one a mere machine ? I choose to think not. 
 From God alone comes the power to love. And 
 the very hopelessness of our position does not 
 affect me. We can never be anything to each other ; but 
 in the face of that fact, and of the world; all I possess, 
 my very life itself if need be, shall be sacrificed for 
 him and in his defence." 
 
 De Courcelles and Amy were unable to utter a 
 word ; they could only look at her and listen, as, borne 
 away by her feelings, she continued 
 
 "It may sound awful, impious almost, to speak as 
 I have done at a time like this; but as God hears 
 me, the man who has gone caused me such suffering 
 that I would rather die than endure it again." 
 
 Silence succeeded her avowal. 
 
 De Courcelles felt that it was almost impossible to 
 say the right thing, and out of deference to him, 
 Amy, too, remained speechless. At length they 
 discovered that she was weeping, and, unable to 
 endure that, De Courcelles went to her, captured 
 her two hands, and in accents which were touchingly 
 manly and sympathetic said 
 
 "Very well, Countess, the darker the day, the 
 closer I stick to you. Come, you remember what 
 I said once ? Well, here I am. Make use of me.
 
 nip jflesb ant> Bloot>* 307 
 
 And we can keep secrets, too, my little wife and I. 
 Cheer up, I say. This is just the time to join hands." 
 Blanche gazed at him with eyes brimful of 
 gratitude. What she felt at that instant was in- 
 describable.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE Baron was one of those men who say very little 
 and do a great deal. He adored his young wife, and 
 being of the same flesh and blood, he had conceived 
 a sincere affection for Blanche. Besides, he had liked 
 Louis from the first, and his sympathies were com- 
 pletely enlisted in his behalf at this moment when, 
 poor and friendless, he found him accused of a crime 
 of which he had no doubt he was wholly innocent. 
 That Blanche should love him, and that Louis should 
 return that love, as somehow he felt confident was the 
 case, he regarded as a profound misfortune, the 
 magnitude of which it was difficult to gauge. For 
 how in heaven's name was the thing to end ? But 
 he set all that aside, arriving at a decision in his 
 peculiarly good-natured way, as he talked it over 
 with himself. 
 
 Here were two people in a deuced deep hole. One 
 of them certainly had the best possible claim upon 
 him, he considered ; the other was suffering for an 
 iniquitous act, perpetrated by someone as yet un- 
 known. Well, what he had to do very clearly was to 
 find that someone. So, as soon as the Count's burial 
 was over, after discussing the matter in a painstaking 
 
 308
 
 jflesb an& 3Bloofc. 309 
 
 way with Amy, he went to Blanche and announced 
 his intention of setting out for Paris. 
 
 ' But why go to Paris ? " demanded Blanche. 
 1 Well, you see, my solicitor is in Paris." 
 
 ' And you will go to him ? " 
 
 ' I shall go to him." 
 
 ' And tell him everything ? " 
 
 ' And tell him everything." 
 
 ' Then you are a dear, good fellow," exclaimed 
 Blanche. 
 
 " No, no, Countess ; don't say anything about me 
 until I've done something. If you do, you'll spoil me, 
 and I shall get conceited. When I have if Amy 
 doesn't happen to be looking " (Amy was within a 
 yard of him as he spoke) " you shall give me another 
 kiss." 
 
 " Another one," pouted Amy, with a delicious 
 assumption of jealous concern. " What have you 
 two been doing ? " 
 
 " Why, swearing everlasting friendship," explained 
 De Courcelles. 
 
 " But it is not necessary to kiss to be friends." 
 
 " No, but it's the nicest way," retorted De Cour- 
 celles comically. 
 
 " When do you propose to start ? " inquired Blanche 
 gravely. 
 
 " By the next fast train. A slow one is unen- 
 durable. I have looked at the time-table, and if 
 all goes well, I shall be in Paris in time to catch my 
 man before he leaves his office. You will both come 
 with me as far as the station, won't you ? " 
 
 " No, how can you ask such a thing," replied Amy, 
 thinking of the Count ; " we mustn't drive out as 
 though nothing had happened, we must see the last 
 of you here." 
 
 " The last of me for a day or so," answered her
 
 310 nls jflesb anfc 3Bloot> 
 
 husband affectionately. " Ah, it is a great wrench, 
 Countess, I assure you, this undertaking. If it were 
 for anyone else well, it would be left undone. 
 Why, we have only just come together, Amy and I." 
 
 " Therefore I shall thank you the more. She will 
 be safe with me, and," added Blanche sweetly, " we 
 shall both welcome you back, as the flowers welcome 
 the sun." 
 
 So De Courcelles drove away amidst the warmth 
 and the bright green verdure, with Amy's kisses upon 
 his lips, and Blanche's last words, " Remember, I am 
 terribly anxious," ringing in his ears. But alas, when 
 he returned he had little to tell. The law seemed so 
 complicated, the lawyer so reticent. And he did 
 not understand one-half of what had been said to 
 him. 
 
 Mattre Pe'lisier, his solicitor, after listening most 
 attentively to all he had to relate, had not committed 
 himself so far as to hazard any opinion. He had 
 contented himself with promising to do his utmost. 
 And already the detectives were at work. 
 
 De Courcelles' efforts to communicate with the 
 prisoner were ineffectual. He was not permitted to 
 see anyone, or to hold any intercourse with the 
 outside world. The Procureur General was inflexible 
 on this point. Satisfied that all the legal machinery 
 likely to aid Louis was now in motion, Blanche's 
 kindly heart turned to his parents. Painful though 
 the task was to her, she sought them herself. But 
 Madame Bernard received her advances sternly, 
 almost uncivilly, and she was forced to retire, experi- 
 encing the sensation that, in any event, she would 
 not approach them again. 
 
 Practically confined to the chateau, and with 
 a great misfortune overshadowing them, the two 
 young women drew imperceptibly nearer to each
 
 jftesb ant> Bloo&. 3" 
 
 other. Before trouble had come, a perfect under- 
 standing, a real affection, had been retarded in 
 its growth, owing to Amy's love affair and the 
 reticence, which was a natural consequence of 
 Blanche's peculiar position. Now these obstacles 
 had been removed by the realization of Amy's wishes, 
 and a moment of supreme weakness, in which Blanche 
 had completely betrayed herself. 
 
 Decidedly, Amy had been affected by the briefly 
 enjoyed alteration in her existence. No longer was 
 she the light-hearted, thoughtless girl, absorbed in 
 and fascinated by the prospect of becoming a wife. 
 At one bound she had become a woman. 
 
 Sorely in need of consolation, Blanche silently 
 recognised and benefited by this change. A prey to 
 anxiety, frightening herself even at times by the 
 vehemence and depth of her feelings, she gladly 
 laid her head upon her sister's breast, like a child who 
 is desperately tired. Delighted to witness this affec- 
 tion, De Courcelles took care to leave them alone 
 together, saying to himself that the sentiment was of 
 the best, and that really, under the circumstances, he 
 would be decidedly de trop. He ardently began to 
 desire one thing though, and that was to get back to the 
 Chateau de Courcelles. Confident that the interests 
 he had espoused were being looked after, he wished 
 to return home. To discover Blanche's opinion on 
 the subject he resorted to probing. 
 
 " Don't you think a little change would be good 
 for you, Countess?" he commenced one day after 
 breakfast, while caressing the silky coat of one of the 
 spaniels. 
 
 " I have never thought of it," replied Blanche. 
 
 " Well, but do. I mean a trifling distance, mind." 
 
 " To move at all would be as distressing as a voyage 
 to the Antipodes."
 
 312 nls jflesb att& Bloofc, 
 
 " Oh, but a journey by rail is " 
 
 " True, one has only to sit still." 
 
 " But suppose it were only a drive," suggested De 
 Courcelles, approaching his mark. 
 
 " It would be a trouble to me. Besides, I can't 
 bear meeting people. No, if I want air and exercise, 
 I can get it in the park here. And there is no one to 
 see me, which is the greatest comfort. Besides, I 
 prefer this scene to any other just now. I think I can 
 bear suspense best in a place I know." 
 
 De Courcelles understood her. He knew that she 
 suffered acutely, and he was far too good-natured to 
 press a point, the gaining of which might occasion her 
 additional pain. 
 
 " Yes, perhaps you are right. If I were bothered, 
 it would worry me to move about, I'm certain. Well, 
 I shall go and have a look round the stables. I 
 always do at home, you know. The post will be here 
 in half an hour. What blessings the post and the 
 paper are. Come along, Philos," and stepping out on 
 to the terrace, he v.-ent away over the smooth lawn 
 amongst the flowers, with the dogs barking and wag- 
 ging their tails, thus manifesting their unbounded 
 delight at being noticed. 
 
 " Perhaps the postman will bring some news," ob- 
 served Blanche to Amy. " I understand what Leo 
 meant. He wanted to cheer me. He is very kind 
 and thoughtful." 
 
 " Well, he is fond of you, and will do all in his 
 power," replied Amy. 
 
 " I feel sure of it." 
 
 " He is expecting to hear from Maltre P^lisier. 
 All I hope is, that when the letter comes, it will 
 contain something that one can understand." 
 
 " The law and its windings are certainly very mysti- 
 fying. But do you know, Amy, the more I think
 
 fflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 313 
 
 of it, the more terrible does the Abbe's position appear 
 to be. He can offer no explanation, because in all 
 probability his lips are sealed. Otherwise why should 
 he have remained silent. And though he is as innocent 
 as I am, public opinion will go against him. He will 
 be less friendless than any miscreant who is placed in 
 the dock, and mainly through me." 
 
 " Through you ? " 
 
 " Yes. Can you not understand ? Oh, it kills 
 me, this suspense. Already the papers say : ' The 
 prisoner is stubbornly reticent' They abuse him 
 because he is helpless and unfortunate. And can 
 you not see what the spirit of the judges will be ? 
 They will show no mercy, for the words, woman and 
 priest, should remain for ever apart. Nothing but 
 hard and fast facts will be dealt with. They will 
 dilate upon our intimacy, upon the quarrel which 
 ensued in consequence. Felix, who heard all, has 
 been gained over to their side. He will exaggerate, 
 I am certain. Then, upon these two facts, they will 
 endeavour to base the motive for the crime he is 
 accused of." 
 
 " But that will be terrible.' 
 
 " Yes, for him." 
 
 " And for you." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because they will certainly examine you. Oh, 
 think of it, Blanche. How degrading ! " 
 
 " I have ; but I don't look upon it in that light. 
 What I dread to think, is that my evidence may 
 be distorted and used against him. My conscience 
 would be clear if he were free, but I know that if 
 I had not existed, he would not be where he is. 
 Let us say no more, however. You have listened 
 to these fears and ideas of mine until you must be 
 weary."
 
 nip jflesb ant) Bloot>* 
 
 " You know better. I am so grieved for you, 
 and" 
 
 " I am utterly wretched." 
 
 " Oh, but there is a bright side ; let us try to look 
 upon it." 
 
 " I can see nothing bright. If you can conceive 
 what your own feelings would be if you realized that 
 you loved Leo one moment, and the next became 
 aware that you were to be separated from him always, 
 you will know what I endure. Yet I have striven so 
 hard to do right. Oh, if his innocence is not estab- 
 lished, what will become of me ? I should go mad if 
 I stayed in this place. Don't tire of me, dear ; bear 
 with me a little. To unburden my feelings to you 
 from time to time, eases me of a load which presses 
 upon me as though it would suffocate me. Think 
 of him, oh, my God, condemned to death, or to serve 
 out a lingering term of years in misery, while I, loving 
 him, could do nothing. There will be no rest this 
 side the grave for either of us. If we had never met, 
 he would have lived in peace and honour, and now, 
 all that can come to him is ruin, and I have occasioned 
 it." 
 
 " But why anticipate misfortune ? " asked Amy 
 energetically ; " it will not come to that. God will not 
 let it, I am confident." 
 
 " I feel that too, at times, and one ought to think 
 so ; but disasters have come so thick and fast that I 
 am nervous, and frightened to death. I tell you, Amy, 
 as I have told Leo, that the man who shot the Count, 
 must be sought for amongst the lovers of a certain 
 girl in this village. For in what other way could he 
 have awakened such deadly hatred ? " 
 
 " But Leo agrees with you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but so far, no discovery has been made." 
 
 " Have patience ; everything takes time."
 
 fflesb anb Bloofc. 3*5 
 
 " Patience ! How can I be patient when he is 
 suffering so cruelly ? " 
 
 Amy made no answer, and Blanche, with her eyes 
 fixed upon the gay, sunlit garden, and the river 
 winding and flashing amidst the fertile beauty of the 
 scene beyond, began again to revolve all she had 
 said. These outbursts of feeling were not common 
 with her. She was too proud to speak much. Before 
 De Courcelles she was especially reserved, and of the 
 depth and sincerity of her feelings, he judged 
 mainly by the gravity and pallor of her face. She, 
 whose complexion had been so delicately clear and 
 healthful, already gave abundant evidence, that sleep- 
 less nights and anxious days could not be endured 
 without leaving their mark. An additional source of 
 regret to her was supplied by the constantly recur- 
 ring reflection, that her last interview with Louis had 
 been marred by unkind words. She could not forget 
 this, harping upon it perpetually. 
 
 De Courcelles came to her with some letters in his 
 hand. 
 
 " I have contrived to intercept the billets doux? he 
 said jestingly, his remark scattering her ideas. 
 
 "Is there anything for me?" she inquired mechani- 
 cally. 
 
 " No, but I can tell you something that will please 
 you." 
 
 " And what is it ? " 
 
 " Maitre Pe'lisier has committed himself so far as to 
 write a long and reassuring letter. He speaks with 
 the utmost confidence." 
 
 "That is good news." 
 
 " I knew you would think so." 
 
 " May I see it ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 De Courcelles handed the letter while speaking, and
 
 316 nig jflesb an& 
 
 Blanche began to read it with great attention. When 
 he saw that she had finished, he asked : 
 
 " Well, what is your opinion ? " 
 
 " That it is most encouraging. As he says how 
 could the Abbe have committed the crime? The in- 
 sinuation that he is not the perpetrator, but the 
 instigator of the outrage, will have to be proved, as he 
 also very pertinently remarks." 
 
 " That is true, but the most important suggestion 
 he makes in the fewest words." 
 
 "Which you mean " 
 
 " His allusion to the fact that a really good alibi 
 would enable the Abbe to come off with flying 
 colours." 
 
 " But what hope is there of such good for- 
 tune?" 
 
 " A substantial one, I fancy, if I may read between 
 the lines. I don't think Maitre Pelisier would say so 
 much, without some solid knowledge at his back." 
 
 "Then, this is a day for rejoicing." 
 
 Ah, but" 
 
 " I know what you would say." 
 
 " That we had better not forget that we are lost in 
 a very thick wood, eh, my dear Countess ? " 
 
 " Precisely. But I shall not attach too much im- 
 portance to anything, until no doubt remains. 
 Amongst other things, you see, I have learned to be 
 sceptical. Still, one may safely swallow a few grains 
 of consolation." 
 
 " Undoubtedly. But now I have a favour to ask. 
 Put on your hat and come for a turn. The air is 
 delightful, and you will get an appetite. Really, you 
 must not shut yourself up in this gloomy old house. 
 Already you are looking pale." 
 
 Thus persuaded, Blanche assented, and De Cour- 
 celles soon found himself escorting the two young
 
 317 
 
 women beneath the refreshing shade of the trees, 
 where, however, before long Monsieur Brunot contrived 
 to surprise them, by rattling up in his barouche, and, 
 before they could make their escape, alighting and 
 greeting them with the utmost effusiveness. 
 
 While the purse-proud and egotistical Deputy was 
 making his presence felt, a very different scene was 
 being enacted a few paces beyond the boundary of 
 the park wall. 
 
 Lisette, who was recrossing in the ferry, having 
 been on an errand to an outlying farm, was waylaid 
 by Andrd The two now confronted each other, with- 
 out the presence of a third party, for the first time 
 since the Count's death. 
 
 " Lisette," said the young man, attempting to 
 possess himself of her hand, " why do you avoid me, 
 why are you so cold ? Come, my girl, I want a 
 straight answer from you to-day. I can bear this 
 suspense no longer." 
 
 " A straight answer," repeated Lisette, her bosom 
 suddenly heaving tempestuously, while her dark eyes 
 glittered dangerously, "a straight answer. Is that 
 what you want ? " 
 
 " Yes. I love you." 
 
 " And I hate you. Yes, hate you do you hear ? 
 Why do I shrink from you ? Listen to this. Most 
 people shrink from a murderer, don't they ? " 
 
 Becoming livid, Andre recoiled, but promptly 
 recovering himself, he replied : 
 
 " Oh, you call it murder, do you, to shoot a man 
 who would rob one of what one loves best in the 
 world ? Well, I don't. I would have shot a score of 
 men to come by you. Is this my reward ? " 
 
 " All you are likely to get from me. Go and ask 
 the gendarmes what they think of you. Oh, I shall 
 not betray you. I am content to hate you, that is
 
 3 i8 nip jflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 all." And without another word, leaving Andr6 gazing 
 after her with a white face and wistful eyes, Lisette 
 passed on. 
 
 Two of Maitre P&isier's disguised detectives, who 
 were amusing themselves over a game of dominoes 
 at the " Repos des Artistes," would have given their 
 ears to have been a little nearer to Lisette's red lips.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 WHEN the magistrate, on concluding the examina- 
 tion, had said, " It is my painful duty to tell you that 
 I must detain you," Louis thoroughly realized his 
 own helplessness. But even then he did not ap- 
 preciate the peril in which he stood. The icy chill 
 that pierced his heart was caused by the reflection 
 that he was about to be separated from Blanche. He 
 would not wake in the morning, consoled by the 
 knowledge that she was near, that he breathed the 
 same air, and was at least at liberty to go for a 
 solitary walk over paths they had trodden together. 
 
 Approaching the chateau as a prisoner, he had 
 shrunk from encountering her gaze. When it came 
 to quitting it the dear home where she dwelt, and 
 where the happiest hours he had ever known had 
 been spent he experienced a shock which deprived 
 him of speech. For a moment he became blinded 
 with tears, and the sensation as of an invisible hand 
 clutching at his throat, half-choked him. With 
 Loubet's touch upon his arm, and Loubet's voice 
 ringing in his ears, he roused himself. A wild desire 
 for freedom surged through him. It would be sweet 
 to fight for his liberty, and to fall in an attempt to 
 gain it. The mad thought passing, remembering 
 what he was, where he stood, and why he stood
 
 320 nip jflesb ant> 
 
 there, he bowed his head and followed the police- 
 officer. 
 
 One last, wistful glance, and he crossed the great 
 hall,'one agonizing pang as he saw no sign of the dear 
 form he sought for, and he was being borne away. 
 Slowly the noise made by the rattling wheels seemed 
 to benumb his senses, he was not conscious of the 
 journey, and in a state of dull despair, he was con- 
 ducted to the cell which was now to be his home. 
 
 From the moment the prison door closed upon 
 him, and he found himself plunged in profound 
 solitude, his mind became the battleground of a 
 series of stormy conflicts. Then began what was 
 to develop into a searching introspective analysis of 
 his love, of his calling, of the life he had led, of the 
 life he was likely to lead. As a man slowly recovers 
 from the effects of a blow that has stunned him, so 
 did he awake to grapple with his thoughts. Again, 
 as before, he commenced to ponder upon this young 
 woman. 
 
 He reflected that never since the day on which 
 he had been so ignominiously dismissed from the 
 chateau, had he seen or heard aught of her. 
 Was this the conduct of a woman in love? His 
 position, it was true, was a peculiarly delicate one. 
 But had she pleased, had she desired to communicate 
 with him, could she not have contrived to send him 
 some message, without compromising herself or injur- 
 ing him ? Decidedly so. Then what construction 
 was he to put upon her silence, upon her complete 
 desertion of him in his hour of need ? He had left 
 the very house of which she was mistress without a 
 sign from her. For though the Baron had addressed 
 him kindly, the Baron did not know their secret, and 
 could not be said to represent her. 
 
 There was something strange in all this. And was it
 
 fflesb an& Block 321 
 
 difficult to account for it ? What more likely than 
 that his quarrel with the Count had led to an explana- 
 tion and who could tell ? a reconciliation between 
 husband and wife ? Then when this terrible tragedy 
 had so suddenly separated them, might not the 
 slumbering fire of affection have leaped into flame ? 
 In the face of this crushing blow, Blanche had be- 
 come aware that her love for the dead man was not 
 annihilated. Lost to her beyond recall, she would 
 now dwell only upon his goodness, and remembering 
 her own moral faithlessness, would experience a 
 species of disgust for the man who had occasioned 
 this laxity of principle, this neglect of duty. Who 
 could tell, even, but that she might have come to see 
 in him the secret foe who had by some means com- 
 passed the Count's ending ? Were not the circum- 
 stances of the case sufficiently startling, given that 
 the letter had been misconstrued ? 
 
 A deadly insult had been offered to him Louis. 
 He had retaliated by a warning ; then, despairing of 
 obtaining the redress he sought, and recognising in the 
 Count, an enemy with whom armed neutrality was im- 
 possible, he had contrived to strike the fatal blow. But 
 could she think so vilely of him? He could only wring 
 his hands in doubt and bewilderment, though it was 
 almost impossible to conceive her capable of such 
 cruelty and injustice towards him. It might be, too, 
 that she had been silent because she feared exposure. 
 She might deem it wiser to draw back at this critical 
 moment, rather than not at all. Was she a great 
 lady to allow her name to be coupled with his a 
 poor priest? The prospect of such degradation 
 might well appal her. Besides, the fruitlessness of 
 their intimacy, the hopelessness of their love, must 
 be constantly recurring to her. And these insidious 
 reflections must have their effect. The odds against 
 
 x
 
 322 nig fflesb ant) 
 
 him were so overwhelming, that, sooner or later, he 
 must be vanquished. She would forget him in her 
 happiness with someone else, and he what was to 
 become of him then ? 
 
 Hosts of ideas of a like nature occurred to this 
 man, whom silence and solitude had thus condemned 
 to perpetual speculation. After a night spent in 
 weary sleeplessness on his hard and comfortless bed, 
 the dawn would sometimes awaken a revolutionized 
 being. He felt thoroughly ashamed of himself for 
 having entertained such doubts. Was not this woman 
 all that was noble, affectionate, and pure ? Wretched 
 man that he was. How had he dared to malign her 
 even in thought ? If she had held aloof from him, she 
 had her reasons ; but they were not of the order he 
 had evolved and assigned to her. She had not 
 changed. She was not of that sort. If his life de- 
 pended upon her faithfulness, he would have no 
 occasion to tremble. But, alas, while these sweet 
 thoughts were filling his heart with warmth and 
 restfulness, the opposition would again start up, un- 
 dermining with cold, hard realities, and inch by inch 
 he would surrender to this irresistible attack, and 
 weakened, spiritless, perhaps slumber would merci- 
 fully overtake him. 
 
 But in addition to his misgivings on the score of 
 Blanche, these tempestuous nights and days were 
 overcast by the oft-recurring religious doubts and 
 scruples. There was nothing new in this, for ever 
 since becoming vicar of La Jonquieres, scales had 
 commenced to fall from his eyes. During the long 
 winter months, when the chateau blinds had been 
 drawn down, and Blanche had remained in Paris, 
 silent, ignoring him, he had sought to find distraction 
 in the careful perusal of the most able philosophical 
 and theological works. He had attacked these
 
 jflesb aito Bloot>. 323 
 
 volumes with the whole ardour of his nature, and on 
 many an occasion the lamp beneath which he turned 
 the abstruse pages had paled before the grey dawn, 
 the birds beginning to carol happily, while he, shiver- 
 ing and fatigued, would betake himself to bed. 
 
 This unremitting study had not borne the fruit he 
 had looked for when he began it, and he had come to 
 think, without any possibility of his decision being 
 altered, that he had taken a most unnatural vow, and 
 that this vow was the one weak point which reduced 
 to a condition of rottenness the whole fabric of which 
 he was but an unworthy particle. 
 
 It was to this conviction that he had alluded when, 
 after having laid bare his seminary life, he had said 
 to Blanche : " Some day, when my ideas are clearer, 
 I will come and tell them to you, though, when I do, 
 you are more than likely to say, this man is a de- 
 praved monster. " 
 
 Though he had spoken obscurely then, it was not 
 because he was conscious that his ideas lacked clear- 
 ness and his judgment soundness. It was because he 
 was not prepared to speak. With the prison walls 
 enclosing him, the loose masses of fact with which he 
 had stored his brain were forming themselves into 
 compact and substantial arguments, upon which he 
 was becoming more and more anxious to speak, 
 more resolutely determined to act.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE " Repos des Artistes " was the headquarters of 
 the gossips of La Jonquieres. There the farmers and 
 the peasantry met, smoked their pipes, sipped their 
 absinthe, anisette, or curagoa, played dominoes, and 
 expressed their opinions freely. What was said 
 there was retailed to their women folk, and was in- 
 fluential in its effect 
 
 Of course, at this juncture, the habituds of the 
 auberge, like the population of the arrondissement, 
 were split up into two parties ; those who favoured 
 the prosecution, and those who sided with the 
 defence. Latterly, those who were convinced of 
 Louis' guilt had increased numerically, and, in 
 sporting parlance, the odds were against the 
 prisoner. As a matter of fact, some bets were in- 
 dulged in, and nothing else was talked of but the 
 approaching trial. Reposing in its gardens and park, 
 the chateau was practically isolated. What went on 
 in the village was not heard of by the inmates of the 
 stately old house ; but what the great folks did, and 
 said, penetrated into the little hamlet in a surprisingly 
 short space of time. 
 
 The leaves of the centenarian oaks were turning 
 yellow, and crimsoning in the fierce sunlight, the 
 delicate foliage of the silver birches already strewed the 
 ground with patches of gold, the roses were dispersing 
 
 3 2 4
 
 nig fflesb anfc 3Bloot>. 325 
 
 their perfume and their petals, while, upon the sub- 
 stantial garden walls, peaches and nectarines blushed 
 with ripeness. Amidst the flight of time, Blanche per- 
 ambulated the pleasant walks in company with Amy, 
 striving to be hopeful, endeavouring to be cheerful, and 
 to summon what fortitude she could command to 
 endure the distracting suspense dictated by the law. It 
 was a terrible ordeal for her, but she bore it bravely. 
 And, since wondering and frettingwould not help Louis, 
 she became practical, and laid herself out to increase 
 the comfort and happiness of the two young people 
 who, with such admirable self-denial and patience, 
 had elected to remain with her. They were all 
 breakfasting together, and the open window admitted 
 the refreshing perfume of the flowers. Some letters 
 had arrived for De Courcelles. He was opening 
 them, and Blanche, seated opposite to him, was 
 watching his face with intense interest. Unaware 
 that he was being observed, he made no effort to dis- 
 guise his annoyance, so that Blanche, who was nervous 
 and upon the alert, found it impossible to remain 
 silent. 
 
 " Have you heard from Maitre Pdlesier ? " she 
 asked, point-blank. 
 
 ' I have, Countess." 
 
 c And what does he say ? " 
 
 ' Oh, things are going on all right." 
 
 1 In that case, why are you annoyed ? " 
 
 ' But how do you know I am ? " 
 
 ' Because I happened to be watching you." 
 
 ' And you could read my thoughts ? " 
 
 1 Instantly." 
 
 De Courcelles looked at her. He knew that she 
 was intensely anxious. The news he had received 
 was not reassuring ; but what was the use of increas-
 
 326 nl jflesb an& Bloofc. 
 
 ing her suffering ? He resolved to prevaricate for her 
 sake. 
 
 " But what if I were to tell you that you are mis- 
 taken ? " he inquired smilingly. 
 
 " I should not believe you." 
 
 " Leo, you had better tell Blanche what you know," 
 put in Amy. " You will only vex her if you don't." 
 
 " Oh, you little stupid. Am I to fight the two of 
 you, eh ? " he asked good-humouredly. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I am vanquished." 
 
 " Ah, you are ready to own that together we are 
 too much for you," exclaimed Blanche. " Come, 
 then, tell me what has happened. I have a right to 
 know." 
 
 " I admit it, my dear Countess," replied De Cour- 
 celles, willing to gain himself time in which to 
 determine what he should say. 
 
 " How provoking you are." 
 
 "This is the first occasion upon which you have 
 said such a thing. Come, do you really think so ill 
 of me ? " 
 
 " How dexterously you contrive to change the 
 subject. But no, just now, I am not going to discuss 
 you. Let me see the letter. May I ? " 
 
 " It is marked private and confidential," retorted 
 De Courcelles playfully. 
 
 " I have never known you tease me before," asserted 
 Blanche reproachfully. 
 
 " That you may not lay such a charge at my door 
 listen. Maitre Pdlisier has engaged a renowned 
 Paris barrister to defend Monsieur I'Abbd Bernard." 
 
 " Well, so much the better. But that piece ot 
 information was not the cause of your annoy- 
 ance." 
 
 " But consider my annoyance as imaginary."
 
 f lesb ant) Bloo&. 327 
 
 Exasperated, Blanche said sharply : 
 
 " Leo, you irritate me. I am not a child, re- 
 member." 
 
 Driven thus from his guns, all at once the Baron 
 became grave, his eyebrows contracted perceptibly, 
 and he said : 
 
 " Well, then, since you will have it, I suppose I 
 must tell you. Maitre Pe'lisier writes that the Deputy 
 Procureur, who is a friend of his, is strangely reserved, 
 ind evidently unfavourably impressed, and that other 
 hfluential men, whose opinions will not go for nothing, 
 a-e becoming more inclined to the opinion that the 
 Abb6 is guilty." 
 
 " In Heaven's name, of what ?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear Countess, have patience. After all, 
 this is but a rumour. Until the trial commences, one 
 cannot say how things will go. But to give you the 
 pth of what Pdlisier has to say for himself, he 
 concludes with the curious remark that ' at this 
 moment there can be no doubt that public opinion 
 aid justice frown menacingly.' There, read for 
 yourself." 
 
 Blanche took the letter, but, struck by the allusion 
 tc justice, she remarked bitterly : 
 
 " If Monsieur 1'AbW Bernard obtains justice, it is 
 all he will require." 
 
 " I am quite of your opinion." 
 
 " Then there is nothing to fear." 
 
 " Well, I always endeavour to look on the bright 
 side of things, and I strongly recommend you to do 
 the same." 
 
 Blanche did not reply to him ; already she was 
 immersed in the contents of the note. 
 
 Meanwhile, the course events were taking was being 
 watched by a remarkably sharp pair of eyes, and 
 those eyes were set in the sagacious head of Monsieur
 
 328 <smi fflesb ant> 3Bloot>, 
 
 Brunot. Ever since Louis' arrest, a brilliant idea, in 
 his opinion, had occurred to him. This idea was the 
 belief that he might make capital out of the com- 
 plicated fix in which Louis was placed. In his 
 important position as Deputy, he possessed consider- 
 able influence, which influence, moreover, had been 
 solidified by his wealth. 
 
 He had quietly formed the opinion that Blanche 
 was very much in love with Louis, just as report 
 alleged, but he scouted the further belief that Louis 
 was guilty of the crime with which he was chargeo. 
 He had always coveted the superb chateau and 
 estate of La Jonquieres, and his ambition, or ratter 
 greed, had not rested there, for he had coveted the 
 dead Count's wife. There was now just an outlyiig 
 chance of obtaining both, he had come to think. At 
 all events, there was no harm in trying for such a 
 prize. He set about his task. He called at tie 
 chateau and condoled, making himself as agreeable 
 as he could ; and, while doing this, he caused rumours 
 to be set afloat supporting the prosecution, and asser:- 
 ing that, above all things, there could be no doubt Df 
 Louis' guilt. Then, when matters were ripe, and the 
 session approaching, he set out for the chateau. 
 
 Blanche was alone, De Courcelles and Amy having 
 gone for a drive. But he was refused admittance. 
 Not to be done, he scribbled a few words on his card, 
 and, with a judicious douceur, instructed the servant 
 to give it to Madame la Comtesse. 
 
 The effect was magical. He was shown into her 
 presence. Now that he found himself actually face to 
 face with this beautiful and dignified woman, Brunot 
 was disposed to wish that he had stayed at home. 
 His heart failed him. How could he say what he 
 wanted? It was monstrous impertinence. But then, 
 audacity had proved so effective in his business.
 
 tils jflesb atto 3Bloofc. 329 
 
 He had a fair field, too; they were alone. His 
 courage rose. He said to himself: " Sacredie, why 
 should I be afraid ? There's nothing like trying. I 
 shall do so. She can't eat me." 
 
 Blanche's reception of him was calculated to try 
 his nerves. She was conscious that the ground he 
 had encroached upon was delicate. 
 
 " Will you tell me exactly what you know, what 
 you mean, monsieur?" she said, after a brief and 
 ceremonious greeting ; " these words upon your card 
 you wrote ' because you thought they would interest 
 me." 
 
 " And was I wrong, Madame la Comtesse?" 
 
 " Not altogether. Monsieur 1'Abbe" Bernard is a 
 friend. He has been constantly with us. I have 
 learned to respect and admire him because of his 
 sterling qualities. Would it be possible for me to 
 know that he is suffering without cause, and to feel 
 uninterested in the issue ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, Madame la Comtesse. Like you, 
 I am convinced of his innocence, otherwise I should 
 not be here." 
 
 Brunot had artfully struck the right chord. 
 
 " I am rejoiced to hear you say so, monsieur. He 
 is in need of friends at this moment, if ever he was. 
 But what do you allude to ? You speak of ' import- 
 ant news.' 
 
 Blanche glanced at the card as she spoke. 
 
 " The news that I venture to call important, is that 
 I am willing to aid him. Without boasting, I may 
 say that I am possessed of some influence. I will 
 exert it in his behalf." 
 
 " He is indeed fortunate, monsieur. But let me 
 hear in what way you propose to help him. I am, I 
 confess, woefully ignorant on these points." 
 
 " I have little hesitation in saying that if I inter-
 
 33 nls jflesb an& 
 
 ested myself, the prosecution would collapse. He 
 would be acquitted ! " 
 
 The prospect of such a blessing caused Blanche 
 to unbend and to become natural. 
 
 " Then you will exert yourself, monsieur you will 
 let me entreat you ? " 
 
 She clasped her hands and leaned towards him ; 
 her eyes sparkling with animation, her cheeks 
 deepening perceptibly in colour. 
 
 Brunot saw the advantage he had gained. His 
 answer was a cunning one. Fixing his eyes on her, 
 he said : 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will listen to your entreaties. It is 
 you who are mistress of the situation." 
 
 Blanche instantly remarked his altered manner, 
 his singular assertion, and she at once recoiled upon 
 the defensive. 
 
 " I am mistress of the situation ! What do you mean? 
 I do not understand you, monsieur. What can I do ? 
 Explain yourself," she said coldly. 
 
 " I repeat. It is my opinion that if you will it 
 so, Monsieur 1'Abbd Bernard may become a free 
 man." 
 
 " But how, in Heaven's name ? " 
 
 " Madame, I am willing to work night and day." 
 
 " But that rests with you." 
 
 " On the contrary, I cannot even begin unless you 
 inspire me, Madame la Comtesse. Unless you set 
 me going, in fact." 
 
 " But what have I to do with it ? If you choose to 
 render Monsieur l'Abb6 Bernard a great, an inestim- 
 able service, very well, I shall be glad. As a friend 
 of his, you will have my best thanks." 
 
 Monsieur Brunot fidgetted. Was he mistaken ? 
 Were Blanche's sentiments for the Abb purely 
 friendly ones ? Had rumour deceived him ? If so,
 
 fflesb anfc 3Bloo&. 331 
 
 he was about to make a fool of himself. He hesitated. 
 But he had gone so far. Then he took the plunge. 
 
 " Madame, I must humbly apologize for addressing 
 you on such a subject at such a time. I am in a 
 delicate position. Make allowances for me, I implore 
 you. Your beauty has inspired me with a passion 
 which leaves me no longer master of myself. I am 
 the most " 
 
 " Monsieur, you must be mad," exclaimed Blanche, 
 starting to her feet. 
 
 " I am not. Oh, no, I am not mad, unless you 
 have made me so." 
 
 " I will not listen to you. How dare you address 
 such language to me?" 
 
 " Alas ! Madame la Comtesse, it is the language of 
 the heart." 
 
 " The effect of which you had better try elsewhere, 
 monsieur." 
 
 " Now, you are hard on me, indeed, Madame la 
 Comtesse." 
 
 " I have no desire to compel you, but I shall be 
 glad if you will terminate this absurd interview, 
 monsieur," returned Blanche haughtily. 
 
 Thus stung, and fearing to lose his cause, Brunot 
 replied : 
 
 " And leave Monsieur 1'Abbd Bernard to his fate, 
 that" 
 
 " I fail to see what Monsieur 1'Abb^ Bernard has 
 to do with the matter, and I must decline to discuss 
 it further. Am I to summon my servants?" 
 
 " By no means. Be patient with me. He has 
 everything to do with it, dear madame. Let me be 
 plain, but forgive me. He is in trouble, the session 
 is approaching. It is said that the authorities are 
 inclined to make an example of him, to be terribly 
 severe, as you are doubtless aware. You may not
 
 332 nls jflesb ant> :!Bloo&. 
 
 grasp the full significance of this condition of things. 
 But I know very well that if they are anxious to find 
 him guilty, they will probably do so. Now, I will 
 undertake to rescue him from their clutches " 
 
 " On what terms ? " demanded Blanche, in des- 
 peration. 
 
 " If I succeed, I would entreat you to bestow your 
 hand upon me. Oh, I know you despise me, and 
 think me a plebian now ; but once married, I should 
 endeavour to win your affection by my devotion. 
 You would forget my birth, for, after all, a man is 
 but a man, and the greatest amongst the aristocracy 
 of the earth have, in many instances, sprung from 
 obscure origin. My position is at least a respectable 
 one. I am a Deputy. I am rich. My own efforts 
 have placed me in the position I now occupy. Fate 
 seemed against me when I began. I have conquered 
 Fate. In all I have attempted I have succeeded, 
 because I have believed, and acted upon the belief, 
 that all obstacles may be surmounted by an indomit- 
 able will. Madame, I entreat you to remember that 
 the man who can wear smooth the rough rocks of 
 difficulty, because he assails them as untiringly as the 
 sea its boundaries, is not altogether unworthy of some 
 slight consideration." 
 
 M. Brunot had never been so eloquent before. 
 He even imagined that he felt the fine things he had 
 said. But he was breathless. 
 
 " Monsieur, I must remind you to stick to your 
 text. The transaction you have proposed to me is 
 purely a business one. You are a business man. 
 You have not forgotten the training which made 
 you one " 
 
 " But, madame, if my tongue has misled me " 
 
 " Not in the least, monsieur. We understand each 
 other."
 
 jflesb anD JBloofc. 333 
 
 Blanche fixed her eyes on him as the incisive 
 remarks dropped from her lips. This man had 
 guessed her secret. Gossip had set him on the track. 
 And in the position in which she found herself, 
 what disguise was she capable of assuming ? Had 
 she anything to hope for from such a person ? Un- 
 doubtedly not. The small, piercing eyes cruel 
 expression and massive, almost brutal jaw, told 
 their tale. He had named his price. She could 
 accept it or not, as she liked. But certainly he would 
 remain inexorable. If he possessed the power to 
 help Louis, it would be agonizing to her to decline 
 his assistance. But the price. How could she pay 
 it ? She became pallid, and her teeth met as though 
 between them writhed some malignant foe. Such 
 a terrible expression of despair distorted her features, 
 that Brunot, who caught the look, started. During 
 the brief pause in the conversation, he had employed 
 himself in recalling the sensation of intense nervous- 
 ness, which had once so nearly deprived him of 
 speech in that very room. Before him again stood 
 the Count rigid, proudly severe ; by his side, De 
 Courcelles, the perfection of quiet, well-bred author- 
 ity ; behind them both, Louis Bernard tall, kindly, 
 but dignified. Ah, well, he reflected, what a trans- 
 formation. The Count, who had regarded him as 
 an impertinent interloper, was dead, and he, Brunot, 
 was actually proposing to his wife. Monsieur 
 1'Abbe Bernard was in jail, powerless to help him- 
 self. And the irreproachable Baron well, they 
 might become relations by marriage. But, en veritd, 
 what did he behold ? Madame la Comtesse's face 
 fairly frightened him. He might win a game which 
 he would live to regret having played. A woman 
 certainly could be the very devil when she liked. 
 Yet, what was there to be afraid of? Pshaw, he
 
 334 nls fflesb 
 
 would tame her. He could hold his own. Blanche 
 scattered his cogitations. 
 
 " Monsieur," she remarked calmly, " I will consider 
 your proposition. Have the goodness to come to- 
 morrow at this time. You shall then receive my 
 answer." 
 
 The result of this interview was that M. Brunot re- 
 entered his carriage and drove back to Mezieres, 
 satisfied that he was a lucky fellow, and that the 
 battle was as good as won. The chateau and estate 
 of La Jonquieres, not to speak of its brilliant and 
 beautiful mistress, were in a fair way to become his. 
 
 Returning from their drive, De Courcelles and his 
 young wife discovered Blanche seated where she had 
 sunk when Brunot had left her. She had not thought 
 of hiding her feelings, for her reflections were too 
 bitter. Suddenly aroused from them by the entrance 
 of the young people, the expression and pallor of her 
 face told them at once that something unpleasant 
 had transpired during their absence. With a great 
 effort, she chatted pleasantly during dinner, but as 
 soon as she could reasonably do so, she retired to her 
 own room. 
 
 Slipping his arm through that of his wife's, De 
 Courcelles descended the terrace steps, and when in 
 the garden inquired what had happened. 
 
 " To Blanche ? " asked Amy. 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " That is more than I can say. She is certainly 
 very much upset. But she has not confided in me. 
 Monsieur Brunot has called, I am told. The horrid 
 creature ! Could he be the cause ? " 
 
 " Perhaps. He may have been entertaining her by 
 repeating all the absurd rumours that are afloat. 
 The silly fool. If he has, I should like to treat him 
 to a piece of my mind for his trouble. But what the
 
 jflesb ant) 3Bloofc* 335 
 
 deuce is to be done ? She has received some crush- 
 ing blow. I asked her if she felt unwell." 
 
 " And what did she say ? " 
 
 " Oh, she smiled unnaturally, and declared that she 
 had seldom felt better. Go and talk to her, and find 
 out what has happened." 
 
 " Very well ; but I have my own opinion on the 
 subject, and I'm pretty certain I'm not far 
 wrong." 
 
 " And what is it ? " 
 
 " She is simply distressed about the Abbe, Leo. 
 You don't know how she loves him I do. I am 
 confident of this, that she will be unhappy all her 
 life unless something can be done." 
 
 " What do you mean, dear ? Extricate him from 
 this fix ? " 
 
 " More than that." 
 
 " More than that ? But what, and in what way ? 
 Speak plainly." 
 
 " Well, if they are prevented from seeing each 
 other, from coming together Blanche " 
 
 " The deuce ! Just think of what you are saying. 
 How is such a thing to be brought about ? " 
 
 " Well, all the same, it must be." 
 
 " Amy, darling, you are talking nonsense." 
 
 " Indeed, I am not." 
 
 " Indeed, you are. Since he is a priest, what can 
 be done ? Besides, they should not have fallen in 
 love. They must have felt it coming on." 
 
 " You goose. As if one can help oneself." 
 
 " Certainly, I could not have helped loving you, 
 and" 
 
 " There, don't. I feel too serious to joke. Blanche 
 has suffered frightfully already. Rudolf made her 
 life unbearable, as she has admitted, and now this 
 calamity has come upon her. Seriously, Leo, for
 
 336 ni2 ffiesb an& Bloob. 
 
 my sake, you must do what you can to help 
 her." 
 
 " Do what I can ? Good heavens, as if I am not 
 doing all I can." 
 
 " Well, think. Come, I'll light a cigarette for you, 
 and then I must go to Blanche. She must not be 
 left alone. Her looks have frightened me." 
 
 With her fresh rosy lips, Amy did as she had pro- 
 posed, and then she reascended the steps to the 
 terrace and disappeared, leaving De Courcelles to 
 lapse into a brown study. 
 
 That night was one of indescribable torture to 
 Blanche. She never closed her eyes. Brunot's face 
 haunted her, and Brunot's words rang in her ears like 
 a death-knell. She seemed to realize that she had 
 become his wife, to feel his hateful touch, his loath- 
 some caresses. And it had come to this, after all she 
 had attempted, all she had endured. She shuddered 
 in agony, and rendered desperate, expelled the revolt- 
 ing ideas. But she was instantly confronted by a 
 picture of Louis. Dread and phantasmal arose before 
 her the image of this dear one she loved so fondly, 
 being severed from her and life by the knife the 
 awful guillotine ; or, escaping that, sentenced to a 
 long and cruel imprisonment, and for this crime 
 which he had never committed. 
 
 He was enduring the degradation of imprisonment, 
 for her, as it were. He would stand in the dock, an 
 object of contempt and execration, all for her. Could 
 she reason otherwise? But for her intimacy with 
 him, could he have come to be placed in the situation 
 in which he now was ? And could she desert him 
 under such circumstances? Had she the power to 
 do so, loving him as she did ? Decidedly not. Then 
 it had come to this. She dare not refuse Brunot's 
 offer. To gain one chance for Louis was worth the
 
 jflesb ant> Bloofc. 337 
 
 payment of any price. And here was an opportunity 
 of saving him. For the understanding was to be, in 
 return for Louis' freedom, no matter how gained, her 
 hand. In her excitement, on hearing that Louis had 
 been taken to the jail at Mezieres, had she not told 
 the Baron that her wealth, anything life itself she 
 would sacrifice for him ? She had now to prove her 
 words and her love, and though to yield her person, 
 her existence, into the keeping of such a man as 
 Brunot, seemed, to her refined nature, a worse alter- 
 native than death, she did not flinch or hesitate. 
 Since he (Louis) could never be anything to her, it 
 would be sweet to feel that she did this great thing 
 for him. She could never love anyone else. So, 
 since one man was no better than another, what did 
 it matter ? The knowledge that she was doing all this 
 for him, the memory of past joys, innocent, but yet so 
 ineffably sweet, would enable her to play her part, 
 would nerve and give her strength sufficient for her 
 need. And thus the poor martyr reasoned with 
 herself all night through. Though pale and wearied, 
 the morning found her calm, determined. And 
 when in the afternoon M. Brunot presented himself, 
 though De Courcelles and Amy were present, she 
 stepped up to him, and without being overheard, 
 said : 
 
 " Monsieur, I have decided. If Monsieur 1'Abbd 
 Bernard is liberated through your influence and you 
 can take steps to prove this to me I am prepared to 
 grant your request. Beyond desiring you to be 
 silent, I have nothing more to say to you." 
 
 M. Brunot had a good deal to talk about, however. 
 In a few rapid sentences he avowed his affection and 
 devotion. But Blanche never heard him. She awoke^ 
 as it were, only when he had gone, for she had spoken 
 the words, acted the whole scene, benumbed into 
 
 Y
 
 338 nis jflesb ant> 
 
 a kind of stupor. She was as a bird robbed of its 
 senses by the appalling presence of a destructive and 
 poisonous serpent. She told no one what she had 
 done, and, striving to forget herself, became composed, 
 as she reflected that Brunot's powerful influence would 
 now assuredly be exerted on Louis' behalf.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 MINDFUL of all that Amy had said, and more anxious 
 than ever to be of service to Blanche in her trouble, 
 De Courcelles good-naturedly redoubled his efforts to 
 help Louis. He wrote most urgently to his solicitor 
 in Paris, he secretly exerted his great influence to 
 correct the ill-natured rumours which were afloat, he 
 renewed his efforts to see Louis, and, as a result of 
 his energetic attitude, coupled with the respect and 
 esteem he commanded, at length came the permission 
 he sought. Availing himself of this concession, he 
 set out for Mezieres without an hour's delay, but 
 possessing certain ideas, the substance of which he 
 regarded as a kind of forlorn hope. For was not the 
 situation one of extreme difficulty and obscurity ? 
 
 He found Louis much changed ; very pale, sub- 
 dued, and tearful at the sight of a friendly face 
 
 " You see, I have succeeded in making my way to 
 you at last, my dear Abb^," De Courcelles remarked 
 affably, and really glad in his heart to see the poor 
 fellow. 
 
 " And, Monsieur le Baron, I can assure you I do 
 not know how to thank you enough." 
 
 " But do not thank me at all. Why should you ? 
 You would do the same for me, eh ? " 
 
 339
 
 340 
 
 " Yes ; but, indeed, you are so kind, Monsieur le 
 Baron." 
 
 "Because I like you, my dear Abbd You see, 
 selfishness is the mainspring of every motive." 
 
 " Is it so, alas ? But, nevertheless, you honour me 
 much, Monsieur le Baron. Ah! I never thought I 
 could have longed so intensely for the sight of a 
 friendly face, for the pressure of a hand I have once 
 touched. But I am, indeed, fortunate to meet with 
 so much kindness." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Ah ! very well ; but really it 
 has been one's misfortune that one could do so little. 
 There has been but poor scope, with these thick walls 
 and inexorable guards. But you see what it is to 
 have friends. And you have many, my dear Abbd, I 
 assure you." 
 
 Louis regarded him wistfully. He had tutored 
 himself into believing that Blanche was completely 
 changed towards him. He had forced himself to 
 swallow this bitter pill, and had striven to accustom 
 himself to the sensation of utter hopelessness which it 
 had occasioned him. When the Baron spoke of 
 friends, was he alluding to her? His flesh tingled 
 with the desire to know this, to ask, to say at least 
 something which might evoke a direct allusion to this 
 woman whom he had taught himself to look upon 
 as lost to him, but whom he felt he loved unalterably. 
 
 The Baron fancied he understood that swift, 
 searching, and yet anxious glance. He was perfectly 
 certain in his own mind that Blanche's love was re- 
 turned. And the good-hearted fellow longed to 
 smooth the road for these luckless people. Had he 
 not gained his own ends ; was he not absurdly happy 
 with his young girl-wife? Besides, in his opinion, 
 Louis was a clever, amiable, and cultivated gentleman. 
 Ancestry, in his eyes, was of less importance than the
 
 nig fflesb anfc 3Bloo&. 341 
 
 possession of ability, united to an admirable disposi- 
 tion. There was only one obstacle, he said to himself, 
 " What a pity he is a priest. But we shall see." Then, 
 in pursuance of his ideas, after having discussed the 
 burning question of his captivity, De Courcelles began, 
 with some dexterity, as he thought, to probe. 
 
 "You must have felt intensely lonely," he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Louis rose to the bait. He was in that condition 
 when a word of kindness seemed the key to his soul. 
 
 " I, Monsieur le Baron ? Indeed, I have been re- 
 duced to the depths of despair." 
 
 " And what has comforted you ? Your religion, 
 eh?" 
 
 Louis reflected for a moment with his eyes upon 
 the ground, then he raised his face suddenly, and with 
 the hot blood surging into it, and evidently labouring 
 under much excitement, for he was in reality very 
 weak owing to his close confinement, he said : 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron, I am longing to confide in 
 someone. These grim and silent walls have witnessed 
 the growth of a great and irresistible longing to speak 
 to tell the thoughts which press upon me. You 
 have been so kind. But ah ! you may think ill of me." 
 
 De Courcelles experienced a sense of surprise. What 
 was he about to hear ? Eagerly he said : 
 
 "Try me. Have confidence. I shall consider 
 whatever you relate to me as sacred, my dear 
 Abbe." 
 
 " Do you say so ? then I will. It would be such 
 a relief to me, Monsieur le Baron ; and I have an 
 idea, somehow, that you are not bigoted. I have 
 never exchanged religious opinions with you, but left 
 to myself, and, indeed, for a long while past, I have 
 been absorbed in them. I mean restlessly, unduly 
 so. And what could be more natural, placed as I am ?
 
 342 nls fflesb ant) 3Bloofc. 
 
 Accused of a brutal crime of which I am as innocent 
 as an unborn child, I have reflected as though the 
 shadow of death hung over me." 
 
 De Courcelles' expression became slightly suspici- 
 ous. It was strange that Louis should touch upon 
 the very subject upon which he had determined to 
 speak his forlorn hope. It at once occurred to him 
 to wonder whether this allusion to religion had any- 
 thing to do with Blanche. But he replied mildly : 
 
 " Alas, my dear Abbe", I feel myself a terrible de- 
 linquent when I hear you speak with so much gravity 
 and feeling. But we Frenchmen are not what we 
 should be, I fear. Madame la Baronne who, as you 
 know, has been brought up as a Protestant, is com- 
 pletely shocked at us. Having lived with a worthy 
 but religious aunt, she has been accustomed to think 
 the Sunday attendance at church a necessity, nay, an 
 absolute duty." 
 
 " And so it should be, Monsieur le Baron." 
 
 " Yes ; but what she has remarked in your parish of 
 La Jonqui&res, I do not hesitate to say is the case 
 throughout France. The men are ashamed to attend 
 church. Out of every parish of five hundred souls, 
 fifty women or so may be regular attendants. There 
 are in addition, perhaps, two or three old men, one of 
 which is probably your own sacristan." 
 
 " Ah, how forcibly that has struck me. But why 
 is it so, Monsieur le Baron ? " 
 
 " Well, will you forgive me if I speak plainly ? I 
 think it is entirely due to a general want of confidence 
 in the clergy." 
 
 "And to what is this due, Monsieur le Baron?" 
 demanded Louis, with growing excitement. 
 
 " Again, if I may speak with the same straight- 
 forwardness, as an educated man, I should say that it 
 is a natural consequence of the failure, on the part of
 
 jflesb an& Bloofc. 343 
 
 the priests, to keep inviolate the solemn vow they 
 have taken." 
 
 " Ah ! now I see that I may speak plainly with you, 
 Monsieur le Baron. You have struck at the very root 
 of the evil. But first, let me consider this vow in 
 relation to myself. How did I come to take it ? In 
 the hands of clever men, whose existence was spent 
 in obtaining converts to their doctrines, I know now 
 that I was but a tool. My ignorance and innocence 
 was a splendid soil in which to rear the theory of 
 damnation. If I did not become a priest, I was lost. 
 In the strong hands which were fashioning me, alas, 
 I was malleable enough. Having done what was 
 required of me, what do I find on taking charge of a 
 parish ? Have I joined a body of men who are re- 
 spected throughout the country? On the contrary. 
 Doubts quickly entering my mind, I lay myself out 
 to examine critically the position in which I find my- 
 self, and aided by one in whose years and experience 
 I rely, I arrive at the conclusion, that of every 
 hundred priests, there are perhaps twenty-five good 
 and holy men, twenty-five who manage to conceal 
 their faults, though not enjoying the esteem of their 
 bishops, and that the remaining fifty have failed 
 hopelessly to keep their oath, and are the cause of the 
 scandals with which every village in France is from 
 time to time visited. What is the result of this mis- 
 conduct ? The people say of us, ' He preaches what 
 he fails to practice. He is worse than ourselves, for 
 we make no professions. We no longer believe in him.' 
 And is it not natural that they should reason thus?" 
 
 " Perfectly so, my dear Abbe. But I do not blame 
 the men ; I blame the vow, and I am not altogether 
 ignorant of the subject." 
 
 " The knowledge that you have been so good to 
 me, and that I may have implicit trust in your dis-
 
 344 nl fflesb ant) Bloofc. 
 
 cretion, Monsieur le Baron, impels me to unburden 
 myself, and to discuss these formidable questions with 
 you. Besides, your kind interest more than warrants 
 my confidence." 
 
 " In return for which, that interest shall be lasting. 
 Yes, I can conceive no situation in which human sym- 
 pathies are more powerfully appealed to than in yours. 
 So you see," added De Courcelles, " you may safely 
 number me amongst the friends to whom I alluded. 
 But to return to our subject." 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron, to return as you say to our 
 subject. Describing this vow, let me recall the famous 
 Dr. Raspail's clever remark : ' Nothing makes one 
 more dishonest than a position contrary to nature,' 
 and there can be no doubt that it is in direct opposition 
 both to nature and common sense. When I took it, I 
 have no hesitation in saying that I meant absolutely 
 nothing by it, since I did not understand it. Above 
 human laws, there certainly exists a natural law, 
 which dictates that promises based on a material 
 error are null and void." 
 
 De Courcelles, convinced that Louis' principles were 
 heartfelt and genuine, now took the opposing side, the 
 better to develop them. 
 
 " But, my dear Abb6, let me argue with you. I 
 should say that it was the wish of Christ that His 
 disciples should imitate His own life of solitude and 
 celibacy." 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron, I answer you that it has never 
 been the wish of Christ to impose an unbearable 
 burden." 
 
 " But the Church has been practising celibacy for, 
 let us say, seven or eight hundred years with fair 
 results, so the burden is not unbearable." 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron, when you affirm so much, 
 you forget the scandals of the monasteries scandals
 
 fflesb anfc 3Blook 345 
 
 which have worked reform in England and all over 
 Germany, from the Pope downwards. I have studied 
 the question as thoroughly as the means at my dis- 
 posal would permit. One must judge of the beneficial 
 effects of a policy by the results. The decayed 
 and decaying condition of the Roman Catholic 
 Church is such that it will not bear comparison with 
 the vigorous condition of the Protestant Church. 
 And doubtless this, as you say, is due to the bad con- 
 duct on the part of the priests." 
 
 " And you would add that this is an evil resulting 
 from the nature of the vow ? " 
 
 " And you could not possibly dispute the conten- 
 tion, Monsieur le Baron," exclaimed Louis excitedly. 
 
 " No, perhaps not," replied De Courcelles, very 
 willing to retire before' Louis clear and substantial 
 arguments, which to his delight cleared the road 
 which he had despaired of cutting. Pausing mo- 
 mentarily, he suddenly added, as though a brilliant 
 thought had occurred to him : " I am willing even to 
 support your opinions with the aid of this idea, which 
 seems to me to be very strong. Why does the Church 
 allow a certain class of priests to marry ? This is cer- 
 tainly so. For although Roman Catholics, although 
 performing the tremendous duty of confession, in 
 the East priests are married men. I think you will 
 also bear me out when I say that the first bishops 
 consecrated by the Apostles were also married men. 
 Why this concession to some and not to all ? Why 
 should a French priest, on ground of marriage, be 
 doomed to hell, and a married Bulgarian priest, for 
 instance over whom Rome considers she holds sway 
 find rest in paradise ? Why " 
 
 " I know what you are going to say, Monsieur le 
 Baron, and it is conclusive," exclaimed Louis, in in- 
 tensely interested tones. ' Why has Rome two sets of
 
 346 nig fflesb anfc 
 
 weights and measures? Is Rome, like a monarch, 
 who, being pressed hard by a hot-headed and im- 
 petuous party, grants them the reforms and conces- 
 sions demanded, but continues to be severe to his 
 more timid and better-disposed subjects ? 
 
 " Is that illustrative of the dignity and splendour of 
 a Church which claims to be infallible? Is it not rather 
 illustrative of the expedients of a supremely human 
 institution which blows hot and cold, is severe or indul- 
 gent, according to the requirements of time and circum- 
 stance ? I would end my life as I have begun it, with 
 the desire, the aim, to leave behind me a track of good 
 as the course of my earthly pilgrimage ; but I cannot 
 even begin, placed as I am upon this basis of hypo- 
 crisy. After a searching investigation I have arrived 
 at this decision. The Protestant religion is con- 
 solation for a Christian, Romanism is despair. For 
 a Protestant, heaven is so easy to reach. It 
 is only necessary to be a good and honest man ; 
 but with us the complication of duties to fulfil, 
 frequent confessions to a priest, frequent com- 
 munion, daily meditation, daily mass, fasting, and, 
 after all this, the near prospect of eternal punish- 
 ment, makes life a perfect burden. And how 
 is this burden to be tolerated when immorality shows 
 itself? It is notorious that there is not a single 
 prison in France, that has not sheltered some French 
 priest sentenced for immorality, and her colonial peni- 
 tentiaries keep many of them for life. And is this to 
 be wondered at ? I think not. Doctor Raspail's words 
 ought to be written in golden letters over the gate of 
 every seminary, ' Nothing makes one so dishonest as 
 a position contrary to nature.' And, again, how can 
 men come to us priests, when we preach that of one 
 hundred people dying, five only are saved, ninety-five 
 lost? Is fright the way to conquer their hearts?
 
 nig fflesb ant) 3Bloofc. 347 
 
 They prefer to laugh at us and at God's pretended 
 cruelty. They prefer to become utter unbelievers." 
 
 " Then, my dear Abbd, you think with the talented 
 preacher of Notre Dame, Father Hyacinthe Loyson, 
 eh?" 
 
 " On many points, yes." 
 " Well, I, for one, certainly agree with you." 
 " Monsieur le Baron, my thoughts, my belief at this 
 moment have, I am confident, been shared by thou- 
 sands who have gone before me. We leave the 
 seminary as innocent, as desirous of good and up- 
 rightness as young St. Louis de Gonzaga, whose 
 religious zeal would not permit him to lift his eyes to 
 his own mother's face, when she visited him during 
 his noviciate at the Jesuits. Suddenly we are sent 
 forth amongst mankind, and upon our astonished 
 gaze bursts the spectacle of the world in its myriad 
 phases and manifold conditions. Our eyes are 
 opened, gradually we comprehend the mummery 
 which surrounds us, we become alive to the hollow- 
 ness of the religious structure which has been erected 
 by those sufferers who have long since passed away, 
 and then I imagine that, like myself, many a man 
 recoils with horror from the hypocrisy he is called 
 upon to enact. The weak, and those who are so placed 
 that they cannot help themselves, sink further and 
 further into the mire, and consent to play out the farce 
 their position demands ; but for the young and strong 
 there is another course, and that course, Monsieur le 
 Baron, should I be released from the position I am 
 placed in, I am determined to follow, for I am a 
 man now, and am capable of judging according to my 
 conscience and with the sense which the Almighty 
 has given me. But I must weary you." 
 
 " Not in the least, I am profoundly interested." 
 " Let me make this one remark, then. If God
 
 348 <smis fflesb ant) 
 
 permits this Protestantism to thrive, if He allows the 
 clergy, as a body, to be respected and loved, while 
 Catholicism languishes, and in languishing develops 
 Atheism, which Church does He favour ? Which 
 Church has evidently, in His opinion, best interpreted 
 the wish of Christ ? Is it Catholicism, which is 
 diffusing widespread indifference and disgust, or 
 Protestantism, with its clergy so respected, and in 
 the majority of cases, I have reason to believe, so 
 respectable ? Now, Monsieur le Baron, I will say no 
 more. It is so good and kind of you to come to me, 
 and, if I have abused your time and patience, I can 
 only plead the sorrow which is in my heart, the 
 solitude to which I have been condemned." 
 
 " I know, I understand well. You must have felt 
 very wretched ; but, my dear fellow, just try and 
 forget all you have suffered. I am going to do 
 everything that a man can, to extricate you from 
 this absurd charge which the Public Prosecutor ought 
 to have known better than to make ; and then, don't 
 think that I shall desert you ; you shall not be friend- 
 less while Leo de Courcelles is alive to help you. 
 So cheer up, have a good heart, and believe me, 
 happier days are in store for you. Now, I have said 
 all I have to say ; besides, here is someone coming, I 
 think. Ah, so it is. Come, have you any message 
 for Madame la Comtesse ? " 
 
 Louis was too weak to conceal the agitation he 
 felt, at this sudden allusion to this woman. Pretend- 
 ing not to notice the effect his words had produced, 
 De Courcelles stood without speaking. With an 
 effort to appear calm, Louis said : 
 
 " Please convey my best compliments to Madame 
 la Comtesse de la Jonquieres, and " 
 
 The jailor entered, escorting a gentleman who 
 proved to be the barrister whom Paris credited with
 
 fflesb atifc 3Bloo&. 349 
 
 possessing one of the sharpest of tongues, and whose 
 services Maitre P&isier had been so glad to se- 
 cure. 
 
 De Courcelles, having exchanged a few courteous 
 remarks with this new-comer, and pressed Louis' 
 hand with much warmth, left the prison to return to 
 La Jonquieres. 
 
 On the terrace of the ch&teau he found Amy. In 
 the cool evening air, amidst the last gleams of sun- 
 light, and the faint odour of late autumn flowers and 
 fallen leaves, she stood, awaiting his home-coming 
 with impatience and curiosity. She flung herself 
 into his arms with all the affectionate abandon of her 
 nature, and then, almost immediately, she began to 
 question him. But to all her entreaties to relate his 
 interview with Louis, De Courcelles would make but 
 one reply. 
 
 " Come, come, the Abb is well enough, I tell you. 
 The turn affairs have taken has pleased me much, 
 and all I can say is, that I shall be deucedly aston- 
 ished if I don't contrive to surprise you yet. No, I 
 shall not explain what I mean. Not now, at least. 
 My dear Amy, I am adamant, I assure you, just for 
 the present, so " 
 
 " Well, I call it horrid of you," retorted Amy, with 
 the most delicious little pout. " What am I to say 
 to Blanche ? " 
 
 " Oh, so she has sent you to pump me. Is that 
 it?" 
 
 " I never said so." 
 
 " No, only I guessed as much. Well, say nothing. 
 You must be discreet. Conceal the " 
 
 " Conceal, indeed ! At least, a husband has no 
 right to conceal anything from his wife." 
 
 Laughing merrily, De Courcelles slipped away to 
 change his coat, and Amy looked after him admir-
 
 350 nl2 jflesb 
 
 ingly, wondering what he could mean, and determin- 
 ing to get it out of him when once they were really 
 alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 As the session drew nearer, Blanche's excitement 
 and anxiety increased. She would not suffer herself 
 to dwell upon the misery which would await her as 
 Brunot's wife. She repeatedly said to herself, "If 
 Louis is spared further humiliation through this act 
 of mine, I shall find means to endure the detestable 
 advances of this creature, who is unscrupulous enough 
 to obtain possession of me through a weakness he 
 has discovered. 
 
 " But I shall be supported. My consolation will be 
 derived from the knowledge that I, who have occa- 
 sioned Louis so much misfortune, have at least been 
 the means of extricating him from his difficulties. I 
 shall have it in my power to be his guardian angel, 
 to advance his interests, to take care that he wants 
 for nothing, and if possible to more than atone for 
 the injury our intimacy has done him. He shall 
 never know whose hand is helping him, and it will 
 be such a comfort that in the sight of God I 
 shall be making reparation for the evil I have been 
 guilty of. The peace which He can give will then 
 take possession of me, and I shall find strength 
 because I shall be doing right." 
 
 But try as she would, the poor martyr could not 
 divest herself of doubts doubts which wrenched at
 
 352 <smi jflesb anb 
 
 her heart and set her brain working. She kept asking 
 herself: "What if Brunei's boasted power comes to 
 naught ? He probably thinks he has more influence 
 than he really possesses. There can be no doubt 
 that he will do his utmost. The desire to gratify his 
 passion at my expense guarantees that. But try as 
 he will, he may fail, and then " 
 
 It was this uncertainty, this constantly recurring 
 dread, that made her writhe and shudder as though 
 in torment. She knew that she loved Louis so 
 devotedly, that to save him physical or mental pain 
 she would have bared her own shoulders to the 
 lash, she would have stood in place of him in the 
 dock, been arraigned as a criminal, and accepted the 
 sentence passed, if only he might be spared. But 
 what if the greatest sacrifice it was in her power to 
 make should miscarry through some blunder ! There 
 was something so agonizing to her in this reflection, 
 and the consideration of the consequences which must 
 attend its realization, that as she layawake,in the black- 
 ness and silence, she could barely refrain from scream- 
 ing forth her fears. Night after night these hours of 
 torture were endured by her, each one as it came seem- 
 ing the more completely to lay under subjection and 
 undermine her nervous system. 
 
 The truth was, that physically she was becoming 
 weaker, while pitilessly, resistlessly, came the slow 
 approach of the great day from which she had so 
 much to hope, so much to fear. It was as though 
 some Titan advanced upon her with huge strides, 
 before which she all the while must be content to re- 
 treat and cower. Then, after these distracting periods, 
 when through her brain tore endless, distorted, and 
 distressing thoughts, would come the whitening dawn, 
 the tumultuous twitter of the rejoicing birds, and she 
 would admit the light, and gaze at her own reflec-
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloofc. 353 
 
 tion, horrified at the ravages with which these appal- 
 ling moments had marked their flight. 
 
 " God is merciful," she would say to herself. " He 
 will not torment me long. He is incapable of such 
 cruelty. It will end soon, and I shall be in a position 
 to recall these harrowing reflections with calmness. 
 To say to myself how foolish you were, could you 
 not trust ? You were fighting for the right, had you 
 no faith ? You might have known that you would 
 triumph." 
 
 And then, having dressed with the care and neat- 
 ness which was a part of her nature, she would sink 
 upon her knees, and tearfully address to the Deity 
 an earnest appeal for pardon, pity, and help for 
 Louis ; Louis, who could never belong to her, and 
 whom it was a sin even to think of. Comforted, out- 
 wardly calm at least, and even more beautiful with the 
 impress of sorrow upon her sympathetic face, she 
 would then descend to breakfast, where to spare 
 those who were so kind and good to her, she would 
 force herself to be cheerful, even gay, and so it would 
 go on through the sultry hours, while to her heart, 
 even the sun seemed to shine in mockery of the 
 anguish which lacerated and left it bleeding. 
 
 During this season, Monsieur Brunot, as might 
 have been expected of him, displayed the bad taste 
 to present himself at the chateau from time to time, 
 as though to assure himself that the treasures which 
 were to be his, were safe, and in no danger of taking 
 wings to themselves. And on these occasions 
 vulgar man that he was he would devour Blanche 
 with his eyes, whenever he thought no one was look- 
 ing. With volubility, and in loud tones, too, he 
 would discuss the approaching trial, and with a 
 shudder, her flesh becoming cold, as though the 
 marrow were frozen within her, Blanche would listen, 
 
 z
 
 354 nl 3fle0b an> Bloofc, 
 
 while his coarse lips formed the name which had be- 
 come so dear to her. 
 
 Sometimes her pent-up indignation and loathing 
 for the overweening and vulgar Deputy would 
 summon the blood to her cheeks. Her blue eyes 
 would flash dangerously, while she would clench her 
 hands tightly, as though she felt her fingers closing 
 about the neck of this callous, unprincipled brute. 
 
 When she looked like that, Brunot generally came 
 to the conclusion that he had better make himself 
 scarce. Yet, as he drove away amidst the stately 
 timber of the park, and feasted his eyes upon the old 
 chateau, and the delightful prospect which it com- 
 manded, he would say to himself, " Yes, she has a 
 devil of a temper, I can see that ; but once let her 
 become my wife, and we shall quickly see who is 
 master. Ah ! she will become as docile as a dog one 
 has beaten. Women are like that." And he would 
 loll back in his carriage and fold his arms deliberately, 
 as though he could already feel Blanche within their 
 
 Those visits always annoyed Amy, and elicited 
 from De Courcelles some irritable comment. 
 
 " Why the deuce does that fellow choose a time 
 like this to present himself, eh, Countess ? " he would 
 inquire of Blanche. " Upon my word, I call it dis- 
 tinctly bad taste." 
 
 " Oh, he means well enough," Blanche would feel 
 constrained to reply, while wondering what De 
 Courcelles would say if he knew what she had done. 
 
 " I hate him more every time I see him," Amy 
 would exclaim passionately. 
 
 And at the outburst of genuine wrath on the part 
 of his pretty wife, De Courcelles would open his eyes 
 and remark : 
 
 ".That's right, little one. Upon my word, what
 
 fflesb an& Block 355 
 
 you do feel, you feel thoroughly. Nothing half and 
 half about you. Now, just say the word, Countess, 
 and we'll kick the fellow out." 
 
 " You forget, Leo, how dangerous Monsieur 
 Brunot might make himself." 
 
 " Oh, ah ! well, after the trial we can really square 
 up with him, if you like. A good many people will 
 be surprised, I fancy, if all goes as I intend it to, 
 but " and he would make a significant pause, and 
 move away as though to leave the room. 
 
 " Now have the goodness to explain what you 
 mean by that remark," Amy would insist, stepping 
 up to him with a threatening air. 
 
 " Mean ! why, nothing, little one," he would pro- 
 vokingly retort. 
 
 " I believe you really are telling us the truth now. 
 But don't persist in throwing out those meaningless 
 innuendoes, or I shall get cross, for you know 1 can." 
 
 "But not with me." 
 
 Whereupon he would kiss her, and Blanche 
 would smile, for it cheered her to witness the 
 unalloyed happiness of these two, who were 
 daily becoming more and more dear to her. 
 She had overheard similar remarks, however, from 
 De Courcelles' lips more than once, and she 
 could not help wondering what he meant, though 
 pride forbade her to ask. 
 
 In this way while the leaves lay thick upon the 
 ground, and cold blasts swept through the boughs 
 they had clothed, changing from gold to bronze 
 the bracken amidst which the rabbits sported the 
 time passed. 
 
 De Courcelles visited Louis with the same unvary- 
 ing kindness and good-nature, the same manifesta- 
 tions of unalterable friendship. For, really, the heart 
 of this amiable young fellow was touched. And as
 
 356 nil? Jflesb anfc 3Bloo&, 
 
 he had frankly told Louis, he could conceive no 
 situation in which human sympathies were more 
 powerfully appealed to than in his own. How could 
 a sadder picture present itself than the spectacle of 
 this young, upright, and talented man, beginning his 
 life journey, pledged to bear the burdens of others, 
 joyless, himself a prey to perplexing, nay, agonizing 
 doubt, profoundly solitary, his whole existence at 
 variance with the great fundamental laws of nature ? 
 Truly, De Courcelles felt that Louis Bernard stood 
 in need of his assistance and pity. The more he saw 
 of him, too, the more he liked, nay, admired him. 
 As for the discussions they indulged in, their truth 
 had laid hold upon his mind. 
 
 And so the day of the trial at length dawned. 
 
 Blanche, Amy, and De Courcelles set out for 
 Mezieres by an early train, and towards three o'clock- 
 found themselves in the Assize Court, occupying a 
 corner of the first row of seats, where, sheltered from 
 the gaze of the curious, Blanche wrestled with her 
 feelings and strove to appear unconcerned, remember- 
 ing that all she did was for Louis' sake. 
 
 The court and approaches to it were thronged, 
 the public even cramming themselves into the spaces 
 reserved for the barristers and reporters. 
 
 Immediately before Blanche lay the empty space, 
 in the middle of which was the bar; beyond this again, 
 the table upon which was laid the incriminating letter 
 Louis had addressed to the Count. 
 
 At the far end of the hall sat the judges, imperturb- 
 ably grave, dignified, and awe-inspiring. On the left 
 was the jury-box, and upon the opposite side, the 
 dock, where stood Louis, guarded by two gendarmes; 
 while within easy reach of his client sat the eminent 
 Paris barrister engaged by Maitre Pe'lisier. 
 
 Amongst the crowd of spectators were to be seen the
 
 nip jflesb ant) 3Bloo&. 357 
 
 familiar faces of Pierre Chotard ; Lisette, looking as 
 radiant and impudently pretty as ever ; F^lix, who 
 had witnessed the quarrel between Louis and the 
 Count ; and in a corner alone, and apparently con- 
 vinced that she had but come to witness her son's 
 discomfiture Louis' mother. 
 
 The proceedings commenced, and soon the defence 
 and the prosecution were engaged in exchanging 
 sharp blows. 
 
 Louis, to whom the moments were supremely pain- 
 ful, stood in dignified silence, humility and resolution 
 marking his face. He kept his eyes persistently fixed 
 upon the judges, for he had caught a glimpse of 
 Blanche, and had felt a wave of emotion thrill through 
 him which threatened to unman him. He at once 
 told himself that unless he wished to wear the face of 
 a criminal, he must not dare to encounter her gaze 
 again. There was no longer any coughing, whispering, 
 or shuffling of feet ; the people were becoming 
 thoroughly interested, for the examination of the 
 prisoner had, it was considered, gone against him. 
 This was enough to make this collection of peasantry 
 pay marked attention, for in all likelihood was not 
 their superior, their preceptor, their earthly pattern, 
 about to be handed over to the guillotine ? Of course, 
 there was no saying what wonders might be worked 
 by the lawyer from Paris, yet somehow they had little 
 faith in him ; besides, the facts against Louis were too 
 strong to be upset by volleys of words, no matter how 
 cunningly strung together. 
 
 This was the state of affairs when the Paris barrister 
 began to urge the existence of a few astonishing facts, 
 in a voice of great power and sweetness. 
 
 Suddenly the attention he had attracted was diverted 
 bysome confusion near one of the entrances. There was 
 evidently an angry altercation between the gendarmes
 
 358 <mi jflesb ant) 3Bloot>. 
 
 and someone who wished to gain admission. Then 
 while people were craning their necks, and wondering 
 what the fuss could be about, a young man was seen 
 to force his way past all obstacles, and heard to ex- 
 claim in a loud, clear voice which commanded 
 silence: 
 
 "Monsieur le President, the man who killed 
 Monsieur le Comte de la Jonquieres stands before 
 you. I repeat, I, Andre Moriseau, shot him. And it 
 was because he robbed me of the woman who was to 
 have been my wife." 
 
 As these words rang forth, M. Brunot, who had 
 contrived to seat himself quite near to Blanche, 
 became intensely agitated. He looked as though he 
 could have slain Andre with his eyes alone. 
 
 Blanche, upon whose delighted ears the announce- 
 ment fell at a moment when her anxiety was 
 becoming unendurable, received such a shock that 
 her senses swam. 
 
 She was conscious of fixing her eyes upon Louis, 
 and of trying to read his thoughts, while controlling 
 an intense desire to give audible expression to her 
 own feelings of joy, conscious also that De Courcelles 
 addressed her and supported her with his arm ; then 
 the whole scene became a blank. The confusion in the 
 court, and the proceedings which followed, passed 
 without her knowing, and she became completely 
 mistress of herself again only when the four walls 
 of the Hotel Mont D'Or, which was near at hand, 
 sheltered her, and De Courcelles in his kindly tones 
 was saying : 
 
 " Come, come, Countess, joy never kills ; you must 
 pull yourself together. You have given us a fright, I 
 assure you. I said that everything would go right 
 from the first, though deuce take me if I thought of 
 this denouement. Now that you are better again,
 
 359 
 
 I'll get back to the court, and Amy will look after 
 you until I return. I shall not be long." 
 
 And away sped De Courcelles at the best speed of 
 his long legs, leaving the two young women to discuss 
 events, Amy taking upon herself the task her hus- 
 band had assigned her with an affection and good 
 grace that was comforting as well as irresistibly 
 charming. 
 
 It was now becoming late, and many of the good 
 people who had driven miles to satisfy their curiosity, 
 were setting off homewards, having delivered them- 
 selves of their opinions as freely as they had imbibed 
 their liquor. 
 
 De Courcelles found the authorities not over 
 anxious to part with their prisoner, but after some 
 delay Louis again stepped into the fresh air. The 
 good-hearted young Baron, who had poured forth a 
 torrent of congratulations, and had even embraced 
 him, now conducted him across to the Mont D'Or 
 with this one remark : 
 
 " Come with me, my dear fellow ; I wish it. 
 There is plenty of time. You can rest here a 
 little while, and then decide what you intend to 
 do." 
 
 Following his kind conductor, with his heart over- 
 flowing with gratitude and thankfulness, Louis tra- 
 versed the hotel until, pausing before a door, with a 
 merry twinkle in his eyes, De Courcelles flung it open, 
 and Louis found himself in the presence of the two 
 young women. 
 
 " The hero of the hour has come to pay you a visit, 
 Countess," remarked the Baron delightedly. " Those 
 confounded fellows yonder tried hard to keep him, 
 but I would not hear of it I assure you I had my 
 work cut out for me, though. They hummed and 
 hawed, until I became exasperated, and felt like
 
 360 nig fflesb ant) Bloo&, 
 
 telling them to hang themselves with their red tape. 
 However, here we are, and no bones broken. Now, 
 Monsieur 1'Abb^, you shall relate your own story to 
 Madame la Comtesse, and if you will excuse me for 
 a few moments, I will attend to some little commis- 
 sions which must not be forgotten. Come, my dear," 
 he added to his wife, accompanying his words with a 
 look and a significant gesture. 
 
 Amy took the hint, and Louis, who was too much 
 agitated to deliver himself of more than a confused 
 greeting, found himself in another moment alone with 
 Blanche. 
 
 Turning to his wife, as they traversed a corridor, 
 De Courcelles remarked : 
 
 " Now, do you understand ? Things have gone 
 precisely as I wanted. Leave those two together, 
 and if they don't succeed in arriving at an under- 
 standing well, don't blame me." 
 
 " But " began Amy. 
 
 De Courcelles laid his finger on her lips. 
 
 " Hush," he said ; " I like people to be happy, if 
 possible. Have patience." And the two walked 
 away together. 
 
 By a powerful effort of will, Louis collected himself. 
 Had he been given time to think, he might have 
 gleaned something from De Courcelles' conduct ; but 
 so much was compressed into those few seconds in 
 which he stood before Blanche without words to ex- 
 press himself, that he could base his conduct only 
 upon these ideas. 
 
 Before him was a woman who was his superior in 
 rank, whom he loved, it was true, devotedly, but who, 
 he had taught himself to believe, could not be any- 
 thing to him, and, moreover, did not wish to be. So 
 many times had he said to himself, " She does not
 
 fflesb ant) Block 361 
 
 love me," that he had come to believe it sufficiently 
 to appear cold and dignified. 
 
 Blanche, her good resolutions flying before the 
 feelings which the mere sight of him awakened, 
 striving to stay the beating of her heart, attempting 
 to guide her tongue even, could only falter forth a 
 confession of her love in the brief sentence : 
 
 " Thank God, you are safe ! " 
 
 Telling himself that this warmth of sentiment 
 towards him was probably assumed, Louis replied 
 icily : 
 
 " Madame la Comtesse, I can only assure you that 
 I am deeply grateful for the good feeling your words 
 convey." 
 
 The moment he opened his mouth she became 
 aware of the existence of a difference between them. 
 What was it? what had happened? Why did he 
 speak to her in such tones, and with such words she 
 who had endured, and been willing to endure, so 
 much for him ? " Ah, if he only knew ! "she thought. 
 Her pride asserted itself. Drawing herself up 
 haughtily, she said : 
 
 " No gratitude is needed. But if you are at liberty 
 to do so, will you answer me this question ? Have 
 you known all along who was guilty of this crime ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And the seal of the confessional prevented you 
 from speaking ? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " Then you wrote that letter as " 
 
 " A warning." 
 
 11 Who do you think ought to be grateful, then ? ' 
 she exclaimed warmly, overjoyed in the same breath 
 to think that Brunot had no hold upon her, and now 
 longing to beat down the barrier which seemed to 
 divide them.
 
 362 nl fflesb ant) 
 
 " It was simply my duty," he murmured. 
 
 " To return good for evil. To write a generous 
 letter in return for an unnecessary insult. That may 
 be, but" 
 
 " Do not speak of all this, I implore you. The 
 dead rest ; let it sleep, as he does." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 Louis glance at this woman, and felt his courage, 
 his goodness, fail him. Her cheeks were flushed with 
 excitement, her dear eyes sparkled with animation. 
 She had never seemed so beautiful. An agonizing 
 thought flashed through his mind. "You must leave 
 her," it said. " This may be one of your last inter- 
 views." 
 
 " Why ? " she repeated. 
 
 " Oh," he replied, in confusion, " because I have 
 other things to talk about. You see I cannot count 
 upon the future. You will be in La Jonquieres or in 
 Paris I shall not." 
 
 " But again, why ? " she demanded, repressing the 
 eagerness and interest, the love which was consuming 
 her. 
 
 " Well, you will understand how impossible it is for 
 me to go near La Jonquieres, at least." 
 
 " What, when in everyone's eyes you are innocent 
 and a martyr to an unfortunate mistake. I see no 
 earthly reason why you should leave it." 
 
 Every gesture, every word as it fell from her lips, 
 vibrated through him. The sound of her voice, the 
 light in her eyes that seemed to him as the eyes of 
 an angel, shook his resolves, his doubts of her, and 
 fairly unmanned him. 
 
 " I cannot explain all I feel why I have decided 
 to go, fully. But it would be too painful to me to 
 have any further dealings with people who have 
 gossiped about me for weeks. Let them think and
 
 jflesb anfc 3Bloo&. 363 
 
 say what they like, but I must part company with 
 them." 
 
 " But you forget what that means, surely ? " 
 
 He understood her. It meant separation ; the 
 simple idea coming from her lips obscured his sight, 
 and made his tongue so dry that it would hardly 
 frame the reply which rose to his lips. 
 
 " Perhaps Monsieur le Baron has supplied you with 
 reasons why I should no longer remain at La Jon- 
 quieres," he faltered. 
 
 " He has told me nothing." 
 
 " Well, I have suffered so much, in one way or 
 another, and the suffering has made me think. I 
 have long had misgivings, long had doubts. What 
 will you say of me when I tell you that this dress, 
 this religion, no longer becomes me ? A long while 
 ago, I remember saying to you that you would deem 
 me a monster of depravity if I told you my convic- 
 tions. Well, now they can no longer be hidden. In 
 some quiet spot where I am unknown, I shall go and 
 preach what I believe to be right. Only when I am 
 gone, because I am a changed man, do not think of 
 me as an apostate." 
 
 He glanced up at her, where, with wildly beating 
 pulse, she sat combating the anguish which half- 
 choked her. 
 
 " You are a changed man, you say ; but why are 
 you so changed to me ? " she entreated almost in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " I am not," he found strength to reply. 
 
 " You are not ? Then why should I think you so ? 
 No, don't interrupt me, I mistake nothing. You 
 speak calmly of my being in La Jonqui&res or in 
 Paris, while you you are elsewhere." 
 
 " And can I help that ? Am I to blame ? " 
 
 " Can you help it ? Are you to blame ? "
 
 364 nls tflesb ant) 3Bloo&* 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Shall I reply to you as I think ?" 
 
 " I ask it." 
 
 " Then would you have come and told me this 
 once, in the days gone by? Would you have informed 
 me that you were about to quit the spot where we met, 
 and where we have spent days which I own were 
 happy to me, without a sigh, without any ap- 
 parent regret ? Would you have done this ? I think 
 not" 
 
 " You misjudge me. But what is there left for 
 me to do ? When I bid farewell to La Jonquieres, 
 in the opinion of the world I shall be degraded, 
 for I shall be destitute. In the opinion of the 
 Church I shall be an outcast, an object of loathing, a 
 heretic. In God's sight alone shall I have done 
 right, for the conscience He has given me tells me so. 
 Better be anything than a hypocrite." 
 
 " When you leave La Jonquieres, you may be all 
 that you have said in the estimation of those who 
 don't know you; but ' she broke off, abruptly, 
 startled by sounds, as of someone approaching the 
 door. Then remembering that the Baron and Amy 
 might return at any moment, she continued boldly 
 " but have you thought of me? If you cannot for- 
 get, can I ? " 
 
 " You ? " Louis faltered, for this direct appeal was 
 more than he could bear. 
 
 "Yes," she retorted. Then no longer able to con- 
 trol her feelings, she added with rapid utterance, 
 " Have we not always understood each other ? And 
 at such a moment as this, shall we fail to do so ? Oh ! 
 I cannot endure this any longer. There shall be 
 no misunderstanding if I can help it. No false 
 pride shall silence me. Wherever you go, whatever 
 you do, let the world and the Church frown upon
 
 fflesb anD 3Bloo&, 365 
 
 you as they may, my place is beside you, for God 
 has given me but one heart, and it is yours." 
 
 Leaping to his feet, his pale face radiant with joy, 
 one word only escaped him : 
 
 " Blanche ! " 
 
 His knees seemed to knock together. With out- 
 stretched arms, his soul in his eyes, and those 
 eyes encountering the look which had made them 
 one at heart before, he stood for an instant irresolute, 
 as though his very senses lied to him in that he was 
 unable to comprehend this great joy. Then the lips 
 he loved, and yet had never dared to touch, replied 
 softly : 
 
 " Louis." 
 
 There was no longer a veil between them, and they 
 sank into each other's arms. 
 
 In through the open windows came the soft even- 
 ing air, strong with the odour of the country, and 
 bearing upon it the faint hum of distant traffic. 
 Awakening as from a dream, they again became con- 
 scious of these sounds of life. They lived, and 
 lived now for God and each other.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE superabundance of bliss into which Louis had 
 been so suddenly plunged, had had the very natural 
 effect of partly depriving him of speech, so that 
 throughout the whole of the drive back to La Jon- 
 quieres, through the quiet of that marvellous evening, 
 he could barely do more than look his eyes occa- 
 sionally bright with tears and try to understand, to 
 grasp the fact that he was actually free, and breath- 
 ing an atmosphere of devoted love and genuine 
 kindness. 
 
 Had he been asked, he would have contended that 
 mere words would fail to describe his ineffable happi- 
 ness, but that his silence was understood and appre- 
 ciated for were not Blanche and he henceforth one 
 in thought and aim, and were not Amy and De 
 Courcelles intensely sympathetic and his devoted 
 friends ? For once in his life he failed to notice the 
 sights and sounds of the delightful country district 
 through which he was being driven, and for which, 
 under ordinary circumstances, he had so quick an 
 eye and ear. 
 
 Years after, it all came back to him, and he could 
 feel the loving pressure of Blanche's hand as he bade 
 her good-night could hear De Courcelles' and his 
 young girl-wife's cheery farewell and on the thres- 
 
 366
 
 nig jflesb an& Bloob, 367 
 
 hold of his own door, could again see, as though in 
 life, his mother's face, stern and unsympathetic in 
 proportion to the need of the moment, and seeing 
 that he had returned from what had looked very like 
 death. 
 
 Though steeped in this languor of love, this 
 delicious stupor, after the immense fatigue, the fright- 
 ful anxiety he had endured, it was not long before he 
 became alive to the fact that he was still in the thick 
 of the fight. The peasantry, his own parishioners, 
 would have gone wild over him would have wor- 
 shipped him as a hero, seeing that one of their num- 
 ber had occasioned him such suffering, and that he 
 was their priest ; but, then, was he not the friend of 
 the great people at the chateau ? According to M. 
 Brunot, was he not they could scarce believe their 
 ears the chosen, the accepted lover of Madame la 
 Comtesse ? 
 
 There could be no doubt that M. Brunot held 
 strong cards, and no less could have been expected 
 of him and his wealthy vulgarity, than that he should 
 play them for all they were worth. 
 
 Black looks were therefore soon lavished upon 
 Louis, and but scant courtesy met him on all sides. 
 Then came a communication from his bishop, as out- 
 come of the dead Count's action, ordering him to 
 move, within a certain period, to another parish; and 
 then, too, came the decisive moment for Louis. 
 
 Blanche and De Courcelles were consulted, and 
 after hearing all he had to say, Blanche approved, 
 and De Courcelles supported with his usual staunch- 
 ness, the result being a simple reply to the bishop, 
 in which Louis explained his feelings and opinions 
 clearly, and as he understood them. 
 
 Prior to all this, though, and within forty-eight 
 hours of his return to La Jonquieres, Louis' big, kind
 
 368 <smis jflesb ant> 
 
 heart had overflowed with pity, and a certain sense 
 of sympathy, for poor, passionate Andrd, and he 
 had set out for Mezieres, driven by De Courcelles, 
 and had gained admittance to the doomed man, for, 
 as his priest, he had a right to be there. 
 
 Andr^ was brutal at first, resented the visit, and 
 became sullenly silent ; then, when pressed to speak, 
 in Louis' most gentle and persuasive tones, fiercely 
 affirmed that his admission of the crime was due to 
 Lisette's conduct. She had fooled him, the heartless 
 coquette. He had nothing to live for ; that was why 
 he was in jail. No pity for Louis, no sense of guilt, 
 had influenced him. He was not so womanish, not 
 he. Saddened, distressed beyond measure, fearful 
 that this man should meet death in such a mood, 
 Louis decided to remain at Mezieres until he had 
 reasoned with him, tried to soften his heart. 
 
 So, almost within the shadow of the Hotel Mont D'or, 
 where he and Blanche had spent such sweet moments, 
 he engaged lodgings ; and there, in the silence of 
 those four walls, prayed with his whole heart, his face 
 bathed in tears, that God might pardon and take 
 Andre' into His keeping. Each day he visited and 
 reasoned with him ; the result being, that touched, 
 changed by the display of so much tenderness and 
 sympathy, when the day came to step to the guillotine, 
 Andrd met death calmly, and blessing him. 
 
 All that remains to be told now, unfolds itself in a 
 few words, a few brief sentences. Rather less than 
 one year from the date of that evening at the Hotel 
 Mont D'or, Louis' life was crowned with happiness. 
 The devoted woman, who, in the face of all things, 
 loved him so sincerely, waited only until the custom- 
 ary period of one year's mourning had passed, and 
 then she became his. And these two, into whose 
 existence at once stole the calm that comes to those
 
 fflesb an& Bloofc* 369 
 
 who have striven and won their life's desire, removed 
 to Paris, where Louis proceeded to develop the ideas 
 he had conceived. 
 
 Backed by De Courcelles' influence, he began to 
 teach with a vigour and ability that daily increased in 
 the light of Blanche's loving smiles, the principles he 
 had come to believe in, and as though fortune had 
 done her worst and had now nothing but the sunlit 
 side of her fickle face to turn towards him, not only 
 was he soon recognised as a powerful, though original, 
 preacher, but a man in whose heart God dwelt. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Cowan <5-> Co., Limited, Ptrtk. 
 
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