^KlmmSfmtwSm^' *''"" •.■? WM^ff^^' ■,. ,3 i p^ JE r- r*' t= ==^ ^. i^; ^ J^ w ■^Jt^/ -n ^tel* 'J P s^ ^ ^a^ '< i^ HONORE DE BALZAC TRANSLATED BY KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY COUSIN BE TIE ROBERTS BROTHERS 3 SOMERSET STREET BOSTON 1888 2\io^ CO L^5 £ Copyright, 1888, By Roberts Brothers. • • • ^ ffinibergttg ^rega : John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. CONTENTS. Page I. Wheee does not Passion Lurk? 1 II. Shameful Disclosures 7 III. The Life of a Noble Woman 22 IV. The Character of a.n old Maid; original, AND YET NOT AS UNCOMMON AS ONE MIGHT THINK 37 V. The Young Maid and the Old One ... 52 VI. In which Pretty Women are seen to Flut- ter BEFORE Libertines, just as Dupes put themselves in the way of Swindlers . . 67 VII. The Story of a Spider with too big a Fly IN Her Net 83 VIII. Romance of the Father and that of the Daughter 97 IX. In which Chance, Constructing a Romance, carries Matters along so Smoothly that the Smoothness cannot Last 113 X. Social Compact between Easy Virtue and Jealous Celibacy — Signed, but not Re- corded 127 vi Contents. Page XI. Transformation of Cousin Bette . . . 140 XII, The Life and Opinions of Monsieur Crevel 150 XIII. Last Attempt of Caliban over Ariel . 1G2 XIV. In which the Tail-end of an ordinary Novel appears in the very Middle OF this too true, rather anacreontic, and terribly moral History . . . 177 XV. Assets of the firm Bette and Valerie — Marneffe Account 193 XVI. Assets of the firm Bette and Valerie. — Fischer Account 206 XVII. Assets of the Legitimate Wife . . . 216 XVIII. Millions Redivivus 229 XIX. Scenes of High Feminine Comedy . . 210 XX. Two Brothers of the Great Confrater- nity OF Brotherhoods 255 XXI. What it is that makes a Great Artist 268 XXII. An Artist, Young and a Pole, what else could have been Expected ? . . . . 285 XXIIL The First Quarrel of Married Life . 302 XXIV. The Five Fathers of the Marneffe Church 316 XXV. Summary of the History of the Favor- ites 330 XXVI. A Summons with and without Costs , 345 XXVII, A Summons of Another Kind .... 355 XXVIII. A Noble Courtesan 370 XXIX. Conclusion of the Life and Opinions of Celestin Crevel 385 Contents. XXX. A BRIEF Duel between Marechal Hulot, COMTE DE FoRZHEIM, AND HiS ExCEL- LENCY MONSEIGNEUR LE MaRECHAL CoTTiN, Prince de Wissembourg, Due d'Orfaj^o, Minister of War .... XXXI. The Departure of the Prodigal Father XXXII. The Sword of Damocles XXXIII. Devils and Angels Harnessed to the same Car XXXIV. Vengeance in pursuit of Valerie . . XXXV. A Dinner-party of Lorettes .... XXXVI. The Cheap Parisian Paradise of 1810 . XXXVII. Fulfilment of Valerie's Jesting Proph- ecies XXXVIII. Return of the Prodigal Father . . . Vll Page 402 418 439 456 479 495 507 522 537 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/cousinbetteOObalzrich COUSIN BETTE. CHAPTER I. WHERE r>OES NOT PASSION LIHIK ? About the middle of July, 1838, one of those hack- ney carriages lately put into circulation along the streets of Paris and called milords was making its way through the rue de I'llniversite, carrying a fat man of medium height, dressed in the uniform of a captain of the National Guard. Among Parisians, who are thought to be so witt}' and wise, we may find some w^ho fanc}^ they are infinitely more attractive in uniform than in their ordinary clothes, and who attribute so depraved a taste to the fair sex that the}^ imagine women are favorably im- pressed by a bear-skin cap and a militar}^ equipment. The countenance of this captain, who belonged to the second legion, wore an air of satisfaction with himself which heightened the brillianc\' of his ruddy complexion and his somewhat pufF^' cheeks. A halo of content- ment, such as wealth acquired in business is apt to place around the head of a retired shopkeeper, made it easy to guess that he was one of the elect of Paris, an assis- tant-mayor of his arrondissement at the ver}- least. As 1 may be supposed, therefore, the ribbon of the Legion of honor was not absent from his portl}' breast, which protruded with all the swagger of a Prussian officer. Sitting proud!}' erect in a corner of the milord^ this decorated being let his e^'es rove among the pedestrians on the sidewalk, who, in fact, often come in for smiles which are really intended for beautiful absent faces. The 7nilord drew up in that section of the street which lies between the rue de Bellechasse and the rue de Bourgogne, before the door of a large house lately built on part of the courtyard of an old mansion with a garden. The old building had been allowed to remain, and it stood in its primitive condition at the farther end of the court3'ard, now reduced in space bj' half its width. Judging by the way the captain accepted the assist- ance of the coachman in getting out of the vehicle, an observer would have recognized a man over fift}' 3'ears of age. There are certain physical actions whose undis- guised heaviness has the indiscretion of a certificate of baptism. The captain drew a 3'ellow glove on his right hand, and, without making an}' inquiiy at the porter's lodge, walked towards the portico of the house with an air that plainly said, "She is mine!" The Parisian porter has a knowledgeable eye ; he never stops a man wearing the ribbon of the Legion, dressed in blue, and ponderous of step ; he knows the signs of liches far too w^elL, The ground-floor apartment was occupied by IMon- sieur le Baron Hulot d'Ervy, paymaster under the republic,, formerly commissary-general of the army, and at the present time head of the most important depart- Cousin Bette. 3 ment in the ministry of war, State councillor, grand officer of the Legion of honor, etc. This Baron Hnlot had lately taken the name of d'Ervy, the place of his birth, to distinguish him from his brother, the cele- brated General Hiilot, colonel of the grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, whom the Emperor created Comte de Forzheim after the campaign of 1809. The elder brother, the count, taking charge of his 3'ounger brother, placed him with fatherh' prudence in an office at the ministrj' of war, where, thanks to their double service, the younger, Baron Hulot, obtained and deserved the favor of the Emperor. In 1807 he was made com- missary-general of the armies of Spain. After ringing the bell, the bourgeois captain made desperate etlbrts to pull his coat into place ; for that garment was as much wrinkled before as behind, under the displacing action of a pear-shaped stomach. Ad- mitted as soon as a servant in livery had caught sight of him, this important and imposing personage followed the footman, who announced as he opened the door of a salon : — ' ' Monsieur Crevel ! " Hearing the name — admirably adapted to the ap- pearance of the man who bore it — a tall, blond woman, ver}' well preserved, seemed to undergo an electric shock and rose immediatel3^ " Hortense, mj^ angel, go into the garden with your cousin Bette," she said hurriedl}' to a young lady who was sitting by her, busy wdth some embroider}-. Bowing gracioush' to the captain, Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot disappeared through a glass door, taking with her a lean old maid who seemed older 4 Cousin Bette. than the baroness, though she was in fact five years younger. " It must be somethhig about your marriage," whis- pered Bette to Hortense, without seeming at all offended b}' the manner in which Madame Hulot had sent them awaj', evidently considering her as of no account. The apparel of this cousin might at a pinch explain the want of ceremou}-. The old maid wore a merino dress the color of dried raisins, of a peculiar cut made with pipings which dated from the Restoration, a worked collar worth perhaps three francs, a straw bonnet of sewn braid trimmed with blue satin ribbon edged with straw, such as can be seen on the old-clothes women in the markets. A glance at her shoes, whose make betrayed a dealer of the lowest order, would have led a stranger to hesitate before bowino- to cousin Bette as a member of the familv ; in fact, her appearance was that of a dressmaker employed b}' the day. Nevertheless, the old maid made a friendh' little bow to Monsieur Crevel before she left the room, to which that personage replied by a sign full of meaning. " You will come to-morrow, will j'ou not? " he said. "Are 3'ou sure there will be no compan}^?" asked Bette. " My children and 3'ourself, that will be all," replied the visitor. " Ver}^ good, then 3-ou may relv on seeing me," she said as she left the room. " Madame, I am here, at your orders," said the militia captain, again bowing to the baroness and cast- ing upon her a glance such as Tartuffe bestows on Cousin Bette. 5 Elmire when some provincial actor thinks it neces- saiy to explain the part to a Poitiers or Grenoble audience. " If you will follow me, monsieur, we shall be more at our ease in discussing matters here than in the salon," said Madame Plulot, leading the wa}' to an adjoining parlor which in the present arrangement of the house was used as a cardroom. This room was separated by a slight partition from a boudoir which had a window opening on the garden, and Madame Hulot left Monsieur Crevel alone for a few moments, thinking it wise to shut the window and the door of the boudoir lest any one should attempt to overhear them. She also took the precaution to shut the glass door of the large salon, smiling as she did so at her daughter and cousin who were settling themselves in an old kiosk at the further end of the garden. On returning she was careful to leave the door of the cardroom open, so that she might hear the opening of the salon door in case any one entered that room. As slie went and came on these errands the baroness, conscious that she was under no ej'e for the moment, allowed her face to tell her thoughts ; and any one who had seen her then would have felt something akin to terror at the agitation she betrayed. But as she came through the door between the salon and the cardroom she veiled her face with that impenetrable reserve which all women, even tiie most candid, seem able to call up at will. During the time occupied by these preparations, which were, to sa}' the least, singular, the militia cap- tain looked about him at the furniture of the room in 6 Cousin Bette. which he sat. As he noticed the silk curtains, formerly red, now faded into purple by the action of the sun, and worn along the edges of each fold ; at the carpet from which the colors had vanished ; at the defaced furniture with its tarnished gilding and silk coverings stained and spotted and worn into strips, expressions of contempt, self-satisfaction, and assurance succeeded each other artlessl}' on the flat features of the parvenu merchant. He looked at himself in the mirror over the top of an old Empire clock, and was engaged in taking stock of his own person when the rustle of a silk dress announced the return of the baroness ; he at once re- covered position. After seating herself on a little sofa, which must have been very handsome as far back as 1809, the baroness pointed to a chair, the arms of which ended in heads of sphinxes lacquered in bronze, — the surface of which had peeled oft' in several places leaving the wood bare, — and made a sign to Crevel to be seated. "The precautions which you are taking, madame, are naturalh' a delightful augury to a — " " — lover," she said, interrupting him. " The word is feeble," he repUed, placing his right hand upon his heart, and rolling his eyes in a manner which would have made any woman laugh if she had seen their expression with a mind at ease. "Lover! lover ! sa}', rather, one bewitched ! " Cousin Bette. CHAPTER II. SHAJIEFUL DISCL0SUKP:S. " Listen to me, Monsieur Crevel," said the baroness, too serious to laugh; "you are fifty years old, — ten years younger than Monsieur Hulot, I admit ; but the follies of a woman of m}' age must find their justifica- tion in 3'outh, beaut}', celebrity, personal merit, or some one of those distinctions which dazzle her so much as to make her forget everything, even her own age. You may have an income of fifty thousand francs, but 3'our 3'ears counterbalance your fortune ; and of all else that a woman requires you have nothing — " "Except love," exclaimed the captain, rising and coming towards her ; " a love which — '' "No, monsieur, obstinacy! " said the baroness, in- terrupting him to put an end to his absurdity. "Yes, the obstinacy of love," he replied, "and something better still, rights — " "Rights!" exclaimed Madame Hulot, dilating with contempt, defiance, and indignation. "But," she re- sumed, "if we continue in this tone there wdll be no end to it. I did not ask you to come here to talk of a matter which has alread}' banished you from this house in spite of the connection between our families." " I believed you did — " 8 Cousin Bette. " You persist? " she said. " Can 3'ou not see, mon- sieur, b}' tlie light and easy manner with whicli I speak of love and lovers and all that is most perilous for a woman to discuss, that I am perfectl}^ confident in mj'self and m}- own virtue ? I fear nothing ; not even misconception for being shut in with 3'ou here. Is that the conduct of a yielding woman ? You know perfectly well wh}' I have sent for you." "No, I do not, madame," replied Crevel. He bit his lips, and resumed an attitude. " Well, I will be brief, and shorten our mutual an- noyance," said the baroness looking straight at him. Crevel made an ironical bow in which a tradesman would have recognized the air and graces of a quondam commercial traveller. " Our son married your daughter — " " And if it were to do over again — " said Crevel. " It would not be done at all," she continued hastih'. "I dare say not. But 3'Ou have nothing to complain of. My son is not onh'' one of the first law^'ers in Paris, but he is now a deput}', and his opening career in the Chamber is brilliant enough to lead one to expect that he will some day be in the ministr3\ Victorin has been twice appointed to draft important measures, and he could now be, if he chose, attorne3'-general of the Court of Appeals. Therefore when 3'ou give me to understand that you have a son-in-law without prospects — " "A son-in-law whom I am obliged to support/' re- torted Crevel, " is even worse, madame. Of the five hundred thousand francs which constituted m3' daugh- ter's marriage portion, two hundred thousand have Cousin Bette. 9 alreacl}^ disappeared, the Lord knows where ! — to pay 3-our sou's debts, to furnish his house gorgeously ; a house, b}' the bj'e, worth five hundred thousand francs, which brings him in a rental of barely fifteen thousand, because he chooses to occupy the best part of it. Be- sides, he still owes two hundred and forty thousand francs of the purchase mone}' ; the rental he gets hardly covers the interest of the debt. This 3'ear I have been obliged to give ray daughter something like twenty thousand francs to enable her to make both ends meet. And my son-in-law, who formerlj' earned thirtj' thou- sand francs b}' his profession, is now neglecting the Palais de Justice for the Chamber of Deputies." " All this, Monsieur Crevel, is quite beside our present business and leads awa}' from it. But to end what we are saying, — if mj^ son enters the ministrj- and obtains your appointment as officer of the Legion of honor and councillor of the municipality-, you — the late perfumer — will have nothing to complain of." " Ha, there it is, madame ! I 'm a perfumer, a shop- keeper, a retail vender of almond-paste, eau de Por- tugal^ cephalic oil, and I ought to feel greatly honored b}' the marriage of m}- onh' daughter to the son of Monsieur le Baron Hulot d'Ervy ; my daughter will be a baroness — yes, yes, that's regenc}^, Louis XY., ceil- de-boeuf^ and all the rest of it ! I love Celestine as any man would love an only daughter. I love her so much that to avoid giving her a brother or a sister I have borne all the inconveniences of beins: a widower in Paris, — and in the vigor of m}^ age, madame. But let me tell you that in spite of this immoderate love for mj- daughter I shall not impair ni}- property for the sake of 10 Cousin Bette. your son, whose expenditures are b}' no means clear to me, — to me, an old business man, madame." " Monsieur, there is another business man at this very moment in the ministry of commerce, — Mon- sieur Popinot, formerl}^ a druggist in the rue des Lombards." " And my very good friend," said the ex-perfumer; " for I, Celestin Crevel, formerly head-clferk of Mon- sieur Cesar Birotteau, I bought the business of the said Birotteau, father-in-law of Popinot, who was a mere underling in that establishment. In fact, it is he who often reminds me of it ; for, to do him justice, he is not proud with men of good position and an income of sixty thousand francs." '* Well, monsieur, the ideas which you choose to qualif}'' b}^ the term ' regency ' are certainly- out of date at a time when men are judged by their personal merits ; and it was b}' those you judged in marrying your daughter to my son." "You never knew how that marriage came about!" cried Crevel. "Cursed life of a bachelor ! if it had n't been for m}" dissipations Celestine would be Vicomtesse Popinot at this moment ! " " Once more, do not let us recriminate about matters past and gone," said the baroness gravely. " I wish to speak to 3'ou on a subject about which your strange con- duct gives me cause for complaint. My daughter Hor- tense might have married well ; the marriage depended wholl}' on you ; I believed 3'ou were actuated b}- gen- erous sentiments ; I thought you would have done justice to a woman w^ho has no feeling in her heart except for her husband, and would have spared her the Cousin Bette. 11 necessit}' of receiving a man whose attentions com- promise her ; in short, I full}' expected you would endeavor, for the honor of the famil}' to which you are allied, to further my daughter's marriage with Monsieur Lebas, — and yet it is you, monsieur, who have pre- vented it ! " "Madame," replied the ex-perfumer, " I have acted as an honest man. I was asked if the two hundred thousand francs of Mademoiselle Hortense's marriage portion would undoubtedly be paid. I answered ver- batim as follows : ' I cannot guarantee it ; my son- in-law, to whom the Hulots gave the same sum at the time of his marriage, had debts ; and I believe that if Monsieur Hulot d'Ervy died to-morrow, his widow would n't have the wherewithal to bu}' bread.' That 's what I said, my lady." " AYould you have said it," demanded Madame Hulot, looking fixedl}' at Crevel, " if I had forgotten my duty to my husband — " "I should have had no right to sa}- it, dear Adeline," cried this remarkable lover, cutting short her words ; " in fact, 30U could then have taken the dot out of my purse." Adding deeds to words the portly Crevel dropped on one knee and kissed Madame Hulot's hand, mistaking her silent horror at his speech for hesitation. "Buy my daughter's happiness at the price of — Rise, monsieur, or I ring for the servants." The ex-perfumer rose with some difficulty. That very circumstance made him furious as he once more fell into position. Nearly ever}' man cheiishes an at- titude which sets off, as he thinks, the personal ad van- 12 Cousin Bette. tages with which Nature has gifted him. In Crevel this attitude consisted in crossing his arms Uke Na- poleon, putting his head at a three-quarter profile, and casting his glance, as the painters show in their portraits of the Emperor, to the far horizon. " The idea," he cried, with well acted anger, " of her keeping her silh' faith in a libert — " " — in a husband, monsieur, who is worthy of it," said Madame Hulot, interrupting Crevel before he could get out a word she did not choose to hear. " Now look here, madame ; you have written to me to come here, 3'ou ask the reasons of m}' conduct, j'ou drive me to extremities with 3'our empress airs, 3'our disdain, 3'our — 3'Our — contempt. An}- one would think I was a negro ! I repeat what I said, and you maj' believe me, I have the right to make love to 3'Ou — because — but no, I love 3'ou well enough to hold my tongue." " You can speak out, monsieur : I am all but fortj'- eight 3'ears old and not absurdly prudish : I can listen to what you have to sa3\" " Well, will 3'ou give me 3'Our word as an honest woman — for 3-ou are, so much the worse for me, an honest woman — that you will never divulge m3" name, and never sa3^ that I have told 3'ou this secret ? " " If that is 3'our condition, I will swear to tell no one, not even my husband, the name of the person from whom I have heard the enormities 3"0u are about to tell me." " It concerns you and 3^our husband — " Madame Hulot turned pale. ''Ha! if you still love that Hulot, I shall hurt 3'our feelings. Would 3-ou rather I held my tongue ? " Cousin Bette. 13 "Speak, monsieur; since voii wish to explain the extraordinary declarations 3'on persist in making to me, and the anno^'ance 3-ou cause a woman of m}* age whose sole desire is to marr3' her daughter and then — die in peace." " There ! you admit you are very unhapp3\" " I, monsieur?" "Yes, beautiful and noble creature," cried C revel ; " 3'ou have suffered too much." "Monsieur, be silent and leave the room; or else speak in a proper manner." " Do 3'ou know, madame, how and where it is that Monsieur Hulot and I are intimate? — amonsj our mistresses, madame." " Oh, monsieur — " " Among our mistresses," repeated Crevel in a melo- dramatic tone, — abandoning his attitude to make a flourish with his right hand. "Well, what then, monsieur?" said the baroness quietl}', to Crevel's utter bewilderment. Seducers with petty motives never understand a noble soul. " I, who am a widower for the last five 3'ears," re- sumed Crevel, in the tone of a man about to relate a histor}', "not wishing, in the interests of m}' daughter whom I idolize, to remarr3', and not willing to have questionable connections in m3' own house, — though indeed I had a ver3' pretty dcmie de comptoir, — I set up, as the3' say, in a house of her own, a little sewing-girl, fifteen years of age and wonderfulh' prettv, with whom, to tell 3'ou the truth, madame, I became desperateh' in love. I sent for my own aunt, the sister of m3' mother ; 14 Cousin Bette. I brought her from my birtliplace to live with this charmhig little creature and keep her as virtuous as possible under the — the — what shall I sa}^? — illicit circumstances. The little girl, whose musical vocation was evident, had masters, and lots of education was put into her, — in fact I was obliged to keep her occu- pied. Besides, I wished to be her father, her benefac- tor, and not to mince words, her lover all at once ; to kill two birds with one stone, to do a good action and keep a little friend. Well, I was happy for five 3'ears. The child had one of those voices which make the for- tune of a theatre ; I can't describe it better than to sa}' she was Dnprez in petticoats. It cost me two thousand francs a year solel}' to make a singer of her. She made me fanatico about music ; I took a box at the opera for her and another for my daughter, and I went alternatelj' one night with Celestine and the next with Joseph a — " " Josepha ! the famous singer?" " Yes, madame," replied Crevel, puffing with self- conceit, " the celebrated Josepha owes everything to me. At last, when the little thing had got to be twenty years old, and I felt she was attached to me for life, I wanted, out of the kindness of my heart, to give her a little amusement. So I introduced her to a pretty little actress named Jenny Cadine, whose career had a cer- tain likeness to her own. This actress had a protector, a man who had brought her up from childhood with great care. It was your husband, Baron Hulot — " "I know all that, monsieur," said the baroness in a calm and equable tone of voice. "Ah, bah!" cried Crevel, more and more taken Cousin Bette. 15 aback. '• But do \o\\ know that 3'our monster of a hus- band has ijrotected Jenn}' Cadine ever since she was thirteen years old ? " " Well, monsieur, what next? "said Madame Hulot. " As Jenny Cadine/' resumed the ex-perfumer, " and Josepha were both twent}' before they knew each other, the baron played the part of Louis XV. with Made- moiselle de Romans ; and you were twelve years younger than you are now." '•Monsieur, I have my own reasons for giving Mon- sieur Hulot his libert}'." " That falsehood, madame, will doubtless wipe out your sins and open to 3'ou the gates of Paradise," said Crevel with a shrewd glance that brought the color into her cheeks. " Tell it, adored and saintl}' woman, to others, but not to an old fox like me who have had too man}- little suppers in company with 3'our scoundrel of a husband not to know your true value. I have often heard him when half-drunk burst forth about your per- fections and reproach himself. Oh, I know you well ; you are an angel. Between j^ou and a girl of twent^^ a libertine might hesitate — I do not." ' ' Monsieur ! " " AYell, I'll sa}' no more. But you ought to be told, saint of a woman, that husbands when thej' are drunk tell a great man}' things about their wives to their mistresses, who shriek with laughter — " Tears of shame rolled from Madame Hulot's beautiful e3'es and stopped the militia captain in the full tide of his remarks ; he even forgot his attitude. " I resume," he said presentl}-. "We are cronies, the baron and T, through these girls. The baron, like 16 Cousin Bette. all vicious men, is extremeh' amiable, a down right good fellow. Oh, I liked him, the rogue ! He had ways — but there, there, a truce to recollections ; we were like brothers. The scamp, with his regenc}' ideas, tried to make me as bad as himself; he preached Saint- Simonism in the matter of women, tried to give me the notions of a great lord, of an aristocrat dyed' in the wool ; but 3'ou see, I really loved mj^ little Josepha and would have married her if I had n't been afraid of chil- dren to injure Celestine's interests. Between two old papas, friends — and we were such friends ! — don't you think it was very natural that we should think of marrying our respective children ? Three months after the marriage of ni}^ Celestine to 3-our son, Hulot, — I don't know how I can utter the villain's name, for he has deceived us both, madame ! — well, the wretch car- ried off m}' little Josepha. He knew he was supplanted by a councillor of state, and also by an artist, in the good graces of Jenny Cadine (whose successes were really stupendous) ; and so he took awaj' from me my poor little mistress, a love of a woman, — but you have often seen her at the Italian opera, where he got her a situation on the strength of his name. Your husband is not as good a manager as I, who keep accounts and rule my expenses as regular as a sheet of music-paper. Jenny Cadine made a hole in his means, for she cost him very nearly thirty thousand francs a year, but now, — and 3'ou had better know it, — he is ruining himself for Josepha. Josepha, ma- dame, is a Jewess ; her name is Mirah, the anagram of Hiram, a Hebrew sign by which she can, if necessary, be identified ; for I made inquiries and found she was Cousin Bette. 17 the natural daughter of a rich German Jew, a banker, who had abandoned ller. The theatre, and above all, the advice and instruction of Jenny Cadine, Madame Schontz, Malaga, Carabine, and others, have taught her how to make the most of old men ; and the little thing wliom I had been keeping in a decent and not costl}' fashion has now developed the instinct of the early Jews for gew-gaws and jewels and the golden calf. The celebrated singer, eager after mone}', wants to be rich, and verj- rich. But she is extremely careful not to lose a penn}' of what is spent on her. She began b}' trying her hand on Monsieur Hulot. and she plucked him, oh, did n't she pluck him ! picked him clean, as you might say. The luckless fellow has tried to make head against a Keller and the Marquis d'Esgrignon, both madl}^ in love with Josepha, not to speak of all the unknown idolators ; but now he is going to find himself cut out and sent adrift b}' that little duke so powerfully rich who patronizes art — what's his name? — a dwarf — ah! the Duke d'Herouville. The little man is determined to have Josepha all to himself; everybody is talking of it, but your husband has not 3'et found it out ; the lover, like the husband, is the last man to get at the facts. Now don't you see my rights ? Your husband, my dear lady, has deprived me of my happi- ness, of the only happiness I have had since my widower- hood. Yes, if I had n't had the misfortune to meet that old driveller, I should still have Josepha ; for, don't 3'ou see, I should never have put her on the stage ; she 'd have remained in obscurit}', virtuous after a fashion, and mine onl^'. Oh, if you had seen her eight years ago ! — slender and lithe, with the golden skin, as they say, of 2 18 Cousin Bette. an Andalusian, black hair sliining like satin, an e3'e that darted lightning through its brown lashes ; the elegance of a duchess in her gestures, the modest^' of a poor girl, the simplicity of an honest one, and the grace of a young doe ! It is your husband's fault that all this prettiness, this purit3', has turned into a regular wolf-trap, a deco}', a snare, — the qreen of impurity, for that's what they call her." The ex-perfumer actually wiped his ej'es in which were a few tears. The sincerit}' of his grief roused Madame Hulot from the rever^' into which she had fallen. " I ask you, madame, how is it possible at fiftj'-two years of age to get another such treasure? At that time of life love costs thirty thousand francs a 3'ear, — I know the sum through 3'our husband, — but I love Ce- lestine too well to ruin her. AVhen I saw you at the first evening party to which you invited us, I could not comprehend how that scoundrel of a Hulot could take up with a Jenny Cadine. You are like an em- press ; in my eyes you are only thirt}' ; 3'ou seem to me 3'oung ; you are beautiful. On my word of honor, I was smitten that verj^ first day, and I said to myself: ' If I did n't have my little Josepha, and that old Hulot abandons his wife, she would fit me like a glove' — Ah, beg pardon; the shop does sometimes get the better of me ! and that is one reason why 1 have never aspired to be a legislator. So, when I found how basely the baron had deceived me, — for between such old fellows our mistresses should have been sacred, — I swore that I would take his wife away from him. That's justice. The baron can't complain: lean act Cousin Bette. 19 with impunity. You turned me out of your h'^nse like a mangy cur at the first words I uttered abor^ '.e state of my heart. That redoubled my love, m}' obstinacy' if you like it better, and 3'ou will certainh' be mine." "How?" "I don't know liow ; but so it will be. Let me tell 30U, madame, that an old fool of a perfumer — a retired perfumer — who has only one idea in his head is much stronger than a clever man who has a thousand. I 'm craz}' about 3'ou ; and, besides, you are m}^ revenge, — it is just as if I had two loves ! You see I speak openly, like a determined man, as I am. You ma}' say, if you please, ' I will never be yours ! ' I answer, coolly, that I am plasing above-board, and 3'ou will be mine in a given time. You ma}^ be fift\^ 3'ears old before that time comes, but some da}' 3'ou will be my mistress. I expect anything and everything through your hus- band's — " Madame Hulot cast such an agonized look of terror on the vulgar computer of her fate that he stopped short, thinking she might lose her senses. " You forced me to sa3' this; you have insulted me with 3'our contempt ; you have defied me, and now I have spoken out," he said, feeling it necessary to defend the brutalit3' of his last words. "Oh, m3' daughter, m3' daughter!" cried the poor woman, in a feeble voice. " Ah, I knov>' no pit3^ ! " resumed Crevel. " The da}^ when Josepha was taken from me I was like a tigress deprived of her cubs, — I was like you, as you are at this moment. Your daughter ! why, she is the means bv which I shall win vou ! You can't marry her without 20 Cousin Bette, my help ! Mademoiselle Hortense is veiy handsome, but she must have a dot." " Alas ! 3'es," said the baroness, wiping her e3'es. " Well, then, go and ask your baron for ten thousand francs a 3'ear," said Crevel, resuming his attitude. He waited a moment like a singer who counts a bar. "If he had them he would give them to some girl who will replace Josepha," he said, taking up the score. " Can he be stopped in his present career? No, he is too fond of women, — there ought to be a medium in all things, as our present king says. Besides, vanity counts for something. He is a handsome man, and he would take tlie bed from under you to serve his pleasures. Why, everything is going to pieces here already- ! Since I have known 3'ou, 30U have never been able to renew the furniture of your salon. The slits in these stuffs actually vomit the word ' needy.' What prospective son-in-law would n't be scared b}- such ill-concealed proofs of the worst of all poverty, — that of decayed gentlefolks? I have been a shopkeeper, and I know. There 's nothing like the shop-keeping eye for seeing real riches and detecting counterfeits. You have n't a penny !" he added in a low voice; "it shows every- where, even in your footman's coat. Do you wish me to reveal certain awful secrets which are hidden from you?" "Monsieur," said Madame Hulot, whose handker- chief was wet with tears, " say no more." "Well, ni}" son-in-law gives his father monej' ; and that is what I started to tell you in the beginning of our conversation about 3'our son. But I am looking after Celestine's interests ; 3'ou ma^' be easy on that score." Cousiii Bette. 21 *' Oh, if I could only marry 1113^ daughter and die ! " said the miserable woman, losing her self-command. " Well, I offer you the means," said Crevel. Madame Hulot looked at him with a gleam of hope, which changed the expression of her face so rapidly that the sight of it alone ought to have moved Crevel to compunction, and forced him to abandon his prepos- terous pursuit. 22 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER III. THE LIFE OF A NOBLE WOMAN. " You will be beautiful ten years hence," said Crevel, resuming his position. " Accept me, and Mademoiselle Hortense shall marrj' at once. Hulot gives me the right, as I have just told you, to drive a straight bar- gain ; he '11 not object. For the last three 3'ears I have been saving mone}' ; my little distractions have all been economical. I have three hundred thousand francs laid by, outside of my real propert}' ; the}' are jours — " "Leave my house, monsieur, and never let me see you again ! " exclaimed Madame Hnlot. " If you had not compelled me to ask the meaning of your base con- duct in the matter of my daughter's proposed marriage — yes, base," she repeated, in replv to Crevel's gesture ; " why do 3'ou allow such animosities to injure a poor girl, a beautiful, innocent creature? — if it were not for this cruel necessit}' which wrings ni}' mothers-heart 3'ou should never have spoken to me again ; 3'ou should never have re-entered these doors. Thirtj'-two years of wifety honor and loyalty are not destroj'ed b\' the attacks of a Monsieur Crevel — " "Ex-perfumer, successor to Cesar Birotteau at the ' Queen of Roses,' rue Saint-Honor<^," said Crevel, jokingly; "formerly- assistant-mayor, captain of the Cousin Bette. 23 National Guard, chevalier of the Legion of honor, pre- cisely like niN' predecessor." "Monsieur," said the baroness, "if my husband, after twenty 3'ears of constancy, has grown weary of his wife, it concerns me, and only me ; and observe, monsieur, that he has carefuU}' concealed his infideli- ties, for I was not aware that he had succeeded 3'ou in the heart of Mademoiselle Josepha." " Ha ! " exclaimed Crevel, " only bj' dint of mone}', madame ; that little nightingale has cost him over a. hundred thousand francs in the last two 3'ears. Ha I ha ! there 's more behind it all, if you did but know it." "Enough, Monsieur Crevel,. let me hear no more! I shall not renounce, for 3'our sake, the happiness a mother feels in folding her children to her heart with- out remorse of conscience ; in knowino' that her familv respect and love her. I shall 3 ield m3^ soul to God without a stain." "Amen!" said Crevel, with the devilish bitterness that comes out upon the faces of men when the3' are checked anew in such attempts. " You don't yet know what povert3' is in its last stages, — shame, dishonor. I have done my best to enlighten you. I wished to save both 3'ou and 3'our daughter. Well, you can spell out the modern parable of the prodigal father to its last letter if you like. — But your tears and 3'our pride do touch me," he added, sitting down again. " It is dread- ful to see the woman we love in affliction. All that I can promise 3'ou, dear Adeline, is to do nothing against 3'Our interests, nor against your husband ; but, remem- ber, 3'ou must never send an3' one to me for information. That's all I have to say." 24 Cousin Bette. *' What am I to do?" exclaimed Madame Hulot. Till then Madame Ilnlot had bravely borne the triple torture this conversation had inflicted on her heart ; she suffered as a woman, as a mother, as a wife. In fact, so long as her son's father-in-law had been over- bearing and aggressive, she felt strengthened b}- the re- sistance she made to the brutalitj' of the ex-shopkeeper ; but the good-natured kindliness which he now showed in the midst of his exasperation as a rebuffed lover, as a humiliated national guard, relaxed the fibres which were strung to their utmost pitch. She wrung her hands and burst into tears, faUing into a state of such abject de- pression that she allowed Crevel, now on his knees, to kiss her hands. ''My God! what will become of me!" she said, wiping her tears. " Can a mother coldl}' see a daugh- ter perish before her very eyes ? What will be the fate of so glorious a creature, guarded by her chaste life be- side her mother as much as by the innate purity of her nature? There are days when she wanders alone in the garden, sad and disturbed without knowing why ; I see the tears in her eyes — " " She is twenty-one years old," said Crevel. " Must I put her into a convent? " exclaimed the bar- oness. "At such crises religion is powerless against nature, and girls who are piously brought up have been known to go insane. Rise, monsieur ; do you not see that all is at an end between us? that I feel a horror of you? that you have just cast down and destroyed a mother's last hope? — " " What if I raise it again? " he said. Madame Hulot looked at Crevel with a frenzied ex- Coumi Bette. 25 pression that touched him ; but he drove the pity from his heart, recollecting her words, "I feel a horror for 3'ou." Virtue is always a little too much of one thing ; it does not see the shades and the variations of temper- ament among which it might tack and steer out of a false position. " In these da3's there is no marrj'ing a girl as hand- some as Mademoiselle Hortense without a dowrj'," said Crevel, resuming his starched manner. " Your daugh- ter is one of those beauties who frighten men ; she is like a thorough-bred horse, which requires such costly care that buyers are scarce. How can a man go a-foot with such a woman on his arm? Everybodv would stare at him, and follow him, and want his wife. That sort of thing is dreadful to a man who does n't care to fight a host of lovers ; for, after all, only one of them can be killed. In the situation in which you find your- self, madame, there are but three wa3's in which you can marr}- your daughter : either by ni}' help, — and that you don't choose to take, — or to some old man of sixty, ver}' rich, without children, who wants an heir, — diffi- cult to find, but 3'ou ma}^ meet with him ; old men are apt to take a Josepha or a Jenny Cadine, and some- times thev do the same thins: leo-itimatelv. If I did n't have m}' Celestine and our two grandchildren to look after, I 'd marr^- Hortense m3'self. That 's your second chance ; the third is the easiest." Madame Hulot raised her head and looked eagerly at the ex-i:)erfumer. "Paris is a place where all men of talent and energy, who grow like mushrooms in the soil of France, turn up sooner or later ; it swarms with homeless, half-starved 26 Cousin Bette. geniuses, plucky fellows, capable of anything, even of making their fortune. Well, such men, — your humble servant was one of them in his day, and knew many others. What was du Tillet, what was Popinot twenty 3'ears ago? They were paddling round that little shop of Papa Birotteau's, without any other capital than the ambition to get on, which in m}^ opinion is the best capital of all. Money capital can be spent and wasted, but moral capital can't. Look at me ; what did I have ? The wish to succeed and the courage to do so. Du Tillet ranks to-day with the highest people in the land. Little Popinot, the richest druggist in the rue des Lom- bards, became a deput}^, and is now a minister. Well, as I was saj'ing, one of these free lances, stock-broker, artist, author, is the only kind of man in Paris who is willing to marr^' a handsome girl without a penny ; they are all courageous fellows. Anselme Popinot married Mademoiselle Birotteau without expecting a farthing of dowr}'. Such men are cracked ; they believe in love, just as they believe in their own faculties and their own success. Find one of them and get him in love with 3'our daughter, and he '11 marr}' her without a thought of the future. You must admit that, enemy as you think me, I am not wanting in generositj' ; for this advice is against my own interests." '^ Ah, Monsieur Crevel, if you would only be my friend, and give up those ridiculous ideas — " "Ridiculous? Madame, do not undervalue yourself in that waj'. I love you, and some da}^ 3'ou will cer- tainly be mine. I intend to saj' to Hulot, ' You took Josepha away fiom me ; I have got your wife.' It is the old law of retaliation. I shall pursue that purpose, Cousin Bette. 27 unless you become extremely ugl3'. I shall succeed ; and 1 11 tell you why," he added, resuming his atti- tude and gazing fixedly at Madame Hulot. Then after a pause he continued : — " You will not find either a rich old man or a young lover for your daughter, because you love her too well to deliver her over to the mercies of an old libertine, and because you will never bring yourself — you, Baronne Hnlot, sister-in-law of the commander of the grenadiers of the Old Guard — to take a man of talent wherever j-ou can find him. Such a man may be a mere workman, like many a millionnaire to-da}' who was a mechanic ten years ago, a foreman, an overseer in a manufactory'. And so, seeing that your daughter, hopeless of mar- riage, is likely to do something that will disgrace her, you will say to yourself, ' Better that I be dishonored ; and if Monsieur Crevel will keep the secret, I will earn m^' daughter's dowry — two hundred thousand francs — by ten 3'ears' attachment to that ex-perfumer.' I anno}" you; and what I sa}' is profoundly immorfil, isn't it? But if 3'ou were eaten up bj' an irresistible passion, 3'ou would find as man3' reasons to yield as a woman who is reall3' in love. Well, you '11 see ; your daughter's fu- ture will put these capitulations of conscience into 3'our mind." '' Hortense has an uncle — " " Who? old Fischer? His aflTairs are in a bad wa3' ; and that again is the fault of Baron Hulot, whose rake gets into ever3' strong-box within his reach — ^' " I mean Comte Hulot." "Oh, 3*our husband, madame, has alread3" made mince- meat of his brother's savings ; the3^ have gone to furnish 28 Cousin Mette. his siren's house. Come, now, do 3'ou mean to let me go without a word of hope ? " " Adieu, monsieur. You will soon get over a passion for a woman of ni}- age, and learn Christian principles. God protect the sorrowful ! " The baroness rose to compel the captain to retire, forcing him thus into the large salon. " Is it proper that the beautiful Madame Hulot should live in such a wretchedly furnished place?" he said, looking round him, and pointing to an old lamp, a chandelier with the gilding defaced, the white seams of the carpet, in short, to the tatters of opulence, which made the fine old salon in white, red, and gold a skele- ton reminder of imperial glorj'. " Virtue shines within it, monsieur. I have no de- sire to obtain a gorgeous home b3^ making the beauty which 3'OU say is mine a wolf-trap, the deco}' of a Jewess worshipping the golden calf ! " The captain bit his lips as he recognized the words he had lately used to condemn the grasping avarice of Josepha. " And for whose sake are you so perseveringly faithful?" he demanded. By this time the baroness had led him to the outer door of the salon. " For a libertine ! " he added, with the sneer of a virtuous millionnaire. "If he were, monsieur, my constancy' would have some merit, that is all." She left the captain with a bow such as a woman gives to a man she is well rid of, and turned away too quickly to see him strike his attitude for the last time. She opened all the doors which she had closed and did Cousin Bette. 29 not notice the menacing gesture with which Crevel left the room. She walked proudh', nobly, like a mart3'r in the Coliseum ; but her strength was gone and, as she reached her boudoir, she let herself fall upon the sofa like a woman on the verge of exhaustion, though her ej'es were fixed on the ruined kiosk where Ilortense was chattering with her cousin Bette. From the first da3's of her marriage to the present time Madame Hulot had loved her husband just as Josephine had finally loved Napoleon, — with an admir- ing love, a maternal love, a servile love. Though she was ignorant of the details Crevel had just given her, she nevertheless knew perfectly well that for the last twenty years Baron Hulot was constantly unfaithful to her ; but she had drawn a leaden veil over her eyes and wept in silence ; never a word of reproach escaped her. In return for this angelic sweetness she had won the vener- ation of her husband, who regarded her with a species of religious worship. The aff'ection of a wife for her husband, the respect in wdiich she holds him, are con- tagious in a famil}'. Hortense thought her father a model of conjugal love. As for Hulot the son, brought up in admiration of the baron, w^ho was publicl}' looked upon as one of the giants who seconded Napoleon, he w^as well aware that he owed his position to the name, the station, and the reputation of his father ; moreover, still influenced by the impressions of his childhood, he held his father in awe. Had he suspected the irregu- larities which CrcA^el now revealed he was too respectful to complain of them ; he might even have excused them with such reasons as men give for these misdemeanors, seen from their own point of view. 30 Cousin Bette. It now becomes necessaiy to explain the extraordinary devotion of this beautiful and noble woman ; and we must give the history of her life in a few words. From a village situated on the extreme confines of Lorraine, at the foot of the Vosges mountains, three brothers of the name of Fischer, common laborers, drawn under the republican conscription, started for the Arm}^ of the Rhine. In 1799 the second of these brothers, Andre, wid- ower and father of Madame Hulot, left his daughter to the care of his elder brother, Pierre Fischer, dis- abled from active service by wounds received in 1797,?^ and made a few limited trips on the militar}' transports*' an employment which he owed to the influence of the pa3'master of the forces. Baron Hulot d'Ervy. B}^ a ver}' natural accident, Hulot, when he came to Stras- burg, saw the Fischer famil}-. Adeline's father and his 3'ounger brother were by that time purve3'ors of forage in Alsace. Adeline, then sixteen j^ears of age, might be com- pared with the famous Madame du Barr^", like herself a daughter of Lorraine. She was one of those perfect, overwhelming beauties, of the type of Madame Tallien, whom Nature manufactures with especial care, bestowing upon them her choicest gifts, — distinction, nobility of bearing, grace, delicacy, elegance, a rare skin, and a complexion compounded on that mj'sterious palette where chance has mixed the colors. Beautiful women of this type resemble each other. Bianca Capello, whose portrait is Bronzino's masterpiece, the Venus of Jean Goujon, the original of which was the famous Diane de Poitiers, Signora Olympia, whose picture is Cousin Bette. 31 in the Doria gallery, in short, Ninon, Madame du BariT, Madame Tallien, Mademoiselle Georges, Mad- ame Recamier, — all such women, who remain beautiful in spite of 3'ears, passions, or lives of excessive dissipa- tion, bear a strong likeness to each other in their fig- ures, their structure, and the points of their beaut}' ; which leads to a belief that in the ocean of generative forces there flows an aphrodisiac current whence all these goddesses emerge, daughters of the same salt wave. Adeline Fischer, one of the loveliest of the divine tribe, could boast the glorious characteristics, the ser- pentine lines, the blue-veined tissues of these queen- born women. Her golden hair, the like of which our INIother Eve obtained from the hand of God, her form, worthy of an empress with its air of grandeur, the au- gust outlines of her noble profile, combined with the modesty of a village girl, arrested the attention of men who remained rapt in admiration before her like ama- teurs in presence of a Raphael. Meeting her thus. Baron Hulot made Mademoiselle Adeline Fischer bis wife by civil marriage, to the great astonishment of all the other Fischers, who had been brought up to hold their superiors in reverence. The eldest, Pierre Fischer, a soldier of 1792, severely wounded in the attack on AVissembourg, worshipped Napoleon and everything relating to the grand arm}'. Andre and Johann spoke with great respect of the paymaster-general, Hulot, a favorite of the Emperor and one, moreover, to whom they owed their advance- ment ; for the baron, struck with their honest}^ and in- telligence, had promoted them from the victualling-trains 32 Cousin Bette, of the army and put them at the head of a commissariat department. Here the Fischer brothers did good ser- vice during the campaign of 1804. AVhen peace was proclaimed, Hulot got them a position of purvej'ors of forage in Alsace, without knowing that he himself would be sent to Strasburg some months later, to pre- pare for the campaign of 1806. To a young peasant-girl such a marriage was like an Assumption. The beautiful Adeline passed, without any transition period, from the mud of her native village to tlie paradise of the imperial court. It was about this time that Monsieur Hulot, one of the most faithful, honest, and active of his corps, was made a baron, placed near the Emperor, and appointed to the Imperial Guard. The beautiful village girl, out of love for her husband, whom she idolized, had the courage to have herself educated. The pa3'master-general was, as a man, a replica of Adeline as a woman. He belonged to the elect few of liandsome men. Tall, well-made, fair, with blue eyes of a sparkling fire and play that was irresistible, and an elegant figure, he was observable even among the d' Orsays, the Forbins, the Ouvrards, in short, the battalion of the fine men of the empire. A conqueror of women, and imbued with the ideas of the Directory concerning them, his career of gallantry was arrested for a considerable time by his conjugal attachment. To Adeline the baron was, from the start, a species of divinity who could do no wrong ; she owed every- thing to him, — fortune, mansion, carriage, all the luxury of those luxurious days ; happiness, for she was publicly adored ; a title, that of baroness ; and celebrit}^, for she Cousin Bette. 33 became known as "the beautiful Madame Hulot ; " she even had the honor of decUnuig the homage of the Emperor, who presented her with a riviere of diamonds, and continued to take notice of her, saving from time to time, '■ That beautiful Madame Hulot, is she still virtuous ? " — as if he w' ere read}' to revenge himself on any man who triumphed wliere he had failed. It does not, therefore, require much intelligence to perceive in a simple, candid, beautiful soul like that of Madame Hulot the springs of the fanaticism which she mingled with her love. Assuring herself perpetually that her husband could be guilty of no wrong toward her, she became in her inward being the humble, blind, devoted servant of her creator. It is to be remarked, however, that she was gifted with sound good sense ; that good common-sense of the people, which made her education a solid matter. In societ\' she spoke little, said no evil of an}* one, and never sought to shine ; she reflected about everything and listened intelligently, forming herself on the model of the worthiest and best bred w^omen. In 1815 Hulot followed the example of an intimate friend, the Prince de Wissembourg, and was one of those who organized the impromptu army whose defeat at Waterloo ended the Napoleonic era. In 1816 the baron became a thorn in the side of the Feltre ministrj', and was onh' reinstated in the commissariat depart- ment in 1823, when the government wanted his ser- vices for the war in Spain. In 1830, at the time when Louis Philippe levied a species of conscription among the former Napoleonic troops, he became quartermaster- general. After the accession of the younger branch, 3 34 Cousin Bette. of which he was an able supporter, he remained an in- dispensable officer of the ministry' of war. He had, moreover, obtained his marshal's-baton, so that the king could do no more for him^ short of making him minister or peer of France. Deprived of his usual occupations from 1818 to 1823, Baron Hulot took to active service around women. Madame Hulot dated her Hector's first infidelities to the period of the empire's grand finale. Up to that time — that is, for twelve j'ears — she had been undispu- ted ^:)rima donna assoluta of their home. She still en- joyed the inveterate habitual aff'ection which husbands always bestow on wives who resign themselves to the role of gentle and virtuous companions ; she knew that no rival could hold her own for two hours against a single word of complaint on her part ; but she closed her eyes, stopped her ears, and tried to ignore her hus- band's conduct outside of his own home. She treated her Hector at last ver}' much as a mother treats a spoiled child. Three jears before the conversation just related, Hortense had recognized her father in a proscenium box at the Varietes in companv with Jenny Cadine, and exclaimed : '* See, there 's papa ! " " You are mistaken, my darling," said her mother ; " he is with the marshal." The baroness had seen her rival plainly enough, but instead of undergoing a pang at the sight of her beaut}', she said to herself, '• That scamp of a Hector must be happy." Nevertheless she did suff'er, and gave wa}' secretly at times to fi-ightful anger ; but as soon as Hector entered her presence she remembered only her twelve 3'ears of unalloyed happi- ness, and lost all power to articulate complaints. She Cousin Bette. 35 would have liked him to make her his confidante ; but she never dared, out of respect for his character, to let him know that she was aware of his follies. Such ex- cess of delicacy is onh* met with among the beauteous daughters of the people, who know how to bear a blow without returning it ; in their veins the blood of the martyrs still lingers. Well-born women, the equals of their husbands, feel the need of irritating them, of marking their tolerance of wrong, just as we mark a score at billiards, by cutting words spoken in a spirit of diabolical vengeance, intended to assert either their superiority or their right to go and do likewise. The baroness had a devoted admirer in her brother- in-law, Lieutenant-general Hulot, the venerable com- mander of the foot grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, to whom a marshal's-baton had been granted in his latter years. The old man, after commanding from 1830 to 1834 the militarj' division which comprised the Breton departments, the scene of his exploits in 1799 and 1800, had come to end liis days in Paris near his brother, for whom he never ceased to feel the affection of a father. The heart of the old soldier sympathized with that of his sister-in-law ; he admired her as the noblest, saint- liest of her sex. He never married, because he longed for a second Adeline, seeking her vainl}' in many lands and through man}' campaigns. The desire not to fall in the estimation of the old hero, the man without re- proach or stain, of whom Napoleon had said, ''That fine Hulot is the most obstinate of repubhcans, but he will never betray me," would of itself have led Adeline to endure even greater sufferings than those which she underwent. But the old general, now seventy-two 36 Cousin Bette, 3'ears of age, broken b}^ thirty campaigns, wounded for the twent3'-seventh time at Waterloo, though he was the object of Adeline's admiration was, neverthe- less, no protection to hei-. The poor count, among other infirmities, could hear nothing except through a trumpet. A ^ long as Baron Hulot d'Er\T remained 3'oung and handsome, his love affairs did little harm to his fortune ; but at fifty years of ao-e, the o-vaces must be reckoned with. At that age love in elderly men changes to vice, mingled, moreover, with insensate vanit}*. About this period of his life Adeline began to notice in her hus- band an extreme attention to his dress ; he dyed his hair and his whiskers, and buckled himself into belts and corsets. He was resolved to remain handsome at any cost. This cultivation of his person, a weakness he had formerly ridiculed in others, made him even finical. Adeline at last perceived that the Pactolus which flowed among the Baron's mistresses took its rise from her. During the last eight 3'ears a considerable fortune had been squandered, and so i-adically made away with that about the time young Hulot had married Crevel's daughter, the Baron had been forced to admit to his wife that his salar}' and emoluments were all that re- mained to them. " Where will all this lead us?" was her answer. " Don't be uneasy," said the councillor of State ; "I will give 3'ou all my emoluments, and I will provide for the marriage of Hortense and our own future by undertaking certain matters of business." The wife's unshaken faith in the power and high value of her husband's character and capacity calmed her temporary uneasiness. Cousin Bette. 37 CHAPTER IV. THE CHARACTER OF AN OLD MAID ; ORIGINAL, AND YET NOT AS UNCOMMON AS ONE MIGHT THINK. The nature of Madame Hulot's reflections and the cause of her tears, after Crevel's departure, can easily be conceived by the helj3 of the foregoing explanations. The poor woman had known for the last two years that she was in the depths of an ab3-ss ; but she thought she was the sole victim. She was ignorant of the terms on which her son's marriage had been brought about ; she did not know of Hector's relation to the grasping Jo- sepha : and above all, she had hoped that no one on earth suspected her sorrows. If Crevel talked with levity of the baron's irregularities, she was aware that Hector must fall in public estimation. She saw, through the coarse talk of the irritated ex-perfumer, the odious collusion of the two men to w^hich the marriage of her son was due. Two abandoned women were the priestesses of that hymen, planned in some orgie, amid the degrad- ing familiarities of a pair of drunken old men ! "He for- got Hortense," she said to herself. "Can it be that he will find her a husband in the society of those reprobate women ? " The mother, stronger than the wife, spoke in these words as her eyes rested on Hortense, laugh- ing, with her cousin Bette, the eager laugh of thought- less girlhood, and she felt that those nervous sounds 38 Cousin Bette. were as terrible an indication of tlie girl's feelings as her tearful reveries in the solitude of the garden. Hortense resembled her mother ; but she had golden hair whose natural curl and profusion were realh' won- derful. The lustre of her skin was like mother-of-pearl. She was evidently the fruit of an honest marriage, of a pure and noble love in its fullest strength, shown in a passionate action of the whole countenance, a ga3'et3' in every feature, a spirit of youth, a freshness of life, a richness of health which vibrated about her, and sent forth electric currents. Plortense attracted the e3'e. When her own ej'es — of an ultra-marine blue, floating in that fluid that comes of innocency — rested on some passer-by he quivered involuntarily. Not a single red blemish — the penalt}' these golden blondes so often pay for their milk-white skins — marred her com[)lexion. Tall, plump, without being fat, with a graceful figure, whose dignity equalled that of her mother, she merited the epithet of "goddess" so lavishly bestowed by old- fashioned writers. Persons who met her in the street could scarce restrain the exclamation, — " Good heav- ens ! what a beautiful girl ! " She herself was so truly guileless that she would turn anrl say to her mother, "How can the}' call me beautiful when you are with me? 3^ou are so much handsomer than 1." In fact, though the baroness was forty-seven years old, admirers of the setting sun did prefer her to her daughter ; for she had, to use the lano-uasje of her sex. lost none of her advantages^ thanks to one of those rare phenom- ena, especially rare in Paris, which made Ninon the successful rival of three generations. Thinking of her daughter, the mother's thoughts Cousm Bette. 41 reverted to the father; she saw him sliding day b;y' day, Uttle by little, into the social slough, — possibly dismissed at last from the ministr3-. The idea of the fall of her idol, accompanied b\' vague visions of the sorrows which Crevel had prophesied, was so terrible to the poor woman that she lost consciousness in a species of painful ecstasy. Her cousin Bette, who was talking with Hortense, looked from time to time toward the house to see if the}' might return to the salon ; but her young compan- ion was teasing her with questions at the moment when the baroness opened the glass door, and she did not perceive the action. Lisbeth Fischer, five 3'ears younger than Madame Hulot, tb'* ' ' ' was the daughter of the elder brother, wci^ as beautiful as her cousin, and she (^ jdigiously jealous of her. Jealousy .isis of a character full of eccentricity jCd by Englishmen to designate the fol- Jie people, but of the upper classes). A jman of the department of the Vosges in the aeaning of that term, thin, dark-hued, with gleaix^iUg black hair, thick eyebrows meeting in a tuft, arms of great power and length, thick feet, and a few warts on the long, simian face, — such is a concise por- trait of this spinster cousin. The famih' of the two brothers, who lived together, sacrificed the plain daughter to the pretty daughter, the bitter fruit to the dazzling flower. Lisbeth worked while Adeline was petted and indulged ; and there came a da}' when the former, alone with Adeline, tried to disfigure the latter's nose, — a true Grecian nose, the 88 Cousin Bette. ccdmiration of old women. Though whipped for this par- ticular misdeed; she never could be prevented from tearing the dresses and spoiling the collars of tlie petted darling. After the astounding marriage of her cousin, Lisbeth bowed before that superior destin}', just as the brothers and sisters of Napoleon bowed before the grandeur of a throne and the might of authority. Adeline, alwa3's good and tender, bethought herself of Lisbeth after she reached Paris, and invited her there in 1809. in- tending: to ofet her married and save her from future poverty. Finding it a slower matter than they expected to marry off a girl with black eyes and beetling brows, who was unable either to read or write, Baron Hulot began by giving her a trade ; he apprenticed Lisbeth to the famous Pons brothers, embroiderers to the im- perial court. Cousin Lisbeth, called "Bette" for short, became henceforth a worker of gold and silver lace. Energetic, like all mountaineers, she had the courage to be taught to read, write, and cipher, for the baron proved to her the need of those accomplishments if she was ever to have an establishment of her own in the trade. She resolved to make her fortune ; and in two years she actually metamorphosed herself. In 1811 the peasant woman of Lorraine was a rather pleasing, capable, and intelligent forewoman in a prosperous house. This business, called the gold-and-silver lace-trade, comprised the making of epaulets, aiguillettes, sword- knots, — in short, all that enormous quantity of brilliant things which glittered on the uniforms of the French arm}^, and the coats of civilians during the empire. The Emperor, a true Italian lover of costume, required gold Cousin Bette. 41 and silver embroidery on every seam of his servants' clothes, and his empire extended over one hundred and thirt}^- three departments. To furnish these embroid- eries to the tailors, — a wealthy and sure-paying body of tradesmen, — or to the grand dignitaries themselves, was a safe business. At the very moment when Lisbeth Fischer, the best workwoman of the Pons establishment, where she super- intended the manufactory, was about to start in busi- ness for herself, the fall of the empire occurred. The olive-branch of peace in the hands of the Bourbons frightened Bette. She feared the trade would succumb now that there were only eighty-four departments in- stead of a hundred and thirty-three to supply, not to speak of the enormous reduction of the ami}', conse- quently of uniforms. Terrified at the prospect, she refused the offers of the baron to set her up in busi- ness ; for which perversity he thought her crazy. She still further justified that opinion by quarrelUng with Monsieur Rivet, purchaser for the Pons establishment, with whom the baron wished her to form a partnership. The matter ended by her becoming once more a mere journey woman. The Fischer family had by this time fallen back into the condition of precarious poverty from which Baron Hulot had lifted them. Ruined by the catastrophe of Fontainebleau, the three Fischer brothers served as a forlorn hope with the franc-tireurs of 1815. The eldest, father of Lisbeth, was killed. Adeline's father, condemned to death b}' court-martial, fled to Germany and died at Treves in 1820. The younger brother, Johann, came to Paris and implored the assistance of 42 Cousin Bette, the queen of the family ; who, it was said, dined off silver and gold, and never appeared in company with- out diamonds on her head and throat as big as filberts, given to her, so the story went, by the Emperor. Jo- hann Fischer, then forty-three 3'ears of iige, received from Baron Hulot the sum of ten thousand francs to start a small forage business for the army at Versailles ; to obtain this concession the baron employed some secret influence which he still possessed with friends in the ministry of war. These family misfortunes, the loss of Baron Hu lot's official position, the certainty that she could be of no account in the vast turmoil of men, events, and interests in Paris, cowed Lisbeth Fischer. Thenceforth she gave up all idea of competition with her beautiful cousin, whose many superiorities she inwardlj' acknowl- edged ; but envy lurked in her breast, as a germ of the plague lurks in a bale of woollen stuffs only to burst forth and ravage a cit}" when the bale is opened. From time to time she said to herself, "Adeline and I are of the same blood ; our fathers were brothers ; 3'et she lives in a mansion, I in a garret." Nevertheless she accepted presents from the baron and Madame Hulot on her birthda}' and at the New-Year ; the baron, who was always good to her, supplied her with winter fuel : old General Hulot invited her to dinner one day in the week, and her place w^as laid at her cousin's table every day in the 3'ear. The}' all made fun of her, but they were not ashamed of her. They had given her an in- dependent position in the great city, where she lived as she pleased. The woman herself dreaded any species of yoke, Cousin Bette. 43 Adeline offered her a home in her house ; Bette at once rebelled at the halter of obligation. Man}* a time the baron tried to solve the difficult problem of marrying her ; but though she j'ielded to the first advances, she refused each proposal, fearing to be slighted for her want of education, her ignorance, and the lack of dowrj'. When the baroness proposed that she should live with their uncle and keep his house, instead of his being sad- dled with an expensive housekeeper, she replied that she certainly should never marry in that way. In all her ideas cousin Bette was an oddity, — like other natures that develop late, especially savages, who think much and speak little. Her peasant mind had ac- quired from the talk of the workrooms and the compan- ionship of both male and female workpeople a strong tinge of Parisian sarcasm. This woman, whose charac- ter bore a marked resemblance to that of Corsicans, and who was uselessly goaded by the instincts of a powerful nature, would have loved to protect a feeble man ; and yet, as a result of living in the great capital, the capital had changed her on the surface. Parisian polish cre- ated rust upon that powerfully tempered spirit. Gifted with a shrewdness now become fundamental, as it does in all persons vowed to real celibac}', she would, owing to the pungent turn she gave to her ideas, have seemed a person to be feai-ed in any other situation than the one she was in. Malicious in heart, she ^yas capable of setting the most united family by the ears. In her earlier days, when she cherished a few hopes, the secret of which she told to no one, she made up her mind to wear corsets and follow the fashions ; it was then that she appeared with a passing resplendence 44 Cousin Bette. which made the baron think she miglit be marriageable. For a time she became the piquante brunette of the old-fashioned French novel. Her piercing glance, her olive skin, and reed-like waist might have tempted some half-pa}' major ; but she was satisfied, as she laughinglv declared, with her own admiration. She ended bv being realty contented with her life ; curtailing most of its material cares b}- dining ever}^ CA^ening with friends, after working at her trade since sunrise. She had onh' her breakfast and her lodging to provide ; friends sup- plied her with clothing and mone}^ and man}' accept- able provisions, s'uch as sugar, wine, etc. In 1837, cousin Bette, after living in Paris for twent}'- seven 3'ears, parth' at the expense of the Hulots and her uncle Fischer, resigned herself to the fact that she was a nobody and allowed people to treat her as the}' pleased. She refused to be present at dinner-parties, preferring the family gatherings where she herself could be of consequence : thus avoiding the sufferings of self- love. Wherever she thus went, whether to the houses of old General Hulot, Crevel, 3'oung Hulot, and Rivet (who had succeeded to the Pons business and with whom she had become reconciled and who now showed her much hospitalit}') , or to that of her cousin, Madame Hulot, she was received as one of the famih'. She knew how to propitiate the servants with little fees given from time to time, and by exchanging a few words with them before entering the salon. This familiarity, b}- which she frankly put herself on a level with the domestics, won their backstairs good-will, an essential gain to parasites. "That's a kind, good creature ! " was the verdict ever3'body passed upon Cousin Bette. 45 her. Her obliging helpfulness, which was boundless if no one exacted it, as well as her specious good- humor, was a necessity of her position. She ended b}" considering her life at the mercy of everybody ; wish- ino' to olease everybody she lauohed and chattered with the 3'oung people, to whom she made herself acceptable by a fondling manner which alwa3's attracts them ; she guessed and furthered their wishes and even interpreted them, and was the best of all confidantes because she had no authorit}' to find fault. Her absolute discretion won the confidence of older persons, for she possessed, like Ninon, some of the qualities of a man. As a general thing'^DCople usuall}' make confidences to those beneath them rather than to those above them; they employ their inferiors far more than their superiors in secret matters : such persons consequently become the sharers of their hidden thoughts ; they are called into private discussions ; even Richelieu thought himself sure of power when he was allowed to be present at a council of state. This poor old maid was thought to be so depend- ent on every one about her that she was to all intents and purposes a deaf-mute. She even nicknamed herself " the famil}'' confessional." Madame Hulot alone, remem- bering the harsh treatment she had herself received in childhood from this cousin so much stronger though younger than she, felt a certain distrust of her and made her no confidences. But in any case, the baroness, from a sense of decency', would have confided her domestic miseries to none but God himself. Perhaps it is well to state here that the Hulot man- sion still retained its splendor in the e3'es of cousin Bette, who was not struck, like the paryenu ex- 46 Cousin Bette. perfumer by the poverty bursting from the moth-eaten covers, the stained curtains and the ragged stuffs. The furniture we live with is in some respects like ourselves. By dint of seeing our own persons daily we end, as the baron did, by thinking we are little changed and still young while others note that our heads are turning to the color of chinchilla, that circumflex accents are coming out upon our foreheads, and pumpkin-like pro- jections on our stomachs. The mansion therefore con- tinued to shine in the old maid's eyes with the Bengal lights of imperial victories. In course of time cousin Bette contracted certain peculiarities of old-maidism. For example, instead of following the fashions, she made them conform to her own habits, and jield to many of her old-fashioned predi- lections. If the baroness gave her a prettv bonnet or a dress of the newest cut, Bette at once remade it after her own ideas, in some fashion which recalled the em- pire and her former Lorraine costume. A thirt3'-franc bonnet became a nondescript covering, the prett}^ dress a wisp of odds and ends. In such matters Bette was obstinate as a mule, — she was i-esolved to please herself and considered the result charming ; but the real truth was that this curious assimilation, though it harmonized with her nature and made her from head to foot a reg- ular old maid, made her also so ridiculous that few, even with kindest intentions, were willing to receive her in their houses on gala days. The restive, independent, wilful spirit, and the in- explicable untamability of this woman, for whom the baron had four times found a husband (a clerk in his ministry, a major, a purveyor, and a rehired caj^tain), Cousin Bette. 47 and who had refused a dealer in the gold-lace trade, who afterwards became wealthy, fnll}' accounted for the nickname of " Nann3'-goat" which the baron be- stowed upon her. And yet the name onh' answered to the external oddities of her behavior, to those sur- face exhibitions w^hich we make to each otlier in our social state. This woman, if carefully observed, would have betrayed the ferocious side of the peasant class ; she was still the child who longed to tear the nose from her cousin's face, and, if she had not acquired a stock of common-sense, might even now kill her in a parox- ysm of jealousy. It was only through her acquired knowledge of life and of the laws that she was able to control those rai)id impulses by which the people of isolated regions and savages pass from feeling to ac- tion. Possibly the whole difference between the natu- ral man and the civilized man lies here. The savage has feelings only ; the civilized being has feelings and ideas. Therefore among savages the brain receives, as it were, few imprints ; it is wholly in the grasp of the feeling that invades it. But in civilized man ideas de- scend upon the heart and transform it ; he is possessed by many interests, man}' feelings, whereas the savage has but one idea, one feeling, at a time. That is the cause of the momentary power of the child over its parents, — a power wiiich ceases as soon as the child's desire is satisfied ; but in the man who lives close to na- ture that cause is continuous. Cousin Bette, the Lorraine savage, more or less treacherous, belonged to the cate- gorv of such natures, who are not so uncommon among the masses as people think for, — a fact which goes far to explain their (;onduct in revolutions. 48 Cousin Bette. If, at the particular time when this history begins, cousin Bette had chosen to dress in the fashion, — if she had, like other Parisian women, lent herself to the changing modes, — she might have been presentable and even acceptable ; but she was now as rigid and unyield- ing as a pole. Without the charm of grace woman may be said not to exist in Paris. And thus it was that the abundant black hair, the handsome hard ej'es, the firm lines of the face, the Calabrian sallowness of the skin which made cousin Bette an embodiment of Giotto's women, and out of which a true Parisian would have made capital, above all, her strange attire gave her so odd an appearance that she sometimes looked like a dressed-up monkey, such as the little Savoyards carry about on their organs. As she was well known in the various houses united by family ties to which she con- fined her social evolutions, and was also fond of her own home, her singularities offended no one, and passed unnoticed in the vortex of Parisian streets, where no woman is looked at unless she is prett}'. Hortense was laughing at having got the better of her cousin Bette's obstinacy and wrung from her an avowal she had been seeking for three 3-ears. However sly an old maid may be, there is one sentiment which will always make her open her lips, — namely, vanity. For three years past Hortense, who was extremelv curious on a certain point, had assailed her cousin with questions which showed her own perfect innocence ; she wanted to know wh}' her cousin had never married. Hortense knew the history of the five rejected suitors, and had built up a little romance of her own, believing that Bette was secreth' in love ; and out of this beUef a Cousin Bette. 49 war of jokes had arisen. Horteiise would sa}', ''We young girls," referring to herself and her cousin. Bette sometimes replied in a jesting tone, " Who told you I had a lover? " Cousin Bette's lover, real or pretended, became thenceforth the subject of much friendly teas- ing. At the end of two 3'ears Hortense said one da}' as usual, "How is 3'our lover?" "Pretty well," answered Bette; " he suffers a good deal sometimes, — poor 3'oung man ! " "Ah! is he delicate?" asked Madame Hulot, lauo;hino;. "Yes, indeed; he is a blonde. A brown girl like me could n't love a man unless he were as fair as the moon." " But who is he? What does he do? " said Hortense ; " is he a prince?" " Prince of the lathe, just as I am queen of the bob- bins," answered Bette. " A poor girl can't be loved now-a-days by the lord of a castle rolling in mone}', or a duke, or a peer, or a Prince Charming as it is in your fairy-tales." " Oh, how I should like to see him ! " cried Hortense. " And find out what sort of fellow he is who can love an old nanny-goat like me," declared Bette. " He must be some queer clerk with a goatee ! " said Hortense, looking at her mother. " That's as true as that you have no lover! " said Bette, with an offended air. " Well, if you ha^'e one, Bette, why don't you marr}^ him ? " asked Madame Hulot, making a sign to her daughter. "For the last three years you have been talking about him ; you have certainly had time to 4 50 Cousin Bette. study him, and if he continues faithful 3'ou ought not to keep him waiting any longer. It is a matter of con- science ; besides, if he is young, it is well to get a staff for his old age." Bette looked fixedly at the baroness, and seeing that she spoke in jest answered: "Then I should marry hunger and thirst. He is a workman and I am a work- woman ; if we had children they 'd be work-people. No, no, our souls love each other ; that does n't cost an3'thing." " Why do 3'ou hide him? " asked Hortense. " Because he lives in his shirt-sleeves," answered Bette, laughing. " Do you love him? " asked Madame Hulot. " Ah, I should think so ! I love him for himself, the cherub ! It is now four years since I took him into my heart." "Well, if you reall}^ love him for himself," said Ma- dame Hulot, gravel}^ " that is, if he really exists, 3'ou do very wrong towards him. You don't know what it is to love." "We are all born to know that business!" cried Bette. "No; there are some women who love and who stay selfish through it all ; and that 's 3'our case," said the baroness. Bette lowered her head at this, and the glance of her e3'e would have made whoever received it shudder ; but it fell on her Ivuitting. " If 3'ou bring the lover (if there is a lover) here, Hector may be able to find him a situation, and./g him in the way to get on/' resumed Madame Hulief a Cousin Bette. 61 '• That 's impossible ! " answered Bette. "Why so?" " He 's a Pole, — a sort of refugee." "A conspirator!" exclaimed Hortense. "Oh, 3'ou happy woman ! Has he had adventures ? " "Yes; he fought for Poland. He was professor in a college where the rebellion first broke out among the collegians, and, as he owed his appointment to the Grand-duke Constantine, he has no chance of being pardoned." " Professor of what? " " The fine arts." " Did he come to Paris after the defeat?" " He crossed Germany on foot in 1833." " Poor 3'ouug man ! how old is he? " ' ' He was twent3'-four at the time of the rebellion ; he is barely twent^'-nine now." " Fifteen years younger than you!" said Madame Hulot. " How does he support himself?" asked Hortense. "By his talents." " Does he give lessons?" "No," answered Bette; "he receives them, — and hard ones, too." " What is his Christian name? Is it pretty?" " Wenceslas." "What an imagination old maids have!" cried the baroness. " To hear you talk, Lisbeth, one would think you believed what 3'ou are saying." All three began to laugh. Hortense sang, " Wen- daugnc. i(^oi of i^y soul!" instead of "Oh, Matilde ! " talkmg truce v.as declared. 52 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER Y. THE YOUNG MAID AND THE OLD ONE. " You 3'oiing giiis," said cousin Bette, on the occa- sion of their next meeting, " think no one is ever loved but yourselves." " Well," answered Hortense, " prove to me that Wenceslas is not a n\vth, and I '11 give you my vellovv cashmere shawl." " He is a count." " All Poles are counts." "He is not exactl}- a Pole; he comes fron Li — Lith— " " Do you mean Lithuania? " "No." "Livonia?" "Yes, that's it." " Tell me his name." " How do I know whether yon can keep a secret? " " Oh, cousin, I '11 be as mute as — " "A fish?" "As a fish." " By your eternal salvation ? " " By my eternal salvation." " No, tliat won't do, — by all 3'our earthl}' happiness ? " "Yes." " Well, then, liis name is Wenceslas Steinbock." Cousin Bette. 53 "That's the iiaiiie of one of Charles the Twelfth's generals." " His great uncle. His father went to live in Livo- nia after the death of the king of Sweden ; but he lost all his propert}' during the campaign of 1812, and died leaving the poor bo}', then eight 3'ears old, without re- sources. The Grand-duke Constantine took him under his protection, on account of the name of Steinbock, and sent him to school." " I won't go back on my word," said Horteuse. "prove his existence, and the shawl is yours; it is the very color for your brown skin." " Promise 3-ou will keep m}^ secret." " I '11 give 3'ou mine in exchange." '• Well, the next time I come I '11 bring the proof with me." " But the proof must be the lover himself," said Hortense. Cousin Bette, a victim, ever since her arrival in Paris, to a longing for cashmere shawls, w^as fascinated by the thought of possessing this particular yellow camel's- hair, given by the baron to his wife in 1808, and accord- ing to the custom of certain families passed over to the daughter in 1830. During the last ten 3'ears the shawl had grown the worse for wear, but still the precious fabric, alwa3's carefully laid away in a sandal-wood box, seemed, like Madame Hulot's furniture, to keep its freshness in the eyes of the old maid. Therefore, on the day in which our storj' opens she had brought a birthday present in her bag for the baroness, which was also to be a means of proving to Hortense the existence of the mysterious lover. 54 Cousin Bette. The present was a silver seal cut with three figures entwined in garlands and bearing up a globe. They rep- resented Faith, Hope, and Charity. Their feet rested on monsters who were writhing and rending each other, among them the s^'mbolic serpent. In 1846, after the immense stride in the art of Benvenuto Cellini taken by Mademoiselle de Fauveau, Wagner, Jeanest, Froment- Meurice, and the carvers in wood like Lienard. this lit- tle masterpiece might have passed unnoticed ; but at the time of which we write a 3'oung girl able to judge of jew- elry was naturally enchanted as she examined the seal which Bette placed in her hand with the remark, " There, what do you think of that? " The little figures belonged, in design, draper}^, and action, to the school of Raphael ; in execution they recalled the work of the Florentine bronze school created b}' Donatello, Brunelleschi, Ghi- berti, Benvenuto Cellini, John of Bologna, etc. The French renaissance never contorted more misshapen monsters than those which s^'mbolized evil passions. The palms and ferns, the reeds and rushes, that draped the Virtues were disposed and grouped with a witching charm disheartening to workers of the craft. A fillet held the three heads lightly bound together, and on the background space between them were engraved the letter W, a chamois, and the word fecit. ''Who did it?" asked Hortense. " My lover, of course," answered Bette. " There 's ten months' labor in it. I earn more at making sword- knots. He tells me that ' Steinboek ' means in German a rock-deer or chamois. That 's the way he signs his work. Ah, I shall have your shawl — " "Why so?" Oousin Bette. 55 " Could I bu}' such a gem as that? Impossible ; con- sequently it was given to me. Who is likely to make such a present? A lover, of course." Hortense, with a wariness that would have frightened Lisbeth Fischer if she had noticed it, was careful not to express all the admiration that she felt ; but in truth she had just received that shock of delight which comes to souls that are open to the beautiful when they behold a faultless, perfect, and unexpected masterpiece. " It is reall}' lovely," she said. " Yes, it is lovely," said the old maid ; " but I pre- fer the orange cashmere. AVell, little one, m}' lover spends all his time working on such things. Since he came to Paris he has made three or four little knick- knacks of that kind, and there 's the whole result of four 3^ears' study and labor. He apprenticed himself at a foundry to learn casting, and then at a jeweller's — bah ! every penn}' he had went that way. But he tells me he shall be rich and famous in a few months." " Then 3'ou really do see him?" ' ' Do you think I tim making it all up ? I have told you the truth in joke." " And he loves 3-ou?" asked Hortense, eagerly. " He adores me," answered her cousin, speaking seri- ousty. " The fact is, my pet, he has onl}- known those pale, insipid women of the North ; a dark, j'oung, sup- ple girl like me has warmed him up. But say nothing about it ; you promised me that." *' You will treat him like all the five others," said Hortense, maliciouslj', as she looked at the seal. " Six, if 3^ou please ; I left one behind me in Lorraine who would get me the moon to-day if I cried for it." 56 Cousin Bette. " This one does better still; he gives you the sun." " But I can't turn it into mone}'. One must have a great estate before the shining of the sun will bring us any profit." These little jokes, followed by nonsense that can be easil}^ guessed at, caused the laughter which redoubled Madame Hulot's distress ; it forced her to compare her daughter's future with her present light-heartedness as the girl gave way to the ga3'etv of her 3'ears. " But if he gives 3'ou a gem that has cost him six months' labor, he must be under some great obligation to 3'ou," insisted Hortense ; for the treasure in her hand caused her sundrj^ reflections. "You want to know too much," answered Bette. " However, listen ; I '11 let you into the scheme — " "With your lover?" "Ah! you want to see him! But don't you know that an old maid, like 3'our cousin Bette, who has hid- den a lover for five 3'ears can hide him still. No, no ; let me alone. I 've neither cat nor canar3'-bird, nor dog nor parrot. An old nann3' like me must have some lit- tle bit of a thing to love, or to tease. Well, I 've taken a Pole." " Has he a moustache? " " Long as that," said Bette, holding up a mesh of gold thread. She alwa3's brought her embroider3' and worked while waiting for dinner. " If you ask me so many questions 3'ou will never find out anything. You are only twent3'-two 3'ears old, and you gossip more than I do at fort3'-two — I might say forty-three." Cousin Bette. 57 " Well, I'm dumb ; 1 'II listen," said Hortense. '' My lover has made a bronze group ten inches high," continued cousin Bette. •' It represents Sam- son conquering a lion. He buried it and got it dis- colored and rust}' till it looks to be as old as Sam- son himself. This master-piece is in the window of one of those bric-a-brac dealers whose shops are on the place du Carrousel quite close to my lodging. If 3'our father, who knows Monsieur Popinot, the minister of commerce and agriculture, and the Comte de Ras- tignac, would speak to either of them about it, and call it a beautiful antique which he noticed in passing, my lover's fortune would be made by the mere mention of the trumper}' bit of brass ; I am told the great peo- ple think more of such things now than of sword-knots. M}' poor bo,y declares that if the}' take the thing for an antique the}' will pay any price for it. If one of the ministers were to buy the gi'oup, AVenceslas could come forward and prove that he made it himself, and be carried in triumph ! Oh, he fancies he can mount the pinnacle of fame ! he 's proud, that young man, as proud as two new-made counts." "A second edition of Michael Angelo ; but, for a lover, he seems to have kept his senses," remarked Hortense. '-How much does he ask for it?" " Fifteen hundred francs. The dealer won't let it go for less because he has to make his commission." "Papa is steward of the King's household just at present," said Hortense. " He meets the two minis- ters every day at the Chamber, and I '11 see that he does what you want. Tou shall be a rich woman, Madame la Comtesse de Steinbock." 58 Cousm Bette. "No, never; my man is too liiz>' ; he spends whole weeks twisting red wax and doing nothing. He is alwa^'S at tlie Louvre or the Bibliotheque, turning over prints and making sketches. He is an idler." The two cousins continued to joke and chatter ; but Hortense laughed a forced laugh, for she was suddenh* seized b}' a feeling which comes to all young girls, — love for something unknown, love in its vague state, when thoughts begin to gather about a shape which chance has flung in its wa}^, like the frost-flowers which the breeze designs upon a window pane. For the last few months Hortense had played with the idea of Bette's fantastic lover, pretending that he was a real being because she believed, as did her mother, in the confirmed ceiibac}^ of their cousin ; and now, for the last week, the phantom had become a Comte Wenceslas Steinbock ; the vision had a certificate of baptism ; the misty figure solidified into a 3'oung man thirty years of age. The seal which she held in her hand, an Annun- ciation, as it were, of genius breaking forth like light, had the power of a talisman. Hortense felt so happy that she began to believe in the truth of the story ; her blood stirred, and she laughed idioticall}'^ with a desire to divert her cousin's observation. " I think I saw mamma open the door of the salon, cousin Bette," she said; "let us go and see if Mon- sieur Crevel has gone. Poor mamma has been sad for two days ; that marriage the}' were talking of must be broken off." " Bah ! it can be brought on again. It was — I may tell you this much — with a law3'er of the supreme court. Should you like to be Madame la presidente? i Cousin Bette. 59 If it depends on Monsieur Crevel, he will tell me some- thing about it, and I shall know what hope there is." " Cousin, leave the seal with me," said Hortense. " I won't show it to mamma ; her biithda}- is a month hence, and I will give it back to you before then." '' No, give it me now ; it must have a case." " But I want to show it to papa, so that he may know what he is talking about when he mentions the Samson to the ministers ; people in authority are so afraid of compromising themselves." "Well, don't show it to your mother, that's all I ask ; if she knew that I really had a lover she would make fun of me," replied Bette. " I promise j'ou I won't." The two cousins reached the door of the boudoir just as Madame Ilulot fainted, and Hortense's cry of terror brought her to her senses. Bette ran for salts ; when she returned she found mother and daughter in each other's arms, the mother soothing the daughter's fears, and saying, — "It is nothing, nothing; only a nervous attack. Here comes your father," she added, recognizing the baron's way of ringing the bell. '• Be sure you do not tell him of this." ^, Adehne rose to meet her husband, intending to take him into the garden while waiting for dinner, and there speak to him of the ruptured marriage, compel him to talk of the future, and try to give him a little advice. Baron Hector Hulot appeared in a parliamentary and Napoleonic attire. It was easy to recognize the men formerly attached to the empire by their military carriage, their blue coats and gilt buttons buttoned to 60 Cousin Bette. the throat, their black silk neckcloths, and an authori- tative step and manner contracted from the habit of despotic command required b}^ the rapidly changing circumstances in which they lived. It must be owned that there was nothing of the old man about the baron ; his e^-esight was still so good that he could read with- out spectacles ; his handsome oval face, framed with whiskers (alas, too black !), had a healthy skin marbled with red and showing a sanguine temperament ; his stomach, carefully belted in, attained, in the words of Brillat-Savarin, to the majestic. A marked air of ' aristocracy and much affability were the outward dis- guise of the libertine with whom Crevel had shared so manj^ little suppers. He was one of the men whose eyes glisten on catching sight of a pretty woman, men who smile at all beauties, even those they pass in the streets and may never meet again. "Have you been speaking, dear?" said Adeline, noticing his anxious brow. ''No," replied Hector; '-but I am worn out listen- ing to others for two hours without coming to a vote. They battle with words, and their speeches are like charges of cavalry which never scatter the enemy. Talk is substituted for action ; and that can't please men who are accustomed to advance, as I told the marechal just now when I came away. But I have been bored enough on the bench of ministers; come, let's be ga}^ here! Good evening, Nann3'-goat ; how are you, little kid?" He took hi^; daughter by the neck, kissed her, teased her, put her on his knee, and laid her head upon his shoulder to feel the golden hair across his cheek. "He is tired and bored," thought Madame Hulot, Cousin Bette. 61 " and I shall have to woriT him still more ; I will wait. Shall 3'0ii stay at home to-night? " she said aloud. "No, m}' dear. After dinner I am obliged to go out. If this were not the da}' when ray brother and cousin Bette dine here 3'ou would not have seen me at all ! " The baroness picked up the newspaper, looked at the theatre-list, and laid it down again after reading the programme for Robert le Diable at the opera. Josepha, who had left the Italian for the French opera, was to sing the part of Alice. This pantomine did not escape the baron, who looked fixedl}^ at his wife. Adeline lowered her eyes, and went into the garden, where he followed her. "Come, Adeline, what is it?" he said, taking her round the waist and pressing her to him. " Don't 3'ou know I love 3'ou better than — " " Jenny Cadine andJosepha?" she said boldh', in- terrupting him. " Who told 3'ou that? " said the baron, releasing her and stepping back two paces. "An anonymous letter, which I have burned, and which told me also that our daughter's marriage is de- feated because our circumstances are so embarrassed. Your wife, m}' dear Hector, would never have said a word ; she knew your liaison with Jenn}' Cadine. Did she ever complain ? But the mother of Hortense must tell you the truth — " Hulot, after a terrible moment of suspense for his wife, the beating of whose heart could be distincth' heard, unfolded his arms, threw them round her, pressed her to his heart, kissed her on the forehead, 62 Cousin Bette. and said, with tlie ardor of enthusiasm, " Adeline, j'^ou are an angel, and I am a wretch ! " " No, no ! " cried the baroness, putting her hand upon his lips to prevent his saving evil of himself. "Yes, I have not a penn}^ to give Hortense ; and I am ver}' unhapp3\ Now that 30U open your heart to me, I can pour into it all the troubles that are choking mine. Your uncle Fischer is embarrassed, and it is through me. I got him to endorse a bill for twentj'-five thousand francs, — and all for a woman who deceives me, who makes fun of me when ni}- back is turned, who calls me an old dyed cat! Oh, it is horrible, horrible that vice should cost more than the support of a familj^ — and 3'et it is irresistible ! I might promise you at this moment never to see that abominable Jew- ish woman again, but if she wrote me a single line I should go, just as we followed the Emperor under fire." "Don't worr}' j^ourself. Hector," said the poor, dis- tressed woman, forgetting her daughter at sight of her husband's tears. "I have my diamonds; take them and save ni}' uncle at all hazards ! " " Your diamonds are scarceh' worth twent}' thousand francs, and that is not enough to save old Fischer. Keep them for Hortense ; I will consult the marechal to-morrow." "Poor dear!" cried the baroness, taking her Hec- tor's hands and kissing them. The scene was a homih'. Adeline offered her dia- monds, the father gave them to Hortense ; the wife thought his sacrifice sublime, and was powerless. ' ' He is master ; all here is his. He leaves me those diamonds ; lie is divine." Cousin Bette. 63 Such was the inward thought of the woman, who per- haps ganiecl more b}' her gentleness than she could have done b}' an outburst of jealous anger. A moralist cannot den}^ that persons who are well- bred and verj' vicious are often more agreeable than virtuous persons. Having sins to redeem, the}' bid for indulgence b}' being facile and forbearing with their judges, and thus they pass for excellent human beings. Though there are many charming people among the virtuous, virtue considers herself so beautiful that she ma}^ dispense with the cultivation of charm ; moreover persons who are really virtuous (we must eliminate hypocrites) are alwa3's slightly doubtful of their posi- tion ; thc}^ are apt to think themselves worsted in the great bargain of life, and give vent to sharp speeches after the manner of those who fanc}' themselves under- valued. The baron, knowing he was to blame for the ruin of his famil}', now displayed all the resources of his mind and his seductive graces to his wife, his chil- dren, and his cousin Bette. When his son and Celes- tine Crevel (who was nursing a little Hulot) arrived for the family dinner, he was all attention to his daughter- in-law, and fed her with compliments, — a form of nour- ishment to which Celestine's vanity was not accustomed, for no heiress of the people was ever more common- place or more utterh' insignificant. The grandfather took the bab}', kissed it, called it charming and deli- cious, talked baby-talk, prophesied that the little puppet would be a greater man than he, and slipped in a few flatteries for his son, 3'oung Hulot, as he returned the in- fant to the arms of its stout Norman nurse. Celestine exchanged a glance with the baroness, which meant 64 Cousin Bette. " What a charming man ! " Is it an}' wonder that she defended her father-in-law against the accusations of her own parent? After pla3'ing the agreeable father-in-law and the idolizing grandfather, the baron took his son into the garden to give him some sensible advice about the posi- tion he ought to take in the Chamber on the following day, when a certain delicate matter was to be brought up. The 3'oung law3'er, filled with admiration for his father's deep-sigiited judgment, was touched b}' his tone of friendly confidence, above all by the sort of deference with which he seemed desirous to put his son on a level with himself. Hulot the 3'ounger was a fair specimen of the 3'oung men manufactured by the revolution of 1830, — minds infatuated with pohties, solicitous about their own expec- tations, but hiding them under a false show of political earnestness, verv' jealous of men whose reputations are made, enunciating phrases, but never those incisive sa3-- ings which are the diamonds of French speech, con- ventional in deportment, and mistaking arrogance for dignit3\ These men are the perambulating coffins which contain the Frenchmen of other days ; the Frenchman within stirs ever}" now and then and beats against his British casket ; but am])ition checks him, and he con- sents to be smothered. This coffin, we ma3' remark, is alwa3's covered with black cloth. "Ah! here's my brother," said Baron Hulot, ad- vancing to the door of the salon to meet thi^ count. After embracing the probable successor of the late Marechal Montcornet, he led him forward h\ the arm with ever}^ sign of affection and respect. Cousin Bette. 65 This peer of France, who was excused from attend- ing the sessions of his Chamber on account of deafness, had a noble head, cahned b}' 3'ears, and covered with gray hair, still sufficiently abundant to show the pressure of his hat. Short, stocky, and yet spare, he carried his green old age with a sprightly air, and as he retained all his activit}', though condemned by his deafness to an idle life, he spent his time in reading and in walk- ing about. His simple habits and principles could be guessed from the pure tones of his face, his free carriage and manner, and his straight- for ward talk on sensible matters. He never spoke of war or of his own cam- paigns ; he was too great to make any claim to great- ness. In a salon he confined himself to the quiet part of continually observing and anticipating the wishes of women. " You are all very gay," he said, noticing the ani- mation which the baron's presence caused in the fam- ily- circle. " Hortense is not yet married," he added, observing traces of distress on his sister-in-law's coun- tenance. " That will happen soon enough," screamed Bette in his ear with a startling voice. " Ah ! there 3'ou are, naughty girl who is determined to die an old maid ! " he answered, laughing. The hero of Forzheim was rather fond of Bette, for there were certain likenesses between the two. With- out education, springing as he did from the people, his braver}- had been the sole architect of his military for- tune, and his sound common-sense had stood him in place of intellect. Full of a sense of honor and pure in deed, he was now ending a noble life, in the midst of a 5 66 Cousin Bette. family where all bis affections centred, and whei'e no suspicion of his brother's secret misdoings reached him. No one enjoyed more than lie the lovely' spectacle of domestic union, where no contention ever rose and the brothers and sisters loved each other with an equal affec- tion, — for Celestine was looked upon as one of the famil}^ a fact which made the kindly little count in- quire from time to time why her father did not make his appearance. " My father has gone into the countrj^," cried Celes- ftne in his ear. This genuine affection and family union made Ma- dame Hulot reflect deepl3\ "It is the surest of all happinesses," she thought; "what can take it from us?" When the old general noticed the attentions which his favorite Adeline receis^ed from her husband, he made so many little jests that the baron, afraid of ridicule, turned his gallantr}^ to his daughter-in-law, who at these fam- 11}^ dinners was alwaj's the special object of his flatter}' and devotion ; for he hoped through her to keep old Crevel in good humor and mollify his resentment. An}' one looking in upon this f\imily scene would have found it difficult to believe that the father was well-nigh ruined, the mother in despair, the son in the depths of anxiety as to his father's future, and the daughter devising in her heart how to steal a lover from her cousin. Cousin Bette. 67 CHAPTER VI. IN WHICH PRETTY WOMEN ARE SEEN TO FLUTTER BEFORE LIBERTINES, JUST AS DUPES PUT THEMSELVES IN THE WAY OF SWINDLERS. About seven o'clock, or as soon as the baron saw his brother, wife, son, and daughter sitting down to whist, he departed to applaud his mistress at the opera, taking with him his cousin Bette, who lived in the rue du Do3'enne, and alwa3's made the loneliness of that locality an excuse to get awa}' earty after dinner. All Parisians will admit that the old maid's precaution was reasonable. The retention of the block of houses which still ex- ists along the side of the old Louvre is one of those protests against common-sense which Frenchmen per- sist in making, apparently' that Europe may feel easy as to the real measure of their inteUigence, and cease to fear it. Perhaps we have some great political mo- tive, unknown to ourselves, in this retention. It is therefore not a digression to describe this corner of the Paris of the present da}- ; in after j^ears no one will be able to imagine it, and our nephews, who will doubtless see the Louvre completed, ma}' refuse to be- lieve that such a piece of barbarism existed for thirt}'- six years in the heart of Paris, under the windows of a palace where three dynasties received, during those thirt3'-six years , the elite of France and of Europe . Every / 68 Cousin Bette. one who comes to Paris for no more than a few da3^s must notice between the iron gate which leads to the pont du Carrousel and the rue du Musee, a dozen houses with tumble-down walls, whose owners, consid- ering them worthless, are unwilling to repair them, but allow them to stand as the last remnant of a former neighborhood pulled down under Napoleon's orders when he determined to complete the Louvre. The street and cul-de-sac, called Doyenne, are the only roadwaj's through this dark and deserted cluster of buildings, whose inhabitants are probabh' phantoms, for no one is ever seen there. The roadbed, which is much lower than the chaussee of the rue du Musee, is on a level with that of the rue Froidmanteau. The houses, for this reason half-buried, are still further sunken in the per- petual shadow cast by the upper galleries of the Louvre, blackened on this side by the action of the north wind. The gloom, the silence, the icy air, the cavernous de- pression of the soil, all combine to make the area of these houses a sort of cr3'pt, in which each building is a living tomb. If we pass through this half-defunct quarter in a cab, and look up the blind allej^ which opens on the street, our minds shiver : we ask our- selves who can possibty live here^ and whether, if we passed at night, we should see the alley swarming with cut-throats, and all the vices of Paris mantled in darkness giving themselves full swing. This idea, alarming in itself, becomes terrifying when we notice that these strange houses are circled by a marsh on the side of the rue de Richelieu, by a paved desert towards the Tuileries, by little gardens and treacherous-looking sheds under the galleries of the Louvre, and by long Cousin Bette. 69 stretches of broken stone left from the pulling down of former houses on the side of the old Louvre. Henry III. and his minions searching for their hose, the lovers of Marguerite searching for their heads, must dance many a saraband b}^ the light of the moon in these deserted places, still overlooked by a chapel which re- mains standing as if to prove that the Catholic religion, perennial in France, survives all else. For forty years the Louvre has cried aloud through the jaws of those broken walls, those yawning windows, "Pluck these warts from my face ! " But, no doubt, some utility has been discovered in this cut-throat region, — the useful- ness, perhaps, of symbolizing in the heart of Paris the close alliance between squalor and splendor which char- acterizes the queen of capitals. And so these chill ruins (in whose bosom the newspaper of the legitimists has acquired the disease of which it is now dying), these wretched hovels of the rue du Musee, with the fence of boards inclosing them on one side, will probably have a longer and more prosperous existence than the three d3masties who have looked down upon them. After 1823 the low rents in these houses, doomed to eventual disappearance, had led Lisbeth Fischer to take up her abode in one of them, in spite of the necessity' imposed upon her by the character of the neighborhood of getting home before dark. This necessit}' chimed in with the village custom, which she still retained, of going to bed and getting up with the sun, — a custom which ensures to country' folk a notable econoni}' in fuel and ll^ts. She lived in one of the houses to which the pulling down of the famous mansion once occupied by Cambaceres opened a view of the whole space. 70 Cousin Bette. Just as Baron Hulot left his wife's cousin at tlie door of tliis house with tlie words, "Adieu, cousin," a tin}', graceful, prettj^ 3'oung woman, dressed with much ele- gance and diffusing a fashionable perfume, passed be- tween the carriage and the wall, as if about to enter the house. The lady exchanged a glance with the baron without the least premeditation, and solely for the pur- pose of seeing the cousin of the other tenant ; but the baron felt the keen sensation common to Parisians when the}^ meet a pretty woman who realizes, as the entomologists sa}', their desiderata. With wise de- liberation he began to put on his gloves before re- entering the carriage, so as to recover his equanimit}- and be able to watch the young woman, whose dress was charming^ supported and swa3'ed by something better than those hideous and fraudulent under-petticoats of crinoUne. " There 's a pretty little woman," he said to himself, "whose happiness I would gladly make, for I'm sure she could make mine." When the unknown lad}' reached the landing of the stairway of the main building on the street, she looked back at the parte cochere from the corner of her e3'e, without exactly turning round, and saw the baron nailed to the spot by admiration, desire, and curiosit}'. Such attraction is a flower whose perfume all Parisian women inhale with delight when it comes in their way. Some women who are truly attached to their dut}', virtuous and pretty women, come home dissatisfied if they have not gathered their little bouquet of admiration durhig their walks abroad. The young lady went quickly upstairs. Presently Cousin Bette. 71 the vviudow of a room on the second floor opened, and the same woman showed herself, but accompanied by a gentleman whose bald head and somewhat severe eye proclaimed a husband. ' ' Are not the}' clever and sly, those women ! " thought the baron; "she is showing me where she lives. That 's a little too strong, — especiall}- in this neighborhood. I must take care what I 'm about." He looked up when he got back into the cab, where- upon the man and wife withdrew quickl}', as if the baron's face had produced the mythological effect of Medusa's head upon them. "One would think they knew me!" thought Hulot. " If they do, that explains it all." When the cab had driven up to the level of the rue du Musee, the baron leaned forward once more to see the object of his admiration, and found that she had returned to the open window. Apparently ashamed at being caught, she drew back quickly. " Never mind," thought the baron, " I '11 find out who she is from Bette." The appearance of the councillor of state had pro- duced, as we shall see, a deep impression on the couple. "Wh3% that's Baron Hulot, at the head of the de- partment in which my office is ! " cried the husband as he left the window. "Well then, Marneffe, the old maid on the third floor on the other side of the court-yard, who lives with that young man, is his cousin. How odd, that we should only find it out to-da}', and by mere chance ! " "Mademoiselle Fischer living with a young man!" exclaimed the husband. " Servants' gossip ! don't 72 Cousin Bette. talk so heedlessh' of a councillor's cousin — cousin of a man who makes the sun to shine and the rain to rain at the ministr3-. Come to dinner ; I 've been waitmg for you since four o'clock." This ver}^ prett}^ little woman, Madame Marneffe, natural daughter of the Comte de Montcornet, one of Napoleon's most famous generals, was married on the strength of a dot of twenty thousand francs, to an under-clerk in the War Office. The influence of the illus- trious lieutenant-general, a marshal of France during the last six months of his life, helped the quill-driver to the unhoped-for position of head-clerk of his department ; but unfortunatel}^, at the very moment when he was about to be appointed sub-director, the marshal's death cut short his hopes and those of his wife. The slender means of the Sieur Marneffe — for the dowry of Mad- emoiselle Valerie Fortin had already melted awa}-, parti}" in payment of his own debts, partty in the ac- quisition of such things as a bachelor needs for the setting up of a home, but more particularl}' through the extravagance of the pretty wife, accustomed in her mother's house to luxuries she was unwilling to forego — obliged the pair to practise economy in the matter of rent. The situation of the rue du Do^^enne, not far from the ministry of war and the centres of Parisian life, presented attractions to Monsieur and Madame Marneffe, who for the last four years had lived in the same house with Mademoiselle Fischer. •. > Jean Paul Stanislas Marneffe belonged to a certain tj'pe of Parisian emplo3'e which escapes downriglit brutishness through a species of power which comes of degradation. This little thin man, with scant}' hair Cousin Bette. 73 and beard, a blaiiclied, etiolated face, worn-out rather than wrinkled, e} elids rimmed with red and hidden by spectacles, mean and shuffling in gait and still more mean in manner and bearing, embodied the t3'pe which we all imagine of a man brought into the police courts for offences against morality. The suite of rooms occupied by this household — a specimen of many Parisian homes — wore the deceitful appearance of sham luxury which may be seen in such households. In the salon the faded cotton-velvet of the furniture covering, the plaster statuettes pretending to be bronze, the clums}^ chandelier painted in flat color, with its cups of blown glass, the carpet, whose cheap qualit}' appeared in the cotton threads put in by the manufacturer and visible to the naked e3'e at the first wear, — in short, everything, down to the \QYy curtains which taught the truth that woollen damask keeps its glor}' only three years, proclaimed the family poverty- as plainly as a ragged beggar stationed at a church-door. The dining-room, ill-kept by a single servant, had the sickening aspect of such rooms in a country inn, where everything is greasj" and unclean. Monsieur Marneffe's bedroom, resembling that of a student, furnished with a bachelor's bed and other arti- cles as faded and worn as himself, and cleaned only once a week, -^ a horrible bedroom, where everything la}' lit- tered about, and old slippers hung on chairs with hair- cloth coverings whose pattern was traced out in dust, — betra^'ed a man to whom his home was a matter of indifference ; who lived abroad in gambling-houses and cafes c.nd elsewhere. Madame's bedroom, on the other hand, was an ex- 74 Cousin Bette. ception to the shameful neglect which degraded all the other rooms of the establishment where the curtains were 3ellow with smoke and dust, and the child of the famil}', evidently left to himself, strewed his pla}'- things on the floor. Valerie's bedroom and dressing- room, placed in the wing of the house, elegantty hung with chintz, and furnished in ebonized woods and a moquette carpet, were redolent of a prett}' woman, one, let us admit, of the kept-mistress type. On the velvet draper}' of the mantle-shelf stood a clock of the fashion of the period. tTardinieres of Chinese porcelain, a lit- tle dunherque well furnished, the bed, toilet-table and wardrobe with mirror door, a tete-a-tete sofa, and a variety of knick-knacks and other trumpery testified to the caprices and refinements of fashion. Though the whole was of a third-class order of ele- gance and wealth, and bore the date of a three 3'ears' luxur}^ a dandy would have found nothing to complain of, unless it were a certain stamp of bourgeoisie. An expert in social science would have detected the exist- ence of a lover in several costl}' gewgaws which come onl}^ of such demi-gods, unseen, and 3'et ever near mar- ried women of the Marneflfe type. The dinner which awaited husband, wife, and child — a dinner kept back since four in the afternoon — was enough to explain the financial crisis of the family, for the dinner-table is the surest thermometer of prosperity in such Parisian households. Bean soup and a bit of veal, with potatoes deluged with browned water called grav}', a dish of haricot beans, and another of cher- ries of poor qualit}', served and eaten on chipped dishes and plates, with miserable forks and spoons of German Cousin Bette. 75 silver. Was that a proper repast for a pretty woman ? The baron would have wept had he seen it. The cloudj' decanters did not conceal the horrid color of the wine bought by the quart from the casks of some corner wine-shop. The napkins had been used a week. In short, everything bespoke povert}' without dignit}-, and the indifference of the wife and of the husband for the decencies of famil}' life. The most ordinary observer would have felt as he beheld them that the pair had reached the fatal moment when sheer necessit}' of ex- istence was driving them to seek some luck}- method of swindling for a living. The first words said b}' Valerie to her husband will explain the delay in the dinner hour. " Samanon won't take 3'our notes for less than fifty per cent, and he requires 3'ou to assign over 3'our salar}'." Povert}', secret as 3'et in case of the director at the War department, — who had, moreover, a salar3' of twent3'-five thousand francs, not to mention perqui- sites, to fall back upon, — had reached its last phase with the subordinate. "Have 3'ou snared the baron?" said the husband, looking at the wife. " I hope so," she answered, not horrified at the expression. "What's to become of us?" continued Marneffe. " The landlord will seize eveiything to-morrow morn- ing. The idea of 3'Our father d3'ing without a will ! I swear those empire fellows think themselves as immor- tal as their emperor." " Poor papa ! " she said ; " he had no child but me, 76 Cousin Bette. and he loved me. The countess must have burned his will. It is n't likely that he forgot me ; he was alwa3^s giving us three or four thousand francs at a time." "We owe four quarters' rent, — fifteen hundred francs. Is our furniture worth as much? — that is the question, as Shakespeare sa3's." " Well, adieu, m}' dear," said Valerie, who had only swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of the veal, from which the cook had extracted all the juice in behalf of a brave soldier just returned from Algiers; " for great ills heroic remedies." "Valerie, where are you going?" cried Marneffe, stopping his wife on her way to the door. " To see the landlord," she answered, arranging her curls at a glass. "As for 3'ou, w^li}" don't 3'ou try to cap- tivate the old maid, if she is really 3'our chief's cousin?" The ignorance of the various lodgers in the same house about each other is one of those perennial facts which show almost better than any other the hurly- burly of Parisian life. It is, however, quite eas}' to understtind how a clerk going earl}' to his office, re- turning only for his dinner and spending his evenings elsewhere, and a wife devoted to the amusements of Paris, should know little or nothing of the life of an old maid lodging on the third floor of the rear build- ing across the court, especiall}'' when the latter had the regular habits of Mademoiselle Fischer. Lisbeth, being the earliest riser in the house, fetched her milk, bread, and charcoal witliout exchanging a word with an}^ one ; she went to bed with the sun ; she received neither visits nor letters, and had no acquaint- ances in the neighborhood. Hers was one of those Cousin Bette. 77 nameless, entomological existences such as turn up from time to time in certain houses, where at the end of three or four 3'ears 3'ou find that an old gentleman is living on the fourth floor who knew Voltaire, Pilas- tre du Rosier, Beaujon, Marcel, Mole, Sophie Arnould, Franklin, and Robespierre. The gossip that Madame Marneffe repeated of Lisbeth Fischer she had chanced to hear solel3' by reason of the isolation of the neighbor- hood and the intimac}' which their povert}' established between themselves and the porter of the house, whose good-will was too necessary to them not to be carefully kept up. Now the pride and mute reserve of the old maid had given rise, on the part of the porter and his wife, to the exaggerated respect and cold civilit}" which always denote a spirit of discontent in our subordi- nates. Porters are, moreover, apt to think themselves in the premises, as they sa}^ in the courts, on equal terms with a lodger who pa3's a rent of two hundred and fifty francs. The tale told by Bette to her little cousin Hortense being true, it is easy to see how the porter's wife when gossiping with the Marneflfes should calumniate Mademoiselle Fischer by merelj' relating it. When Bette took her candlestick from the worthy Madame Olivier, the said porter's wife, she stepped for- ward to see if the window of the attic above her own room was lighted up. At this hour in the month of Jul}' the rooms on the courtj'ard were so dark that the old maid was unable to go to bed without a candle. " Don't be uneas}- ; Monsieur 8teinb*ock is at home ; he has n't even left the house," said the woman, jocosel}', to Mademoiselle Fischer. Bette made no reply. She retained her peasant habits 78 Cousin Bette. so far as to scorn the gossip of persons out of her own range of intercourse ; hke peasants, who know nothing bej^ond the boundaries of their own village, she cared only for the opinion of the little social circle in which she revolved. Consequents she went boldly up, not to her own rooms, but to the attic, — for the following reason : when the dessert was served at the Hulots' she had put a quantity of fruits and sweetmeats into her bag, intending, as usual, to give them to her lover, pre- cisely as an old maid gives a tidbit to a dog. She found the hero of her cousin's imagination work- ing b}' the gleam of a little lamp, the light of which was increased by falling through a glass globe filled with water, — a pale, fair 3'oung man, sitting at a sort of workman's-bench covered with carving and model- ling tools, red wax, rough-hewn pedestals and castings in brass ; dressed in a blouse and holding in his hand a little group done in modelling wax, at which he was gazing with the absorption of a poet in travail. " Here, Wenceslas, see what I have brought you," she said, putting her handkerchief on the corner of the bench. Then she took the fruits and sweetmeats carefully from her bag. " You are very kind, mademoiselle," said the poor exile, in a melancholy voice. *' They '11 do you good, my poor boy. You heat your blood working as you do ; you never were born for such a trade." Wenceslas Steinbock looked at her in surprise. *'Come, eat," she said roughly, "instead of gazing at me as if I were one of your figures that please you." Cousin Bette. 79 The surprise of the young man came to an end on receiving this cuff, as it were, of words. He recog- nized his female mentor whose tenderness alwaj's sur- prised liim, so harshh' was she in the habit of speaking to him. Though Steinbock was twenty-nine years old, he seemed, like blondes of a certain type, to be fivp or six years 3'ounger ; and this appearance of 3'outh, whose freshness had faded under the toil and penury of exile, contrasting with the hard, stern face of his companion, might have led an observer (o fanc}' that Nature had been mistaken when she bestowed their sexes. He rose from his seat and threw himself upon an old Louis XV. sofa covered in 3'ellow Utrecht velvet, seeming to wish for rest. The old maid took a Reine- Claude plum and gentW offered it to him. *' Thank you," he said, taking the fruit. *' Are 3'ou tired?" she asked, giving him another. " Not tired with work, but tired of life," he answered. *' What an idea ! " she exclaimed sharpl3\ "Have n't you a guardian angel watching over you?" she added, as she gave him the sweetmeats and watched while he ate them. " You see I thought of 3'ou this evening." "I know," he replied, with a look that was half- caressing, half-plaintive, " that without you I should never have lived to this da3' ; but, m3' dear mademoi- selle, artists need some excitement of mind — " " Ah, there we have it ! " she cried, interrupting him as she put her hands on her hips and fixed her flashing eyes on his face. " You want to go and lose your health in wicked places, like so many other workmen who end by dying in a hospital ! No, no ; make your fortune first, and when 3^011 have plent3' of mone3' in 80 Cousin Bette. the Funds 3'ou can amuse yourself, my lad ! Then you will have the wherewithal to pay for doctors and pleasure both, 3'ou j'oung libertine ! " On receiving this broadside, accompanied with a glance which sent a magnetic fluid through his being, "VJ^enceslas Steinbock bowed his head. If the most confirmed and venomous tattler had seen this open- ing of their interview he would have owned the falsity of the scandal told b}' the Oliviers to the Marneffes apropos of Mademoiselle Fischer. Everything in the personal relation of the pair, their tones, gestures, and glances, proved the purit}- of their intercourse. The old maid displayed the tenderness of a rough but real motherhood. The young man submitted, like a respect- ful son, to maternal tj'rann}-. This odd alliance seemed the result of a powerful will acting incessantly on a weak nature, on that peculiar Slav indifference which, w^iile it bestows heroic courage on a battle-field, gives the race a strange fitfulness of conduct, a moral incon- sistency and laxit}^, the causes of which should be studied by physiologists, who are to the science of pol- itics what entomologists are to agriculture. "What if I die before I am rich?" asked Wenceslas, sadly. "Die!" cried the spinster; "oh, I sha'n't let you die. I have life enough for two ; I '11 infuse some of m}' blood into you, if necessar}'." As he heard her vehement and impulsive exclamation the tears came into Stcinbock's e3'es. " Don't be sad, my little Wenceslas," said Lisbeth, much moved. "Let me tell yow. something, — my cousin Hortense thought j'our seal very pretty. You '11 Cousin Bette. 81 see, I '11 help 30U to sell that bronze group of j'ours, and you can pay me and do as you like and be a free man ! Come, laugh ! " "I can never repay you, mademoiselle," said the poor fellow. "Why not?" asked the Vosges peasant- woman, taking her protege's part against herself. " Because you have not only fed and lodged and saved me from miser}', but 3'ou have given me life ; 3'ou have created me such as I am ; you have often been harsh, you have made me suffer — " " I ! " exclaimed the old maid. " Now, don't begin 3'our nonsense about poetry and art, and don't crack your fingers and stretch 3'our arms, declaiming about the ideal and all your Northern stuff. The ideal can't hold a candle to the real, and the real is — I ! You think 3'ou have ideas in 3'our brain? well, what good are the3'? I, too, have ideas. What's the good of having things in your soul or 3'our brain if 3'ou can't make an 3' use of them? People who have ideas never get on in this world as well as those who have none, provided they bestir themselves. Instead of thinking about your fancies 3-0U ought to work. What have 3'Ou done since I went out?" " What did 3'our prett}' cousin say? " " Who told you she was pretty?" demanded Bette, in a tone irate with tigerish jealous3'. " Why, you did." " Yes, just to see how you would take it! So you want to be running after petticoats, do 3'ou? If you are fond of women, go and make them out of brass, for 3'ou can't have any other loves for some time to 6 82 Cousin Bette. come — speciall}^ not my cousin, mj^ 3'oung friend ! she is not game for 3'our gun. Such a girl as that must have a man with sixty thousand francs a year — in fact, the}^ have got him — Goodness ! there 's your bed not made ! " slie exclaimed, looking through the door of the adjoining room ; " poor fellow ! how I have neg- lected you ! " And the vigorous creature pulled off her mantle, bon- net, and gloves, and set to work like a servant to make the humble little bed of the artist. Tiiis mixture of rough, even rude treatment with flashes of kindness may explain the empire which Lisbeth wielded over a man whom she held to be a thing of her own. Does not life control us by its alternations of good and evil ? If AYenceslas had encountered Madame Marneffe in- stead of Lisbeth Fischer, he would have found an in- dulgent and complj'ing protectress, who would have led him into mir}^ and dishonorable waj^s, where he would soon have lost himself Assuredlj" he would never have worked, and the artist soul within him would never have burst forth. Therefore, while he fretted against the harsh exactions of the old maid, his reason told him to prefer the iron arm that held him in a vise to the idle and perilous existence which several of his com- patriots were leading. Here follows an account of the circumstance to which was owing this curious marriage of female energy and masculine weakness, — a species of contradiction which is rather frequent, they sa}', in Poland. Cousin Bette. 83 CHAPTER YII. THE STORY OF A SPIDER WITH TOO BIG A FLY IN HER NET. In 1833 Mademoiselle Fischer, who sometimes worked at night when she had a great deal on hand to do, no- ticed, about one o'clock in the morning, a strong smell of carbonic acid, and heard what seemed to be the groans of a djing person. The fumes of gas and the sounds came from the attic above the two rooms in which she lodged, and she concluded that a 3'oung man who had lately hired the garret, which had been un- occupied for the last three 3'ears, was committing sui- cide. She ran up quickl}', burst in the door b}' her Lorraine strength applied as a ram, and found the lodger rolling on his flock-bed in the agonies of death. She extinguished the brazier, the air rushed in from the open door, and the man's life was saved ; then, when Lisbeth had put him to bed like a patient, and he had fallen naturall}^ to sleep, she discovered the cause of his would-be suicide in the absolute nakedness of the two garret rooms, where there was literally nothing but , a wretched table, a flock-bed, and two chairs. On the table lay a paper with the following writing, which she read : — 84 Cousin Bette. I am Comte Wenceslas Steinbock, boni at Prelie in Livonia. No one is to blame for my death ; the reasons for my suicide are in the words of Kosciusko, Finis Polonice. The great-nephew of Charles the Twelfth's brave general cannot beg his bread. My feeble health forbade my entering the army, and I came yesterday to the last of the hundred dollars which I brought from Dresden. I leave twenty-five francs in the drawer of this table to pay the rent now due to my landlord. Having no relations, my death is of interest to no one. I beg my fellow-countrymen not to charge it to the French government. I have not made myself known as a refugee; I have asked nothing; I have met no other exile; no one in Paris knows of my existence. I die in the Chi-istian faith. May God forgive the last of the Steinbocks. Wenceslas. Mademoiselle Fischer, deepl}' touched by the honesty of the d3'ing man, opened the drawer and saw the pile of five-franc pieces. "Poor 3'oung man!" she exclaimed. "No one in all the world to care for him ! " She went back to her own room, fetched her work, and returned to the attic to watch beside the exile. His astonishment when he waked at seeing a woman near his pillow may be imagined ; he fancied he was still dreaming. While she sat beside him making shoulder- knots the old maid was inwardly pledging herself to protect the 3'outh, whom she admired as he lay there sleeping. When the young count was fu\[y awake she reassured him, and questioned him as to what he could do to gain a livelihood. Wenceslas, after relating his Cousin Bette, 85 bistoiy, added that he owed his situation as professor in a college to his acknowledged vocation for art ; that he had always felt within him an impulse toward sculp- ture ; but the length of time required for such studies seemed too great for a penniless man, and he was now too feeble in health to undertake the manual labor preparatory to the art. All this was Greek to Lisbeth Fischer. She answered that Paris was full of oppor- tunities, and that a man willing to work could alvva3's make a living ; courageous folks, she said, would never perish if the}' had a certain stock of patience. " I am only a poor girl, — a peasant^ — and yet I have managed to make myself independent," she said in conclusion. " Listen to me ; I have laid b}' a little monej', and if 3'ou are really willing to work I will lend you, month b}' month, as much as you need to live upon, — but to live strictlj^ ; no racketing, no dissipa- tions, mind 3'ou ! You can dine in Paris for twent}^- five sous a da}', and I '11 make your breakfast every day when I make my own. Moreover, I '11 furnish your rooms and pay whatever it costs you to learn a trade. You can give me a receipt in due form for all the moneys I spend upon you, and when you are rich you will repay me. But if you don't work I shall consider that the bargain is ofl', and I shall abandon you." " Ah ! " cried the poor fellow, still nnder the anguish of his struog-le with death, " exiles of all lands do well to yearn for Paris, as the souls in purgatory long for heaven. What a nation is France ! — where succor and generous souls are found even in a garret like this ! You shall be my all, my benefactress, and I will be your slave. Be my friend," he continued, with one of these 86 Cousin Bette. ] /caressing gestures common among Poles, wliicli, rather ' unjustly, la}' them open to the charge of servility-. " I 'm too jealous ; I should make you A^ery unhapp}- ; but I '11 willingly be a sort of comrade to you," an- swered Lisbeth. ^ ' Oh ! if you onl}' knew with what passion I praj-ed for some being, were it even a tyrant, with whom to have some intercourse, when I was struggling alone in the void of this great cit}'," said Wenceslas. ' ' I even longed for Siberia, to which the Emperor would send me if I returned to my own country ! Yes, be my Providence ! I will work, I will be a better man than ever before, — though I never was a bad one." '' Will you do all that I tell you to do?" she asked. "Yes." "Well then, I adopt 3'ou," she cried, gayty. "Be- hold me with a son just risen from his coffin. We will begin at once ; I shall go and make my preparations. Y^'ou are to dress yourself, and come down and share my breakfast when I knock on the ceiling with the handle of my broom." The next da}" Mademoiselle Fischer questioned all the manufacturers to whom she carried her work as to the business of sculpture. B}' dint of asking, she suc- ceeded in discovering the establishment of Florent and Chanor, where fine bronzes and elegant silver services are cast and engraved. She took Steinbock to the place and introduced him as a sculptor's apprentice, a term which seemed to him sufficiently odd. It appeared thnt the firm executed designs of the best artists, but allowed none to be copied. However, the obstinate persistencj^ of the old maid succeeded in getting \\qv protege a place Cousin Bette. 87 as designer of decorations. Steinbock rapidly acquired the faculty and modelled new forms, a work for which he showed a vocation. Five months after serving out his apprenticeship he made the acquaintance of the famous Stidmann, chief sculptor of the Florent estab- lishment, who agreed to give him lessons. At the end of two years Wenceslas knew more of the business than his master ; but before the close of another half-year the old maid's savings, slowly amassed little by little during sixteen years, were all spent. Two thousand five hundred francs in gold, a sum she had meant to invest in an annuit}', were now represented bj- what? — the note of hand of a Pole ! It thus happened that Lisbeth, at the time our story begins, was again toiling as she did in her youth to meet the costs of supporting her exile. When at last she realized that she had nothing in hand but a bit of paper instead of her gold, she lost her self- sufRciencT, and went off to consult Monsieur Rivet, who for the last fifteen 3'ears had been the adviser and friend of his first and most capable workwoman. On learning of the affair. Monsieur and Madame Rivet scolded Lis- beth, declared her crazy, anathematized all exiles whose plots and conspiracies to recover nationality threatened the prosperity of commerce and the preservation of peace at any price, and the}^ urged the old maid to obtain what is called in business securitj'. " The only security 3'ou can get from that fellow is his libert}'," said Monsieur Rivet (Monsieur Achille Rivet was a judge in one of the commercial courts) ; "and that's no joke for a foreigner. A Frenchman stays five years in a debtor's prison, and then he gets out, — without paying his debts, it is true, for nothing 88 Cousin Bette. compels him but his conscience, which is sure not to trouble him ; but a foreigner never gets out of prison. Give me that note of hand ; endorse it over to my book- keeper ; he will get it protested, and sue you both. He will then get a warrant for your arrest for debt, and when these formalities are all complied with he will give you a secret release. By taking this course your in- terests combine, and you hold a loaded pistol to your Pole's head." The old maid followed this advice, and told her pro- tege to feel no uneasiness about the legal process, as it was taken solely to give security to a mone3'-lender who agreed to lend them a certain sum. This ingenious evasion was due to the inventive genius of the com- mercial judge. The guileless artist, confiding blindly in his benefactress, lit his pipe with the stamped papers ; for he smoked, like all men who have griefs or energies to lull. One fine day Monsieur Eivet showed Mademoi- selle Fischer a document, remarking : — " Wenceslas Steinbock is in your power, bound hand and foot so securely that 3'ou can put him in Chchy for the rest of his life whenever j^ou please." That upright judge in the courts of commerce felt the inward satisfaction which must surely result from the consciousness of having done an evil good deed. Benefi- cence has so many ways of proceeding in Paris that this strange remark is to be taken as expressing one of its various actions. The Pole once caught in the meshes of commercial law, the next thing was to come down on him for payment ; for the sensible Rivet considered the man a swindler. Honor, heart, and poetry were, according to him, the cloak of dishonesty in business. Cousin Bette. 89 Rivet went, in tlie interests, lie said, of that poor Made- moiselle Fischer who had been fooled b}' a Pole, to the wealth}" manufacturers by whom Steinbock was em- plo^'ed. It so happened that Stidmann — who, together with the remarkable artists in gold and silver work alread}^ named, had brought French art to a perfection which enabled it to compete with the Florentines and the renaissance — was in Chanor's private office when the manufacturer of gold lace appeared, to make in- quiries about "a certain Steinbock, a Polish refugee." "Whom are you caUing 'a certain Steinbock?'" cried Stidmann, sarcasticall}'. " You can't sureh' mean a 3'oung Livonian who has been a pupil of mine ? Let me tell you, sir, that he is a great artist. People say I think myself a devil in art. Well, that poor fellow, though he does n't yet know his power, is a god of it." "Ha! though yow speak rather cavalierl}^ to a man who has the honor to be a judge of the commercial courts — " " Your servant, consul," retorted Stidmann, bringing his hand to his forehead in military salute. "I am glad to hear what 30U S2iy. So you think that young man can earn money?" " Of course he can," said old Chanor ; " but he must work. He could have earned a good deal by this time if he had sta^^ed with us. But the trouble is, artists have a horror of control." " The}^ have a true sense of their own dignit}' and value," said Stidmann. " I don't blame Wenceslas for working alone and trying to make himself a name and a great career, — the}' are his due ; but it was a serious loss to me when he left me." 90 Cousin Bette. "Well, well!" cried Rivet; "such are the preten- sions of 3'oung men just out of their college shell. But you had better begin by earning monej', and look after glory later." " It spoils the fingers to be picking up five-franc pieces," retorted Stidmann. " Fame will bring us mone}^" "There's no help for it," said Chauor to Rivet; " the}^ won't be tied." " They break the halter if thej^ are," cried Stidmann. " These gentlemen," said Chanor, looking at Stid- mann, "are as full of fancies as the}' are of talent. They are lavishly extravagant ; thej^ run after mis- tresses ; they fling their money about ; they have no time to work ; thej^ neglect their orders ; and the con- sequence is that we have to employ journe3'men who can't compare with them, but who grow rich: then they complain of the hard times, — whereas, if they applied themselves to work they would have heaps of money — " " You remind me, old man," said Stidmann, " of that publisher, before the Revolution, who said : ' Ah ! if I could onl}' keep Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau in m}' loft without a pennj^ of their own, and put their breeches under lock and ke}'', they 'd write me famous little books which would make m}- fortune.' Yes, if works of art could be cast like nails, 3'ou shopkeepers could make them. Give me m}' thousand francs, and hold 3'our tongue ! " The worthy Rivet went home rejoicing over poor Mademoiselle Fischer, who dined at his house every Monday, and was there to greet him. Cousin Bette. 91 " If you can make him work," he said, " you will have been more hicky than wise, and you will get back your money, capital and interest. That Pole has genius; he can earn a living; but lock up his boots and his trousers ; don't let him go to the Chaumiere jior anywhere near Notre-Dame de Lorette ; hold a tight hand over him. If you don't take care your sculptor will lounge away his life. You know what artists mean hy fldner. Well, that's what he'll do, — all sorts of horrors, I don't know what. I 've just seen a thousand-franc note go in a day." This episode had a terrible influence on the domestic life of Bette and Wenceslas. Henceforth the benefac- tress steeped the bread of the exile in the wormwood of reproaches whenever she thought her money in dan- ger of disappearing ; and she thought so often. The kind parent became a stepmother ; she scolded and harried the unfortunate son, blamed him for working too slowly, and for choosing so difficult a profession ; she could not realize that the models in red wax, the ligurines, the bits of decorations, and trial designs, were of the slightest value. Then again, sorry for her sharpness, she tried to efface the recollection of it by little kindnesses and attentions. The poor 3'oung fel- low, shuddering from a sense of his dependence on a Megsera, languishing under the dominion of a peasant woman, was only too delighted to get the petting of a motherly solicitude won solely by the physical and material charm about him. He was like a woman who forgives the ill-usage of a week in return for the ca- resses of a momentary peace-making. Mademoiselle Fischer thus acquired absolute sway over the young 22 Cousin Bette. man's spirit. The love of power latent in the soul of the old maid developed rapidly. She could satisfy her pride and her need of action ; for had she not a human being of her own, — one to order, scold, flatter, and make happy without the fear of rivalry ? The good and the evil of her character were equall}- brought out. If she sometimes tortured the poor artist, at other times she showed a delicacj^ which had the grace of a wild flower. She delighted to see that he wanted for noth- ing ; she would willingly have given her life for his ; Wenceslas was sure of it. At the first word of kind- ness the poor fellow, like all noble natures, forgot the defects and the cruelties of his tyrant, — who had, more- over, told him the story of her life as an excuse for her savage temper, — and remembered only her bene- factions. One da}', exasperated that Wenceslas had loitered away his time in the streets instead! of working, Bette made him a scene. "You belong to me!" she said. "If you are an honest man you should tr}^ to return what you owe me as soon as possible." The young nobleman, in whom the blood of the Stein- bocks began to rise, turned pale. " Good God ! " she cried, " before long we shall have nothing to live upon but the thirty sous a day which I earn, — I, a poor woman ! " The poverty-stricken pair, excited by the duel of words, grew more and more irritated with each other, until at last the poor artist reproached his benefactress for the first time, and asked her why she had saved him from death only to make him lead the life of a galley- Cousin Bette. 93 slave, — worse, he said, than annihilation, where at least he could have peace ; and he threatened to escape. "Escape! run away!" she cried. " Ah, Monsieur Rivet was right ! " And she explained, chapter and verse, how in less than twenty-four hours she could put him in prison for the rest of his days. The blow felled him. He sank into a gloomy rever}' and dead silence. The next night Lisbeth, suspecting another attempt at suicide, went up to the garret and offered her pensioner the legal papers and a receipt in full. " Here, my poor lad, take them and forgive me ! " she said, with moistened e^'es. "Be happ3' ; leave me. I torment you ; but say that 3'ou will sometimes think of the poor girl who put you in the way to earn a living. You 3'ourself are the cause of all m}^ evil tempers 1 I could die ; but if I did, what would become of you? It is not for myself that I am so impatient for j'ou to make things that are fit to sell. I don't want my money for myself, you may believe me ! But I 'm afraid of j'our idleness, which you call re very. I dread those fancies of yours, on which you waste your time gazing at the sky ; and I do want you to acquire the habit of labor." This was said with tears and tone and glance and attitude that overcame the noble heart of the artist ; he caught his benefactress to his breast, and kissed her. "Keep those papers!" he cried, gayly. "Why should you put me in Clicliy? Am I not imprisoned here in the bonds of gratitude?" This episode of their private life, which took place about six months earlier than the date of our story, led 94 Cousin Bette. Wenceslas to produce three works of art : one was the seal which Hortense had kept ; another, the group in the antiquary's shop ; and the third, an admirable clock, which he was just finishing. This clock represented the Hours,, charming^ em- bodied in twelve female figures, linked in a dance so wild and rapid that three Cupids, starting from a tangle of fruit and flowers, could onl}' catch the torn fragment of a chlamys left b}^ the Hour of midnight in the grasp of the boldest of the Loves. The group rested on a round support, finely decorated with fantastic, writhing crea- tures. The timepiece was held in a monstrous mouth, opened by a yawn. Each Hour carried a symbol, de- lightfully imagined as characterizing her special occu- pation. It is now eas}' to explain the nature of the extraor- dinary attachment which Mademoiselle Fischer had con- ceived for her Pole. She wished him happy, but she saw him fading and perishing day by day in his gar- ret. The secret springs of this terrible situation are not hard to understand. The Southern peasant woman watched this son of the North with the tenderness of a mother, the jealousy of a woman, and the keenness of a dragon. She managed to debar him from ever}^ pos- sible dissipation or excess by depriving him of mone}'. Her intention was to keep her victim and companion to herself, virtuous by the force of her own will ; and she was unable to understand the barbarity of this mad desire, for she was accustomed in her own person to every form of habitual privation. She loved Steinbock well enough not to marry him, and too well to yield him to another woman ; she could not resign herself to Cousin Bette. 95 be no more to him than a mother, and 3'et she saw the folly of even thinking of another love. These contra- dictions, her ferocious jealous_y, her J03' in the posses- sion of a man of her own, kept her in a state of per- petual agitation. Deeph' in love for the last four years, she clung to the mad hope of continuing indefinitely this abortive and inconsistent wa}' of life, though such dogged persistency could onl}' be the ruin of the man she called her son. This struggle between her instincts and her common-sense made her unjust and tyrannical. She revenged herself on the 3'oung man for her lack of youth and beauty and wealth ; and then, after each ex- hibition of vengeance, she admitted in her heart that she was to blame, and humbled herself with infinite ten- derness to his service. But such sacrifices to her idol never entered her mind until after she had written her power upon him as with a knife. It was Shakspeare's Tempest reversed, — Caliban master of Ariel and of Prospero. As to the unhappy youth of noble thought, meditative nature, and a disposition to laziness, he showed in his e^^es, like the caged lions in the Jardin des Plantes, the arid desert which his protectress was making of his soul. The hard labor she exacted of him could not fill the needs of his being. His weariness of spirit l)ecame a physical malady ; he was dying of it, without being able to obtain the means or the opportu- nity for the pleasure and the distraction that he needed. On certain days of vigorous impulse, when a more than usual sense of his misery increased his exasperation, he looked at Bette as a thirsty traveller crossing the desert looks at a pool of brackish water. These Dead Sea fruits of poverty and isolation in the midst of the great 96 Cousm Bette. city were sweet to the taste of Lisbeth Fischer. She foresaw with terror that the first approach of passion would deprive her of her slave. Sometimes, when she saw that she had given him the means to do witliout her, she regretted that her tj-ranny and her reproaches had driven the poet to become a great sculptor of little things. The day after this opening of our story, the three households we have now described, all so diverse^ and 3'et so truly wretched, — that of the mother in her de- spair, that of the Marneffes, and that of the hapless exile, — were each to be affected by an artless passion on the part of Hortense, and b}' the strange termination which the baron was about to give to his unfortunate love for Josepha. Cousin Bette. 97 CHAPTER VIII. ROMANCE OF THE FATHER AND THAT OF THE DAUGHTER. As Baron Hulot d'Ervy approached the Opera-house he was struck by the gloomy aspect of the temple of the rue Lepelletier, where neither gendarmes nor lights nor attendants nor the usual queue of people were to be seen. He looked at the posters and there beheld a white strip on which appeared the sacramental words, " No performance, on account of indisposition." He rushed at once to Josepba, who lived, like all other opera-singers, in the environs of Paris, rue Cauchat. "Monsieur! wh}'' are 3'ou here?" asked the porter, to the baron's great astonishment. "Don't 3^ou know me?" he asked, anxiously. "Yes, it is precisel}^ because I do know monsieur that I ask why he is here." A deathly shudder seized the baron. " What has happened?" he asked. " If Monsieur le baron goes up to Mademoiselle Mirah's apartment he will find no one but Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout, Monsieur Bixiou, Monsieur Leon de Lora, Monsieur Lousteau, Monsieur de Vernisset, Mon- sieur Stidmann, and a lot of women smelling of patch- ouli, who are making a night of it." " Yes, but where is — " 7 98 Cousin Bette. " Mademoiselle Mirah? — I don't know that I ought to tell 3^011." The baron slipped ten francs into the man's hand. " Well, she has gone to live in the rue de la Ville- I'Eveque, in a house given to her, so the}^ sa}", by the Due d'Herouville," whispered the porter. After asking the number of the house the baron took a milord and, drove to one of those prett}' modern resi- dences with double doors, where, from the very gas- lamp on the threshold, luxury predominated. The baron, dressed in his usual blue cloth, with white cravat and waistcoat, nankeen trousers, varnished boots, and plent}^ of starch in his shirt- frill, seemed to the eyes of the porter of this second Eden a tardy guest. His imposing step and bearing justified that opinion. When the porter rang the bell a footman appeared on the portico of the house. The latter, new to the place like the porter himself, allowed the baron to enter, and received the card which the latter gave him saying, with imperious tone and gesture, " Take that card to Mademoiselle Josepha." The victim looked mechanically round the salon in which he found himself, — a reception-room filled with rare plants, the furniture of which must have cost many thousand francs. The footman, re-entering, begged Monsieur le baron to come into the drawing-room and wait until the company left the dinner-table. The baron was well accustomed to the luxury of the empire, which was certainl}^ amazing, — for though its fashions and productions were not likely to last they were none the less madlj' expensive, — yet even he w^as dazzled and dumbfounded when he entered the salon, Coif 8171 Bette. 99 whose three windows opened on a faiiy-like garden, one of those gardens made m a month with artificial soil and transplanted flowers, whose grass-plats seem the result of some chemical process. He not only ad- mired the choice elegance of the decorations, of the carvings done in the most costl}' fashion of the style called Pompadour, the gildings, and the marvellous fabrics, which, after all, the first grocer who had made his fortune could order and obtain with mone}', but he appreciated still more the treasures of art which princes alone have the faculty to find, to choose, to purchase, and bestow : two pictwes by Greuze, two of Watteau, two heads b}' Van Dyke, two landscapes by Ruysdael, two by Guaspre, a Rembrandt, a Holbein, a Murillo and a Titian, two Teniers, a Metzu, a Van Huj'sum, and an Abraham Mignon, — in short, a collection of paintings worth two hundred thousand francs, all ad- mirably framed. The settings were almost as costl}^ as the pictures. "Ah! you understand it now, old fellow!" said Joseph a. Coming in on tiptoe through a noiseless door and across a thick Persian rug, she caught her lover in that state of blank stupefaction when the ears pulsate and ring, and nought is heard but the knell of disaster. The words '• old fellow," addressed to a man of such importance in the government, and well suited to show the audacit}^ with which such creatures flout the high- est authority, nailed the baron to the spot. Josepha, arraj'ed in white and yellow, was so bejewelled for the fete that she shone amid the surrounding luxury like the rarest gem of all. 100 Cousin Bette. "Isn't it beautiful?" she continued. "The duke has spent all his dividends from a certain joint stock company upon this room. He 's no fool, m}^ little duke ! It is only the lords of the olden time who know how to turn coal into gold. Before dinner his notar}- brought me the deed of the house and a receipt for the purchase- money. A lot of distinguished men are in there, — d'Esgrignon, Rastignac, Maxime, Lenoncourt, Yerneuil, Laginski, Rochefide, La Palferine ; and as for bankers, there 's Nucingen and du Tillet, wath Antonia, Malaga, Carabine, and la Schontz. They all pity j^our ill-luck. Yes, m}^ old man, you are invited to join them, but on condition that 3'ou immediately drink down the total of two bottles of champagne, sherry, and Hungarian wine so as to get up to their level at once. We are all so tight that there could n't be any performance at the opera. M}^ director is in there, as drunk as a fiddler — " " Oh, Josepha ! " cried the baron. "Come, don't let ^s have a stupid explanation," she cried, laughing. " Are 3"ou worth the six hundred thousand francs of this house and furniture? Can you give me a share in the Funds which brings in thirty thousand francs a year, such as the duke gave me this morning in a bag of sugar-plums? — pretty idea, was n't it?" " What depravit}^ ! " said the statesman, who at that moment would gladly have given his wife's diamonds to oust the Due d'Herouville for twenty-four hours. "It's m}" nature," she replied. "So this is how you are going to take it? Whj' don't you get up stock companies? Good gracious! 30U ought to thank mo. Ooiisih' Becte: lO-l my poor old dyed cat ; I leave you just in time to pre- vent you from squandering your whole property, your daughter's dot^ and — ah, what? you're crying! The empire is over ! I bow to the new reign." She struck an attitude, declaiming, '' ' They call you Hulot, but I know you not,' " and left the room. As the door opened to let her pass, a blaze of light flashed out with the culminating noises of the orgy and the odors of a regal feast. The Jewess looked back from the doorway and seeing Hulot rooted to the spot as if he were made of stone, she returned into the room and said : — " Monsieur, I have made over the rubbish in the rue Cauchat to that little Heloise Brisetout and her Bixiou. If 3'ou want 3'our night-cap, your corsets, 3'our bootjack, and the wax for 3'our moustache, send to Heloise ; I stipulated that you were to haA'e them." This odious taunt sent the baron from the room, like Lot from Gomorrah, without looking round like the wife. He went home rapidl}', talking to himself as though he were craz}^ and found the family just as he had left them, calmly playing whist. When Adeline saw her husband she was certain some horrible disas- ter had happened, — possibh' something dishonorable. Giving her cards to Hortense she led Hector into the same little salon where, a few hours earlier, Crevel had predicted the shameful results of their poverty. " What is the matter?" she asked. "Oh, Adeline, forgive me! Let me tell you the infamous thing ! " — and for ten minutes he gave loose to his anger. " But, my friend," said the poor woman, heroically, lO-^ ' Ooksin Bette. "such women know nothing of love, — of the pure, devoted love which you deserve. How can 30U — 3'ou who are so clear-sighted — expect to succeed against a milhon ? " "Dear Adeline!" cried the baron, seizing his wife and pressing her to his heart. The baroness had shed a balm upon the bleeding wounds of his self-love. " Certainl3', if the Due d'Herouville were deprived of his mone}' she could n't hesitate between us," he remarked. " M}^ friend," said Adeline, making a last effort, " if 3'Ou must have mistresses, why not take them, like Crevel, from women of a class who do not cost mone}", and are satisfied with ver}^ little? It would be so much better for j'our famil3^ I can conceive of 3'our ne- cessit3^, but I do not understand these wounds to your self-love." " Dear, good woman that 3'ou are ! " he cried. " I am an old fool ! I don't deserve such an angel." "I am the Josephine of m3^ Napoleon!" she said, with a tinge of sadness. "Josephine was not 3'our equal," he said. " Come, I '11 go and play wliist with my brother and children. I must take up my dut3' as the father of a famil3% marr3' Hortense, and cease to pla3^ the libertine." His placable good-nature touched poor Adeline so much that she said : ' ' That creature has shocking taste to prefer an3' man, no matter who, to m3' Hector! Ah ! I could never leave 3'ou for all the gold in the land ! How could I when I have had the happiness of being loved by you ? " Cousin Bette, 103 The look with which the baron rewarded his wife's de- votion confirmed her in the belief that gentleness and submission were a wife's best weapons. She deceived herself. Noble sentiments pushed to an extreme pro- duce results similar to those of great vices. Bonaparte became emperor because he shot down the populace ten feet from the place where Louis XVI. lost his head and the monarch}' for not shedding the blood of a Monsieur Sauce. On the morrow Hortense, who had put the seal un- der her pillow so as not to be separated from it during the night, dressed early, and asked her father to come into the garden as soon as he was up. About half-past nine the baron, condescending to his daughter's request, gave her his arm, and together they walked along the quays by the pont Royal to the place du Carrousel. "Let us walk as if we were lounging, papa," said Hortense, as the}' passed through the iron gate of the vast open space. " Lounging here ! " cried her father, laughing. " We shall be thought to be going to the Museum ; and down there," she added, pointing to the wooden shops built against the walls of the houses w^hich stand at a right angle to the rue du Doyenne^ " are a number of bric-a-brac shops and picture-dealers." " Your cousin Bette lives over there." " I know that ; but I don't want her to see us." " What are j'ou aiming for?" said the baron, suddenly aware that he was wdthin thirt}' feet of the window where he had seen Madame Marneffe. Hortense led her father to the front of a shop stand- 104 Cousin Bette. ing at the angle of the cluster of houses, and just oppo- site to the Hotel de Nantes. She then entered the shop itself, leaving her father employed in looking up at the windows of the prett}' little woman who, as if to soothe the coming wound, had taken the old fop's fanc}^ the night before. He could not help thinking of his wife's advice. "I might fall back on a little bourgeoise," he said to himself, as he remembered the charms of Madame Marnefte. " That little woman might make me forget the grasping Josepha." The following scenes now occurred outside and in- side of the shop. The baron, looking up at the windows of his new fanc3^, saw the husband brushing his overcoat himself, evidenth' on the watch, as though he expected to see some one in the street. Fearing to be seen and recog- nized, the baron turned his back to the rue du Do3*enne, but still in a way to cast a glance over his shoulder from time to time. This action brought him almost face to face w^ith Madame Marneffe, who, coming from the direction of the quays, turned the corner of the build- ing to reach her own door. Valerie felt a commotion within her when she met the baron's surprised glance, to which she replied with a prudish look. " Prett}' creature ! " exclaimed the baron, " for whom one might commit a dozen follies." " Ah; monsieur ! " she answered, turning towards him like a woman who decides upon a sudden action, "you are Monsieur le Baron Hulot, are 3'ou not? " The baron, more and more surprised, made a sign in the affirmative. Cousin Bette. 105 " Well, since chance has twice brought our ej-es to- gether, and I have the happiness to excite 3'our curios- ity, or to interest j^ou, I will tell 3'ou that instead of committing follies for me you ought rather to do us justice. M}^ husband's fate depends on you ! " '' How so? " said the baron, gallantl}'. " He is a clerk of your department at the war-office, in the section of Monsieur Lebrun, and in the office of Monsieur Coquet," she replied, smihng. " I am read}', Madame — Madame — " " Madame Marneffe." " I am ver}' ready, my dear Madame Marneffe, to do any justice or injustice for the sake of your pretty e3'es. M}' cousin lives in your house ; I '11 go and see her one of these days, — in fact, as soon as possible, — and then you can bring me jour request." "Forgive m\ boldness. Monsieur le baron ; but you will understand why I have dared to address 3'ou when I sa}' that I am unprotected." "Ha!" " You misunderstand me, monsieur ! " she said, low- erino- her eves. The baron thought the sun was disappearing. " I am in the depths of despair ; but I am an honest woman," she continued. " I lost my onl}' protector six months ago, the Marechal Montcornet." " Are 3'ou his daughter? " " Yes, monsieur ; but he never acknowledged me." " So as to leave 3'ou part of his property-?'* " He left me nothing ; no will was found." " Poor little vroman ! I remember the marechal died suddenly of apoplex}-. AVell, w^e must hope, madame. 106 Cousin Bette. that something can be done for the daughter of one of the Bayards of the empire." Madame Marneffe bowed gracefuU}", as proud of her success as the baron was of his. "Where the devil has slie been this morning," thought Hulot, as he analyzed the undulating movement of the dress to which she imparted a grace that was perhaps slightly exaggerated. " Her face is so tired that she can't have been bathing ; and there 's her husband watch- ing for her. It is puzzling, and needs thinking over." As soon as Madame Marneffe had entered the house it occurred to the baron to wonder what his daughter was doing in the shop. Entering the doorway, but still glancing towards Madame Marneffe's windows, he ran against a young man with a pale brow and sparkling gray eyes, dressed in a summer overcoat of black merino, trousers of coarse linen, and shoes covered with 3'ellow leather gaiters, who was dashing out like one possessed. Looking after him, the baron noticed that he entered the house of Madame Marneffe. Hortense, when she glided into the shop, had in- stantly^ seen the famous bronze of which she was in search, standing on a table in the centre of the room on a line with the door. Even without the circumstances under which she had heard of it, this rare production would assuredly have attracted the young girl by what we must call the brio of great works, for she herself might have been taken in Italy for an embodiment of 'HlJBrior All works of genius have not, in a like degree, this fire, this splendor of life, instants visible to all eyes, even those of the ignorant. Certain pictures of Raphael, Cousin Bette. 107 such as the celebrated Transfiguration, the Madonna of Foligno, the frescos in the Stanze of the Vatican, do not command the same instant admiration as the Violin Pla3'er in the Sciarra galler}^, the portraits of the Doni, and the Vision of Ezekiel at the Pitti, the Bearing of the Cross in the Borghese collection, and the Marriage of the Virgin in the Brera museum at Milan. The pict- ures of St. John the Baptist in the tribune, of St. Luke painting the Virgin, in the Academy of Rome, have not the charm of the portrait of Leo X. and the Dresden Madonna. Yet all are equally wonderful. More than that, the frescos of the Stanze, the Transfiguration, the Gems, and the three easel pictures of the Vatican, are the highest expression of sublime perfection. But these masterpieces require, from even the most cultivated ad- mirer, a strained attention and careful study before they are understood in all their parts ; while, on the contrary, the Violinist, the Vision of Ezekiel, and the Marriage of the Virgin take immediate possession of the heart through the double door of the eyes ; we delight in them without efljort ; they are not the climax of art, but the}' are its happiness. This fact proves that the same congenital uncertainties attend the generation of works of art as ma}' be seen in families where children fortu- nately gifted are born beautiful and cause no suffering to their mothers, — all things smile upon them, and for them all succeeds ; in short, there are flowers of genius as well as flowers of love. JSHo, that untranslatable Italian word now coming into use among us, expresses the spirit of the earliest work, the fruit of the impetuous and daring fire of youthful genius ; an impetuosity sometimes recovered 108 Cousin Bette, in after hours of happ3" toil, but then its brio no longer comes from the heart of the artist ; instead of flinging it forth from his own bosom as a volcano belches fire, he owes its inspiration to circumstances, to love, to rivalry, often to hatred, oftener still to the necessity of maintaining his fame. Wenceslas's little group was to the exile's coming work what the Marriage of the Virgin is to the com- pleted whole of Raphael's paintings, namely, the first step of genius, — made with inimitable grace, with the eager buoj'anc}' of childhood and its abounding jo^'ous- ness, with its hidden power, hidden beneath the white and ros}' flesh whose dimples are, as it were, the echoes of a mother's smile. It is said that Prince Eugene paid foLU' hundred thousand francs for that picture, which would be worth a million to a nation which owned no Raphaels ; yet no one would give that sura for the finest of the frescos, whose value, nevertheless, is higher to art. Hortense, with due thought for the limited resources of her girlish purse, restrained her admiration and as- sumed a little air of indifference as she asked the price of the group. "Fifteen hundred francs," answered the dealer, cast- ing a glance at a 3'onng man sitting on a stool in a corner of the shop. The latter became stupid with admiration on beholding the living masterpiece of Baron Hulot. Hortense, thus informed of his presence, recog- nized the artist b}^ the color which suddenlj^ flushed a face made pallid b^' suffering ; she saw the graj- eyes sparkle as she asked her question ; she looked in the thin, drawn face, like that of a monk sunken in asceti- Cousin Bette. 109 cism, and she adored the well-cut rosy lips, the delicate chin, the abundant chestnut hair worn in locks after the fashion of the Slavs. ''If it were onl}- twelve hundred francs," she said, " I should tell you to send it home." "It is an antique, mademoiselle," replied the dealer, who, like the rest of his fraternity, thought the term ex- pressed the ne plu8 ultra of bric-a-brac. " Pardon me, monsieur, it was made this ver}^ 3'ear," she replied, quietly ; " and I have come here expressly to ask that, in case 3'ou agree to my price, you will send the artist to see us ; we ma}' be able to procure some important commissions for him." "If the twelve hundred francs go to him what will there be for me? I'm a dealer, you know," said the man, good-naturedl}'. " Ah, true ! " uttered the vouno* lad v. in a slight tone of contempt. "Mademoiselle, take it! I will arrange with the dealer," cried Wenceslas, beside himself with delight. Fascinated b}- her glorious beaut}' and the love of art which was manifest within her, he added : — "lam the maker of that group; for the last ten days I have come here three times a day to see if any one would recognize its merits and offer to buy it. You are my first admirer ; take it ! " "Come to my house, monsieur, an hour hence with the dealer ; here is my father's card," replied Hortense. Then as the dealer went into another room to wrap the group in a linen cloth, she added in a low voice, to the great astonishment of the artist, who began to think he was dreamins: : " For the sake of vour 110 Cousin Bette. future interests, Monsieur Wenceslas, do not show that card to any one ; do not tell the name of 3'our purchaser to Mademoiselle Fischer, — she is our cousin." The words " our cousin " sent a blinding flash of light into the mind of the artist ; he saw the gates of Para- dise, and Eve within them. He had dreamed of Lis- beth's beautiful cousin, just as Hortense had dreamed of her cousin's lover, and when the 3'oung girl entered the shop the thought had occurred to him, " Would she were like her ! " We can fancy the glance they now exchanged ; it flamed, — for innocent love has no hypocris3\ "Well, w^hat are 3'ou about in here?" asked her father as he entered, after encountering the flying artist. " I have spent all m}^ savings, twelve hundred francs ; come ! " She took her father's arm as he repeated her words, " Twelve hundred francs ! " "Thirteen hundred in fact; but 3'ou must lend me the diff'erence." ' ' And how — in such a shop — could 3'ou possibty spend all that? " "Ah!" said the girl in a happ3' voice, "but if I have found a husband it is not too dear." " A husband ! in this shop?" " Papa, dear ! you wouldn't object to my marrying a great artist ? " " No, certainly not. A great artist in these days is a prince without a title. He represents fame and for- tune, the greatest social advantages — after virtue," he added in a pious tone. Cousin Bette. Ill "Of course/' assented Hortense. "What do j'ou think of sculpture?" "A very bad business," said Ilulot, shaking his head. "It needs immense influence over and above genius ; for government is really the only purchaser. It is an art without openings ; in these days there are no great lords, no great fortunes, no entailed property, no eldest sons. The best of us have only houseroom for little pictures and little groups — in fact, the arts are in danger of becoming little" " What if a great artist were to make his own open- ings?" uroed Hortense. " That would solve the difficulty." " Suppose he obtained influence?" "Better still." " And was born noble? " " Nonsense ! " "A count." "What, a sculptor?" " He has no money." "And he seeks that of Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot?" said her father, teasing her, but darting an inquisitorial look into her eyes. " This great artist, count, and sculptor has just seen 3'our daughter for the first time in his life, and for only five minutes, monsieur le baron," said Hor- tense, coolly. "Now, listen, my dear little papa — 3'esterda3', while j'ou were at the Chamber, mamma fainted away. She said it was a nervous attack, but I know it came from some disappointment about m}' marriage ; for she told me that in order to get me otf vour hands — " 112 Cousin Bette. " I am quite sure she never used an}" such ex- pression." "It isn't parHamentar^V' said Hortense, laughing; " no, she did not sa}' that ; but I know that a daughter who ought to be married and is n't married is a heav}' burden for kind, good parents to bear. Well, she thinks that if some man of talent and energy could be found who would be satisfied with a dot of thirty thou- sand francs we might all be happ}'. In fact, she has been trying to prepare me for the humbleness of m}' future lot, and to keep me from forming great expecta- tions ; that means that I have no dot and the marriage is broken oflT." " Your mother is a good and noble woman," said the father, deepl}- humiliated, yet pleased b}^ his daughter's confidence, and thankful to have obtained it. "Yesterday," continued Hortense, "she told me that 3'ou had allowed her to sell her diamonds for the purpose of marrying me ; but I prefer that she should keep them, and that I should myself find a husband. Do 3'ou know, I think I have found the very man who answers to mamma's requirements." "What, there! in the place du Carrousel! in one morning.? " exclaimed her father. ' ' Oh, papa, the roots of the evil run further back," she said significantly. "Well, my little girl, tell it all to your old papa," he said in a coaxing tone, trying to hide his uneasiness. Cousin Bette. 113 CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH CHANCE, CONSTRUCTING A ROMANCE, CARRIES MATTERS ALONG SO SMOOTHLY THAT THE SMOOTHNESS CANNOT LAST. Under promise of absolute secrec}", Hortense told her father the purport of her conversations with Bette. When the}' reached home she showed him the famous seal in proof of her own sagacit3^ The baron in his inward soul admired the wonderful cleverness of 3'oung girls stirred b}' instinct, when he perceived the excel- lence of the plan w^hich an imaginaiy love had suggested in a single night to his innocent daughter. " You shall see the masterpiece which I have just purchased," she said. " They are to bring it at once and Wenceslas is coming with it. The artist of such a group must inevitabl}^ make his fortune ; but I want 3'ou to use 3'our influence and get him an order for a statue, and a place in the Institute." " What next? " cried her fother. " If I don't take care 3'ou will be married as soon as the banns can be published — in eleven da3^s ! " " Must we wait eleven da3's?" she answered, laugh- ing. " Wlw, in five minutes I loved him, just as 3'ou loved mamma on first seeing her, and he loves me as if we had known each other two 3'ears. Yes," she said v^ 'epl3^ to her father's gesture, '• I read ten volumes of 114 Cousin Bette. love in his e3'es. I know 3'ou and mamma will ac- cept him as my husband as soon as he has proved him- self a man of genius. Sculpture is the first of arts ! " she cried, clapping her hands and skipping about the room. " Come, I '11 tell 3^ou the whole truth." ' ' What ! is there an^'thing more ? " asked her father, smiling. Her perfect innoceuc}', and its guileless chatter, had reassured the baron. " A confession of the utmost importance ! " she an- swered. " I loved him before I knew him ; but I am distractedl}'' in love for the last hour since I saw him ! " "Distracted! I should say so," replied the baron, charmed with the spectacle of such artless passion. "Don't punish me for m}' confidence!" she cried. "It is so sweet to tell my dear papa that I love, I love ! and I am happ}' in loving ! You shall see m}' Wenceslas," she continued, — "a brow full of melan- chol}', gra}' eyes shining with the sun of genius, and so distinguished in manner ! Tell me, is Livonia a fine countr}^? The idea of cousin Bette marrying such a man when she is old enough to be his mother ! It would be murder ! But I am so jealous of what she has done for him ! I don't think she will view the marriage with satisfaction." " Now, my darling, j-ou must not conceal anything from your mother," said the baron. ' ' Then I must show her the seal ; and I promised cousin Botte not to betray her stor}' to mamma, who, she saj'S, will make fun of it," said Hortense. " You are delicately honorable about the seal, and yet you are going to steal a lover from your cousin ! " Cousin Bette. 115 " I gave a promise about the seal, but none about its maker." This little episode, patriarchal in its simplicit}', chimed in well with the secret necessities of the familj' ; the baron, therefore, while praising his daughter for her frankness, told her that in future she must leave the management of the affair in the hands of her parents. ' ' You understand, m}' little daughter, that you your- self cannot ascertain whether your cousin's lover is really a count, whether his papers are regular, and his conduct satisfactory. As to your cousin, she refused five offers when she was twenty years younger ; she is no obstacle. I '11 take it upon myself to settle that." "Now, papa, if you wish to see me married, don't speak of our lover to cousin Bette until the marriage contract is to be signed. I have been questioning her on this subject for the last six months, and I can tell you there is something inexplicable about her." " What is it? " asked her father, puzzled. " Well, her look is dangerous when I go too far about her lover, though it is only in joke. Make 3'our inquiries, if you like, but leave me to row my own boat. My frankness ought to satisfy you." "Our Lord said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me ; ' you are one of those who turned and came back again!" answered the baron, in a slight tone of rid- icule. After breakfast the dealer was announced, togethei* with the artist and the work of art. The vivid color which overspread the girl's face made the baroness un- easy, and then suspicious, until at last her daughter's confusion of manner and the warmth of her glances be- 116 Cousin Bette. tra3'ed to the mother's e3'e the existence of a mj'steiy which the 3'onng heart was httle able to conceal. Count Steinbock, dressed in black, seemed to the baron a ver}^ distinguished young man. "Could you make a statue in bronze?" he said to him, examining the little group. After admiring it with the air of a connoisseur he passed it to his wife, who knew nothing of art. " Is n't it beautiful, mamma?" whispered Hortense. " A statue ! Monsieur le baron, that is not so diffi- cult as the composition of a clock like this," replied the artist to the baron's question, pointing to a model in wax of the Twelve Hours eluding the grasp of the Loves, which the dealer had taken the precaution to bring with him, and was now displaying on the side- board in the dining-room. " Leave this model with me ! " said the baron, amazed at the beauty of the work. " I wish to show it to the ministers of the Interior and of Commerce." " Who is this 3'oung man who seems to interest you so much ? " asked the baroness of her daughter. " An artist able to put such a model into execution could make a hundred thousand francs by it," said the dealer, assuming a knowing and mj'sterious air as soon as he saw a mutual understanding in the ej^es of the artist and the young lad3\ " He need sell only twent3- copies at eight thousand francs apiece, — for each cop3' will cost a thousand crowns to execute ; but if he num- bers the copies and destro3's the model, twent3'-four amateurs will easil3' be found anxious to be the onl3^ possessors of a work like that." "A hundred thousand francs ! " cried Steinbock, look- Cousin Bette. 117 ing at Hortense, the dealer, the baron, and the baroness, each in turn. "Yes, a hundred thousand francs!" repeated the man; "and if I were rich enough I'd buy it of you m3^self, for if the model is destro3'ed it will become a valuable propert}'. Some prince or other would give thirty or forty thousand francs for such a treasure to adorn his salon. Art has never yet produced a clock which satisfies both the middle classes and the connois- seurs, and this of Monsieur Steinbock is the solution of the difficulty." " These are for you, monsieur," said Hortense, giv- ing six napoleons to the dealer, who withdrew. " Do not mention this visit to an}' one," said the artist to the merchant, following him to the door. " If an}' one asks you where the group has gone, say to the Due d'Herouville, the famous amateur who lives in the rue de Varennes." The man nodded assent. "May I ask your name?" said the baron to the count, as he re-entered the room. " Comte de Steinbock." " Have you papers to prove it? " " Yes, Monsieur le baron, in the Russian and Ger- man languages ; but they are not legalized." " You think you are capable of making a statue nine feet high?" " Yes, monsieur." " Well, if the personages I am about to consult are satisfied with these specimens of your work, I can ob- tain for you an order to make the statue of Marechal Montcornet, which is about to be erected over his tomb in Pere-la-chaise. The minister of War and the old 118 Cousin Bette. officers of the Imperial Guard give a large sum towards it, so that we may control the choice of the artist." "Oh, monsieur, it would make my fortune ! " cried Steinbock, overwhelmed by so many aspects of hap- piness. " Then 3'on ma}' feel eas}'," answered the baron, gra- ciously ; " if the two ministers to whom I shall show your group and this wax model are pleased with 3'our work, your future is safe." Hortense squeezed her father's arm till it ached. " Bring me 3'our papers, and sa}" nothing of 3'our hopes to any one — not even to our old cousin Bette." " Lisbeth ! " exclaimed Madame Hulot, suddenh' com- prehending the beginning and end of the matter, though not its intermediate histor}'. " I could prove to 3'ou my capacit3^ b3" making a bust of Madame la baronne," said Wenceslas. Struck with Madame Hulot's great beaut3', the artist had been comparing mother and daughter. "Well, monsieur, life will soon open brightly for 3'ou,^' said the baron, quite captivated with the elegant and distinguished air of the 3'oung count. "You will find out that genius cannot long remain hidden in Paris, where all labor gets its just reward." Hortense, blushing, presented the 3'oung man with a pretty Algerine purse containing sixt3' pieces of gold. The artist, touched in his pride of nobilit3', echoed the color of lier cheeks with a flush of mortification on his own which it was eas3^ to understand. "Perhaps it is the first money 3'ou have ever received for 3'Our works," said the baroness, kindly. " Yes, madame ; the first for m}' works of art, but Cousin Bette. 119 not the first for my labor. I have worked as a journey- man." " Well, let us hope that my daughter's money may bring you happiness," answered Madame Hulot. " Take it without scruple,'' said the baron, seeing that Wenceslas held the purse undecidedl}^ in his hand without putting it in his pocket. "We shall certainly recover the amount from some great lord, — a prince perhaps, — who will pa}' us more than we have given 3'ou for the possession of your beautiful masterpiece." " Ah, papa, I value it too much ever to part with it to an}' one, — even to one of the royal princes," ex- claimed Ilortense. " I will make mademoiselle another and prettier group." " But it would not be this one," she answered, softly. Then, as if ashamed of having said so much, she went into the garden. " I shall destro}' the model when I get home," said Steinbock. " Well, bring me your papers, and you shall soon hear from me if these works fulfil the expectations which I have formed of them, monsieur," said the baron. On this the artist felt obliged to take his leave. After bowing to Madame Hulot and Hortense, who returned from the garden expressh' to receive that bow, he went to walk in the Tuileries, not daring — in fact, not able — to return to his garret, where his tj'rant would as- sault him with questions and wrench his secret from his breast. As he walked along, the lover designed in fancy a dozen groups ; he felt within him the power of chisel- ling marble like Canova, who once in a like extremity 120 Oousiii Bette. came near perishing. Wenceslas was transfigured by Hortense, who became for him a visible and tangible Inspiration. " Now," said the baroness to her daughter, " tell me what all this means." " Well, m^" dear mamma, 3'ou have just seen cousin Bette's lover, who is, I hope, henceforth mine. But shut your eyes and pretend you don't see. There ! I, who meant to hide ever3'thing from j^ou, am just on the point of telling it all ! " " Good-b}^, my dears," said the baron, kissing his wife and daughter. " I think I '11 go and see the Nann}'- goat, and find out something about the young man." " Be prudent, papa," cautioned Hortense. " My daughter," cried the baroness, after listening to the young girl's poem, whose last strophe was the incident of the morning, " my dear little daughter, the worst deceiver upon this earth is, and ever will be, art- less innocence." True passions have an instinct. Put a dish of fruit before a gourmand, and he will choose the best unerr- ingly, without looking at it ; leave a well-bred 3'oung girl to select a husband, and if she is in a position to have the man she chooses, she is seldom mistaken. Na- ture is infallible. The action of nature in this respect is called love at first sight. In love, first sight is neither more nor less than second sight. The satisfaction of the baroness, though concealed by her maternal dignit}^ was equal to that of her daughter ; for, of the three ways of marrying Hortense pointed out by Crevel, the best, to her mind, seemed to have come about. In this event she saw an answer to her fervent pra^'ers. Cousin Bette. 121 Mademoiselle Fischer's galle3'-slave, compelled after a while to go home, had the happ}' thought of hiding his lover's jo}- beneath the legitimate joy of the artist rejoicing in his first success. "Victory! My group is sold to the Due d'Herou- ville ! " he cried, flinging the sixty gold pieces on the old maid's table. We may be sure he had hidden next his heart the purse in which Hortense gave them. " Well," said Lisbeth, " that 's fortunate ; for I was getting worn out with w^ork. You see, m}' dear child, mone}' comes in so slowly from the business 3'ou in- sisted on choosing, — this is the first time you have earned a penny in all the five years you 've plodded at it ! This sum is barely enough to pay me back what you have cost me since you gave me that note of your§ in exchange for all my savings. But never mind/' she added, counting the gold, " this monej- will all be spent on you. It will make us comfortable for a year ; and meantime you will be able to pay me oflT and get a good sum for 3'ourself, if you keep on at this rate." Seeing that the deception was successful, Wences- las went on to tell Bette various tales about the Due d'Herouville. " I shall make 3'ou wear black, — that 's the fashion, — and get you a new supply of Unen ; for 3'ou must dress better if 3'ou go among such people," answered Bette. "And you need better rooms, — larger and more suitable than this horrible garret. I '11 furnish them properly. How gay you are ! " she added, exam- ininoj Wenceslas. " Whv, vou are no longer the same man \ " 122 Cousin Bette. *' They told me my group was a masterpiece." "So much the better; now make others," said the hard, practical spinster, incapable of understanding the happiness of his triumph or his joy in the creation of beauty. " Don't think about what is already sold, but make something else fit to sell. You spent two hun- dred francs in monej^, not counting your time and labor, on that horrid Samson, and the clock will cost more than two thousand to execute. If 3'ou take my advice, 3''0u '11 finish off those two little boys crowning the lit- tle girl with harebells, — that will please the Parisians. Meantime I '11 go round to Monsieur Graff, the tailor, on my way to Monsieur Crevel's. Go up to 3'our own room, and he will send and measure you." The next day the baron, by this time in love with Madame Marneffe, paid a visit to his cousin, who was a good deal surprised on finding him at the door when she opened it, as he had never before appeared in those regions. She at once thought, "Can Hortense be en- vious of m}' lover?" Crevel had told her, the evening before, of the rupture of the proposed marriage. " Wh}', cousin, 3'ou here? This is the first time in 3^our life that 3'ou have come to see me, and I am sure it is not for the sake of my pretty eyes ! " " Pretty ! that is true ! " replied the baron. " They are the handsomest e3'es I ever saw ! " " What has brought you? I am ashamed to receive you in such a hovel." The first of the two rooms which Bette occupied served as a salon, dining-room, kitchen, and work- room. The furniture was that of well-to-do working- folks : chairs of walnut wood with straw bottoms ; a Cousin Bette, 123 small dining-table, also of walnut ; a work-table ; col- ored engravings in black wooden frames ; little muslin curtains at the window, and a large walnut wardrobe. The tiled floor was well polished ; ever3'thing in the room shone with cleanliness, without a grain of dust, and yet it was cold and cheerless, — a true picture after Terburg, with nothing lacking, not even the gray tints reproduced by a wall-paper once blue and now faded to the color of flax. As to the bedroom, no one had ever penetrated thither. The baron took in everything at a glance, saw the sign-manual of commonness everj'where, from the stove of cast-iron down to the household utensils, and his stomach actuall}^ turned as he said to himself, "This is virtue ! " " Why am I here?" he said aloud. " You are too clever a girl not to end by guessing wh}^ so I had better tell you at once," he cried, sitting down b}- the window and pushing back a corner of the muslin curtain. "There's a very pretty little woman in this house." " Madame Marneffe. Oh, now I understand ! " she said; "but how about Josepha?" "Alas, cousin, there's no longer a Josepha. She has turned me off like a footman." "And 3'ou propose to — " said his cousin, looking at him with the dignit}- of a prude oflTended ten minutes too soon. "As Madame Marneffe is a very well-bred woman, and the wife of a government clerk, it won't compro- mise 3'ou to receive her here," said the baron. " I want you to be neighborly. Oh ! you will like it. She will 124 Cousin Bette. be veiy polite to the cousin of a director of the War department." Just then the rustle of a dress was heard on the stair- case, and the tread of a little boot. The sound ceased at the landing. After knocking twice at the door, Madame MarnefTe appeared. " Forgive me this irruption, mademoiselle," she said ; "but I did not find j'ou yesterda}^, when I came to pa}' you a little visit. We are neighbors ; and if I had known you were cousin to a councillor of state, I should have asked j^ou long ago to employ 3'our influence with him in our behalf. I have just seen Monsieur le direc- teur enter your apartment, and I have taken the lib- erty to call ; for m}' husband, Monsieur le baron," she added, turning to Hulot. " has told me that a report upon the emplo3'es in the department is to be sent in to-morrow." She seemed to be agitated and to catch her breath. It is ti'ue that she had really run up the stairs. " You need not offer me a petition, fair lady," replied the baron. " It is I who ask the favor of visiting 3'ou." " Certainly, if mademoiselle will permit, pray come," said Madame Marneffe. "Go, cousin ; I will rejoin you," said Bette, discreetl}'. The wily Parisian woman had counted so surely on this visit and on the intentions of the baron that she had not or\\y made a toilet appropriate to such an inter- view, but she had also decorated her apartment. Flow- ers, bought on credit, filled the room. Marneffe himself had helped his wife to clean the furniture and polish up the various little knick-knacks, — cleansing, brushing, and dusting everything. Valerie wished to appear in a Cousin Bette. 125 bower of freshness which should please Monsieur le clirecteur, and please sufficiently to enable her to be stern, and hold the sugar-plum aloft as with a child, — in short, to emplo}' the resources of modern tactics. She judged Hulot rightl3^ Let a Parisian woman once degrade herself, and she can overturn a ministry. This hero of the empire, filled with the notions of the empire, knew little of the ways of modern love, with its new-fangled scruples, and the various sophistries in- vented since 1830, by w^hich " poor feeble woman" has come to look upon herself as the victim of her lover's wishes, as the sister of charity who binds his wound, as an ano-el of devotion and self-sacrifice. This new art of love expends a vast quantit}^ of pious words on the devil's work. Passion is a martyr ; its votaries aspire to the ideal, to the infinite, and each side seeks to become better and purer through love. All these fine phrases are a pretext to put more ardor into love's prac- tice, more fury into its catastrophes. Such hypocris}' — the special symptom of our time — has gangrened gal- lantr}^ The man and the woman consider themselves angels, and act like devils if the}' can. Love in Hulot's palmy da^'s had no time to analyze itself between two campaigns, and in 1809 it rushed to victor}- like the em- pire itself After the Restoration, the handsome baron, returning to the conquest of women onl}', had in the first instance consoled a few of his former loves, now eclipsed hke the extinguished stars of the political fir- mament, and after that, growing an old man, he al- lowed himself to be captured by the Jenny Cadines and Josephas. Madame Marneffe had pointed her guns with refer- 126 Cousin Bette. ence to the director's antecedents, which her husband told her at full length, having obtained his information at the war office. The corned}' of modern sentiment might, Valerie thought, liave the charm of novelt}^ for such a man ; and the trial that she made of it on this occasion answered, let us here sa}^, to her expectations. Coim7i Bette. 127 CHAPTER X. SOCIAL COMPACT BETWEEN EASY VIRTUE AND JEALOUS CELIBACY — SIGNED, BUT NOT RECORDED. Thanks to her sentimental and romantic manoeuvres, Valerie, without committing herself in any wa}', ob- tained the appointment as sub-director and the cross of the Legion of honor for her husband. This little triumph was not attained without cer- tain dinners at the Rocher de Cancale, theatre parties, and a variety of trifling gifts, such as shawls, scarfs, dresses, and jewelry. The apartment in the rue du Doyenne did not please the lady, and. the baron con- spired to furnish another magnificently in a charming modern house in the rue Vanneau. Monsieur Marneffe obtained leave of absence for two weeks, to be taken within a month, for the purpose of attending to his private affairs in the country, together with a gift of money, with which he privately intended to travel in Switzerland and stud3^ the fair sex. Though Baron Hulot was much taken up with his new charmer, he did not neglect his prospective son-in- law. The minister of commerce, Comte Popinot, loved art. Hulot induced him to give two thousand francs for a copy of the Samson group, on condition that the the cast should be destroyed and that no copies but 128 Cousin Bette. his own and Mademoiselle Hulot's should exist. The group excited the admiration of a prince of the blood, who was then show^n the model of the clock, and or- dered it ; but as he wished only one copy to be made, he was willing to pay thirt}^ thousand francs. Artists were consulted, among them Stidmann, and they all declared that the author of such w^orks was competent to make a statue. Thereupon the Marechal Prince of Wissembourg, minister of war, and chairman of the committee having in hand the erection of the statue to Marechal Montcornet, held a consultation with his col- leagues, which resulted in an order for its execution being given to Steinbock. Comte Eugene de Kastignac, then under-secretary of state, wanting a specimen of an artist whose fame increased amid the plaudits of his rivals, obtained from Steinbock the charming group of two little boys crowning a little girl, and promised him a studio at the marble works of the government, situ- ated, as we all know, at the Gros-Caillou. In short, Wenceslas attained success, but success such as it is in Paris, — that is, frenzied, overwhelming, likel}' to crush the man whose loins and shoulders are not powerful enough to bear it, whicli, by the wa}^ often happens. The newspapers and magazines discussed Wenceslas Steinbock, although no rumor of these arti- cles ever reached either Bette or himself. Everj^ day, as soon as Mademoiselle Fischer departed for her din- ner, Wenceslas went to the Hulots', where he spent two or three hours, except on the day when the old maid dined there. This state of things lasted some little time. The baron satisfied as to Steinbock's artistic merit Cousin Bette. 129 and social position, the baroness pleased with his nature and principles; Hortense, proud of her sanctioned love and the fame of her lover, now spoke openly of the marriage. The family happiness was at its height when a piece of indiscretion on the part of Madame Marneffe imperilled everything. Lisbeth, whom the baron endeavored to all}^ with Madame Marneffe, so as to keep a private eye upon the household, had already dined with Valerie, who, on her side, wanted an ear in the Hulot family, and there- fore made much of the old maid. Valerie invited Bette to a house-warming in the new apartment whenever the time came to install herself The spinster, delighted to find another house where she could get a dinner, and captivated with Madame Marneffe, was very affection- ate to her new friend. Of all those among whom she revolved no one had done as much for her. Indeed, Madame Marneffe, full of attentions to Mademoiselle Fischer, held, so to speak, the same position towards her which she herself held towards the baroness. Rivet, Crevel, and others with whom she dined. The Mar- neffes had excited the commiseration of cousin Bette by letting her see the absolute wretchedness of their home, heightening it with a tale of moving incidents : ungrateful friends ; illness ; a mother (Madame Fortin) from whom the}' concealed their poverty, allowing her to die under the belief that she was still wealthy, thanks to almost superhuman sacrifices and concealments on their part, etc. " Poor people ! " she said to her cousin Hulot ; " you are quite right to take an interest in them. They de- serve it for their courage and their goodness. But I 130 Cousin Bette. don't see how the}- can live on the salary of even a sub- director, because the}^ have been forced to go into debt since Marechal Montcornet died. What an outrage in the government, to expect an emplo3'e of the war office to live in Paris, with a wife and children, on two thou- sand four hundred francs a 3'ear ! " A vounoj woman who showed Bette all the siorns of friendship — who told her all while consulting her, flat- tering her, asking her advice and seeming to follow it — became in a very short time dearer to the eccentric old maid than au}^ of her relations. On the other hand, the baron, admiring in Madame Marnefle a propriet}' of conduct, education, and man- ners not possessed by Jenn}^ Cadine or Josepha or any of their friends, fell in love with her in a month with an old man's passion, — that insensate passion which nevertheless seems outwardly reasonable. She was never guilt}' of reckless jesting, nor excess, nor mad extravagance, nor depravity, nor contempt of social decency, nor that complete independence of all restraint which in the actress and the singer had been his ruin. He escaped also the rapacit}' of such crea- tures, — a craving comparable only to the thirst of devils. Madame Marneffe, now become his friend and con- fidante, made manj' difficulties before she would accept his gifts. " You shall give us what you please in places and perquisites, — in short, whatever you can obtain for us from the government ; but do not seek to degrade a woman whom you say you love," said Valerie. " If you do, I shall no longer believe your professions ; and Cousin Bette. 131 I love to believe 3'ou," she added, with the glance of a Saint Theresa appealing to heaven. Each gift was now a fortress to carr}^, — a conscience to violate. The poor baron manoeuvred to be allowed to offer some trifle, — costl}', of course, — and congrat- ulated himself in having met with a species of virtue which seemed the realization of his dreams. In this primitive household the baron felt he was as much a god as he was at home. Monsieur Marneffe seemed a thousand leagues from suspecting that Jupiter medi- tated a descent in a golden shower upon his wife, and he made himself the lackey of his revered chief. Madame Marneffe, twentj'-three j^ears of age, a sim- ple, timid bourgeoise, a flower hidden in the rue du Doj^enne, must of course be ignorant of the depravity and licentious wickedness for which the baron now felt such unutterable disgust ; he had never before known the charms of reluctant virtue which the timid Valerie now made him enjoj", in the words of the old song, " to the end of the stream." Matters standing thus between Hector and Valerie, the reader will not be sui'prised to learn that the latter soon heard from her adorer of the approaching mar- riage of his daughter to the great artist Steinbock. Be- tween a lover who has gained no rights and a woman who makes difficulties there are many oral and moral struggles in which language often betra3's the inward thought, just as a foil in a fencing lesson has all the eager activit}" of the sword. Wise men should recollect and imitate at such times Monsieur de Turenne. The baron let fall — in repl}' to a tender remark of Valerie, who had more than once exclaimed, "I cannot conceive 132 Qousin Bette. how a woman can give herself to a man who is not wholl}^ hers" — that the approaching marriage of his daughter would give him more liberty' of action. He swore that love was over between Madame Hulot and himself for many years. t ,•' But they say she is so beautiful! " objected Madame Marneffe ; "I need proofs of what 3'ou sa}'." "You shall have them," cried the baron, delighted that Valerie seemed willing to compromise herself. " But how? You must never abandon me," said the siren. Hector was then obliged to reveal his plans about the house in the rue Vanneau to prove to his Valerie that he meant to give her that half of life which be- longs to a legitimate wife, reckoning the existence of civilized man to be equalh^ divided into da}^ and night. He spoke of separating decently' from his wife, as soon as their daughter was married, h\ the simple expedient of leaving her; the baroness would pass her time with Hortense and the 3'ounger Hulots. He was sure, he said, of his wife's obedience, — " and then, m}' angel, my life, my true home will be in the rue Vanneau." "How coolly you dispose of me!" said Madame Marneffe; "and how about my husband?" "That vagabond?" "Ah, yes, — compared with 3'Ou ! " she answered, smiling. Madame Marneffe was desperately eager to see 3'oung Steinbock after hearing the baron's account of him ; per- haps she desired to get an art treasure out of him while the}' were still under the same roof. Her curiosity so displeased the baron, however, that she was forced to Cousin Bette. 133 swear she would never look at him ; and 3'et, although she received a pretty little tea-set in old Sevres as a reward for this sacrifice, she kept the wish at the bot- tom of her heart as if written in a note-book. So one day when she had invited Bette to take coffee in her bedroom she started the old maid on the subjectfiof her lover, hoping to discover a way of seeing him with- out risk. "Dearest," she said, — for "dear" and "dearest" were the terms by which they mutualh' addressed each other, — " why have 3'ou never presented 3'our lover to me? Don't you know that he is now celebrated? " "Celebrated! he?" " Why, people talk of nothing else ! " " Nonsense ! " cried Lisbeth. " He is going to make a statue of my father, and I could be very helpful about it ; for Madame Montcornet cannot lend him, as I can, a miniature b}' Sain, an ad- mirable portrait taken in 1809, before the campaign of Wagram, and given to my poor mother, — the young and handsome Montcornet, in short." Sain and Augustin held the sceptre of miniature paint- ing under the empire. " Do you mean to say, dear, that he is to make a statue?" demanded Lisbeth. " Nine feet high, ordered b}' the ministr}' of war. Bless me ! where do 3-ou keep 3-ourself that 3'ou don't know that? Wh3', the government is going to give the Comte de Steinbock an atelier and a lodging at the marble-works at the Gros-Caillou ; quite likel3' your Pole ma3^ be made director of them, — a place worth two thousand francs a vear is not to be sneezed at." 134 Cousin Bette, " How do 3'0ii happen to know all that when I know nothing?" said Lisbeth at last, recovering from her amazement. " My dear little cousin Bette," said Madame Mar- neffe, affection a teh^, " are 3'ou capable of devoted friend- slRp, under all trials? Shall we be like sisters? Will 3'ou swear to have no secrets from me if I have none from 3'Ou? — to be m}' sp}', just as I '11 be yours ? Above all, will 3'ou promise that you will never sell me to m3' husband nor to Monsieur Hulot, and that 3'OU will never reveal I told you that — " Madame Marneffe stopped short in her persuasive speech, for Bette actually frightened her. The face of the Lorraine peasant-woman was terrible. Her keen black e3'es were fixed, like those of tigers ; the whole countenance was such as we attribute to a p3'thoness. She clinched her teeth to keep them from chattering, and a horrible convulsion shook her limbs. One claw- like hand was thrust beneath her cap to clutch the hair and support her head, suddenl3' grown too heav3'. She was on fire. The smoke of the conflagration which raged within her seemed to issue from her wrinkles as though they' were crevices torn open b3' volcanic eruption. The sight was awful. "Well, wh3' do you stop?" she said, in a hollow voice. *'I will be to 3'ou all that I was to him. I would have given him my blood ! " " Then 3'ou love him ? " " As my son." " Ah I " said Madame Marnefle, with a sigh of relief, " if that is how you love him you will soon have the happiness of seeing him happy." Cousin Bette. 135 Lisbeth replied by a quick movement of her head, Hke that of one demented. " He marries 3'our little cousin next month." "Hortense?" cried the old maid, rising to her feet and striking her forehead. " Good heavens ! then 3'ou do love him ? that 3'oung man ! " exclaimed Madame MarnefFe. " Valerie, I am bound to 3'ou for life and death hence- forth," said Mademoiselle Fischer, "Yes, if 3'ou have attachments I will regard them as sacred ; your vices shall be virtues to me, for I need them, — 3'es, 3^our vices," she repeated. " Are 30U his mistress? *' cried Valerie. " No, I sought to be his mother." " Then I can 't understand it," returned Valerie. "If 3'OU are neither jilted nor deceived 3'Ou ought to be ver3' glad to have him make a fine marriage, — his career is made. However, in an3' case, the affair is all over with vou, 3'OU ma3' be sure of that. Your artist goes to Madame Hulot's every day as soon as 3'Ou start to dine out." " Adeline I " said Lisbeth to herself. " Oh, Adeline ! you shall pa3' dear for this. I will make you uglier than I ! " "^ "Win', you are as pale as death I " cried Valerie. " Something is the matter I Oh, how stupid I have been ! Of course the mother and daughter feared 3'OU would put obstacles in the wa3' of the marriage, and that is why the3' concealed it. But if 3'ou don't live with that young man, my dearest, the whole affair is as dark to me as the heart of my husband." " Oh, you don't know. 30U I " said Lisbeth, — -"you 136 Cousin Bette. can't know what this manoeuvre is to me ! it is mj' death- blow ! Ah, what stabs my soul has borne ! You do not know that from the moment I could first feel I have been sacrificed to Adeline. I was clothed like a scullion, and she as a lady. I dug the garden, I peeled the vegeta- bles, while her ten fingers never stirred unless to tie her ribbons. She married the baron and came here to shine at the Emperor's court, and I stayed in my village till 1809, waiting four years for a suitable husband. The Hulots brought m.e to Paris, but only to make a work- woman of me, and to find clerks, or captains no better than porters, to marry me. For twenty-six 3'ears I have had nothing but their leavings ; and now, when I pos- sessed, as thej' tell in the Scriptures, a single pet lamb of my own which was all m}' joy, the rich Hulots, with flocks and herds of their own, steal him from me, with never a word ! without a warning ! Adeline has filched jny happiness ! Adeline ! Adeline ! I '11 see you in the mud, down deeper than I ! Hortense, whom I loved, has tricked me ! The baron — no, it is not possible. Tell me again, some things ma}' be. true — " " Be calm, dearest." " Valerie, dear love, I will be calm," said. the strange creature, sitting down again. '^One thing can quiet me, — proof, give me proof." " Your cousin Hortense possesses the Samson group, and here is a lithograph of it published in a magazine ; she spent all her savings on it, and it is the baron who, in the interest of his future son-in-law, has brought Comte Steinbock into notice and obtained the order from the ministr}'." "Water! — water!" moaned Lisbcth, after casting Cousin Bette. 137 her e^'es on the Uthograph, at the foot of which wore the words " Group belonoing- to Mademoiselle Hulot d'Erv}'." "Water! m}- head is burning, I am going- mad!" Madame Marneffe brought the water, and Bette, tak- ing off her cap, pulled down her black hair and put her head in the basin which her new friend held for her. She bathed her forehead again and again, and slowly the inflammation subsided. After this immersion her self-command returned. *' Don't say a word of all this," she said to Madame Marneffe, wiping her hair. " See ! I am quite calm, I can forget it all and think of something else." " She will be in a lunatic asylum to-morrow, that's certain," thought Valerie, watching her. " Nothing can be done," resumed Lisbeth. "You see, my angel, I must be silent and bow nw head and march to my grave as the waters flow to the sea. What could such as I do ? I would gladh' grind tliem to powdei", — Adeline, her daughter, the baron ; but what can a poor relation do against a rich famil3'? It is the old story of the earthen pot against the iron pot." "Yes, 3'ou are right," answered Valerie; "the onl}' thing to be done is to rake as much ha}' as 3'OU can into your own manger. That's life as it is in Paris." "And I shall be dead before long," cried Lisbeth, " if I lose the child that I was a mother to, and with whom I expected to spend m^- life — " Tears were in her eyes and she stopped short. This emotion in a woman of fire and brimstone made Madame Marneffe shudder. '•Well, I have gained yoii I " said Lisbeth, taking 138 Cousin Bette. Valerie's hand; "it is a great comfort in the midst of my sorrow. We will love each other. Why need we part? I should never stand in your way, for no one will ever love me — me ! The men who offered to marry me onl}' wanted m}' cousin's influence. To be conscious of the vigor to do great things, to scale the walls of para- dise, and to have to spend it in a struggle for bread and water and rags and a garret ! — ah, it is martyr- dom ! it has withered me ! " She paused abruptly and darted a black look into the depths of Madame Marneffe's blue eyes, which made that pretty creature feel as if a steel blade had gone through her bosom. "What's the good of talking?" said Bette, as if blaming herself. "Ah! I never said so much as this before to any one. — 111 deeds come home to roost," she added after a pause. " Yes, you are right; let's sharpen our teeth, and rake all the hay we can into the manger." "That's wise," said Madame Marneffe, who was frightened by the scene, and no longer remembered that she had made the remark. "I am sure it is, my dear. Life is short, and we must get the most we can out of it, and use others to our own advantage. I have come to that, young as I am. I was brought np a spoiled child ; m}^ father married for ambition, and threw me olf after making me his idol and bring- ing me up as if I were the daughter of a queen ! Poor mamma, who fed me on dreams, died of grief when 1 married a mere clerk with a salary of twelve hundred francs, — a cold, worn-out libertine, thirty-nine 3'ears old, as corrupt as the galleys, who saw in me just what you Cousin Bette. 139 sa}' others saw in 3'ou, a means of influence. Well, T have ended by thinking that infamous man the best of husbands. He prefers the vile creatures at the corners of the streets, and leaves me at liberty-. If he spends all his salar}' on himself he never asks me how I make Tny money — " She stopped short, like a woman who feels the rush of confidence is carr3ing her too far. Warned by the attention with which Lisbeth listened to her, she began to think she had better be more sure of her before trusting all secrets to her keeping. " See, my dearest, what confidence I put in you," she said. To which remark Bette responded by a sign that was completely reassuring. Oaths taken b}' the ej'es and b}* a motion of the head are sometimes more solemn and binding than those sworn In the courts. 140 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XI. TRANSFORMATION OF COUSIN BETTE. "I HAVE all the externals of virtue," said Madame Marneffe, laying her hand in that of Lisbeth, as if to accept her pledge. " I am a married woman and m}' own mistress to such a degree that if Marneffe has a fancy to speak to me in the morning and finds m}- door locked he goes awa}" without a word. He loves his child about as much as I love those marble urchins playing at the feet of the Rivers in the Tuileries. If I don't come home to dinner he dines with my maid, — for the maid is devoted to him, — and after dinner he goes out and never comes in till the middle of the night. Unfortunatebr, for the last 3'ear I have not had a maid, which means in plain language that I am a widow. I have never had but one love, one happiness. He was a rich Brazilian, who went awa}' a jear ago, — it was a great error. He returned to Brazil, intending to sell his propert}' and come back to live in France. If he ever returns, what will he find me ! Bah ! it's his fault — not mine. Why did he sta}' away so long ? Perhaps he was shipwrecked, like my virtue." "Adieu, dearest," said Lisbeth, abruptly; " we will never part. I love 3'ou and value you ; I am 3'ours. Tlio baron teases me to go and live in 3-our new house, Cousin Bette. 141 rue Yannean. I did not wish to, because I saw the self- interested motive of that new benefit." "Ah! you were to watch me! Yes, I know that," said Madame Marneffe. " Of course ; that was the motive of his generosit\'," replied Lisbeth. " Half the benefits that are bestowed in Paris are speculations, just as half the ungrateful acts are deeds of vengeance. People treat poor rela- tions as the}- do rats when they give them a scrap of lard. I shall accept the baron's offer, for this house is now intolerable to me. Ha, ha ! 3^ou and I have sense enough to hold our tongues about all that might injure us, and sa}' whatever it is best to sa}' ; therefore, let our compact be — friendship, and no indiscretion." "So be it!" cried Madame Marneffe joyful!}', de- lighted to obtain a respectable intimate, a confidante, a species of virtuous aunt. "Do 3'ou know that the baron is doing great things in the rue Vanneau ? " " I believe you ! " said Lisbeth. "He has spent thirty thousand francs on it alread}^ I don't know where he got them, for Josepha, that Jewish singer, bled him at ever}' pore. Oh ! you have fallen on your feet ! " she added. " The baron would steal for a woman who holds his heart in such satiny white hands as yours." " Well," returned Madame Marneffe, with the lib- erality of such women, which really comes of indiffer- ence, "take what you like, dearest, out of this room to fit up your new lodging, — that bureau, that ward- robe with the mirror, the carpet, the hangings, — any- thing you like." Bette's eyes dilated with joy ; she dared not believe in such a sift. 142 Cousin Bette, "You do more for me b}^ one act than all m}' rich relations in thirt}' j'ears," she cried. " The}' never even asked if I had an}' furniture. When the baron paid me his first visit, a few weeks ago, he threw the glance of a rich man at my poverty. Well, thank you, dear- est. I will repay 3'ou some day ; 3'ou shall know how, later." Valerie accompanied Bette to the head of the stairs, where the two women kissed each other. " She smells poor," thought the prett}* woman when alone. " T sha'n't kiss her often. But it is well to be cautious, and keep on good terms with her ; she can be verj' useful to me, and even help to make my for- tune." Like a true Parisian, Madame Marneffe abhorred trouble. She had the indolence of a cat, which never runs or jumps unless with an object. To her mind life ought to be all pleasure, but pleasure without trouble. She loved flowers, provided they were brought to her. She had no idea of going to the theatre without a box to herself and a carriage to take her there. These ex- travagant tastes came from her mother, who was kept b}' General Montcornet, during his visits to Paris, in the utmost luxury, and who for twent}' years had seen the world at her feet, until — naturall}' a spendthrift — she had run through her share of a luxury which, after the fall of Napoleon, became merel}' traditional. The great men of the empire equalled in extravagance the great lords of former times. Under the Restoration, the nobilit}', remembering how the}^ had been robbed and ill-used, became, with one or two exceptions, eco- nomical, judicious, and thrift}-, — in fact, bourgeois, and Couain Beite. 143 no longer magnificent. Since then, the events of 1830 only consummated tliose of 1793. In future, France may have great names, but she will never again have great families, unless certain political changes now im- possible to conceive should arise. All things at the present day bear the stamp of personality. The wealth of the wisest is in the form of annuities. Famil}' in its past meaning exists no longer. The cruel grasp of povert}' which gripped Valerie on the da}^ when, as Marneffe said, she "snared" Hulot, was the cause which led that young woman to make her beaut}" the means of fortune. For some time past she had felt the need of a devoted friend to take the place of her mother, — one in whom she could confide much that must be hidden from a waiting-maid, and who could act, think, go and come at her behest, — a famil- iar, in short, who would agree to take an unequal share in their mutual life. She had guessed quite as soon as Lisbeth the reasons of the baron's wish to create an in- timacy between them. Guided by the unerring clever- ness of the Parisian woman, who spends hours stretched on a sofa turning the lantern of her observation into the dark corners of the minds, the feelings, and the in- trigues about her, she had conceived the idea of making herself the accomplice of the spy who was to be placed over her. In all probability her fatal indiscretion in the matter of Hortense and Wenceslas was premeditated ; she had fathomed the true character of the woman's in- tense nature mastered by an empty passion, and wished to attach it to herself. The conversation was like the stone which a traveller casts into a gulf to measure its depth ; and Madame Marnetfe was frightened when 144 Cousin Bette, she found an lago and a Richard III. combined in this strange creature, outwardly so powerless, so humble, and so little to be feared. For a moment Bette had become her natural self; for a moment the savage Corsican nature, bursting the slender bonds that restrained it, recovered its threat- ening attitude, like a tree escaping from the hands that drag it down as the}' gather its ripe fruit. The fulness, perfection, and rapidity of conception in virgin natures must strike an observer of social life with admiration. Virginit}', like all other anomalies, has special resources and an all-pervading grandeur. Life, when its forces are economized, takes on a qual- ity of resistance and of incalculable endurance in the virgin nature. The brain is enriched in its entirety' by the reserve force of its faculties. When chaste per- sons need to use their bodies or their souls, whether they are called upon for thought or action, the}^ are conscious of a spring in their muscles, a knowledge in- fused into their intellects, a demoniacal power, — the black magic of Will. From this point of view the Virgin Mary, if we con- sider her for a moment as a s3'mbol only, eclipses b}' her grandeur all the other, Hindoo, Egj-ptian, and Greek, tj'pes. Virginit}^ mother of great things, — magna parens rerum^ — holds the ke}' of higher worlds in her white fingers ; and this grand and lofty excep- tion is worth}' of the honor which the Church bestows upon her. For a moment, then, cousin Bette became the red Indian, whose dissimulation is impenetrable, whose pur- suit cannot be escaped, whose rapid judgments are Cous'm Bette. 145 based on the unerring perfection of his organs. She was Hatred and Vengeance personified, uncompromising and without quarter, as they are in Ital}', in Spain, and in the East. These two passions, instinct with love and friendship pushed to tlieir utmost expression, are known onl}- in tlie lands wliich the sun irradiates. Lisbeth, however, was a daughter of Lorraine, — in other words, born for intrigue and dissimulation. She did not play the latter part of her role out of her own head, as we shall see. Profoundly ignorant of the world about her, she supposed that jails were what children imagine them, and she confounded sol- itar}' confinement with ordinary imprisonment. When she left Madame Marneffe she went straight to Monsieur Rivet, and found him in his office. "Well, Monsieur Rivet," she said, after slipping the bolt of his door, " 3'ou were right. Poles — scoundrels! men without faith or decency ! " " Men who want to set Europe on fire," said the pacific Rivet; "who want to ruin commerce and mer- chants for the sake of a country' which the}' tell me is full of bogs and Jews, not to speak of Cossacks and serfs, — species of wild beasts falsel}' classed as human beings. Those Poles misunderstand the age. We are no longer barbarians. War, my dear lady, is a thing of the past ; it went out with the kings. Our period is the triumpli of commerce, of the industr}' and sagacity which created Holland. Yes," he continued, working himself up, "this is an epoch when the masses will obtain all by the legal development of their liberties, by the padfic working of constitutional institutions. That 's what these Poles ignore and I hope — But 10 IIQ Cousin Bette. what were you saying, my clear?" he added, intcrrnpt- ing himself as he saw by his workwoman's manner that the science of politics was not in her mind. " Here are those papers," returned Bette. " If I don't mean to lose my three thousand two hundred and ten francs, I must put that scoundrel in prison." " I told you so," said the oracle of the quartier Saint- Denis. The establishment of Rivet, successor of Pons Broth- ers, was still in the rue des Mauvaises-Paroles, in tlie old Langeais mansion, built by the illustrious family of that name in the days when the great lords gathered around the Louvre. '' And for that reason I have been blessing you as I came along." answered Lisbeth. " If he suspects nothing, you can put him under lock and key by four o'clock in the morning," said the judge, consulting his almanac as to the hour of sun- rise ; '' but not until the day after to-morrow," he added, " because you can't imprison a man v/ithout notifying him that a writ is to be issued for his arrest. " What a stupid law ! " said Bette. " Of course the debtor runs away." "'He has the right to," repUed the judge, smihng ; " and therefore the best way is — " "As for that, I'll take the notification to him my- self," said Bette, interrupting him, " and tell him I have been forced to borrow money, and that the lender in- sists on this formality. I know m}' man. He won't even unfold the paper ; he '11 light his pipe with it." *' Ha ! pretty good, pretty good, Mademoiselle Fischer ! Well, take it easy; the affair is as good as settled. But Cousin Bette. HI stop one moment ; it is n't enough to lock up a man. People don't indulge in that judicial luxury except to get back their mone^'. Who is to pay 3'ou?" '' Those who pay him." ''Ah, 3'es ; I forgot that the ministry of war has or- dered a monument for one of our clients. This house has furnished man}' a uniform to General Montcornet, — he blackened them so fast in cannon-smoke. Ah, what a brave fellow he was ! — and he paid rectaP A marshal of France may have saved his emperor and his country, but his highest praise from the lips of commerce will ever be that he " paid rectal " Well, then, Saturday, Monsieur Rivet, you can be read}' to take him. Bv the way, I am leaving the rue du Doyenne to live in the rue Vanneau." " You are right. I was always sorr}' to see 3'ou in that hole of a place, which, in spite of my repugnance to everything that looks like opposition, I make bold to sa}' disgraces — 3x8, disgraces the Louvre and the place du Carrousel. I worship Louis Philippe ; he is m3' idol, — the august and perfect representative of the class on which he has founded his d3'nast3' ; and I shall never forget what he did for gold lace by re-establishing the National Guard." '' When I hear you talk like that," said Lisbeth, " I wonder they have never made you a deputy." " They fear my devotion to the dynasty," replied Rivet. " M3' political enemies are those of the king. Ah, what a noble nature ! what a fine famil3' ! l\\ short," he added, continuing his declamation, "he is m3^ ideal of manners and customs, econom3', morals, everything! But the completion of the Louvre is one 148 Cousin Bette. of the conditions on which we gave him his crown ; and I do admit that the civil hst, to which wc put no fixed limit, has left the heart of Paris in a most distressing condition. It is precisely because I am myself a jtiste milieu that I desire to see the middle of Paris in a bet- ter state. That quarter makes me shudder. You might be murdered there any da}'. — Well, so your Monsieur Crevel is appointed major of his legion? I hope we shall have the furnishing of his epaulets." " I dine there to-da3% and I will send him to j'ou." Lisbeth believed she could still hold the exile within her clutches b}' cutting off his communications with the outer world. If he no longer produced works of art he would be forgotten, like a man buried in a cave where she alone could go and see him. Thus thinking, she enjoyed two days' happiness in the hope and expecta- tion of dealing the baroness and Hortense a fatal blow. To reach the liouse of Monsieur Crevel, which was in the rue des Saussaj'es, she went by way of the pont du Carrousel, the quai Voltaire, the quai dOrsay, the rue Bellechasse, the rue de lUniversite, the pont de la Concorde, and the avenue Marigny. This illogical route was dictated b}' the logic of the passions, always extremely antagonistic to legs. While Bette was going along the quays she walked slowlj^ with her ej'es fixed on the right bank of the Seine. Her reasonings were justified. She had left W^enceslas dressing himself, and slie was sure that as soon as he felt he was safe from observation he would take the shortest way to the Hulots'. In fact, just as she was lingering along h\ the })arapet of the quai Voltaire, gazing eagerly across the river, she spied the artist as he came through the Cousin Bette, 149 gatewa}' of the Tuileries to cross by the pout Royal. There she came up with the faithless one, and followed him unseen — for lovers seldom look back — to Madame Hulot's house, where she saw him enter like one in the habit of doing so. This final proof, confirming as it did Madame Mar- neflje's revelations, drove Lisbeth beside herself. She reached Crevel's house in the state of mental exas- peration which leads to murder, and found the newl}' appointed major waiting for her and for his children, Monsieur and Madame Hulot junior. Celestin Crevel is so artless and true a representative of the Parisian parvenu that it is scarcely proper to enter the house of this fortunate successor of Cesar Birotteau without an introduction. Celestin Crevel is indeed a world in himself, and as such he deserves, more than Rivet, the honor of having his portrait painted, not to speak of his importance in this domes- tic drama. 150 Cousin Bette, CHAPTER XII. THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF MONSIEUR CREVEL. Have yon ever remarked how in childhood, or at the beginning of social life, we create for ourselves, often unknowingl}', a model to be followed? The clerk of a bank when he enters his master's salon dreams of possessing one like it. If he makes his fortune twenty 3'ears later, it is not the luxury of the time that he will set up in his home, but the old-fashioned luxury that formerl}' fascinated him. No one has au}^ conception of the absurdities due to this retrospective envy, just as we are ignorant of the follies due to secret rivalries, which drive men to imitate a type they make for them- selves and to spend their vitalitj' in becoming shadows. Crevel was assistant-mayor because his predecessor had been one ; he was major of his legion because he envied Birotteau's epaulets. Struck b}' the marvellous improve- ments effected by the architect Grindot at the moment wdien the former master of the "Queen of Roses" was on the top of the wheel, Crevel "didn't count his pen- nies," as he said, w^hen it was a question of furnishing his apartment. He had gone, e^'es shut and purse open, to Grindot, an architect who b}' that time was absolutely forgotten. It is impossible to know how long extinct glory survives through such belated admirations. Grindot produced for the thousandth time his white and gold salon hung with red damask. His favorite Cousin Bette. 1 51 ebonized woods, carved, as the carvings of his day were done, without delicac}', were now, since the exposition of the products of industr}', reduced to be the pride of provincial households. The candelabras, sconces, fen- ders, chandeUers, clocks, etc., belonged to a tasteless and barren period. A round table, stationed in the middle of the salon, had a marble top inlaid with scraps of all the Italian and antique marbles to be had in Rome, where they manufacture these minera- logical slabs (not unlike the pattern sheets of tailors), which were the admiration of the bourgeoisie of Crevel's circle. Portraits of the late Madame Crevel, Crevel himself, his daughter and son in-law, b}' Pierre Gras- sou, a painter of renown among Crevel's class of people (and to whom the ex-perfumer owed the absurdity of his Byronic attitude), decorated the walls where they were Imng in pairs. Their frames, which cost a thousand francs each, were in keeping with the rest of the costly decorations in the cafe style, which would have made a true artist wince. Wealth lias never lost the slightest chance to prove its stupidity. We might have had ten Venices in Paris by this time if retired merchants had possessed that in- stinct for great things which distinguislies the Italians. It is onl}' lately that a Milanese shop-keeper bequeathed a hundred thousand francs to the Duomo for the regild- ing of the colossal figure of the Virgin which surmounts the cupola. Canova, in his will, orders his brother to build a church costing four millions, and his brother adds something of his own. A Parisian bourgeois (and the3' all, like Rivet, have a love for their cit}') would never think of supplying the bells which have alwa3'S 152 Cousin Bette. been lacking to the towers of Notre-Darae. Consider the large sums received b}^ the government from estates to which there are no heirs. Our rulers might com- plete the embellishment of Paris with the money's spent during the last fifteen years, b}' men like Crevel, on such nonsense as stucco mouldings, gilt potter}', and sham statues. At the further end of the salon was a ver}' magnifi- cent stud}^ furnished with tables and cabinets done in imitation of Boule. The bedroom, hung with chintz, also opened into the salon. Mahogan}' in all its glory reigned in the dining- room, where paintings of Swiss views, richly framed, adorned the panels of the wall. Old Crevel, who indulged a dream of travelling in Switzerland, liked to possess that land in pictures in preparation for the happy mo- ment when he should see it in realit3\ Crevel, assistant-ma^'or and captain of the National Guard, decorated with the Legion of honor, had, as we have seen, reproduced all the grandeurs of his unfor- tunate predecessor. Just where the one had fallen un- der the Restoration, this other, totall}^ insignificant, had risen, — not b}' an}" strange freak of fortune, but by force of circumstances. In revolutions, as in storms at sea, treasures go to the bottom, the flimsier and less val- uable matters float. Cesar Birotteau, royalist, in favor at court, and exciting env}', became an object of attack to the middle-class opposition ; whereas his successor, Crevel, was the embodiment of the same middle class triumphant. The ex-perfumer's apartment, renting for three thou- sand francs and fairl}' bursting with the splendid vulgar Cousin Bette. 15 Q things which mone}' buys, was on the first floor of an old mansion standing between court3'ard and garden. All within was kept in as perfect order as the coleoptera of an entomologist, for Crevel seldom lived there. This sumptuous abode was the legal domicile of the ambitious major. The service was performed b}' a cook and a valet only. Crevel hired two extra servants and had the dinner sent in by Chevet when he feasted his political friends whom he wanted to dazzle, or when- ever he entertained his family. His actual existence, formerly passed with Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, was now transferred, as we have seen, to the rue Cauchat. Every morning he retired merchant (all retired shop-keepers call them- selves retired merchants) spent two hours in the rue des Saussayes to look after his business, and gave the rest of his time to Zaire, greatl}' to Zaire's annoyance. Orosmane-Crevel had made a settled bargain with Mademoiselle Heloise ; she owed him five hundred francs' worth of happiness per month, without credit. Besides this, Crevel paid for his dinner and all ex- tras. This primary contract — he made her besides a number of presents — seemed economical to the ex- lover of the now celebrated Josepha. He remarked to his friends apropos of the arrangement, that it was bet- ter to hire a carriage at so much a month than to keep a stable of your own. Nevertheless, if we remember the speech of the porter of the rue Cauchat to Baron Hulot, we may believe that Crevel did not escape the costs of groom and coachman. Crevel had, as we have seen, turned his extreme love for his daughter to the profit of his vices. The 154 Cousin Bette. immorality of liis life was justified b}' the highest fam- ily reasons, and the ex-perfumer actually covered such an existence with a varnish of worth}' motives. He posed for a man of broad views, generous, without pettiness of ideas, a lord in small matters, — and all for the trifling sum of twelve or fifteen hundred francs a month. At the Bourse Crevel was held to be supe- rior to his epoch, and all the more because he was a bo7i viva7it. In all this Crevel felt he had gone ahead of his predecessor Birotteau b}' a hundred strides. "Well," he said sharph', as soon as he saw Bette, *'so you are going to marr}' Mademoiselle Hulot to a young count 3'ou have been bringing up for her under your petticoat?" " It seems to anno}' 3'ou/* answered Lisbeth, fixing her penetrating ej^es on Crevel. "What interest have 3'ou in opposing my cousin's marriage ? I am told you prevented her marrying the son of Monsieur Lebas." "You are a good girl, and very discreet," said Cre- vel. "Now do 3^ou suppose I will ever forgive old Hulot for the crime of depriving me of Josepha? and above all, for having made an honest girl, whom I meant to marry in mj' old age, a worthless hussy, a stage-player, an opera singer ? Never ! never ! " *• He 's a good fellow, though," said Bette. " Good-natured, — ver}' good-natured, — too good- natured," returned Crevel. " I don't wish him ill; but I mean to have my revenge, and I shall take it. That 's a fixed idea in m^' mind." "Is it on that account that you never come to see Madame Hulot now?" Cousin Bette. 155 *' Perhaps it is." "Ha! ha! were 3-011 paying court to m}' cousin?" said Lisbeth, smiling. ''I thought so." " She treated me like a dog, — worse than a dog, — like a lacke}', or, I might sa}', a political prisoner. But I shall succeed," he said, closing his fist and striking his brow with it. " Poor man! It will be rather hard if he finds his wife defrauding him, now that his mistress has packed him off." " Josepha ! " cried Crevel. " Has Josepha left him? deserted him? sent him about his business? Bravo, Josepha ! Ah, Josepha, you 've avenged me ! I '11 send you a pearl for each ear, my ex-darling ! But I don't know anything about all this, because, after see- ing 3-0U that day when Adeline sent for me, I went to stay with my friend Lebas at Corbeil, and I have only just returned. Heloise moved heaven and earth to get me into the countr}-. I knew the meaning of her tricks ; she wanted to have a house-warming in the rue Cau- chat with all those artists and vagabonds and literar}^ fellows, and without me. I 've been tricked ; but I '11 forgive it, for Heloise is so amusing. She 's an embr3'0 Dejazet. Is n't she funny ? Here 's a note I found here on m3' return : — Old Fellow, — I have set up my tent in the rue Cauchat, and friends have made it as good as new, — I took care of that. All 's well. Come when you like. Hagar awaits her Abraham. Heloise will tell me the news. She has got her Bohemia at her fingers' ends." 156 Cousin Bette. " But in}' cousin took Josepha's treachery very well," said Bette. '' Not possible? " exclaimed Crevel, stopping short in his walk, which resembled the swing of a pendulum. " Monsieur Hulot is no longer 3'oung," observed Bette, malicioush'. " I know him. We are all alike under certain circum- stances. Hulot can't do without an attachment. He is even capable of returning to his wife," muttered Cre- vel to himself ; ' ' she 'd be a novelt}^ to him ; and then — adieu to my vengeance. Mademoiselle Fischer, you could — ah, 3^ou are laughing! You suspect something! " " I am laughing at the ideas in 3'our mind," answered Lisbeth. "Yes, m^' cousin is still beautiful enough to Inspire a passion. I should love her m3'self if I were a man." " He who has drunk will drink!" cried Crevel, sen- tentious]3\ " You are not telHng me the whole truth. The baron has found a consolation." Lisbeth nodded her head in the affirmative. "Ah ! he 's lucky if he can replace Josepha in a da}'," continued Crevel, bitterly. "But I'm not surprised; he told me one night at supper that when he was 3'oung he always kept three mistresses, — the one he was thinking of leaving, the reigning deit}', and a third to whom he paid court with an eye to the future. Ah ! he's lucky to be a handsome man. Cousin Bette, I'd give — that is, I 'd gladly spend — fift}' thousand francs to get hold of that fine gentleman's mistress, and show him that an old fellow with a pot-belly and a bald head won't let his lady be whistled awa}^ from him with impunit}'." Cousifi Bette. 157 " M}' situ.ition," answered Bette, "obliges me to hear all and know nothing. You can talk to me without fear ; I never repeat a word of what people confide in me. Why do you want me to break that rule? Ko one would ever trust me again." "I know that," said Crevel ; "you are the pearl of old maids. But there are such things as exceptions. Tell me, doesn't the famil}^ give 3'ou an income?" " M}' pride," she said, " would not allow me to live at an}' one's expense." "Ah! if you would only help me to revenge my- self," continued the ex-perfumer, " I 'd put ten thou- sand francs into an annuit}' for you. Cousin, tell me who has taken Josepha's place, and you shall have enough to pay your rent, your little breakfast, and the good coffee you are so fond of ; 3'Ou shall buy pure Mocha, if 3-ou like, — hey? Ah! pure Mocha is so nice ! " " I don't care so much for the ten thonsand francs — though it would give me nearl}' five hundred francs a year — as I do for absolute secrecy," said Lisbeth. " Don't you see, m}^ dear Monsieur Crevel, the baron is very good to me? He is going to pay my rent." " Yes, and for how long, do 3'OU suppose? The idea of counting on that!" cried Crevel. "Where will he get the money?" " That I don't know. But he is spending at least thirty thousand francs in furnishing a house for the lady!" "A lady ! What, a woman in society? The scamp, what luck ! There 's no one can equal him for that ! " "A married woman, very well-bred," remarked Bette. 158 Cousin Bette. "Really?" cried Crevel, opening his 63-68 at the magic words "well-bred." "Yes," answered Bette; "full of talent, musical, twent^'-three years old, with a pretty, artless face, a dazzling skin, the teeth of a young pupp}', eyes like stars, a splendid brow, and feet — such little feet I never saw the like ! " " And her ears? " cried Crevel, sharply stimulated hy this catalogue of beauties. "Ears fit to model." "Little hands?" "I tell you in one word that she's a jewel of a woman ; virtuous, modest, full of delicacy — a fine na- ture, an angel, distinguished in every way. Her father was a marshal of France." " Marshal of France ! " shouted Crevel, giving a tre- mendous jump ; " Good God I damnation ! in the name of fortune ! Oh, the rascal! — Excuse me, cousin, I am going QV'd7.y. I'd give a hundred thousand francs, I do believe — " "But I tell you she is an honest woman, a virtuous woman ; the baron has managed matters very well." " He has n't a penu}'." " There's a husband he has advanced." "Advanced where?" cried Crevel, with a sharp laugh. "In his oflfice alread}^ ; and before long, if he is obliging, he will get the cross of the Legion of honor." "Government ought to take care whom the}^ deco- rate, and not waste the cross on everybody," said Cre- vel, with an air of political disgust. "What is there in that old cur, I should like to know? I think I'm as good as he," he continued, looking in a mirror and Cousin Bette. 150 assuming his tittitncle ; '' Heloise often tells me (at a moment when women do not lie) that I am — won- derful." "Oh!" said Bette, "women like stout men; the>^ are almost alwa3'S kind. Between you and the baron I should choose 3'ou. Monsieur Hulot is witt}', and he is a fine man with a good figure ; but you, 30U are solid ; and then — to tell you the honest truth — you seem to me the greater scamp of the two — " "It is surprising how all women, even the pious ones, like that kind of man the best," cried Crevel, catchino; Bette round the waist in his delisjht. " The difficult}' in this matter doesn't lie there," said Bette. " You can easil}' see that a woman with so man}' advantages would n't be unfaithful to her pro- tector for a trifle : it would cost you more than a hun- dred thousand francs, for the lady expects her husband to be at the head of a bureau in a couple of years. It was poverty that drove this poor little angel into the gulf. " Crevel walked up and down the salon excitedly. " Does he love the woman ? " he asked presently, when his desires, lashed by Lisbeth, had turned into a spe- cies of fury. " Judge for yourself," answered the old maid ; " I don't think he has obtained — that^'^ clicking her thumbnail against one of her enormous white teeth, " and yet he has given her ten thousand francs' worth of presents." " Oh ! what a joke it would be," cried Crevel, " if I had her first 1 " " Goodness ! I am very wrong to tell you these tales," said Lisbeth, with a show of remorse. 160 Cousin Bette. " No; I am resolved to humiliate your family. To- morrow I '11 buy 3'ou an annuity of six hundred francs in the Funds, but you must tell me all — the name and residence of the Dulcinea. I '11 own to 3'ou that I never had a well-bred woman, and the height of m\" ambition is to know one. The houris of Mohammed are nothing in comparison with what I suppose a woman of the world to be. In short, she is my ideal, my folly — so great that Madame Ilulot could never seem fift}' 3'ears old to me," he said, unaware of the keen intellect to which he was speaking. " Come, my dear Lisbeth, I am ready to sacrifice one hundred, two hundred thousand francs — Hush, here are ray children, I see them cross- ing the courtyard. I give 3'oa m}^ word that no one shall ever know what you tell me ; in fact, I don't want you to lose the baron's confidence, on the contrar}^ He must love the woman — that old grann}' ! " " He is crazy about her," replied Bette. " He did not know where to find fort}' thousand francs for his daugh- ter's dot, but he has alreadj^ unearthed them for this new passion." " And do 3'ou think she loves him?" asked Crevel. " What ! at his age? " returned Bette. " Oh ! what a goose I am ! " cried Crevel, " I, who let Heloise have an artist, just as Henry IV. allowed Belle- garde to Gabrielle ! Old age ! old age ! — Good even- ing, Celestine ; how are 3'ou, my darling, you and your little one? Ah, here he is! I declare, he is going to look like me. Good evening, Hulot ; are things going on well? I hear there's to be a marriage in the famil}' before long." Celestine and her husband made him a sign to be silent Cousin Bette. 161 before Bette, and the daughter answered boldly, " A marriage? whose?" Crevel at once assumed a si}' air as if to show that he repaired his indiscretion. '^Why, that of Hortense," he said; "though it is not quite settled. I have just been staying with Lebas, and there was some little talk of Mademoiselle Popinot for his son — Come, dinner is ready." 11 162 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XIII. LAST ATTEMPT OF CALIBAN OVER ARIEL. By seven o'clock Lisbeth was on her wa}' home in an omnibus, for she longed to see Wenceslas, who, she now knew, had duped her for the last three weeks, and for whom she was bringing as usual a bag full of fruit, selected by Crevel himself, whose affection for his cousin had suddenl\" redoubled. She ran up to the garret with a rapidit}' that took her breath awaj', and found the artist emplo3'ed in finishing the decoration of a casket which he intended to offer to his dear Hortense. The edge of the cover was twined with hortensias, and little Cupids were placing among the foliage. To defray the cost of materials, the poor lover had carved two tall candelabra for Florent and Chanor, resigning to those dealers all rights in the beautiful work. " You have been working too hard for the last few da3's, m\^ dear friend," said Lisbeth, wiping his damp brow and kissing it. "Such exertion is dangerous in the month of August. Your health will suffer. See, here are some peaches and plums I have brought j^ou from old Crevel's. Don't worry yourself about money. I have borrowed two thousand francs ; and unless some- thhig unforeseen happens, you can repay me when you sell your clock. But I have m}' doubts about the lender, for he has just sent me this stamped paper." Cousin Bette, 103 And she placed the warning of arrest Rivet had al- read}' sent her under the sketch of Marechal Montcornet. '' For wliom are 3'ou doing that loveh' thing?" she asked, taking up the branch of hortensias moulded in red wax, which Wenceslas had laid down while he ate the fruit. " For a jeweller." *' What jeweller?" " I don't know," said Wenceslas. " Stidmann asked me to twist the thing up for him ; he is ver}' much hurried." " These are hortensias," she said in a hollow voice. " Why have you never done anything in wax for me? Was it so impossible to make me a ring, a casket, — I don't care what, — a keepsake ! " she added, with a dreadful look at her victim, whose eyes, happily', were lowered. "Yet you say 3'ou love me." " Can 3'ou doubt it, mademoiselle?" "Oh, what an ardent 'mademoiselle'! Hear me I You have been my one thouglit ever since I found you dying here. When I saved your life 3'ou gave it to me. I have never reminded you of that engagement, but I made it binding on myself. I said , ' Since he has given himself to me, I swear to make him rich and liapp}'.' Well, I have succeeded in making 3'our fortune." " How?" cried the poor fellow, overcome with J03', and too guileless to suspect a trap. " I will tell you how," resumed Bette. Lisbeth could not den3' herself the savage pleasure of watching Wenceslas as he looked at her with filial affection into whicli his love for Elortense interjected a 164 Cousin Bette. certain ardor. Seeing, for the first time in her life, the fires of passion in the eyes of a man, she fancied she had Hghted them herself. " Monsieur Crevel offers ns a share of a hundred thousand francs in a joint-stock company, if you will marr}^ me," she said. " He has odd ideas, that old fellow. What do j^ou sa}-?" she added. The artist, pale as death, looked at his benefactress with a lifeless eye that revealed his thoughts. He was silent, and seemed stupefied. "No one ever told me so plainly that I am hid- eously ugly," she said, with a bitter laugh. " Mademoiselle," answered Steinbock, " my benefac- tress can never be ugl}' in my e} es ; I have the warm- est aff'ection for 3'ou, but I am only thirt}^ and — " " I am fortj'^-three," she interrupted. " M}'- cousin Adeline, who is forty-eight, still inspires desperate pas- sions ; but she is beautiful — beautiful ! " " Fifteen 3'ears' difference, mademoiselle! What sort of home coukl we make? For both our sakes, we ought, I think, to reflect. My gratitude is certain!}" equal to 5'our benefactions. Besides, I shall repa}- 3'our money in a few da^'s." " My money ! " she cried. " Oh, 3^ou treat me as if I were a heartless usurer." "Forgive me," said Wenceslas, "but 3'OU speak of it so often — In short, 3'Ou have created me ; do not destroy me." " You wish to leave me, — I see it plainh',*' she said. "What has given you this strength of ingratitude, — 3'ou who are made of wax 3'ourself ? Have I lost 3'our confidence, — I, 30ur guardian angel, — I, who have so Cousin Bette. 165 often passed whole nights in working for yon, — I, who have spent the savings of all my life for your benefit, who for years have shared my bread, the bread of a poor working- worn an, with you, and w ho gave yon everything, even courage ! — " " Mademoiselle, enough ! enough ! " cried Wenceslas, falhng on his knees and taking her hand. " Oh, say no more ! In three days I will tell 3'ou all. Suffer me to be happy," he said, kissing her hands. " I love, and I am loved." " AYell, then, be happy, m3' son," she said, raising him. Then she kissed his forehead and hair with the frenzy of a man condemned to death, as he parts with all on his last morning. '' Ah, you are the noblest and best of women ! You equal her I love ! " cried the poor artist. " I love you enough to tremble for 3'our future," she said, darkh\ "Judas hung himself. All ingratitude is punished. You leave me, and 3'ou will never again do any work of value. Listen to me : without marriage, — for I am an old maid, and I do not wish to stifle your 3'outh, your poetr}', as 3'ou call it, in arms that are as withered as the shoots of a grape-vine, — but, without marriage, could we not live together ? Reflect, — I have the soul of business in me. With ten 3'ears' toil I could amass a fortune, for my name is Thrift. Whereas, if 3'OU marr3' a 3'oung woman who costs mone3', 3^ou will spend all and onh' work to please her. Happiness gives nothing but memories. When I think of 3'Ou I sit wdth hanging arms for hours together. Ah, Wenceslas, stay with me ! There, there, I understand it all now ! Yes, you shall have mistresses, prett3' women like that little 166 Cousin Bette. Marneffe, who wants to see 3'ou, and who can give 3'ou pleasures you cannot have with me. You shall many when I have amassed enough to give 3'ou thirty thou- sand francs a year." * "You are an angel, mademoiselle, and I shall never forget this hour," answered Wenceslas, wiping his tears. " Ah, now you are all I ask, my dear," she said, looking at him as though intoxicated. Vanity is so all-powerful that Lisbeth believed she had triumphed. She had made a vast concession in offering Madame Marneffe. The strongest emotion of her life now took possession of her ; she felt love for the first time inundating her heart. To gain another such hour she would have sold herself to the devil. " I am engaged to be married," answered Steinbock, " and I love a woman against whom no other woman can prevail. But 3'ou are, and ever will be, the mother whom I have lost." The words sent an avalanche of snow into the flaming crater. Lisbeth sat down, and gazed with gloomy eyes at that vision of youth, that high-born beautj^ at the handsome brow, the fine hair, at all that roused within her the repressed instincts of a woman ; and little tears, which dried instantlj', forced themselves for a moment to her eyes. " I do not curse you," she said ; " 3'ou are but a babe. May God protect you ! " She went downstairs and locked herself up in her apartment. *' She loves me," said Wenceslas, — " poor woman ! How hotl}^ eloquent she was ! she is crazy." This last attempt of a hard and self-willed nature to Cousin Bette. 167 keep that other image of beauty and charm for its own had so much of violence about it that it can be hkened onl}' to the savage vigor of a drowning man making a last effort to reach the shore. On the next da^' but one, at half-past four o'clock in the morning, as Comte Steinbock was sleeping his deep- est sleep, some one knocked at the door of the garret. He opened it and saw two ill-dressed men, accompanied b}' a third whose coat proclaimed him a sheriff's officer. " You are Monsieur Wenceslas, Comte de Steinbock? " said the latter. "Yes." " My name is Grasset, monsieur, successor to Mon- sieur Louchard, sheriff's officer." " Well, what do you want of me? " " I arrest you, monsieur ; you must accompan}' us to Clich}'. Be so good as to dress yourself. We have en- deavored to spare your feelings, — I have not brought the municipal guard, and there is a carriage waiting below." " Yes, we have done it comfortably," said one of the bailiffs, " and we count on your generosit}'." Steinbock dressed, and was taken downstairs by the bailiffs, each holding an arm ; he w^as put into the coach, and the driver started without orders, like a man who knew where to go. In less than half an hour the poor stranger was secureh* locked up, without having made an nppeal, so great was his astonishment. At ten o'clock, he was called down to the office of the prison to see Lisbeth, who, all in tears, gave him some money, telling him to live well, and get a room large enough to work in. 168 Cousin Bette. "My dear," she said, "don't speak of your arrest to any one ; don't write it to a living soul ; it would ruin 3-our future. We must hide this disgrace. I shall soon get 3'ou released, — I am going now to collect the mone^' ; don't be anxious. Write me what I shall bring 3'ou for 3'our work. You shall be free soon or I shall die." "Twice I owe my life to you!" he cried; "for I should lose more than m}' life if I were thought a scoundrel." Lisbeth went away with a joj'ful heart ; she hoped to break off the marriage with Hortense b}' keeping the exile under lock and key, and declaring that he had returned to Russia, pardoned b}' the exertions of a wife whom he had left there. To carr}? out this scheme she went to Madame Hulot's about three o'clock in the after- noon, though it was not the day on which she habitually dined there. But she longed to witness the tortures which her little cousin would undergo when the hour came for Wenceslas to arrive. "Have you come to dinner, Bette?" said Madame Hulot, hiding her vexation. "Yes." " Then I will go and tell them to be punctual," said Hortense, " for you don't like waiting." Hortense made a sign to her mother not to be anxious, for she meant to tell the footman to send away Monsieur Steinbock when he arrived ; but the footman was out. Hortense was obliged to give her order to the chamber- maid, and the chambermaid went upstairs to get her sewing before she went to the antechamber. " Well, Hortense," said Bette, when the young girl returned, "you never ask me now about my lover." Cousin Bette. 169 " True enougb, what is he doing? " said Horteiise ; " I see he has become celebrated. You ought to be satis- fied," she whispered in her cousin's ear; " the}' talli of nothing now but Monsieur Wenceslas Steinbock." ' ' The}' talk too much," answered Bette, aloud : "he is getting restless. I could charm him awa}' from the dissipations of Paris, for I know m}' power over him ; but it seems the Emperor Nicholas, wanting to keep such a fine artist in Russia, is going to pardon him." "Nonsense!" said the baroness. "How did 3'ou hear that?" said Hortense, whose heart was seized with a sort of cramp. " Wh}'," replied Bette, with devilish malice, " a per- son who has the best claim to him — his wife — wrote and told him so ; he got the letter to-day, and wants to start at once. It is ver}' foolish of him to leave France for Russia." Hortense glanced at her mother as her head drooped to one side ; the baroness had bareh' time to catch her daughter before she fainted awa}', white as the lace about her neck. " Lisbeth ! 3'ou have killed her ! " cried Madame Hulot. " You were born to be our misfortune ! " " How is it m}' fault?" exclaimed Bette, rising and assuming a threatening attitude, to which the baroness in her trouble paid no attention. "I was wrong," said Adeline, holding Hortense; "ring the bell, Bette." At this instant the door of the room opened ; the two women turned their heads, and saw Wenceslas Steinbock, to whom the cook, in the absence of the chambermaid, had opened the front door. 170 Cousin Bette. " Hortense ! " he cried, springing toward tlie three women. He kissed his love on her forehead before the eyes of her mother, but so respectfull}' that the baroness made no objection. It was better than all the salts of England against the fainting fit. Hortense opened her e^'es, saw Wenceslas, and her color returned. A moment later she was herself again. "So this is what 3'ou were concealing from me?" said Bette, smiling at Wenceslas, and pretending to guess the truth from the evident confusion of her two cousins. " How came you to steal ni}' lover? " she said to Hortense, leading her into the garden. Hortense candidly related the whole story. Her father and mother, convinced, she said, that Bette had no idea of marrying, had authorized Comte Steinbock's visits. But Hortense, like the Agnes of old, attributed to ac- cident her purchase of the group and the first visit of the artist, who, she declared, was anxious to ascertain the name of its owner. Steinbock soon joined the cousins and thanked Bette, privatel}', for so quickl}' delivering him. Lisbeth replied, jesuitically, that the creditor had made such vague promises that she onl}^ expected to release him on the following day, but she supposed the man had felt ashamed of the persecu- tion and had taken the steps himself She appeared pleased at the result, and congratulated Wenceslas on his happiness. " Naughty boy ! " she said to him aloud before Hor- tense and her mother, " if you had told me night before last that you loved my cousin Hortense and that she loved you, you would have saved me many tears. I Cousin Bctte. 171 thought 3'on were going to abandon your old friend, 3'our mentor, when, on tiie contrary, you are about to be my cousin. In future you are bound to me by ties, feeble it is true, but which suffice for the love I have sworn to you." She kissed Wenceslas on the forehead. Hortense flunof herself into her cousin's arms and burst into tears. " I owe my happiness to you," she said, " and I will never forget it." " Cousin Bette," said the baroness, kissing Lisbeth, in her joy at the easy manner in which matters were settling themselves, *' the baron and I have a debt to discharge toward you. Come and talk over matters in the garden," she added, carrying her off. So Lisbeth played, to all appearances, the part of guardian angel to the family ; she felt herself an object of importance to Crevel, to Hulot, to Adeline, and to Hortense. " We wish you not to work an}' longer," began the baroness. "Let us suppose that you earn fort}' sous a day, not including Sundays, that makes six hundred francs a year. How much liave vou laid b}'?" " Four thousand five hundred francs." "Poor cousin!" said the baroness, liftins; her eves to heaven as she thought of the toil and privations by which that sum had been accumulated through thirty 3'ears. Lisbeth, mistaking the meaning of the exclama- tion, saw in it the contemptuous pity of a parvenue, and her hatred acquired a fresh dose of gall at the very moment when Adeline was overcoming her dis- trust for her childhood's tyrant. 172 Cousin Bette. "We will add ten thousand five hundred francs," resumed Adeline, " and give 30U a life-interest in the whole, with reversion of the capital to Hortense. Thus vou will get an income of six hundred francs secured to you." Lisbeth seemed at the summit of happiness. When she re-entered the salon, with her handkerchief at her eyes, apparentl^^ drjing the tears of jojs Hortense told her of the favors which were being showered on Wen- ceslas, now the idol of the family. When the baron entered the room the baroness had just formalh' addressed Steinbock as her son, and ap- pointed that day fortnight for the wedding, subject to her husband's approval. The whole family at once surrounded him, some to whisper these facts in his ear, others to embrace him. " You have gone too far, madame," he said severely. ''The marriage is not a certaint}^," he continued, with a look at Steinbock, who turned pale. The luckless artist said to himself, " He has heard of m}^ arrest." " Come, children," said the baron, motioning Hor- tense and her lover into the garden. He sat down with them on a bench in the kiosk, which was covered with lichen. "Monsieur le comte, do 3'ou love m}^ daughter as much as I loved her mother?" said the baron. " More, monsieur," replied the artist. " Her mother was the daughter of a peasant, and she had n't a penny." "Give me Mademoiselle Hortense such as she is, without a trousseau even." Cousin Bette. 173 " Absurd ! " said the baron, smiling. '' Hortense is the dau«:hter of a councillor of state in the ministry of AVar, decorated with the grand cross of the Legion of honor, a brother of Comte Hulot of immortal glorj-, who will soon be a marshal of France ! Besides, she has a dowry." "It is true," said the happ}' lover, " that I seem to be ambitious, but if my dear Hortense were the daugh- ter of a daj'-laborer, I should marry her all the same." "That is what I wanted to know," said the baron. "Run awa}', Hortense, I want to talk to Monsieur le comte ; 3'ou see now that he sincerelj' loves 3'ou." "Oh, papa! I knew you were joking," cried the happy girl. "My dear Steinbock," said the baron, with infinite grace of diction and charm of manner, as soon as he was alone with the artist, " I gave my son two hun- dred thousand francs when he married, and the poor lad has never asked for one pennj^ of it, and he will never get one. My daughter's dowr}' is also two hun- dred thousand francs, which you must acknowledge to have received — " " Yes, Monsieur le baron." " How you catch me up ! " said Hulot. " Have the goodness to listen. I do not expect from a son-in-law the generosity I have a right to claim from a son. My son knew what I could do and would do for his future. He will one day be a minister, and obtain his two hun- dred thousand francs readil}'. As for 3'ou, young man, it is another matter altogether. You will receive sixty thousand francs invested in the Funds at five per cent, in 3'our wife's name. This will be charged with a small 174 Cousin Bette. annuity for Lisbeth, but she won't live long ; she is consumptive, as I happen to know ; don't say so, how- ever, to any one ; let the poor thing die in peace. M3' daughter will have an outfit costing twent}^ thousand francs ; her mother puts six thousand francs' worth of her diamonds into it." "Monsieur, 3'ou overwhelm me," said Steinbock, bewildered. "As to the remaining hundred and twenty thousand francs — " " Sa}" no more, monsieur," cried the artist. " I wish m}' dear Hortense — " " Will 3^ou listen to me, effervescent 3'oung man? As to the hundred and twent}^ thousand francs, I have not got them, but 3'ou will receive them — " "Monsieur — " " — from the government, in orders for statues which I pledge 3'ou m3' honor I will obtain for you. You alread3' have an atelier at the marble-works. Exhibit a few fine statues and I will get you into the Institute. There is a great desire in high places to oblige m3' brother and me, and I hope to succeed in getting 3'ou certain work at Versailles which will secure at least a quarter of the sum. Then 3^ou will get orders from the municipalit3' of Paris, and some from the Chamber of Peers — in short, 3'Ou will have so much to do, m3' dear fellow, that 3'ou will be obliged to call in assistance. In that wa3^ I shall pay 3'ou the full amount. It is for you to sa3' if a dot paid in that manner will satisf)' 3'ou. Examine 3'our own capabilities." " I am capable of making m3' wife's fortune all alone, even if I had no such help," cried the brave artist. Cousin Bette. 175 *' A man after m}^ own heart ! " exclaimed the baron. '' Ah ! that noble spirit of youth that fears nothing ! I could have overthrown armies for the woman I loved. AVell," he added, taking the young man's hand and stroking it, "you have my consent. Next Sunday we will sign the marriage contract, and the following Sat- urday — to the altar ! It is my wife's birthday." " All 's well !" cried the baroness to her daughter, as they stood at the window. "Your father and your lover are embracing each other." When Wenceslas reached home that evening he found an explanation of the enigma of his release. The porter gave him a large package which contained the papers relating to his debt and a receipt in full, accompanied by the following letter: — My Dear "Wenceslas, — I went to your liouse at ten o'clock this morning, to take you to a royal highness who wants to see you. There I heard that certain brigands have carried you off to an isle of their own, called Clichy. I went at once to find Leon de Lora and told him you couldn't get back short of four thousand francs, and that your future would be ruined if I could not take you to see the royal patron. Joseph Bridau, that man of genius once poor himself, who knows your story, happened luckily to be there. My son, between them, they made up the money! I went and paid that Bedouin who committed the crime of leze-genius in locking you up. As I had to be at the Tuil- eries by twelve, I could not go and see you sniffing the air of freedom. You are a gentleman; I have pledged my word for you to my two friends; but be sure you go and see them to-morrow. Leon and Bridau don't wish you to pay them in money; they both want a group, and thereby they show their sense. 176 Cousin Bette, That is what he thinks who wishes he could call himself your rival, but is only Your comrade, Stidmann. P. S. — I told the prince you would get back from a jour- ney to-morrow, and he said " Very good, then to-morrow." Wenceslas slept on a bed of roses without a crum- pled leaf, spread for him by the halting goddess Favor, who steps more slowly for men of genius than Justice or even Fortune, because Jupiter has chosen not to band- age her ej-es. Easilj^ deceived b}- the wiles of charla- tans, attracted by their trappings and their trumpets, she spends the time she ought to take in searching for men of merit bidden awaj^ in corners in gazing at such shows. It is now necessary to explain how it came to pass that Baron Hulot was able to get together the amount of his daughter's dowry, and yet to meet the expenses of the delightful apartment in which he was about to install Madame Marneffe. His financial ideas bore the stamp of the genius that guides spendthrifts and reck- less people through bogs and morasses where so man}' others perish. Nothing can better show the singular powers bestowed b^^ vice ; powers to which are owing the great deeds done from time to time b}' ambitious and licentious men, — in fact, by all those who follow the devil. Cousin Bette. 177 CHAPTER XIV. IN WHICH THE TAIL-END OF AN ORDINARY NOVEL APPEARS IN THE VERY MIDDLE OF THIS TOO TRUE, RATHER ANAC- REONTIC, AND TERRIBLY MORAL HISTORY. On the morning of the preceding day an old man, Johann Fischer, in default of thirty thousand francs borrowed of him b}' his niece's husband, Baron Hulot, found himself compelled to make an assignment, unless the baron repaid him that day. The worth}' old man, with the white hairs of seventy winters on his head, had so blind a confidence in Hulot, who to the old Bonapartist was a ray of the Napo- leonic sun, that he was walking with the bank-messen- ger quietl}^ up and down the antechamber of the little ground-floor apartment, hired for eight hundred francs, where he carried on his divers enterprises in grain and forage. " Marguerite has gone to get the money a few steps from here," he said to the messenger. The man in gra}' with silver buttons knew the hon- esty of the old Alsatian so well that he was willing to go away without the thirty thousand francs, but the debtor insisted that he should wait, on the ground that it was not 3'et eight o'clock. Just then a cabriolet drove up ; the old man sprang into the street, hold- 12 178 Cousin Bette, ing out his hand in perfect faith to Baron Hulot, who placed notes for thirt}' thousand francs in it. '"Drive three doors off from here and wait; I'll tell you wh}'," said old Fischer. " Here, young man," he added, returning to the antechamber and counting out the money to the representative of the bank. When the latter was fairl}' out of sight, Fischer called up the cab in which his august nephew, the late Emper- or's right arm, sat waiting, and said, as he followed him into the house, '' You don't want the Bank of France to know that you paid me that thirty thousand francs on a note endorsed by you. It is a good deal for a man like you to be willing even to sign it." "Let us go and sit at the end of 3'our garden," said Hulot. "You are sound?" he continued, seating him- self under an arbor of grape-Amines and looking the old man over as a dealer in human flesh looks at a substi- tute for the conscription. "Sound for an annuity," answered the lean, vigor- ous, bright-eyed old man, in a lively tone. " Do you suffer from heat? '* " No ; on the contrary." " What do you say to Africa? " "A fine country! Frenchmen followed the Little Corporal over there." '' Well, for the safety' of us all, you must go to Algiers." " But my business here? " " A clerk in the War office, just retired, will bu}' j'ou out." " What am I to do in Algiers?" " Furnish provisions for the army, grain and forage ; Cousin Bette, 179 I have 3'our coin mission in my pocket. You can get your supplies in that countiy for seventy per cent less than the price 3'ou will receive for them." " How am I to get them ? " "By foraging, raiding, seizing them an3'where. Al- giers (a countr}' of which ver}' little is known, though we've been there eight years) is full of all kinds of grain and forage. When these supplies belong to the Arabs we seize them under a variety' of pretexts ; when they belong to us the Arabs try to grab them. There is a great deal of fighting and struggUng, and no one rightly knows how much is stolen on either side. In the open country' there is no chance to count the bushels of wheat or the bales of ha}^ as you do in the markets and the rue d'Enfer. Besides, the Arab sheiks, like our spahis, are fond of cash, and they'll sell supplies at ver}^ low prices. The War Department requires a fixed quantity of provisions, and it estimates the price, not by their actual cost, but by the difficulty and danger of procuring them. That 's Algiers from a victualler's point of view. It will be a dozen years before we gov- ernment folks see clear in the matter ; meantime, indi- viduals have good eyes. So 3'Ou see, I send 3'ou out to make your fortune ; but I put you there as Napoleon put a poor marshal on the throne of a kingdom where he wanted a finger in the pie. My dear Fischer, I am ruined. I must have a hundred thousand francs within a 3^ear." "I see no harm in getting them out of the Bedouins," said Fischer, imperturbabl3'. " We did that under the empire." " The purchaser of your business will come and see 180 Cousin Bette. 3'ou this morning and pay you ten thousand francs down," continued Hulot. *' Won't that be enough to get 3'ou to Africa ? " The old man nodded assent. " As to the mone}^ 3-ou will want when 3'ou get there, don't worrj'' about that," resumed the baron. " I want the rest of the purchase money here — " "All is 3'ours, my blood if necessar}^," said the old man. " Oh, don't be alarmed," cried Hulot, thinking his uncle more clear-sighted than he was ; " as to the wa3S and means of getting your supplies, 3'our honor is not in danger ; everything depends on the militar3' authori- ties ; I have the appointing of them down there, and I am sure of them. Now, uncle Fischer, remember, this is a secret of life and death ; I know 3'Ou, I trust 3'OU, and I 've spoken without circumlocution." " I '11 go," said the old man ; " and for how long? " " Two 3'ears. You will make a hundred thousand francs of 3'our own and live happy ever after in the Vosges." " It shall be as 3'ou wish; my honor is yours," said the old man, tranquill3\ ' ' Ah ! there 's a man after m3^ own heart ! " cried the baron. " But 3'Ou shall not start until 3^ou have seen 3'our great-niece happil3^ married. She will be a countess." But the raiding of Arabs, the ravaging of villages, and the sum paid b3^ the war-clerk for Fischer's busi- ness, could not all at once furnish the sixt3' thousand francs which the baron needed for his daughter's dot^ and the ioviy thousand which he was spendmg or in- Cousin Bette, 181 tending to spend on Madame Marneffe. Besides, how and where had he obtained the thirty thousand francs he had just paid to old Fischer? A few da3's earlier Hulot had insured his life for one hundred and lift}' thousand francs for three 3'ears in two companies. With the policies, on which the pre- mium was paid, in his pocket, he said to the banker Nucingen, baron and peer of France, with whom he was driving from the Chamber of Peers on their way to dinner : — "Baron, I want seventj' thousand francs, and I ask 3'ou to lend them to me. I '11 secure you by an assign- ment of my salary for three jears ; it is twenty-five thousand francs a year, and the total will therefore be seventy-five thousand. What do you say ? " " You may die." Hulot nodded. "Yes," he said, drawing a paper from his pocket, "and here 's a policy of insurance on my life for a hundred and fifty thousand francs, which shall be trans- ferred to you to the amount of eighty thousand." " Subbose you lose 3'our siduation?" said the mil- lionnaire baron, with his horrible German accent. The non-millionnaire baron became thoughtful. " Oh ! I onl}^ make dat opjection to show 3'ou dat I run some dancher in gifing you dat sum. You moost be hard-up, for der pank has your zignadure." " I am just marrying my daughter," said Hulot, " and I have no property-, — like other men who serve the gov- ernment in these ungrateful days, when those five hun- dred bourgeois of the Chamber never think of rewarding- patriotism and devotion as the Emperor did — " 182 Cousin Bette. " Nonzenze ! 3'0ii haf had Cliosepha," interrupted the banker; " dat egsplahis all. Bed ween ourselves, the Due d'Herouville did you a great zervice in ztealing dat leech out of 3'our burse." The transaction was accomplished by the help of a little usurer, named Vauvinet, one of those satellites of a great banking-house who lead the wa}' for their ra- pacity-, just as the pilot-fish is said to precede a shark. This man promised Baron Hulot, for he was anxious to conciliate the favor of the government official, to give him at once thirty thousand francs in letters of exchange at ninet}' da3's' sight, promising to renew them four times, and not put them in circulation. The purchaser of Fischer's business was to paj' fort}' thousand francs for it, and to receive an order to supply the forage needed in a department near Paris. Such was the disgraceful entanglement into which a man, hitherto honest and one of the ablest supporters of the Napoleonic era, was drawn by his passions. Pecula- tion and extortion were emplo^'ed to pa}" for usury, usury to suppl}' his lusts and marr}' his daughter. This science of prodigalit}', this toil after monej^ were undertaken to appear superb in the e3'es of Madame Marneffe, to lie the Jupiter of a second-rate Danae ! No greater activ- ity, intelligence, or courage was ever displa3-ed in the honest pursuit of fortune than the baron now emplo3'ed to plunge head foremost into a hornets'-nest. While attending to the affairs of his department he looked after the work-people, the upholsterers, and the small- est details of the rue Vanneau. With his mind absorbed in Madame Marneffe, he still went to the sessions of his Chamber, and was hei-e, there, and everywhere, so that Cousin Bette. 183 neither his family nor any one else was aware of what really preoccupied him. Adeline, surprised to hear that her uncle Fischer was paid and to see a dot named in the marriage contract, was conscious of a certain nneasiness in the midst of her jo}' at her daughter's marriage, arranged apparentl}' under honorable circumstances ; but the evening before the wedding (appointed b^- the baron to coincide with the day on which Madame Marneffe was to take posses- sion of her new apartment) Hector put an end to his wife's surprise and anxiet\- by the following marital announcement. *' Adeline," he said, '' now that we have married our daughter all our anxieties on that head are over. The time has come for us to give up the world ; for I shall onl}' keep my situation three years longer, by which time I can retire on a pension. Meantime wh}' should we spend so much mone^' uselessh' ? This apartment costs six thousand francs a year, we keep four servants, and our costs of living are at least thirty thousand . Of course 3'ou wish me to fulfil my pledges ? — well, I have as- signed over m}' salary- for the next three years to get the money to pa}' your uncle Fischer, and to provide for Hortense on her marriage — " "Ah, you did right, dear friend," she cried, seizing his hands and kissing them. His woi'ds had put an end to her fears. " I must ask you to make a few little sacrifices," he continued, releasing his hands and laying a kiss on her brow. " I have found a handsome apartment in the rue Plumet, on the first floor, quite suitable, with eleganth' carved woodwork, and costing only fifteen 184 Cousin Bette. hundred francs a month. You would need onl}" one woman, and I can manage with one man." "Yes, Hector." "By living simply — though keeping up appearances of course — 3'ou needn't spend more than six thousand francs a j^ear, not counting my personal wants which I shall take upon myself to provide for." The generous woman threw her arms round his neck. " What happiness to be able to prove m}' love for you!" she cried. "How wise, how full of resources you are ! — " ' ' Once a week we will receive the family ; on other days, 3'ou know, I seldom dine at home. You can vcr}^ well dine twice a week with Victorine without compromis- ing your dignit}", and twice with Hortense ; then, as I think I can make up mj^ quarrel with Crevel, we can dine once a week with him ; these five dinners and our fam- ily gathering at home will almost fill the week, without counting outside invitations — ' " I can economize," said Adeline. " Ah ! " cried he, " 3'ou are the pearl of wives." " M}' good and precious Hector ! I shall bless 3'ou with m}" last breath," she answered, " for you have given my Hortense a happy future." This was how the home and support of the beautiful Madame Hulot began to dwindle ; and it was, let us add, the first step in the total abandonment of the wife solemnly promised to the mistress. Crevel, who was of course invited to the signing of the marriage contract behaved as though the scene with which this history opened had never taken place, and as if he had no cause of anger against Baron Cousin Bette. 185 Hnlot. Celestin Crevel M^as good-natured ; he was al- wa^'s rather too much of an ex-perfumer, but he was now endeavoring to rise to the majestic in honor of his elevation as major of the Legion. He even talked of dancing at the wedding. " Dear lad}^" he said gracefully to Madame Hulot, "people in our position know how to forget; do not banish me from 3'our home, and deign to embellish mine b}" dining there occasional!}' with our children. Do not fear ; I will never again express the feelings which lie in the depths of my heart. I behaved like a fool ; for I lose too much b}' forcing you to avoid me — " " Monsieur, an honest woman has no ears for such speeches as those to which 3'ou allude. If 3'ou keep 3'our word, you need not doubt the pleasure with which I shall welcome the end of a quarrel, — alwa3's ver}' painful in a famil3'." " Well, old grumbler ! " cried Baron Hulot, carrying Crevel forcibh' into the garden. " You avoid me ever3'- where, even in m3' own house. "VVh3^ should two ama- teurs of the fair sex quarrel about a petticoat ? Bah ; it is positivel3' vulgar." "Monsieur, not being a handsome man like 3'our- self, m3" powers of seduction do not enable me to repair m3' losses as easily as vou appear to do — " " Sarcasm, he3'? " cried the baron. " Allowable against conquerors when a man is vanquished." The conversation, begun on this tone, ended in a complete reconcihation ; but Crevel, nevertheless, held firm to his private intentions of revenge. 186 Coumi Eette. Madame Marneffe wished to be invited to the mar- riage of Mademoiselle Hulot. To admit his future mis- tress into his wife's salon the baron was obliged to aslv all the clerks of his division and their wives. A grand ball thus became a necessit3\ Like a true housekeeper, Madame Hulot calculated that an evening party would cost less than a grand dinner and would enable them to receive more people. The marriage therefore made much noise in societ}'. The Marechal Prince of Wissembourg and the Baron de Nucingen were the witnesses for the bride ; Comte Eugene de Rastignac and Comte Popinot for Steinbock. After the latter grew famous the most illustrious mem- bers of the Polish emigration sought him out. The Council of State ; the department of the government in which the baron was a director ; and the arm}', wish- ing to honor the Comte de Forzheim, were all repre- sented by distinguished members. At least two hundred invitations were solicited. We can therefore understand Madame Marneffe's anxiety to appear in all her glory at such a part}'. The baroness sold her diamonds for the furnish- ing of her daughter's home, reserving only the finest for the wedding outfit. The sale brought twenty thousand francs, of which five thousand were spent on the trous- seau, — what were the remaining fifteen thousand for the furnishing of the new house, when we reflect upon the requirements of modern luxur}'? But Monsieur and Madame Hulot junior, Crevel and the Comte de Forzheim had severall}' made important presents ; and the old uncle still held in reserve a large sum for the purchase of silver plate. Thanks to such help, the most Cousin Bette. 187 exacting Parisian woman would have been satisfied with the household of the new pair in the pretty apartment chosen in the rue Saint-Dominique near the esplan- ade of the InvaUdes. All was in keeping with the fresh young love of the young couple, so pure, so frank, so true on either side. The great day arrived ; and it was to be a great day for others beside Hortense and Wenceslas. Madame Marneffe, invited to be present at the marriage, in- tended to give a house-warming in the rue Vanneau on the morrow. Is there any one who has not in the course of his '' life been present at a wedding ball? Every one can tax his memory and smile as he evokes recollections of those gayly dressed individuals whose countenances are made gay to match their wedding garments. If an}^ social fact ever proved the influence of environ- ment it is the spectacle of a wedding fote. The smart- ness of some reacts so much on others that persons accustomed to wear appropriate clothing seem to be- lons: to the cate^'orv of those for whom a weddino- is a marked event in their lives. Who does not remember the grave elderly men, so indifferent to the scene that they wear their ordinar}' black coats ; the old mar- ried people, whose faces betray a sad experience of tlie life the .young ones are about to begin ; the pleasures which effervesce, like the carbonic acid gas of champagne ; the envious young girls, the mar- ried women preoccupied with their toilets, the poor relations whose scanty adornments contrast with those of the people in gold lace, the gourmands who think onl}' of their supper, and the players with their minds 188 Cousm Bette. on the card-table ? Eveiybod}^ is there, — the rich and the poor, the envious and the envied, the philosopliers and the fools, — all grouped like plants in a basket round a central rare flower, the bride. A wedding ball is society in miniature. At the liveliest moment of all Crevel took the baron by the arm, and whispered in his ear in the most natu- ral manner in the world, "Bless my soul ! what a prett\" little woman that is in pink ! — the one over there who is stabbing you with her ej'es ! " ''Who?" " The wife of that sub-director j'ou are pushing along, heaven knows how, — Madame Marneffe." " How do 3'ou know that? " " Come, Hulot, I '11 forgive all 3'our wrongs to me if 3'ou will present me in her house, and I '11 let 3'ou come to Heloise Brisetout's. Ever3'body is asking who that charming creature is. Are 3'ou sure that none of 3'our clerks whom I see here will tell how the appointment of her husband came about? Oh, 3'Ou lucky scamp! She is worth a good man3^ appointments. Come, let 's be friends, Cinna." " Better friends than ever," said the baron to the perfumer; "and I'll promise to do 3'ou a good turn. In less than a month I '11 ask 3'Ou to dinner with my little angel ; for we have got to the angel point, old fellow. I advise 3'Ou to do like me, — give up the demons." Cousin Bette, installed in a prett\' little apartment on the third floor in the rue Vanneau, left the ball at ten o'clock, and came home to look at the two certifi- cates of stock which were to 3'ield her twelve hundred Cousin Bette. 189 francs a year ; the life-interest onl}' being hers, Crevel's money reverting to Madame Hulot junior, and Adeline's to the Comtesse Steinbock. It is eas}' to guess how Crevel obtained the information about Madame Mar- neffe which he mentioned to the baron. Monsieur Marneffe being absent, no one knew this secret affair except cousin Bette, Hulot, and Valerie. The baron had committed the great imprudence of presenting Madame Marneffe with a ball-dress far too elegant and costly for the wife of a sub-official ; the other women were instantl}- jealous of her beautj' and her clothes. Mutterings were heard behind the fans ; for Marneffe's povert}' w^aa a matter of common talk among his fellow-clerks, — in fact, the husband was begging for help at the verj' time when the baron fell in love with the wife. Moreover, Hector had not been able to conceal his delight at Valerie's social success. Elegant in appearance, quiet and demure in manner, she underwent that minute scrutin}- which many women dread on their first entrance into societ3\ After putting his wife and daughter and son-in-law into a carriage, the baron managed to escape from the ball-room without being missed, leaving his son and daughter-in-law to pla}' the part of hosts. He got into Madame Marneffe's carriage and went home with her to the rue Vanneau ; but on the wa}' he found her pen- sive and silent, almost sad. " Does my happiness grieve yon, Valerie? " he said, drawing her to him in the carriage. "Ah, my friend, can 3'ou not understand that a poor woman must be sad at committing her first error, even though the shameful conduct of her husband may have 190 Cousin Bette, freed her? Do you think I am without soul, without behefs, without religion? You showed such indiscreet J03' this evening, — 3'ou have held me up in such an odious light, — wh}^ a collegian would have shown more decency than 3'ou ! All those ladies tore me to pieces with their eyes and their tongues. There is no woman who does not care for her reputation ; and 3'ou have destroyed mine. Ah, I am indeed yours ! and nothing can now excuse m3" error but my fidelity. Monster ! " she exclaimed, laughing, and letting him embrace her, '' 3'ou knew very well what 3'ou were about. Madame Coquet, the wife of the head-director, sat down hy me to admire my lace. ' It is English point,' she said ; 'did it cost much, madame ? ' 'I really don't know,' I replied ; ' it belonged to m3' mother ; I am not rich enough to buy such things.' " Madame Marneffe had contrived to so bewitch the old beau of the empire that he reall3^ believed she was committing her first error, and that he himself in- spired her with such love as to make her forget her duty. She told him Marneffe had virtually aban- doned her three days after their marriage ; from that time she had remained a virtuous young girl, perfectly content and happ3', because she regarded marriage as an odious thing. The situation, she admitted, was a sad one. "If love were the same as marriage!" she said, weeping. These coquettish lies, which most women in Valerie's situation are in the habit of telling, dangled the roses of the seventh heaven before the baron's eyes. Early in the morning, the baron, at the height of Cousin Bette. 191 happiness, having found his Valerie the most innocent of young girls and the most consummate of demons, returned to relieve Monsieur and Madame Hulot junior of their duty as hosts. The dancers, mostly strangers to the famil}', who often take complete possession of a house on the occasion of a wedding, were still in the mazes of that wearisome dance called tlie '•• cotillion," the players were still at the card-table, and old Crevel had won six thousand francs. The newspapers of the following da^' contained this item : — "The marriage of Monsieur le Comte de Steiiibock and Mademoiselle Hortense Hulot, daughter of Baron Hulot d'Ervy, councillor of state, and director iu the ministry of War, took place this morning at the church of Saint Thomas d'Aquin. The ceremony was witnessed by a large company, among them several of our artistic celebrities, — Leon de Lora, Joseph Bridau, Stidmann, Bixiou ; also the notabil- ities of the War office, and the most distinguished members of the PoUsh emigration, Comte Paz, Comte Laginski, etc. " Monsieur le Comte Wenceslas de Steinbock is the great nephew of the celebrated general of Charles the Twelfth, king of Sweden. Having taken part in the Polish insur- rection, the young count sought refuge in France, where the fame of his genius has naturalized him among us." Thus, in spite of Baron Hulot's terrible financial straits, nothing that public opinion demands was want- ing to the marriage of his daughter, not even the no- toriet}' given bv newspaj^ers. The celebration was in ever}' respect equal to that of the marriage of Hulot junior with Mademoiselle Crevel. This fete lessened the 192 Cousin Bette. talk which was current about the councillor's financial difficulties, and the dot given to his daughter explained the necessity he was under of borrowing money. Here ends what may be called the introduction to this histor}^ What has now been related is to the drama which completes it like the premises of a propo- sition or the argument of a Greek traged}'. Cousin Bette. 193 CHAPTER XY. ASSETS OF THE FIRM BETTE AND VALERIE — MARNEFFE ACCOUNT. When a Parisian married woman is determined to make merchandise of lier beauty it does not follow tliat she malies her fortune. We sometimes meet remarlv- able women of brilliant intelligence in frightful poverty, ending in misery a life beoun in p leasure ; and the rea- son is that the intention of foll owing a disgraceful life for the sake of its profits unde r th e guise of an honest married woman is not all that is required. Vice does not win its triumphs easily ; it so far resembles genius that it needs a concurrence of fortunate circumstances to bring it to a climax of success. Do away with the strange preceding phtts^a. of the Revolution and the Emperor woulTl^-jiejcerJtiave existed ; he would have been a second edf^n of Fabert. Venal beauty with- out adorers, without celebrit}', without the badge of dishonor given b}' dissipated fortunes, is hke Correg- gio in a garret, — genius neglected and expiring. The Parisian Lais must therefore find some man rich enough to pa}' her price. She must also maintain a constant and extreme elegance about her, for it is in fact her banner ; she must have the manners of good-breeding to flatter a man's self-love, the wit of Sophie Arnould 13 194 Cousin Bette. to rouse the apathy of opulence, and she must make each libertine desire her by seeming faithful to a single one, whose happiness then becomes the envy of all. These conditions, which that class of women call their " chances," are difficult to realize, although Paris is a cit}' of millionnaires, of men of leisure, idle^lase, and full of caprices. ProyidexLce-^appears to have spe- cially protected in this respect the homes of the lower middle classes, for whom such obstacles are greatl}' in- creased by the surroundings in which the}' revolve. Nev- ertheless, there is many a Ma daine Marneffe in Paj 'is, — enough to justif}' ciur making Valerie a t3'pe in this history of the manners and custo;*rg of France. Some women of this class are instigated by real passion as well as by poverty, — like Madame Colleville, who was so long attached to one of the greatest oratoi's of the Left, the banker Keller ; others are led solely b}^ vanity, like Madame de la Baudraye, who always con- tiimed semi-virtuous, notwithstanding her flight with Lousteau. Some are carried awa}' \)\ a love of dress ; others by the impossibilit}' of keeping up appearances on insufficient means. Perhaps we may say that the parsimony of the State and the Chambers has caused many such evils, and given birth to great corruptions. The world is filled at the present moment with pity for the condition of the working-classes. The}' are repre- sented as throttled by the manufacturers ; but the State is ten times more cruel than the most grasping capi- talist. In the matter of salaries it pushes econoni}' to the verge of folly. If a man works well, emplo3'ers will pay liim for his work ; but what does the State do for the vast crowd of its ol)Scnre and ftiithfnl toilers? Cousin Bette. 195 To leave the path of virtue is an inexcusable crime in a married woman ; yet there are degrees of crime in the situation. Some women, far from being absolutel}' depraved, hide their errors and remain respectable in appearance, like the two we have just named ; wdiile others add to their crime tlie shamelessness of spec- ulation. Madame Marneffe is the t3'pe of those am- bitious married courtesans who from the start adopt depravit}' with all its consequences, and resolve to make their fortune while amusing themselves, without scru- ple as t o the mean s emploj'ed. Such women usually have, like Madame Marneffe, decoj^s and accomplices in their husbands. These Machiavellis in petticoats are the most dangerous of their sex, and of all the evil species of Parisian woman the}' are the worst. Courte- sans like the Josephas, the Schontzes, the Malagas, and the Jenn}' Cadines bear on their person a frank adver- tisement of their trade, as luminous as the red lan- tern of prostitution or the argand lamps of a gambling hell. A man knows when he sees them that he is going to his ruin. But soft-spoken decency, the semblance of virtue, the hypocritical affectations of the married woman who lets nothing be seen but the common house- hold wants, who apparenth' sets her face against im- prudence, lead men to a ruin that has none of the excitements of show, and is all the more strange be- cause the man, though he may excuse his foil}', can never explain it to himself. It is a shameful account of extravagance and expense, without the jo^'ous intox- ications that make a man a spendthrift. The father of a famih' ruins himself without meretricious fame or the consolations of o-ratified vanitv. 196 Cousin Bette. This allocution will strike like an arrow to the heart of man}' families. There are Madame Marneffes in all conditions of social life, even in the midst of courts ; for Valerie is a sad realit}', drawn from life in ever}' detail. Unhappil}", this portrait will cure no man's mania for angels with soft smiles, pensive glances, art- less faces, and hearts that are mone3'-bags. About three years after the marriage of Hortense, — that is, in 1841, — Baron Hulot d'Erv}' was supposed in the ej'es of the world to have reformed, and 3'et Madame Marnefle was costing him twice as much as Josepha had ever done. Valerie, however, though al- wa3'S well dressed, affected the simple habits of a woman married to a government emploj'e ; she kept all her lux- ury for her own apartment and her personal adornment at home. She sacrificed her Parisian vanities to her dear Hector ; but whenever she did go to the theatre it was always in a prett}^ new bonnet and a dress of the choicest elegance ; the baron took her there in a carriage, and provided one of the best boxes. The apartment in the rue Vanneau, which occupied the whole of the second floor of a large modern house standing between the courtyard and garden, had an air of the utmost respectabilit}'. Its luxur}" was nothing more than chintz hangings and handsome, convenient furniture. The bedroom, however, was exceptional, and displayed an extravagance 'dear to the Jenny Cadines and the Schontzes, — lace curtains, cashmeres, broca- telle portieres, chimne}^ ornaments made from designs by Stidmann, a little etagere crowded with treasures, — for Hulot did not choose to put his Valerie in a nest Cousin Bette. 197 inferior in magnificence to the lair of gold and pearls of a Josepha. The two principal rooms — a dining- room and salon — were modestly furnished, the one in red damask, the other in carved oak. But at the end of six months, the baron, led away b}^ the desire to have ever\'thing in keeping, added ephemeral luxur}' to this plain elegance, such as pieces of costl}' furniture and a silver dinner service costing twentj'-four thousand francs. In two years Madame Marnefte's house acquired the reputation of being ver\' agreeable. Cards were plaj'ed there. Valerie herself was held to be witt}^ and amiable, and a rumor was spread, to justif}' the change in her mode of living, that a large legac}' from her "natural father," Marechal Montcornet, had been paid to her by a trusted agent with whom he had privately left it. With an e3'e to the future, Valerie added religious cant to social hj'pocris}'. Punctilious in her Sunday observ- ances, she got the credit of pietj'. She collected monej^ in church, became one of the almoners, carried the com- munion bread, and did some little good in the parish with Hector's mone}'. Everything about her establish- ment was proper. Many persons spoke of the purity of her connection with the baron, — an old man, they said, and one with a platonic liking for the bright spirit, the charming manners, and the conversation of Madame MarneflTe, a liking like that of the late Louis XVIII. for a well-phrased note. The baron alwaj's left the house with the rest of the company at midnight, and returned half an hour later. The preservation of the secret is thus explained : The porters of the house were Monsieur and Madame 198 Cousin Bette. Olivier, who by the influence of the baron — a friend of the proprietor in search of a concierge — had passed from their humble and unproductive position in the rue du Doj'enne to the more lucrative and pretentious lodge in the rue Vanneau. Now, Madame Olivier, formerly lingere in the household of Charles X., having, as she expressed it, fallen from that position with the legiti- mate branch, was the mother of three children. The eldest, an under-clerk in a notary's office, was the ob- ject of his parents' fervent adoration. This Benjamin, threatened by the conscription for the last five years, was just about to have his brilliant career cut short when Madame Marneffe got him exempted from mili- tary service b}- reason of a physical defect such as the examiner of recruits can be made to discover when some official power whispers in his ear. Olivier — formerly groom in the stables of Charles X. — and his spouse would henceforth have sacrificed all mankind on the altar of Baron Hulot and Madame Marneffe. What could the world, ignorant of the episode of the Brazilian, Monsieur Montez de Montejanos, say against this establishment ? Nothing. Societj- is al- ways friendl}' to the mistress of a salon where it can amuse itself. Madame Marneffe added to her other charms that of being supposed to possess occult pow- ers. For this reason Claude Vignon, now secretary to tlie Marechal Prince de Wissembourg, who aspired to belong to the Council of State in the capacity of mas- ter of petitions, became a constant visitor at her house. There were, besides, a good many deputies who lived well and played high. Madame Marnefl^e made up her social circle with judicious slowness and deliberation ; Cousin Bette. 199 sets were carefulh* formed among persons of like opin- ions and manners, all interested in maintaining the merits and charms of the mistress of the salon. Social cliqueism — remember this axiom — is the Holy Alli- ance of Paris. : Interests always end by dividing men ; but their vices bind them together. Three months after Madame Marneffe was estab- lished in the rue Vanneaa she received Monsieur,. Crevel, now ma3'or of his arrondissement and officer of the Legion of honoi*. Crevel hesitated over his advancement for some time. It was necessary to sive up that precious uniform of the National Guard in which he strutted at the Tuileries feelino; himself as military as the Emperor ; but ambition, tickled b}' Ma- dame Marneffe, was stronger than vanit3^ Monsieur le maire now considered his relations with Mademoi- selle Heloise Brisetout incompatible with his political situation. In fact, some time before his accession to the throne of the maj'oralt}' his gallantries had been wrapped in profound myster3\ But he had, as the reader maj- now guess, paid for the right to take his revenge on the baron for the loss of Josepha, as often as he pleased, by an investment in the Funds yield- ing six thousand francs a 3'ear, placed in the name of Valerie Fortin, wife, separated as to propert3', of the Sieur Marneffe. Valerie, probabl3^ inheriting from her mother the particular genius of a kept mistress, had guessed at a glance the character of her grotesque adorer. The remark Crevel had let drop to Lisbeth, "I never had a well-bred woman," which the latter repeated to her dearest Valerie, was largeh" discounted in the transaction 133- which Madame Marneffe got her 200 Cousin Bette. six thousand francs in the Funds. Since then she had been careful not to let her prestige diminish in the eyes of the former commercial traveller of Cesar Birotteau. Crevel had made a marriage of convenience with the daughter of a miller of La Brie, an only daugh- ter, whose inheritance really* made up three-fourths of his fortune ; for retail dealers make their mone}- less in their business than b}^ such rustic connections. Very man}' farmers, millers, grain and provision dealers in the neighborhood of Paris dream of the glories behind a counter for their daughters, and see in some retail- shopkeeper, a jeweller, or mone^'-changer a son-in-law more after their own hearts than notaries or lawj-ers, whose superior position makes them uneasv ; thc}^ are afraid of being despised, later, b}' those leaders of the bourgeoisie. Madame Crevel, a rather ugly woman, very vulgar and very sill}', and who died in good sea- son, had never given her husband an}' other pleasures than those of paternity. At the beginning of his com- mercial career, Crevel, naturally a libertine, shackled by the duties of his position and restrained by pov- erty, had played the part of Tantalus. In "relations," to use his own expression, with the most distinguished women in Paris, who bought their perfumes at the " Queen of Roses," he took them out to their carriages with the obsequiousness of a shopkeeper, admiring their grace, their way of wearing their clothes, and all the unnamable charms of what is called race. To rise to the level of one of these fairies of social life was a de- sire conceived in youth and long buried within his soul. To win the favors of Madame Marneffe was to him not only the realization of his dream, but also the grati- Comin Bette. 201 fication of his pride, vanity, self-love, and vengeance, as we have seen. His ambition rose with success. He felt enormous delights of mind ; and when the mind enjoys, and the heart echoes the enjoyment, pleasures are doubled. Madame MarnefTe offered rare charms which Crevel had never hitherto suspected ; Josepha and Heloise never loved him, whereas Madame Marneffe thought it judicious to befool him on that point, for his purse appeared to be inexhaustible. The deceptions of venal love are often more charming than reality. True love is given to quarrels, like those of sparrows, which sometimes strike to the quick ; but a quarrel in jest is onl}' a sop thrown to the vanit}' of a dupe. He was constantly brought up against the virtuous reluc- tance of his Valerie, who plaj'ed remorse and talked of what her father must think of her in the paradise of the brave. He was continually forced to vanquish a cer- tain coldness over which the clever trickster made him believe that he had triumphed. She seemed to 3ield to the mad passion of the ex-shopkeeper and then, as if ashamed, she resumed, like an Englishwoman, the pride of a decent woman and the stiffness of virtue, crushing her Crevel with the weight of her dignit}' ; for he was realh' taken in to suppose her virtuous. She possessed, moreover, special faculties for tenderness, which made her as indispensable to Crevel as to Hulot. Before the world she exhibited an enchanting union of simple and pensive modest}-, irreproachable propriety of conduct, and wit enhanced bj- the charm and grace and manners of a Creole ; but when it came to a tete-a- tete she went far be3'ond a courtesan, — she was droll, amusing, and fertile in new inventions. This contrast 202 Cousin Bette. was delightful to an individual of the genns Crevel. He was flattered by believing himself the inspircr of the comedy ; he thought it played for his sole ben- efit, and he laughed at the delightful hypocris}- of the actress. Valerie had latel}- adapted the baron admirably to his present position. She made him show his age hj one of those delicate flatteries which serve to show the diabolic cleverness of such women. In organizations long ex- empt from the inroads of age a moment comes when, like a besieged city which has long held out, the real weakness declares itself. Foreseeing the approaching decadence of the ex-imperial beau, Valerie saw fit to hasten it. " Why do you pinch yourself in, old man? " she said six months after their clandestine and doubl}- adulter- ous marriage. " Do 3'ou intend to be faithless to me? I like 3'ou much better not laced up. Please sacrifice 3'our artificial graces to my feelings. Do you think the two sous' worth of varnish on your boots, or that india- rubber belt, and the buckram waistcoat, and the patch of false hair on 3'our head, is what I love in 3-ou? Be- sides, the older you are the less I shall fear a rival." Believing as firmh' in the divine friendship as in the love of Madame Marnefl'e, with whom he expected to end his days, the baron followed her advice, and ceased to d3'e his hair and beard. On receiving this touch- ing acknowledgment of his Valerie's jealous3', the hand- some Hulot appeared one fine da3^ with a blanched head. Madame Marnefl'e had no diflficult3^ in persuading her dear Hector that she had alread3' seen the white line formed b}- the growth of his hair a score of times. Ccusin Bette. 203 '' White hair is adrairablj' becoming to your face,'* she said, gazing at him ; " it softens 3'our features ; 3'ou are infinitely liandsomer ; you are charming." The baron, once launched in this direction, cast off his leather waistcoat and corset, and got rid of his vari- ous straps. This done, his stomach dropped down and obesit}' declared itself. The oak became a round tower, and the heaviness of his movements was the more alarming because the liaron grew unexpectedly old after assuming the part of Louis XI I. His eye- brows remained black and diml}' recalled the late hand- some Hulot, just as a fragment of sculpture remains on feudal walls to show vrhat the castle once was in its palni}^ daj's. This contrast made the glance of his eye, still keen and youthful, all the more singular, coming as it did from the withered face latel}' painted with the colors of Rubens, where certain scars and length- ened wrinkles now appeared, revealing the struggles of passion in rebellion against the verdict of nature. Hu- lot was henceforth one of those human ruins in which virility shows in hairy tufts on the nose, ears, fingers, producing the same effect as the lichen on the well-nigh eternal monuments of the Eternal City. It may be asked how Valerie contrived to keep Hulot and Crevel peaceably at her side when the vin- dictive major was longing for a startling triumph over Hulot. Without making an}' direct reply to a question which will be answered in the sequel, it may be said that Bette and Valerie had invented between them a stupendous machine whose powerful action aided this result. Marneffe, beholding his wife much embellished by the surroundings in which she now reigned, like the 204 Cousin Bette. sun ill llie sidereal S3'stem, was made to appear to the eyes of otliers once more infatuated about her and con- sequently jealous. When this jealous}' caused Mon- sieur Marneffe to put himself in the wa}', Valerie's favors became of course more precious. Marneffe, how- ever, seemed to place confidence in his director, though it sometimes degenerated into a fawning comphance which was half ridiculous. The one who displeased him was invariabl}' Crevel. Marneffe, destro3'ed by debaucheries of everj^ kind, had grown as hideous as an anatomical wax figure. AYalking disease as he was, he nevertheless appeared in handsome coats, with his tottering laths of legs incased in elegant trousers, and his withered breast covered with spotless perfumed linen which concealed the fetid odors of his person. The hideousness of vice at its last gasp, and arra3'ed in the pink of fashion, — for Valerie dressed Marneffe in keeping with her own fortune, — horrified Crevel, who was unable to bear the look in the glazing ej'es of the subdirector. Discover- ing the curious power with which Lisbeth and his wife had invested him, the scoundrel amused himself b}' em- ploying it ; he played it like an instrument ; cards being the last resource of this soul, as worn-out as the body that held it, he plucked Crevel, who felt himself obhged, as he said, to "knock under" to the man he thought he was deceiving. Seeing Crevel so submissive to the hideous and in- famous mumm}^ whose corruption he seemed to ignore, and hearing Valerie express the utmost contempt for the ex-perfumer, laughing at him as one laughs at a buffoon, the baron thougiifc himself so safe from all Cousin Bette. 205 rivalry that he constantly invited his successful rival to dinner. Valerie, guarded by two passions standing sentinel beside her and by the semblance of a jealous husband, attracted all eyes, and excited all desires in the circle where she reigned. Thus it was that she had come in less than three years (all the while keeping up ap- pearances) to realize the most difficult conditions of a courtesan's success, a success which the latter seldom attains even b}^ the help of scandal, audacity, and the notoriety of her life in open da3^ Like a diamond ex- quisitely set by Chanor, Valerie's beauty, formerly buried in the rue du Doyenne, was now estimated above its actual value, and she had several aspiring lovers ; among them Claude Vignon, who secretly loved her. This retrospective explanation, very necessary when we meet people after a lapse of three years, ma}- be called the schedule of the Valerie account. Now for that of her associate, Lisbeth Fischer. 206 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XVI. Assets of the firm Bette and Valerie — Fischer Account. Cousin Bette's position in the Marneffe establish- ment was that of a poor relation combining the func- tions of companion and housekeeper ; but she met with none of the humiliations which, as a general thing, are the lot of women unfortunate enough to be forced into accepting such anomalous positions. Lisbeth and Valerie presented the spectacle of one of those rare friendships and so little probable among women that Frenchmen, alwa3'S too witt}" and wise, instantly ridicule them. The contrast between the hard and virile nature of the Lorraine peasant-woman and the soft Creole tem- perament of Valerie seemed to justify- such scepticism. Madame Marneffe, however, had lately- given proofs of her affection for her friend in a matrimonial matter, which was destined, as we shall see, to cany forward the old maid's revenge. An immense change had taken place in Bette ; Valerie, who had chosen to superintend her toilette, effected marvels. The strange creature, submitting to corsets, •came out with a fine figure, smoothed her hair with bandoline, accepted her dresses just as they were deliv- ered to her by the dress-maker, wore dainty boots and gray silk stockings ; all of which were charged in Va- Cousin Bette, 207 lerie's bills and paid for by whoever the said bills might happen to concern. Thus restored, though still cling- ing to the 3ellow cashmere, Bette would have been un- recognizable to those who had only known her three years earlier. Like a black diamond, the rarest of all diamonds, cut and polished by a skilful hand and placed in a setting that became it, she was appreciated by certain ambitious clerks who perceived her real value. Whoever saw Bette for the first time shuddered invol- untarily at the aspect of barbaric poetry which Valerie contrived to impart to the old maid's person b}- the cul- tivation of her dress, and the art with which she framed the lean and olive face in heav}' bandeaus of dark hair matching in color the brilliant eyes, and forced the inflexible figure into lines of S3'mmetry. Bette, like a madonna of Cranach or Van Eyck, or some Byzantine virgin descending from her frame, had all the stiffness and angularity of those mysterious creations, cousins- german of Isis and the divinities cut in rock hy the Egyptian sculptors. She was basalt, granite, porphyry, on two legs. Secure from want for the rest of her days, the poor relation was in fine good-humor, and brought gayety to all the tables where she dined. The baron paid the rent of her little apartment, furnished, as we know, from the leavings of Valerie's old bedroom. ''Having begun life," Bette said, "as a half-starved nanny-goat, I am ending it e}i lionne.'' She still worked certain difficult bits of gold lace for Monsieur Rivet so as not to waste her time. There was little danger of that, however, for she was, as we shall see, extremely busy ; but she worked at her trade all the same because it is not in the nature of the French 208 Cousin Bette. peasantry to lose the smallest chance of gain ; in this respect they are like Jews. Every day, at dawn, cousin Bette went to market accompanied b}'' the cook. Her purpose was to make the household expenses, which were ruining Baron Hulot? a source of wealth to Valerie, who did in fact save a great deal of money out of them. What mistress of a household since 1838 has not felt the fatal effects of those Socialist doctrines that are spread through the wage-classes by incendiarj^ writers ? In ever^^ home the plague of servants is the worst of all financial sores. With rare exceptions (which merit the Montyon prize) cooks are domestic robbers, hired robbers, for whom the government has amiabl}' made itself the receiver of stolen goods ; thus developing the tendency to theft already half-sanctioned among cooks by the well-worn jest on the "handle of the basket.**^ Where these women once filched fort}^ sous for their lotter}' tickets they now take fifty francs for the savings bank. And the starched puritans who amuse them- selves b}^ trying philanthropic experiments upon France believe they have improved the masses ! Between the markets and the tables of their employers these robbers have set up a secret custom-house, and the whole municipalit}' is not so keen in exacting its dues, as the cooks of Paris in illicitl}' collecting theirs. Besides the fiftj' per cent which they subtract from the provisions, the}^ demand large bribes from the dealers. The latter, even the best of them, are afraid of this secret power ; they paj' what it asks without a word, — carriage-mak- ers, jewellers, tailors, each and all of them ! If anj' one attempts to question these proceedings, the servants Cousin Bette. 209 repty insolent!}', or pretend stupidit}' ; they make in- quiries about the character of their masters, just as for- merly the mastei's inquired about theirs. This evil, which seems to be reaching a climax and against which the courts are beginning to proceed (but in vain), will not disappear until a law is passed making servants' wages payable only on certificates, like those of work- men. The evil would then vanish as if by magic. Ser- vants would be compelled to produce their book of certificates, and their employers would be equally com- pelled to write down the reasons why they are dis- missed ; the general demoralization would thus be effectuall}- curbed. People in high places have little idea of the depravit}^ of the lower classes in Paris ; it almost equals their jealousy of those above them, a passion which is eating into their hearts. Statistics are silent as to the enor.nous number of workmen not more than twenty 3'ears old who marrj- cooks of forty and fifty w^ho have thus enriched themselves b}^ theft. We may well shudder in thinking of the results of such marriages from the triple view of criminality, bastardism of the race, and wretched homes. As to the purely financial evil done by these domestic robbers, it is vast from a political point of view. The costs of living, thus doubled, deprive many families of super- fluities. Superfluity, what is it? — half the commerce of nations, and the ease and elegance of life. Books and flowers are as necessary as bread to a great many persons. Lisbeth, well aware of this open sore in Parisian households, intended to manage Valerie's household when she oflfered her assistance in that terrible scene 14 210 Cousin Bette. in which the}^ swore to live together as sisters. She therefore sent to her native Lorraine for a relation on her mother's side, a pious old maid of extreme hon- est}', who was formerh' cook to the Bishop of Nanc}'. Fearing, however, that in spite of her ignorance of Paris ways, bad advice might ruin the loyalt\' of this treasure, Lisbeth made a practice of accompanying Mathurine to market, and tried to teach her the art of buying. To know the proper price of everything and thus secure the seller's respect, to choose the provisions in season (fish especially) when they are not too dear, to keep the run of the markets and buy cheap foreseeing a rise, these are household qualities absolutel}' essential to domestic econ- om}' in Paris. As Mathurine received ver}" good wages and many presents she liked her place well enough to be glad to make bargains. So that for some time past she had rivalled Lisbeth, who thought her pupil suffi- ciently trained to release her from going to market except on the daj's when Valerie had compan}', which, we ma}' add parentheticall}', happened ver^' often. The baron had begun b}* observing the strictest decorum ; but his passion for Madame Marneffe became in a short time so eager and unsatisfied that he could scarceh' bear to leave her. From dining at her house four times a week he grew to take that meal there everj' daj'. Six months after his daughter's marriage he began to pay two thousand francs a month for his board. Madame Marneflje invited the persons whom her dear Hector de- sired to meet. The table was always laid for six, and the baron was at liberty to bring three unexpected guests. Lisbeth's economy solved the extraordinary problem of keeping up this table luxuriouslv on one Cousin Bette. 211 thousaud francs a month, leaving the other thousand for Madame Marneffe. Valerie's dress being chiefly paid for hy Crevel and the baron, she contrived to la}- by another thousand a month from that source. And thus it happened that in three years that pure and artless little woman had laid b}' a snug sum of over a hundred and fifty thousand francs. She accum- ulated her dividends from the Funds, adding them to her monthlv profits, increasing them still further b}' the enormous gains which Crevel obtained for her by investing the capital of "his little duchess" in lucky financial operations, Crevel had initiated Valerie in the slang of business and the nature of transactions at the Bourse, and like all Parisian women she was soon more skilful than her master. Lisbeth, who never spent a penny of her twelve hundred francs, and whose board and lodging and clothes were all provided, so that she never even carried a purse of her own, had also laid b}' a little capital of five or six thousand francs, which Crevel was paternally'" nursing. The baron's love and Crevel's love were nevertheless an oppressive burden for Valerie to carr}'. The da}' on which this tale begins the little woman, excited b}' some one of those events which occasional^ ring in our ears like the bell which calls up a swarm of bees, had gone to Lisbeth's apartment to make her moan, with much volubility, after the fashion of women who soothe the lesser miseries of their life b}' smoking, as it were, with their tongues the cigarette of complaint. "Lisbeth, my iove ! this morning, two hours of Crevel ! it is enough to kill me ! Oh ! I wish jou could take my place ! " 212 Cousin Bette. " Unfortunatel}' I can't," said Lisbetb, laughing ; " I shall die a virgin." " To belong to both those old men ! There are times when I 'm ashamed of m3'self, — Ah ! if m}" poor dear mother onl}^ saw me ! — " " Are 3^ou taking rne for Crevel?" said Lisbeth. " Tell me, m}^ dear little Bette, that you don't despise me." "Ah! if I were as prettj- as 3'ou I should have my adventures ! " cried Lisbeth ; " that's m}^ answer." " But you would have followed the dictates of your heart," said Madame Marneffe, sighing. "Bah!" replied Lisbeth, "Marneffe is a corpse the}' 've forgotten to bur}-, the baron is 3'our husband, and Crevel your lover ; 3'ou are onl^^ doing like other women." "No, but that isn't it, my dearest; m}^ sadness comes from something else, and 3'ou don't choose to miderstand me." " Yes I do," cried the peasant- woman, " for the some- thing else is part of m\' revenge. Don't be impatient ; I am bringing it about." " To love Wenceslas till I waste awa}^, and yet never to see him ! " exclaimed Valerie, stretching out her arms. " Hulot asked him to come and dine here and he refused ! He does not know that I idolize him, — the wretch ! What 's that wife of his? a pretty bit of flesh. Yes, she is handsome; but I — well, I feel it — I am something worse." "Don't worry yourself, my little girl, he'll come," said Lisbeth, speaking like a nurse to a fractious child, " I shall manage it." Cousin Bette, 213 ''But when?" " This week perhaps." " Give me a kiss." The two women were really one ; all Valerie's actions, even her caprices, her pleasures, her sulks, were dis- cussed and adopted after mature deliberation between the pair. Lisbeth, strangeh' excited by the wanton life of her friend, advised Valerie in all her actions, pursuing the thread of her own vengeance with pitiless logic. More- over, she adored the woman whom she had made her daughter, her friend, her love ; she delighted in the soft Creole languor and obedience of this new idol ; she chattered to her daily with more pleasure than she had ever derived from Wenceslas ; they laughed together at their mutual deviltrv, at the folly of men, and counted up their growing gains and their respective fortunes. Lisbeth found in her schemes and in this new friendship a field for her native energy- richer far than that which her craz}^ love for Wenceslas had given her. The enjoyments of hatred are the keenest and most power- ful of all. Love is the gold and hatred is the iron of that mine of sentiments which lie deep within us. But beside all this, Lisbeth found delight in Valerie's beauty ; that beauty in full glor}' which she adored as we adore something we do not possess, a beauty far more amen- able than that of Wenceslas, which was always to a cer- tain degree frigid and unfeeling. At the end of three years Lisbeth was bes^inninsr to see the progress of the subterranean mine to which she was sacrificing her life and devoting her intel- lect. Bette thought and IMadame Marneffe acted. 214 Cousin Bette. Madame Marneffe was the axe, Bette the hand that wielded it, and the hand was striking down with rapid blows the family who grew more hateful to her day by day ; for we hate even as we love, daily more and more. / Love and hatred are passions that feed upon themselves, and of the two hatred lives longest. Love is limited by restricted powers ; its forces are those of life and generosit}' ; but hatred resembles death, or avarice ; it is, if we may say so, an opera- tive abstraction, acting outside of persons and events. \ Lisbeth had found the vocation that suited her and brought all her faculties into use ; she was at the helm of events like the Jesuits, with a species of occult power. The regeneration of her person kept pace with this development of her inner being. Her face shone. She dreamed of becoming Madame la Marechale Hulot. The foregoing scene in which the two friends crudely told each other their inmost thoughts, without the slight- est circumlocution of language, took place one morn- ing after Lisbeth had been to market to prepare for a choice dinner. Marneffe wanted to obtain Monsieur Coquet's place at the War office, and Valerie had in- vited that official, together with the virtuous Madame Coquet, hoping that the baron might negotiate his resig- nation that evening. Lisbeth was dressing to go to Madame Hulot's, where she expected to dine. " Come back in time to pour out tea, my Bette," said Valerie. "I will try to." "Try to! j-ou are not going to sleep with Adeline and drink in her tears while she sleeps, are you?" Cousin Bette. 215 " Ab, if I only could ! " answered Lisbeth, laugbing ; *'she is expiating her happiness and I am comforted. I remember mj' miserable childhood. Every one has his day, she has had hers ; now she will be in the mud, and I — I shall be Comtesse de Forzheim ! " 216 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XVII. ASSETS OF THE LEGITIMATE WIFE. LiSBETH started for the rue Plumet, whither she went from time to time as we go to a theatre to feast our emotions. The apartment which Hulot had selected for his wife contained a large antechamber, a salon, dining-room, bedroom, and dressing-room. The dining-room adjoined the salon. Two servants' rooms and a kitchen on the third floor completed the establishment, which was suit- able for a councillor of state and a distinguished member of the War department. The house itself, the courtyard and staircase, were handsome. The baroness, compelled to furnish her salon, bedroom, and dining-room with the relics of her former splendor, had taken the best articles from the old apartment in the rue de I'Universite. The poor woman loved those silent witnesses of her past hap- piness ; to her the}' had an eloquence that was half con- soling. She saw in the faded pattern of the carpets, scared}' visible to an}' eye but hers, the memory of other flowers of which they were the symbol. Whoever entered the vast antechamber, where a dozen chairs, a barometer, a large stove, and long curtains of white calico bordered with red recalled the barren wait- ing-room at a ministry, would have felt chilled to the heart at the thought of the blank solitude in which this Cousin Bette. 217 woman lived. Grief, like pleasure, makes an atmos- phere of its own. The first glance cast on a home i-e- veals to an observing eye the reign of love or of despair. Adeline was usually to be found in a vast bedroom, fur- nished with the fine work of Jacob Desmalters in dap- pled mahogany, decorated, in the style of the empire, with bronzes whose effect contrives to be even colder than that of the brasses of Louis XVI. Those who loved her shuddered to see the loneh' woman sitting in a Roman chair, before a work-table adorned with sphinxes, all her color gone, affecting a false gayety, yet retaining her dignity of manner, just as she preserved the gown of dark blue velvet which she wore when at home. The proud, courageous soul supported the outward body and maintained its beaut}'. B}' the close of the first 3'ear of her exile Madame Hulot had measured and accepted the full extent of her misfortune. " In banishing me to this place," she said to herself, " m}^ Hector has given me more than a simple peasant- woman had the right to expect. He requires me to live thus : his will be done ! I am the Baroness Hulot, sister- in-law of a marshal of France ; I have done no wrong ; my children are both well married ; I can await death, wrapped in the veil of a wife's honor, — in the weeds of my lost happiness ! " The portrait of Hulot, painted b}- Robert Lefebvre in 1810, in the uniform of his rank in the Imperial Guard, hung above the work-table, where, on the announce- ment of a visitor, Adeline was wont to lock up a copy of the "Imitation of Christ," which she now read habit- ually. Pure and irreproachable, she listened like Mag- dalen for the voice of the Spirit in her wilderness. 218 Coicsm Bette. " Mariette, my good girl," said Lisbeth to tbe cook, who opened tbe door, " how is 1113' dear Adeline?" "Apparently well, mademoiselle; but between our- selves, if she persists in going on as she does she will kill herself," whispered Mariette. "You must persuade her to live better. For the last few days madame has ordered me to give her two sous' worth of milk and a single roll for breakfast, and either a herring or a bit of cold veal for dinner. She has one pound of meat cooked to last a week, — for the days on which she dines at home alone, I mean. She won't spend more than ten sous a day for her food. She is not reason- able. If I were to mention it to Monsieur le marechal he might get angry with Monsieur le baron and disin- herit him ; but j'ou, who are so kind and so clever, you'll know how to settle matters." " Why don't you speak to the baron 3'ourself ? " asked Lisbeth. "Ah, my dear ladj", it is nearly a month since he was here, — in fact, not since the last time you came. Besides, madame forbade me to ask money of monsieur, and threatened to dismiss me if I did. But oh ! what trouble the poor, dear lad}' is in ! This is the first time monsieur has neglected her quite so long. Ever}' time the porter's bell rings she runs to the windov\^ ; for the last few da3'S she has scared}' had strength to leave her chair. She sits and reads. When she goes to dine with Madame la comtesse she always says, ' Mariette, if monsieur comes, tell him I am at home, and send the porter after me at once ; say I will pay him well.' " " My poor cousin ! " said Bette ; "it breaks my heart ! I speak of her to the baron every day ; but Cousin Bette. 219 what good does that do ? He replies : ' You are right, Bette ; I know I 'm a villain. My wife is an angel, and I am a monster. I '11 go to-morrow.' And that 's the end of it. He stays with Madame Marneffe. That woman is ruining him ; but he worships her ; he can't live out of her sight. I do what I can. If I were not there, and if I did n't have Mathurine, the baron's expenses would be double what they are. He is so pressed for money that he might have blown his brains out before now if I had not looked after matters ; and, Mariette, it would kill Adeline, — I know that. I tiy to keep things together, and prevent the baron from squandering everything." "Ah I that 's what m}' poor mistress says. She knows her obligations to 3'ou," answered Mariette. " She told me once she had long misjudged you." " Ha ! " exclaimed Lisbeth. " Did she say anything else?" " No, mademoiselle. If you want to give her pleas- ure, talk to her of monsieur. She thinks you so fortu- nate because 3'ou see him ever}^ day." " Is she alone? " " No ; the marechal is there. He comes every da}^, and she always tells him she has seen Monsieur le baron in the morning, and that he won't be in till late at night." "Is there a good dinner to-da}-?" inquired Bette. Mariette hesitated, she evaded Bette's glance, and at that moment the door of the salon opened and Marechal Hulot came through the antechamber so hastity that he bowed to Bette without recognizing her, and as he did so he dropped some papers. Bette picked them up and ran to the stairway as if to return them, for it was useless to call to a deaf man ; but she managed not to 220 Comin Bette. overtake him, and came back still holding the papers, on which she furtivel}^ read what follows, written in pencil : — "My DEAR BROTHER, — My husband has given me the usual sum for my quarterly expenses ; my daughter Hortense was in such need of money that I lent it all to her, though it was scarcely enough to relieve her embarrassment. Can you lend me a few hundred francs? — for I don't want to ask more of Hector; I could not bear that he should blame me." "Ah!" thought Lisbeth, "she must be in great straits if her pride comes down to that." Lisbeth entered Adeline's room, caught her in tears, and sprang to kiss her. "Adeline, dear child, I know all," said Bette. " See, the marshal dropped this paper, he was so troubled, he was in such a hurry. That wretched Hector has not given 3'ou any monej" since — " "He pays it punctually," said the baroness, "but Hortense needed some and — " " — and you have nothing to buy a dinner with; I see it all," said Bette, interrupting her. "Now I un- derstand Mariette's embarrassment when I asked her about it. Don't be a child, Adeline ; let me lend you m}' savings." " Thank 3'ou, my dear, good Bette," answered Ade- line, wiping awa}' her tears. " This little trouble is only momentar}' ; I have provided for the future. My expenses will onl}' be twenty-four hundred francs a year in future, including rent, and I shall have that sum. But say nothing to Hector, Bette. Is he well?" " Well ? I should think so ! as sound as the pont Neuf, Cousin Bette. 221 and as gay as a lark. He thinks of nothing but that sorceress Valerie." Madame Hulot looked at a great silver fir-tree which stood within range of the window, and Lisbeth was un- able to read the expression of her eyes. "Did you remind him that this was the da}'' we all dine together? " asked Adeline, presently. "Yes, but Madame Marneffe gives a grand dinner at which she expects to get Coquet's resignation, and he thinks that more important. Now, Adeline, listen to me ; you know m}^ rigid principles about indepen- dence. Your husband, m}' dear, will ruin 3'ou. I have tried to shield you from that woman, but she is utterly depraved, she can get things done by 3-our husband that will end by disgracing your name." Adeline started as if a dagger had pierced her heart. " My dear Adeline, I know it. Must I enlighten you? Well, at an}' rate, we ought to think of the fu- ture ! The marshal is old, but he will live long ; he has a fine salar}', and his widow, when he dies, will have a pension of six thousand francs. With that sum I could and would maintain 3'ou all. Use your influence with him to make me his wife. It is not because I want to be Madame la marechale that I have thought of this, but to get bread for 3'ou in the future. I see plainlj^ that if 30U are giving Hortense all you have she must be in want." The marshal entered at this moment ; the old soldier had done his errand so rapidly that he was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. " I have given two thousand francs to Mariette," he whispered to his sister-in-law. 222 Cousin Bette. Adeline blushed to the roots of her hair. Tears hung on her eyelashes, which were still long, and she silentl}' pressed the hand of the old man, whose face ex- hibited a J03' like that of a happ}' lover. " I was thinking, Adeline, of spending that very sum on a present for 30U ; therefore, instead of returning it; 3'oa must choose whatever 3-ou would like best." He took the hand that Lisbeth held out to him, and kissed it, so absorbed was he in pleasant thoughts of what he had done. " That is promising," Adeline remarked to Lisbeth, smiling as much as she was now able to smile. Just then young Hulot and his wife appeared. ' • Does m}- brother dine at home ? " asked the mar- shal in a curt tone. Adelhie took a pencil and wrote on a little square of paper : — '• I expect him ; he promised to dine here to-day ; if he does not come he is detained at the AYar office ; he is overwhelmed with business." She gave the paper to the marshal ; it was her method of conversation with the old man, and a sup- pi}^ of little squares of paper with a pencil were alwaj's ready on her work-table. "Yes, 1 know," answered the marshal, "he has a great deal to attend to about Algiers." Hortense and Wenceslas now arrived ; seeing the famih^ assembled about her, the baroness glanced at the marshal with an expression whose meaning was lost on all but Lisbeth. Happiness had greatly improved the artist, who was adored ))y his wife, and flattered by society. His face Cousin Bette. 223 had filled out ; his elegant figure set ofl" the man}- advantages ^vbich blood bestows on a thorough-bred gentleman. His premature fame, and the misleading praises which society flings at an artist very much as we sa}' good-day or speak of the weather, had given him that consciousness of his own merits w^hich degen- erates into conceit if real power leaves a man. The cross of the Legion of honor was in his eyes a crown- ing testimonial to the great genius which he believed himself to be. After three years of marriage Hortense, in her rela- tions with her husband, was very much what a dog is with his master ; she replied to all his movements with a look which seemed a question ; her e3'es were ever on him as a miser looks at his gold ; her admiring self- abnegation was touching to see. The advice and example of her mother were noticeable in all her ways. Her beauty, as great as ever, was now height- ened, poeticall}^, by the soft shadows of an inward grief As Lisbeth's e\-es encountered her young cousin, she fancied that some hidden plaint, long contained, was about to burst the frail bonds of discretion. Ever since the days of the honeymoon Bette had been confident that the joung household had too small an Income to support so great a love. Hortense, as she kissed her mother, exchanged with her, from mouth to ear and from heart to heart, a few words w4iose meaning w^as betrayed to Bette by the movement of their heads. *' Adeline is going to work, like me, for a living," thought Bette. '-I will make her tell me what she 224 Cousin Bette. means to do. Those pretty fingers have come at last, like mine, to hard labor." At six o'clock the family went to dinner. The baron's plate was laid. "Leave it," said the baroness to Mariette. " Mon- sieur is often late." " My father is coming," said J'oung Hiilot to his mother. "He told me so as we left the Chamber." Lisbeth, like a spider at the centre of her web, watched her victims. Knowing Hortense and Victorin from their birth, the faces of both were transparencies through which she could read their souls. From cer- tain glances which Victorin cast furtively at his mother she felt certain that some misfortune was hanging over Adeline which her son hesitated to reveal. The 3'oung and already- celebrated lawj-er was seemingly depressed. His deep veneration for his mother was traceable in the gloom with which he looked at her. Hortense was evi- dently preoccupied with her own troubles ; Lisbeth knew that for the last fifteen da3's she had felt those first anxieties that poverty inflicts on upright people, especiall}^ on young women hitherto accustomed to prosperity who feel bound to conceal their uneasiness. From the first, Bette had felt quite certain that Adeline had not given her daughter the mone}'. The scrupu- lous Adeline had therefore condescended to the specious falsehoods by which borrowers obtain loans. The depression of the son and daughter and the pro- found sadness of the motlier made the dinner a sad one. Three persons alone enlivened the scene, — Lisbeth, Celestine, and Wenceslas. His wife's love had devel- oped a Polish vivacity in the once melancholy artist, Cousin Bette. 225 — the vivacit}' of the Gascon nature, the good-natured liveliness which characterizes those Frenchmen of the North. The tone of his mind and the expression of his face revealed his belief in himself and his surround- ings, and plainh' showed that poor Hortense, faithful to the counsels of her mother, had hidden all her domestic troubles from him. "You ought to be very grateful to j'our mother," said Bette to her 3'oung cousin as they left the table, " for having got you out of trouble with that money she gave you." " Mamma ! " exclairjed Hortense, astonished. " Oh, poor mamma! to whom I long to be able to give mone}-! Bette, you don't know the truth. AVell, I will tell you : I have a dreadful suspicion that mamma is working for her support." They were crossing the great salon, which was all in darkness, following Mariette, who carried the lamp from the dining-room to Adeline's bed-chamber. At this instant Victorin touched Lisbeth and Hortense on the arm. Understanding the significance of the act, they allowed Wenceslas, Celestine, the marshal, and the baroness to precede them into the bedroom, and drew back themselves into the embrasure of a window. ' ' What is the matter, Victorin? " asked Lisbeth. '' I '11 wager it is some disaster 3'our father has caused." "Alas, yes," answered Victorin. "A mone3'-lender named Vauvinet has notes to the amount of sixt}^ thou- sand francs signed by m\' father, and means to sue him. I tried to speak about this miserable business to my father to-day in the Chamber, but he would not under- 15 226 Cousm Beffe. stand me ; he seemed to avoid me. Ought I to warn m}' mother?" " No, no," said Lisbeth ; " she has too many troubles ah'eady. It would kill her. She must be spared. You don't know what a position she herself is in. If it had n't been for your uncle you would have found no dinner here to-day." "Good God! Victorin, we are both selfish monsters!" said Hortense to her brother. " Lisbeth tells us what we ought to have guessed — " Hortense could sa}' no more ; she put her handker- chief to her mouth to stifle a sob, and wept. " I told Vauvinet to come and see me to-morrow morn- ing," conthmed Victorin. "But he won't be satisfied with m}^ endorsement. Such men want cash to float their transactions." " Let us sell our Funds," said Lisbeth to Hortense. ' ' What good would that do ? " said Victorin. ' ' Thev only amount to fifteen or sixteen thousand francs, and sixt}' is needed." "Dear cousin!" cried Hortense, kissing Bette with the warmth of a pure heart. "No, Lisbeth; keep 3'our little fortune," said Vic- torin, pressing her hand. "I will find out to-morrow exactly what the man is after, and then, if my wife consents, I will hinder — perhaps prevent — the suit. My father's reputation assailed ! It would be dreadful ! What would be thought at the War oflfice ! His salarj- is assigned over to a creditor for three 3'ears, and the time does not expire till December ; consequent!}' that security is not available. Vauvinet has renewed the notes eleven times ; and therefore just imagine what Cousin Betfe. 227 sums my father has paid as interest upon them ! That gulf must be closed." " If Madame Marneffe would onlj^ leave him ! " said Hortense, bitterl3\ "God forbid ! " said Victorin. " My father would go elsewhere, and perhaps spend more than he does now." What a change was this in the minds of children once so respectful, so trained by their mother to an absolute worship of their father ! They judged him now. "If it were not for me," said Lisbeth, " your father would be even worse off than he is." " Let us go in," said Hortense. " Mamma is so keen she will suspect something ; and as our dear Lisbeth says, we must be cheerful." "Victorin, you don't know where 3'our father will drag you with his passion for women, if you endeavor to settle his mone}* matters," said Lisbeth. "Better think of getting future support by marrying me to the marshal. Speak to him about it to-night. I will go away early to leave you free." Victorin entered the bedroom. "Well, my poor child," whispered Bette to Hortense, " what do 3'ou intend to do? " " Come and dine to-morrow, and we will talk of it," answered Hortense. " I don't know which wa}" to turn. You, who have had such experience of the trials of life, you must advise me." While the assembled family endeavored to preach mar- riage to the marshal, and Lisbeth was returning to the rue Vanneau, an event happened of a kind which stim- ulates in women like Madame Marneffe the energies of 228 Cousin Bette, vice by forcing them to display all the resources of their clepravit3\ Let lis recognize, however, one unfailing fact : in Paris life is too bus}^ for vicious persons to do evil from instinct ; the}^ defend themselves from attack b}' the help of vice, — thj^t is all. Cousin Bette. 229 CHAPTER XVIII. MILLIONS REDIVIVUS. Madame Marxeffe, whose salon was filled with wor- shippers, had just started the whist-tables when the foot- man, an old soldier enlisted h\ the baron, announced : "Monsieur le Baron Montez de Montejanos." Valerie's heart underwent a violent commotion ; but she sprang quicklj- to the door of the room, exclaiming, "My cousin!" When she reached the Brazilian she whispered hurried!}', "Be a relation, or all is over between us ! " " My dear cousin ! " she continued, leading the new- comer to the fireplace, "is it possible 3'ou were not shipwrecked as they told me ? I mourned 3'ou for three 3ears — " " Good evening, ni}^ dear friend," said Marneflfe, giving his hand to the Brazilian, whose dress and de- meanor was that of a true Brazilian millionnaire. Monsieur le Baron Henri Montez de Montejanos, en- dowed b}' equatorial climates with the color and form which we expect in a stage Othello, was sombre and reall}' alarming to the 63^6, — an eflfect pureh^ plastic, for his gentle, tender nature predestined him for the machi- nations which feeble women practise upon strong men. The disdainful expression of his face, the muscular power shown by his well-knit frame, in fact all his signs of strength were displa}-ed toward men only, — 230 Cousin Bette. a flattery addressed to women which the sex appre- ciates with such delight that a lover of this kind with his mistress on his arm has all the air of a triumphant matador. Superbl}^ dressed in a blue coat with mas- sive gold buttons, black trousers, elegant boots of irre- proachable polish, and gloved in the last fashion, the new-comer nevertheless exhibited his Brazilian orio;in by an enormous diamond worth a hundred thousand francs which shone like a star on a blue silk cravat, framed b}^ a white waistcoat half opened to show a shirt of exquisite fineness. His forehead, round and prominent like that of a faun (sign of obstinac}' in the passions) , was surmounted b\' a forest of jet-black hair, and beneath it glittered two clear, tawnj' e3'es which suggested that the baron's mother might have been frightened before his birth b}' a leopard. This splendid specimen of the Portuguese race in Brazil placed himself with his back against the corner of the fireplace in an attitude that betrayed a Parisian training. Hat in hand, with one arm resting on the velvet shelf, he leaned toward Madame Marneff'e and talked in a low voice, paying little or no attention to what he considered the horribly' common set of people who filled the salon in so inopportune a way. This arrival, and the air and manner of the Brazilian awakened precisel}" the same sentiment of curiosit}' min- gled with anguish in Crevel and in the baron. Both wore the same expression of face, each had the same presentiment. Their motions, inspired by mutual real passion, became so comical from the simultaneousness of their gj-mnastics that a smile crossed the faces of all who were clever enough to understand the revelation. Cousin Bette. 231 Unluckily for himself, Crevel, always the shopkeeper though ma3'or of Paris, continued the attitude rather longer than the baron, who caught that involuntary revelation of Crevel's passion as it were on the wing. It was another arrow in the heart of the amorous old man, who resolved on the spot to have an explanation with Valerie. " To-night," said Crevel to himself in the same spirit, arranging his cards, "I shall bring matters to a crisis." "You led hearts," cried Marneffe, "but you have just refused them." "Oh, excuse me," answered Crevel, picking up his cards. " That baron," he continued thinking to himself, " strikes me as interfering. Valerie may live with Hulot, — that's part of my vengeance, and I know how to get rid of him, — but a cousin! a baron too many! — I won't be made a fool of, — I shall insist on knowing what sort of relation he really is." That evening, by a piece of luck which happens only to prett}^ women, Valerie was charmingl}^ dressed. Her white skin shone through the meshes of Venetian point whose russet tones brought out the ivor}^ satin of her beautiful shoulders so characteristic of Parisian women, who acquire superb flesh (by what process is still un- known), and yet retain the elegance of their figures. She wore a robe of black velvet which seemed at times to be slipping from the shoulders, and her hair was arranged with lace and flowers. Her arms, which were round and dimpled, issued from short sleeves ruffled with falls of lace. She was like those fine fruits tempt- ingl}' arranged on a prett}'- dish, whose juices eat into the steel of the knife that cuts them. 232 Cousin Bette. "Valerie," said the Brazilian in the young woman's ear, "I have come back faithful to 30U. My uncle is dead, and I am twice as rich as I was when I went away. I wish to live and die in Paris — near 3'ou, and for you ! " " Speak lower, Henri, for heaven's sake ! " " Bah ! I must speak to 3^ou if I have to throw the whole company out of the window — especiall}^ after searching Paris for two da3's to find 3'ou. I can stay after the}^ leave, can I not?" Valerie smiled on her pretended cousin as she said : " Kemember that 3'ou are the son of a sister of m3' mother, who married 3'our father during Junot's cam- paign in Portugal." " I, Montez de Montejanos, descendant of the con- querors of Brazil, do you ask me to lie ! " " Speak lower, or we must part." "Why?" " Marneflfe, like dying men who are possessed with a last fanc3', has grown jealous — " "That lacke3M " said the Brazilian, who knew his Marneffe. "I will buy him off." "' How violent 3'ou are ! " "Ha! how did 3'ou get all this luxury?" cried the Brazilian, suddenl3' taking note of the elegant salon. She laughed. " What bad taste, Henri ! " she said. She had just caught two angr3' glances flaming with jealousy, which compelled her to look straight at her two victims writhing in pain. Crevel, who was playing against the baron and Monsieur Coquet, had Marneffe for a partner. The part3' were equall3' matched, be- Cousin Bette. 233 cause on either side the baron and Crevel had lost their heads, and made blunder after blunder. The two old men betrayed in a single moment the passion which Valerie had succeeded in making them hide for three years. One thing, however, she was unable to do ; she could not extinguish in her eyes the jo}' of again seeing the man who had once stirred her heart, the object of her first passion. The rights of such happy mortals live as long as the woman who has once granted them. In the midst of the three passions contending around her, one rel3'ing on the insolence of mone}', another on the rights of possession, and the third on youth, strength, wealth, and primary claims, Madame Marneffe contin- ued calm and imperturbable, like General Bonaparte at the siege of Mantua, when he had two armies to deal wdth in blockading the place. Jealous}' convulsing old Hulot's face, made it as terrible as the late Marechal Montcornet heading a charge of cavalry on the Russian lines. In his well-known capacity' as a handsome man the baron had never felt the pangs of jealous}', just as Murat never knew fear. He was always certain of vic- tory. His defeat in the matter of Josepha, the first de- feat of his life, he attributed to her thirst for money ; he said he was vanquished by a million, not by an abortion, alluding to the Due d'Herouville. But the philters and the vertigos that come of the mad passion now rushed over his heart in a moment. He turned from the whist- table to the chimney-piece with a movement a la Mira- beau, and when he laid down his cards to look fixedly at the Brazilian and Valerie, those about him felt some fear, mingled with curiosity, lest the anger now sup- pressed should burst forth violently. The spurious 234 Cousin Bette. cousin looked down on the baron as if lie were examin- ing a Chinese image. The situation could not last without ending in a frightful outburst. Marneffe was afraid of Hulot, for he dreaded the loss of his influence ; dying men cling to life as the galley-slaves long for liberty. The man was determined to be head of his division at any cost. Very naturally alarmed at the pantomime of the two old men, he rose, whispered to his wife, and then, to the great astonishment of every one, Valerie went into her bedroom followed by her hus- band and the Brazilian. ''Did Madame Marneffe ever speak to you of that cousin?" asked Crevel of Baron Hulot. "Never!" answered the baron, rising. "We have played enough for to-night," he added. " I have lost two louis, and here they are." He threw the gold pieces on the table and sat down on the sofa with an air which the compan}^ iuterpreted as a sign that the}^ should disperse. Monsieur and Madame Coquet after exchanging a few words with each other left the room, and Claude Vignon in despair followed them. These departures started the rest of the compan}-, who felt they were in the way, and the baron and Crevel were presently left alone. The}' said nothing to each other. Hulot, forgetting Crevel's pres- ence, went on tiptoe to the door of the bedroom, but instantly made a sudden and prodigious jump back- ward as Monsieur Marneffe opened it and came out with a calm face, apparently much surprised to find only the two men. " Where 's the tea? " he said. *' Where is Valerie?" asked the baron, furiousl3\ Cousin Bette. 235 "My wife?" said Marneffe, "she has gone upstairs to your cousin's apartment ; she will be back presently." " Why has she left us in this way?" "Why?" said Marneffe. " Because Mademoiselle Lisbeth has just returned from dining with your wife, and she was seized with indigestion ; Mathurine came to get some tea for her from Valerie, who ran up to see what was the matter." " Where is that cousin? " " He has gone." " Do 3'ou believe that? " asked the baron. " I have just put him in his carriage," said Marneffe, with a hideous smile. The baron, considering Marneffe a cipher, left the room and went up to Lisbeth's apartment. A thought darted through his brain, such as a heart inflamed by jealousy sometimes sends there. Marneffe's depravity was well known to him, and he suddenly suspected an ignominious collusion between husband and wife. "Where has everybody gone ? " asked Marneffe, find- ing himself alone with Crevel. "When the sun sets the birds roost," said Crevel, " Madame Marneffe disappeared, her adorers likewise. Everybody has gone home. Let us play piquet," he added, determined to remain. The baron ran quickly upstairs to Bette's apartment ; but the door was locked, and the inquiries and answers took enough time for two clever women to get up a scene of indigestion relieved by tea.\ Lisbeth was evi- dently suffering and Valerie was anxious, so anxious that she scarcely noticed the baron's furious entrance. Illness is a screen which women often set up between 236 Cousin Bette. themselves and the wind of a quarrel. Hiilot looked all round the room but could see no place in which to hide a Brazilian. " Your indigestion, Bette, is a compliment to my wife's dinner," he said, looking pointedly at the old maid, who was perfectly well, though endeavoring to imitate certain convulsions. "See how luck}' it is that dear Bette lives in this house ! If I had not got to her at once she might have been alarminglj- ill," said Valerie. "You look as if 3'ou thought there was nothing the matter with me," said Lisbeth addressing the baron ; "it would be infamous if — " " Wln^? " demanded the baron, " do you know what brings me here ? " and he leered at the lock of the dress- ing-room door from which the key had been taken. "Are 3'ou talking Greek ? " said Madame Marneffe, with a heart-rending expression of tenderness and in- jured feeling. "It is because of 3'ou, — 3'es, actualh' your fault, my dear cousin, that I am in this state ! " cried Bette, vehemently. Her cry diverted the baron's attention and he gazed at her with amazement. "■ You know that I am vour friend," continued Lisbeth j " I live here, isn't that a proof of it? I have spent my last strength in taking care of your interests and those of our dear Valerie. Her household expenses cost ten times less than they would in an}' other house kept up in the same manner. If it were not for me, cousin, in- stead of paying two thousand francs a month, you would have to spend three or four thousand." Cousin Bette. 237 " I know all that," said the baron, impatient!}'. " You help us in more v/ays than one," he added significantl}', approaching Madame Marneffe and taking her round the throat ; "is n't that so, ni}' little darling? " " Upon my word," said Valerie, " I believe 3'ou are crazy." "You can't doubt my attachment," cried Lisbeth ; "but I also love m^' cousin, Adeline, and to-day I found her in tears. She has not seen you for a month. That 's not right. You leave poor Adeline without means. Your daughter Hortense almost fainted away when she heard there would have been no dinner to-da}' if 3'our brother had not lent Adeline some monej'. There was nothing but dr^^ bread in your house this morning ! Adeline has taken the heroic resolution to support her- self She said to me, ' I will do as you have done.' The words wrung my heart ; I thought of what m}' cousin was in 1811 and what she now is in 1841 ! the shock stopped ray digestion. I came home thinking I should feel better, but once here I am worse — " ' ' Valerie ! j'ou see what vaj devotion to you has brought me to!" said the baron. "It makes me guilty of domestic crimes." " Ah ! I did well to remain single ! " cried Bette, with savage ]o}\ "Y"ou are a good and kind man, and Adeline is an angel, and this is the reward of blind devotion." " An old angel," said Madame Marneffe, genth^ with a glance half-tender, half-mocking at her Hector, who was still watching her as a detective watches a supposed criminal. "Ah, poor woman!" said the baron; "I have not 238 Cousin Bette. given her any mone}^ for nine months, and 3^et I can find plenty for you, Valerie — at what cost ! You will never be loved as I love 3'ou, and in return what distress you cause me ! " " Distress?" she answered. " Is that what j^ou call the happiness I confer upon you ? " "I don't yet know what 3'our relations have been with that sham cousin of whom 3'ou never told me," said the baron, paying no attention to the phrases which Valerie interjected. When he entered the room it was like a stab in m}^ heart. Blinded as I have been I am not a blind man ; I could read in 3'our eyes and in his. Sparks flew from that monke3'-face to jours and 3'ou looked — oh ! you never gave me such a look, never ! As for this mj'stery, Valerie, it shall be brought to light. You are the onlj^ woman who has made me feel the emotion of jealousy, therefore you need not be surprised at what I say, — I perceive still another mj's- ter}^; a secret which has burst its veil, and it seems to me infamous — " " Go on ! go on ! " cried Valerie. " Crevel, that mound of flesh and folly, loves jon, and you receive his attentions so well that the fool has betrayed his passion before everybod}- ." "That's the third! have 3'Ou found any more?" demanded Madame Marneffe. "There may be more," said the baron. " Suppose Monsieur Crevel does love me? a man has a right to do that. If I favored his passion it would be the act of a coquette or of a woman who wants more than you can give her. Well, either love me with all my faults or leave me. If 3'ou give me back mj' libert3^ Cousin Bette. 239 neither yon nor Monsieur Crevel shall ever enter m}" doors. I shall take my cousin so as not to lose the charming habits which 3^on attribute to me. Adieu, Monsieur le baron Hulot." She rose ; but the old man caught her by the arm a:nd made her sit down again. He could not replace Valerie ; she had become a more imperious necessity than even the common needs of life, and he felt he would rather remain in a state of uncertainty than obtain the slightest proof of her infidelity. " M}- dear Valerie," he said, " do you not see how I suflE'er? I onl}' ask you to justify' 3'ourself, — give me good reasons — " "Well, go and wait for me downstairs; I don't suppose 3'ou want to be present at what I have to do for your cousin." Hulot withdrew slowh'. " Old libertine ! " cried Bette, as he left them, " 3'ou liave not asked me about your children ! What do 3'ou mean to do for Adeline ? To-morrow I shall take her my poor savings." " A man owes his wife a support, at least," said Madame Marneffe, smiling. The baron, not offended by Lisbeth's speech, which arraigned him as sharph' as Josepha's had done, went hastily awa}' like one who wanted to avoid an incon- venient question. The bolt once slipped behind him, the Brazilian was let out of the dressing-room where he was waiting ; tears were in his e^'es and his state of mind was pitiable to see. He had heard all. 240 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XIX. SCENES OF HIGH FEMININE COMEDY. "You have ceased to love me, Henri ; alas ! I see it," said Madame Marneffe, hiding her face in her handker- chief, and bursting into tears. ^ It was a cry of real love. The clamor of a woman's distress is so persuasive that it wrings a pardon from the heart of every lover if she is 3^oung and prett}^ " If you love me, why not give up everything for m}^ sake?" demanded the Brazilian. This child of transatlantic Nature, logical like all men bred in Nature's bosom, took up the conversation at the point where he had left it, passing his arm around Valerie's waist. " You ask why? " she said, raising her head to look at him, and quelling him b}' a glance overflowing with love. " Because, my treasure, I am married ; because we are in Paris and not on the pampas, not in the soli- tudes of America. My kind Henri, my first, my only love, listen to me ! This husband of mine, a sub-director at the War office, wishes to be head of his department and an officer of the Legion of honor. Can I prevent him from being ambitious? Now, for exactly the same reason that he once left 3'ou and me free to follow our wishes (nearly four years ago, 3'ou cruel fellow ! ) he Coiisin Bette, 241 now compels rae to take Hulot. I can't get rid of that dreadful official — who puffs like a walrus and is sixty- three years old, and hateful to me, and who has grown ten years older in the last three years — until the day when Marneffe is head of his department and officer of the Legion of honor — " " What else is 3'our husband to get? " "Three thousand francs." "I'll give him an annuity for that amount," said Baron Montez. " Come, let us leave Paris and go — " ''Where?" said Valerie, with one of those pretty pouts hy which women tease the men of whom they are sure. "Paris is the only city where it is possible to live happ3'. I care too much for our love to allow it to weaken by living alone with you in a desert. Hear me, Henri ; you are the onl}' man in all the universe whom I ever loved — write that on your tiger skull." Women always persuade the men whom they have turned to sheep that they are lions and tigers with iron wills. ' ' You must listen to me. Monsieur Marneffe has n't five years to live ; he is rotten to the marrow of his bones ; out of twelve months in the year he spends seven swallowing drugs ; he is swathed in flannel : in short, the doctors say the scythe may cut him down at any moment ; the slightest illness, one that could not harm a sound man, will be his death ; his blood is cor- rupt, vitality is attacked at its source. Some da}^ and it is not far off, I shall ])e a widow. Well, I, who am already asked in marriage by a man with sixt}' thousand francs a 3'ear, I, who can manage that man just as I can this bit of sugar, I declare to you that if you were 16 242 Cousin Bette, poor like Hulot, leprous like Marneffe, and even if you were to beat me, it is you alone that I love and whose name I wish to bear. I am ready to give you ever}' proof of love that you can ask — " "Well then, to-night — " "But, child of Rio, my beautiful leopard who has come to me from the virgin forests of Brazil/' she said, taking possession of his hand and fondling it, " respect the woman whom you wish to make your wife — Shall I be your wife, Henri?" "Yes," he said, conquered by the wild garrulity of her passion. He knelt at her feet. "Henri," said Valerie, taking both his hands and looking fixedh^ into his eyes, "• swear to me now, in presence of Lisbeth, my best and only friend, m}^ sis- ter, that you will marry me at the end of m}' year of widowhood." "I swear it!" "That is not enough. Swear it by the ashes and the eternal salvation of 3'our mother — swear it by the Virgin Mar}' and by 3'our Christian hope." Valerie knew well that the Brazilian would keep that oath even though she were sunk in the deepest social degradation. He took the solemn vow, his brow almost touching her white bosom, his eyes spell-bound ; he was drunk, drunk as a man is when he sees a beloved woman after long absence. " Well then, be content. Respect your future wife. Don't spend a farthing on me ; I forbid it. Remain here in the front room, you can sleep on the little sofa ; I will come back myself and tell 3'ou when you can come Cousin Bette. 243 down. We will breakfast together, and 3'ou may leave at one o'clock as though you had been paying me a morning visit. There is nothing to fear ; the porters are devoted to me. Now I must go down and pour out tea." She made a sign to Lisbeth, who accompanied her to the landing. There, Valerie whispered in the old maid's ear. "My blackamoor has come back too soon! I shall die if I don't aA^enge you on Hortense." " Don't be afraid, you dear little devil ; " said Bette, kissing her on the forehead. "When love and ven- geance run in couples they never miss their goal. I am to meet Hortense to-morrow ; she is in great poverty. Wenceslas would kiss you a thousand times to get a thousand francs." When Hulot left Valerie he went down to the porter's lodge and came suddenly on Madame Olivier. "Madame Olivier?" Hearing this imperative call and observing the ges- ture by which it was enforced, Madame Olivier came out of her den and followed the baron to a corner of the courtyard. " Don't you know that if any one can help your son to get a notary's practice it is I ? It is owing to me that he completed his law studies and got into a no- tary's office at all." " Yes, monsieur le baron, and monsieur can count on our gratitude. There is never a da}^ that I don't pray to God for blessings on monsieur le baron." " Fewer words, m}^ good woman," said Hulot, " and more deeds." 244 Cousin Bette, " What must we do?" "A man came here to-night in a carriage. Do you know him?" Madame Olivier had recognized Montez ; in fact she could hardly have forgotten a man who slipped five francs into her hand every time he left the rue du Doyenne a little too early in the morning. If the baron had chanced on Olivier he might perhaps have learned the truth ; but Olivier had gone to bed. Among the lower classes the woman is not only superior to the man, but she almost alwaj's rules him. Madame Olivier had long; decided on her course in ease their two benefac- tors quarrelled ; she looked upon Madame Marneffe as the stronger of the two powers. " Do I know him? " she said. "No — I never saw him before." "Nonsense; Madame Marneffe's cousin must have gone to see her when she lived in the rue du Doj^enne." " Oh ! was it her cousin ? " exclaimed Madame Olivier. " It may have been, for I did not see his face. I '11 pay attention, monsieur, next time — " " He will come down by and by," said the baron, hastil}'. ' ' But he has gone," said Madame Olivier, who now understood the matter, " the carriage is not here." " Did 3'ou see him go? " "Yes, and he said to the servant, ' To the embassy.' '^ Her tone, and the assurance she gave him, brought a sisfh of relief from the baron's breast ; he took Madame Olivier's hand and wrung it. "Thank you, my dear Madame Olivier, but that's not all ; how about Monsieur Crevel? " Coumi Bette. 245 "Monsieur Crevel? What do you mean? I don't understand," answered Madame Olivier. "He loves Madame Marneffe." "It isn't possible, Monsieur le baron!" she ex- claimed, clasping her hands. " He loves Madame Marneffe," repeated Hulot, im- peratively. "Plow do they manage? I don't know; but I mean to know, and so must 3'ou. If you can put me on the track of that intrigue your son is a notar3^" "Monsieur le baron, don't let 3'our blood boil that wa}^," answered Madame Olivier. " Madame loves you and only 3'ou ; her waiting-maid knows that, and we of- ten talk of it ; she says you are the happiest of men, for you know Madame's value. Ah ! she 's perfection ! She rises at ten o'clock every day ; then she break- fasts — good ; then it takes her an hour or more to dress ; and that brings us to about two o'clock ; after that she walks in the Tuileries in sight of everybod}' and comes home punctually at four o'clock, — your hour for coming. Oh ! it is all as regular as clock-work. She has no secrets from her maid, and Reine has none from me ; she could n't have an}-, because of my son, with whom she 's in love. So you see that if Madame had an}' relations with Monsieur Crevel we should cer- tainly know it." The baron returned to Madame Marneffe's apartment with a beaming face, convinced that he was the only lover of that odious courtesan, as beautiful, as graceful and as deceitful as a siren. Crevel and Marneffe were just beginning their second game of piquet. Crevel lost as men lose who are 246 Cousin Bette. paying no attention to their pla}'. Marneffe, who knew the causes of the mayor's absent-mindedness, profited without scruple ; he glanced at the cards to be taken, and "discarded" accordingly; then overlooking his adversaria's game he played sure. The stake was twenty sous, and he had thus stolen thirty francs before the baron re-entered the room. "Well!" said Hulot, surprised to see the room empty, "are you alone? where are they all?" " Your fine temper sent everybody flying," replied Crevel. "No, it was the arrival of my wife's cousin," said Marneffe. " The company thought that Valerie and Henri must have something to say to each other after three years' absence, so they discreetly retired. If I had been here I should have kept them ; but that would have been a pity, as it happened, for Lisbeth who always pours out tea, was taken ill — " " Is she really ill? " interrupted Crevel. " They said so," replied Marneffe, with cynical in- difference. The mayor looked at the clock and estimated that the baron had been forty minutes with Valerie. His joj'ous manner incriminated him, together with Valerie and Lisbeth, in Crevel's mind. "I have just seen her; she suflfers horribly, poor girl," said Hulot. " The suflferings of other people seem to please you," replied Crevel, crossly ; " 3'ou have come back with j'our face radiant. Is Lisbeth likel}' to die ? Your daughter is to have her money, they say. I don't know you again ; 3'ou went out with a face like the Moor of Cousin Bette. 247 Venice and \'ou have come back looking like Saint- Preux — I should like to see Madame Marneffe's face now." " What do you mean by that?" demanded Monsieur Marneffe, gathering up his cards and laying them before him. The dim eyes of the decrepit creature lighted up ; a faint color overspread the cold and flabby cheeks ; he half-opened the black lips of his toothless mouth, from which oozed a white froth looking like chalk. The rage of the impotent man, whose life hung by a thread, and who risked nothing in a duel, while Crevel risked all, alarmed the mayor. " I said," answered Crevel, " that I should like to see Madame Marneffe's face, and all the more because 3'ours has a particularly disagreeable expression at this moment. On my word of honor, you are frightfully ugly, my dear Marneffe." " Yon are not polite." " A man wlio wins thirty francs in forty-five minutes never looks handsome to me." "Ah, if 3'ou had seen me seventeen years ago!" said the wreck. " Were you fascinating? " retorted Crevel. " That's what ruined me. If I had managed matters as you have, I should be peer of France and maj'or at this moment." "Yes," said Crevel, sneering, "you have carried the war too far. I save up gold in the business, but 3'ou swallow its drugs." Crevel burst out laughing. Marneffe might seem to be angry about his wounded honor, but he alwaj's 248 Cousin JBette. took such vulgar and insulting jokes amiably. The}' were the small change of conversation between himself and Crevel. "Eve has cost me dear, I admit/' he replied ; " but a short life and a merr}' one, that's ni}' motto." " I prefer mine long and happ}'," replied Crevel. At this moment Madame Marneffe came in, saw her husband pla3ing cards with Crevel, and the baron sit- ting apart, all three alone in the salon. She guessed from a first glance at the municipal dignitary the thoughts that were agitating his breast, and she de- cided instantly on her course. "Marneffe, dear!" she said, leaning on her hus- band's shoulder and passing her pretty fingers over his sparse gra}^ hairs as if to draw them together, "it is very late for you ; you ought to be in bed ; you know what the doctor said; — if you want to live, 3'ou must take care ; come, leave 3'our piquet." " Let's end at five points," said Marneffe to Crevel. " Ver}' good ; I have two already'," replied Crevel. " How long will it take? " asked Valerie. " Ten minutes." "It is already eleven o'clock," she said. "Really, Monsieur Crevel, one would think 3'ou wanted to kill m}^ husband. At any rate, make haste." The double meaning of the speech amused Crevel, Hulot, and even Marneffe himself. Valerie crossed the room to Hector. "Go awa}^ now, my dearest," she whispered, "and walk down the rue Vanneau ; then come back when 3'Ou see Crevel leave the house." ' ' I would rather only leave the apartment and get Cousin Bette. 240 back bj the door into 3'our dressing- room. You could tell Reine to open it for me." " Reine is upstairs taking care of Lisbeth.'* " Well, then, I'll go up to Lisbeth's apartment.'* Either Tva}^ was perilous for Valerie, who, foreseeing that she must come to an explanation with Crevel, did not choose to have Hulot in her bedroom where he could overhear the conversation ; and the Brazilian was up- stairs. "Upon m}" word, you men," said Valerie, "when 3'ou get a notion into your heads would burn a house down to force an entrance. Lisbeth is not in a stat^ to have 3^ou up there. Are you afraid of getting rheumat- ism in the street? Come, go; or good-b}^ to you." " Good-night, gentlemen," said the baron aloud. Touched in his vanit}', the old man felt bound to prove that he could rival a young lover by awaiting the happy moment in the street. Marneffe said good-night to his wife, whose hand he took with a show of tenderness. Valerie shook his in a manner that meant, " Help me to get rid of Crevel." "Good-night, Crevel," said Marneffe, "I hope you won't sta}' long with Valerie. I'm jealous — it has seized me late but it holds me fast — I shall come back presently' and make sure 3'ou are gone." ' ' We have business to discuss ; but I shall not sta}' long," said Crevel. "Speak low, — what do 3'ou want of me?" said Valerie, looking at Crevel with a haught3' and con- temptuous eye. Meeting her glance, Crevel, who had rendered im- 250 Cousin Bette. mense services to Valerie and was prepared to boast of them, became suddenly humble and submissive. " That Brazilian — " he stopped short, struck dumb by the fixed and scornful look which she gave him. " Go on," she said. ' ' This cousin — " " He is not m}' cousin," she replied, " he is my cousin for the world and for Monsieur Marneffe. Supposing he were my lover, you have no right to say anything. A shopkeeper who bux's a woman to revenge himself on another man is, in my opinion, beneath the man who buj's for love. You were not in love with me ; but you knew I was Baron Hulot's mistress, and you bought me just as a man buj's a pistol to kill his adversary. I wanted 3'our mone\' and I consented." " But you have not fulfilled the bargain," said Crevel, with commercial keenness. " Ah ! 3'ou want Baron Hulot to know that 3'ou have carried off his mistress in revenge for Josepha. Nothing could better prove the baseness of your mind. You say 3'OU love a woman ; 3'Ou treat her like a duchess, and then 3'Ou want to publicl}^ disgrace her! My good friend, 3^ou are right, — this woman here present is not the equal of Josepha ; Josepha had the courage of her infam3", whereas I am a h3^pocrite who ought to be whipped in the market-place. Alas ! Josepha is pro- tected b3' her cleverness and b3^ her mone3', but I, — m3^ only fortune is m3^ honor ; I am still a virtuous and re- spected bourgeoisC; but if you make a scandal about me what shall I become? If I had mone3^ 1 would not care ; but, as it is, T have onl}' about fifteen thousand francs a 3'ear, — " Cousin Bette. 251 " You have a great deal more," said Crcvel. " Within the last two months I have doubled 3'our investment in the Orleans railway." "Well, but no one is respected in Paris until he has fifty thousand francs a 3'ear. You can't give me the equivalent of what I should lose in throwing over the baron. Do you ask what that is ? — why, Marneffe's appointment as head of the department ; he would then have six thousand francs a 3'ear ; he has been twenty seven j'ears in the service, and in three more, if he lives as long, I should have a pension of fifteen hundred francs when he dies. You, whom I have overwhelmed with favors, with happiness, 3'ou are not willing to wait for your revenge ! — and you call that love ! " she cried. "I may have begun b}' calculating on revenge," said Crevel, " but I have ended by being your spaniel. You trample on ni}^ heart, 3'ou crush me, you dumfound me, and 3'et I love 3'ou as I never loved before. Valerie, I love you as much as I love Celestine. I am capable of anything for 3'our sake. Say that instead of com- ing twice a week to the rue du Dauphin, 3'OU will come three times." " Is that all ! realty, 3'ou are getting 3-outhful again." " Let me dismiss Hulot and humiliate him," urged Crevel. " Get rid of him, promise you will not see that Brazilian ; be mine onty — 3'ou shall not repent it. In the first place I will give you eight thousand francs a 3'ear, — an annuit3^ oi^b'; ^^^ you shall have the capi- tal if 3^ou are faithful to me for five years." ' ' Always making bargains ! a bourgeois never knows how to give. You want to keep up relays of love with 252 Cousin Bette, dividends ! Ah, shopkeeper ! vender of hair-oils ! you ticket everything with its price. Hector tokl me that the Due d'Herouville brought Josepha the certificate for her thirt}' thousand francs a 3^ear in a bag of sugar- pkims. I am worth six times as much as Josepha. Ah ! to be loved ! " she said, twisting her curls before the mirror. " Henri loves me, he would kill 3'ou like a fly at a sign from me. Hulot loves me, and leaves his wife to want. But you, you who can be a good father and look after your family and yet have three hundred thousand francs laid by outside of your property with which you might do Avhat you liked — " " Valerie ! I offer you half of it," cried Crevel, falhng on his knees. "Are 3'ou still here?" cried Marneffe, entering in his dressing-gown. " What are you doing? " " He is begging ni}- pardon for an insulting speech," said Valerie. Crevel wished he could drop through a trap-door as they do at the theatre. " Eise, my dear Crevel, you look too ridiculous," said Marneflje, smiling. " I see b}- Valerie's face that there is no danger for me." " Go to bed and sleep in peace," said Madame Mar- nefle to her husband. "Isn't she clever?" thought Crevel ; " she is adora- ble ! how she got out of it ! " When Marneffe had disappeared, the ma3'or seized Valerie's hands and kissed them, moistening them with tears. " I will put it all in your name," he said. "Ah! that is love!" she whispered. "Well, love Cousin Bette. 253 for love. Hiiiot is down below, waiting in the street. Poor old fellow, he expects me to put a light in my win- dow to let him know when to come. I permit 3'ou to go and tell him 3'0ii are the one I love ; he will not be- lieve 3'ou ; then take him to the rue du Dauphin and give him proofs. I permit 3'ou, na}^ I order you to do so. That walrus wears me out. Keep him in the rue du Dauphin all night, tear him with hot pincers, re- venge 3'ourself for Josepha. Hulot may die of it, but if so we shall save his wife and children from utter ruin. Madame Hulot is now working for her living ! " " Poor lady ! it is shameful ! " cried Crevel, his nat- ural good feeling coming to the surface. " If you love me, Celestin," she whispered in his ear as her lips touched it, "keep him away, or I am lost. Marneffe suspects something, and Hector has the key of the porte-cochere and expects to return." Crevel pressed her in his arms and went away at the summit of happiness. Valerie lovingly accompanied him to the landing; then, as if magnetized, she fol- lowed him down the staircase. ' ' My Valerie ! go back ; do not compromise yourself before the porters. — Go ; my life, my fortune, my all is yours. — Go back, my duchess ! " "Madame Olivier! " said Valerie, softly, as soon as the door closed on Crevel. " Wlw, madame, 3'ou here? " said Madame Olivier, amazed. " Run the upper and lower bolts, and don't open the door to an3' one — no matter who." " Very well, madame." As soon as the bolts were drawn Madame Olivier 254 Cousin Bette. recounted the attempt of the baron to corrupt her fidelit3^ " You behaved like an angel, my dear Olivier," re- plied Madame MarnefFe, "but we must talk of all that to-morrow." Valerie ran up to the third storj' with the rapidity of an arrow from its bow, gave three little knocks on Lisbeth's door, and then returned to her own apartment where she gave certain orders to Reine ; no Parisian waiting-maid misses such an occasion as the return of a Montez from Brazil. Cousin Bette. 255 CHAPTER XX. TWO BROTHERS OF THE GREAT CONFRATERNITY OF BROTHERHOODS. '' NO; b}' heaven ! " thought Crevel to himself, " none but women of the world can love like that. How she came clown those stairs, her eves blazino", fairlv carried away! Josepha never — Josepha ! mere scum ! What did I sa}^ ? scum ! Heavens ! suppose I were to let slip such a word at the Tuileries ? No, if Valerie doesn't train me I shall never be worth anything in society — I, who am so anxious to be a distinguished man ! What a woman ! If she merely looks at me coldly it stirs mj' inside like the coHc ! What grace ! what wit ! Josepha never gave me such emotions ! What hidden perfec- tions ! — Oh, there 's my man ! " In the shadows of the rue de Babylone he beheld Hnlot, with his head down, slipping along the side of some buildings in process of construction, and he went straight up to him. ' ' Good morning, baron ; for it is past midnight, my dear fellow. What the devil are you doing here, walk- ing up and down in the rain ? It is n't wise, at our age. Do 3'ou want me to give j'ou a piece of good advice ? Let us both go home ; for, between ourselves, you won't see that light in the window." 256 Cousin Bette. As the baron heard these last words it dawned upon him that he was sixty-three years old, and that his cloak was wet. "Who told you that?" he said. "Valerie, — hang it, owr Valerie, who wishes to be solety my Valerie. That puts us even, and we '11 plaj^ for the rubber when you like. You can't be angrj'', for 3^ou know it was agreed I should take my revenge. You spent three months in getting Josepha away from me, and I 've got Valerie in — however, don't let 's talk of that," he added. "Now, I intend to have her all to m^'self. But we need n't be less good friends." " Crevel, don't joke," said the baron, in a choking voice. "It is a matter of life and death to me." "Bless me, how you take it! Baron, don't 3^ou re- member what I said to 3^ou on your daughter's wedding- day, — wh}" should two old fellows like us quarrel for a petticoat? It's plebeian, vulgar, low-bred; 3^ou and I belong to another stripe, — regency, blue doublets, Pom- padour, eighteenth centur3% regular Richelieu; we are, and I dare to sa3' it, connoisseurs in women ! " Crevel might have strung his literar3^ terms together for some time longer, for the baron listened as deaf men listen when their infirmity begins ; but the conqueror stopped short, seeing the ghastly face of his enem3^ by the gleam of a street lamp. The news fell like a thun- derbolt on the baron, after the assurances of Madame Olivier and Valerie's last look. "Good God! and there were so man3' other women in Paris ! " he said at last. "That's what I told you when 3^ou took Josepha," retorted Crevel. Cousm Bette. 257 - " Crevcl, I don't believe it; it is impossible. Give me proofs. Have you a key, as I have ? " And the baron, by this time before the house, plunged the ke}' into the lock ; but the door was immovable, and he began to shake it. " Don't make a disturbance," said Crevel, coolly. "Come, baron, I have better keys than 3'onrs." "Proofs! proofs!" cried the baron, exasperated b}^ his miser}^ till he seemed crazy. "Follow me, and I'll give them to 30U," answered Crevel ; and then, according to Valerie's instructions, he took the baron toAvard the qua}' b}^ the rue Hillerin- Bertin. The unfortunate State councillor followed him like a merchant on his way to the court of bankruptcT. He was lost in conjectures as to the motives of the depravity at the bottom of Valerie's heart, and he believed himself the dupe of some trickery. As they crossed the pont Royal a sense of his barren life, end- inof in nothino'uess and harassed w^ith financial troubles, came over him, and he was on the point of 3'ielding to the temptation to throw Crevel into the river and spring after him. AVhen they reached the rue du Dauphin, which in those days had not been widened, Crevel stopped before the double door of a small house. This door opened upon a long corridor paved with black and white mar- ble, which formed a sort of portico, at the end of which was the staircase and the porter's lodge, lighted from a small interior court, of which there are so many in Paris. This court, w^hich adjoined that of the next propert}', was noticeable as encroaching on the latter. Crevel's house — for he was the owner of the dwelling 17 258 Cousin Bette. — had an addition with a glass roof, which was built on the adjoining lot of ground, but restricted bj' an injunction from being raised above the ground floor ; it was therefore entirely hidden from sight b}' the porter's lodge and the projection of the staircase. This structure, of which there are many in Paris, had long served as a warehouse, back-room, and kitchen to one of the two shops on the street. Crevel had em- ployed Grindot to detach the three rooms and turn them into a small dwelling. It could be entered on two sides : first, through the shop, which Crevel let to a furniture-dealer, at a low rent, and by the month, so that he might turn him out and punish him for the slightest indiscretion ; and then, by a door so hidden in the wall of the corridor as to be almost invisible. With the single exception of the upholsterer, all the other tenants of the house were unaware of the existence of Crevel's paradise. The portress, paid for silence, w\'is an excellent cook. The mayor could go in and out of this isolated retreat at all hours of the night without dreading suspicious eyes. In the da3'time a woman, dressed as a Parisian woman dresses to go shopping, and furnished with a key, risked nothing in visiting the place; she entered the shop as if to make a pur- chase, and left it without exciting suspicion in the minds of those who met her. When Crevel had lighted the candelabra in the bou- doir the baron was amazed to see the elegant and coquettish luxur}^ of the room. The ex-perfumer had given Grindot carte-blanche as to the decorations, and the architect of by-gone fame had produced a creation in the Pompadour style which cost his employer sixty Cousin Bette. 259 thousand francs. "I want it," Crevel had said to Grindot, "to be so that if a duchess enters the place she maj' be surprised and delighted." He meant to have a perfect Parisian Eden for his Eve, his woman of the world, his Valerie, his duchess. "There are two beds," said Crevel, showing a sofa which drew out like the drawer of a bureau and formed a bed. " Here is one ; the other is in the next room. So we can both pass the night here." '' Proofs ! proofs ! " cried the baron. Crevel took a light and led his friend into the bed- room, where, on a sofa, Hulot saw a superb dressing- gown belonging to Valerie, which he had seen her wear in the rue Vanneau. The mayor touched a spring in a pretty little article of furniture done in marquetrv, a coffer or desk called bonheur clu joiu\ searched for a moment, took out a letter, and handed it to the baron. "Here, read that." The councillor of state read the following note, writ- ten in pencil : — " I have waited for you, my old scamp; and a woman like nie is not born to wait for an ex-perfumer. There was no dinner ordered, no cigarettes. You shall pay dear for this." " Is that her writing? " said Crevel. "Good heavens!" said Hulot, sitting down over- whelmed. I recognize all she ever touched — her slip- pers, her caps — Ha, how long is it since — " Crevel made a sign that he understood, and then took a bundle of bills from the little desk. "Here, old man," he said; "I paid the builders in December, 1838. Two months earlier, in October, we occupied this delightful little place." 2(50 Cousin Bette. Hulot bowed his head. " How could it be? for I know how every hour of her time was employed." " Did 3^ou know how she walked in the Tuileries?" asked Crevel, rubbing his hands. " What of that? " said Hulot bewildered. "Your so-called mistress was supposed to be walk- ing in the gardens from one to four o'clock, but two hours of that time she was here. Do 3'ou ever read Moliere? Well, baron, is there nothing imaginary in 3'our claims?" Hulot, who could doubt no longer, kept a threaten- ing silence. Catastrophes always drive intelligent and strong-minded men into philosoph3\ Morally, the baron was like a man seeking his wa}' through a forest by night. But such gloom}" silence and the change that came over his sunken countenance frightened Crevel, who certainh' did not wish the death of his enem}'. " It is just as I told you, old fellow, we are even ; let 's play the rubber. — Don't you want to play the rubber ? " "Wh}' is it," said Hulot, speaking to himself, "that out of ten handsome women, seven at least are depraved ? " The baron was too upset to find the solution of this problem. Beauty is the highest of human powers. All power without counterpoise, unshackled and autocratic, leads to abuse and to lawlessness. Arbitrar^^ power is the madness of rulers ; in women it turns to caprice. " You are not to be pitied, comrade; 3'OU have got the most beautiful of wives, and she is virtuous." "I deserve my fate," said Hulot. "I have never valued my wife ; I have made her suffer, and she is in- Cousin Bette. 261 deed an angel. She suffers there alone, in silence — yes, she is worthy of adoration — of love — and I will try — for she is still charming, fair and fresh as a young girl — but was there ever such a base, vile, infamous creature as that Valerie?" *' A worthless woman," said Crevel : "a hussy who ought to be whipped in the place du Chatelet ; but ni}' dear Canillac, we ma}' be men of the olden time, Riche- lieus. Pompadour, Dubarr}', roues, and all that 's most eighteenth centur}', — but remember, there are no longer lettres de cachet ! " '•How can a man compel a woman to love him?" said Hulot, thinking aloud. " It is nonsense to seek to be loved, m}' dear fellow, we are only endured. Madame Marneffe is a hundred times more depraved than Josepha — " "And more grasping! she has cost me mnet3'-two thousand francs," cried Hulot. " And how man}' sous?" asked Crevel, with the in- solence of a full purse, thinking the sum named a small one. " I see you don't love her," said Hulot, in a melan- choh' tone. "I've had enough of her," said Crevel; "she has cost me three hundred thousand francs." " Where has all that mone}' gone to? what has she done with it? " said the baron, seizing his head in both hands. " If you and I had had an understanding in the be- ginning, like those little fellows who club together to keep some cheap girl, she would n't have cost either of us so much." 262 Cousin Bette. "That's an idea!" said the baron; "but even then she would trick us. What do you think of that Brazilian, mj' good fellow?" " Ah, you old fox, you are right; we are both swin- dled like — like stockholders," said Crevel ; "those women are a regular joint-stock compan\'." " So it was she who told you of the light in the win- dow ? " said the baron. " Old fellow," said Crevel, assuming his attitude, "3'ou and I are both jockeyed ! Valerie is a — She told me to keep 3'ou here. I see it all ! she is with that Brazilian. Ah ! I '11 give her up ; for if I held her hands she 'd find means to trick me with her feet. She is infamous, wanton — " " Worse than a prostitute ! " said the baron ; " Jose- pha and Jenny Cadine were at their trade in deceiving us, but she — " " Slie, the saint, the prude!" cried Crevel. "Hulot, go back to your wife ; 3'OU don't stand well in money matters ; people are beginning to talk of certain notes that you signed for Vauvinet. As for me, I am cured of wanting high-bred women. Besides, at our age win' should we run after such hussies, who, to tell the honest truth, can't help deceiving men of our age. You've got false teeth and white hair, and I look like Silenus. I shall take to accumulating mone}'. Mone\^ never de- ceives, — ever}' six months 3'OU get something from it ; but women cost so much ! Ah, mj' dear Gubetta, m}' old comrade, if it concerned only you I 'd take the mat- ter — well, philosophicall}' ; but as for that Brazilian, with his suspicious foreign wealth — " " Woman," said Hulot, " is an inexplicable being." Cousin Bt'tte. 263 '• I can exi)laiii her," remarked Crevel ; ''you and I are old, and the BraziUan is young and handsome." ''True," said Hulot, '* I admit we are growing old. But, my good friend (how are we ever to do without the j)retty creatures, looking at us with those sh' smiles as tliey curl their hair ; grimacing and telling lies, ar complaining that we don't love them when they see us troubled about matters, and coaxing us to be happy?" ^ "Yes, faith, it is the only pleasant thing in life," said Crevel. "Ah! when a pretty face smiles, and says, ' M\- darling, how nice you ai-e ! I 'm not one of those women who adore young fellows with pointed beards, smoking cigars and vulgar as lackeys, — the}' are in- solent because the}' are young. You suspect me of coquetr}', but I prefer a man fifty 3'ears old to such young fty ; he is faithful, he knows a woman can't be easih' replaced, he appreciates her — that's wli}' I love you, my old man.' Ah! when they say that ! though it is all false — " " Falsehood is often pleasanter than truth," said Hu- lot, remembering certain charming scenes with Valerie which Crevel's mimicry evoked. "She's a fairv ; she can metamorphose an old man into a 3'oung one." " Ah, yes," continued Crevel, " she 's an eel, slipping through your fingers, — but such a pretty one ! sweet and white as sugar, funny as Arnal, and clever ! Ah!—" "Clever, yes, clever and witty!" cried the baron, who no longer thought of his wife. The brethren went to bed the best friends in the world, each recalling Valerie's many perfections, the intonations of her voice, her kittenish ways, her ges- 264 Cousin Bette. tures, her droll savings, the sallies of her wit, and the out-flowings of her heart, — for this artist in love had moments of delightful emotion, like tenors who sing an air on some days better than on others. The pair went to sleep soothed b}' diabolic reminiscences full of temp- tation, and lighted b}" the fires of hell. The next moi'ning at nine o'clock Plulot talked of going to the ministr}^ and Ci'evel of going out of town. They left the house together and Crevel offered his hand to the baron saying: " No resentment, I hope? — for we have both turned our backs on Madame Marneffe." " Oh ! it is over and done with," said Ilulot, with an expression of disgust. At half-past ten Crevel was puffing up Madame Marneffe's staircase. He found that infamous creature, that adorable enchantress, in a most coquettish dress- ing-gown, eating her breakfast in company with Baron Montez and Lisbeth. In spite of the shock the sight of the Brazilian gave him, Crevel asked Madame Marneffe to see him alone for two minutes. Valeiie took him into the salon. "Valerie, my angel," said the infatuated mayor, "Monsieur Marneffe has not long to live; if 3'ou will be faithful to me we will be married when he dies. So make up your mind whether that Brazilian is worth more than a mayor of Paris, — a man who, for your sake, will aspire to the highest dignities, and who already possesses eighty and some odd thousands a year." " I '11 think of it ; " she said. " p:xpect me at the rue du Dauphin at two o'clock, and we will talk about it. But be prudent ; and don't forget the transfer 3'ou promised me yesterda}'." Cousin Bette. 265 She returned to the dining-room, followed by Crevel, who flattered himself he had found a way to make her wholh' his own ; and there they found Baron Hulot, who, during their short colloqu\', had arrived with tlie same purpose in view. The councillor of state also asked for a moment's interview. Madame Marneffe rose again to leave the room, smiling at the Brazilian as if to say, " The}' are both craz}', — don't the}' see you/'' "Valerie," said Hulot, "my dear child, this cousin — is no cousin at all." " There, that's enough," she cried, interrupting him ; " Marneffe has never been, never will be, never can be my husband. The first, the only man I ever loved has come back without warning me, — is it my fault? Look at Henri and look at yourself, and then say if a woman, above all where she loves, can hesitate. My dear friend, iVom this day forth I decline to be Susannah with the Elders. If you and Crevel want to come here, you must come as friends, — but all else is over between us ; I am twenty-six years old, and before long I in- tend to be a saint, an honorable and excellent wife, — like yours." " Is that how you receive me? " asked Hulot, " when I come here like a pope with my hands full of indul- gences ! Well, your husband shall never be the head of his division nor an officer of tlie Legion of honor." "We will see about that," said Madame Marneffe, looking at Hulot in a peculiar manner. " Don't let us get angry," cried the baron, in despair. " I '11 come to-night and then we will make it all up." •' Come to Lisbeth's apartment, then." "Very good," said the amorous old man. 266 Cousin Bctte. Hulot and Crevel left the bouse togetlier without saving a word until tiie}' reached the street ; once there, they looked at each other and both laughed lugubriously. '' We are two old fools ! " said Crevel. " I have got rid of them," said Madame Marneffe to Lisbeth as she returned to the breakfast-table. " I never have loved, never shall love any but my leopard," she added, smiling at Henri JMontez. ''Lisbeth, dearest, you don't know ; I must tell you that Henri has for- given me all the infamies to which povertj' reduced me." "• It was my fault," said the Brazilian, " I ought to have sent you money." " Poor child that I was," cried Valerie, " I ought to have worked for a living ; but m}' fingers were never made for that, — ask Lisbeth." Tiie Brazilian departed the happiest of men. Towards midday Valerie and Lisbeth were gossiping in the splendid bedroom, where its dangerous mistress was bestowing those last touches on her toilet which a woman gives with her own fingers. Drawnng the bolts and curtains carefully, Valerie related, to their minutest detail, the events of the evening, of the night, and of tjje morning. "Are you satisfied, my jewel?" she said to Lisbeth, as the tale ended. "Which shall I be, Madame Crevel or Madame Montez? What do you advise?" " Crevel can't live more than ten years, old libertine that he is," answered Lisbeth, "and Montez is ,young. Crevel will leave you thirty thousand francs a year. Let JMontez wait ; he will be happy enough as a Ben- Cousin Bette. 2G7 jainin. When \ou are thirty-three 3011 will be as hand- some as ever, and then 3'ou can marry your Brazihan and pla}' a great role with his mone\-, especiall}' if you are under the wing of Madame la marechale." "Yes, but Montez is Brazilian," remarked Valerie; " he '11 never be anything in societ}'." "These are the days of railroads," said Lisbeth ; "before long foreigners will become of social conse- quence in France." "Time enough when Marneffe dies," said Valerie; "he hasn't long to suffer." "Those pains which return upon him," remarked Lis- beth, " are like physical remorse, as it were. Good-by ; I am going to see Hortense." "Well, go, my dearest, and bring me Wenceslas," answered Valerie. "In three whole 3'ears not to have conquered one inch of ground ! It is a shame to both of us ! Wenceslas and Henri, m}' two onl}' passions ; one is love, the other fancy." "How beautiful you are this morning !" said Lis- beth, putting her arm round Valerie's waist, and kiss- ing her. " I delight in all your pleasures, 3'our luck, your pretty dresses. I never reall}' lived before the day which made us sisters." "Wait, my tigress," said Valerie, laughing; "your shawl's awr}'. You don't know how to wear a shawl, in spite of all my lessons ; and yet you want to be Madame la marechale Hulot ! " 268 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XXL WHAT IT IS THAT MAKES A GREAT ARTIST. Shod in prunella boots and wearing gray silk stock- ings, a handsonio silk dress, and her hair in sniootli bands beneath a ver}' prett}' blaek velvet bonnet luied Avitli yellow satin, Lisbeth made her wa^- to tlie rue Saint-Dominique b}- the boulevard des Invalides, won- dering whether the depression so visible in llortense would deliver that strong spirit into her hands, and whether Sarmatian inconstane}', phwed upon at a mo- ment when all things are possible with such natures, would make the husband's love for the wife give way. Hortense and Wenceslas occupied the ground-lloor of a house in the rue Saint-l^oniini(iue at the point where the street ends at the esplantule of the Inva- lides. The ai)artnient, formerlj' in keeping with the honeymoon, now wore that half-fresh, half-faded appear- ance which ma}' be called the autumn of furniture. Newly married peo[)le are terrible destroyers ; the}' use and abuse things about them as they do love. Full of their present, they give very little thought to the future, whose cares are to come sooner or later on the mother of the family. • llortense had just finished dressing a little Wenceslas, Avho was then sent off into the garden. ''Good morning, liette," said llortense, opening the door herself for her cousin. Cousin Bette. 269 • The cook had gone to market ; the chamber-maid, who was also the nurse, was washmg. " Good morning, dear," repUed Lisbeth, kissing Hor- tense. "Well," she whispered, "is Wenccslas in his studio ? " " No, he is talking to Stidmanu and Chanor in the salon." " Can we be alone?" asked Bette. "Come into ni}' bedroom." The room was hung in chintz with a pattern of pink roses and green foliage on a white ground, which the sun had now faded, together with the colors of the carpet. The curtains had not been washed for a long time. The odor of Wenceslas's cigar pervaded the room, and the sculptor, born a gentleman and now one of the great lords of art, dropped the ashes of his tobacco on the arms of the chairs and over the pretty things about the room, like a petted man to whom all such liberties are allowed, or a rich man who feels he can replace what he injures. "Now then, let us talk over 3'our affairs," said Lis- beth, looking at her beautiful cousin, who sat silent in the eas3'-chair into which she had thrown herself. " But what 's the matter, dearest? You are pale." "Two more criticisms have been published against m}' poor Wenceslas. That statue to Marechal Mont- cornet is said to be \evY bad. They admit that the bas- reliefs are good, to support, with shameful insincerity, the assertion that he is only fit for a decorator, and that high art is be3-ond him ! Stidmann, whom I en- treated to tell me the truth, says that his ofjinion coincides with that of the critics and the artists and 270 Consul Bette. the public. 'If Wenceslas,' he stiid to me this morning in the garden before breakfast, ' does not exhibit a fine Tork next 3'ear, he will have to give up sculpture and take to decoration, and make designs for jewelrv and silver-ware.' This opinion terrifies me ; for Wenceslas will never conform to it. — he feels, he knows he has within him such grand ideas." "People can't pa}' their expenses with ideas," said Bette; " 1 was all the time telling him so. Money alone does it ; and mone}' is only earned b}' things done, — - things that please the middle classes so that they buy them. When it is a question of bread and butter tlie sculptor had better model a torch, a fender, a table. than a group or a statue ; every bod}' wants that sort of thing, while the amateur of groups and statues with plenty of money is long in coming." ^ " Yes, you are right. My good Lisbeth, tell him so, — I have not the courage. Besides, he told Stidmann that if he went back to mere decoration he would have to renounce the Institute and the great creations of art ; and we should lose the three hundred thousand francs which the minister has promised us for the woik at Versailles and for the municipality of Paris. That is what those cruel articles, inserted by rivals who want to get our orders, will deprive us of." '•Ah! it's what you dreamed of, m}' poor darling," said Bette, kissing Hortense ; "you thought 3'ou were marrying a nobleman, a leader of art and the chief of sculptors. This is what poetry has brought 3'ou to! Poetr\' requires fift}' thousand francs a year to support it, and you have only twenty-four hundred during my lifetime, three thousand when I die." Cousin Bette. 271 Tears came into Hortense's eyes ; Bette lapped thein with a glance, as a cat drinks milk. Here follows a succinct history of the first honeyed months of this marriage ; possibly the tale may i^ot be lost upon artists. ( -CMental toil, search through the higher regions of the intellect, is one of the greatest efforts known to man. That which is most deserving of fame in art (under this term must be included all creations of thought) is coura2:e, — a courage of which common souls have no conception, and which has never, perhaps, been ex- plained until here and now. Driven bj' the terrible [)ressure of povert}', held in by Bette, like a horse with blinders to prevent his seeing right and left along the wa}', lashed by the stern woman, — hard image of neces- sit}', that subaltern of Fate, — Wenceslas, born a poet and a dreamer, passed from conception to execution without measuring the gulf which separates those two hemispheres of art. To think, to dream, to conceive great works is a delightful occupation. It is like smok- ing hashish, or living the life of courtesans given over to their caprices. Tiie ideal work appears in all its grace of infancy, in the wild jov of generation, with the perfumed colors of the flowers, and the sweetness of the fruits tasted and inhaled before the}' exist. Such is conception and its pleasures. He who can sketch out his idea in words passes for an extraordinary man ; all writers and artists possess that facult}'. But to pro- duce ! to bring the idea to birth ! to raise the child laboriously from infancy, to put it nightly to sleep surfeited with milk, to kiss it in the mornings with the huniiTv heart of a mother, to clean it. to clothe it 272 Cousin Beite. fifty times over in new garments which it tears and casts away, — and 3'et not revolt against the trials of this agitated life, but to bring out of them the living master- l^iece which speaks to every eye in sculpture, to every intellect in literature, to the memory of all in painting, to the hearts of all in music, — this is execution and its toils. The hand must incessantly advance, ready at ever}^ instant to obey the head ; and 3'et the head holds the creative instinct no more at command than the heart can bestow love at will. This habit of creation, this unwear^'ing maternal love, this motherhood (Nature's masterpiece, so trulj^ com- prehended b}' Raphael !) cerebral motherhood, though so difficult to attain, is lost with fatal facilitj^ In- spiration is the opportunity of genius. Never does it fl}^ low ; it is in the air, it darts away with the timidit}^ of a bird, no scarf floats from its shoulders to the poet's grasp, its ambient locks are flame ; it evades us, like those beauteous rose-and-white fla- mingoes, the hunter's despair. The toil of art is there- fore a relentless struggle, which great natures fear ^et court, often as they are conquered in it. A great poet of our da}' has said, speaking of this toil, " 1 take it up in dread, I la}' it down with regret." Let the ignorant learn this. If an artist does not spring to his work as Curtius into the gulf, as the soldier to the breach, without reflection ; if, once within the crater, he does not labor as a miner buried in the earth ; if he contemplates his difficulties instead of conquering them one b}- one, like lovers in fairj'-tales who fight with enchanters, up-spring- ing from each defeat to attain their mistresses, — the work remains unachieved ; it perishes in the studio ; Cousin Bette. 273 production becomes impossible, and the artist assists the suicide of his own talent. Rossini, brother-genius of Raphael, is a startling example of this truth in the ripe and opulent age which followed his indigent and toiling 3'outh. Wenceslas, b}' nature a dreamer, had spent such energy in producing, in studying, and in working under the des- potic rule of Lisbeth that love and happiness brought about a reaction. His real character reappeared. In- dolence and carelessness, the effeminacy of the Slav, returned to the soul from which the master's whip had driven them. For the first few months after his mar- riage he thought of nothing but his love for Ilortense. The pair gave themselves up to the rapturous play of legitimate and blissful passion. The wife thus became the one to wean the husband from toil ; the caresses of a woman put the muse to flight, and weakened the vigor and the dogged perseverance of the toiler. Six to seven months went by while the sculptor's hand forgot its cunning. When the necessity to take up his work came on, when the Prince de Wissembourg, chairman of the subscription committee, asked to see the statue of Mont- cornet, Wenceslas put him off with the speech sacred to idlers, "lam going to set about it." He satisfied his dear Hortensc with delusive speeches and the splen- did plans of a smoking artist. The wife's love redoubled for her poet ; she foresaw the grandeur of the Montcornet monument. The figure was to represent the idealization of intrepid courage, the ty[)e of cavahT, the embodied boldness of Murat. Wh}', the mere sight of that statue would enable men to imagine all the victories of the Emperor. And what execution ! 18 274 Cousin Bette. As a matter of actual production in tlie way of stat- ues, a small Wenceslas soon appeared. When it became imperative to go to the atelier at the Gros-Caillou to handle cla^^ and work out the rough model, either the prince's clock required the artist's presence at Florent and Chanor's workshop, where the figures were being chiselled, or the weather was gloomy ; to-day he had business, to-morrow there was a famil\' dinner, — not to speak of the indispositions of the mind, and the headaches of the body, or the days when he went pleasuring with an adored wife. The Marechal Prince of Wissembourg got angry ])efore he could get the statue, and threatened to rescind the order. It was only after appeals and angr}^ speeches that the sub- scribers finally belield the clay model. Ever}" day that he really worked Steinbock returned home visiblj^ fa- tigued ; he complained of such, "mason's labor," and talked of his physical weakness. The Comtesse Stein- bock, adoring her husband in all the happiness of satis- fied love, thought the minister very cruel. She went to see him, and told him that great works could not be hammered out like cannon, that the State should sit, like Louis XIV., Francois I., and Leo X., at the feet of Genius. Poor Hortense, thinking that her arms em- braced a Phidias, showed the maternal cowardice of a woman who pushes love into idolatry. " Don't press 3'ourself, " she said to her husband; "our future is in that statue ; take ^our time, make it 3'our masterpiece." She went often to the atelier. Steinbock, the lover, lost five hours out of seven in describing his work instead of doing it. It took him eighteen months to complete the work of such vital importance to his career. Cousin Bette. 275 When the plaster was run, and the model actualh' ex- isted, Hortense, having witnessed the physical toil of her husband, whose health suffered from the lassitude which comes over the bod3% arms, and hands of sculptors at such times, — poor Hortense thought the statue admira- ble. Her father, who knew nothing of sculpture, her mother, not less ignorant, exclaimed that it was a mas- terpiece. The minister of war came to inspect it under their auspices ; persuaded by them, he declared himself satisfied with the cast, which was placed in its proper light before a green curtain. Alas ! at the exhibition of 1841 universal disapproval pulled down the idol so hastily set up. Stidmann tried to break the fact to his friend Wenceslas, and was accused of jealousy. The articles in the newspapers seemed to Hortense the snarls of envy. Stidmann, kindl}' soul, instigated other ar- ticles contradicting the first, and calling attention to the fact that sculptors changed their work so much between the plaster and the marble that the latter alone ought to be exhibited and judged. " Between the design in plaster and the statue in marble," wrote Claude Vignon, "it is quite possible to undo a fine thing or make a noble work of art out of a poor one ; the plaster is the manuscript, the marble is the book." In the course of two years and a half Steinbock had made a statue and a son. The child was divinely beau- tiful ; the statue detestable. The clock of the Hours, sold to a prince, paid the famil}' expenses. Steinbock contracted habits of the world, went into societ}^, to the theatre, and the opera ; talked admirabl}' upon art and maintained his reputation as a great artist by his tongue and his 276 Cousiyi Bette. critical disquisitions. There are men of genius in Paris who pass their Uves in talking themselves out, and are content with a sort of salon fame. Steinbock, imi- tating those agreeable eunuchs, indulged day by day his increasing aversion to labor. He saw all the dif- ficulties of a work when he tried to begin it, and tlie discouragement to which he yielded relaxed his will. Inspiration, the fury of intellectual generation, fled with hast}' wing at the very aspect of the sick child. Sculpture is like dramatic art, the easiest and at the same time the most difficult of all the arts. Copy a model, and the work is done ; but put a soul within it, make a type representing man or woman, and the sin of Prometheus triumphs. Such successes ma}' be counted in the annals of sculpture, as we count poets through- out the ages. Michael Angelo, Michel Colomb, Jean Goujon, Phidias, Praxiteles, Polycletus, Puget, Canova, Albert Diirer are brothers to Milton, Virgil, Dante, vShakspeare, Tasso, Homer, and Moliere. The work is so grand that one figure alone suffices to give immor- tality ; witness that of Figaro, of Lovelace, of Manon Lescaut, which immortalized Beaumarchais, Richardson, and the Abbe Prevost. Superficial persons (artists can count many in their own fraternity) have said that sculpture exists in the nude only, that it died with Greece, and that modern garments render it a lost art. But, in the first place, the ancients made sublime stat- ues entirely draped, like the Polyhymnia, Julia, Agrip- pina, etc. Then let true lovers of art go to see Michael Anoelo's Pensoso at Florence and Albert Diirer's Virsrin in the Cathedral at Mainz, — a living woman beneath her triple robes, with hair as soft and flowing as ever Cousin Bette. 277 woman combed — let persons ignorant of art see these things, and all will admit that genius can impregnate the coat, the armor, or the robe with thought and fill them with a bod}^ just as man himself gives his own character and the habits of his life to his garments. Sculpture is the constant realization of that distinctive thing in painting which goes by the supreme name of Raphael. The solution of the problem can be found only through incessant and sustained work ; for the ma- terial difficulties must be so wholly vanquished, the hand so trained, so read}', so obedient, that the sculp- tor shall be enabled to struo^oie soul to soul with that invisible moral nature which must be transfigured while materializing it. If Paganini, who told out his soul on the strings of his violin, had spent three days without studying he would have become an ordinar}' violinist. J^ Constant toil is the law of art, as it is of life ; for art is idealized creation. Thus great artists, true poets, never await orders nor expect bu3'ers ; they generate and give birth to-day, to-morrow, ever. From this habit of labor results a ceaseless comprehension of difficulties, which keeps them in communion with the muse and her creative forces. Canova lived in his ate- lier as Voltaire lived in his study. Homer and Phidias must have done likewise. Wenceslas Steinbock was on the arid way trod by these greatest men — the way that leads to Alps of glorj' — when Lisbeth chained him in his garret. Hap- piness in the form of Hortense had made the poet in- dolent, the normal condition of all artists ; for idleness with them is occupation ; it is the pleasure of pachas in the seragho. Thej- caress ideas, and grow intox- 278 Cousin Bette. icated at the fountains of the mind. Great artists like Steinbock, given over to reverie, are not unjustly' called dreamers. Such opium-eaters often die in miser}', when, had circumstances forced them to inflexible efforts, they would have been great men. These semi-artists are alwa3's charming; men like them, and make them drunk with praise. The}' seem superior to other and truer artists, who are accused of self-assertion, aloofness, and rebellion against social customs, — and for this reason : great men belong to their works. Their detachment from the things of life, and their devotion to their own ideas, make them egoists to the eye of fools, who ex- pect them to be dressed like dandies and to perform those conventional evolutions called " duty to societ}'." They want an African lion combed and curled like the poodle of a countess. Such artists, having few peers among their fellows, and meeting them seldom, fall into the exclusiveness of solitude ; they become inex- plicable for the majority, — composed, as we know, of fools and of ignorant, envious, and superficial people. We can imagine the part a woman has to play beside these loft}'' exceptions. She must be, on the one hand, all that Lisbeth had been to Wenceslas for five 3'ears, and give him love besides, — humble, discreet, ever- smihng, ever-present love. Hortense, warned by the trials of her mother and harassed by terrible necessities, saw too late the fault her excessive love had led her involuntarily to commit ; but, worthy daughter of a noble mother, her heart re- fused to admit the idea of wounding Wenceslas. She loved her poet too deepl}' to be his executioner, and she awaited the coming moment when poverty Cousin Bette. 279 would be upon them all, — her husband, her son, and herself. " Come, come, dear child," said Bette, seeing the tears in her cousin's ejes ; "you must not despair. A cupful of tears could n't buy a plateful of soup. How much do 3'ou want? " '' Five or six thousand francs." " I have only three thousand at the most," said Lis- beth. " What is Wenceslas doing?" ''The}' have asked him to design a dinner-service for the Due d'Herouville for six thousand francs ; 8tid- mann is to do it with him, and Chanor promises to pa}' the four thousand francs "VVenceslas owes to Leon de Lora and Bridau, — a debt of honor." "•What! did Wenceslas receive the mone}- for the statue and the bas-reliefs of the monument to Mont- cornet and not pa}' that debt?" " But," said Hortense, " for three years past we have spent twelve thousand francs a year. The monument, after paying all costs, did not bring us in more than sixteen thousand francs. In fact, if Wenceslas does not work I don't see what will become of us. Ah I if I could learn to make statues, how I would work the clay ! " she said, stretching out her beautiful arms. It was easy to see that the woman fulfilled the prom- ise of the girl. Her eye flashed, and red blood flowed impetuously in her veins. She regretted that she was obliged to spend her energy on the care of her child. ''Ah, my little treasure, a wise girl wouldn't have married an artist till he had made his fortune." The sound of steps, and the voices of Stidmann and Wenceslas showins; Chanor to the door were 280 Cousin Belte. heard ; and presentlj^ Wenceslas entered with Stid- mann. Stidmann, an artist much thought of in the world of journalists and of celebrated actresses, was an elegant young man, whom Madame Marneffe had made Claude Vignon present to her. Stidmann had just ended his relations with the famous Madame Schontz, who had latel}' married in the provinces. Valerie and Lisbeth, who had known of the rupture through Vignon, thought it desirable to attract the friend of Wenceslas to the rue Vanneau. As Stidmann seldom visited the Steinbocks, and Lisbeth had been absent at the time of his presentation by Claude Vignon, she now saw him for the first time. While observing the young man she detected certain glances cast at Hortense, which made her think it possible he might console her in case Wen- ceslas was unfaithful. Stidmann did, in fact, feel that if Steinbock were not his friend, Hortense would be an adorable mistress ; and the feeling, restrained b}^ honor, kept him from the house. Lisbeth noticed in his man- ner the tell-tale embarrassment which hampers a man in presence of a woman with whom he feels forbidden to flirt^ ''He is very good-looking," she whispered to Hor- tense. " Do 3^011 think so?" answered Hortense. "I never noticed it." " Stidmann, old fellow," said Wenceslas, in a low voice, "I won't stand on ceremony with a friend, — the fact is, we have some business to talk over with the old maid." Stidmann bowed to the two ladies and withdrew. "It is all settled," said Wenceslas, returning to tlie Co2is{n Bette. 281 salon after accompan3'ing Sticlmami to the door. " But such a work will take six months, and how are we to live in the meantime?" " I have m3' diamonds," cried Hortense, with the gen- erous ardor of a loving woman. The tears came into her husband's eyes. "Oh ! I will work," he answered, sitting down beside his wife and taking her on his knee. " I '11 work" at trifles, wedding presents, bronze groups — " "But, mj^ dear children," said Lisbeth, " 3'ou know 3'ou are my heirs ; and I shall leave 3'ou a prettj- little sum, especially' if you help me to marry the marshal. If that comes about soon I '11 take you to live with me — 3'OU and Adeline. Ah, how happ3' we could be together ! But now listen to the advice of my experi- ence. Don't resort to the Mont-de-piete ; it is the ruin of borrowers. I have never known them able to pa3' the interest when it came to redeeming their propert3', and so all is lost. I will get 3'on a loan of mone3' at five per cent on 3-our own note onl3'." " Ah, that will save us," cried Hortense. "Well then, Wenceslas must go and see the per- son who will do you this service to oblige me. It is Madame Marneffe ; if you flatter her, for she 's as vain as all parvenues, she '11 help 3'ou out of 3'our troubles in the kindest wa3'. Pa3' her a visit, m3^ dear Hortense." Hortense looked at Wenceslas with an expression such as a condemned man mounting the scaffold might be expected to wear. " Claude Vignon took Stidmann there," said Wences- las ; " it is a ver3' pleasant house." 282 Cousin Beffe. Hortense bowed her head ; what she felt was not grief, it was actual mahidy. "But, m}' dear Hortense, 3'ou should give in to the ways of life," cried Lisbeth, comprehending the elo- quence of the wife's gesture; ""if not, you will, like your mother, be exiled to a deserted chamber to weep for Ulysses, — another Calypso, in an age wlien there is no longer a Telemaqne ! " she added, quoting one of Madame Marnefte's sarcasms. "You should regard people as ntensils, to be taken or left according to the nse YOU can make of them. Make use of Madame Marneffe, and get rid of her later. Are you afraid that Wenceslas, who adores you, will fall in love with a woman four or five years older than 3-ou, and as faded as a bale of hay? " "I would rather pawn my diamonds," said Hortense. " Oh, don't go there, Wenceslas ! it is hell ! " "Hortense is right," said Wenceslas, kissing his wife. "Thank ,you," she said, smiling. "There, Lisbeth, see, m}" husband is an angel. He never gambles ; he goes wherever I go, and if he could onh' take up his work and do it I should be perfecth* happ}'. Why should we visit ni}- father's mistress ? — a woman who has ruined him, and caused our noble mother such bitter grief that she is d\ing of it — " " My dear child, your father's ruin is not her work; it was that singer in the first place, and then 3'our mar- riage," answered Bette. "Madame Marneffe is very useful to him — •' there ! I ought not to speak of it." "You have a good word for everybod}', dear Bette.'' The baby's cries called Hortense into the garden, and Lisbeth was left alone for a moment with Wenceslas. Cousin Bette. 288 " Your wife is an angel, Wenceslas," she said. '' Be sure 3'ou love her trul}' ; don't give her any cause lor unhappiuess." "Yes, I love her so much that I conceal our real situation from her," answered Wenceslas, "but to you, Lisbeth, 1 can speak plainl}*. Even if my wife pawned her diamonds we should be no better off." " Well then, borrow of Madame Marneffe," said Bette. " Either persuade Hortense to let 3'ou go, or else go without her knowledge." "That's what I was thinking of when I refused to go so as to spare her feelings," answered Wenceslas. " Wenceslas, I love you both too well not to warn you of danger. If you go there, keep firm hold of your heart, for that woman is a demon ; ever}' man who sees her adores her, — she is so vicious, so alluring, she fas- cinates like a masterpiece of art. Borrow her money but don't leave 3'our soul in pawn. I should never forgive m3'self if Hortense were betrayed. Here she is," added Bette ; " sa}' no more, I'll arrange it all." "Thank Lisbeth, dear love," said Steinbock to his wife; " she will lend us her savings to get us out of trouble." "Then, mj' dearest, I hope you can go to work at once," said Hortense. "Yes," replied the artist, "to-morrow." "It is to-morroxo that has ruined us," said Hortense, smiling on him. " M\' dear child, you know yourself the hindrances and difficulties and other business that have kept me back." " Yes, 3'ou are right, dear love." 284 Cousin Bette. " Here," cried Steinbock striking his brow, " I have ideas ! I shall amaze and confound my enemies. I shall make a dinner-service in the German manner of the sixteenth century, — the rhapsodic manner ! I will cradle infants in the foliage and till it with darting insects, and twine it round chimeras, true chimeras, the embodiment of dreams ! ah ! I grasp them ! It shall all be tangled, airy, feathery ! — Chanor was enchanted with the idea. — I need encouragement, for that last article on the Montcornet monument broke me down." Lisbeth and Wenceslas, seizing a moment when they were alone together, agreed that the latter should call the next day on Madame Marneffe, either with or with- out his wife's knowledge and permission. Cousin Bette. 285 CHAPTER XXII. AN ARTIST, YOUNG AND A POLE, WHAT ELSE COULD HAVE BEEN EXPECTED? Valerie, informed at once of Bette's success, exacted from Baron Hulot an invitation to dinner for Stidmann, Claude Vignon, and Steinbock ; for slie was beginning to tyrannize over him as such women tyrannize over old men, who are made to trot about town and suppl3' whatever is necessar}- to the interests and vanities of their hard mistresses. On the morrow Valerie put herself under arms in one of those toilets which Parisian women invent when the^' wish to make the most of their beauty. She studied her- self in this operation, as a man about to fight a duel stud- ies his feints and thrusts ; not a fold was out of place, not a wrinkle to be seen. Valerie was in her freshest beauty, — all softness and delicacy. All e3'es were in- sensibly attracted b}' her mouche. It is supposed that the rtiouches of the eighteenth century are lost or sup- pressed, but that is a mistake. The women of our day are cleverer than those of former times ; the}' entice the opera-glasses by daring stratagems. One invents a knot of ribbon in the centre of which a diamond sparkles, and she monopolizes all eyes for a whole evening ; another resuscitates the Spanish hair-net. or sticks a dagger in her braids ; a third puts on black velvet bracelets, or 286 Cousin Bette. lace lappets. These brave efforts, these Austerlitzes of coquetry or love, set the fashion of the da}^ to lower spheres when these happy creatures of a higher discard them for others. On this particular evening Val(^rie, who was resolved to succeed, wore three niouches. She made Reine wash her hair with a lotion that turned it for a few da3'S from a golden to a flaxen tint. Madame Steinbock was a glowing blonde, and Valerie was re- solved not to resemble her in anj^ way. This new color- ing gave an unusual and piquant expression to Valerie's whole person, which so preoccupied the faithful that Montez whispered in surprise, "What has happened to you this evening?" For the second mouche she wore a black velvet ribbon round her throat, which relieved the exquisite whiteness of her skin. The third may be compared to the '-'' ex-assassine'' of our grandmothers, nameh', the prettiest of rose-buds nestling in the charm- ing hollow of her breast. "I'm appetizing! " she said to herself, going through her attitudes before the glass, as a danseuse practises her curtsey. Lisbeth had gone to market, for the dinner was to be one of those superfine repasts such as Mathurine had cooked for the late prelate when he entertained the bishop of the adjoining diocese. Stidmann, Claude Vignon, and Comte Steinbock ar- rived almost together at six o'clock. A common — or, if you please, natural — woman would have come for- ward eagerl}'^ on the announcement of the long-wished- for name ; but Valerie, who had been read}' and waiting since five o'clock, now made her guests wait for her, certain that she was the topic of their conversation and Cousm Bette. 287 their secret thoughts. While directing the arrangements of the salon she herself had placed about the room those delicious little baubles which Paris, and no other cit}', is capable of producing, — costly trifles which reveal a woman, and, as it were, announce her ; keepsakes of enamel and mother-of-pearl; cups full of charming rings; treasures of Sevres and Dresden china mounted in ex- quisite taste by Florent and Chanor ; statuettes, albums, knick-knacks costing fabulous sums, which passion buys in its first delirium or for a last make-peace. Valerie was, moreover, in the glow of intoxication consequent on success. She had promised Crevel to be his wife if Marneffe died, and the amorous ma3'or had transferred the capital of ten thousand francs a 3'ear to the name of Valerie Fortin, the sum total of his transactions in railways for the last three years, — in short, the whole of the two hundred thousand francs which he had otfered as a bribe to Madame Hulot. Valerie now possessed an income of thirt3'-two thousand francs. But Crevel had just made a promise of far greater importance than the gift of money. During the paroxysm of passion into which his duchess (he gave that title to Madame de Mar- netfe to cany out his illusions) plunged him between two and four of an afternoon, he felt obliged to encour- age her continued fidelity by holding out the prospect of a pretty little mansion which an imprudent builder had put up in the rue Barbette and now desired to part with. Valerie imagined herself the possessor of a charm- ing house "between court and garden" and a carriage. "Can a virtuous life give all that as quickl}^ and as easily? — tell me that," she said to Bette, as she finished dressing:. 288 Cousin Bette. Lisbeth dined with her on this occasion to be able to sa}^ to Steinbock those things that persons cannot say for themselves. Madame Marneffe, radiant in hapi)i- ness, entered the salon with modest grace, followed by Bette, dressed in black and yellow, who served, to use the language of studios, as a foil. " Good evening, Claude," she said, offering her hand to the celebrated critic. Claude Vignon had become, like so man}' other lit- erary men of the time, a politician, — the new word coined to express the first stage of a man ambitious of public honors. The politician of 1840 is, in a wa}', the abbe of the eighteenth century. No salon is now com- plete without him. *' Dear, this is my cousin, Comte Steinbock," said Lisbeth, presenting Wenceslas, whom Valerie had pre- tended not to see. " I remember Monsieur le comte," said Valerie, with a gracious inclination of her head. "I saw you fre- quently in the rue du Doyenne, and I had the pleas- ure of being present at your marriage. M3' dear," she added, turning to Lisbeth, "it would be difficult to forget 3'our ex-son, even if I had seen him but once. Monsieur Stidmann is very good," she continued, bow- ing to the sculptor, "to accept my invitation at such short notice ; but necessity has no law. I knew you were intimate with these gentlemen. There is nothing so dull and awkward as a dinner where the guests do not know each other, and I ventured to invite you for their sakes. But you will come again for mine, — will you not? Say yes ! " She walked about the room for a time with Stid- Cousin Befte. 289 mann, seeming quite absorbed in him. The footman an- nounced successive!}' Monsieur Crevel, Baron Hulot, and a deputy named Beauvisage. This personage, a provincial Crevel, one of those beings who are sent into the world merely to swell its numbers, voted under the banner of Giraud, councillor of state, and Victorin Hulot. These two politicians were trying to form a nucleus of progressists in the great phalanx of con- servatives. Giraud dined sometimes with Madame Marneffe, who flattered herself she might also in time get Victorin Hulot ; but the puritan lawyer had so far found various pretexts to decline his father-in-law's invitations. To dine with the woman who was the cause of his mother's tears seemed to him criminal. Victorin Hulot was to the puritanical politicians of the day what a pious woman is to a sanctimonious one. Beauvisage, formerly a hosier at Arcis, was anxious to acquire the " Parisian stjde." Puflfed up with his election to the Chamber, he was being '•formed" in the salon of the delightful and fascina- ting Madame Marneffe, who persuaded him to take Crevel, to whom he was much attracted, as his model, and mentor ; he consulted him in everything, asked the address of his tailor, imitated him, even tried to assume his attitude, — in short, Crevel became his protot3^pe. Valerie, surrounded b}' these personages, seemed to Wenceslas a distinguished woman, and all the more so because Claude Vignon praised lier in the language of a lover ; — "She is Madame de Maintenon in Ninon's petti- coats," said the former critic. "To please her is an aflTair of an evening if 3-ou are witty ; but to win her 19 290 Cousin Bette. love is a triumph wliicli might suffice a man's pride, and satisfy his whole being." Valerie, apparently cold and indifferent to her former neighbor in the rue du Do3"enne, touched his vanit}' without knowing it, for she was ignorant of the Polish character. There is a childlike side to the Slav nature, as in all primitive peoples, of whom it ma}* be said that they irrupted among civilized nations instead of becom- ing civilized themselves. The race has spread like an inundation and now covers an immense portion of the earth's surface. It inhabits deserts where the free space is so vast that its peoples feel at their ease ; it rubs shoulders with no other races (as the European nations do) , and civilization is impossible without the constant friction of ideas and interests. The Ukraine, Russia, the plains of the Danube, the whole Slav race aiid region are in fact the point of union between luu'ope and Asia, between civilization and barbarism. TIius the Poles, the finest specimen of the Slav peoples, show a childlikeness, an inconstancy of nature characteristic of immature na- tions. They possess courage, intellect, and strength, but these qualities, weakened by inconstancy' and incon- sistency, have no method and no intelligence. ^ The Poles are variable as the wind which sweeps across their vast plains intersected b}' marshes ; if the}' liave the impet- uosity of a tornado as it twists trees and dwellings and sweeps them away, like an avalanche of the air they drop into the nearest pond and dissolve into water. Men take some of their characteristics from their sur- roundings. The Poles, ever at war with the Turks, de- rived from them a love of Oriental magnificence ; the}' often sacrifice the needful to the brilliant, tliev decorate Cousin Bette. 291 their persons like women, and yet their climate has given them the hard}' constitution of Arabs. It thus happens that the Polish nation, sublime in its sorrows, has allowed its oppressors to strike it down again and again, and has renewed in the nineteenth centur\' the spectacle of the earl}' Christian martyrs. Put ten per cent of British trickerj' into the frank and open na- ture of the Pole and the generous white eagle would reign where the double-headed bird now sails. A little machiavelism would have kept Poland from saving Aus- tria, who shared in the partition ; from borrowing mone}' of Prussia, the usurer wlio undermined her ; and from di- viding herself at the time of the first partition. At the baptism of Poland some fair}- Carabosse, unobserved by the other fairies who endowed that attractive nation with so many brilliant qualities, must have appeared and said : " Keep the gifts my sisters bring you, but remember, you shall desire and never know what it is you want." If Poland had triumphed in her heroic duel vvith Russia the Poles would have fought each other to-day as the}' formerly fought in their Diets to hinder one or another from becoming king. The day when that nation, com- posed as it is of none but generous natures, will have the common-sense to take a Louis XI. from its own loins, and accept his tyranny and his dynasty, it will be saved. What Poland has been politically, Poles may be said to be in their private hves, especially when trouble over- takes them. Wenceslas Steinbock, who for three years past adored his wife and knew himself her god, was so piqued because Madame Marneflfe scarcely deigned to notice liim that he made it a point of lionor to force 292 Cousin Bette, some attention out of her. Comparing Valerie with his wife he gave the pahii to the former. Hortense was a beautiful piece of flesh and blood, as Valerie had said to Lisbeth, but with Madame Marneffe there were charms of mind in the ver^' form and piquancy of vice. The wife's devotion seemed to the husband to be his due ; the sense of the enormous value of an absolute love is often lost, as a debtor fancies after a time that the mone}' lent is really his. The wife's sub- lime lo3'alt3' becomes, as it were, the daily bread of the soul, while infidelitj' has the sugared sweetness of a daint}^ A haughty woman, above all a dangerous one, excites curiosity just as spices season plain fare. Dis- dain, which Valerie played so well, was a novelty for Wenceslas after three years of facile pleasures. Be- sides, Hortense was the wife, Valerie the mistress. Man}' men desire these two editions of the same work ; tliough it is a great proof of a man's inferior nature when he does not know how to make his wife his mis- tress. Constanc}' will ever be the genius of Love ; the sign of an immense force, — the force that constitutes a poet. A man should find all women in his wife, — just as the soiled poets of the seventeenth centurj^ made Chloes and Daphnes of their Manons. "Well," said Lisbeth to Wenceslas, as soon as she saw him thoroughly fascinated, ' ' what do 3'ou think of Valerie?" " Too charming ! " he answered. "You would n't listen to me," exclaimed Bette. "Ah, -my little Wenceslas ! if 3'ou and I had sta3'ed to- gether 3'ou should have been the lover of this siren ; 3'ou should have married her when she became a widow, Cousbi Bette. 293 and bad the benefit of her fort}' thousand francs a year." "Has she all that?" " Certainl}-," said Bette. " But take care now what you are about ; I have warned 3'ou of your danger ; don't burn 3'our fingers. Come, give me your arm, din- neB is read}'." No speech could have been more demoralizing to a Pole ; show him a precipice and he springs over it. The Polish race has the distinctive genius of cavalry ; it believes in flinging itself headlong against obstacles and coming out victorious. The spur with which Lis- beth prodded his vanit}' was enforced by the scene in the dining-room, where an exquisite silver service made him conscious of the elegancies and refinements of Parisian luxur}'. " I should have done better," he reflected, " to have married Celimene." During dinner Hulot, who was pleased to find his son-in-law present, and still more pleased at the cer- tainty of reconciliation with Valerie, of whose fidelit}^ he now felt sure, since he could promise her Coquet's place, made himself delightful. Stidmann responded to the baron's honho7iiie with the v/it and sparkle of Pa- risian pleasantry, and with his own artistic Atticism. Steinbock would not suff'er his comrade to eclipse him ; he displayed his powers, sharpened his wit, produced an effect, and was satisfied with himself; Madame MarnefFe smiled at him once or twice to show that she fully un- derstood him. The good cheer and the heady wines plunged him finally into what we must call a slough of pleasure. Excited by the flowing bowl, he flung 294 Cousi7i Bette. himself after dinner on a sofa in a state of phj'sical and spiritual happiness, which Madame Marneffe lifted into the seventh heaven b}' placing herself beside him, light as a bird, perfumed and bewitching enough to seduce an angel. She bent toward Wenceslas and almost touched his ear with her lips as she said in a low voice : — " We cannot talk business to-night unless 3'ou will remain after the others. Between 3'ou and me and Lisbeth it will be easy to arrange matters." "Ah, you are an angel, madame," said Wenceslas, replying in the same low tone. " I was indeed a fool not to have listened to Lisbeth — " '' What did she tell you? " " She hinted, in the rue du Doyenne, that j'ou might love me." Madame Marneffe looked at Steinbock, seemed con- fused, and rose abruptly'. A 3'oung and prett}- woman never awakens in a man's mind the idea of immediate success with impunit3\ Valerie's response, the gesture of a virtuous woman repressing a passion hidden in her heart, was a thousand-fold more eloquent than the most passionate assurance. Wenceslas, ardently excited, redoubled his efforts to please her. The woman in sight is the woman wanted. That is the terrible power of actresses. Madame Mar- neffe, knowing that she was being studied, behaved like an applauded actress. She made herself delightful and her triumph was absolute. "My father-in-law's passion no longer surprises me," said Wenceslas to Lisbeth. " If 3'ou talk so, Wenceslas," she replied "I shall re- gret all mj life having persuaded you to borrow those Cousin Bette. 295 ten thousand francs. C*an it l)e that you are hke all the rest," makuig a sign towards the others, " niadl}' in love with that creature? Would 3'ou be the rival of your own father-in-law? Besides, reflect on the sorrow 3'ou would cause Hortense." "That is true," said Wenceslas. "Hortense is an angel, and I should be a monster." " One is enough in a family," remarked Lisbeth. "Artists should never marry," cried Steinbock. "Ah! that's what 3'OU said to me in the rue du Doyenne. Your children were to be those groups and statues and masterpieces ! " " What are you talking of ? " said Valerie, coming up to them. " Please pour out tea, cousin." Steinbock, with Polish vain-glory, wished to seem intimate with the fairy mistress of the salon. He glanced insolently at Stidmann, Claude Vignon, and Crevel, and then, seizing Valerie by the hand, he com- pelled her to sit down by him on the sofa. " You are too autocratic, Comte Steinbock," she said, making a slight resistance. Then she laughed as she dropped beside him, and let him see the rosebud nestling in her bosom. " Alas ! if I were that, I should not be here now as a borrower," he said. "Poor fellow — I remember your toilsome nights in the rue du Doyenne. You were foolish, were you not? you married as a hungry man snatches bread. You did not know^ Paris, and see the result ! You turned a deaf ear to Bette's devotion — as well as to other love — ." " Say no more," cried Steinbock, "you annihilate me." "You shall have your ten thousand francs, my dear 296 Cousin Bette. Wenceslas, but on one condition," she said^ playing with her pretty curls. " And that is ? — " " Well, I can receive no interest." " Madame! " "Oh, don't be displeased ; 30U can make me a bronze group in payment. You began the stor}' of Samson ; well, finish it. Make Delilah cutting the hair of the Jewish Hercules. You, who could be a great artist if 3'ou would onl}' listen to me, you will understand the subject. The point is to express the power of woman. Samson pla3's no part in it ; he is the dead body of power. Delilah is passion destroying all. How that replica — is that what 3-ou call it? " she added cleverly, seeing Stidmann and Claude Vignon approach on hear- ing this talk of art, ' ' how far more beautiful this replica of the story of Hercules at the feet of Om- phale is, than the Greek legend. Did Greece obtain it from Judea, or did Judea take the sj^mbol from the Hellenes ? '' " Ah, madame, there you raise a serious question," said Claude Vignon, — " that of the periods at which the various books of the Bible were written. The immortal Spinosa, so idioticallj^ classed among atheists — a man who proved, mathematical!}', the existence of God ! — declared that Genesis, and what ma}' be called the po- litical part of the Bible, was written in the time of Moses ; he shovv-ed the interpolations by philological facts — for which he was stabbed three times at the door of the sanctuary." " I did not know I was so learned," said Valerie, an- noyed to have her tete-a-tete interrupted. Cousin Bette. 297 " Women know all intuitively," replied Vignon. "Well, will you promise me to make the group?" she said to Steinbock, taking his hand with the modest hesitation of a girl in love. "You are a happ3' man if madame asks you for anything," said Stidmann. " What is it? " asked Claude Vignon. "A little bronze group," answered Steinbock. "De- lilah cutting Samson's hair." "Difficult," remarked Vignon, "on account of the bed — " " No, \QV\ eas3'," said Valerie, smiling. " Make us the desio'n ! " exclaimed Stidmann. "Madame must give the model for that design," said Claude, with a meaning glance at Valerie. " Well," she replied, smiling, " this is how I under- stand the subject : Samson wakes up without his hair — like man}' a dandy who wears a wig! The hero can sit on the side of the bed ; you need onl}- show part of it half hidden by the sheets and curtains. He sits there like Marius in the ruins of Carthage, his arms crossed, his head shorn. Napoleon at Saint-Helena, or what you please ! Delilah kneels — a good deal like Canova's Magdalen. When a woman ruins a man she always idolizes him ; in ni}' opinion the Jewess was afraid of Samson when he was terrible and powerful, but she must have loved him when she had made him helpless. So she regrets what she has done, and longs to give him back his hair ; she scarcely dares look at him ; then she does look at him, smiling, for she sees her pardon in Samson's weakness. Such a group, coupled with one of that savage Judith, might really be called 298 Cousin Bette. AVoman Explained. Vice cuts off the hair, but virtue cuts off the head. Ah ! take care of 3'our locks, gentle- men ! " And she left the two artists and the critic, who all three sang praises in her honor. " Delightful ! " said Stidmann^ "She is the most inteUigent and the most desira- ble woman I have ever known," said Claude Vignon. " Such a union of beaut}' and intellect is rare indeed." "If you, who have the happiness of knowing Camille Maupin intimatel}^, can say that," replied Stidmann, "what must the rest of us think?" " My dear count, if you will make your Delilah a portrait of Valerie," said Crevel, leaving the card-table where he had overheard the conversation, " I will give 3'ou three thousand francs for a cop3^ Yes, hang it all^ I 'm willing to go that.'' " ' Go that '? — what does he mean? " asked Beau- visage of Claude Vignon. "If madame could be induced to sit," said Steinbock to Crevel. " Will you ask her? " Just then Valerie herself brought Steinbock a cup of tea. It was more than a courtes}', it was a favor. There is an unspoken language in the way a woman gives a man his tea which the sex thoroughl}^ under- stand ; it is in fact a curious stud}^ to watch her move- ments, gestures, glances, tones, and accents as she per- forms this apparently simple act of politeness. In that varied question, " Do you take tea?" "Will you have some tea?" "A cup of tea?" — varying from the cold formula of the nymph who sits at the urn to the poem of the odalisque who comes, cup in hand, to Cousin Bette. 299 the pacha of her heart, and offers it submissively in caressing tones and with looks full of pleasurable prom- ise — a ph3^siologist maj' find the whole round of fe- male sentiments, from aversion and indifference to the offer of Phedre to Hippolyte. In that little act women can make themselves, at will, disdainfully insulting, or submissive as an Eastern slave. Valerie was more than woman ; she was the serpent made woman, and she crowned her diabolical work b}^ approaching Steinbock with a cup of tea. '*I will take as many as 3'ou bring me/' whispered the artist rising and touching Valerie's hand with his own as he took the cup " if you will give them to me thus." " What were you saying about m}- sitting to 3'ou? " she asked, without appearing to notice the declaration she had so eagerly awaited. ' ' Old Crevel offers me three thousand francs for your Delilah group — " " Three thousand francs, he ! a group?" ' ' Provided you will sit as Delilah." " He will not be present, I hope," she said, " other- wise the group would cost his whole fortune, for Deli- lah, I think, must be somewhat disrobed." Just as men like Crevel affect a posture, so women assume a studied pose, an attitude of victory when they feel they are irresistibly admired. There are some who pass whole evenings in society in looking at the lace of their chemisettes or straightening the sleeves of their dresses, or showing the beaut}' of their eyes by looking at the cornices. Madame Marneffe did not proclaim her triumphs openly like other women. She turned 300 Cousin Bette, quickly towards the tea-table to seek Bette ; and the undulation of her robe as she did so fascinated Stein- bock with the same spell by which she had first con- quered Hulot. " Your vengeance is complete," whispered Valerie to Bette, " Hortense will weep all the tears in her body and curse the daj' wdien she took Wenceslas away from you." "Until I am Madame la marechale I have gained nothing," said Bette; "but they have begun to wish it. This morning I went to see Victorin, — I forgot to tell 30U that. He and his wife have taken up the baron's notes to Vauvinet ; the}" are to sign bonds to- morrow for the repayment of sevent3'-two thousand francs in three 3'ears with five per cent interest, se- cured b}^ a mortgage on their house. So thej^, too, will be pinched for the next three j^ears, and they can raise no more money on their property. Victorin is dread- fully gloomy ; he understands his father at last. Crevel is so angry at what has been done that he is quite likely to refuse to have anything more to do with them." "The baron must be entirely without resources b}- this time, — don't you think so?" whispered Valerie to Bette, smiling at Hulot. " I don't see that he can have anything left ; but he gets back his salary in September." "And he has that life insurance; he has lately re- newed it. It is high time MarnefTe got his promotion. I shall attack Hector to-night." "Cousin," said Bette, going up to Wenceslas, "do pray go aw^ay. You are making 3'ourself ridiculous ; you look at Valerie in a compromising wa^', and her Cousm Bette. 301 husband is madly jealous. Doir t imitate your father- in-law, but go home ; I am certain your wife is expect- ing you." " Madame Marneffe told me to remain till the last to settle that little money matter," said Wenceslas. " Xo," said Lisbeth ; "I'll give you the ten thou- sand francs now ; Marneffe has his eye upon 30U, and it would be very imprudent for 3'ou to sta}' now. To- morrow morning, at nine o'clock, you can bring your note ; that fool of Marneffe is then at his office, and Valerie will be alone. Go up to my rooms when 3'ou come. — Ah ! " she added, detecting the look with which Steinbock took leave of Valerie, "I always knew 3'ou were a libertine b3^ nature. Valerie may be beautiful, but don't make Hortense unhapp3^" Nothing irritates married men so much as to find their wives between themselves and their desire, no matter how ephemeral it may be. 302 Cousi7i jBette. CHAPTER XXIIT. THE FIRST QUARREL OF MARRIED LIFE. Wenceslas returned home about one in the morn- ing. Hortense had been expecting him since half-past nine. From half-past nine to ten she listened to the rolling of carriages, thinking to herself that Wenceslas had never before been so late when he dined at Florent and Chanor's without her. She sat sewing by the cra- dle of her son ; for she had begun to save the wages of a workwoman b}' doing the mending of the family herself. From ten to half-past ten she felt an uneasy doubt, and asked herself: " Surel}', he went to dine, as he told me, with Chanor and Florent? He wore his best cravat, and the handsome pin ; he took as much time to dress as a woman who wants to be better look- ing than she is. Ah ! what a fool I am ! He loves me. Here he is ! " Alas ! the carriage-wheels rolled b}', in- stead of stopping. From eleven o'clock till midnight Hortense was a pre}' to unutterable fears, increased by the dead silence of the neighborhood. " If he comes back on foot," she thought, "some harm ma}' happen to him. He might slip on the pavement, — artists are so absent-minded. Suppose a robber should stop him ! This is the first time that he has left me alone for six whole hours ! Cousin Bette. 303 Whj' should I torment ii\yself ? I know he will never love an}^ one but me." ij^en ought to be faithful to the women who love them, were it only because of the miracles true love works in that sublime region called the spiritual world. A loving woman is, in relation to the man she loves, like a somnambulist on whom a magnetizer should be- stow the melancholy power of being conscious as woman of what she perceived in trance. Passion brings the nervous forces of woman to that ecstatic state in which presentiment is equivalent to the vision of seers. A woman feels she is betrayed ; she listens to no self- reasoning ; she doubts because she loves, and she nega- tives the cry of her pythoness power. That paroxvsm of love should be held in reverence. Admiration for its divine phenomena will ever be a barrier between all noble natures and infidelity. How is it possible not to revere the beautiful and spiritual being whose soul has reached the capacity for such manifestations ? By one o'clock in the morning Hortense was in such a state of anguish that she rushed to the door on hear- ing Wenceslas's well-known ring, took him in her arms and pressed him, as a mother might, to her bosom. "At last!" she said, recovering the use of speech. " My dear love, in future I must go where you go ; for I can never again bear the torture of such waiting. I fancied you falling on the pavement, 3-our head wound- ed ! killed by robbers I — No, if it were to happen again I should go mad. And you were amusing 3'our- self without me ? Ah, rogue I " " How could I help it, my dear little angel? Bixiou was there with a series of new absurdities, and Leon 304 Cousin Bette. de Lora, whose wit is never to be quenched, and Claude Vignon, to whom I owe the only consoling criticism on the Montcornet monument. There w^as also — " " Were there no women? " asked Hortense, eagerh'. " The worthy Madame Florent — " " Then 3'ou dined at their house? You told me 3'ou were going to the Eocher de Cancale." " Yes, at their house ; I made a mistake." ' ' Did 3 ou drive home ? " "No."* " You walked all the wa}' from the rue des Tour- nelles?" " I went with Stidmann and Bixiou round by the boulevards as far as the Madeleine ; we were talking — " "It couldn't have rained on the boulevards, or the place de la Concorde and the rue de Bourgogne," re- marked Hortense, looking at the polish of her husband's boots. It had certainl}' been raining ; jQi Wenceslas had not muddied his boots. " See, here are five thousand francs which Chanor has generousl}' lent me," said Wenceslas, hoping to cut short these judicial inquiries. He had folded the ten thousand francs into two packets of five thousand each, — one for Hortense, the other for himself, to paj' debts of which she was igno- rant ; he owed them to his rough-hewer and workmen. " That relieves you from anxiety, dear," he said, kissing her. "To-morrow I shall set to work; — 3'es, to-morrow vou will see me off" to the atelier at ei2:lit Cousin Bette. 805 o'clock. I'll go to bed at once, with \o\\v permission, darling, so as to get up early." The doubt which had vaguely entered his wife's mind disappeared ; she was a thousand leagues from suspect- ing the truth. Madame Marneffe I the idea never en- tered her mind. She was afraid of the society of loose women for her husband ; and the names of Bixiou and Leon de Lora, notorious for their dissipated lives, alarmed her. The next day, seeing Wenceslas depart for his atelier at nine o'clock she was completeh* reassured. "There he is at work," she thought to herself, as she proceeded to dress the baby. " Ah ! I see he is going to take hold of his art ! Well, if we can't have the glory of Michael Angelo, at least he shall win that of Cel- lini." Buo3'ed up by her own hopes Hortense believed in a prosperous future, and she was babbling to her son, aged twent}' months, in that onomato-poetic language which makes a baby smile, when the cook, unaware that Steinbock had gone out, announced Stidmann. "Pardon me, madame," said the artist. " Wh}' ! has Wenceslas gone alread}' ? " '^To his atelier." " I came to arrange with him about our new work." '• I will send for him," said Hortense, signing to Stidmann to be seated. The young wife, thanking heaven for the opportunity, was anxious to detain Stidnqann and hear something about the events of the night before. Stidmann bowed as he thanked her. She rang the bell, and the cook re- ceived the order to go to the atelier for her master. " I hope vou were amused last night," said Hortense, "Wenceslas did not get home till one in the morning." 20 306 Coimn Bette. '' Amused? — well, not exacth'," said the artist, who had intended the night before to captin-e Madame Mar- neffe on his own account. " One can't amuse one's self in society unless one has some personal interests to gratifj'. That little Madame MarnefFe is very wittj', but she is coquettish and — " " What did Wenceslas think of her? " asked HortensC; endeavoring to be cal m, ^yh e did not tell me." " I will tell you only one thing," answered Stidmann, '* she is a dangerous woman." Hortense turned as pale as a woman just after child- birth. "Then it was — with Madame Marneffe — and not with — Chanor — that you and Wenceslas dined 3'esterday," she said; "and he — " Stidmann, without understanding what harm he had done, guessed that he had made some blunder. The countess did not finish her speech, and suddenl}^ fainted awa}'. The artist rang the bell and the chambermaid came. After the woman had carried Hortense into her bedchamber a violent nervous attack came on. Stid- mann, like others whose involuntary indiscretion knocks down a husband's edifice of lies, could hardl}^ believe that his speech should have caused such a result. He thought it probable that the countess was in a situation where a slight w^ord of contradiction became dangerous. The cook entered at this moment and stated that mon- sieur was not at the atelier. The countess heard the words and a fresh attack came on. "Go and get Madame's mother," said Louise, the chambermaid, to the cook ; " run I " " If I knew where to find Wenceslas, I would go for him," said Stidmann, in despair. Cousin Bette. 807 "He is with that woman I " cried poor Hortense. "He was dressed for something else than his atelier." Stidmann went instantl}' to Madame Marneffe's house, understanding at once this second-sight of the passions. At the moment of his arrival Valerie was posing as Delilah. Too shrewd to ask for Madame Marneffe, Stidmann passed the porter's lodge and ran quickl}' up to the second floor, arguing with himself, " If I ask for her, I shall be told she is not in ; if I ask for Steinbock, %ey'll laugh in m}' face, — I'll force an entrance." He rang the bell ; Heine answered it. " Tell Monsieur le Comte Steinbock to come at once ; his wife is ill." Reine, quite as shrewd as Stidmann, looked at him with a stupid air. " But, monsieur, I don't exactly know — what j'ou — " "I tell you that my friend Steinbock is here, — his wife is ill, and the matter is serious enough for 3'ou to disturb your mistress." Stidmann left the house. " He 's there I " he said to himself. He waited a few moments at the corner of the rue Vanneau till he saw Wenceslas come out, and then signed to him to move quicklv. After relat- ing what had happened, Stidmann scolded Steinbock for concealing the truth about the dinner of the night before. "It is a terrible mishap," answered Wenceslas, "but I forgive you. I totally forgot you had promised to meet me this morning, and I made a great mistake in not telling you to sa}' we dined at Florent's. But I could n't help it ; that Valerie has put me beside my- 308 Cousin Bette. self — but all, m}' dear fellow, she is worth more than fame ; a man could face everything for her sake. Ad- vise me. What am I to tell Hortense? how am I to excuse m3'self ? " " Advise 3'ou ! " replied Stidmann, " I know nothing about it. Your wife loves you, does n't she ? Well, she will believe whatever you sa}'. Tell her that j^ou came for me when I went for 3-ou, and we crossed each other ; 3'ou can at least get out of this morning's affair. Adieu!" Lisbeth, hearing what had happened from Reine, overtook Steinbock at the corner of the rue Hillerin- Bertin ; she was afraid of his Polish candor. Anxious not to be compromised, she said a few words to Wen- ceslas which made him stop and kiss her in the open street. Perhaps she threw him a plank b}' which to cross the conjugal strait. When Hortense saw her mother, who arrived in haste, she burst into tears ; and the nervous crisis for- tunatelj' took another turn. '' Betrayed ! my dear mamma, betrayed ! " she said. " Wenceslas, after giving me his word of honor that he would not visit Madame Marneffe, dined there yester- day, and onl3^ got back at one in the morning. The niglit before we had had, not a quarrel, but an expla- nation. I said such tender things to him, — I told him that I was jealous of his love, that unfaithfulness would kill me. I said I was easily hurt, but he must forgive my weaknesses because the}' all came from m}'' love for him ; that I had as much of m^' father's blood as of 3'ours in m}' veins, and if betra3'ed I might be maddened and commit mad deeds ; T might avenge m3'self and Cousin Bette. 309 dishonor us all — him, our child, myself ; that I might even kill him, and myself afterwards. And 3'et he went to her ! he is there now ! That woman is resolved to destroy us all. Yesterda}' Victorin and Celestine signed bonds to take up my father's notes for sixt}^ thousand francs which he has wasted on that wanton. Yes, mamma, the creditors were about to put papa in prison. That horrible woman is not satisfied with m}' father's honor and your tears, she must also deprive me of Wences- las ! — I will go to her ; I will stab her ! " Madame Ilulot, horrors tri eke n by the news which Hortense in her ftuy betrayed, controlled her anguish by an heroic effort, such as noble mothers are alone able to make. She laid her daughter's head upon her breast, and covered it with kisses. " Wait till you see Wenceslas, ni}' child, and all will be explained. The evil cannot be as great as 3'ou tliink. I have myself been betrayed, Hortense. You think me beautiful, I am virtuous, and yet for the last tw^entj'-four years I have been abandoned for such wo- men as Jenn}' Cadine, Josepha, Madame Marneffe, — did you know that ? " "You, mamma, 3'ou ! — for twentj'-four 3'ears you have suffered as — " She stopped before the ideas in her own mind. "Imitate 3'our mother, dear child; do as she has done. Be gentle and kind, and your conscience will be at peace. On his djing bed a man will sa}' ' M}- wife caused me no sorrow.' God who hears those words will place them to our account. If I had yielded to anger as 3'Ou are doing now, do 3'ou know what would have happened? Your father would have been embit- 310 Cousin Bette, tered ; he might have abandoned his home altogether ; our ruin, which has come now, would have come ten years earlier ; we should have shown to the world the shameful spectacle of a husband and wife living apart, a deplorable scandal, the destruction of the family ; neither you nor your brother could have married. I sacrificed myself — and so courageoush' that if it had not been for your father's last liaison, the world would have thought me a happy wife. My deceit, ni}' brave deceit, has protected Hector all his life ; his reputation is uninjured, — onl}^, I fear this present passion, the mad- ness of an old man, will cany him too far ; 3'es, it will tear awa}' the screen I have so long^ held between our home and the world. Ah! for twent^'-four ^ears I have held it up ! behind it I wept alone, with no mother, no friend, no help except religion ; but I have maintained the family honor all those years." Hortense listened to her mother with fixed ej^es. The calm, resigned voice of this supreme sorrow silenced the angrj^ voice of the younger woman's first wound ; tears came, and came in torrents. In a rush of filial devotion, overcome by the sublimit}' of her mother's life, she fell on her knees before her, and caught the hem of her dress and kissed ' it, as pious Catholics kiss the sacred relics of a martyr. "Rise, my Hortense," said the baroness; "such feeling shown b}' my daughter blots out man}- a cruel memor}' ! Come to my heart, which holds thy sorrows onl}'. The grief of ni}- little girl, whose joy was my sole jo}', has broken the sepulchral seal which nothing less could take from my lips. Yes, I meant to carry my sorrows to the grave — a winding-sheet of grief ! Cousin Bette. 811 To calm thine anger, I have spoken ■ — God will pardon me ! Rather than see thy life like my life, what would I not do? Men, the world, chance, nature, God — all, all sell us love at the price of cruel torture. Ten happj^ years have cost me twenty-four of despair and bitter- ness and endless suffering." "Yon had ten years, m}' own mamma, and I but three ! " said the loving egoist. "All is not lost, my little one; wait till 3'ou sec Wenceslas." " Mother," she said, " he lied to me ; he has wilfully deceived me. He said, ' I will not go.' lie said it be- fore the cradle of his child ; and he went ! " " My darling, men for their own pleasure commit the basest actions, villanies, crimes, — it seems to be in their nature. We women are vowed to self-sacrifice. I thought my sorrows were coming to an end : alas ! the}' begin anew ; I little thought I should suffer again in the sufferings of m}' daughter. Courage and silence ! M}' Hortense, swear to speak to none but me of j'our trials ; to let no others suspect them. My child, show the pride of 3'our mother." Hortense shuddered, for at that moment she heard her husband's step. " It seems that Stidmann came here for me just after I had gone to see him," said Wenceslas as he entered the room. " Indeed ! " cried Hortense, with the savage iron}^ of ?\\ offended woman who uses speech as a dagger. "Yes, I have just met him," answered Wenceslas, acting surprise. " What of yesterday ? " said Hortense. i 312 Cousiyi Bette. '^ M}- dear love, I cleceiA'ed you; but your mother shall judge between us." ,^ His frankness softened his wife's heart. AH noble ^ women prefer truth to falsehood. The}^ cannot bear to see their idols disgrace themselves ; the}' choose to be proud of the masters the}- accept. " Hear me, my dear mother,^^ said Wenceslas ; " I love xny good and gentle Hortense so trul}" that I have hidden the extent of our embarrassments from lier. How could I do otherwise? She is still nursino- her child, and more anxiet}' would have injured her. You know what risks a woman runs at such times. Her beaut}", her freshness, even her health are in danger. Did I do wrong? she thought we ow^ed five thousand francs, when in fact I owe twice as much. Yesterda}* I was in the depths of despair. No one is ever willing to lend money to an artist ; persons distrust us, they distrust our talents and our caprices. I asked in vain ; Lisbeth alone offered us her savings." " Poor woman I " said Hortense. " Poor Bette ! " echoed her mother. "But Lisbetli's two thousand francs — what were they? a drop in the bucket. Then our cousin spoke (as 3'ou know, Hortense) , of Madame Marneffe, who, she thought — out of pride, owing all she has to the baron — would lend us the money without interest. Hortense wished to pawn her diamonds. The}* might have brought a few thousand francs, but we needed ten thousand. Here were the ten thousand offered to us for a year without interest. I said to nwself : Hortense need never know ; I will go myself and get them. The woman asked my father-in-law to invite me to dinner Cousin Bette. 313 yesterday, .and let me know throngli Lisbeth that I should then receive the monej'. How can Hortense, at twenty-four years old, fresh and pure and virtuous — she who is ni}- glory and m,y happiness, whom I have never quitted for a day since our marriage — how can she imagine that I prefer — what? a sallow, faded, washed-out woman," he added, using a slang term of the studios to make Hortense believe in his contempt b}' lone of those extravag^^Tcondemnations that gratify the female min^ "Ah, if 3'our father had reasoned with me thus!" exclaimed the baroness. Hortense threw herself on her husband's breast. " Yes, that is whaf I should have done," said Ad- eline. " Wenceslas, ui}- friend, 3-our wife has nearly died of anxiety. SheVis yours. Alas," thought the mother, sighing deeph', and thinking what all women think after the marriage of their daughters, "he can make her a martyr or a haj^py woman. It seems to me," she said aloud, " that;\I suffer enough to deserve to have m}' children happy."! " Do not be anxious, dear Imam ma," said Wenceslas, overjo3'ed at the fortunate termination of the crisis ; " in two months I shall have earned the money and returned it to that horrible woman. What else could I do? " he added, using that essentialh' Polish phrase with natural Polish grace. " There are moments when we are will- ing to borrow, mone}' of the devil. After all, it is famil}^ money. And the invitation once given, I should never have got the money had I replied to it rudelj'." "Oh, mamma, what harm papa has done us ! " cried Hortense. 314 Cousin Bette. The baroness put a finger on her lip, and Hortense regretted the words, the first blame she had ever allowed herself to utter against a father so heroically defended by sublime silence. " Good-by, m}- dear children," said Madame Hulot. ''It is all sunshine now. Never be angiy with each other again." When, after taking the baroness to the door, Wen- ceslas and his wife returned to their own room, Hor- tense said to her husband, " Tell me all about last evening." And she watched his face during the recital, which she interrupted now and then b}^ questions which spring naturall}^ to a wife's lips in such a case. The account she received made her thoughtful ; she per- ceived clearly enough the diabolical enjoj'ments artists must find in such vicious societ}'. "Be frank, dear Wenceslas ■ — Stidmann, Claude Vignon, and Yernisset were present, who else? Did 30U enjo}^ it ? " "I? I thought of nothing but that ten thousand francs ; I said to m3'self. The}' will relieve m}' Hortense of all anxiety." This questioning was becoming intolerably annoying to the Pole, and he seized a moment's respite to sa}^ to Hortense, " What would you have done, my darling, had I been guilty ? " " I? " she said. " I should have taken Stidmann — without loving him, be it understood." "Hortense!" cried Steinbock, springing up with an almost theatrical movement, ' ' you would never have had time to do it, — I should have killed you ! " Hortense threw herself on her husband's breast, Cousin Bette. 315 clasped him to suffocation in her arms, and covered him with kisses, crying out : " Ah I you love me, Wen- ceslas ! I fear nothing now. But no more Marneffe ! Don't plunge again into such mud-holes." " T swear to you, m}- Hortense, that I will never go back there until I take the money to pay my note." She was cold for a while, like other loving women who pretend coldness to gain a profit in the end. Wenceslas, wear}^ of the scene, left her alone to sulk as she pleased and went off to his atelier to make the rough model for Samson aud Delilah, the drawing of which was in his pocket. Hortense, regretting her manner and thinking Wenceslas displeased, followed him some time later, and reached the atelier just as her husband had finished man- ipulating the cla}', with that fury which takes possession of an artist in the grasp of fanc3\ "When he saw his wife he flung a wet cloth over the roughl}' modelled fig- ures and took Hortense in his arms, exclaiming : — " We are not angrj- with each other, are we, my Ninette ? " Hortense had seen the group and the cloth thrown hastil}' over it, though she said nothing : but before leaving the atelier she turned round, hfled the wet rag, looked at the sketch, and said : — '- What is that?" " An idea that has come into my head." "Why did 3'ou hide it from me?" " I did not want 3'Ou to see it till finished." " That woman is very prett}' ! " said Hortense. And again suspicion grew in her mind, as in the Indies those rank vegetations spring up, tall and tufted, in a single night. 316 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XXIV. THE FIVE FATHERS OF THE MARNEFFE CHURCH. By the end of three weeks Madame Marneffe was deepl}^ incensed against Hortense. Women of her kind have their own form of self-love ; the}' choose that others shall obe}' their devil's-spur ; the}' never forgive a virtue which either does not fear their power or wrestles with it. Wenceslas had not paid a single visit in the rue Van- neau, — not even the one which courtes}- demanded to thank a woman for posing as Delilah. Each time that Lisbeth had gone to the Steinbocks' she found no one at home ; monsieur and madame spent their whole time at the atelier. Lisbeth, pursuing the turtle-doves to their nest at Gros-Caiilou, saw Wenceslas hard at work and ascertained from the cook that madame never left him. Wenceslas had yielded to the despotism of love. Valerie now shared Lisbeth's hatred of Hortense on her own account. Women are as desirous of a lover whom other women tr}' to hold as men are of the women whom other men desire.^ The reflections which we make about Madame MarneflTe apply equall}^ to men of gal- lantr}', who are, in a sense, male courtesans. A^alerie's fancy for Wenceslas became rabid ; she was determined in the first place to get her group, and she was thinking of going to see him at his atelier when an event hap- Cousin Bette. 317 pened which may be called, in the case of such women, fructus belli. Valerie announced this absolutely per- sonal fact as she was breakfasting with Lisbeth and Monsieur Marnetfe. " Marneffe, did 3'ou know you were about to be a father for the second time ? " " No ! reall}'? Ah, let me kiss 3'ou — " He rose and made the circuit of the table ; his wife held her head at him so that the kiss fell on her hair. " That will make me head of my department and of- ficer of the Legion of honor ! Ha, ha, my little girl ! But I don't want Stanislas to be injured, poor little thing." "Poor little thing indeed!" cried Lisbeth. '^ It is six months since you have seen him ; they think 1 'm his mother at school, for I am the onl}' one of the famil}' who ever inquires for him." '' A child that costs a hundred francs a month ! " ex- claimed Valerie. "Besides, he is reall}' yours, Marneffe, and 3'ou ought to pa}' his schooling out of 3'our salary'. The new-comer, instead of being a drain upon us, will keep us rich." " Valerie," said Marneffe, imitating Crevel's attitude, " I hope Monsieur le baron Hulot will take care of his son, and not put the cost of the child on a poor clerk ; I shall be ver3' exacting with him on that point. Therefore, be read3' with your proofs, madame. Tr3' to get letters in which he speaks of his happiness ; the fact is, he hangs lire too long about m3^ appointment." Marneffe departed to the ministr3', where the inesti- mable friendship of his director allowed him to go at the late hour of eleven ; he had little or nothing to do 318 Cousin Bette. when there, by reason of his notorious incapacity and his aversion to work. Left alone, Lisbeth and Valerie looked at each other for a moment like a pair of witches, and then they both burst into fits of laughter. "But; Valerie, tell me, is it true," said Bette, "or are 3'ou playing a farce?" " It is a physical fact ! " answered Valerie. " Hortense aggravates me. Last night I bethought me of firing the infant like a bomb into the Steinbock household." Valerie returned to her bedroom, followed by Lisbeth, to whom she showed the following letter. AVenceslas, my friend, I still believe in your love, though I have not seen you for nearly a month. Do you despise me ? Delilah refuses to believe it. Can it be that you are under the tyranny of the woman whom you told me you had ceased to love ? Wenceslas, you are too great an artist to let yourself be ruled in that way. Such a home is the grave of glory. Ask yourself if you still resemble the Wenceslas of the rue du Doyenne. You failed on my father's monument; but the lover is superior to the artist, — you have triumphed with the daughter. My adored AVenceslas, you are a father. If you do not come to see me in the state in which I find myself, you will sink in the estimation of your friends. But I know myself; I know that I love you madly, and that I at least can never curse you. May I call myself forever Thy Val]'.rik? "What do you say to sending that letter to the atelier at a time when our dear Hortense is sure to be there alone?" asked Valerie. " Stidmann told me last night that Wenceslas was to meet him at eleven o'clock at Chanor's ; so tliat minx of a Hortense will be alone." Cousin Bette. 319 "If 3'oii play siicli a trick as that," said Bette, " I can't continue ostensibly your friend ; I shall have to leave this house, and be supposed to neither see you nor speak to you." " Of course," said Valerie, " but — " " AYell, never mind," interrupted Bette. " We shall see each other when I marrj^ the marshal. T/iei/ are all eager for the match ; the baron is the only one who knows nothing about it ; you must make him agree to it." " But," answered Valerie, " perhaps my own position with the baron will be rather ticklish now." " Madame Olivier is the onl}" person j'on can trust to get that letter to Hortense ; 3'ou must send it to the rue Saint-Dominique before she goes to the atelier." " Oh, the little fool will be sure to be at home," answered Madame Marneffe. ringing for Reine to fetch Madame Olivier. Ten minutes after the fatal letter had been despatched, the baron arrived. Madame Marneffe sprang with a kittenish action into his arms. "Hector, you are a father," she whispered in his ear. Perceiving a certain amazement which the baron was not quick enough to conceal, she assumed a chilling air which tortured that official. She made him drag the proofs from her, one b}- one. As soon as conviction, prompted b}' vanity, had entered the old man's mind, she talked to him of Marneffe's fury. " My dear old veteran," she said, " 3'OU positively must make your responsible editor — ours if you like — head of his department and officer of the Legion of 320 Cousin Bette. honor ; for 3'ou have rinned the man ; he adores his bo}^, Stanislas. I detest the httle monster, for he is so hke him ! If 3'ou prefer it 3^011 might settle twelve hun- dred francs a 3'ear on Stanislas, — the capital, of course ; the income to be paid to me." " If I do that I prefer to put the capital in m3^ own son's name, and not in that of the ' little monster,' as 3'ou call him," said Hulot. This imprudent speech, in which the words " m3" son " set the stream a-flowing. was enlarged at the end of an hour's talk into a formal promise to settle twelve hundred francs a 3'ear on the coming infant. The promise once made, it became in Valerie's hands like a drum in possession of a small bo3', an instrument on which she pla3'ed for the next twent3" da3^s. At tbe ver3' moment when Baron Hulot, happy as the husband of a 3'ear's standing anxious for an heir, was leaving the rueVanneau, Madame Olivier had man- aged to make Hortense drag out of her Valerie's let- ter to Steinbock, which she said she w^as charged to put into no hands but his. The 3'oung wife bought the letter for twent3' francs. Suicides pa3- for their opium, their pistols, their charcoal. Hortense read the letter ; then she re-read it. She saw only the white paper barred witli black lines ; nothing existed in nature but that paper. All was chaos about her. The blaze of the conflagra- tion wliich was burning up her happiness illuminated the letter in the deep darkness that surrounded her. The shouts of her little "Wenceslas, who was plaving near, came to her ear as if from the depths of a valle3" far below her. Insulted in her 3'outh, her beauty, her pure and devoted love, it was not a dagger-thrust that Cousin Bette. 321 wounded her, — it was death itself. The shock given a few weeks earlier had been purely nervous; the body writhed in the agonies of jealousy ; but conviction now entered the soul, and the body became non-existent. Hortense remained full}^ ten minutes in this paralyzed condition. The spirit of her mother then appeared to her, and a change took place ; she grew cold and calm, and recovered her reason. Then she rang the bell. " Let Louise help 3'ou, m}^ dear," she said to the cook. " Pack up everything that is mine in this house as soon as possible, and all that belongs to m}' son. I give you two hours to do it in. When all is readj' call a coach and let me know. Make no remarks. I leave this house, and Louise will go with me. You will sta}' with mon- sieur ; take good care of him." She entered her bedroom, sat down at her writing- table, and wrote the following letter : — IMoNsiEUR LE COMTE, — The enclosed letter will explain the reasons for a resolution which I have taken. AVhen you read these lines I shall have left your house, to live with my mother; and I shall have taken my child witli me. Do not expect me to return. Should you attribute my action to the hasty passion of youth or the anger of offended love, you will greatly deceive yourself. I have thought deeply, during the last two weeks, on life, on love, on our union, and our mutual duties. I know to its full extent my mother's self-devotion ; she has told me her trials. She has been hourly heroic for twenty-four years ; but I have not the strength to imitate her, — not that I have loved you less than she has loved my father, but for other reasoi.s which are derived from my own nature. Our home would become a hell ; I might lose my self-command to the 21 322 Cousin Bette. point of dishonoring you, myself, my child. I do not wish to be a Madame Marneffe; but in such a career a woman of my nature might not be able to stop short. 1 am, unhappily for me, a Hulot rather than a Fischer. Alone, and out of sight of your immoralities, I can answer for myself; above all when occupied, as I shall be, with the care of my child beside my strong and noble mother, whose life must react on the tunmltuous action of my heart. There I can be a good mother ; there I can bring up our son ; there I can live. Were I to remain with you, the wife would kill the mother, and our incessant quarrels would embitter my nature. I can accept death at a blow ; I will not be a dying woman for twenty-four years, like my mother. Ah ! monsieur, you have begun earlier than my father that career of licentious- ness, of waste, and dissipation which degrades the head of a family, diminishes filial respect, and leads at last to shame and to despair. I am not implacable. It does not become such feeble beings, living in the sight of God, to be unforgiving. If you win fame and fortune by faithful labor, if you renounce the company of wantons and the path of shame and all uncleanness, you may recover a wife who is worthy of you. I believe you are too truly a gentleman to have recourse to law. You will respect my wishes. Monsieur le comte, by leaving me with my mother. I request, above all, that you will never come to see me. I have left you all the money which you borrowed from that woman. Adieu. HORTENSE HuLOT. The letter was written in anguish ; Hortense gave way to tears, to the strangling cries of passion. 81ie laid down the pen and took it up again and yet again, endeavoring to say simph* what love usually declaims passionately in such parting letters. Her heart exhaled Cousin Bette. 323 itself in cries and moans and tears ; but reason dictated the words. When Louise told her mistress that all was ready Hortense rose and walked slowly- through the garden, the salon, the bedroom, looking at all things for the last time. She gave earnest directions to the cook to look after her master's comfort, promising to reward her well if she were faithful. Then she got into the coach with a breaking heart, weeping (to the great dis- tress of her maid), and kissing the little Wenceslas with a frantic ardor which beti'ayed how much love was still given to the father. Adeline had alreadj" heard from Lisbeth that the baron was much to blame for the wrong-doing of his son-in-law. She was not surprised at the arrival of her daughter ; she approved of her course, and con- sented to keep her. Recognizing at last that gentle- ness and self-devotion had never restrained her Hec- tor, for whom her affection was beginning to diminish, she now thought her daughter wise in taking other meas- nres. Within a few weeks the poor mother had re- ceived two fresh wounds, whose tortures almost sur- passed those she had alread3- endured. The baron had thrown Victorin and his wife into difficulties ; and now, according to Lisbeth, he was the cause of his son-in- law's depravity. The honor of the father, so long main- tained b^' the unwise sacrifices of the mother, was now abased. The 3'oung Hulots, while not regretting their monej', were distrustful of the baron. Their feelings were visible enough to grieve Adeline deepW ; she fore- saw tlie breaking-up of the famil}'. The baroness irave her dauo:hter the use of the dinino;- 324 Cousin Bette. room, which was fitted up as a bedroom, thanks to the marshal's money ; the vast antechamber then became, as in man}' famihes, the dining-room. When Wenceslas reached home and read the two let- ters, he was seized bj^ a feeling of jo}' mingled with sad- ness. Living on parole, as it were, to his wife, he had inwardly rebelled against this new form of imprison- ment a la Lisbeth. Surfeited with love for three 3'ears, he too had reflected during the last two weeks, and he found the famil}' burden too heavy to bear. Stidmann had just gratified his vanity by congratulating him on the love he had inspired in Vak'rie ; for Stidmann, with a hidden motive, flattered the husband, hoping to console the wife. Wenceslas was, in fact, overjo3'ed to find him- self free to return to Madame Marneffe ; and yet as he recalled the pure, unalloyed happiness he had enjoyed for three years, and the perfections of his wife, her wisdom, her innocent and artless love, he keenly re- gretted her. He longed to rush to her mother's house and ask her pardon ; but instead of that he did just what Crevel and Hiilot had done before him ; he went to see Madame Marneff'e, carrying with him his wife's letter to show her the catastrophe of which she was the cause, and to recoup, as it were, his misfortune by the smiles of his mistress. He found Crevel alreadj' there. The ma3'or, puflfed up with self-complacency, was walking about the room like a man in the throes of some tumultuous feeling. He struck an attitude as if about to speak and dared not do so. His countenance shone ; he drummed with his fingers on the window pane ; he gazed at Valerie with touching tenderness. Happily for him Lisbeth made her appearance. Cousin Bette. 325 ''Cousin," he said in her ear, "do }^ou know the news, — I am a father ! I fear I love my poor Celestine a httle less. Ah, what it is to have a child hy a woman 3'ou adore ! — to unite tlie paternity of the heart with the paternity of the blood. Cousin, say to Valerie for me that I shall toil for that child ; I will make him rich. She told me she thought, from certain indications, that it would be a bo}'. If it is a bo}', I am determined that he shall be called Crevel ; I shall consult my notary." "I know how much she loves you," said Lisbeth, " but for the sake of your future and hers control 3'our- self, — don't rub your hands in that way." While this aside was going on Valerie had got back her letter from Wenceslas and was whispering something in his ear which soon put an end to his depression. " Now 3'Ou are free, dear friend," she said. " Great artists should never many, should the\'? You exist only through fanc}' and by freedom. Ah, my poet, I will love you so well that 3'ou shall never regret your wife. And yet, if, like most people, you wish to keep up ap- pearances I will undertake to make Horteuse go back to 3'ou." " I wish it were possible," said Wenceslas. " I am sure it is," said Valerie, piqued. " Your poor father-in-law is a thorough man of the world who likes, out of vanit3', to have the appearance of being loved ; he wants to make people believe he has a mistress. It is 1)3^ that particular form of vanit3' that I rule him. The baroness is so fond of her Hector (like the Iliad, is n't it?) that the two old people will soon persuade Hortense to be reconciled. But remember, if you don't want to have tempests at home never desert your mistress again 826 Cousin Bette. for nearly a month, — I should die of another such period of neglect. M3' dearest, when a man is a nobleman he owes every consideration to a woman whom he has com- promised and brought to the condition I am in ; above all when that woman has a reputation to maintain. Stay to dinner, my angel, — and remember I must seem cold to you — to 3'ou, the author of my miserable fault ! " Baron Montez was announced ; Valerie rose and ran to meet him, whispering in his ear and making the same conditions of reserve and coldness that she had just ad- dressed to Wenceslas ; for the Bi'azilian wore a diplo- matic countenance appropriate to the great news which filled him with joy, — for he was certain of his paternity. Thanks to successful strateg}-, based on the vanity and self-love of man in the condition of lover, Valerie sat down to dinner surrounded by four J03'ful, ani- mated, fascinated men, each feeling that she adored him alone, while Marneffe called them all, under his breath to Lisbeth, including himself in the categor}', " the five fathers of the church.^' Baron Hulot seemed, at first, rather thoughtful. On leaving his office that morning he had gone to see the director in charge of the appointments and promotions at the War office, — a general, and an old comrade of thirty 3^ears' standing. To him he spoke of his desire to appoint Marneffe in place of Coquet, who had agreed to resign. " M3' dear friend," he said, "I don't want to ask this favor of the Marechal unless you and I are first agreed about it." '' M3' dear friend," replied the other, " allow me to 4 Coiisin Bette. 327 sa\' that for your own sake you ought not to press that appouitment. I have ah-eady told you what I think of it. It woukl create a scandal in your department, where too much is already being said about 3'ou and Madame Marneffe. All this is between ourselves. I don't wish to touch your tender spot, nor to diso- blige you in an}' wa}', and 1 'II prove it. If you are really determined to ask for Coquet's place (the man will be a loss to the War office where he has been em- l)loyed since 1809), I will go into the countr}' for a couple of weeks, and leave the field open to you with the Marechal, who loves you like his own son. I can thus be neutral, neither for nor against you, and I shall have done nothing in violation of my conscience as a public official." ''Thank you," said Hulot ; "I will reflect on what you have said to me." " If I make these remarks, my dear friend, it is that I am more concerned for 3-our personal interests than for my own feelings. The Marechal, however, will decide the matter. We get so much blame on all sides that a little more or less scared}' signifies ! Under the Restoration, men were appointed for tlie appoint- ment's sake and no one thought of the public service. You and I are old comrades — " "Yes," replied the baron, "and it was because of our old friendship that — " " Come, come," said his friend, seeing the anxiety on Hulot's face. "I will make that journe}', old com- rade. But take care ; 30U have enemies, — that is to say, persons who want your splendid situation and all its perquisites ; and you are moored by onl}' a single an- 328 Cousin Bette. chor. Ah ! if 3-011 were a deputy like me, yoxx need fear nothing. As it is, mind what 3-ou are about." This advice, given in a friendl}" spirit, made a great impression upon the councillor of state. "But tell me, Roger, is there anything behind all this? Be frank with me." The individual named Roger looked at Hulot ; then he took his hand and pressed it. " We are such old friends that I ma}' venture to give 3'ou a word of advice. If you want to hold 3'our office make your bed so that 3-ou can lie in it. If I were you, instead of asking the Marechal to appoint MarnefFe to Coquet's place, I should ask him to use his influence to retain me on the regular service of the Council of State, where I could die in peace ; and then, like the beaver, I should abandon my directorship at the War office to the pursuers." ' ' What can 3'ou mean ? the Marechal would not forget — " " Old friend, the Marechal has so abl}- defended 3'ou before a council of ministers that the3' have given up the idea of getting 3-ou turned out — but it was dis- cussed. Therefore, give them no further ground of — but I will sa3' no more. Just now 3'ou can make 3'our conditions and become peer of France if 3'ou like. If 3'ou wait too long, or if 3'ou give them an3' handle against 3'Ou, I will not answer for the consequences — Now, do 3'Ou wish me to go into the countr3' ? " " Wait ; I will see the Marechal m3-self," said Hulot, " and I will send m3' brother to sound him." We may imagine the state of mind in which the baron came to dine with Madame Marneffe ; he had almost Cousin Bette. 329 forgotten that he was to be a father. Rosjer had done an act of true and lo3'al friendship by thus enlight- ening him oh his real position. Nevertheless, such was Valerie's power over him that by the middle of dinner he had put himself in harmony with his compan}', and became all the gayer because he had anxieties to stifle. The unhappy man little knew that on this very evening he was to find himself caught between his happiness and the danger revealed to him b}' his friend ; that is, he was to be forced to choose between Madame Mar- neffe and his own official position. 830 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XX Y. SUMMARY OF THE HISTORY OF THE FAVORITES. About eleven o'clock, just as the part}' reached a climax of ga^et}', the salon being full of people, Valerie took Hector to a corner sofa. '' My old man," she said in his ear, "your daughter is so irritated against Wenceslas for coming here that she has left him. She has no sense. Ask Wences- las to show 3'ou a letter the little fool has written to him. This separation of the loving couple, of which I am supposed to be the cause, may do me incredible harm ; that 's the wa}' virtuous women attack each other. It is scandalous to play the victim for tlie purpose of throwing blame upon a woman whose only crime is to make her salon agreeable. If you love me you will get me out of the scrape by reconciling the turtle-doves. Besides, I am not at all anxious to re- ceive your son-in-law in m}' house ; 3'ou brought him here, now take him away. If you have an}' authorit}' in your own family it seems to me }'ou ought to require your wife to manage this reconciliation. Tell the good old lady from me that if she and her daughter accuse me unjustly of interfering with the young people's hap- piness and troubling the peace of a household by cariy- ing away both father and son, I'll merit my reputation, Cousin Bette. 331 and torment them as much as I choose. Lisbeth act- ually talks of leaving me ! She prefers her family to me, and I can't blame her. She says she won't sta^' here unless the young people come together again. If she goes I know our expenses will be trebled — " "Oh, as for that," said the baron, referring to his daughter's proceeding, "' I shall put that to rights." " Well," said Valerie, " there 's another thing. About Coquet's place?" "That," said Hulot, looking another way, " is a much more difficult matter, not to sa}' an impossible one." " Impossible ! vay dear Hector ! " exclaimed Madame Marneffe, in a low voice, "don't 3'ou know it would drive xny husband to extremities? I am in his power; he is immoral and self-interested after the fashion of most men, but he is also, like all little minds, exces- siveh' vindictive. In the condition in which 3'ou have put me, I am at his mere}'." Hulot made a vehement gesture. " He will only leave me in peace on condition that he gets that appointment. It is infamous, but it's logical." " Valerie, do you love me? " " That question, in the state I am in, is impertinent, my dear friend." " Well then, if I so much as attempt to ask the Mare- chal to appoint Marneffe I shall lose ni}' own place and Marneffe will be dismissed." " I thought that you and the Prince were the closest friends. " " So we are ; he has proved it ; but, m}' dearest, there 332 Cousin Bette. is a power above the Marechal ; for instance, there 's the council of ministers. Perhaps b}' and b}^, by steering carefully, we could manage it ; but we shall have to wait till they want some service out of me ; then I can give them my sprat for your herring — " " If I were to tell that to Marneffe, he would do us some ill turn. No, tell him 3'ourself that he must wait, I dare not. Ah, I know my fate ; he knows how to punish me ! — Don't forget about the twelve hundred a-3'ear for the little one." Hulot took Marneffe apart, feeling that his happi- ness was seriousl}' in danger ; and he abandoned for the first time his usual haughty tone to that individual, so alarmed was he by Valerie's terror. "Marneffe, my dear friend," he said, " your matter was brought up to-da^^ ; but you won't get the appoint- ment as head of your division — not yet, we must take time — " "I shall get it, Monsieur le baron," said Marneffe, curtl3\ " But, my dear fellow — " " I shall get it. Monsieur le baron," repeated Mar- neffe, glancing coolly first at the baron and then at Valerie. "You have put m}^ wife under the necessit}' of keeping well with me, — and I shall hold her to it ; for, my dear friend^ she is charming," he added, with horrible irony. " I am master here, far more than you are master at your ministr3\" The baron was seized with one of those spasms of mental pain which affect the heart like a throbbing tooth- ache ; the tears almost came into his eyes. During this short scene Valerie had whispered in Henri Montez's ear Cousin Bette. 333 the same threat of Marneffe in order to get rid of him for a short time. Crevel alone among the faithful four, the possessor of that thrift}' little house, was exempted from this measure ; and his face shone with a beatified air tliat was actually insolent, in spite of the reprimands which Valerie gave him by frowns and significant grimaces. His radiant paternity was proclaimed on every feature. As Valerie approached him to whisper a reproachful w^arning he seized her hand and said : — "• To-morrow, my duchess, 3'ou shall have ^our little mansion ! " " And the furniture?" she asked, smiling. " I have a thousand shares in the Versailles Railwaj', left bank, bought at one hundred and twenty-five francs ; they are going up to three hundred because of the junc- tion of the two roads, — 1 'm in the secret. Your house shall be furnished like the Queen's palace ! — But you promise to be mine onl}', don't 3'ou? " " Yes, old ma3'or! " she said, smiling ; "but do behave 3'ourself properlj' ; respect the future Madame Crevel." " My dear cousin," said Lisbeth, taking the baron's arm, " I shall go and see Adeline earl}' to-morrow morn- ing ; for, 5'ou understand, I cannot decently remain here. I shall go and keep house for jour brother the marshal." "• I am going home to-night, mj'self," said Hulot. "Well then, I'll come to breakfast to-morrow," an- swered Lisbeth, smiling. She understood how necessary her presence would be in the family scene which was to take place on the morrow. In the morning she went round by Victorin's 334 Coudn Bette. liouse and told him of the separation of Hortense and Wenceslas. When the baron reached home, about half-past ten at night, Mariette and Louise, who had done a hard day's work, were just closing the door of the apartment, so that Hulot had no need to ring the bell. Grieving over his enforced virtue, he went straight to his wife's room. Through the open door he saw her kneeling before her crucitix, lost in prayer, in one of those expressive atti- tudes which make the fame of painters and sculptors when they are fortunate enough to be able to represent what the}' have once seen. Adeline, carried awa}' by her emotion, cried aloud, " M3' God, in mere}' to us, en- lighten him ! " It was thus that she prayed for her Hec- tor. At the sight, so different from the scene he had just quitted, and at the words, dictated by the events of the da}', the baron, much moved, gave A'cnt to a sigh. Adeline turned round, her face bathed in tears. She fancied her prayer was heard, and making one bound, she clasped her Hector in her arms with the strength of joyful passion. Poor woman ! she had laid aside all feminine desires, sorrow had quenched all, even the memory of them. Nothing remained to her but mother- hood, family honor, and the pure affection of a Christian wife for a misguided husband, the sacred tenderness which survives all else in the hearts of women. "Hector," she said, '"at last! have you come back to us? God has taken pity upon our family ! " " Dear Adeline," said the baron, entering the room and seating his wife beside him, " you are the sainlhest human being I have ever known ; it is long since I have felt worthy of you." Cousin Bette. 335 " It will be so easy, clear friend," she said taking his hand and trembhng with nervousness, "so easy for you to restore order — " She dared not go on, feeling that every word implied blame, and she would not lessen the joy which tiiis home-coming poured into her heart. " I have come on account of Hortense," answered Hulot; '^ she ma}' do us more harm b}' this hasty step than my absurd passion for Valerie has ever done. But we will talk it over to-morrow morning. Louise says that Hortense is asleep, so I won't disturb her now." " Yes," said Madame Hulot, suddenly subdued and saddened ; she saw that her husband had returned, less for the sake of his famih' than for some ulterior pur- pose connected with Madame Marnetfe. " Leave her in peace until to-morrow. Poor child, she is in a de- plorable condition, she has wept all day." At nine o'clock the next morning the baron, while waiting for his daughter whom he had summoned, was walking up and down the vast uninhabited salon, pre- paring reasons with wiiich to conquer the most difficult obstinac\' of all to subdue, that of an offended and im- placable 3'oung woman, to whom, in her irreproachable 3'outh, the shameful compromises of the world are yet unknown, because she is above its passions and its self- interests. "Here I am, papa," said Hortense, pale with grief, and speaking in a trembling voice. Hulot sat down, took his daughter by the waist, nrd placed her on his knee. "Well, m}' dear child," he said, kissing her brow. 336 Cousin Bette. " I hear there is trouble in your home, and that 3'on are carrying things with a high hand. That 's not the thing for a girl who has been well brought up. M3' Hortense ought not to take such a decisive step as to leave her house and desert her liusband without con- sulting her parents. If you had come in the first in- stance to 3'our good and excellent mother, 3'ou would not have caused me the pain I now feel. You don't know the world, it is ver}' censorious. It ma}' sa}' that your husband has sent you back to your parents. Daughters brought up as 3'ou were in their mothers' laps remain children longer than other girls ; the}' know little of life. A fresh and artless passion, such as yours for Wenceslas, never, unfortunately, reflects ; it acts on impulse ; the heart goes off at a tangent, the head fol- lows. You must believe your old father who has come to tell you that your conduct is not becoming. I will not speak of the deep pain you have caused me ; it is bitter, for you have cast blame on a woman whose heart is unknown to you and whose enmity may become formidai)le. Alas, my child, you do not see that you, so candid, innocent and pure, may be libelled and ca- lumniated. And besides, my little darling, you took what was meant as a joke seriously. I can, myself, assure you of the innocence of your husband. Madame Marneflfe — " Up to this point the baron, an artist in diplomacy, had carefully modulated his remonstrances. He had, as we have seen, managed the introduction of that fatal name with superior ability, yet when Hortense heard it she started like a person wounded to the quick. '' Listen to me," said her father, preventing her from Cousin Bette. 337 speaking. "That lad}' treats your husband ver\' coIdl_y. Yes, 3'ou have been the victim of some hoax ; I can prove it to 3'Ou. Yesterda}' Wenceslas dined there — " "What! he dined there?" cried the young wife, springing to her feet and looking at her father with horror in her face. " Y'esterday ! after reading my letter ! Good God ! why did I not enter a convent instead of marr3ing ! — My life is no longer mine, I have a child ! " she added, sobbing. Her tears wrung her mother's heart ; Madame Hulot emerged from her bedroom and clasped her daughter in her arms, weeping. "Tears, tears!" said the baron to himself, impa- tienth', " and all was going so well! what am I to do now with crying women ? " " M3' child," said the baroness, "listen to your father; he loves us, he is wise — " "Come, Hortense, m}' dear child, don't q,yy, — it makes 3'Ou ugl}'," said the baron. " Now be reason- able. Go home quietl}' ; I promise that Wenceslas shall not set foot in the house. I ask you to make the sacrifice — if it is a sacrifice to pardon a mere trifling fault in a husband 3'OU love. I ask it for the sake of my white hairs, for your mother's sake — 3'ou don't wish to fill our declining 3'ears with bitterness and grief?" Hortense threw herself wildh' at her father's feet, with so passionate an action that her hair fell loose as she stretched out her hands to him with a gesture of despair. " Father, 3'ou ask m3' life ! " she said ; " take it if 30U will ; but at least take it pure and spotless. Don't ask me to die dishonored, criminal ! I am not like m3' 22 338 Cousm Bette. mother ; I cannot accept outrage. If I re-enter married life I may strangle Wenceslas in a fit of jealousy — or worse! Would you mourn me living? the least that could befall me would be madness, — I feel it now at my elbow ! Yesterday ! 3'esterday ! he dined with that woman after reading my letter ! — Are all men created like that? Yes, I give you my life, but grant "that m}^ death be not shameful ! — His fault ! 3'ou call it light ! — to have a child by that woman ! — " *'A child!" cried Hulot, stepping back two paces. " Come, come, that is certainl}' a joke ! " At this moment Victorin and Bette entered the room and stood amazed at the scene. The daughter was pro- strate at the feet of her father. The baroness, silent and vacillating between the feelings of a mother and those of a wife, was convulsed with weeping. '' Lisbeth," said the baron, seizing tlie old maid by the hand and pointing to Hortense, "help me. My poor Hortense has lost her head ; she thinks that Wenceslas is beloved bj- Madame Marneffe when she has onlj^ given him an order for a statuette — " "Of Delilah!" cried the young woman, "the only thing he has done from inspiration since our marriage. He could not work for me or for his son, but he could work with ardor for that wanton — Ah, put an end to me, my father, at once, for ever}' word 3^ou say stabs me like a dagger." Lisbeth looked at the bai'oness and Victorin and shrugged her shoulders with an expression of pity as she made tliem notice the baron, who stood so that he could not see her. "Cousin," said Lisbeth, addressing Hulot, "I did Cousin Bette. 339 not know what Madame Marneffe was when you asked me to go and live in the stoiT above her and manage her household ; but in the course of three years a good deal may be learned. That woman is a prostitute ! one whose depravit}' can be compared onlj' to that of her infamous and disgusting husband. You are the dupe, the golden calf, of those creatures, and you will be led you don't know where before they have done with you. I speak plainly because you are falling into an abyss." The baroness and her daughter, hearing these words, looked at Lisbeth with ej'es like those of the faithful thanking a Madonna for saving their lives. " That horrible woman is resolved to bring trouble into your son-in-law's home, — why, I do not know ; m^' in- tellect is too feeble to understand clearly these under- hand intrigues, wicked, shameful, scandalous as the}' are. Your Madame Marneffe does not love Wenceslas, but she wants him at her feet out of revenge. I have just told the wretched creature what I think of her. She is shameless ; I have left her house ; 1 will not live in such a sink of depravity ; I belong to you, to my famih'. I knew that my poor little cousin had left Wenceslas and I came straight here. Your Valerie, whom 3'ou take for a saint, did bring about this separation. Could I stay in the house of such a woman? Our dear little Hortense," she went on, touching the baron's arm sig- nificantl}', "maybe the victim of a mere wish on the part of that woman, who, like others of her kind, will sacrifice a whole family to get a jewel. I don't beheve Wenceslas is guilty, but I know he is weak, and I can- not say that he might not yield to her insidious coquetry. 840 Cousin Bette. My resolution is taken. The woman is a curse upon your life ; she will bring 3'ou to beggar}'. I will no longer a[)- pear to take part in the ruin of the family; thongh in truth for three years past it is I alone who have hindered it. You are deceived, cousin ; say firmly that you will have nothing to do with that appointment of Monsieur Marneffe and see what will happen ! They are prepar- ing to lash you about it." Lisbeth put her arms round Ilortense and kissed her passionately. " Dear Hortense, hold firm," she whispered. The baroness embi'aced her cousin Bette with all the enthusiasm of a woman who feels that another has avenged her. The whole famil}' stood silenth^ around the father, who was quick to feel what that silence de- noted. A formidable expression of anger crossed his face ; the veins swelled, the e3'es were suflfused with blood, the skin grew mottled. Adeline flung herself on her knees before him and took his hands, crying out. " M3" friend, my friend ! forgive us ! " " I am odious to 30U all," said the baron, giving vent to the cry of his conscience. We know our secret sins. We almost always attri- bute to our victims the feelings of hatred wliich, as we suppose, vengeance dictates to them ; and in spite of our hypocris3", confession appears on our faces or in our language at moments of unexpected torture ; just as the criminal on the rack confesses against his will. " Our children," he said, trying to cover up the inadvertent confession, " end by becoming our ene- mies, — " " Father," said Victorin. Cousm Bette. 341 " Do you venture to interrupt your father?" said the baron, in a thundering voice, looking at his son. ''Father," continued Victorin, in a firm, curt tone, the tones of a puritan deputy, "listen to me. I know too well the respect I owe you ever to fail in paying it ; you will certainl}' always find me a most submissive and obedient son." Persons who visit the Chambers habituall}' will recog- nize in this preamble the long-winded parliamentar}^ phrases with which the speakers soothe opposition and gain time. " We are far from being your enemies," continued Victorin. " Monsieur Crevel, my father-in-law, has quar- relled with me because I took up your notes to Yauvinet, the money for which you gave to Madame Marneffe. Oh ! I am not reproaching you," he added, observing the baron's gesture, "I am onl}' joining m}' testimon}^ to tliat of my cousin Lisbeth, to show 30U that if our de- votion to 3'ou, my dear father, is blind and limitless our pecuniary resources are, unhappily', very limited indeed." "Money!" cried the old man, falling into a chair, overcome by this statement, — "such words from m}^ son ! You will be repaid, sir," he said, rising. He walked toward the door. "Hector!" The cr}^ made him turn ; his wife beheld bis face covered with tears, and she flung her arms about him with the vehemence of despair. " Don't leave us thus — not in anger ! " she cried ; " I have said nothing to make you angry." At her cry the children fell on their knees before their father. 342 Cousin Bette. *' We all love 3'ou," said Hortense. Lisbetli, motionless as a statue, watched the group with a proud smile upon her lips. At this moment Marechal Hulot's voice was heard in the antechamber. The whole familj' understood the importance of secrecN', and the scene changed in a moment. The son and daughter rose to their feet, and all present tried to con- ceal their emotion. Mariette's voice was heard disputing with some one at the door, and she presently entered the salon. '^ Monsieur," she said to the baron, "the quarter- master of a regiment just returned from Algeria says he must speak with 3'ou." " Let him wait." " Monsieur," whispered Mariette in her master's ear, " he told me it was something about Monsieur Fischer." The baron started ; he believed the man had brought him a sum of monej' which he had asked of his uncle two months earlier to meet his notes, and he hastily went into the antechamber. He saw that the man was an Alsatian. " Is this the baron Hulot? " "Yes." "Himself?" " Himself." The man, who was fumbling in the lining of his kepi during the colloquy, pulled out a letter which the baron eagerl}' opened and read as follows : — My Nephew, so far from being able to send you two hun- dred thousand francs, I must tell you that my position is not tenable if you do not make energetic efforts to save me. We Cousin Bitte. 343 are saddled witli a public prosecutor who talks a gibbeiish of morality about the duties of governnieut. It is impossible to make a civilian hold his tongue. If the War office lets the black coats ride over it, I am as good as dead. The man who carries this letter is trustworthy; try to get him promoted, for he has done us good service. Don't leave me to the crows. The letter came like a thiinderbolt ; in it the baron saw the first sign of those intestinal struggles between the militarv and civil authorities which are carried on to this da}' in Algeria ; he felt he must at once devise a remedy for the opening wound. He told the man to come back on the morrow and dismissed him with hopes of promotion ; then he returned to the salon. ''Good-morning, and good-bj," he said to his bro- ther. "Adieu, my children; adieu, dear Adeline. What is to become of 3'ou, Lisbeth?" " I am going to keep house for the marshal," replied Bette. "I must fulfil mv mission b}' doing you all a service in turn." " Don't leave Valerie till I have seen you again," said Hulot in her ear. "Adieu, Hortense, my wilful child; try to be more sensible. I have important business to attend to now, but we will talk of your submission later. Think it over, my little puss," he said, kissing her. He was so manifestly troubled as he left the room that all present felt the keenest apprehension. " Lisbeth," said the baroness, " we must find out what the matter is. I have never seen Hector so upset. Stay two or three days longer with that woman ; he tells her all, and j'ou might discover what this new trouble is. Don't l)e anxious ; we will arranav vonr marriage 344 Cousin Bette. with the marshal, — in fact it has now become a necessit}^" "I shall never forget the com^age 3'ou showed this morning," said Hortense, embracing Bette. " You avenged our poor mother," said Victorin. The marshal noted with an inquisitive eye. the tokens of friendship thus bestowed on Bette, who made her way back to Valerie and related the whole scene. This sketch will enable innocent minds to realize the various kinds of havoc which the Madame Marneffes of social life bring about in families, and the means by which such harpies strike down hapless virtuous women apparently so far removed from their own sphere of life. But if we transport, in thought, the like troubles to a higher stage of society, — to the steps of a throne, — and consider what the mistresses of kings have cost, we may estimate the obligations of a people to sover- eigns who set an example of good morals and the purit}^ of famil}' life. Cousin Bette. • 345 CHAPTER XXVI. A SUMMONS WITH AND WITHOUT COSTS. All the ministerial departments in Paris are like small cities from which women are banished ; but there is as much gossiping and backbiting within their pre- cincts as if a female population were present. For the last three 3'ears the position of Monsieur Marneffe had been held up to the light of day in the various offices, and the question was universal, "Will he or will he not be appointed in Coquet's place?" — just as in the Chambers it was formerl}^ asked, "Will the budget be voted, or will it not be voted?" Ever\' step taken in Baron Hulot's division was scrutinized. The shrewd dirpcJfoTTrSxr enlisted on his side the man who would be injured by Marneffe's promotion, — a clever worker — telling him that if he would make wa}" for Mar- neffe, who was reall}^ (lyings he should be his successor without fail. On the faith of this promise the employe worked for the appointment of Marneffe. When Hulot, after leaving home, crossed the waiting- room at his ministr}^, he found it already filled with visitors, and in a corner he beheld the pallid face of Marneffe, who was the first man called in. "What do 3'ou want of me, my dear fellow?" said Hulot, endeavoring to hide his anxiety. "Monsieur le directeur, I am laughed at in all the departments. It appears that Monsieur Roger, the ap- 840 Cousin Bette, pointing director, has left Paris to-da}' to travel for bis healtli ; he will be awa}' at least a month. Everybody knows what waiting a month means. You have deliv- ered me over to the ridicule of m}' enemies. I don't intend, monsieur le baron, to be drummed out in both directions — " " My dear Marneffe, it takes a great deal of patience to acconipHsh a purpose. You can't be made head of 3'our office for two months 3'et, if indeed you ever are. At this moment, when I have to strengthen my own position, I cannot ask for a scandalous appointment." "If 3'ou are turned out of office I shall never get the place I want," said Marneffe, coldly; "therefore you must get me appointed at once. I '11 take neither more nor less." " Am I to sacrifice m3'self to 3'ou? " asked the baron. " If not, I shall cease to retain a good man3' of m3" present illusions about you." " You are far too much of a Marneffe, Monsieur Mar- neffe," said the baron, contemptuoush', rising and show- ing his subordinate the door. "• I have the honor to take leave, monsieur le baron," said Marneffe, humblv. "The infamous scoundrel I " thought the baron. "This is rather too like a bandit, with his ' Mone3' or 3'our life.' " Two hours later, just as the baron had finished in- structing Claude Vignon (whom he intended to send to the Department of Justice to gather information about the civilian judicial officers in the district where Johann Fischer was at work), Reine opened the door of the director's office, and gave him a letter, which she said said required an answer. Cousin Bette. 347 **To send Reine ! " thought the baron, — "what im- prudence! Valerie is beside herself; she will compro- mise us all. She will prevent the appointment of that abominable Marneff'e." He sent away his private secretary, and read as follows : — Ah, my friend I what a scene I have just gone through ! If you have made me happy for the last three years I have now paid dearly for it. He came home from his office in a state of fury that made me shudder. I knew he was ugly; but to-day he was hideous, monstrous. His four remaining teeth chattered; he threatened me with his perpetual com- pany if I dared to receive you in my house. My poor old dear, alas! our doors will be henceforth closed to you. You see my tears, — they fall upon my paper and bathe it. Could you but read my heart ! Oh, my Hector! not to see you! — to renounce you! — when I have shared a little corner of your life, and, as I believe, your heart, — ah, I shall die of it! Think of our little Hector! Do not abandon me! And yet I would not have you degrade yourself for Marneffe ; do not yield to his threats. Ah, I love you as I never loved be- fore I I remember all the sacrifices you have made for your Valerie. She is not, she never can be, ungrateful. You are, and ever shall be, my sole husband. Don't think again of tlie twelve hundred francs a year I asked of you for our dear little Hector, who will be here in a few months; I am resolved to cost you no more. If you loved me as I love you, my Hector, you would ask for your retirement; then we would leave our families, our an- noyances, our surroundings where hatred reigns, and go with Lisbeth to some peaceful country-place in Brittany, or where you like. There we should see no one, we should be happy, far away from the woild. Your pension and the little that I have in mv own name would suffice for our wants. You 348 Cousin Bette. have grown jealous of late, — well, there you would find your Valerie devoted solely to her dear Hector; you would never have to scold her as you did the other day. My love! in the exasperated state in which that man lias put me I cannot and will not renounce the sight of you. Yes, we must meet in secret, and every day. I share your resentment against Marneffe; if you love me, never let him have that appointment; let him die as he is — a subordi- nate! — My mind is still distracted, his insults ring in my ears! Bette, who wished to leave me, now pities me so much that she will stay for some days longer. My dear treasure, what am I to do ? I see nothing but flight. I have always adored the country, — Bretagne, Lan- quedoc, wherever it pleases you, if only I am free to love you. Poor darling, how I pity you, forced to return to your old Adeline, that lachrymal vase! for Marneffe declares he will watch over me night and day — he even spoke of a po- lice spy! — No, do not come to me. He is capable of any- thing — he who has made me the means of his dastardly gains. Would that I could return you every farthing of your generous gifts ! Ah ! my dear Hector, I may have been co- quettish, I may have seemed to you light-minded, but you do not know your Valerie; she liked to torment you, but she loves you above all the world. Marneffe cannot prevent your seeing your cousin, anli I shall arrange with her some way for us to meet. Dearest, write me a line to make me happy since I cannot have your presence! A letter will be to me a talisman; write me from your very soul. I will return the letter, for M'e must be prudent ; I could scarcely hide any- thing from him, he prys everywhere. But I pray you, reassure your Valerie, your wife, the mother of your child. Ah! to be obliged to write to you — I3d^^L:iKive seen you every day ! As I say to Lisbeth, I did notkiK)w my happiness when I had it. A thousand kisses. Adieu. Thy Valerie. Cousin Bette. 349 " Her tears ! " cried Hulot to himself, as he finished the letter and saw the blurred and indecipherable signa- ture. " How is she, Reine?" he said aloud. " Madame is in bed," answered Reine, *' she had a violent nervous attack after writing that letter. Oh ! it is enough to break one's heart. 8he heard Mon- sieur coming up the stairs." The baron, greatly troubled, wrote the following letter on a sheet of official paper with its printed headings : — " Do not distress yourself, my angel. He shall die as he is, a sub-director. Your idea is an excellent one; we will go far from Paris, and live happy with our little son. I will ask for my retirement, and find a situation on some railroad. Ah! my sweet Valerie, I feel my youth renewed by your letter. Yes, I will begin my life anew, and I will make, you shall see, a fortune for our little one. As I read your letter — a thousand times more ardent than those of the ' Nouvelle Heloise ' — it worked a miracle within me; I did not tliink that my love for you could possibly increase. You will find me to-night at Lisbeth's. Your Hector for life." Reine carried off this epistle, the first the baron had ever written to his sweet friend. The emotions it ex- cited counterbalanced the rumblings of the storm which was gathering on his horizon ; at this particular mo- ment, however, Hulot, feeling sure he could ward off the attack on his uncle Fischer, thought only of the deficit. One of the peculiarities of the Bonapartist character is its faith in the power of the sabre, and its conviction of the pre-eminence of the military over the civil system. 350 Cousin Bette. Hulot scorned a public prosecutor in Algeria, a conntry ruled by the War department. Man is ever what he has been. How should the officers of the Imperial Guard forget that they had seen the mayors of the good cities of the empire, the prefects of the Emperor, little emperors themselves, coming humbly to receive the Guard, flattering it from end to end of the depart- ments and paying sovereign homage to it? At half-past four in the afternoon, the baron went to Madame Marneffe's. His heart beat as he ran up the stairs like a 3'oung man, for the question was in his mind, " Shall I see her, or shall I not see her?" Un- der such circumstances how should he remember the events of the morning, or the sight of his family in tears at his feet? Did not Valerie's letter, placed in a small pocket-book next bis heart, prove to him that he was better loved than the most agreeable of younger men? After rino:ino: the bell the unfortunate baron heard the shuffling of Marneffe's slippers and his odious cough. Marneffe opened the door, but not to admit the baron; he put himself in the exact position, and pointed to the stairs with precisely the same gesture as Hulot had emploj'ed in showing him to the door of his office. " You are by far too much of a Hulot, Monsieur Hulot," he said. The baron attempted to pass in. Marneffe drew a pistol from his pocket and cocked it. "Monsieur le baron, when a man is as vile as I am — for 30U think me verj' vile, don't a'ou ? — he would be the worst of galley-slaves if he did not get the profits of the honor he has sold. You mean war ; well, you Cousin Bette. 351 shall have it, and without quarter. Never dare to re- turn here ; don't attempt to force a wa}'. I have told the commissar}' of police how matters stand between us." Taking advantage of Hulot's stupefaction, he pushed him out and locked the door. ''The scoundrel!" muttered Hulot, going up to Lisbeth's apartment. " Now I understand Valerie's letter. Yes, she and I will leave Paris ; she is mine for the rest of my da3's ; she will close my e3'es at the last." Lisbeth was not at home. Madame Olivier informed him that she had gone to Madame Hulot's, hoping to meet him there. " Poor old girl ! I did not think her so clever as she proved to be this morning," thought the baron as he made his wa}' to the rue Plumet. At the corner of the rue Vanneau and the rue de Babylone he turned and looked at the Eden from which Hymen had banished him, the sword of the law in hand. Valerie, sitting at her window, was gazing after him ; as he raised his head she waved her handkerchief, but the infamous Marneffe struck it down and pulled her violenth" back. Tears came into the baron's e3'es. " To be thus loved, and to see her ill-treated ! " he said to himself, " and to be almost seventy years old ! " Lisbeth had gone to announce the good news to the famih'. Adeline and Hortense already knew that the baron, not willing to disgrace himself in the eyes of the government by asking for Marneffe's appointment, would find himself dismissed from the house by that worthy. Poor Adeline arranged her dinner hoping that he would 852 Cousin Beite, find it better than Valerie's, and the devoted Bette was assisting Mariette to produce that result. Cousin Bette was now the family idol; mother and daughter em- braced her, and told her with touching joy that the marshal consented to let her keep his house. " And from that, dear Bette, there is but one step to becoming his wife," said Adeline. " At any rate he did not sa}^ no when Victorin pro- posed it to him," said the Countess Steinbock. The baron was received b}- his familj- with such ten- der and touching affection that he was forced to conceal his private distress. The marshal came to dinner. After dinner Hulot did not go out. Victorin and his wife came in, and thej' all pla^'ed whist. " It is a long time, Hector," said the marshal, gravelj', *' since 3'ou have given us such an evening." These words from the elder brother, hitherto so in- dulgent to the younger and now blaming him only by implication, made a great impression on those present. The}' became aware of a wound in the old heart whose painfulness echoed in these words. At eight o'clock the baron proposed to Lisbeth to take her home, prom- ising to return himself. "Lisbeth," he said, when they were in the street, '-'-he ill uses her! Ah! I have never loved her as I do now ! " " And I never knew before how Valerie loves you," answered Bette ; " she is frivolous, coquettish, and likes to be courted and flattered ; she wants, as she says her- self, to have a comed}' of love played about her, but you are her one attachment." ' ' What did she tell you to sa}' to me ? " Cousin Bette. 353 " This," said Lisbeth : " She has, as 3'ou know, given favors to Crevel ; you must n't blame her, for it has put her above want for the rest of her clays ; but she hates him, and the affair is about over. Well, she has the ke}' of a certain apartment — " " Rue du Dauphin," cried Hulot ; " I have been there, I know it—" " Here is the ke}'," said Lisbeth. " Get another made like it, — two if you can." '' And then? — " cried Hulot, eagerly. " Then to-morrow I will dine with 30U and you must return me this ke}' (for old Crevel may ask Valerie for it), and j'ou can go and meet her the following day ; then 3'Ou can settle your future plans. You are quite safe there, for there are two entrances ; if Crevel, who has the morals of the regency, as he says, should happen to come in by the court 3^ou can go out by the shop, and vice versa. Well, 3'Ou old scamp, you owe this to me, — what are vou ofoinoj to do for me in return?" " An3'thing 3'ou ask." " Well then, don't oppose m3' marriage with your brother." ''You, Marechale Hulot! 3'OU, Comtesse de Forz- heim ! " cried Hector, amazed. "Adeline is a baroness!" retorted Bette, in sharp and threatening tones. " Listen to me, you old liber- tine ; 3'ou know perfectl3' well what a state your affairs are in ; 3'our famil3^ will soon be in the gutter with nothing to eat." " That's m3' dread !" cried Hulot, gloomily. " If 3'our brother were to die who would support 3'our wife? The widow of a marshal of France gets a pen- 23 354 Cousin Bette. sion of six thousand francs, does n't she? Well, I wish to many to secure bread for your wife and daughter, vou madman ! " " I did not see it in that light," returned Hulot. " Yes, I will talk the matter up to m\' brother. We can all trust 3'ou. Tell m}- dear angel that my life is Aers." And the baron, after depositing Bette in the rue Van- neau, returned home and played whist. Madame Hu- lot was now in the seventh heaven of happiness ; her husband seemed really to have returned to home life ; for two weeks he went dail^' to the War department, came back to dinner at six, and remained the whole evening with his family. He even took Adeline and Hortense twice to the theatre. The motlier and daugh- ter caused three masses of thanksgiving to be said, praying God to preserve to them the husband and father now restored to the family. Cousin Bette. 355 CHAPTER XXYII. A SUMMONS OF ANOTHER KIND. One evening Victorin Plulot remarked to his mother, on seeing his father go off to bed, "We ought to be happ3^ now that m}^ father has returned to his home. Celestine and I do not regret the loss of our money, if the change only lasts." " Your father is nearly seventj^ years old," said the baroness. "He still thinks of Madame Marneffe, — I see that ; but before long he will forget her. A passion for women is like pla}', or speculation, or avarice, — there comes an end to it." The beautiful Adeline — for she was still beautiful in spite of her fift\' 3'ears and her bitter griefs — was mis- taken in this judgment. Libertines — men whom na- ture has endowed with the facult}' of loving be3'ond the limits which she has fixed for love — are never as old as their 3'ears. During this period of his lapse to vir- tue the baron went three times to the rue du Dauphin. His renewed passion rejuvenated him ; he would have sacrificed his honor and his famil3' to Valerie without a pang. But Valerie, entireh^ changed, never spoke to him of mone3', nor of the twelve hundred francs for their son ; on the contrar3', she offered him mone3\ She seemed to love her Hulot as a woman of thirt3'-six loves a law-student who is very poor, ver3' poetic, and ver3' 856 Cousin Bette. loving. All this while poor Adeline thought she was recovering her Hector. The fourth rendezvous was to take place at nine o'clock one morning. About eight Reine arrived, and asked to see the baron. Hulot, fearing a catastrophe, went out to speak to her, not wishing that she should enter the apartment. The woman gave him the follow- ing note : — My old Hero, — Don't go to the rue du Dauphin. Our nightmare is ill, and I must nurse him. But be there at nine o'clock this evening. Crevel has gone to Corbeil to stay with Monsieur Lebas, and I am sure he won't come to the little house. I have made all my arrangements so that I can get back before Marneffe needs me in the morning. Answer about all this. Perhaps your walking elegy of a wife does not allow you as much liberty as you once had. They say she is still handsome, and that you are capable of betray- ing me. Burn this letter; I distrust everybody. Hulot wrote in replj' : — Dear Angel, — My wife, as I have told you before, has never hindered my pleasures for more than twenty-five years. I would sacrifice a hundred Adelines for you! I will await my divinity in Crevel's temple at nine o'clock this evening. I trust the sub-director may soon die, so that we need never be separated. That is the dearest wish of Your Hector. That evening the baron told his wife that he w^as to meet the ministers at Saint Cloud, and should not be back till the following da}' ; he then departed for the rue du Dauphin. This was about the end of June. Few men have lived to recall the terrible sensation of Cousin Bette. 357 going to their death. Those who come back reprieved from the scaffold are soon counted ; but some dream- ers have vividly experienced this death-agony in their dreams ; the}' have even felt the cold steel of the knife upon their necks at the instant when their awakening delivered them. Well, the sensation that overtook the councillor of state wiien he awoke at five o'clock in the morning, in Crevel's prett}' and coquettish apartment, far surpassed an}' mere dream of lying with one's liead above the fatal basket in presence of ten thousand spec- tators gazing at us with twent}' thousand flaming darts. Valerie was still sleeping. The baron's eyes, wandering round the room like those of a man just waking who tries to recall his ideas, fell upon a door covered with flowers painted by Jan, an artist then in vogue. The baron did not see, like the man condemned to death, twenty thousand blazing eyes ; he saw onlv one eye, whose glance, however, was more piercing than the score of thousands on the place de Greve. This sensation, inasmuch as it came in the midst of happiness, was cer- tainly rare in the case of a condemned man. The baron remained in his horizontal position, but a cold sweat bedewed his person. He tried to doubt his senses ; but the e3'e began to speak, and a murmur of voices was heard beyond the door. "•Can it be Crevel trying to play a joke on me?" thought the baron, no longer able to doubt that some one had invaded the temple. The door opened. French law in all its majest}' ad- vanced in the form of a worth}' little commissary of police, accompanied by a tall justice of the peace and Monsieur Marneffe. The commissary of police, stand- 358 Cousin Bette. ing with his lower extremities in two shoes whose flaps were tied with bows of mudd}' ribbon, exhibited above a 3'ellow skull deficient in hair which denoted a si}' dog and a livel}' one, for whom Paris held no secrets. His e3'es, covered with spectacles, sent shrewd and sarcastic glances through the cr3'stals. The justice of the peace, an old lawyer and an admirer of the fair sex, envied the culprit. " Have the goodness to excuse the requirements of our dut}^ Monsieur le baron," said the commissar}^; "we are summoned here b^^ the complainant. The judge has authorized an entrance to the domicile. I know 3'ou, Monsieur le baron, and also the female delinquent." Valerie opened a pair of astonished eves and gave the piercing cry which actresses have invented to ex- press madness on the stage. She rolled in convulsions on the bed, like a demoniac of the middle ages in a brimstone shirt on a pyre of fagots. "Death! Hector! The police court! Oh, never! never \ " She sprang up and darted like a white cloud past the three spectators and hid herself behind the bonheur du jour in the adjoining room, with her head in her hands. " Lost ! lost ! dead ! " she cried. "Monsieur," said Marneffe, to Hulot, "if my wife becomes insane you will be more than a libertine, you will be an assassin." What could a man under such circumstances sa}'? As follows : — " Monsieur le commissaire, and you Monsieur le juge," said the baron, with dignit}', "have the good- ness to care at once for that unhappy woman whose Cousin Bette. 359 reason seems to be in danger. Yon can continue 3'oiir proceedings later. The doors are doubtless locked ; be- sides, neither of us can escape in the condition in which you find us." The two functionaries complied with this request. " Come here and speak to me, you miserable hound ! " said Hulot, in a low voice to Marneffe, taking his arm and drawing him towards him. " It is not I who am the assassin, it is you ! You are anxious to be the head of your department and officer of the Legion of honor?" " Extremel}'' anxious, my director," said Marneffe, bowing. " Well, 3'ou shall be. Go and protect your wife, and send awa}' those men." "Not so fast," said Marneffe, shrewdly. "Those gentlemen have to write out the particulars of the charge — in flagrante delicto; if I don't get that paper in hand what securit}' have I? You have stolen my wife and you have not made me head of my depart- ment. Monsieur le baron, I give 3'ou two daj's to do it in, — if not, here are some letters — " " Letters? " cried the baron, interrupting Marneffe. " Yes, letters which prove that the child m}^ wife is now carrying is yours. You understand me? You here promise to settle on my son an income equal to that which 3'our bastard will take from him. But I will not exact it. To-morrow morning I must be appointed suc- cessor to Monsieur Coquet, and named on the list of officers of the Legion of honor at the fetes of July next, or — the present charge made in due form will be brought before the police courts. I 'm a good easy fel- low to you, to set you free on those terms, am I not? " 360 Cousin Bette. " What a prett}' woman ! " said the judge to the com- missary of police ; " it would be pit}' if she went mad." " She is not mad," said the commissar}', in a low voice. The police are doubt incarnate. "Monsieur le Baron Hulot has fallen into a trap," he continued, speaking loud enough for Valerie to hear him. Valerie gave him a glance that would have killed him if eyes could stab with the rage the}' contain. The com- missary smiled ; he too had set his trap, and the woman had tumbled into it ! Marneffe told his wife to come back into the room and dress herself; he had settled matters with the baron, who took a dressing-gown and went into the adjoining room. " Gentlemen," he said, to the two functionaries, " I need not ask you to keep this matter secret? " The officials bowed. The commissary gave two little taps on the door and his clerk entered, sat down before the writing-table and began to write at the dictation of his superior, who spoke in a low voice. Valerie con- tinued to weep aloud. When the charge was formally written out, jMarneffe wanted to take away his wife ; but Hulot, believing that he saw her for the last time, begged by a gesture to be allowed the favor of speaking to her. "Monsieur, madame has cost me enough to make you willing that I should bid her adieu — in the pres- ence of all, of course," he said. Valerie came in, and Hulot whispered quickly, "Flight is all that remains to us; how can we cor- respond? some one has betrayed us." Cousin Bette. 361 "Reine," she answered ; " but, my dear friend, after this exposure we must never see each other again. I am disgraced. Besides, they will tell you shameful things about me, and you will believe them." The baron made a gesture of denial. " You will believe them, and I thank heaven for it, — you will regret me less — " " He will not ' die as he is, sub-director ! ' " said Mar- neffe in the baron's ear, roughl}' taking his wife's arm : ^' Enough, madame ; if I am weak towards 3'ou, I am not a fool toward others." Valerie left Crevel's little house with a last glance at the baron which convinced him he was adored. When the legal papers were all signed the commissar}' of police looked knowing!}' at Hulot over his spectacles. "You love that httle lad}', Monsieur le baron?" he said. '•'■ To my sorrow, as you see." " But suppose she does not love you? " said the com- missary ; " suppose she has tricked you? " "I know that already, monsieur, — here in this very place. Monsieur Crevel himself told me so." '^ Ah, then you know that you are in the mayor's little sanctum? " "I do." The commissary slightly raised his hat as if to salute the old man. *' You are in love and I will hold my tongue," he said, " I respect inveterate passions as much as doc- tors respect chronic maladies. I once saw Monsieur de Nucingen, the banker, attacked by a passion of that nature." 362 Cousin Bette. *' He is a friend of mine," remarked the baron ; "I have often supped with tlie beautiful Esther ; she was worth the two millions he spent on her." "She cost more," said the commissary, "the old banker's fancy sacrificed the li\es of four persons. Such passions are like the cholera." " What is it that 3'ou are trying to tell me?" said the councillor of state, who did not relish this indirect advice. " Why should I destro}' 3'our illusions? " replied the commissary of police; "it is so rai-e to keep au}^ at your age." " Relieve me of them, then ! " cried the baron. " You will curse your physician/' said the official, smiling. " I request it of you, monsieur." " Well, that woman planned all this with her hus- band." "Oh!" " That is a thing that happens, monsieur, twice in every ten cases. Oh, we know all about it!" " What proof can 3'ou give of such collusion?" " In the first place, the husband," said the commis- sar}', with the calmness of a surgeon accustomed to la}^ open wounds. "Knavery is written on that dull, in- famous face. But I believe you value a certain letter written hy that woman in which there is mention of a child." " I value it so much that I carry it alwa3's with me," said Hulot, fumbling in his pocket for the little port- folio which never left him. " Leave the pocket-book where it is," said the com- Cousin Bette. 363 missaiT ; "here is the letter. Did Madame Marneffe know what the pocket-book contained ? " " She alone." " So I supposed. Here, then, is the proof 3'ou ask for of her collusion." " Well, explain," said the baron, still incredulous. " When we entered this room, monsieur le baron," said the commissar}', " that rascall}' Marneffe passed in first, and he took the letter from this piece of furniture [pointing to the bonheur du jou?'], where the woman had doubtless placed it. Evidently', the ver}' spot where she was to place the letter, provided she were able to rob 3'on of it while you slept, had been arranged be- tween the wife and husband. You see, of course, that the letter the woman wrote to 3'ou, together with those you wrote to her, are essential to the legal charge." The commissary showed Hulot the letter which Reine had brought to his office at the ministry. " Giye it back, monsieur; it is now part of the in- dictment," said the official. " Monsieur," said Hulot, whose face was now dis- torted, " that woman is licentiousness cut into slices. I am certain now that she has three lovers." " That's evident," said the commissary. "All pros- titutes are not in the streets. When women take up that trade, monsieur, in salons or their own homes, and go about in carriages, money is not counted by francs and centimes. Mademoiselle Esther, of whom 3'OU spoke, and who poisoned herself, squandered millions. Suffer me to sa3', Monsieur le baron, that if I were 3'Ou I should cut loose from such things. This last affair will cost 3'ou dear. That scoundrel of a husband has the law on his 364 Cousin Bette. side. If it were not for me that little woman would have got you again — " " I thank you," said the baron, endeavoring to be- have with dignit}'. '' Monsieur, we are going to lock up the apartment ; the farce is played out. Will you have the goodness to return the key to Monsieur Crevel? " Hulot returned home in a state of despondency which was almost prostration ; he was lost in gloomy thought. Waking up his pure and saintl}^ wife, he poured the history of the last three years into her bosom, weeping like a child that has lost its toy. This confession of an old man, young in desires, — this horrible and blasting epic, — though it moved Adeline to pit}^, nevertheless filled her with the liveliest inward joy. She thanked Heaven for the blow by which she beheved her husband was driven at last and forever to his home. " Lisbeth was right," she said in a gentle voice, and without any useless reproaches ; " she warned us of all this." " Yes. Ah, if I had only listened to her instead of getting angry that day when I wanted poor Hortense to return to her home so as not to compromise the repu- tation of that — Oh, my dear Adeline ! we must rescue Wenceslas ! he is in the mire up to his chin ! " ''My poor Hector, the little bourgeoise has served 3'ou no better than the actresses," said his wife. The baroness was shocked at the change in her hus- band. When she saw him unhappy, wretched, bowed down under the weight of his anxieties, she was all heart, all pity, all love. She would have given her life's blood to be able to make him happy. Cousin Bette. 365 *' Stay with us, dear Hector. Show me how it is that those women make 3'ou love them ; I will try. Why have you not made me what you wanted of me? Is it that I am too dull? There are some who think me still handsome enough to court." Many married women, attached to their husbands and faithful to their duty, may well ask why men who are so lo3'al, so kind, so compassionate to the Madame Mar- neffes never make their wives, especiall}^ when they re- semble Adehne Hulot, the objects of their fancy and their passions. Here we find one of the deepest myste- ries of the human organization. Love — that vast ex- cess of reason, the stern and virile pleasure of great souls — and enjoj'ment — the vulgar happiness sold in the streets — are two aspects of the same thing. The woman who can satisf}^ these two cravings of man's double nature is as rare in her sex as the great general, the great writer, the great artist, the great inventor is among a people. The man of superiority equall}' with the common man — a Hulot as well as a Crevel — feels a need of the ideal and of the material pleasure both ; they all seek the mysterious hermaphrodite, the rare being who comes to them, as a general thing, in two volumes. Libertines, those treasure-seekers, are as guilty as other misdoers who are punished more severely than they. This reflection is not intended as a moral aside ; it gives the reason of man}^ uncomprehended sorrows. The present scene, however, carries with it moral truths of more than one description. The baron went at once to the Marechal Prince de Wissembourg, whose powerful protection was his last resource. Patronized by the old warrior for tlie last 366 Cousin Bette. thirtj^-five 3'ears, he had the right to ask for an audi- ence whenever he pleased, and he now went to the mar- shal's apartment at his hour of rising. *' Well, good morning, my dear Hector," said the great and good chieftain. " What 's the matter? You look worried. The session is finished, thank God, — another over and done with, as I used to say of the campaigns. Faith, I believe the newspapers now call the sessions of the Chambers ' parliamentary^ cam- paigns.' " " Yes, it is all bad, Marechal ; but it is the fault of the times in which we live," said Hulot. " It can't be helped ; the world is made so. Every epoch has its disadvantages. The great evil of this present year of grace 1841 is that neither king nor ministers are free to act as the Emperor did." The Marechal gave Hulot one of those eagle glances whose lucid brightness, perspicacity, and pride, showed that in spite of years the great soul was ever vigorous and firm. "You want something?" he said, assuming a playful manner. "I am under the necessity of asking a personal fa- vor, — the promotion of one of my sub-directors to the head of his bureau and his nomination as officer of the Legion of honor." " What is his name? " said the Marechal, with a light- ning glance at the baron. "Marneff"e." " He has a pretty wife ; I saw her at the marriage of your daughter. If Roger — but Roger is not here now. Hector, m}' son ; this concerns one of your love-affairs. Cousin Bette. 367 So you still keep up that sort of thing ? You do honor to the Imperial Guard? My dear fellow, you must drop this mattei: ; it is too gallant to be official." " I cannot, marechal ; it is a bad business and threat- ens me with the police-court ; you would not wish to see me there? " "The devil!" cried the Marechal, grave at once. " Go on." "I am like a fox caught in a trap. You have always been so good to me that I know you will deign to help me out of the humiliating position in which I find myself — " And Hulot related his misadventure in the liveliest and wittiest manner he could assume. "Prince," he said, as he ended, "would you have m}' brother, whom you love so well, die of mortification, — could 3'ou suffer one of your directors and a council- lor of state to be disgraced? Marneffe is a degraded scoundrel, but we can retire him in a 3'ear or two." " How lightly you talk of a year or two, my dear friend," said the marshal. " Prince, the Imperial Guard is immortal." " I am the only surviving marshal of the first appoint- ments," said the minister. " Hear me, Hector ; you do not know how truly I am attached to 3'ou ; but 3^ou shall know. The day when I leave the ministr}' 3'ou will have to leave it too. Ah ! you are not a deput3^ ^y friend. There are plent3' of persons seeking 3'our place ; and if it were not for me 3'ou could not keep it. Yes, I have broken man3' a lance in 3'our behalf Well, I grant both 3-our requests because it would be too hard to let 3'ou go into the prisoner's-dock at your age and in 3'our 368 Cousin Bette. position. But you have caused too much gossip for your own credit. If this appointment gives rise to comment, we shall be blamed- As for rue I don't care ; but it w ill be another thorn in 3'our foot ; at the next session 3'ou will be turned out. Your place is already- offered as a bait to five or six influential men, and 3'ou onl}' keep it now on the strength of m}^ arguments. I tell my colleagues that the day on which your place is given to anotlier man there will be five discontented aspirants and onh^ one man satisfied ; whereas so long as they keep you hanging by a thread we are sure of six votes. They laugh and declare that the ' ancient of days,' as they call me, is becoming a parliamentary tactician. I tell you this plainly. Besides, you are getting old, — however, you are luck}^ to be still able to get into scrapes. Alas ! where are the days when sub-lieutenant Cottin had his mistresses ! " The marechal rang the bell. " We must tear up that indictment," he said. " Monseigneur, 3'ou treat me like a father ; and 3'et I feared to tell you ni}" trouble." " I wish Roger were here," cried the marshal, seeing Mitouflet, the usher, enter. "Go awaj^, Mitouflet. My old comrade, you must make out the papers for these appointments 3'ourself. I will sign them ; but that in- famous fellow shall not long enjo}' the fruit of his crimes. I shall have him watched, and broken at the head of his company as soon as I catch him tripping. Now that you are safe, my dear Hector, be careful in future. Don't wear out 3'our friends. The appointment shall be given to-day, and that man shall be made officer of the Legion in Juh'. How old are you now ? " Cousin Bette. 869 " Seventy, in three months." ''What a gay old bo}' ! " said the marshal, smiling. " It is you who deserve promotion, but — blood and bul- lets ! we are not under Louis XV ! " Such is the tie that binds these glorious relics of the Napoleonic phalanx, who fancy they are still in a biv- ouac and bound to protect each other through and against all. '' One more favor like that," thought Hulot, as he crossed the courtyard, " and I am lost." The unhappy functionary now betook himself to Baron Nucingen, to whom he still owed a comparatively insig- nificant sum of money, and succeeded in borrowing forty thousand francs more by assigning over his salary' for the next two years ; but the banker stipulated that in case Hulot lost his oflSce the available portion of his retiring pension should be given as security for the sum now borrowed until capital and interest were both paid. This new transaction was done, like the former, in the name of Vauvinet ; to whom the baron gave his note for twelve thousand francs. On the following day the fatal indictment, the complaint of the husband, and the letters, were wiped out as though they had never existed. The scandalous appointments of the Sieur Marneffe passed almost without notice dui'ing the bustle of the fetes of July, and were not commented upon even in the news- papers. 24 370 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XXVIII. A NOBLE COURTESAN. LiSBETH, having apparently quarrelled with Madame MarnefFe, took up her abode with Marechal Hulot. Ten da3's later the first banns of marriage between the spinster and the illustrious old soldier were published. To obtain the hitter's consent Adeline told him of the financial catastrophe which had overtaken Hector, beg- ging him not to speak of it to her husband, who, she said, was gloomy, much depressed, in fact despondent. " Alas I he is getting old," she added. Lisbeth triumphed. She was about to reach the sum- mit of her ambition ; her plans were succeeding ; her hatred was satisfied. She enjoyed through anticipation the happiness of reigning over a family by whom she had long felt herself despised. She intended to be the pro- tectress of her protectors, the guardian angel of the ruined household ; she bowed to her reflection in the glass, calUng herself " Madame la comtesse "^and " Ma- dame la marechale." Adeline and Hortense were doomed to end their days in distress, struggling with poverty, while she, their despised cousin Bette, received at the Tuileries, would be a power in societ}'. A terrible event upset the old maid's calculations, and flung her from the heights on which she was proudly standino-. Cousin Bette. 371 The da}' after the banns were first published the baron received a missive from Africa. Another Alsatian appeared, delivered a letter, after convincing himself that he gave it to Baron Hulot in person, and departed, giving his address, and leaving the high functionary stunned b}- the first words of the epistle : — Nephew, — You will receives this letter, as I calculate, about the 7th of August. Supposing that you require three days to obtain the relief we need, and that it takes fifteen more to send it here, I ought to get a reply by the first of September. If you accomplish the matter within that time you will save the honor and the life of your devoted Johann Fischer. This is what the official whom you made my accomplice demands. I am, it appears, liable to be brought before either the police courts or a council of war. You can well believe that no one shall ever drag Johann Fischer before any earthly tribunal; he will himself go before that of God. Your official strikes me as a rascal, who will sooner or later compromise you; but he is a clever scoundrel. He de- clares that you ought to cry out lustily for reform, and send commissions and inspectors specially charged to discover the guilty parties and ferret out abuses and talk severely, while in reality they stand between us and the courts by provoking controversy. If you could send such a commission, taking its orders from you, to be here by September 1, and if you can also send us two hundred thousand francs with which to fill the storehouses with the supplies which we are supposed to keep at the distant stations, we shall be thought solvent and im- maculate. You can rely on the soldier who delivers this letter. Give him a check to my order on any bank in Algiers. He is a safe man, a father, and quite incapable of seeking to know 372 Cousi7i Bette. what he carries. I have taken measures to make sure of his safe return. If you are unable to do this, I shall die wil- lingly for one to whom we owe the happiness of our Adeline. The agonies and delights of his passion, and the catastrophe which had just overtaken his career of gal- lantr}', had prevented Baron Hulot from even thinking of poor Johann Fischer, whose first letter warned him of the danger now become imminent. The baron left the dining-room in such trouble of mind that he flung himself on the sofa in the salon. He was prostrated, benumbed, under the shock of such a fall. For a while he gazed at the pattern of the carpet without observing that he held the fatal letter in his hand. Adeline heard him fall on the sofa like an inert mass. The noise was so peculiar that she imagined an attack of apo- plex3\ A prey to the terror which stops our breath and holds us motionless, she looked through the door into a mirror on the opposite wall, and saw her Hector in the posture of a man felled hy a blow. She went to him softl}' on tiptoe ; the baron did not hear her ; she leaned over him, saw the letter, took it, read it, and trembled in every limb. One of those violent nervous convulsions from which the body never entirely recovers seized her ; she became subject, a few days later, to a constant quiv- ering motion of the head ; for, after the first horrible shock had passed, the necessitj' of action roused a momentar}^ strength which can be taken only from the very sources of vitality. " Hector, come into my bedroom," she said, in a voice that was scarcely above a breath. "Don't let 30ur daughter see you thus. Come, dear friend, come." Cousin Bette, 373 *' Where can I get two hundred thousand francs? I could make Claude Vignon inspector; he would be faith- ful to me. That could be managed in two da3's ; but two hundred thousand francs, — how could I get them ? Victorin has n't got such a sum ; his propert}' is mort- gaged for three hundred thousand francs. My brother has laid by very little out of his salaries. Nucingen would laugh in my face. Vauvinet — I could scarcely get ten thousand francs for the child of that infa- mous Marneffe out of him. No, it is all over with me. I must go to the Marechal and fling myself on his mercy and confess all. I must hear myself called a scoundrel. I 'd rather receive a broadside and go to the bottom decentl}' ! " " But, Hector, this is not ruin only, it is dishonor," said Adeline. "My poor uncle will kill himself. Kill us, — for 3'ou have the right to do so, — but do not mur- der him. Take courage ; we must find a way to send him this mone}'." " There is no way," said the baron. " No one in the government could lay hold of two hundred thousand francs, w^ere it even to save the ministry. Ah, Napo- leon ! why is he no longer here ! " " M}' uncle, poor man ! Hector, we must not let him die dishonored." "There might be one way," he said, "but — it is very doubtful. Yes, Crevel is at daggers drawn with his daughter ; he has monej' enough — he alone could — " " Hector, better that 3'our wife should perish than that our uncle, 3'our brother, the honor of our family should be destroyed," said Madame Hulot, struck as 374 Cousin Bette. by a flash of light. '' Yes, I can save 3'ou all. — Oh, my God, this shameful thought ! how did it ever come to me ? " She clasped her hands and fell on her knees and said a prayer ; then, rising, she saw an expression of such wild hope on her husband's face that again the diabolical thought assailed her, and she sank into a species of idiocy. " Go, go, m}' friend, go to the ministr}^" she sud- denly cried, rousing herself from this torpor. "Try to send the inspector ; wind the Marechal round your finger; when you get back here 3'ou may find — yes, you shall find the two hundred thousand francs. Your family, 3'our honor as a man, as a public officer, as a member of the government, your uprightness, your son, all shall be saved — except your Adeline — she must perish ; you will never see her again. Hector," she said, kneeling down and taking his hand and kissing it, •■' bless me and say farewell." The scene was agonizing ; as Hector raised his wife and kissed her he said, "I do not understand j'ou." '•If 3'ou did understand me," she said, "I should die with shame, or I should have no strength to make 3'ou this last sacrifice." " Breakfast is read3^" said Mariette. Hortense came up to wish her father and mother good-morning. It was necessar3' to gather round the table with deceitful faces. "Take 3'our breakfast without me," said the baron- ess, " I will join you later." She sat down at her table and wrote the following note : — Cousin Bette. 375 My dear Monsieur Crevel, — I have a service to ask of you ; will you come to me this morning? I rely on your gallantry, which I know so well, not to keep me waiting. Your devoted servant, Adeline Hulot. "Louise," she said to her daughter's maid, "take this letter to the porter and tell him to carry it at once to that address and ask for an answer." The baron, who w^as reading the newspapers when she re-entered the room, handed her a Republican news- paper. Pointing to an article, he whispered, " Is there still time? Read that; it is one of those hateful para- graphs with which they butter their political muffins." The article. read as follows : — *' Our coi'respondent in Algiers writes that such abuses have been discovered in the commissariat department of the Province of Oran that the law has been compelled to step in. The malpractices are evident, and the guilty parties known. If this evil is not severely repressed we shall continue to lose more men through the extortions and peculations which affect their rations than by the lances of the Arabs or the heat of the climate. We await further developments before saying more on this deplorable subject." " I shall dress and go to the ministr}'/' said the baron, as he left the table. "Time is precious; a man's life hangs on every minute." " Oh, mamma, I have no longer an}' hope," said Hortense ; " see ! " Unable to restrain her tears, she gave her mother a magazine devoted to the fine arts, in which was an engraving of Steinbeck's Delilah with the words, " Group belonging to Madame Marneffe." 376 Cousin Bette. Every line of the accompanying article, signed, " V.," revealed the talent and the obligingness of Claude Vignon. " Poor darling ! " said Madame Hulot. Amazed at the half-indifferent tone in which her mother said the words, Hortense looked up at her, and beheld the signs of a sorrow in presence of which her own griefs sank down ; she went up to Madame Hulot and kissed her, saying, '' Mamma, what is it? Can we be more unhappy than we now are ? " "My child, my past sufferings seem to me as noth- ing to those I now endure. Oh, when shall I cease to suffer?" " In heaven, mother," sobbed Hortense. When Adeline returned to her room she went straight to the looking-glass and gazed mournfull}^ and searchingly at herself as if to ask, " Am I still beau- tiful? Shall I still attract? Have I any wrinkles?" She pushed up the beautiful blond hair from her temples ; they were fresh and pure as those of a 3'oung girl ; so were the arms and shoulders, and a momen- tary' sense of pride came over her. The beaut}^ of a woman's shoulders is the last to leave her, especially if her life has been a pure one. Adeline selected the ele- ments of her toilet carefully ; yet when all was done the chaste and pious woman was still chastelj' attired, in spite of her little efforts at coquettishness. Of what use were the gra}^ silk stockings and the sandalled slippers to a woman wholl}' ignorant how to show a prett}^ foot at a decisive moment ! She wore her dain- tiest dress of muslin, with painted flowers, made low with short sleeves ; then, shocked at the exposure, she Cousin Bette. 877 covered the beautiful arms with gauze draperies, and veiled the shoulders with an embroidered scarf. The curls of her hair a I'anglaise struck her as too signi- ficant, and she restrained their luxuriance under an elegant lace cap ; but with or without a cap would she have known how to play with the golden ringlets and show the grace of her tapering fingers ? Yet her anguish made her a painted image : the sense of her criminal- ity, these preparations for a deliberate deed, burned the devoted woman with an inward fever which gave her back the bloom of youth. Her complexion glowed, her eyes sparkled. But this, instead of making her seductive, gave her^ and she saw it with horror, an air that was almost shameless. Lisbeth had told her the circumstances of Steinbock's infidelity, and the baron- ess had then learned to her amazement that in one evening, in one moment, Madame Marneflfe had made herself mistress of the seduced artist. " How do such women manage it? " she had asked Lisbeth. Nothing equals the curiosity of pure women on this subject ; they long to possess the attractions of vice, remaining vir- tuous. " Why," answered Bette, " they seduce — that 's their business. Valerie was seductive enough that night to drag an angel to perdition," " Tell me how slie did it?" "Oh, there is no theory in that trade; practice is the one thing needful." The baroness now recollected this conversation. Poor woman ! incapable of inventing a mouche or putting a rose-bud in her bosom, or contriving any of the stratagems of dress which awaken desire, she was nothing more than care- fully attired. No woman can be a courtesan at will. "Woman is a man's porridge," says Moliere, by the 378 Cousin Bette. mouth of the ever-wise Gros-Rene. This comparison apphes a sort of culinar3' science to love ; pursuing the metaphor, the virtuous and honorable woman be- comes the Homeric feast of flesh flung on the blaz- ing coals ; the courtesan, a production of Monsieur Careme, a triumph of spices and condiments. Madame Hulot could not serve up her white shoulders in a dish of guipure, like Madame Marneffe, for she kuew not how. The noble woman might have turned and looked back a hundred times without attracting the well-trained eye of a libertine. To be a virtuous, prudent wife in the e3'es of the world, and make herself a courtesan to her husband, is the attribute of a woman of genius — such women are few indeed. Therein lies the secret of life- long attachments, inexplicable to women who are not possessed of those splendid two-fold faculties. Imagine Madame Marneffe virtuous and 30U have the Marquise de Pescaire. These grand and illustrious women, these beautiful and virtuous Dianes are soon counted. The scene with which this terrible and solemn stud\' of Parisian morals opened is now to be reproduced, with the singular difference that the prophecy of the mihtia captain was fulfilled under an absolute change of parts. Madame Hulot awaited Crevel with those intentions which three years earlier had made him smile with self-complacency as he sat erect in his milord. Strange truth ! Adeline was faithful to herself, to her heart's love, in making herself guilty of the grossest in- fidelity — as it will seem to the e3'es of certain judges. *' How can I become a Madame Marnefl^e?" she was saying to herself as the bell rang. She repressed her Cousin Bette. 379 tears ; fever fired her cheeks ; she pledged herself to be indeed a courtesan, — poor, noble creature ! " What the devil does that good Madame Hulot want of me?" thought Crevel, as he puffed up the stairway. " I '11 bet it 's about my quarrel with Celestine and Vic- torin." When he followed Louise into the salon he said to himself, as he looked at what he called the " naked- ness of the land," ''Poor soul! she is like a fine pic- ture stuck in a garret by a man who does n't know what painting is." Crevel, we may remark, had observed Comte Popinot, minister of Commerce, buying pictures and statues, and wished to be himself ranked among the Parisian Mecsenases, whose love of art is shown in their search for good bargains. Adeline smiled gracioush' on Crevel, and signed to him to take a chair. " Here I am, m}^ dear lady, at 3'our orders," said the mayor. Having become a political character, Crevel now dressed in black cloth. His face shone above his dark- ling garments like the full moon rising from a curtain of black clouds. His shirt, starred by three large pearls worth five hundred francs apiece, gave a high idea of the thoracic capacities behind it, — indeed, he called himself the "future athlete of the tribune." His large and vulgar hands wore the inevitable 3'ellow gloves ; his varnished boots proclaimed the little coupe in which he drove about. For the last three 3'ears ambition had considerably changed his favorite posture. Like tlie great painters, he attained his "second manner." In society, when he went to the houses of such people as 380 Cousin Bette, the Prince de Wissembonrg and Comte Popinot he held his hat in one hand in a free and easy manner which Valerie had taught him, inserting the thumb of the other into the arm-hole of his waistcoat with a jaunty air, mimacins: all the while with head and eves. This new pose was due to his malicious mistress, who. under pretence of rejuvenating her mayor, trained him to be more ridiculous than ever. •• I besfcred vou to come, mv good, mv dear Monsieur Crevel. on a matter of the utmost importance — "' * • I can guess it, madame," said Crevel, with a shrewd air. " But what you want is impossible. Oh, I'm not a barbarous father. — not. as Xapoleon said, a solid block of avarice. Listen to me, my dear lady. If my chil- dren were wasting their money on themselves I would •^o to their assistance : bat to stop yonr husband's leaks — heavens I one might as well attempt to fill the tub of the Danaides ! Fancy mortgaging their house for three hundred thousand francs to help an incorrigible father! They haven't anything left, poor things I — and they did n"t oret anv fun out of it. either. Thev will have nothing now to live on but what Victorin can earn by his profession. It is all very well for him to give him- self airs. He was going to be a minister, was he? — the family hope I A pretty fellow at the helm, faith ! Why, he has run himself ashore at the start ! If he were short of money to help him on. — if he went into debt for feasting the deputies. I should say to him, • Here 's my purse : dip into it.' But to pay for his father s vices, — those vices I told you about, — no I His fathers misdeeds have thrown him out of a public career. It is I who will be made a minister, madame." Coiisin Beite. 381 " Alas ! dear Crevel, it was not about our children — poor devoted creatures ! — that I wished to see 3'ou. If your heart is closed against Celestine and Victorin, I must lov^e them well enough to soften tlie pain they will feel at 3'our anger. You punish 3'our eliildren for doing a good deed." -' Yes, for a good deed ill-done, — a semi-crime," said C revel, vain of the remark. '*The wa}' to do good, dear Crevel/' said the baroness, "is, not to give mone}' from an over-full purse, but to bear privations for the sake of being generous, to suffer in benefiting others, to expect ingratitude. Charity wnich costs nothing is ignored in heaven." " Saints ma}' die in a hospital, madame ; thej' know that for them it is the gate of heaven. But as for me, I am of the world. I fear God ; but I am still more afraid of the hell of poverty. To b.e without a penn}' is the last degree of miser\' in our present social state. I belong to my epoch ; I worship money." "You are right," said Adeline, "from the world's stand-point." She was a hundred leagues from the subject in her mind, and she felt like Saint Lawrence on his gridiron as she thought of her uncle ; her mind wandered to a thought of him with a pistol at his head. She lowered her e3'es ; then she raised them, and looked at Crevel with angelic sweetness, but with none of the alluring vice so seductive in Valerie. Three 3-ears ear her she would have fascinated Crevel by that glance. "I have known 3'Ou," she said, "to be more gene- rous ; you once spoke to me of three hundred thou- 38:2 Comin Bttfe, sand francs as some great lord might have spoken of them — " Crevel looked at Madame Hulot : she seemed to him a lilv just going out of bloom. A vague idea entered his mind : but he honored the saintly creature so truly that he drove back his suspicions into the hbertine quarter of his mind. •• Madame. I am unchanged : but an old merchant is and ought be a great lord, with economy, method, and regularity : he should carry his ideas of order into even- thing. He can open an ac-count with folly, allow it a ci-eilit, and spend certain profits on it, — but suffer it to touch his capital ! that would be madness. My diildren will eventually have their whole property, their mother's and mine : but they don't exi>eet their father to be a monk or a mummy. My nature is lively : I float gayly down the stream. I fulfil all the duties the law. my own heart, and family ties impose upon me, as scrupulously as I meet my notes when due. If my children behave as well as I do in my own home I shall be satisfied : and as for the rest, provided my follies — and I commit follies — don't hurt any one. my children can't reproach me. and they '11 get a fine fortune at my death. Your children can't sav the same of their father, who aroes heels over head to the ruin of his family.'' The further she went, the farther she got from her purpose. *• You are very bitter against my husband, dear Ci*eveL" she said ; **yet you would have been his best friend had you found his wife — " She gave Crevel a burning glance : but in so doing she made Dubois's mistake when he kicked the Regent three limes. — she overshot her mark, and the libertine Cousin Bette. 383 ideas of the regenc}' perfumer came back with such a rush that he said to himself, '' Can she waut to revenge herself on Hulot? It must be that, or does she like me better as mayor? "Women are so queer I " whereupon he struck the attitude of his second manner, and gazed at the baroness with a rakish air. " It almost seems." she continued, "as if \'ou re- venged 3'ourself on him for a virtue which resisted you, — for a woman whom you loved enough — to — to bu}'," she added, in a low voice. '• For a divine woman : " replied Crevel, smiling sig- nificantly at the baroness, whose eyes were moist ; '• what indignities you 've had to bear for the last three years ! hey, my dear?" •' Don't speak of my sufferings, dear Crevel, — they are beyond human endurance. Ah. if you still love me, pull me from the abyss in which I lie, — I am in hell ! the martyrs whom they tortured, and drew, and quartered lay on roses compared to me, — their bodies were lacer- ated, but my heart is torn apart by wild horses ! " Crevel's thumb slipped out of his waistcoat, he laid his hat on the work-table, lost his attitude, and smiled ! The smile was so silly that the baroness mistook its meaning and thought it an expression of kindliness. ** You see before you a woman, not only in despair, but in the death agony of her honor — resolved on all, alJ, my friend — to prevent crimes." Then, fearing that Hortense might come in, she went to the door and slipped the bolt, and with the same impulse, she flung herself at Crevel's feet and kissed his hands. '' Be my helper!" she cried. She believed there were generous fibres in the man's commercial heart, and a sudden hope 384 Cousin Bette. flashed before her of obtaining the mone}' without her own dishonor. " Bu^^ a soul — 3'ou who once sought to bu}^ a virtue," she cried, with a delirious glance. ""Have faith in my uprightness as a woman, in my honor, the strength of which is known to 3'ou. Be my friend ! Save a family from ruin, shame, de- spair ; save it from rolling into a slough whose mire is made of blood ! Oh ! don't ask me to tell 3'ou what I mean," she cried, as Crevel made a motion to speak. " Above all, do not say to me, ' I told you how it would be.' Hear me ! obe}' one whom 30U once said 3'ou loved, — a woman whose abasement here at 3'our feet is perhaps the highest act of her life ; ask her nothing, expect all from her gratitude ! ■ — No, give nothing, but lend — lend to her 3'ou once called Adeline — " Tears choked her words and flowed in such abun- dance that the3^ wet the gloves on Crevel's hands and made her next words, " I need two hundred thousand francs," almost as indistinguishable in the flood of weep- ing as the rocks brought down b3' Alpine torrents swol- len by the melting snows. Such was the inexperience of virtue ! Vice would have asked nothing, it would have forced an offer of all. Such women as Madame Marnefle await the moment when the3^ have become indispensable before the3' show themselves exacting. Distinguishuig the words " two hundred thousand francs," Crevel understood the whole matter. He raised the baroness gallantl3\ saying, in an insolent tone, '^ Come, come, be calm, m3' httle woman," — words which, in her wild excitement, Adelme did not hear. The scene had changed ; Crevel, to use his own language, was master of the field. Cousin Bette. 385 CHAPTEK XXIX. CONCLUSION OF THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF CELESTIN CREVEL. The immensit}' of the sum demanded had so startUng an effect on Crevel that his lively emotion at beholdinsj a beautiful woman at his feet in tears passed off. Be- sides, no matter how angelic and lovely a woman may be, if she weeps her beauty disappears. The Madame Marneffes pretend to weep occasionalh' and allow a tear or two to glide down their cheeks ; but dissolve in tears and redden their eyes and nose ! — no, they never com- mit such a fault as that. " Come, come, ui}- dear, be calm ! " said Crevel, tak- ing her beautiful hands in his own and patting them. " Wh}' do you ask me for two hundred thousand francs? what do 3'ou want of them? who are they for? " " Don 't ask me for an explanation," she said ; " give them to me. You will save the lives of three persons and your children's honor." "And do 3'Ou believe, ni}' little woman," said Crevel, " that there 's a man in all Paris, who, at the request of a woman who is pretty nearl}' crazj', would go hunting, hie et nunc, in a drawer, an3'where, for two hundred thousand francs supposed to be hiding there till she happens to want them? Is that 3'our idea of life and business, my lad}'? Your m^'sterious beggars must be pretty far gone ; send them the sacraments, for nobody 25 386 Coitsm Bette. in Paris except its serene Iligbness the litink of France, or the ilhistrious Nucingen. or misers in love with gold as other men are with women, can pull hundreds of thousands of francs out of a hiding-place on demand. The civil list, civil as it is, would ask you to call again to-morrow. Everybody makes the most of liis money and turns it over and over as best he can. You ai-e much mistaken, my dear angel, if you think it is the king, Louis-Philippe, who reigns over us, — he himself knows better than that. He knows, as we all do, that above the charter sits enthroned that sacred, venerable, solid, gracious, kindly, beautiful, noble, youthful, and all-powerful coin, — the five-franc piece. Now, m}' adorable angel, money exacts interest ; its whole business is to look out for interest. ' God of the Jews, thou rulest all,' says the great Racine. It is the everlasting: alleo'orv of the o'olden calf. Men were stock- jobbers in the days of Moses. It's Biblical. The golden calf was the first ledger. You don't know everything in the rue Plumet, dear Adeline," he continued. "The Egyptians loaned immense sums to the Hebrews and they chased the people of God, not for themselves, but for their capital." Crevel looked at the baroness as if to say, '-That's witty, isn't it?" "You don't take into consideration men's love for their breeches- pocket," he continued. '- Excuse me. Now listen if you can, and take in mj' aigunient. You want two hun- dred thousand francs? no one can give them without changing investments. Therefore, calculate. To get two hundred thousand francs in living money, that is in cash, one must sell out nearly seven hundred thou- sand francs' worth of slock at three per cent. Even Cousin Bette. 387 then you can't get the money for two days. That 's the quickest possible time. Now before a man can be per- suaded to give up a fortune, — for it is a fortune to most people, two hundred thousand francs, — he ought to be told where it is going, and for what reason." " Dear Crevel, it concerns the life of two men, one of wliom will die of grief and the other will kill himself. And also, it concerns me. — I am going mad, — am I not already so ? " "No, no," he said, laying his hand upon her knee ; " old Crevel has his price, now that you have deigned to think of him, my angel." •• You once offered me a fortune," she said, blushing and covering her face with her hands. "Ah, my little woman, but that was three years ago," said Crevel. "You are more beautiful now than I have ever seen you." he added, pressing her arm to his heart. "And so you've kept me in mind, dear creature? I wish you had never played the prude, for that three hundred thousand francs you refused so proudly went into the pocket of another woman. I loved 3'ou then and I still love you : but let us look back to three years ago. When I said to you, ' I shall have you,' what was my object? Vengeance on your scoun- drel of a husband. Since then, nn* dear, he has had a treasure of a woman for his mistress, a jewel, a pearl, a sly-boots, who was twenty-three years old then, for she is twenty-six now. I felt it was better fun, more the thing, more Richelieu, more Louis XY., more Corsican, to deprive him of that charming creature, — who, by the b}^, never even liked him, and has been for three years desperately in love with your humble servant." 388 OousiJi Bette. So saying, Crevel, releasing Madame Hulot's hands, recovered position. He stuck his two thumbs in the arm- holes of his waistcoat, and flapped his torso with both elbows as though the}' were wings, confident that he was making himself both desirable and delightful. He seemed to say, " Behold the man you formerly discarded." " So, my dear child, I am avenged and your husband knows it. I haA^e categorically proved to him that he has been fooled, — what I call jockeyed. Madame Marneffe is my mistress, and when the Sieur Marneffe dies she will be m}^ wife." Madame Hulot looked fixedly at Crevel, though her ej'es seemed dazed. " Does Hector know that?" she said. "Yes, and he went back to her, and I allowed it," an- swered Crevel, "because Marneflfe insisted on being promoted to the head of his department. But she sv>'ore to me that our baron should be got rid of before long in a w^ay to prevent his ever reappearing. And my little duchess (for she is a duchess, that w^oman, honor bright) has kept her word. She now, to use her own witty lan- guage, returns your Hector virtuous in perpetuity. The lesson has done him good, severe as it is ; he won't run after actresses or well-bred women an}- more. I call him radically cured ; he has been rinsed out like a tea- pot. If you had listened to old Crevel instead of mor- tifying him and turning him out of your house, 3'ou might have had four hundred thousand francs ; for my revenge has cost me full}' that. But I expect to get back the money wlien Marneffe dies. That 's the secret of m}' extravagance. I 've solved the problem of how to be a great lord cheaply." Cousin Bette. 389 " And 3011 mean to give such a mother-in-law to your daughter?" cried Madame Hulot. "You don't know, Valerie, madame," said Crevel, gravely, striking the attitude of his first manner. " She is well-born, well-bred, and a lady who is held in the highest social estimation. Only yesterday the vicar of our parish dined with her. We have just given — for she is very pious — a superb monstrance to the church. Oh ! she 's clever, witt}', delightfull}' educated, in fact, she has everything in her favor. As for me, dear Ade- line, I owe all I am to that charming woman ; she has quickened my mind and refined, as you must have ob- served, my language ; she checks my little jokes and puts words and ideas into my head. I don't say im- proper things an}' longer. There is a great change in me, as you must have seen. She has also roused my ambition. I intend to be a deputy and I sha'n't make a mess of it either ; I shall consult my Egeria in every- thing. Great political characters — Numa Pompilius and our present illustrious prime minister — have all had their Sibyls. Valerie receives dozens of deputies ; she is getting to be influential, and now that I am going to give her an elegant mansion and put her in a car- riage, she will become one of the occult queens of Paris. Ah ! a beautiful woman is a splendid engine. Many a time I Ve thanked you for dismissing me." " It is enough to make one doubt the power of God," said Adeline, whose indignation dried her tears. " But no ! — divine justice must hover above that woman's head." " Yon are ignorant of the world, my good lady," said Crevel, deeply afi'ronted. '• The world loves success! 390 Cousin Bette. What does it care for your sublime virtue — whose price is two hundred thousand francs ! " The words increased Madame Hulot's nervous trem- bling. She saw that the ex-perfumer was determined to revenge himself upon her as he had upon her husband ; disgust rose in her throat like nausea, so that she could not speak. " Money — always money ! " she said at last. " I am greatly touched," said Crevel, reminded by that word of the woman's humiUation, " to see you weeping at my feet. Perhaps you won't believe me, but if I had the money here in my pocket, it should be 3'ours. Come, you want that sum — " Hearing these words, big with two hundred thousand francs, Adehne forgot the man's insults and fell into the trap of imaginary success, which Crevel laid for her intending to worm out her secret and laugh over it with Valerie. '' Ah, I will do anything ! " cried the unhappy woman. " Monsieur, I will sell myself; I will become, if I must, another Valerie — " "Difficult for you!" said Crevel. "Valerie is a triumph of her species. M}^ little woman, a virtue of twentj'-five 3^ears' standing is never attractive — and yours seems to have grown rather mildewed. But I '11 prove that I still love you ; you shall have your two hundred thousand francs." Adeline seized Crevel's hand and pressed it to her heart, unable to articulate a word, while tears of joy moistened her ej'elashes. " Wait, wait, there are certain formalities. As for me, I'm a man of the world, a good fellow, and with- Cousin Bette. 391 out prejudices ; I shall explain things plumply. You saj^ 3'ou wish to do as Valerie does, — very good. But that's not all that's necessary ; we must find some one, some Hulot, some capitalist, who would be as glad as I would have been three 3'ears ago to give three hun- dred thousand francs for the love of a woman as well- bred as — " " Silence, Monsieur Crevel I " said Madame Hulot, no longer disguising her feelings, and letting her shame overspread her face. " My punishment is greater than my sin. M3' conscience, repressed b^' the iron hand of necessity-, now cries out to me that such sacrifices are impossible. But my pride has gone ; I cannot be indignant as I once was — I have lost the right — I have offered mj'self to you — I am a prostitute. Yes, I have soiled my soul, hitherto so pure, with a base purpose and — I am without excuse, I know it I — I deserve the insults you put upon me ! God's will be done ! If he wills the death of two beings fit to enter his presence, let them die ; I will mourn them, I will pra^' for them ! If he wills the degradation of our fam- ily, let us bow before the avenging sword and kiss it, for we are Christians. I know how to expiate this momentar}' shame which will torture me through all the coming 3'ears. It is no longer Madame Hulot who speaks to 3'ou, it is the poor, the humble sinner, the Christian woman whose heart from henceforth holds one feeling onh', — repentance ; the last of women and the first of penitents through the magnitude of her evil deed. You are the means of m3' return to reason ; through you the voice of God has spoken within me ; I thank you — " She trembled with a nervous movement which, from 392 Coumi Bette. that moment, never left her. Her gentle voice con- trasted with the feverish tones in which she had hitherto spoken ; the blood forsook her cheeks ; she grew pallid and her eyes were ({yj. " I pla3'ed my part ill," she said, looking at Crevel as the mart\'rs may have looked at the proconsul. "True love, the sacred and devoted love of a woman, has other pleasures than those that are sold in the mar- ket of prostitution. But wh}' do I say these things?" she exclaimed, checking herself, making, as she did so, one step onward in the path of perfection, — " the}'' sound like sarcasm, and God knows I do not mean that ; forgive me if the}^ seem so — perhaps it is myself thej^ wound, not others." The majesty of virtue, its celestial light, had swept awa}' the fleeting impurit}^ of the woman who, resplen- dent in the sacred beaut^^ that belonged to her, seemed, even in Crevel's eyes, ennobled. . At this moment she was like those figures of Religion leaning on a cross which the old Venetians loved to paint ; she exhibited to the eye tlie grandeur of her sorrows, and of the Cath- olic Church, to which she flew for refuge like a wounded dove. Crevel was awed and overcome. " Madame, I am yours without conditions," he said, yielding to an impulse of generosity. ' ' I will look into the matter, and — what is it you want ? — the impossible ? Well, you shall have it. I will deposit my securities at the bank, and in two hours I will bring you the mone}'." " My God! a miracle!" cried the poor woman, fall- ing on her knees. She said a prayer with such fervor that the tears were in Crevel's e^-es as she rose from her knees. Cousin Bette. 393 " Be my friend," she said to him. " You have a soul above 3'our conduct or your words. God gave 3-ou that soul. Your ideas and your passions are only of this world. Oh, I will love you ! " she cried, with an an- gelic ardor that contrasted strangely with her paltry little efforts at coquetr}-. " Don 't tremble so," said Crevel. ' ' Do I tremble ? " she said, not yet aware of the in- firmit}' that had come upon her so suddenl}'. " Wh}', yes ! see ! " he exclaimed, taking her arm and showing her how it twitched. " Madame," he said, re- spectfull}', " be calm, I entreat you ; I will go straight to the bank — " " And return quickl}'. Remember, dear friend," she added, betraying her secret, " I must prevent my uncle Fischer's suicide ; he is compromised through my hus- band. There, I have told 3'ou all. See what trust I place in 3'ou. Besides, if we are not in time, — I know the marshal ; he is the soul of honor ; he would die of the disgrace." " I go," said Crevel, kissing her hand. " But what has that poor Hulot done ? " " He has robbed the State I " " Good God ! I will hurry. Madame, I understand you ; I respect you." Crevel bent his knee and kissed the hem of her dress ; then he left the room, saying, " Expect me soon." Unhappih% between the rue Plumet and his own house, where he was to go for his securities, Crevel passed through the rue Vanneau, and he could not re- sist the desire to see his little duchess. His face was still troubled as he entered the room where Valerie's 894 Cousin Bette. maid was dressing her hair. The siren examined Cre- vel in the glass, and was immediately, like all women of her kind, displeased to see that he was under some strong emotion of which she was not the cause. " What is the matter, my hero?" she said. " Is that the way to visit your little duchess. Before long you won't think me a duchess at all, monsieur." Crevel answered by a gloomy smile, and looked at Reine. " Reine, my dear, that will do for to-day. 1 11 finish my hair myself. Bring me a morning-gown." Reine, whose face was pitted with small-pox like a colander, and who seemed to have been born expressly to be Valerie's maid, smiled at her mistress and brought the garment. Valerie took off her peignoir and slipped into the loose gown like an adder coiling into a tuft of grass. "Madame is not at home to any one?" " What a question ! " said Valerie. " Now, my old man, what is it? Have the Left Bank shares gone down? " "No." "Has some one outbid 3'ou on the house?" "No." " You think you are not the father of our little Crevel?" " Nonsense." " Then I can't guess what it is. If I have got to pull a friend's troubles out of him, just as you pull corks out of champagne bottles, I give up. Go away ; you annoy me." < •^•.^-^•. .A^re* . "Oh, it is nothing, — only I must get two hundred thousand francs within an hour," Cousin Bette. 395 " You can get them easil}'. I have n't used the fifty thousand we got through the Hulot indictment, and I can easily borrow fifty thousand more from Henri." " Henri ! alwa3's Henri ! " growled Crevel. " Do 3'ou think, m}' budding Machiavelli, that I shall dismiss Henri ? Does France disband her navy ? Henri ! he is a dagger in a sheath hanging on a nail. That fel- low," she cried, "^ helps me to find out if 3'ou love me, — and 3'ou don't love me this morning." "Not love you, Valerie!" exclaimed Crevel. "I love 3'OU better than a million ! " " That is not enough," she said, springing on his knee, and twining both arms around his neck; "I must be loved like ten millions, — like all the gold on earth, and more too. Henri could n't be with me five minutes without telling all that was in his heart. Come, what 's the matter, my old darhng ? Unpack your troubles. Tell all, and quickly too, to 3-our little pet." And she wafted her hair lighth' across his face as she pinched his nose. •' How can a man have such a nose as that," she cried, '• and keep a secret from his Va-va- [the nose went to the right] le-le- [to the left] ri-rie [the nose recovered position] ? " "Well, I have just seen — " Crevel stopped and looked at Madame Marneffe. "Valerie, m3' treasure, you promise me, on your honor, not to repeat a word of what I tell you?" " Honor bright, ma3'or ! " she said. " See ! I raise m3' hand — and m3' foot!" And she pirouetted in a waA' to drive Crevel beside himself from his head to his heels. " I have just seen virtue in despair." 396 Cousin Bette. " Who is virtuous? and what is despair?" she cried, nodding her head and crossing her arms a la Napoleon. "I am speaking of poor Madame Hulot ; she wants two hundred thousand francs. If she can't get them the old marshal and her uncle Fischer will blow their brains out ; and as 3'ou are partly the cause of it, my little duchess, I am going to repair damages. She is a good women, a saint, — I know her, she '11 pay me back." At the name of Hulot and the mention of the money, Valerie's eyes emitted a look through their long lashes like the flash of a cannon through its smoke. " What has the old woman done to make you pity her ? Has she shown you her — her — religion ? " *•' Don't make fun of her, dearest, she is a noble, pious, saintly woman, worthy of all respect." "And I am not!" said Valerie, with a dangerous look. " I did n't say that," answered Crevel, comprehending how the praise of virtue must stab Madame Marnefle. "I'm pious too," said Valerie, moving away from Crevel and sitting down in an armchair; " but I don't make a trade of my religion ; I hide in a corner when I go to church." She was silent and paid no further attention to Crevel. Made excessively uneas}^ that worthy planted himself in front of her chair, and beheld her lost in the painful thoughts he had so foolishly evoked. " Valerie, m^^ little angel ! " No answer. A problematical tear was furtivel}^ wiped away. " One word, my pet." "Monsieur!" Cousin Bette. 397 " What arc you tbinking of ?" " Oh, Monsieur Crevel, I am thinking of the da}- of m}' first communion. I was beautiful ! I was pure ! I was innocent, immaculate ! Ah ! if an}^ one had gone to my mother then and said, ' Your daughter will be a profligate, she will deceive her husband, she will sell herself to Crevel to betraj- Hulot, two wicked old men, — horrors ! she would have died before the end of the speech, — she loved me so." "Becalm." " You don't know how one must love a man before we can silence the remorse that wrings the heart of an adulteress. I am sorr}' Reine is not here ; she could tell you that she found me this morning praying to God with tears in m}^ e3'es. I never mock at religion, Mon- sieur Crevel ; did 3^ou ever hear me sa}^ one disrespectful word on that subject ? " Crevel made a gesture of approbation. " I won't allow them to be said before me. I scoff at much, — at kings, judges, marriage, love, 3'oung girls, old men ; but religion, the church, God, never ! I stop there. I know I do evil ; I know I am risking my sal- vation for 3'ou, and yet you doubt my love — " Crevel clasped his hands. "Ah, you need to look into my heart and measure the strength of m}' convictions before 3'ou can realize what I have sacrificed for 3'ou. I feel within me the soul of the Magdalen ; see how I surround myself with priests, what gifts I make to the altar ! M3' mother brought me up in the Catholic faith — I know God. It is to us sinners that he speaks in terrifying tones." Valerie wiped awa3' two tears which were rolling 398 Cousin Bette, down her cheeks. Crevel was clisma3ed ; Madame Mar- neffe rose, wildly excited. " My treasure, be calm. You frighten me." She fell on her knees. "My God!" she cried, clasping her hands, "lam not a bad woman. Deign to seek thy lost lamb, afflict her, beat her with many stripes, take her from the paths of wickedness and adultery, — gladly will she hide in th}" bosom, happy in returning to the fold." She rose from her knees, looked at Crevel ; the man trembled at her glazed eyes. " And then, oh, Crevel ! I am frightened sometimes. God's justice falls in this world as well as in that to come. What can I liope from God ? Vengeance is his upon the guilt}", and who knows when and where it ma}" fall? All misfortunes which fools are unable to explain are expiations. That is what my mother told me on her dying bed, speaking of old age. Oh ! if I lost you," she cried, seizing Crevel and clasping him with savage en- erg}', " what would become of me? T should die." Madame Marneffe released Crevel and once more knelt before her chair, joined her hands, and, in that ravishing attitude, she said with incredible unction the following prayer : — " And you, Saint Valerie, my protectress, why do you not oftener visit the pillow of her who was sacredly confided to your care ? Oh, come to-night as you have come this morning ! Inspire me with holy thoughts ; help me to abandon evil ways, — to renounce, like Mag- dalen, deceitful joys, the pomps of life, and — him — I love." " My darling ! " cried Crevel. Cousin Bette. 399 "No longer 3'oiir darling," she said, turning away with the pride of virtue, her ej'es moist with tears, dig' nified, cold, almost indifferent. " Leave me," she said ; "I know my dut^-, — I must belong onl}^ to m}' hus- band. He is d^ing, and 3'et how do I treat him ? I have deceived him at the verj- verge of his grave. He thinks your son is his. I will tell him the truth ; I will begin by seeking his pardon before I ask that of God. Monsieur Crevel, we must part. Farewell," she said, standing erect and offering him an icy hand ; " farewell, m}' friend, ma}' we meet in a better world. You owe me pleasures, — criminal alas ! — but now I need — 3'es I must have — your esteem." Crevel melted into tears. "Oh! you old ninn}-," she cried, with an infernal burst of laughter, " I am showing you how pious women go to work to get two hundred thousand francs out of you. And 3'ou, who talk about Richelieu, the original of Lovelace, 3'ou let 3'ourself be taken in b}' such chaff as that ! I could have 2:ot two hundred thousand francs out of you then if I had kept on, you old fool. Take care of your monej* in future. If j'ou have more than you want, it belongs to me. If 3'ou give two sous to that respectable old woman who pla\'s the pious because she is fiftj'-seven years old, I '11 never see you again, and you can take her in place of me. I know yow will come back to me the next day sore all over from her angular charms." " It is true," said Crevel, "that two hundred thou- sand francs is a good deal of money." "Those pious women have good appetites. They sell their sermons for more than we can get for the onlv 400 Cousin Bette. sure thing on earth, and that is pleasure. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, old man, you who are not given to giving, for you never gave me two hundred thousand francs yet." "Yes, I have," said Crevel ; "the little house has cost more than that." " So you are worth four hundred thousand, are you?" she said, with a reflective air. "No." " Well, if you lend that old horror two hundred thou- sand francs on my house, it will be a crime of leze- Valerie." " But just listen to me." " If 3'ou give that mone}' to some stupid philanthropic invention you'll be thought a man of ideas," she said, growing animated, "and I shall be the first to advise you to do so, because you are such an innocent you could never write political books and make a reputation — 3'ou have n't style enough ! But 3'ou might pose like others in the same case, who gild their name with glory b}^ sticking it at the head of some social, moral, national, or universal affair — benevolence is out of the question, it is poor stj'le just now ; liberated convicts (about whom they made more fuss than over the honest poor devils) have had their day. I would like to see 3'ou employ that two hundred thousand francs on something more important, something really useful. If they were to call you a second Montyon should n't I be proud ! But to throw two hundred thousand francs into a basin of holy- water and lend them to a sanctimonious old woman de- serted b}' her husband, for any reason, I don't care what, is an absolute stupidit}' which, in this year of grace. Cousin Bette. 401 could germinate onl}' in tiie skall of an ex-perfumer ! It smells of the counter ! You would n't dare look at 3-our face in the glass the next day. Go and put 3'oui' money in the Sinking Fund, and don't come here again without the receipt for it. Go — at once — quick ! " She pushed Crevel b}- the shoulders out of the room, noticing that his natural avarice had once more blos- somed on his face. When the outer door was closed, she said aloud, "There's Lisbeth avenged and doubly avenged. What a pity she has gone, we should have had such fun over it ! Ha, ha ! so the old woman wants to take the bread out of ni}' mouth ! I '11 shake her well for that ! " 26 402 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XXX. A BRIEF DUEL BETWEEN MaRECHAL HuLOT, CoMTE DE FORZHEIM, AND HiS EXCELLENCY MONSEIGNEUR LE Marechal Cottin, Prince de Wissembourg, Due d'Orfano, minister of war. Marechal Hulot, considering himself obliged to live in a manner becoming to the highest military dignity, occupied a fine house in the rue du Mont-Parnasse, a street which contains two or three princely mansions. Though he hired the whole house he occupied only the ground-floor. When Lisbeth came to live with him she proposed to sub-let the first floor, which, she said, would pa}^ the rent of the whole house and the count would get his own apartment for next to nothing ; but the old soldier refused. For the last few months man}' anxious thoughts had passed through his mind. He had guessed his sister-in-law's povert}" and suspected the evils which led to it, without being able to detect their cause. The old man, by nature serene and joyous, had of late grown taciturn and anxious ; he believed that his house might some day be a refuge for the baroness and her daughter, and he was keeping the first floor of it for them. The smallness of his fortune was so well known that the minister of w\ar, the Prince de Wissembourg, had forced his old comrade to accept an indemnity of equipment. Hulot employed the money in furnishing the ground- floor, where all was in keeping with his rank ; for he Cousin Bette. 403 did not choose, he said, to carry a niarshal's baton afoot. The house had belonged, under the empire, to a senator ; the salons on the ground-floor, decorated with great raaenificence in white and oold with bas-reliefs, were in good preservation. The marshal added fine old furni- ture of the same period. In the coach-house he kept a carriage, with batons painted on the panels in saltire, and hired horses whenever he desired to drive in state either to the ministr}-, or the palace, or to an}- public ceremony or fete. For the last thirty years an old soldier, now sixty years old, had been his valet, and the man's sister was cook to the establishment ; this econo- mical mode of living enabled the count to lay by some ten thousand francs towards the little fortune he meant to leave Hortense. The old man went every da}' on foot from the rue du Mont-Parnasse to the rue Plumet. All the old Invalides ranged themselves in line and saluted him as he passed ; and the marshal rewarded them with a friendly smile. '• Why do you salute the like of him?" said a young workman, one day to an old captain of the Invalides. "I'll tell you, you 3'oung scamp," said the old offi- cer. The youth struck an attitude of resignation to his garrulit3\ " In 1809," continued the Invalide, " we were cover- ing the flank of the Grand Army under command of the Emperor in person, on the march to Vienna. "We came to a bridge defended b}' a triple battery of cannon, three redoubts, as it were, placed one above the other on the rocks and commanding the bridge. We were under the orders of Marechal Massena. I, here present, was then colonel of the grenadiers of tlie Guard, and I marched 404 Cousin Bette. with the line. Our cokimns were on one side of the river, the batteries on the other. Three times we at- tempted the bridge, three times the cohimns balked. ' Send for Hulot ! ' cried Massena ; ' none but he and his men can swallow that morsel ! ' We were brought up. The last general who had tried and failed stopped Hulot, under fire, clogging tlie wa3", to tell him how to manage. ' I don't want advice, but the room to pass,' said the general, springing upon the bridge at the head of his column — r-r-rah ! and thirt}^ cannon pelted us ! — " *' Thunder ! '" cried the workman, " it must have made cripples of a good manj' of you ! " " If 3'ou had heard him say those words, tranquill}', as I did, my little man, you 'd salute him to the ground. The affair never made the noise of the bridge at Areola, but it wasn't less fine. We followed Hulot, on the run, into the batteries ! — Honor to those who sta^'ed there," said the veteran, lifting his hat. " The kaiserlicks were stunned by the blow, and that 's wh}- the Emperor made the old man you saw count ; he honored us all in our chief, and the present government has done well to make him marshal of France." " Long live the marshal ! " cried the workman. '•No use shouting, my lad; he can't hear 3^ou ; those cannons deafened him ! " This anecdote will give an idea of the respect in which the old arm}- held Marechal Hulot, whose re- publican opinions won, besides, the popular sj^mpathies of his neighborhood. The sorrow which now entered that pure and calm and noble soul was grievous to behold. Madame Hulot Cousin Bette. 405 endeavored to deceive bira, and hid the full truth as best she could with her womanlj' tact. During this disastrous morning the marshal, who, like all old men, slept little, had heard from Lisbeth certain facts about his brother. We may well believe that the old maid w^as delighted to have him draw from her a confi- dence she had been longing to give since her arrival in his house ; it strengthened the prospects of her own marriage. '' Your brother is incorrigible ! " said Lisbeth, shout- ing into the marshal's best ear. The sharp, clear voice of the Lorraine peasant- worn an enabled her to converse with the old man. She strained her lungs, never over-strong, in the effort to show her future husband that he would never be deaf with her. "To keep three mistresses," exclaimed the marshal, ' ' while he had an Adeline ! Poor Adeline ! " " If 3'ou would take my advice," said Lisbeth, " you would use your influence wdth the Prince de Wissem- bourg to obtain some honorable situation for m}' cousin Adeline. She needs it ; the baron's salarj' is mortgaged for three years." " I will go and see him at once," he replied. " I will find out what he thinks of my brother, and ask him to use his influence for m}' sister. Where could we find a suitable emploA'ment for her? " "A number of charitable ladies have formed an as- sociation for benevolent works under the auspices of the archbishop. They want some visitors, whom they em- plo}^ at suitable salaries, to ascertain the real needs of the applicants for relief. Such work would just suit my dear Adeline ; her heart would be in it." 406 Cousin Bette. "Send for the horses!" said the marshal, "I will dress and 2:0 — to Neuilly, if necessary." " How he loves her ! " thought Bette. " Is she to be ever in my wa}'? " Lisbeth was already' domineering over the household, — but out of sight of the marshal. She had taken to herself a waiting-woman, and displa3'ed all the med- dlesomeness of an old maid in spj'ing about her and demanding an account of expenditures, in the inter- ests, she said, of the dear marshal. She was quite as republican as he was ; pleasing him thus on his demo- cratic side, and flattering him in other waj's with amaz- ing ability. For the last two weeks the old man, who now fared better and was looked after b\' his new house- keeper as a child by its mother, had come to regard Bette as in part the realization of his washes. " M}' dear marechal," she said, accompanying him to the portico wdien the carriage came to the door, " do pray pull up the windows, don't sit in a draught, — for my sake ! " The Marechal, a true old bachelor, who had never been petted in his life, smiled at her, although his heart was aching. At the same moment Baron Hulot was also making his wa}' to the cabinet of the Marechal Prince de Wis- sembourg, who had sent for him. Though there was nothing extraordinar}' in the fact that the minister should send for one of his directors, Hulot's con- science was so uneasy that he fancied he saw some- thing cold and forbidding in the face of Mitouflet, the messenger. "Mitouflet, how is the prince?" he said, closing Cousin Betfe. 407 his office door and overtaking the clerk, who had walked on. " He must have a crow to pick with 3-011, Monsieur Ic baron," said Mitouflet, " for his voice and ej'es and face are — tempestuous." Hulot became livid, and was silent. He crossed the antechamber and the salons, and reached the cabinet with a beating heart. The Marechal, now" sevent}^ 3'ears of age, with perfecth* white hair and a brown, leather}' face, like man}- old men of his age, was distinguished b}- a noble brow of such amplitude that the imagination could see a whole battle-field written out upon it. Beneath this broad cupola, covered with snow, glittered two e3'es of Napoleonic blue, ordinarity sad, now full of bitter memories and regrets, and always shaded by the pro- jecting arch of his ej-ebrows, which were very promi- nent. This rival of Bernadotte had hoped to ascend a throne. His ej'es flashed lightning when some noble sentiment filled his soul ; his voice, usually hollow, grew strident at such times. When angrv, the prince fell back into the habits of the camp, and his lan- guage became that of sub-lieutenant Cottin ; nothing restrained him. On entering the room Hulot d'Erv}' be- held the old lion standing before the fireplace, with his hair tangled like a mane, his e3-ebrows contracted, his shoulders resting on the mantle-shelf, and his thoughts apparentl}' absent. "At 3'our orders, prince," said Hulot, attempting an eas3' air. The marshal looked fixedh' at the director without saying a word during the time it took Hulot to come from the doorway to within a few ?eet of him. This 408 Cousin Bette. leaden look was like the eye of God. The baron could not endure it ; lie lowered his own eyes confusedly. "He knows all !" thought he. "Does 3'our conscience warn 3'ou?" demanded the marshal, in a stern and hollow voice. "It warns me, prince, that I have probablj^ done wrong to order those raids in Algeria without consult- ing 3"ou. At ni}' age, and with my tastes, I am without fortune, after a service of fort3'-five ^^ears. You know the principles of the four hundred Elected of France. Those gentlemen are envious of all positions ; the}' cut down the salaries of ever^'bod}', even the ministers, as j-ou know. Useless to ask them to help an old sol- dier out of his difficulties. AYhat can you expect of men who pa}- their own civil service as the}' do ; who give thirt}' sous a day to the Toulon laborers, when no man can support a famil}- on less than forty ; men who never reflect on the iniquity of paying clerks six hundred to a thousand or twelve hundred francs a year to do their work ; and who covet our places for themselves if the salaries amount to fort}' thousand ? — fellows, in short, who refuse to the crown crown-prop- erty, confiscated to the crown in 1830, when it was asked of them for a prince in distress ! If you had no fortune, like my brother, prince, they would let you vegetate on a paltry salary, without remembering that you saved the Grand Army (and I with you) in the swamps of Poland." "You have robbed the State!" said the marshal. " You are in danger of a criminal prosecution ! You are no better than a cashier who steals from a bank ! and you dare to treat the matter with such levity ? " Cousin Bette. 409 '' But what a difference, monseigneur ! " cried Hulot. " Did I put my hands on any mone}' that was entrusted tome?" " When a man commits such infamies," said the marshal, " he is doubly guilty. You have shamefully compromised the administration, which up to this time has been the cleanest in Europe ; and 3'ou did it, mon- sieur, for two hundred thousand francs and a wanton ! " continued the marshal, in a terrible voice. " You are a councillor of state ; but the poor soldier who sells the property of his regiment is put to death ! Colonel Pou- tin, of the Second Lancers, told me a case in point : One of his men at Saverne loved an Alsatian woman who wanted a shawl ; she made such a fuss that the poor devil, on the point of being promoted sergeant-major after twentj' years' service, — a man who was an honor to the service, — sold some propert}- belonging to the regiment to get the shawl. Do you know what he did, Baron Hulot? He powdered the glass of his window and swallowed it, and died in eleven hours in the hos- pital. Endeavor, 3'ourself, to die of an apoplex}', if you wish to save 3'our honor — " Hulot looked at the old warrior with a haggard eye. The marshal, recognizing a coward in that glance, flushed red, and his e3'es gleamed. "Do not desert me!" stammered Hulot. At this moment Marechal Hulot, hearing: that his brother and the minister were alone together, thought himself free to enter. AVith the directness of deaf per- sons, he went straight up to the prince. "Oh!" cried the latter, "I know what you have come for, old friend ; but it is useless I " 410 Cousin Bette. '' Useless? " repeated Marechal Hulot, who heard only that one word. " Yes. You have come to speak about 3'our brother ; but do you know what your brother is? " "My brother? " asked the deaf man. *'He is a villain, a damned scoundrel, unworthy of you ! " The Marechal's anger flashed from his e3'es in a light- ning glance which, like that of Napoleon, blasted the brains and the wills of those about him. "You lie, Cottin ! " replied the other marshal, turning livid. " Cast awa}' your rank as I cast mine ! — I am at 3'our orders." The prince went straight to his old comrade, looked at him fixedly, and said in his ear as he grasped his hand, "Are you a man? " " You shall see that I am." "Then, command yourself! 3'ou have to bear the worst misfortune that could befall 3'ou." The prince turned to the table, took up a written report, and gave it to the old man saying, " Read that ! " Comte Forzheim read the following letter, which ac- companied the report : — [Confidential.] To His Excellency the President of the Council: Algiers, . My dear Prince, — We are saddled with an extremely unpleasant business, as j^ou will see from the accompanying report. To sum it up, — Baron Hulot d'Ervy has sent one of his uncles to the province of O for certain .swindling transac- Cousin Bette. 411 tions in the matter of grain and forage, a-nd has used his office to appoint a storekeeper named Chardin, who plays into their hands. This storekeeper made a confession to shift the blame from his own shoulders, and has ended by running away. The procureur du roi, not aware that any but subal- terns were concerned, has followed the case up harshly; Johann Fischer, your director's uncle, was arrested on a criminal charge and committed suicide in prison. The matter would have ended there if Fischer, evidently an honest man deceived by his nephew and the storekeeper, had not been so rash as to write to Baron Hulot. This letter fell into the hands of the pi'ocureur and so amazed him that he brought it to me. It would be a terrible blow to the ad- ministration to be forced to arrest and convict a councillor of state and a director in the Wav office, a man who has, more- over, done good and loyal service — for the fact is, he saved us all after Beresina by reorganizing the administration of the army — I therefore requested the procureur to send me the papers; which I herewith refer to you. Must we let the matter take its course ? Or, the actual criminal being dead, shall we smother the matter by con- victing the storekeeper in default? The procureur du roi is willing that the matter be left to your management. Baron Hulot d'Ervy is domiciled in Paris, and the charge would therefore be made legally in your courts. We take this rather equivocal means to rid ourselves, momentarily, of the difficulty. One thing more, my dear Marechal; I must beg of you to act promptly. A great deal is being said already about this wretched business, which will do us still more harm if the guilt of the chief criminal (now known only to the procureur du roi, the juge d'' instruction, the prosecutor-general and my- self) gets abroad. Here the paper fell from the marshal's fingers. He looked at his brother and saw that it was useless to read 412 Consul Bette. the report ; but he searched for Johanii Fischer's letter and, having read it, gave it to the baron. Prison at O — -. Nephew, when you read these words I shall not be living. Do not be uneasy ; no proofs can be found against you. I dead, and your Jesuit of a storekeeper out of the way, the charges fall to the ground. The thought of our dear Adeline, who owes her happiness to you, makes death sweet to me. You need not send the two hundred thousand francs. Farewell. This letter will reach you by a man on whose fidelity I can rely. JoHANN Fischer. " I beg your pardon," said Marechal Hulot with touch- ing dignity to the Prince de Wissembourg. • ' How much did you take ? " he asked, turning with severity to his brother. " Two hundred thousand francs." " My dear friend," said the marshal, addressing the minister, " 3'ou shall have that sum in less than fort}'- eight hours. It shall never be said that a man bearing the name of Hulot has wronged the State to the value of a penny." " What nonsense ! " said the prince ; " I know where the money is, and I shall recover it. — Write your res- ignation, and ask to be retired," he continued, address- ing the baron and flinging a sheet of foolscap paper towards the end G^he table at which the latter was sit- ting, his legs shaking under him. " It would bring shame upon all of us if we should prosecute 30U ; I have ob- tained permission from the Council of Ministers to act as 1 am now doing. Since you choose to accept a life Cousin Bette. 413 without honor, without my respect, a degraded life, j'ou shall have the retirement which is j'our due. But — see that men forget 3'ou." The minister rang the bell. " Is the sub-director Marneffe waiting? '^ "Yes, monseigneur." " Let him come in." "You and your wife," said the prince, as Marneffe appeared, " have deliberateh' ruined Baron Hulot d'Erv}', here present." "Monsieur le prince, we are poor people; I have onh' m}^ salary to live upon : I have two children to support, the youngest of whom has been foisted upon me 1)3' Baron Hulot." "What a vile face!" remarked the prince to the marshal. "Enough of 3'our Sganarelle speeches," he said to Marneffe. " You will pay back those two hun- dred thousand francs, or 3'ou will go to Algeria." " But, Monsieur le prince, 3'Ou don't know m3' wife ; she has squandered them all. Monsieur le baron in- vited six persons to dinner ever3' da3\ It cost fift3' thousand francs a 3'ear to keep the house." "Go!" said the prince, in that terrible voice which sounded the charge in battle ; "you will receive notice of 3'Our removal to Algiers in two hours. Go ! " "I prefer to give in m3' resignation," said Marneffe, insolentl3^ "It is a little too much to be what I am and defeated into the bargain — I shall not allow that." And he left the room. " An impudent fellow ! " said the prince. Marechal Hulot, who during this scene had remained standing, erect, motionless, and pale as a lifeless bod3% 414 Cousin Bette. silentl}' watching his brother, now went up to the prince and took his hand, repeating: "In fort3'-eight hours the material harm shall be repaired, but — our honor! Farewell, Marechal ! the last blow kills. Yes, I shall die," he said in his old friend's ear. " What the devil did yoM come here for?" replied the prince, deeply- moved. " I came on behalf of his wife," replied the count, " she is without means of support ; and now — " " He will have his pension." "It is mortgaged." " The curse is on him ! " cried the prince, with a ges- ture of disgust. " Wliat philter have you swallowed to let those women destroy you body and mind ? " he demanded, turning to the baron. " How could 3'ou, 3'ou who know the minute exactitude with which the French administration puts everything into written words, consumes reams of paper to prove the where- abouts of every farthing, you who were always com- plaining that so many signatures had to be given for mere nothings, — to release a soldier, to bu}^ curr}'- combs, — how could you have expected to hide 3'our thefts for an}' length of time? Did you forget the newspapers, and the men who would have liked to steal in 3'our place? And all for women ! for women who rob you of your common sense, who pull the wool over 3'our e^'es — or you are different!}' constituted from other men. You ought to have left the government when you felt yourself no longer a man, only a temperament ! You have added folly to crime and you will end — I will not tell you where — " " Promise that you will take care of her, Cottin," Cousin Bette. 415 said the marshal, not hearing what the other said and thinking only of his sister-in-law. '• Don't doubt it I " said the minister. "I thank you — Farewell! Come!" he said, sternly, to his brother. The prince looked with an eye that was apparently calm at the two brothers, so different in attitude, in conformation, and in character, — the brave man and the coward ; the chaste man and the A'oluptuary ; the man of honor and the peculator, — and he said to him- self: "That coward does not dare to die, but death sits already on the shoulders of my poor upright Hulot." He threw himself into his armchair and went back to the perusal of despatches from Africa, with a gesture that showed at once the sang-froid of a great captain and the profound pit}' the sight of a battlefield excites. There is nothing more truly humane in reality than sol- diers, rough as they seem, to whom the habit of war has given that ins will so necessary in action. On the morrow certain newspapers contained, under different headings, the following articles : — " M. le Baron Hulot d'Ervy has asked to be retired. The troubles in the commissariat department of the administration in Algiers have influenced his determination. On learning of the wrongs committed by two functionaries in whom he had placed great confidence he was seized with paralysis in the cabinet of the minister. " M. Hulot d'Ervy, brother of Marechal Hulot, has seen forty-five years' service. His resignation is much regretted by all who know M. Hulot, whose personal qualities equal his administrative talents. His devotion to the country, as shown 416 Cousin Bette. by his services in the Imperial Guard at Varsovie, and the marvellous energy which enabled him to organize the differ- ent services of the army improvised by Napoleon in 1815, can never be forgotten. " Another of the glories of the Napoleonic era leaves the scene. Since 1830 M. le Baron Hulot has been one of the most important members in the Council of State and the War department." " Algiers. — The affair in the commissariat department, to which some newspapers have given a ridiculous promi- nence, has ended by the death of the chief culprit, Johann Wisch, who killed himself in prison. His accomplice es- caped; but judgment will be passed upon him by default. " Wisch, formerly commissary to the Grand Army, was an honest man, greatly esteemed. He was unable to bear the idea of having been duped by Chardin, the storekeeper, who escaped." Among the local news of Paris the following appeared in various journals : — " M. le Marechal minister of War, hastening to put an end to abuses said to exist in the administration of the gov- ernment in Algiers, has determined to create a subsistence bureau in Africa. It is said that Monsieur Marneffe, at pres- ent sub-director at the ministry of War, will be head of this new department." " The appointment of a successor to Baron Hulot excites much ambition. This directorship is promised, they say, to M. le Comte Martial de la Roche-Hugon, deputy, brother-in- law of M. le Comte de Rastignac. M. Massol, master of peti- tions, will be appointed councillor of state, and M. Claude Vignon takes M. Massol 's office." Of all canards^ the most dangerous for the oppo- sition journals is the official canard. However war^- Cousiii Bette, 417 journalists may be, they are sometimes tlie voluntary or involuntary dupes of the cleverness of those among their number who have passed, liive Claude Vignon, to the higher regions of governmental power. It ma}' be taken as an axiom that a journal can be put in the wrong onl}' by a journalist. 27 418 Cousin Bette. CHAPTER XXXI. THE DEPARTURE OF THE PRODIGAL FATHER. IMarechal Hulot drove his brother home, — the younger taking the front seat of the carriage, respect- fully leaving the otuer to his elder. The two brothers did not exchange a word. Hector w^as annihilated, and the marshal wrapped in thought, like a man gathering up his strength to bear some crushing blow. When he reached home he took his brother silently and with im- perative gestures to his private study. The marshal had received from Napoleon the gift of a pair of mag- nificent pistols from the manufactory of Versailles. He took out the case, on which was stamped the follow- ing insci'iption, " Given b}- the Emperor Napoleon to General Hulot," and showed it to his brother, saying, ''Here is your remedy." Lisbeth, who saw what took place from the other side of the half-open door, ran to the carriage and ordered the coacliman to drive fast to the rue Plumet. Twenty minutes later she returned with the baroness, having warned her of the marshal's threat. Meantime the count, without looking at his brother, rang for his factotum, the soldier who had served him for thirty years. " Beaupied," he said, " fetch my notary, Comte Stein- bock, my niece Hortense, and the broker of the Treas- Coimii Bette. 419 UYY. It is half-past ten o'clock, and I want all those persons here b}' twelve. Take carriages, — go ! " he said, with the terrible look on his face which held his soldiers quiet as he examined the jennets of Brittan}' in 1799. [See " Xes Choucms."] " You shall be obej'ed, Marechal," said Beaupied, carrying the back of his hand to his forehead. Without noticing his brother, the old man took a key from his desk and unlocked a casket made of mal- achite veneered on steel, a gift from the Emperor Alex- ander. The marshal had been sent by the Emperor Napoleon to the Russian emperor to return certain pri- vate propert}' which had been captured at the battle of Dresden, in exchange for which Napoleon hoped to obtain Vandamme. The Czar rewarded General Hulot magnificently w^ith this casket, and told him that he hoped some day to return the courtes}' of the French emperor ; but he kept Vandamme. The imperial arms of Russia were inlaid in gold on the cover of the box and the edges and ornaments w^ere of solid gold. The marshal examined the value of its contents, and found that he w-as worth over a hundred and fifty thousand francs. He gave a sigh of satisfaction. At this mo- ment Madame Hulot entered the room. She looked at Hector, at the case of pistols, and at the marshal with a frenzied e^e. *'What complaint do 3'ou make of your brother? What has m^^ husband done to you ? " she said, in so piercing a voice that the marshal heard her. "He has dishonored us all!" answered the old soldier, " He has robbed the State ! He has rendered my name odious ! He has made me wish to die ! He 420 Cousin Bette. has killed me ! I have no strength left except to make restitution. I have been humiliated before the Conde of the Revolution, before the man I esteem the most and to whom I unjustly gave the lie, the Prince de Wis- sembourg. Is all that nothing? That is the pubhc charge against him." The marshal wiped away a tear. "The wrong done to his famil}^ is another thing," he resumed. " He deprives you of the bread I was lading up for you, the fruit of thirty 3'ears' savings, the cost of an old soldier's privations ! I destined these for you," he said, showing her the bank bills. " He has killed his uncle Fischer, that noble Alsatian who was unable to bear, as he does, the stain upon his peasant name. God in his mercy had enabled him to choose an angel among women for his wife ; he had the untold happiness of marrying an Adeline ; he has betrayed her, he has steeped her in sorrow, he has deserted her for harlots, dancing-women, actresses, the Cadines, Josephas and Marneffes I That is the man whom I made my child, m}" pride ! Go, unhappy man, since you accept the in- famous life you have made for yourself, — depart ! I — I have no strength to curse the brother I have loved so well ; I am as weak toward him as you are, Adeline ; but let him never enter my sight again. I forbid him to look upon me in my coffin or to follow me to the grave. Let him have the decency of crime if he has none of its remorse." The marshal, turning livid, fell on the sofa of his little room, exhausted by the utterance of these solemn words. Tears, perhaps for the first time in his life, rolled down his cheeks. Cousin Bette. 421 " M}^ poor uncle Fischer!" cried Lisbeth, putting a handkerchief to her eyes. "Brother!" said Adeline, kneeling before the mar- shal, " live for me. Help me in the work of restoring Hector to a right life and making him redeem his wrong- doing." " He ! " said the marshal, "if he lives, his crimes will increase. A man who has deserted an Adeline, who has quenched within his soul the sentiments of a true republican — love of countr}', of famih', of the poor and unfortunate — sentiments which I strove to teacli him, is a monster, a hog. Take him awa}' if 3'ou still love him, for I hear a voice within telling me to seize ni}' pistols and blow his brains out. If I should kill him I should save you all ; I should save him from himself." The old marshal rose with so formidable a gesture that poor Adeline, crying out " Come, Hector ! " seized her husband's arm and dragged him awa}', so broken in strength and spirit that she was obhged to take him in a carriage to the rue Plumet, where he took to his bed. Half-dead, he stayed there several daj's, refusing all nourishment and saj'ing not a word. Adeline coaxed hin», with tears, to swallow a few mouthfuls of broth ; she nursed him night and da}', sitting by his pillow, con- scious of no feeling among the man}' that formerly had filled her heart, but that of deepest pity. At half-past twelve Lisbeth ushered the notary and Steinbock into the study of her dear marshal, whom she determined not to leave alone for a moment, so terrified was she at the changes that were taking place in him. " Monsieur le Comte," said the marshal, " I beg you 422 Cousin Bette. to sign this paper authorizing my niece, 3'our wife, to sell the investment in the Funds of which she owns the capital and her cousin the life-interest. Mademoiselle Fischer, do yoxx acquiesce in this sale b}^ resigning the income ? " "Yes, dear count," said Lisbeth, unhesitatingly. " Very good, my dear," said the old soldier ; " I hope to live long enough to make it up to you. I have never doubted you ; you are a true republican, a daughter of the people." He took the hand of the old maid and kissed it. "Monsieur Hannequin," he resumed, turning to the notar}', " draw up the necessary papers and let me have them two hours hence, — in time to sell out the money at the Bourse to-da}'. M}' niece, the countess, has the certificates ; she will be here, ready to sign the papers together with Mademoiselle, when 3'ou bring them. Monsieur le comte will accompany you and give 3'ou his signature at 3'our office." At a sign from Lisbeth the artist bowed respectfully to the marshal and left the room. The next day, at ten o'clock in the morning, the Comte de Forzheim asked an audience of the Prince de Wissembourg and was at once admitted. '* Well, my dear Hulot," said Marechal Cottin, hold- ing out a batch of newspapers to his old comrade. ' ' You see we have saved appearances — Read these." The marshal laid the papers on his friend's desk, and held out in turn the two hundred thousand francs. " Here is what m^- brother took from the State," he said. " What madness ! " exclaimed the minister. "It is Coushi Bette. 423 quite impossible," he added, taking the ear-trumpet the marshal offered him, "to make this restitution. "VVe should be obliged to- make public 3'our brother's pecula- tions, and we have now done all we can to hide them — " " Do what you like with the mone}' ; but I will not permit the Hulot familj' to keep one penn^- of the public funds — stolen by one of us ! " said the marshal. " I will take the King's orders on this subject. Let us sa}' no more about it," answered the minister, per- ceiving how impossible it was to overcome the old man's obstinac3\ "Adieu, Cottin," said the marshal, taking his old comrade bj* the hand. "My soul is numb — " Then, having gone a few paces, he turned, looked at the prince, saw his emotion, and opened his arms to him. The two friends clasped each other. "I seem to bid adieu to the whole Grand Army in your person," said the marshal. " Farewell, m}- good and dear old comrade," said the minister. " Yes, farewell, — I go to the old soldiers whom we have mourned." Claude Vignon entered the room at this moment. The old relics of the Napoleonic legions bowed to each other graveh', hiding all trace of emotion. " I hope, prince, that 3'ou are satisfied with those articles?" said the journahst. "I have managed to make the opposition papers believe that the}* are pub- lishing our secrets." "Unfortunately, it is all to no purpose," said the minister, looking after the marshal who was passing out tlirough the salon. '• I have just said a grievous fare- 424 Cousin Bette: well. Marechal Hulot has but a few days to live, — I knew it ^-esterdaj^ That man of divine honor, whom the very bullets respected in spite of his bravery, re- ceived his death-blow there, in that chair, from my hand, by a paper which I gave him. Ring for my carriage. I must go to Neuilly," he said, locking up the two hun- dred thousand francs. Three days later, in spite of all Bette's care, Mare- chal Hulot died. Such men are the honor of the parties with which they side. In the minds of Republicans the marshal was the ideal of patriotism ; their leaders were at his funeral, which was followed b}' an immense crowd. The arm}^, the administration, the court, the people came to do homage to that high virtue, that unblemished integrit}", that spotless fame. It is not through desiring it that a man is mourned b}' a people ! These obsequies were the occasion for one of those graceful testimonials, full of good feehng and good taste, which every now and then recall the virtues and the glor}^ of the old French nobility. Behind the mar- shal's coffin came the old Marquis de Montauran, brother of the Montauran who at the rising of the Chouans in 1799 had been the adversary, and the defeated adver- sary, of Hulot. The marquis, dying from a republican bullet, confided the interests of his younger brother to the hero of the Republic [see " Zes Chouans."^- Hulot fulfilled the verbal bequest of the nobleman so faithfully that he succeeded in saving the property of the younger Montauran, who had emigrated. Thus the respect and reverence of the old French nobility were not lacking to the funeral of the soldier who, nine 3'ears earlier, had vanquished madame. Cousin Bette. 425 The marshal's death, which took place four da3's be- fore the time for the last publication of the banns of marriage, was to Lisbeth like a stroke of lightning that burned her whole harvest together with the granary. The woman had, as often happens, succeeded onl3^ too well. The marshal died of the blows which she and Madame Marneffe rained upon the famil}'. The old maid's hatred, satiated bj" success, now redoubled under the defeat of her hopes. She rushed to Madame Mar- neffe and wept tears of rage. She was homeless, for the marshal's lease ended with his life. Crevel, to console his Valerie's dear friend, took her savings, and doubled them, investing the amount at five per cent, giving her the life-interest and placing the cap- ital in Celestine's name. Thanks to this operation, Bette received an income of about two thousand francs. When the marshal's papers were examined a note was found addressed to his sister-in-law, his niece Hortense, and his nephew Victorin, requesting them to pay out of the propert}" the}- inherited from him an annuity of twelve hundred francs to the woman who was to have been his wife. Adeline, feeling that Hector hovered between life and death, concealed his brother's death for a few days. But Lisbeth came to see him dressed in mourning, and he learned the fatal truth eleven da3'S after the funeral. Tlie dreadful blow roused his energies. He rose from his bed and met the famil}' in the salon. All were silent on his appearance. In the short space of fifteen days he was shrunken to a spectre, and appeared to his family but a shadow of himself '' We must decide on what to do," he said in a hollow 426 Cousin Bette. voice, sitting down in an armchair and looking round upon the family gathering, from which onl}' Crevel and Steinbock were missing. "We cannot stay here," remarked Hortense ; "the rent is too high." " As to a house," said Victorin, after a painful pause " I offer my mother — " Hearins: the words which seemed to exclude himself, tlie baron raised his e3'es from the carpet where they liad been fixed and gave his son an agonizing look. The rights of a father are so sacred, even though he be degraded and lost to a sense of honor, that Victorin stopped short. "To your mother!" said the baron. ^' You are riglit, my son." "The apartment above our own," said Celestine, completing her husband's offer. "I am in your wa}', m}' children," said tlie baron with the gentleness of a man who condemns himself. " Do not be anxious about the future ; 3'ou will have no further cause to complain of 3-our father." Then sign- ing to Lisbeth, who came up to him, he kissed her on tlie forehead and returned to his own room. Adeline, keenly distressed, followed him. "M\- brother was right, Adeline," he said, taking her l\v the hand. " I am un worth}' of the famih' home. I dare not bless my poor children, whose conduct has been noble, for the blessing of an infamous man, of a father who has made himself a murderer, the scourge of his family, might be fatal to them ; but I will bless them from afar daily. As for you, God alone, the All- powerful, can reward you according to A'our merits — I Ooitsin Bette. 427 implore A'onr pardon," he said, kneeling before his wife and bathing her hands witli his tears. " Hector! Hector! 3'onr sins are great, bnt the Di- vine mercN' is greater ; 3'ou can redeem them by stay- ing here in your home. Rise to Christian thonghts, dear friend. I am 3'our wife and not 3'onr judge. I am 3'Our chattel, do with me as it pleases 3011 ; take me where 3'on go ; I have the power, I feel it, to console you, to make life bearable to 3'ou by love, b3' tender- ness, b}' respect ! Our children are settled in life ; the3' no longer need me. Let me tr3' to be your cheer- fulness, your amusement. Let me share the trials of 3'Our exile, 3'our povert3' ; let me soften them. I can alwa3's be good for something, be it onl3' to save 30U the wao-es of a servant — " "Do you forgive me, my dear, beloved Adeline?" " Yes ; but oh, m3' friend, rise ! " " Your forgiveness w'ill enable me to live," he said, rising from his knees. "I came back to m3' room tliat my children might not see the self-abasement of their father. How awful for them to have dail3- before their e3'es a father as criminal as I am ! it casts down pater- nal authority, it destroys the principle of familv. I cannot remain in your midst ; I go to spare 3'ou the odious spectacle of a father without a father's dignit3'. Do not oppose m3' departure ; if you do, it will be the pistol-shot b3' which I seek my death. Above all, do not follow me to m3' hiding-place ; 3'ou would deprive me of the onl3' strength that remains to me, that of remorse.'* His energetic entreat3' silenced the poor, exhausted woman. Grand in the midst of ruin and desolation, 428 Cousin Bette. she was gathering courage from her sense of inward union with her husband ; she knew him hers ; she saw her subhme mission — that of consoUng him, of restoring him to family life, of reconciling him with himself. ''Hector, would 3'ou have me die of distress, of anxi- ety, of despair ?" she said, seeing that her last hope, the principle of her life, was about to be taken from her. "I will return, my guardian angel, who came from heaven to save me. I will return, if not rich, at least in comfort. Listen to me, Adeline ; I cannot stay here for man}^ reasons. In the first place, my pension, which is ten thousand francs a 3'ear, is mortgaged for four 3-ears ; I have literall}' nothing. But that 's not all. If I remain here I shall be arrested for the non-payment of notes I have o-iven Vauvinet. I must absent mvself until my son, with whom I shall leave precise directions, has been able to redeem the papers. M3' disappearance will aid the transaction. When m}' pension is free, and when Vauvinet is paid, I will come back to you. You would disclose m}' place of exile if I told it to 3'ou. Don't weep, Adeline ; be calm. It is onl3" for a month that — " '* Where are 3'ou going? what can 3'ou do? What will become of you ? who will take care of 30U ? — 3'ou, who are no longer 3'oung ! Let me disappear with 3'ou ; let us go abroad," she said. " Well, I will see," he answered. The baron rang the bell and told Mariette to get all his things together and pack his trunks quickh' and se- cretlv. Then, after kissing his wife with an effusion to Cousin Bette. 429 which she was no longer accustomed, he asked her to leave him for a while that he might write his last instruc- tions to Victorin ; promising not to leave the house till night-fall and to talve her with him. As soon as she had entered the salon and closed the door the w^ily old man passed through the dressing-room into the ante- chamber and left the house, giving Mariette a paper on which was written, "Direct m}' trunks to Monsieur Hector, Corbeil, to be kept till called for. Send them b}^ railroad to Corbeil." He was in a hackne\'- coach and already half-across Paris before Mariette took the paper to the baroness, telling her that Monsieur had gone out. Adeline flew into his bedroom, trembling more than ever ; her children followed her on hearing a piercing cvy. She had fainted ; the}' lifted her and put her to bed, where she was seized with a nervous fever which kept her between life and death for a month. " Where is he?" were the onl}' words they could get from her during that time. Victorin's search for his father was fruitless, — for the following reason. The baron had gone direct to the place du Palais-Ro3'al. There, having summoned all his intelligence to carry out a scheme he had planned during the daj's when he had lain on his bed overcome with shame and grief, he hired a handsome carriage from a stable in the rue Joquelet. The coachman, receiving his orders, drove to the rue de la Ville-l'Eveque and entered the courtyard of Josepha's mansion, the gates flying back at the call of the driver of a fine equipage. Josepha, informed b}' her footman that an old man, too feeble to leave his carriage, was at the door asking to see her, came down out of sheer curiosity. 430 Cousin Bette. *' Josepha, it is I!" The illustrious singer recognized her former Hulot by liis voice onl3\ "What! you, my old man? Wh}', you look like those five-franc pieces which the Dutch Jews wash off, and the money-changers reject ! " " Alas, 3'es," said Hulot, '' I have just escaped death. But 3'ou are always beautiful — are 3'ou still kind ? " " That's according — all is relative," she answered. " Look here," said Hulot ; " can you put me awa}' in some servant's room under the roof, for a few days? I am without a penny ; without hope, or bread, or pen- sion, or wife, or children, or refuge ; without honor, without courage, without a friend, and worse than all, I am liable to be arrested for debt." ' ' Poor old fellow ! what a lot of withouts ! Are you without breeches ? " " Ah, if you laugh at me, I am lost," cried the baron. "Yet 1 counted on 3'ou as Gourville on Ninon." " I 'm told it is a fashionable woman who has dragged 3'OU into your present plight," said Josepha. "Those minxes know how to pluck a turkey better than we do ! Why, you are like a carcass thrown to the crows. I can see davlio'ht throuf^h vou." " I am in a hurr3^, Josepha." "Well, come in, old man; I'm alone, and my ser- vants don't know vou. Send awa3' your carriage. Have you paid the fare ? " "Yes," replied the baron, getting out, and leaning on Josepha's arm. "You can pass for my father, if 3'ou like," said the singer, full of pit3'. Cousin Bette. 431 She made Hector sit down in the splendid room where he had last seen her. "Is it true, old fellow," she said, "that 3'ou have killed your brother and 3our uncle, ruined your famil}-, mortgaged and remortgaged your property-, and made ducks and drakes of the government money with your princess?" The baron nodded sadly. "Ha! I admire that!" cried Josepha, jumping up enthusiasticall3\ "General conflagration! Sardanapa- lus I that 's grand ! that 's thorough ! You may be a scoundrel ; but 3'ou have a heart. For my part, I prefer a passionate spendthrift like you, who wastes his substance on women, to those cold bankers with- out souls, virtuous (so called), who ruin thousands of families with their railwa3's, which are gold to them and iron to others. As for you, you have onl}' ruined 3'our family ; you have injured none but yourself. Be- sides, you had an excuse, — a moral and physical ex- cuse. ' 'T is Venus herself who has grasped her prey 1 ' " she cried, pirouetting. Thus was Hulot absolved b}' vice — vice smiling upon him from the midst of its unbridled luxur3\ The gran- deur of his crimes seemed there, as often happens be- fore juries, an extenuating circumstance. "Is she prett3', — your society woman ?" demanded Josepha, trying, out of charit3', to divert the baron's mind ; for his evident suffering distressed her. I " Almost as prett3^ as 3'ou," said the baron, shrewdl3'. " And verv — trick3', the3' tell me. What did she do to you ? — worse than I ? " " Don't speak of it," said Hulot. 432 Cousin Bette, ' ' They do say she has snared my old Crevel and little Steinbock and a splendid Brazilian — " " Possibly." " She is living in as pretty a house as this, which Crevel gave her. That creature is my scavenger ; she sweeps up my leavings. Come, old man, I want to know all about her. I have seen her in an open car- riage in the Bois, but onl}^ at a distance. La Carabine sa3's she is a thorough harpy. She tried to eat up Cre- vel, but could onl}' get a nibble at him. Crevel is an old skinflint, a good-natured tight-fist who always says yes, and there it ends. He 's vain and he 's hot ; but his mone}^ is cold. We get nothing out of such fellows but two or three thousand francs a month ; the}" balk at prodigality like donkej's at a river. That 's not you, old man ; you 've got passions. We could make 3'ou do anything, — sell your country ! And so, you see, I am ready to do everj^thing for you. You were mj- father ; 3'ou launched me. The obligation is sacred. How much do 3'ou want? — a hundred thousand francs? I '11 go all lengths to get them for you. As for food and lodging, that 's nothing. Your plate will alwa^'s be laid at my table, and there 's a good bedroom on the second floor ; and you shall have three hundred francs a month pocket-money." The baron, touched b^^ this kindness, had a momen- tar}' return of dignity. "No, my dear, no," he said; " I did not come to ask 3'OU to support me." "You might be proud of it, though, at 3'our age." " Here is what I want you to do. Your Due d'Herou- ville owns large estates in Normandy. I want to be his Cousin Bette, 433 steward, under the name of Thoul. I have enough abil- \iy and I am honest. Yes, a man may take from the government, but it does n't follow that he '11 rob a till." " Ha, ha ! " laughed Josepha. " He who has drunk will drink ! " " All I want is to live in hiding for three 3'ears." " That's a trifling matter," said Josepha ; '' to-night, after dinner, I have onh' to ask him. The duke would marrj' me if I wished it ; but I have his fortune, and I want more — his esteem. He is a prince of the old school, — noble, distinguished, grand, like Louis XIV and Napoleon rolled into one, though he is a dicarf. Besides, I have acted by him as La Schontz did hy Rochefide ; he has just made two millions b}' taking my advice. Now listen, my old fire-eater. I know you, — 3'ou love women ; and down there on the duke's prop- erty you would run after the Norman girls (for the}' 're superb), and 3'ou would get vour head broken by the lovers or the fathers, and D'Herouville would have to dismiss 30U. Don't I know, b}' the wa3' 3'ou are looking at me now, that 3'outh is not yet dead in 3'ou, as Fen- elon sa3's? Stewardship is no business for 3'ou. You could n't break awa3' if 30U would, old fellow, from vour Paris wa3-s and from all of us. You would die of ennui down there in Normand}'." " What else can I do? I will only sta3' with 3*ou long enough to find somewhere to go." " Well, what do 3'ou sa3' to an idea of mine? Lis- ten, old i;ake. You must have women ; they console for ever3thing. Now I know a girl who is a treasure, down there at the foot of the Courtille, rue vSaint-Maur du Temple, — a,prett3' girl, prettier than I was at six- 28 434 Cousin Bette. teen — Ha ! your e^'es sparkle already ! She works sixteen hours a day embroidering handsome things for the silk-dealers, and all she gets for it is sixteen sons, — a sou an hour ! Horrors ! She lives, like the Irish, on potatoes (only she fries them in rat grease), bread five times a week, and canal-water from the street-pipes, because the Seine water costs too dear. She can't set up a shop of her own short of five or six thousand francs — there isn't an3'thing she wouldn't do for thnt sum. Your wife and famil}' bore 3'ou, — don't they? Besides, you could n't live now where 3'Ou were once a god. A father without money and without honor ! — he 's a notliing, a man of straw. He ought to be kept out of sight — " The baron smiled drearily. " Well, little Bijou is coming here to-morrow with an embroidered dress, — a perfect love. It took her six months to do, and nobod}' is to have one like it. Bijou loves me, for I give her sweet things and all my old gowns. I send bread tickets and wood tickets and meat for the famil}', who would all break their necks in my service if I asked it. I try to do some good. Ah ! I suffered enough when I went liungr}' ! Bijou tells me all her little secrets. She has the makings of a ballet- girl for the Ambigu-Comique in her. She dreams of dresses like mine, and specially of driving in a carriage. If I say to her, ' My prett}', do 3'ou want a gentle- man of — ' How old are 3'OU?" said Josepha, snddenlv interrupting herself, — " sevent3'? " " I 'm of no age now." " Shall I say seventy? — ver3' neat, never takes snuff, sound as a roach, and just as good as a 3'oung man? Cousin Bette. 435 I'll tell her she can marry 3-011 bv the left hand aid live very happily ever after ; and that you '11 give her seven thousand francs to set up a business, and a hun- dred francs a month to keep house on, and furnish her rooms in mahogany, and sometimes, if she is very good, take her to the theatre. T know Bijou, she 's myself at fourteen ! I jumped for joy when that abominable Crevel proposed to me. Now, m}' old fellow ! this will pack you out of sight for three years. It's decent, it's honest, and moreover, it will give you some illusions for three or four 3'ears, — not longer." Hulot was not hesitating, for he was determined to refuse the offer ; but his desire to show gratitude to Josepha, who was doing good after her kind, made him appear to vacillate between vice and virtue. "Why you 're as cold as the stones in December," she exclaimed, astonished. "If you do as I tell you, you'll be the providence of a grandfather who earns nothing, a mother who is dying of overwork, and of two sisters, one of whom is ugly, wlio can earn only thirty- two sous a day between them, at the risk of putting out their eyes. That will compensate for all the harm you have done at home ; you '11 redeem your misdeeds and amuse yourself like a lorette at Mabille." Hulot, to put an end to the temptation, made a sign of being without a penny. " As for that," said Josepha, " never mind about the wa\'s and means. My duke will lend you ten thousand francs, — seven thousand to set up Bijou in a shop of her own, three thousand for furniture, — and everv three months 3-ou '11 find a cheque here for six hundred and 436 Cousin Bette. fifty francs to live on. When you get back your pen- sion you must return the total, seventeen thousand in all, to the duke. Meantime you '11 be as happ3' as a cricket, hidden awa}' in a little hole where the police can't find 30U. You '11 have to wear a big beaver coat, and make believe you are owner of some neighboring house, in easy circumstances. Call yourself Thoul, if that 's your fancy. I sliall tell Bijou that you are an uncle of mine, just come from German}', — you'll be worshipped like a god. 80 there you are, papa ! and perhaps, who knows, you '11 be so happy you '11 never regret the past. If you do get dull sometimes, keep a dress-coat ready and come here to dinner and spend the evening with me." '• But I meant to be virtuous, respectable ! No, lend me twenty thousand francs and I 'II go and make my fortune in America, like my friend d'Aiglemont when Nucino'en ruined him." ''You!" cried Josepha, *" no, no, leave moralit}' to the shopkeepers, the ever^'-da}' thieves and murderers, the French citizens who have nothino- but virtue to fall back upon. You were never born for such silliness ! As a man you are just what I am as a woman, — an out-and-out vagabond ! " "Night brings wisdom," said Hulot. "AYe'll talk of this to-morrow." " You will dine with the duke to-night. M}^ Herou- ville will receive you politely, as if you had just saved the State, and to-morrow you can decide. Come, be livel}', m}- old friend. Life's but a garment, — when it's dirty, brnsh it; when it's torn, mend it ; make it last as long and as good as you can." Cousin Bette. 437 This philosoph}' of vice and Josepha's ga^^ety com- bined removed the last of Hulot's scvLiples. The next da}^ after a succulent breakfast, the baron l)eheld one of those living masterpieces which Paris alone manufactures, by reason of the perpetual concu- binage of luxury and povert}^, vice and decency, re- pressed desire and continual temptation, which makes this cit}' the lineal descendant of the Ninevehs, the Baby Ions, and the one imperial Rome. Mademoiselle Olympe Bijou, a little girl of sixteen, had a face like a Raphael Madonna, e3'es of weary innocence, weary with incessant toil, dreamy dark e3'es with long lashes, whose liquid lights weie drying up under the fire of laborious nights, — ej'es that grew darker still with the gloom of exhaustion, — a porcelain skin that was almost sickly, a mouth like the inside of a pomegranate, a throbbing bosom, the lines of the figure full and rounded, pretty hands, pearl-white teeth, abundant black hair ; and all these beauties dressed in a twelve-sous calico, an embroidered collar, leather shoes without nails, and gloves of the cheapest make. The child, who did not know her own worth, had donned her best clothes to go to the house of a great lad}'. The baron, instantly gripped b}- the claw fingers of vice, felt his whole being going out through his eyes. He forgot all before this vision of beauty. He was like a hunter in sight of the game. "Guaranteed innocent," whispered Josepha, "and poor. That 's 3'our Paris. I 've been through it \ny- self." "I decide" said the baron, rising and rubbing his hands. - ^ 438 Comin Bette. AV4ien Ol3'mpe Bijou had left the house Josepha looked slyly at the old man. '' If you don't want to have trouble, papa," she said, *' begin firm ; be as stern as a judge on the bench ; hold the httle thins; in hand. Be a Bartholo. Look out for the Augustuses and Hippolytuses and Nestors and Victors, and all the rest of them. Plague take it ! if 3'ou let her get her head after she is once well-fed and well-clothed, she'll drag you about like a Russian. I '11 attend to settling you down there. The duke has been liberal ; he lends you — that is to sa}', he gives 3'ou — ten thousand francs and puts eight of them with his notar}', who is to pa}' you six hundred quarterl}', — for the fact is, I can't trust you. Am I charming?" " Adorable." Ten days after he had abandoned his familj', and at the very moment when his children were standing in tears around the bed of the half-dvino; Adeline, who was saying in feeble tones, "Where is he?" Hulot, under the anagram of Thoul, went to live with Olympe in the rue Saint-Maur, at the head of an establishment for embroideries, which was called by the associated names of Thoul and Bijou. Co2isi7i Bette, 439 CHAPTER XXXII. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES. Through the implacable misfortunes of his family, Victoria Hulot received that last touch which corrupts a man or perfects him. He became perfect. In the great tempests of life we follow the example of wise captains who fling the heavier merchandise overboard in a hurricane to lighten the ship. The lawyer laid aside his inward pride, his outward assumption, his ar- rogance as an orator, and his political pretensions. In fact he became as a man what his mother was as a woman. He resolved to accept his Celestine for wliat she was, — certainly not the realization of his dreams, — he judged life soberh', and saw that the common law of existence oblis^es men to be content in all thino;s with the approximate. He swore within himself to do his dut}', — so deep was the horror his father's con- duct caused him. This resolution was renewed and strengthened b}' the bedside of his mother on the day slie was pronounced out of danger. That first relief did not come singh*. On the same da}' Claude Vignon, who inquired daily for Madame Hulot on behalf of the Prince de Wissembourg, requested Victorin to return with him to the ministr}'. "His Excellenc}'," he said, "wishes to confer with von about vour family affairs." 440 Cousin Bette. Victorin and the minister had known each other for a long time, and the latter now received the joung man with a characteristic atfability that augured well. "My friend," said the old warrior, "I swore to your uncle, the marshal, in this room, to take care of 3'our mother. That noble woman will, I am told, re- cover her health. The moment has therefore come to heal the family' wounds. I have two hundred thousand francs for 3'ou, which I will now pay over." The lawyer made a gesture of refusal w^orthy of his uncle the marshal. " Do not be uneasy," said the prince smiling; " the money was onl}' placed in my hands in trust for your famil}'. M3' days are numbered ; I shall not be here long, — take the money, therefore, and replace me as trustee. You are at liberty to use it to lift the mortgages from your house. The two hundred thousand francs belong to 3'our mother and sister ; but if I gave them to Madame Hulot lier devotion to her husband is such that I fear she would waste them on him, and the intention of those who placed the mone3' in m3' hands was that it should benefit Madame Ilulot and her daughter, the Comtesse Steinbock. You are a moral man, the worth3^ son of your noble mother, a true nephew of m3' friend the marshal. You are appreciated here, ra3' 3'oung friend, as you are elsewhere. Be, therefore, the guar- dian of your family. Accept this legac3' on their behalf from 3'our uncle and from me." " Monseigneur," said Hulot, taking the minister's liand and pressing it, " men in 3'our position know that words of gratitude mean nothing, — thankfulness must prove itself b3^ deeds." Cousin Bette. 441 *' Prove 3'onrs," said the old soldier. "What must I do?" "Accept an offer. The government wishes to ap- point you counsel for war-claims, the engineering de- partment being overcrowded with htigations in relation to the fortifications of Paris ; also legal adviser at the prefecture of police, and counsel for the civil-list. These three functions will give you a combined salary of eighteen thousand francs and will not deprive you of independence. You can vote in the Chamber accord- ing to 3'our conscience- and 3'our political opinions, — you are free to act ; we should only be hampered if we had no national opposition. In conclusion let me say that I received a note from your uncle, written a few hours before he died, in which he suggested a line of conduct towards your dear mother. Mesdames Popinot, de Rastignac, de Navarreins, de Grandlieu, de Carigliano, de Lenoncourt, and de la Bastie have created a place for her as inspectress of benevolent en- terprises. These presidents of various societies for good works cannot do all that their offices require ; they need some lad}' fitted to act for them, to visit their cases, see that charity is not imposed upon, make sure that relief goes to the right apphcant, and seek out the deserving and shrinking poor. Your mother could well fulfil that angelic mission ; she would be responsible to the clerg\' and to these charitable ladies onl}' ; she would receive six thousand francs a 3'ear and her carriage hire. You see, m}' young friend, that the pure man, the nobh- vir- tuous man, protects his famil}" even from the grave. The memor}' of such men as your uncle is and ever should be an a^gis against evil in all well organized 442 Cousin Bette. societies. Follow his path ; continue in his steps, — - your feet are there alread}', I know that." ''Such delicate kindness, prince, cannot surprise rat in ni}' uncle's friend," said Victorin. " I will endeavor to answer your expectations." " Go and comfort 3'our faniil}' with the news — But sta}^, tell me before you go," added the prince, taking Victorin b}- the hand, "• has 3'our father disappeared?" "Alas, yes." " So much the better. In so doing the unhappy man has shown, what he realh' possesses, good sense." " He had notes he could not meet." "Ah!" said the Marechal. "Well, you shall re- ceive six months' salarj' in advance. That will help 3'ou to get his notes from the mone3'-lenders. I '11 see Nucin- gen, and perhaps I can persuade him to release your father's pension, without its costing you or the War office a penn}'. A peerage has not killed the banker in Nu- cingen ; he is insatiable, and he wants some grant, I forget what, out of us." Victorin was thus enabled to carry out his desire to take his mother and sister to live with him. The only propert}' that he owned was one of the finest species of real estate in Paris ; a house bought in 1834 in preparation for his marriage, situated on the boule- vard, between the rue de la Paix and the rue Louis-le- Grand. A speculator had built two houses on the street and boulcA^ard, between which, separated from both by a garden and courtyard on each side, stood a beautiful pavilion, a relic of the splendors of the great Verneuil mansion. Victorin Ilulot, sure of Mademoiselle Cre- vel's dowrv, bought this superb property at auction for Cousin Bette. 443 a million of francs, on which he paid five hundred thou- sand down. He lived on the ground-floor of the pa- vilion, expecting to pa}' the full costs of the house by letting the various apartments. But though speculation in houses may be a sure thing it is. also either slow or capricious, for success depends on c-ircumstances that are not to be foreseen. Idlers in Paris must have noticed that the boulevard between the rue Louis-le- Grand and the rue de la Paix was slow to become prof- itable ; it was cleared out and improved with such dela}' that commerce did not displav its gorgeous shop-win- dows filled with the fair}' fabrics of fashion and the splendors of luxury till 1841. Althouojh in the course of seven vears Victorin had paid a part of the remaining purchase-money, yet in consequence of the relief he had afforded his father, the debt on the propert}' now amounted to five hundred thousand francs. Happily, rents were increasing, and the beauty of the situation had begun to give a real value to the two houses. Offers came from different merchants of good terms for the shop, provided they could have leases for terms of j'ears. The apartments also increased in value bv the removal of the business centre to the neighborhood between the Bourse and the Madeleine, henceforth the seat of political and financial power. The two houses, the various apartments of which were now all rented, brought in a hundred thousand francs a-3'ear. In two 3'ears more, during w^hich time young Hulot could live on the salaries given him by the Marechal, the family would be free from debt and in a splendid financial position. It was hke manna falling fiom heaven. Victorin could oive the first floor of the 444 Cousin Bette. pavilion to liis mother, and the second floor to his sis- ter, where two rooms were reserved for Bette. Young Hnlot himself, gifted with the faculty of legal speech, and a man of spotless integrity-, gained the ear of judges and councillors and rapidly eclipsed his competitors of the bar. He studied cases, he advanced nothing he could not prove, refused to take indiscriminatelj' all causes that were offered to him, and became, in time, regarded as an honor to the profession. The house in the rue Plumet had grown so distasteful to the baroness that she willingl}^ allowed her son to move her to the rue Louis-le-Grand, where she occu- pied a charming apartment. All housekeeping cares were spared to her b}^ Lisbeth, who agreed to perform once more tlie economical feats she had formerly under- taken for Madame Marneffe, foreseeing the chance of wreaking her secret vengeance on these noble lives, now, after the overthrow of all her hopes, the objects of her redoubled hatred. Once a month she went to see Val- erie, sent b}^ Hortense, who wanted news of Wenceslas, and by Celestine, extremely uneasy at the avowed and acknowledged intimacy of her father with the woman to whom her mother and sister-in-law owed their ruin and their misery. Lisbeth, as may well be supposed, used this curiosit}' to enable her to see Valerie as often as she wished to do so. About twent}' months passed in this way, during which time Madame Hulot's health improved, although the nervous trembling of her head and hands did not de- crease. She soon mastered her new functions, which gave noble relief to her sorrows and suitable nourish- ment for the divine qualities of her nature. She saw Cousin Bette. 445 also the means of possibl}' recovering her husband in a work which took her into all quarters of Paris. Dur- ino' these months the baron's notes to Vauvinet were paid off and his pension almost liberated. The poor wife might have attained to something like happiness, had it not been for her ceaseless anxiet}' about her husband, her desire that he should share in the renewed prosperit}' of tlie famih', her grief at her daughter's forlorn position, and the terrible blows rained upon her with apparent innocence by Lisbeth, whose fiendish nature now had full swing. A scene took place earh' in March, 1843, which will serve to show the effects produced by the persistent latent hatred of Bette, aided continually by Madame Marneffe. Two great events had happened in the latter's house- hold. In the first place she had given birth to a still-born child, whose death brought her an annuity' of two thou- sand francs. Then her husband's health failed rapidly ; we give the report which Bette made to the Hulot family- on her return one da}' from the Marneflfe mansion : — ''That dreadful Valerie sent for Doctor Bianchon this morning to make sure that the other doctors who pronounced Marneffe dying the night before were not mistaken. Bianchon sa^-s the wretch will go to the hell where he belongs before night. Old Crevel and Madame Marneffe followed the doctor out, and your father, my dear Celestine, gave him six gold pieces for the good news. When the}' came back to the salon, Crevel cut capers like a ballet-dancer; he kissed that woman, shouting out, ' Now I 'II have a Madame Crevel ! ' And when she returned to her husband's bedside and left us alone, your honorable parent said to me : ' With 446 Cousin Bette. Valerie for a wife, I shall be peer of France. I shall bin' that estate I covet, — Presles, which Madame de Seriz}' wants to sell ; I shall be Crevel de Presles ; I shall become a member of the council-general for the Seine-et-Oise, and deput}-. I shall have a son. I shall be all I choose to be ! ' '" Well,' said I, ' and what about Celestine ? ' ' Bah ! she is only a daughter,' he replied ; ' she has grown too much of a Hulot, and Valerie has a horror of the whole family. My son-in- law chose never to come here : why should he set up for a mentor, a Spartan, a puritan, a philanthropist? Be- sides, I have done my dut}" to my daughter ; she has had her mother's property and two hundred thousand francs to boot. I am at liberty to do as I like. I shall see how m}' son-in-law and my daughter behave about my marriage. As they behave, so shall I. If they treat their step-mother well, I '11 see what I can do ! I am a man, and not a brute ! ' — and all such stuff! and then he struck an attitude like Napoleon on his column." . The ten-months' legal widowhood ordained b}' the Code Napoleon had just expired. Presles had been pur- chased. Victorin and Celestine sent Lisbeth one morn- ing to Madame Marneffe's to ascertain when the charming widow was to marry the mayor of Paris, now a member of the council-general of the Seine-et-Oise. Celestine and Hortense, whose affection was increased by living under one roof, were continually together. The baroness, influenced by her sense of honor, exag- gerated the duties of her office and sacrificed herself to the works of mercy for which she was the intermediarv, going out daih' at eleven o'clock and not returning home till five. The sisters-in4aw, occupied with their children, Cousin Bctte. 447 whom the}' cared for together, stayed at home with their sewing all day. The}' came at last to think aloud, — a touching spectacle of sisterly union, one sister cheerful, the other dispirited. Beautiful, overflowing with life, animated, smiling, and witty, the unfortunate Hortense seemed to give the lie to her real position ; while the depressed Celestine, gentle, calm, and equable as reason itself, habitually pensive and deliberate, gave an impres- sion of inward grief. Perhaps this contrast contributed to their warm friendship. The two women lent to each other what the other lacked. Sitting in a little arbor in the garden, which the mania for speculation in bricks and moi-tar had left untouched through the fanc}' of a builder who meant to keep these hundred square feet of open ground for himself, they enjoyed the l)looming of the lilacs, that spring delight which is only truly felt in Paris, where for six months Parisians live in total forgetfulness of vegetation between those cliffs of stone where the ocean of their human life tosses and flows. " Celestine," said Hortense, replying to a remark of her sister-in-law, who was complaining that her hus- band had to waste such fine weather at the Chamber, " I think you don't pi'operly appreciate your blessings. Victorin is an angel ; and you plague him sometimes." " M}' dear, men like to be plagued. Cei'tain squal)- bles are a sign of love. If 3'our poor mother had been, I won't say exacting, but near to being so, you would not have had so many troubles to deplore." '' Lisbeth doesn't come back! I shall sing Marl- borough's song," said Hortense. "I long for news of Wenceslas. How does he manage to live? He has not done a thins: for two vears." 448 Cousin Be tie. " Victorin saw him the other da}' with that odious woman. He thinks slie supports liim in idleness. Ah ! dear sister, if you only would, you could get him back again." Hortense made a sign in the negative. " But your situation will soon become intolerable," said Celestine. "At first, anger, despair, and indigna- tion gave you strength ; after that, the almost unheard- of troubles that fell upon us — two deaths, the ruin and disappearance of Baron Hulot — have filled your thoughts and your heart. But now that quiet and silence have settled down upon us, 3'ou will not easily bear the void in 3'our life'; and as 3'ou cannot, and never will, leave the path of honor, it stands to rea- son that you must be reconciled with Wenceslas. Vic- torin, who loves 3'ou so much, thinks as I do. There is something stronger than our sentiments, — I mean our nature." " A man so base ! " cried Hortense, scornfulh^ " He loves that woman because she supports him ! Paid his debts, has she? Good God ! I think night and da}^ of the situation that man has put himself in ! He is the father of my child, and he disgraces himself! " " Look at your mother, dear," said Celestine. Celestine belonged to the class of women who, after 3'OU have given them reasons strong enough to con- vince a Breton peasant, return for the hundredth time to their original argument. The character of her some- what insipid, cold, and common face, her light brown hair arranged in smooth, stiff bandeaux, and the color of her complexion, all indicated a sensible woman with- out charm, but also without weakness. Cousin Bette. 449 *'Your mother," she continued, "would gladly be beside her disgraced husband, to comfort him and hide him in her heart from blame. She has arranged a room upstairs, as if she expected to find him some day and put him there." " M}' mother is sublime," answered Hortense ; " she has been sublime through ever}- hour of ever}- day for the last twent^'-six years ; but I have not her temper- ament. I can't help it. I get angry sometimes against myself ; but oh ! Celestine, you don't know what it is to be on good terms with infamy." " Consider my father," said Celestine, tranquilly ; "he is on the very road b}- which your father perished. My father is ten years younger than the baron, and he has business habits, it is true ; but what will be the end of him? That Madame Marneffe has made him her spaniel. She controls him, his money, his ideas, and nothing will make him open his eyes. I tremble lest I should hear that the banns are published. My husband thinks of making one effort to prevent the marriage ; for he re- gards it as a dut}' to society, to famil}' life, to bring that woman to account. Ah ! my dear Hortense, souls like Victorin's, hearts like ours, learn too late to know the world and its practices. This that I tell you is a secret ; I confide it to you, for you are concerned in it ; but you must not reveal it, by word or gesture, to Lis- beth, or your mother, or anybody, for — " "Here's Lisbeth ! " exclaimed Hortense. "Well, cousin, how are things going in the infernal regions?" " Badl}' for you, m}' dears. Your husband, my poor Hortense, is more infatuated than ever with that woman, who, 1 will admit, loves him madk. Your father, dear 29 450 Cousin Bette, Celestine, is royall}' blind. All tbis^ however, is noth- ing ; I 've been telling you this for months. I am trul}^ thankful I have never been tied to a man ; they are all animals. But the climax has come; five days hence, m}^ poor dear, you and Victorin will have lost 3'our father's property." "Are the l)anns published?" said Celestine. " Yes," answered Bette. " I have just been pleading j^our cause. I told that monster, who is onl}' taking the leavings of others, that if he would help jow out of your present embarrassments b}' paying off the mortgage on your house, 3'ou would receive 3'our step-mother." Hortense made a gesture of horror. "Victorin will consider that," said Celestine, coldl}'. "What do 3'ou suppose the ma^'or replied?" re- sumed Lisbeth. " 'I wish them to be embarrassed,' he said. ' You can't break a horse unless you keep him hungiy and sleepless and without sugar.' Baron Hulot, bad as he is, is worth two of Monsieur Crevel. So, my dears, you ma^' go into mourning for your in- heritance. What a fortune to lose ! Your father, Celes- tine, paid three millions for the estate of Presles, and lie still has an income of thirt}' thousand francs. Ah ! he has no secrets from me. He talks of bu3dng the hotel Navarreins in the rue du Bac. Madame MarnefFe herself has an income of fort3' thousand francs. Ah I here comes our guardian angel, your mother ! " she criedy hearing the wheels of a carriage. The baroness presently joined the little group in the garden. At fift3--five 3^ears of age, worn b3' man3' griefs, trembling incessantly as if with ague, Adeline, though pale and wrinkled, still retained her fine figure, witli «** Cousin Bette. 451 its magnificent lines, and her natural dignity. Per- sons on seeing her said, '* She must have been very handsome ! " Wasting with grief at not knowing her husband's fate and being unable to let him share the comfort which the family were about to enjoy, she was, to an observer, a tender type of the majest}- of ruins. As gleam after gleam of hope departed, and each in- quiry proved fruitless, Adeline sank into a dark depres- sion which terrified her children. Every morning she started on her rounds with renewed hope. Once an old commissarj'-general, a man Hulot had obliged, declared that he had seen the baron in a box at the Ambigu- Comique with a woman of remarkable beaut}'. Adeline went at once to question him. The functionary, while declaring that he certainly did see his old friend, and that his manner to the woman seemed to denote an illicit marriage, also stated to Madame Hulot that the baron left the theatre before the close of the play, evidently for the purpose of avoiding him. " His man- ner was that of a family man, and his dress betrayed a want of means," added the old officer. "Well?" exclaimed the three women when Adeline returned. " Monsieur Hulot is in Paris," said Adeline, " there 's a gleam of happiness for me in feeling he is so near." "He doesn't appear to have reformed," remarked Lisbeth, when Adeline had ended her account. "He has evidentl}' taken up with some little workwoman. But where does he get the money? I'll bet some of his former mistresses support him, Jenny Cadine or Josepha, perhaps." The nervous tremblino; of Madame Hulot's head in- 452 Cousin Bette. creased ; she wiped the tears from her ej'es as she raised them sadl}^ to heaven. " I can not beheve an officer of the Legion of honor would ftill so low as that," she said. '^For his own pleasure there is nothing he would not do," said Lisbeth. " He has robbed the State ; he would rob a friend, murder him, perhaps." "Oh, Lisbeth!" cried the baroness, " keep such thoughts to yourself." Just then Louise came toward the group of women, which the two little Hulots and little \Yenceslas had joined to see if the pockets of their grandmother con- tained any sugarplums. " What is it, Louise? " said Hortense. " A man who wants Mademoiselle Fischer." " What sort of man ? " asked Lisbeth. " Mademoiselle, he is in rags, and covered with horse-hair like a mattress-maker ; his nose is red, and he smells of brand}-, — he is one of those workmen who only work half the week." This unattractive description had the effect of send- ing Lisbeth instantly to the courtj-ard, where she found the man smoking a pipe whose coloring denoted an adept in the arts of tobacco. " What are you doing here, pere Chardin? " she said to him. ''It was agreed that 3'ou should be at the hotel Marneffe, rue Barbet-de-Jouy on the first Satur- day of ever}^ month. I have just come from there, after waiting five hours for 3'ou." " I did start to go there, my good and charitable lady," answered the maker of mattresses. "But you see there was a little game on hand at the cafe des Cousin Bette. 453 Savants, rue du Co3ur-Yolant. Every one has his pas- sion ; mine is for billiards. Without billiards I should do well enough, for — mark this ! " he said, fumbling in the pocket of his tattered trousers, ' ' cafes lead to wine, and billiard-balls to brand}', — ruinous, like all fine things, through their accessories. I knew m}' orders ; but the old man is in a tight place, so I came upon the forbidden ground. If the hair of our mattresses were all hair one could sleep on it ; but, you see, it 's mixed. God is not for everybody', as the}" say ; he has his pref- erences — and he has a right to them. Here 's the letter of your estimable cousin and the ver}' good friend of a mattress-maker. That is in the line of his political professions ; " and pere Chardin endeavored to trace a zigzag in the atmosphere with the forefinger of his right hand. Lisbeth, without listening to him, read the following two lines : — Dear Cousin, — Be my banker. Give me three hmidred francs to-day. Hector. " Why does he want so much -money?" "He?-" said pere Chardin. still trying to draw aerial arabesques ; " well, 3'ou see my son is back from Africa, through Spain, Bayonne, and — no, he did n't steal any- thing, he never does steal, he 's a sly dog, my son, — he '11 return all he borrows ; he 's got ideas that will carry him along — " "To the police courts," said Lisbeth. "He is my uncle's murderer. I sha'n't forget him." " He ! wh}-, he could n't kill a chicken, nn' good lady." " Here, take the three hundred francs," said Lisbeth, 454 . Cousin Bette, drawing fifteen gold pieces from her purse. " Go awa}', and never come to this house again." She accompanied the father of the late Algerian store- keeper to the outer door and made the porter take a look at the old drunkard. " Every time that man comes here, if he should come, 3'ou are not to let him in and 3'ou are to sa}- I am out. If he asks whether Monsieur Hulot, junior, or Madame la Baronne Hulot live here, saj' that you don't know such persons." " Very well, mademoiselle." " You will lose your place if an}' mistake occurs, even if it is accidental," said the old maid in the porter's ear. " Cousin," she said to Victorin who entered the house at that moment, " 3'ou are threatened with a great misfortune." ''What is it?" " Your wife is to have Madame Marneflfe for a step- mother in a YQvy few days." " We shall see about that." For the last six months Lisbeth had paid a little stipend to her old friend the baron, the secret of whose abode was known to her ; and she gloated over Ade- line's tears, telling her, if by chance she found her ga}' and hopeful, " We may expect some day to see my poor cousin's name in the police reports." But in this, as in her preceding efforts for revenge, she went too far. She roused Victorin's caution. He determined to put an end to this sword of Damocles perpetualh^ held by Lis- beth over the family head, and to the influence of the female devil to whom his mother and the whole famil}'' owed their sorrows. The Prince de Wissembourg, who Cousin Bette. 455 knew of Madame Marneffe's conduct, lent his aid to the purpose. He promised Victorin^ as the President of the Council of State can promise, that the police should secreth' assist in opening Crevel's eyes, and in saving a noble propert}^ from the clutches of the diabol- ical prostitute to whom, as he declared, he would never forgive the death of the old marshal, nor the total ruin and disgrace of the baron. 456 Cousin Bette. CHAPTEE XXXIII. DEVILS AND ANGELS HARNESSED TO THE SAME CAR. Bette's words, "He gets money from his former mis- tresses," kept the baroness awake all night. Like per- sons incurably ill who call in quacks, like others in the last depths of Dantesque despair, like drowning men who clutch at floating sticks, she ended by believing in a depravity the mere idea of which had scandalized her, and the thought came into her mind to appeal to one of those odious women. The next morning, with- out consulting her children, without a word to any one, she went to the house of Mademoiselle Josepha Mirah, now prima donna of the ro^'al academy of music, in pursuit of a hope which danced before her mind like a will-o'-the-wisp. About midday the maid of the great singer brought her the card of the Baronne Hulot, saying that the lady was waiting at the door to know if Mademoiselle would receive her. *' Is the salon in order? " " Yes, mademoiselle." " Are the flowers fresh? " " Yes, mademoiselle." " Tell Jean to give an eye all round and see that nothing's amiss before he ushers the lady in, and to show her the utmost respect. Then come and dress Cousin Bette. 457 me, for I mean to be criishingiy beautiful." She went to the psyche and looked at herself. " Now to array m3'self ! " she said. " Vice must be under arms before A'irtue. Poor woman, what can she want of me? I don't quite like to meet 'of sorrow the august victim ;' " and she sang that celebrated air, ending it as her maid re-entered the room. "Madame," said the woman, "the lady trembles violentl}'." " Offer her something, — orange-flower, rum, soup." '* I did, madame, but she refused them all ; she says it'is only a little infirmit}', a nervous affection." "Where is she?" " In the large salon." "Make haste, child. Give me my prettiest slippers, and that morning-gown Bijou embroidered ; the one with the ripples of lace. Dress my hair in a wav to as- tonish a woman just the opposite of me. And send word to the lad}' (for she 's a great lad}', my girl, and something better, something you "11 never be, a woman whose prayers will get souls out of purgatory) send her word that I was in bed, that I sang last night, but that I am getting up." The baroness, ushered into the grand salon of Jose- pha's apartment, did not observe how long she was kept waiting, though it was really more than half an hour. This salon, the furniture and decorations of which had already been changed since Josepha's installation, was now draped in silks, of a color then called massaca^ shot with gold. The luxury- which great lords of the olden time displayed in the houses of their mistresses, of which so many relics remain to the present day, tes- 458 Cousin Bette. tifying to the " follies " which justified their name, was here shown to perfection by the aid of modern methods in the four communicating rooms, held at a delightful temperature by a heating apparatus with invisible open- ings. The baroness, bewildered, examined the works of art with amazement. She saw how fortunes were melted in the pot when pleasure and vanity lit the fires beneath it. The woman who for twenty-six years had lived amid the barren relics of imperial luxmy, whose eyes were accustomed to threadbare carpets, tarnished gilding, faded stuffs, — as faded and worn as her own heart, — now realized the power of the seductions of vice as her eyes rested on its results. It was impossible not to envy these beautiful things, these splendid creations which the great unknown artists who make Paris what it is, — the centre of European production, — had all contributed. Here, the perfection of the unique thing was the surprising charm. The models having been destroyed, the groups, the figurines, the carvings were original and could never be reproduced. This is the highest reach of luxury in the present day. To possess things that are not vulgarized by two thousand opulent shopkeepers, who think they show their elegance when the}^ display the costly articles which they buy for gold, is the sign of true luxury, the luxury of the modern great lords, the ephemeral stars of the Parisian firma- ment. As the baroness examined the flower-baskets, decorated in the style called Boule, and filled with rare exotics, she became, as it were, afraid of all the wealth the room contained. Such profusion must, she thought, react upon the person who lived in the midst of it. Adeline felt that Josepha Mirah, whose portrait painted Cousin Bette. 459 b}' Joseph Bridau shone from the adjoining boudoir, was a woman of genius, a Malibran, and she expected to see a t3'pe of the true '^ Honne." She regretted hav- ing come. And 3'et she was urged onward b}^ feelings so powerful and so natural, bj- a sentiment, a self-devo- tion so disinterested, that she gathered up her courage to endure the interview. Besides, she was about to sat- isfy the curiosit}' which beset her to know the charm b}'' which this class of women extract such masses of metal from the miserlj* strata of the Parisian gold-fields. The baroness looked at herself in a mirror, to see if she were out of place in the midst of all this luxury ; but her velvet robe with its point-lace collar had an air of dignity, and a velvet bonnet of the same color as the dress became her. Feeling that she was still regally imposing, a queen in adversit}', the thought crossed her mind that the majest}' of sorrow was even greater than the majest}' of talent. Three or four doors seemed to open and shut and then she beheld Josepha. The great singer was like the Judith of Allori, a picture that clings to the memory of ever}^ one who has ever noticed it close to the door of the grand sala in the Pitti Palace ; she had the same proud attitude, the same grand face, the same black hair twisted round her head without adornment, and a 3'ellow robe with embroidered flowers, of a brocade pre- cisel}' like that in which the nephew of Bronzino draped his great conception of the immortal murderess. " Madame la baronne, I am confounded b}' the honor 3'ou have done me in coming here," said the prima donna, determined to pla}' her part with dignit}'. She drew forward an armchair for the baroness and 460 Cousin Bette. took a folding-stool for herself. Her e^'e detected the vanished beauty of the woman before her, and she was seized with pity as she noticed the nervous trembling which Adeline's present emotion rendered almost con- vulsive. She read at a glance the saintly life that Hulot and Crevel had sometimes pictured ; and not only did she instantl}' lose all idea of opposition to this woman, but she humiliated herself in spirit before a grandeur she was able to comprehend. The noble nature of the artist admired what the courtesan might ridicule. " Mademoiselle, I am brought here bj' a sorrow which leads me to have recourse to every means — " Josepha's gesture made the baroness aware that she had tactlessl}' wounded one from whom she hoped so much, and she looked at the singer. That supplicating glance extinguished the flame in Josepha's e3'es, which began to smile. The little scene had the painful elo- quence of a silent duel between the two women. "It is now two years and a half since Monsieur Hulot left his famil}', and we do not know where he is, though I think he is in Paris," began the baroness, in a trembling voice. " A dream has given me an idea, ab- surd perhaps, that you ma}' have interested yourself in his behalf. If 3'ou could put me in the wa}' to find Mon- sieur Hulot — ah, Mademoiselle ! I would pray God for 3'ou to the end of nw da3-s." Two large tears rolled from the singer's eyes. " Madame," she said, in a tone of deep humilit}', "I did you harm when I did not know 3'ou ; but now that I have the happiness of seeing in 3'ou the noblest image of virtue on this earth, believe me, I understand the nature of the wrong I did, and I repent sincereh'. Cousin Bette. 461 Therefore, rely on me to do all in my power to repair u. She took Madame Hulot's hand and kissed it respect- fully before the latter could prevent her, and even went so far as to humblj' bend her knee. Then she rose with the same proud air with which she stepped upon the stage as Mathilde, and rang the bell. " Take a horse," she said to the footmau;, •• and ride, full speed, to that little Bijou in the rue Saint-Maur du Temple and send her here ; put her in a cab and pa}' the coachman double fare to press his horses. Don't lose a minute, or I dismiss 3'ou. Madame," she con- tinued, returning to the baroness and speaking in tones of deep respect, "you must forgive me. As soon as the Due d'Herouville became my protector I sent the baron back to you, because I learned that he was ruining his famil}' for my sake. Could I do more than that? In a theatrical career a protector is absolutely necessar}' to us when we first make our debut. Our salary does not cover one half our expenses and we are forced to take temporar}' husbands. I did not care for Monsieur Hulot, who took me from a stupid and conceited rich man, old Crevel, who would certainly- have married me — " '' He told me so," said the baroness, interrupting the singer. ■■•AVell, 3'ou see, madame, I might have been an honest woman to-day, with a legal husband — " "You have many excuses, mademoiselle," said the baroness; "God will consider them. As for me, far from reproaching 3'ou, I have come here to contract a debt of o'ratitude toward vou." 462 Cousin Bette. *' Madame, I did provide about three 3^ears ago for Monsieur Hulot." " You!" cried the baroness, with tears in her eyes, ' ' Ah ! what would I not do for you ? I can only pray — " "I and the Due d'Herouville, — a man of noble heart, a true gentleman," said Josepha. She related the establishment in business and the semi-marriage of Monsieur Thoul. " And so, mademoiselle, thanks to you, my husband has not been starved and wretched?" " We endeavored to prevent it, madame." " Where is he now? " " Monsieur le due told me about six months ago that the baron, known to the duke's notary under the name of Thoul, had used up the eight thousand francs which were paid to him in quarterly instalments," answered Jose- pha, " Since then neither I nor Monsieur d'Herouville have heard anything about him. Life among my set of people is so bus}', so distracting, that I have had no time to look after pere Thoul. It so happens that for the last six months Bijou, my embroiderer and his — what shall I say?" " His mistress," said Madame Hulot. "His mistress," continued Josepha, "has not been here. Mademoiselle Ol3'mpe ma}^ have been divorced ; I should n't wonder, — divorce is not infrequent in our circles." Josepha rose, looked among the rare plants in the windows, and gathered a lovely bouquet for the baron- ess, whose expectations in regard to the singer were much at fault. Like tlie respectable middle-classes who Cousin Bette. 463 believe that men of genius are monsters, walking about and eating, drinking, and speaking unlike other men, so the baroness expected to find Josepha the fascinator.^ Josepha the prima donna, the brilliant courtesan. In- stead of that she found a calm and quiet woman, pos- sessing the dignity of her talent, the simplicity of an actress who knows that she reigns at night, and better still, one who paid by her looks, her attitude and her man- ners full and complete homage to the virtuous woman, to the Mater Dolorosa of the sacred hymn. " Madame," said the footman, returning at the end of half an hour, "Bijou's mother is coming at once; but it is doubtful about Olympe. She is married — " " B}" the left hand ? '" asked Josepha. "No, raadame, reall}" married. She is at the head of a splendid establishment ; she is married to the pro- prietor of a great shop on the boulevard des Italiens, and has left her own place to her mother and sisters. Her name is Madame Grenouville. The old shop- keeper — " "ACrevel?" " Yes, madame," said the footman; "the marriage contract states that he is worth thirt}^ thousand francs a year." "This is against \o\\v interests, madame," said the singer. I foresee that the baron is no longer where I settled him." Ten minutes later Madame Bijou was shown in. Jose- pha, as a matter of precaution, made Madame Hulot go into her boudoir, across the door of which she drew the l)ortiere. ' ' The sight of you would fi-ighten her/' said the 464 Oonsm Bette. singer ; " she would not let out anything if she thought 3'ou were interested in it. I will confess her. Hide in there ; 30U will hear all. This sort of thing is quite com- mon among theatrical people, — Well, mere Bijou," said Josepha to an old woman wrapped in a stuff called "tartan," who resembled a charwoman out for a Sun- day in her best clothes, "I suppose you are very happ3^ ; 3'our daughter is in luck ? " ' ' Ho ! happ3^ ! — my daughter gives me a hundred francs a month ; she drives in her carriage and feeds off silver ; and I do say she ought to have put me above want. To have to toil at m3^ age ! — is that happy?" " She is very wrong to be ungrateful, for she owes her beauty to 3'ou," returned Josepha. " But wh3'didn't she come to see me ? It was I who put her above want by marrying her to m3^ uncle." "Yes, madame, pere Thoul. But he is so very old and broken — " " What have 3'ou done with him? Is he still living with 3^ou ? She did ver3' wrong to leave him, — he is now worth millions." " Good heavens ! " exclaimed the old woman, " that 's what we alwa3's told her when she behaved so badty to him. He was kindness itself, poor old fellow ! Ah ! did n't she make him step round ! Olympe was cor- rupted, madame." "By whom?" "Well, she picked up — saving 3'our presence — a claqueur^ the nephew of an old mattress-maker in the faubourg Saint-Marceau, — a do-nothing, like all good- looking fellows ; the pet of the boulevard du Temple, Cousin Bette. 465 where he claps the new pieces and looks after the en- trees of the actresses, as he says. In the morning he drinks brand}' ; he loves liquors and billiards by inher- itance. I told 013'mpe such a trade as that was n't to be relied on." " Unfortunateh'. it is a trade," said Josepha. "Well, she lost her head about the fellow, who, to tell the truth, madame, did n't keep good compan3^ Pie came near being arrested in a drinking shop among thieves ; but Monsieur Braulard, the head of the claque, got him off. The rascal wears gold ear-rings, and lives by doing nothing, hanging on to women who are fools about handsome men. He squandered the money pere Thoul gave Olympe. The business went wTong ; all she earned went for billiards. Besides this, the scamp had a prett}' sister, who followed the same trade as the brother, — a jade in the Latin quarter — " " A lorette of the Chaamiere," said Josepha. " Yes, just so, madame," said Madame Bijou. " So, Idarnore — he calls himself Idamore, though his name is Chardin — thought 3'our uncle had more money than he said he had, and he managed, without my daughter knowing it, to send his sister Elodie to our place as workwoman. Heavens ! she soon turned things tops}'- turv}^ She corrupted the poor girls, who are now — saving j'our presence — brutalized, and she carried off old pere Thoul for herself and put him — we don't know where ; which was very inconvenient for us on account of the bills. As soon as Idamore secured the old man for his sister he deserted Olympe for a little actress at the Funambules ; and that brought about my daughter's marriage, as you '11 see — " 30 466 Cousin Bette. "Do yoM know where the mattress-maker lives?" asked Joseph a. ' ' Old Chardin ? lives ? He does n't live anywhere ! He is drunk at six in the morning ; he makes one mat- tress a month, and spends the rest of his time in low wine-shops, pla3'ing billiards. His son Idamore is one of those fellows who is bound to go to a police court, and from there to a prison, and then — " *' To the gallej's," added Josepha. "Ah! I see madame knows all," said mere Bijou, smiling. "If n\y daughter had onl}' understood that man, she — she would — But, as 3'ou sa}', she's been luck}', an3iiow ; Monsieur Grenouville fell enough in love to marry her — " " How did the marriage come about?" " Through Olympe's despair. When she found she was deserted for the actress (whom she pounded to a mummy — goodness ! did n't she belabor her !) and that she'd lost pere Thoul, who adored her, she talked of renouncing men. About that time Monsieur Grenou- ville, who bu3's a deal of us, — sometimes two hundred embroidered China crape scarfs ever}' three months, — wanted to console her ; but no, — she would n't listen to anything witliout the church and the ma^'or. ' I mean to be virtuous,' she kept saying, 'or I'll die.' And she kept her word. At last Monsieur Grenouville agreed to marr}' her if she would break with us, and we consented." " For a consideration?" said the shrewd Josepha. "Yes, madame; ten thousand francs, and an annu- ity for -my father, who is too old to work." " I begged j^our daughter to make pere Thoul happy, Coiisin Bette. 467 and she has flung him into the mud. She had no right to do it. I '11 never interest myself in anybody again . That 's the result of doing a benevolent deed. Benev- olence is only good for something when it is a specu- lation. Olympe might at least have told me of all this juggler}'. If 3'ou find out for me where pere Thoul is, within a fortnight, I '11 give you a thousand francs." "That'll be difficult, my dear lady; but there's a good many five-franc pieces in a thousand francs, and I '11 do my best to earn them." " Adieu, Madame Bijou." When Josepha entered the boudoir she found Ma- dame Hulot in a dead faint; and yet, though the poor woman's senses were gone, the nervous trembling still continued, — like the halves of an adder cut in two, which still writhe and quiver. Strong salts, cold water, and all the ordinary restoratives soon recalled the bar- oness to life, or, it were truer to sa}', to a sense of her misery. " Ah, mademoiselle, to what depths he has fallen ! " she said, recognizing the actress, and seeing that she was alone with her. " Take courage, madame," replied Josepha, who was sitting on a cushion at Madame Hulot's feet, and now kissed her hands ; " we shall find him ; and if he is in the mire, — well, he can be cleansed. Believe me, when a man has been well brouglit up his restoration is only a matter of clothes. Let me repair the wrongs I have done you ; I see by your coming here how deeply 3'ou must be attached to your husband, in spite of m}^ conduct. Ah! poor man, he loves women. If you could onl^' have had a little of our chique you might have kept 468 Cousin Bette. him from running after them ; you would have been what we know how to be, — (dl women in one to a man. Tiie government ought to create a school for virtuous wives ; but governments are so strait-laced, — and 3^et they are managed by the very men we manage ! For my part, I pity the country-. But the question is to help 3'ou in 3'our trouble, not to make fun of things. Well, do not be anxious, madame ; go home and rest. I will return the baron to 3'ou as lively as though he were thirty years old." " Mademoiselle, let us go and see that Madame Grenouville, she may know something ; perhaps I could find Monsieur Hulot this ver}' day and rescue him at once from poverty — and shame." "Madame, how can I express the gratitude I feel for the honor 3'ou do me. I respect you far too much to allow 3"ou to be seen in public with me. This is not a pretence of humiUty, it is a homage which I render to you. Ah, madame, 3'ou make me regret that I can- not follow your waj^ of life, in spite' of the thorns which lacerate your feet and hands ! but it cannot be helped — I belong to art as 3'ou belong to virtue." ' ' Poor girl ! " said the baroness, moved, in the midst of her own miser3^, to a strange feeling of commiserating sympath3\ " I will pra3' God to help you, for 3'ou are the victim of societ3'. When old age comes, turn to repentance ; 3^ou will be forgiven if God deigns to hear the pra3^er of — " " — a mart3a*, madame," said Josepha, kissing Ma- dame Hulot's dress respectful^. But Adehne took the singer's hand, drew her towards her and kissed her on the forehead. Blush- Cousin Bette. 469 ing with pleasure, Josepha led Madame Hulot to her carriage with an almost servile demeanor. "That's some charitable lady," said the footman to the lady's maid, " for she is never like that to an^-body, not even to her dear friend Madame Jenn}^ Cadine." "Wait patiently a few days, madame," said Josepha as she parted from Madame Hulot, ' ' and 3'ou shall see him, or I will denj' the (^od of my fathers — and that is a good deal for a Jewess to say." At the hour when the baroness made her visit to Josepha, an old woman about seventj'-five years of age was ushered into Victorin's study, having used the ter- rible name of the chief of police to obtain access to the distinguished lawj'er and deputy. The footman an- nounced, "Madame de Saint-Esteve." "I have taken one of ni}' aliases," she said, seating herself. Victorin shuddered inwardl}', so to speak, on seeing the hideous old woman. Though richh' dressed, she appalled him by the signs of cold wickedness that la}- on her flat, wrinkled, pallid, and muscular face. Marat, if a woman and of her age, would have been Hke the Saint-Esteve, a living image of the Terror. The san- guinary appetites of a tiger gleamed in her small yel- low eyes. The flattened nose, with the nostrils widened into oval cavities, belching the smoke of hell, suggested the beak of a bird of prey. The genius of intrigue sat enthroned on the low, cruel brow. Straggling hairs pushing up in the hollows of the face proclaimed the masculine instincts of her nature. Those who took note of this woman might well have doubted whether painters bad ever truly represented the face of Mephistopheles, 470 Cousin Bette. " My dear monsieur," she said in a patronizing tone, " I have long ceased to meddle with private affairs, and what I now do for you is really out of consideration for my dear nephew, whom I love better than if he were m}' own son. Now the prefect of police, in whose ear the president of the Council has wiiispered a word or two about 3^our wishes, told Monsieur Chapuzot that the police had better not appear in an affair of this kind. So they have given carte blanche to my nephew, the head of the detective force ; but my nephew only acts for the Council, and must not compromise himself." " Then 3'ou are the aunt of Vautrin?" " You are right, and I am rather proud of it," she re- plied, " for he is m}' own pupil, a pupil who soon made himself a master. He and I have studied your affair, and we think well of it. Will you give thirty thousand francs to put an end to the whole affair? You needn't pay till the thing is done." " You know the persons? " " No, my dear monsieur, I await j^our instructions. All we know is what they've told us, — that an old boob3^ has got into the hands of a widow ; that the widow, twent^'-nine years old, has thieved so well that she has secured an income of fort}' thousand francs out of two fathers of families ; that she 's now on the point of swallowing up eighty thousand a year more by mar- rying a man sixty-one years of age and ruining a worthy family ; and will soon no doubt get rid of the old hus- band and give his immense property to the child of some lover. That 's the tale as I heard it." " Quite correct," said Victorin. " My father-in-law, Monsieur Crevel — " Cousin Bette. 471 " Ex-perfiiinei* and ma3or ; 3'es, I live in his arion- dissement, under tiie name of Madame Nourrisson." "The other person is Madame Marneffe." " Don't know her," said Madame de Saint-Esteve, " but in three days I shall be able to count her chemises." " Can 3'ou prevent the marriage? " " How far has it gone? " " The banns have been twice published." " We ought to kidnap the woman. It is now Sun- day ; that leaves only three days. Of course they'll be married Wednesday, — no, it 's impossible to carrj- her off in that time. But we can kill her — " Victorin Hulot started, as a man of honor would at hearing such words said in cold blood. " Kill her ! " he exclaimed, " what do you mean ?" "For fortj" 3'ears, monsieur, we have stood in the shoes of destin3%" she said with dreadful pride ; "we do what we choose in Paris. Man3' a famil3' — and in the faubourg Saint-Germain, too — has told me its secrets. I have made man3' marriages ; I have torn up man3^ wills ; I have saved man3' reputations. I hold, penned up there," she continued, tapping her forehead, " a flock of secrets that stand me in thirtN" thousand francs a 3'ear ; you may be one of m3' lambs, if 3'ou like. A woman of m3' kind would n't be what I am if she talked about her means of action, — she acts ; I act. All that happens, my dear sir, will be accidental, — 3'ou will not feel the slightest remorse. You will be like persons cured by somnambulists, who think at the end of a month that nature did it all." Victorin was in a cold sweat. The sight of the hang- man v;ould have moved him less than this pretentious 472 Oou8i7i Bette. and sententious daughter of the galleys ; the sight of her dress^ color of the dregs of wine, made him fancy she was swathed in blood. " Madame, I shall not accept the help of your expe- rience and of 3'our active services if success is to cost a life, or if it involves any criminal deed w^hatsoever." "You are nothing but a big child, monsieur," re- sponded Madame de Saint-Esteve. " You wish to stay honorable in your own eyes, and 3'et 3'ou want to get the better of 3'our enemy." Victorin made a gesture of denial. '"Yes," she replied, "you want Madame Marneffe to drop the prej^ she has got in her jaws. How can you force a tiger to let go his bit of flesh? b}^ pass- ing 3^our hand down his back and saj'ing, ' pussy, pussy ' ? You are not logical. You order a fight, but you don't want any wounds. Well, I'll make yon a present of the innocence 3'ou are so fond of. For my part, I 've alwa^^s seen the threads of hypocris}' in the garments of decencj'. Some day, about three months hence, a poor priest will come and ask you for forty thousand francs for a pious work, say a convent in the Levant or in a desert. If 3'ou are then satisfied with what has happened give him the mone}', — it won't be much, considering all it will bring you in." She rose to her large feet, incased in satin shoes, with the flesh puffing over their edges, smiled as she bowed to the law3'er and retired. " The devil has a sister," said Victorin, rising. He followed the horrible creature, who seemed evoked from the lairs of detective inquisition as a fiend is called up by the wand of a fairy in a pantomine through the Cousin Bette. 473 trap-door at the opera house. When his business at the Palais was over for the da}', Victorin went to Monsieur Chapuzot, the head of a department at the prefecture of police, to obtain some information about this mys- terious woman. Finding the chief alone in his oflice, Hulot thanked him for his services. "You sent me," he said, "an old woman who may be said to personify Paris in its criminal aspect." Monsieur Chapuzot took off his spectacles, laid them on his papers, and looked at the lawyer with an aston- ished air. "I should not have presumed to send any one, no matter whom, without giving 3-ou due notice, or without a written line of introduction," he said. " Then it must have been Monsieur le prefet." " I don't think so," said Chapuzot. " The last time the Prince de Wissembourg dined with the minister of the Interior he saw the prefect, and spoke to him of 3'our unfortunate position, and asked him to be so kind as to come to your assistance. Monsieur le prefet, much in- terested b}' what his Excellencj' told him, was so good as to consult me in the matter. Ever since the prefect took the reins of this administration (which is so calum- niated and yet so useful) he has set his face against in- terfering in family affairs. He is right in principle and in morality ; practically he is all wrong. The police, during the fort^'-five 3'ears that I have been in it, ren- dered immense services to private families from 1799 to 1815. Since 1820 the press and the constitutional gov- ernment have totalh' changed the conditions of its ex- istence. Consequent!}' m^' advice, when the prefect asked it, was not to meddle in such a matter as yours, 474 Cousin Bette. and Monsieur le prefet was good enough to yield to my opinion. The chief of the detective police received in ni}' presence an order not to take any steps in the mat- ter ; if he has taken any, I shall reprimand him. It would be almost a case for dismissal. People say ' The police will do this, that, or the other ' — ' the police ! the police ! ' But, my dear sir, the Marechal and the Coun- cil of ministers are ignorant of what the police really is. None but the police can understand the police. The old kings, Napoleon, and Louis XVIII. did understand theirs; but as for ours, no one but Fouche, or Mon- sieur Lenoir, Monsieur de Sartines, and a few prefects, men of intelligence, had any inkling of what it is. Now- adays all is changed ; we are hampered and cut down. I have seen man}' family misfortunes which we could have prevented with five grains of interference. We shall be regretted by the ver}^ men who have destroj'ed us when the^^ find themselves, as you are now, face to face with moral monstrosities which must be cleared away just as we clear away the mud in the streets. In politics the police is supposed to prevent crime so long as it concerns the public weal ; but the welfare of fami- lies is another matter, the family is sacred! I may do all I can to discover and prevent an attempt upon the life of the king ; I can even make the walls of houses transparent ; but put my claws into private families and meddle with private interests — no, not so long as I hold my oflfice, for I am afraid — " "Afraid of what?" ' ' Of the press ! Monsieur the deputy of the Left centre." " What am I to do? " resumed Victorin after a pause. Cousin Bette. 475 " He)', you call yourselves the representatives of the Family," said the chief, " act accordingly ; do as you think you ought to do ; but don't ask us to help you, don't make the police the tool of passions and personal interests." " But in my position — " began Hulot. "You surel}' don't want me to advise you, my dear lawyer, you who live by giving legal advice. No, no, 3'ou are onl}' joking — " Victorin bowed and left the functionary, not observing the slight shrug of that official's shoulders as he rose to show him out. "And that man expects to be a states- man ! " said the chief to himself, as he resumed his spectacles. Victorin returned home, his perplexities on his back and not able to confide them to any one. At dinner the baroness announced joyfully that in a month's time their father would return to share their comfort and end his days peacefully in the bosom of his family. *' I'd give my whole income to see him back," cried Lisbeth; "but, my dear Adeline. I do beg you not to count on such happiness." " Bette is right," said Celestine ; "let us wait till it happens, dear mother," The baroness, all heart and hope, related her visit to Josepha, told how such women were unhappy in their happiness, and spoke of Chardin, the father of the store- keeper at Oran, to prove that she was not indulging a false hope. The next morning by seven o'clock Lisbeth was driving in a hackne3'-coach along the quai de la Tournelle. At the corner of the rue de Poissy she stopped the carriage. 476 Cousin Bette. '* Go to the rue des Bernardins," she said to the driver, " number seven ; it is a house with an alley-wa}'', and there 's no porter's lodge. Go up to the fourth stor}^ and ring the bell of the left-hand door, on which 3'ou will see the words, ' Mademoiselle Chardin, mender of laces and cashmeres.' Ask for 'the chevalier.' They will reply, ' He is out.' You will then sa}', ' I know that, but you must find him, for his maid is in a coach on the quay and wants to see him.' " Twenty minutes later an old man who seemed about eighty years of age, with snow-white hair, a nose reddened by the cold in a pallid face which was wrinkled like that of an old woman, dragging his feet, covered with old list slippers, as he walked with a bent back, and dressed in a shirt of suspicious color and a threadbare alpaca overcoat, without decoration, the sleeves of a knitted jacket appearing at the wrists, came timidly along the pavement, looked at the coach, recog- nized Lisbeth, and stopped before her. " My dear cousin," she said to him, " what a state you are in ! " " Elodie takes everything for herself," said Baron Hulot. " Those Chardins are grasping brutes." " Do you want to return home?" " Oh no, no ! " said the old man ; " I want to go to America." " Adeline is on your track." "Ah! if they would only pay my debts," said the baron, suspicious!}'. " Samanon is after me." " We have not yet paid off the old notes ; your son still owes a hundred thousand francs on them — " "Poor boy!" Cousm Bette. 477 ' ' And 3'oar pension won't be free for seven or eight months. If you can wait till then 1 have two thousand francs — " The baron held out his hands with an eager gesture, frightful to see. " Give it me, Lisbeth ! God will reward you ! Give it me ! I know where to go." " But you must tell me where, j'ou old monster." ' ' Yes, I can wait eight months, for I have discovered a little angel, a good child, innocent, not old enough to be depraved." " You will get into the police-courts," said Lisbeth, expressing her inmost wish. "She lives in the rue de Charonne," said Hulot, "a quarter where nothing makes a scandal. Nobod}' will ever find me there. I am disguised. Lisbeth, as pere Thorec ; I 'm an old worker in ebony. The little girl loves me ; and I sha'n't have the fleece plucked off my back any more." "No, it's done alreadjM " said Lisbeth, with a glance at the alpaca overcoat. " Shall I drive you there, cousin?" The baron got into the coach, abandoning Made- moiselle Elodie without a word of farewell, as we throw aside a finished novel. In half an hour, during which time the baron talked of nothing but the little Atala Judici, — for he had reached b}- degrees those awful passions which are the destruction of old men, — Bette deposited liim, supplied with the two thousand francs, at the door of a suspicious and dangerous-looking house in the rue de Charonne, faubourg Saint Antoine. 478 Cousin Bette. " Good-bv. cousin; I'm to call you pere Thorec, am I not? Send no one after me but the street-porters, and take them always from different stands." *' So be it I Oh! I'm so happy!" cried the baron, his face ilhiminated with the joy of coming happiness. *' He won't be found there, in that house," said Lis- beth, to herself, as she stopped her coach on the boule- vard Beaumarchais, where she took an omnibus and returned to the rue Louis-le-Grand. Cy.r.-. E^-1Ut, 4;^' CHAPTER XXXIV. CffETEX p&fd 2. ^jiiiu IS© M9> ^iMngtb tffle aesS 'faj, Jns* CBit^&M:. uhreTsr lLe?»e'>f i2i«<> ier jEb^ieb's anus, aiiifll ftiet' wfejereas!* rt» "w&i tie '.?** — >'^. lie::/: .jarBiiittmwjiaBaw i^' Go0(i-9ioviiuag^ vm cMlfenu"* ami CBsvdl, |K»^. *'liaAwat Ibi Ibeonsunue^ I Sasf as^ Thwimgr flit GtaadlpB* I wsudI b- HattfenHf; fift Usa^iBS mMdk ^keofe t&& leannr r: " - ' ^ H&JodiasdiaiiiDeresiislamf^T: _ ?Mgft&wi^ i ^^ 3f T diSF C^^iesSaBS. I wim ^nr& j^gn aM t&e ^nuK tmni' «f MT^ bjoige m ^le raiig^ des SaoBaoi^^s ; M w^ d» t(«rr w^ &ier^ Tooir asBsB aeeis TsffiodoHiknn^ jya I! 480 Cousin Bette. we pretty good children ? We must be good if we want to be happ3'." " Have you tried it?" asked Bette. " That sarcasm, my dear Lisbeth, has no longer any point for me. I'm about to put an end, m}' dear chil- dren, to the false position which I have held for so long ; and like a good father I have come to announce m}^ marriage to you frankl3^" " You have a perfect right to many," said Victo- rin ; "and for my part, I give you back the promise you made when you gave me the hand of my dear Celestine." " What promise?" demanded Crevel. *' Not to marry," replied the lawyer. " You will do me the justice to remember that I never asked you for it, and that you gave it vohmtaril}-, in spite of m}' tell- ing you at the time that you ought not to bind yourself in that way." "Yes, I do remember, my dear friend," said Cre- vel, abashed. "And now, on my word of honor, my dear children, if you will live happily with Madame Crevel you shall never repent it. Your delicac}^ Vic- torin, touches me deeply ; no one is ever generous to me without return. Come, welcome your mother-in- law cordially ; be present, all of you, at the marriage." " You have not yet told us the name of the bride, father," said Celestine. " Why, that's the key-note of the comedy," replied Crevel. "Don't let's play at hide-and-go-seek. Lis- beth must have told you — " " My dear Monsieur Crevel," interposed Bette, " there are names which must not be uttered in this house." Cousin Bette. 481 "Well, then, I myself tell you it is Madame Mar- neffe." '' Monsieur Crevel," said the law3'er, sternl}', " neither I nor my wife can be present at that marriage, — not from motives of injured self-interest, for I have spoken sincerel}' on that point ; but from other considerations of honor and delicacy, which you will surely under- stand, though I cannot express them, because thej^ would reopen wounds which are still bleeding." The baroness made a sign to the countess, who took her child in her arms, saying, "Come aud take your bath, Wenceslas. Adieu, Monsieur Crevel." The baroness bowed to the mayor in silence, and Cre- vel could not forbear smiHng as he noticed the astonish- ment of the child thus menaced with an unexpected bath. "You are marrjing, monsieur," said Victorin, when he and his wife and Crevel and Lisbeth were alone, "a woman who has ruined m}^ father and coldl}' and deliberately made him what he now is, — a woman wiio is the mistress of the son-in-law, after being that of the father, — who has caused m}' sister deadl}' grief ; and 3'ou expect that we shall sanction your madness b}' our presence. I pit}' you sincereh', m}' dear Monsieur Crevel ; 3'Ou have no sense of the ties of family ; you do not comprehend the union of honor in which the members of a family- hokl together. One cannot argu.e (I know it to m}' cost) with the passions. Men in the grasp of passion are as deaf as the}' are blind. Your daughter Celestine has too deep a sense of her duty to utter one word of blame for you — '* " A pretty state of things if she did," interposed Cre- vel, trying to cut short the lecture. 31 482 Cousin Bette. " Celestine would not be my wife if she reproached 3011," continued the hiwyer. " But as for me, I shall endeavor to stop you before you step into the gulf, — especially after showing you my disinterestedness. It is not 3'our fortune, but yourself, that I am thinking of. And to make m}^ sentiments perfectly clear to 3'ou, I will add, if only to relieve 30ur mind in framing 3'our marriage contract, that m3^ financial position is now such that we have nothing further to desire." '' Thanks to me I " exclaimed Crevel, whose face be- came purple. "Thanks to Celestine's fortune," replied the law3'er. "And if 3'ou regret having given 3'our daughter, as a dowry coming from 3'ou, a sum which is less than half what her mother left her, we are read3' to return it." "Are you aware, monsieur," said Crevel, assuming his attitude, "that in covering Madame Marnefl'e with m3' name the world can only question her conduct in the character of Madame Crevel ? " "That ma3' be a gentlemanl3' sentiment," said the lawyer; "it is generous as to matters of the heart and errors of passion ; but I know of no name, no law, no title, which can cover up a theft of three hundred thousand francs, basel3^ stolen from m3' father. I tell you plainly, my dear father-in-law, that your future wife is unworth3^ of 3'ou ; she is deceiving 3'ou, and she is madly in love with m3^ brother-in-law Steinbock, — she has paid his debts." "I paid them." "Very good," said the lawyer; "I am glad on his account, and he will repay 3'ou ; but I can tell you that he is loved by her, — greatly loved and often loved." Cousin Bette. 483 " Loved !" exclaimed Crevel, wliose face proclaimed the violent commotion taking place within him. "It is base, it is cruel, it is petty and vnlgar to calumniate a woman ! When such things are said, monsieur, they should be proved." " I will give 3'ou proofs." " I shall expect them." "The da}'' after to-morrow, m}' dear Monsieur Cre- vel, I will tell you the da}', hour, and moment when and where I can show 3'ou the hori'ible depravity of 3'our future wife." " Ver}' good," said Crevel, who had recovered his coolness; "I shall be delighted to have 3'ou do so. Adieu, Celestine ; cm revoir. Adieu, Lisbeth." "Follow him, Lisbeth," said Celestine in Bette's ear. " Well, what are 30U off in such a huny for? " cried Lisbeth, overtaking Crevel. "Ah!" said Crevel, "my son-in-law is getting too uppish. The Palais and the Chamber, legal trickery and political tricker}^ have made a swaggering fellow of him. Ha ! ha ! he knows ver}' well that I 'm to be married on Wednesda3', and to-da3', ISunda3', ™y gentleman declares he will tell me three da3's hence at what date he can prove my wife is unworth3' of me. That 's prett}^ clever of him. I am now on m3' way to sign the contract ; come, too, Lisbeth, come ! They '11 never know. I meant to arrange it so as to give Celes- tine forty thousand francs a 3'ear, but Hulot has behaved in- a wa3' to alienate m3' heart forever." " Give me ten minutes ; wait for me in 3'our carriage at the door. I '11 find some pretext to get awa3\" " Ver}' good." 484 Cousin Bette. " My dear friends," said Lisbetli, re-entering the salon, " I am going with Crevel ; tlie contract is to be signed to-night, and I shall be able to tell you its terms. It will probably be my last visit to that woman. Your father is furious," she added ; "he means to disinherit you." " His vanit}' won't allow that," said the lawyer. " He wanted to own the estate of Presles, and he will keep it now he has got it. I know him. Even if he should have children, Celestine must have half the estate, and the law does not allow him to give away the whole of his personal fortune. However, these ques- tions are nothing to me ; I am thinking only of our honor. Go, cousin ! " he said, pressing Lisbeth's hand, " go, and bring back word about the settlements." Twenty minutes later Lisbeth and Crevel reached the mansion in the rue Barbet, where Madame Marneffe was awaiting with moderate impatience the result of the visit which she had ordered Crevel to make. In the long run Valerie had fallen a prey to that excessive love which once, at least, grasps the heart of every woman. Wen- ceslas, the abortive artist, became in Madame Mar- neffe's hands, so perfect a lover that he was to her what she had been to Baron Hulot. She was holding his slippers in one hand, while the other was clasped in his, and her head rested on his shoulder. The conversation between them after Crevel' s departure on his errand was like those literary works of the present day whose titlepages bear the words, "Reproduction forbidden." The poetic charm of their intimac}' brought to the artist's mind and so to his lips a regret which he expressed with some bitterness. " Ahj what a misfortune that I am married ! " he said. Cousin Bette. 485 " If I had waited as Lisbeth advised I could have mar- ried you by this thus." " A man must be a Pole before he can wish to make a wife of an adoring mistress," cried Valerie. " Ex- change love for duty, pleasure for monotony ! " " But 3'ou are so capricious," replied Steinbock. " Did I not overhear 3'ou talking with Lisbeth about Baron Montez, that Brazilian? " " Will you help me to get rid of him? " said Valerie. " It would be the onlj- way to keep 3'ou from seeing him," replied the ex-sculptor. "I will tell you, m}' treasure, — for I tell 3'ou all, don't I ? — that I did once think of letting him be my husband. Oh ! the promises I have made him ! " (" long before I knew 3'ou," she added, replying to a gesture of Steinbock"s). '' Well, those promises which he holds over me like a weapon oblige me to marr3' almost se- cretl3' ; if he were to hear that I mean to marr3' Crevel he is capable of — killing me." '^ Oh, as for that," said Steinbock, with a contemptu- ous gesture signif3'ing that an3' such danger was absurd for a woman who was beloved b3^ a Pole. In the matter of courage the Poles are never undulv boastful, for the race is trulv brave. '•'That fool of a Crevel wants to have a ga3' wedding, and is full of his ideas of cheap splendor ; it puts me in a position I don't know how to get out of." Valerie could not admit to the man she adored that ever since Baron Hulot had been dismissed, Henri Mon- tez had inherited the privilege of coming to her house at all hours of the night and that, in spite of her clever- ness, she had not yet been able to quarrel with the Bra- 486 Cousin Bette. zilian, who in all her attempts invariably took the blame upon himself. She knew too well the man's half- savage nature (which resembled Lisbeth's in some as- pects) not to tremble as she thought of this South American Othello. As Crevel's carnage rolled into the court3ard, Steinbock retreated from Valerie, whose waist he was holding, and picked up a newspaper in which he was quite absorbed when Crevel and Lisbeth entered the room. VaL'rie was embroidering with great care a pair of slippers for her future husband. " How they calumniate her! " whispered Lisbeth to Crevel in the doorway, showing him the little scene. " See her hair ; is it the least rumpled? To hear Victo- rin one would suppose they were a pair of turtle-doves in a nest." " My dear Lisbeth," said Crevel, in position, " to make a Lucretia out of an Aspasia one has only to in- spire her with a great passion." ''Yes, and I always told 3'ou," returned Lisbeth, " that women love such libertines as 3'ou." " She would be very ungrateful if she did not," said Crevel. " See what loads of mone}- I have spent here ; no one knows how much but Grindot and I." So saying he pointed back to the staircase. In the arrangement of the house, which Crevel regarded as his own, Grindot had tried to out-do Cleretti, the architect then in vogue, to whom the Due d'Herouville had in- trusted the decoration of Josepha's apartments. But Crevel, incapable of comprehending an}- question of art, intended, like others of the middle class, to spend a fixed sum agreed upon in advance. Restrained by this estimate, Grindot was unable to realize his architectu- Cousiyi Bette. 487 ral dream. The difference between Josepha's mansion and JNIadame Marneffe's was exacth' that which hes between uniqueness and vulgarity. AH that was most achnired in Josepha's house could be seen nowhere else ; whereas the splendors Crevel had bestowed on Madame Marneffe's might be bought anywhere. These two dis- tinct forms of hixury are separated b^' the river of mil- lions. A unique mirror costs six thousand francs ; the mirror invented by manufacturers who turn out scores of them can be had for five hundred. A chandelier l)y Boule, if known to be authentic, brings at public auction three thousand francs ; the \ev\ same thing, if cast, can be made for a thousand or twelve hundred ; the one is to archteology what a picture by Raphael is to art, the other is a mere copy. The Crevel-Marneffe mansion was there- fore a magnificent specimen of ignorant luxur\', while Josepha's was a fine model of an artistic dwelling. " War is proclaimed," said Crevel, going up to his future wife. Madame INFarneffe rang the bell. " Go and fetch Monsieur Berthier," she said to the footman, " and don't come back without him. If you had succeeded, my dear old man," she said to Crevel, twining her arms about him, "you would have delayed our happiness ; we should have been obliged to have a great wedding ; but when a whole famih' opposes the marriage, decenc}' requires that it shall take place quieth', — especialh' when the bride is a widow." " On the contrary, I am determined to display a lux- my a la Louis XIV.," said Crevel, who for some time past had been thinking the eighteenth centurv rather petty. " I have ordered new carriages; there's a car- 488 Consin Bette. riage for me, and a carriage for my wife, two pretty coupes, a caleche, and a state-coach with a box-seat wliich shakes hke Madame Hulot." '^ ' I am determined' ! — is that a way to speak? So 3'ou don't want to be my lamb any more? No, no, my precious, 3'ou '11 do as I sa}^ We will sign the marriage contract quietly by ourselves to-night ; then on Wed- nesday we will be married legally in due form, and go on foot and plainl}^ dressed to the church and have only a low mass. The witnesses can be Stidmann, Steinbock, Vignon, and Massol, all clever fellows who can happen into the mayor's office as if by accident ; afterwards the}' must sacrifice themselves so far as to hear mass in church. Your colleague can marr}" us, for once in a way, at nine o'clock in the morning ; mass is said at ten ; and we can be home here to breakfast b}' half-past eleven. I have promised a number of guests that the feast shall last all da}'. We shall have Bixiou, your old comrade de Birotterie, du Tillet, Loustcau, Vernisset, Leon de Lora, the flower of French wit, who won't know that we have just been married ; we '11 mystify them all, and get them a trifle drunk. Lisbeth is coming and Bixiou is to make her some proposals — to take the starch out of her." For two hours Madame Marneffe ran on, chattering nonsense which made Crevel come to the following wise conclusion: " How is it possible," he said to himself, " that such a gay and happy creature should be de- praved? Giddy? well, yes, but wicked — never!" "What did your children say about me?" asked Valerie, when she was holding Crevel close to her on the sofa, — "all sorts of horrors ? " Cousin Bette. 489 "They declare," he repUed, " that 3'ou love Wences- las crirainally — 3'oii ! virtue itself! " " Love him? I should think I did love him, my little Wenceslas," she cried, calhiig the artist to her and taking his head between her hands and kissing his brow. " Poor bo}', without friends, without fortune, deserted b}^ a giraffe with carrot}' hair ! Wenceslas is my poet ; I love him before all the world as I would my own child. Those virtuous women, they imagine evil everywhere and in ever3'thing. Can't they keep quiet without making mischief for a man? As for me, I'm a spoilt child, and nothing is ever refused to me. Sugarplums have ceased to give me an}- emotion. Poor women ! I pity them. Which of them said that of me ? " "It was Victorin." " Hey ! and win' did not you shut his mouth, the pettifogging parrot ! with those two hundred thousand francs of his mamma's.^" " Adehne had left the room," said Lisbeth. " Let them take care, Lisbeth," said Madame JNIar- neffe, frowning. "Either the}' must receive me in a proper spirit, and visit me as their step-mother, all of them! or — I'll land them lower than the baron, and you ma}' tell them so from me. I '11 turn wicked in the end. On my word of honor, I believe that Evil is the scythe w^hich brings in the harvest of good." At three o'clock the notary Berthier, successor to Cardot, read the marriage contract, — after a previous short conference with Crevel ; for certain articles de- pended on the manner in which Monsieur and Madame Hulot, junior, received their father's invitation. Crevel gave to his future wife the following fortune : 1. Forty 490 Cousin Bette. thousand francs a 3'ear, secured in a designated manner. 2. The house in the rue Barbet and all that it contained. 3. Three millions in money. Over and above these settlements, he gave his wife all the donations that the law allowed ; released her from the necessity- of making- inventories ; and provided that in case either part}' died without children, the whole estate, real and personal, was to go to the survivor. This contract reduced Crevel's own fortune to two million of francs. If he had children b}' his new wife, Celestine's inheritance was cut down to five hundred thousand francs, — about the ninth part of his actual property. Lisbeth returned to dinner in the rue Louis-le-Grand with despair written on her face. She explained and discussed the marriage contract, and found Celestine as indifferent as Victorin to the money aspects of the affair. " You have irritated your father, m^' dears. Madame Marneffe has sworn that you shall receive her as his wife, and visit her in her own house." " Never ! " said Hulot. "Never! " said Celestine. *' Never!" cried Hortense. Lisbeth was seized with a desire to trample the pride of these Hulots underfoot. "Madame Marneffe seems to have some weapon against us," she replied; "1 don't know what it is, but I mean to find out, — she alluded vaguely to some story about two hundred thousand francs which con- cerns Adeline — " Madame Ilulot fell back on the sofa and went into convulsions. " Go, go to her, my children ! " she cried. " Receive Cousm Bette. 491 that woman I Monsieur Crevel is an infamous wi-etch I he deserves death — Yes, obey that woman — ah 1 he is a monster — she knoics allJ" After a few more broken phrases mingled with tears, Madame Hulot found strength to go upstairs supported b}' Hortense and Celestine. " What does all this mean? " cried Lisbeth, left alone with Victorin. The lawyer stood rooted to the ground in such amaze- ment that he did not even hear the words. " What is the matter, Victorin? " " I am horror-struck," said the lawyer, whose face became threatening. "Evil to those who dare attack my mother; I shall have no scruples henceforth. I would crush that woman as I would a viper, if the means came in my way — She, she to attack my mother's honor ! " "She said — but don't repeat this, dear Victorin — that she would land the whole faniih' lower than your father. She reproached Crevel openly for not shutting your mouth with this secret which seems so terrifying to Adeline." Hortense now sent down a request for a doctor, as Madame Hulot was growing worse. He ordered opium, and Adeline soon fell into a deep sleep ; but the rest of the famih' remained in a state bordering on terror. The next da}' the lawyer went early to the Palais de Justice, and as he passed the [)refectiu'e of police he requested Vautrin, the head of the detective force, to send him Madame de Saint-Esteve. "We are forbidden to interfere in your affair, mon- sieur ; but Madame de Saint-Esteve has a business, — she 492 Cousiyi Bette. can call on 3'ou respecting that," said the celebrated officer. When he reached home the poor j'oung man heard that his mother's reason was in danger. Doctor Bian- chon, Doctor Larabit and Professor Angard, meeting in consultation, had just decided to employ heroic reme- dies to drive the blood from her head. As Victorin was listening to Bianchon, who was explaining why he had hopes that the crisis could be controlled though his associates despaired of it, the footman annouced Ma- dame de Saint-Esteve. Victorin left Bianchon in the middle of a sentence and ran down to his own apart- ments with the headlong rapiditj' of an insane man. " Can there be any hereditary tendencies to mad- ness in tlie fLimily?" thought Bianchon, turning to his colleagues. The doctors went away, leaving one of their pupils to watch the case. "A lifetime of virtue ! " were the only words that Madame Hulot said after the blow had fallen. Lisbeth never left Adeline's bedside ; she sat up all night, and won the admiration of the two young women by her devotion. "Well! m}^ dear Madame de Saint-Esteve, how is our matter coming on?" said Victorin, ushering the hor- rible old woman into his study, and carefullj^ closing the doors. " Well ! my dear friend," she replied, looking at him with an eye that was coldly ironical, " have you made your little reflections ? " " Have you done anything? " " Will you give fift}^ thousand francs?" Cousin Btitc. 493 "Yes," said Hiilot, "for the thing must be done. Tliis woman, by a single word, has put my mother's life and reason in danger — and so, go on." " We have gone on," replied the old woman. " AVell?" said Victorin, convulsively. " You won't refuse to pa}' costs? " " On the contrary." " The costs alread}' amount to twenty-three thou- sand francs." Hulot looked at the old woman with a bewildered air. " Ha! it can't be possible that 3'ou're a simpleton, — 3'ou, one of the lights at the Palais," said the old woman. " For that sum of money we have bought the conscience of a waiting-woman and a picture b}' Raphael. I don't call that dear." Hulot continued to look at her stupidl}' with his e3'es wide open. " Well," resumed Madame de Saint-Esteve, " in plain words, we have bought Mademoiselle Reine Tousard, Madame Marneffe's maid, who possesses all her se- crets — " " I understand." " If 3'ou mean to be niggardty, say so at once." "I shall pa3^ as I agreed," he answered. "Go on. M3' mother said such women deserved the worst pun- ishment." " They don't break people on the wheel nowada3's." " You are certain of success?" "Trust me for that," answered the woman. "Your vengeance is already stirring." She looked at the time- piece ; it was six o'clock. " Your vengeance," she con- tinued, "is dressing itself at this moment; the dinner 494 Cousin Bette. at the Rocher de Cancale is cooking, the horses of the carriages are champing their bits, my irons are getting hot. Ha ! I know 3'our Madame Marneffe by heart. All is ready. The little pills are in the trap ; I '11 tell you to-morrow whether the mouse has poisoned herself. I think she will. Adieu, ni}' son." "Adieu, madame." "Do you understand EngHsh?" "Yes." " Have 3'ou ever seen Macbeth played in that lan- guage? " "Yes." " Well, my son, ' all hail ! thou shalt be king here- after/ " said the horrible old witch foreseen by Shaks- peare, and seemingly familiar with him. She left Hulot, still bewildered, in the doorway of his apartment. " Don't forget that the case comes on to-morrow," she said, courteousl}' ; for she saw two persons near the door, and wished them to think her a Comtesse Pimbeche, " What cool audacity ! " thought Hulot, as he bowed to his pretended client. Cousin Bette, 495 CHAPTER XXXV. A DINNER-PARTY OF LORETTES. The Baron Montez de Montejaiios was a lion, but an unexplained lion. The Paris of fashion, of the turf, and of the lorettes admired the ineffable waistcoats of this foreign lord, his irreproachably varnished boots, his thorough-bred horses, his carriage driven by negroes vfho were docile and well trained. The baron's fortune was known ; he had a credit of seven hundred thousand francs with his banker, du Tillet ; 3'et he was never seen except alone. If he went to the first represen- tation of some play he never took but one stall. He frequented no salon ; he had never offered his arm to a lorette ; his name was not connected wdth that of any pretty woman in society. His sole pastime was pla}*- ing whist at the Jocke}' Club. Gossips were reduced to calumniating his morals, or, what seemed infinitely more comical, his person ; the}' called him Combabus. Bixiou, Leon de Lora, Lousteau, Florine, Mademoiselle Heloise Brisetout, and Nathan, supping one evening with the illustrious Carabine and several other lions and lionesses, invented this extremely burlesque explana- tion : Massol in his capacity' as councillor of state, Claude Vignon as a former Greek professor, had related to the ignorant lorettes the famous anecdote handed down in Rollin's Ancient Histor}- concerning Comba- 496 Cousin Bette. bus, that voluntary Abelard, who was charged with the duty of looking after the wife of a king of Assyria, Per- sia, Bactriana, Mesopotamia, and other regions named in the particular geograph}- of old Professor du Bocage, the successor of D'Anville, who, by the by, created the East. This nickname, which kept the lorettes laugh- ing for some time, became the subject of many jokes too vivacious to be repeated here, lest the Academy- should refuse us the Montyon prize. Now, on the morning of the ver^' da}" when Madame de Saint-Esteve prophesied success to Victorin Ilulot, Carabine, or rather Mademoiselle Seraphine Sinet, — who was to the banker du Tillet what Josepha IVIirah was to the Due d'Herouville, — said to du Tillet : — "If 3'ou were a good fellow, 3'ou would give me a dinner at the Rocher de Cancale and invite Combabus. We want to find out whether or no he has a mistress. I have bet he has, and I want to win." " He is still at the Hotel de Princes," answered du Tillet. " I '11 go and find him. We will have some fun. Get all our fellows, — Bixiou, Lora, in short, the whole crowd." At half-past seven that evening, in the handsomest room of the ftimous establishment where all Europe has dined, a table was laid out with the magnificent silver service reserved for dinners where vanit}" paid the bill in bank-notes. Floods of light rippled and danced on its chiselled edges. Servants, who might have been mistaken for diplomatists were it not for their age, were serious and calm, like men who know they are overpaid. Five persons had arrived and were awaiting nine Coujiti Bette. 497 more. First came Bixiou, the salt of all intellectual cookerj', still going on in 1843 wilh a battery of witti- cisms ever new, — a phenomenon as rare in Paris as virtue itself. Then Leon de Lora, the greatest land- scape and sea painter living, w^ho maintained himself above all rivals b}' never falling below his early prom- ise. The lorettes were unable to do without these two princes of wit and humor. Not a supper, not a din- ner, not a pleasure party of anv kind, could go on without them. Scraphine Sinet, called Carabine, came, in her capacit}' of mistress to the ampliitr>on, among the first arrivals, displaying under the dazzling flood of light a pair of unrivalled shoulders, a throat turned as if by a sculptor, without a crease, a piquant face, and a dress of brocaded satin, blue upon blue, trimmed with English lace in sufficient quantit}' to have kept a whole village from starvation for a month. Pretty Jenny Ca- dine, who did not play that night at her theatre, and whose portrait is too well known to need reproduction here, came in a fabulous toilette. A supper-party is to these dames a Longchamps of dresses, at which tliey all endeavor to show the worth of their millionnaires by sa3'ing to their rivals through their clothes, '^ See the price he has paid for me." A third w^oman, apparently' at the outset of her career, looked w'ith a sort of shame at the display of the two others. She w^as simply dressed, in white cash- mere trimmed with blue, and crowned with flowers by a hairdresser of the Merlan type, wdiose clums}' hands had contrived, without knowing it, to give the graces of innocence to tlie beautiful blond hair. Not at ease in her dress, she showed, to use the consecrated 32 498 Cousin Bette. phrase, " the timidit}' of a first appearance." She had brought from Valogne to the markets of Paris an inex- pressible freshness, a candor and beaut3' equal to an^' that Normandy has ever supplied to the various the- atres of the capital. The lines of the unblemished face showed the ideal purity of angels ; its milky whiteness reflected back the light as though it were a mirror, and her color was finely touched on as with a brush. She was called Cydalise ; and was, as we shall see. a pawn in the game which Madame de Saint-Esteve, otherwise named Madame Nourrisson, was about to play against Madame Marneflfe. " You have n't the arms of your name, ni}' dear," said Jenny Cadine, to whom Carabine presented the little beauty, who was sixteen years of age. In truth Cyda- lise presented for public admiration a pair of handsome arms, of fine texture but reddened b}- superabundant health. ''What is she worth?" asked Jenny Cadine in a whisper of Carabine. " A fortune." " What do you want to do with her ? " "Make Combabus marr\' her." " What do you get for that performance? " "Guess." " A silver service ? " " I have three." " Diamonds? " " I sell some of mine." "A green monkey?" " No ! a picture bj^ Raphael." *' What maggot have you got in your head ?" Cousin Bette. 499 "Josepha crows over me with her pictures." an- swered Carabine. '•! want some as fine as hers." Du Tillet arrived witii the liero of tlie feast, the Bi-a- zihan ; the Due d'lk'rouville followed with Joscpha. The singer wore a simple velvet robe, but round her neck lay a necklace of pearls, worth a hundred and twent}' thousand francs, and hardly distinguishable from a skin which was Uke a white camellia. She had put a red bud (a moucJie) among the braids of her hair with be- wildering effect, and round her arms, twined one above the other, were eleven pearl bracelets on each arm. " Lend me those mittens," said Jenny Cadine, as she shook hands with her. Josepha took off' the bracelets and offered them on a plate to her friend. '• What style ! " exclaimed Carabine. "You ought to be a duchess ! — You have plundered the sea, Monsieur le due," she added, turning to the little man. Jenny Cadine accepted a single bracelet, fastened the twenty-one others to Joscpha's arras and kissed her. Lousteau, the literar}^ sponger, la Palferine and Ma- laga, Massol and Vauvinet and Theodore Gaillard, proprietor of one of the most eminent political news- papers, completed the number of the guests. The Due d'Herouville, polite, as a great lord should be, to all the world, nevertheless gave the Comte de la Palferine that significant little bow which, without implying esteem or intimac}-, sa^s to everybody else, '' We are equals — of the same race and familv." This little bow. the shibboleth of aristocracy, was invented to be the despair of men of intellect among the upper bourgeoisie. Carabine placed Combabus at her left and the Due d'Herouville at her right. Cvdalise flanked the Brazilian, 500 Cousin Bi'tte. and Bixioii was on the other side of Cydalise. Malaga sat next the duke. At seven o'clock the}' attacked the oysters ; at eight, between two courses, Roman punch was served. Eveiy- body knows the bill of fare of such banquets. By nine o'clock the}" were all chattering as people chatter after forty-two bottles of wine have been drunk among four- teen persons. The dessert, a miserable month of April dessert, was served. The heady atmosphere had intoxi- cated no one but Cydalise, who was singing a Christmas carol. With that exception, none of them had lost their heads, for men and women both were the elite of Paris as to suppers. Wit sparkled, eyes, though the}' shone, were full of intelligence, but the lips were verging on satire, anecdote, and indiscretion. The conversation, which had so far turned a vicious circle round current events, horses, disasters at the Bourse, the various merits of the people of their own stamp, comparing them with one another, together with well-known scandalous tales, now threatened to become personal, and to break up into groups of two. It was at this moment that, in consequence of certain glances distributed by Carabine among Leon de Lora, Bixiou, la Palferine and du Tillet, the talk was turned on love. " Doctors never talk medicine, real nobles never talk ancestors, men of genius never tell of their own works," said Josepha, "why should we talk shop? I got ex- cused from the Opera to come here to-night, and I don't want to bring my business with me. Let's change the subject, my dears." " We are talking of real love," said Malaga, " love Cousin Bette. 501 which drives men to perdition — drives them to ruin their fathers and mothers and sell their wives and their children — drives them into Clich}'." " Don't know it ! " said Josepha. These words, aided by the e3'es and expression of face of such women, is an epic poem upon their lips. " Do I not love 3'ou, Josepha?" said the duke in a low voice. " You may, perhaps, reallj' love me/' whispered the singer, smiling; " but I do not love you with the love they are talking of, that love which turns the universe all black if the one we love is not with us. You are agreeable and useful, but you are not indispensable to me ; if 3'ou desert me to-morrow, I shall find three dukes for one." " Does real love exist in Paris? " said Leon de Lora. " No one has time to make his fortune, how then can he give himself up to real love, which takes possession of a man as water saturates sugar. One must needs be enormousl}' rich to love in that wa}", for love makes a man a cipher for everything else — witness our dear Brazilian baron here present. A real lover is like a eunuch, there are no longer an}' women on earth to him. He is a mj'sterj', he is like the first Christian, solitar}' in his desert. Look at our worth}' Brazilian." All eyes turned to Henri Montez, who was annoyed to find himself the object of such notice. " He has been feeding there for the last hour without knowing, an}' more than an ox, that his neighbor is the — I won't say the prettiest, but the freshest woman in Paris." " All is fresh here, even the fish wdiich gives the Rocher de Cancale its renown," said Carabine. 502 Cousin Bette. Baron Montez looked nt the landscape painter in a friendl}' manner, saving, ^'Yery good, I drink 3'our health ; " then he bowed, raised his glass, filled with port, and drank the wine ceremonioush'. " Then 3'ou do love some one?" said Carabine, inter- prethig his toast to have that meaning. The Brazilian filled his glass, bowed to Carabine and repeated the toast. " Here's to Madame's health," said the lorette, in so comic a tone that Lora, du Tillet, and Bixiou burst out laughing. The Brazilian continued as immovable as a bronze image. His cool reserve irritated Carabine. She knew perfectl}^ well that he loved Madame Marnetfe ; but she did not expect to encounter such stolid faith, the obsti- nate silence of a perfectlj' secure man. We sometimes judge of a woman hy the attitude of her lover, and of a lover by the conduct of his mistress. Proud of loving- Valerie and sure of being loved by her, the baron's smile bore, to the ej'es of these professors emeriti, a tinge of iron}^, and he was certainly at that moment superb to look upon ; wine had not heightened his color ; his e3'es, shinhig with the special brilliancy of golden h"zel, kept back the secrets of his soul. Carabine said to herself: " What a woman ! how does she manage to keep yowY heart under lock and key like that ? " • " He is a roc," said Bixiou, who saw the chance for a pun and did not suspect the importance wiiich Carabine attached to the demolition of Montez's reserve. While these remarks, apparentl}' so frivolous, were made on Carabine's right the discussion of love was continued on her left by the Due d'Herouville, Lousteau, Cousin Bette. 503 Josepha, Jennj' Cadine, and Massol. They came at last to inquire wlietlier its rare phenomena were i)ro- diiced b}' passion, by obstinacy, or b}- genuine feeling. Josepha, much bored by these theories, again tried to change the conversation. " You talk of something 3'ou know nothing of," she said. " Is there a man among you who has so loved a w^oman — an unworthy woman — as to squander his for- tune and that of his children, sell his future, disgrace his past, risk the galley's b}' robbing the State, kill his inicle and his brother, and allow that woman to so blind him that he never sees the gulf into which she is aiming, as a last amusement, to drive him? Da Tillet carries a ledger in place of a heart ; Leon de Lora his wit in the same place ; Bixiou would laugh at himself if he loved anybody better than Bixiou ; Massol's heart is a ministerial portfolio ; Lousteau's nothing but a viscus (he who could let Madame de Baudraye leave him !) ; Monsieur le due is too wealthy to prove his love by ruining himself, and Vauvinet does n't count — the broker of the human species has no heart. No, none of 3'ou have ever loved, nor I either, nor Jenn}', nor Carabine. But I did once, and once onl}', see the phenomenon I have just described^ I mean," she said, turning to Jenn}' Cadine, " our p'-go Baron Hulot, for whom I am now advertising as I w for a lost dog — I am determined to find him." you "Ha!" thought Carabine, looking suspiciouslyr.^. Josepha, "has Madame Nourrisson two of Raphaels pictures? Is Josepha playing m^' game? " " Poor man ! " said Vauvinet, " he was really a fine fellow. What stvle he had! what an air and manner! 504 Cousin Bette. He was like Francois I. ; a perfect volcano ! and what abilit}', what genius he displayed in getting hold of monej' ! I have no doubt he still manages to get it wherever he is ; perhaps he digs it out of the walls of Paris somewhere in the faubourgs and about the bar- rih'es where he is probabh' hidden." " And all," said Bixiou, '' for that little Madame Marneffe ! What a vicious thing she is, too ! " " She is going to marrj- my friend Crevel," said du Tillet. " And she is madly in love with my friend Stein- bock," said Leon de Lora. The three speeches were like pistol-shots striking Montez full in the breast. He grew livid and suffered so intensely that he struggled to his feet. " You are scoundrels ! " he said. " You ought not to mention the name of an honest woman in presence of these lost women of yours, and make her a target for your vile jests." Montez was interrupted by a chorus of plaudits and bravos, for which Bixiou, Lora, Vauvinet, du Tillet, and Massol gave the signal. " Long live the Emperor ! " said Bixiou. , " Crown him ! " cried Vauvinet. 4i^'0ne groan for Medor, and hurrah for Brazil!" heart^^^ Lousteau. t; fih, my armored baron ! so you love our Valerie? " . Leon de Lora, " and vou are not yet diso^usted?" pil ' .J J jr> "What he said wasn't parUamentary," remarked ]\Iassol, " but it was magnificent." "My dear invaluable client," said du Tillet, " 3'ou have been recommended to me. I am your banker; Cousin Bette. 505 and this blind innocence of yours will not redound to ni}- credit." " Tell me, you who are a sober-minded man — " said the Brazilian to du Tillet. " Thanks, for all of us," said Bixiou, bowing. " — tell me something positive," continued Montez, pa^'ing no regard to Bixiou. •' Well," said du Tillet, '' I have the honor of being invited to Monsieur Crevel's marriage with Madame Marneffe." ^'Ah, Combabus, now defend her," cried Josepha. Rising solemnly, she walked with a tragic air to Mon- tez and gave him a friendly tap on the head, gazing at him for a moment with an air of comic admiration ; then she nodded her head and said : " Hulot is my t example of love through thick and thin ; here 's second, — but this one ought not to count; he from the tropics." osepha genth' tapped his head, Montez fell back lir and turned his eyes on du Tillet. "If I am " \'our Parisian jests," he said, '• if you have 1 m}' secret from me" — he wrapped the •2^ nd the guests in one flaming glance full of ""in. i.zil — ''I pray you," he added, with an almost Ci^wd. and suppliant air, " tell me that it is so — but do not calumniate the woman whom I love." " Ah ! " whispered Carabine in his ear, " what if you are shamefully betrayed, deceived, and tricked by Va- lerie ; what if I can prove it to 3'ou, an hour hence, in m}' own house? Tell me, what would you do then?" "I cannot tell 3'ou here in presence of all these lagos." 606 Cousin Bette. " Well then, come home with me, and I '11 give 3-011 proofs." Montez seemed annihilated. "Proofs!" he stam- mered, " think what you are saj'ing." "Yes, proofs; more than 3-0U want," answered Ca- rabine. *'Bnt if mere suspicion flies to 3'our head in this wa3' I 'm afraid the truth will drive you mad." " Is n't he obstinatel3' blind, that fellow? A¥h3', he is worse than the late King of Holland," said Leon de Lora. "Come, 3'ou fellows, Bixiou, Massol, and the rest, are not 3'ou all invited to Madame Marneffe's wedding breakfast the da3' after to-morrow?" " Yes," replied du Tillet. " I have the honor to repeat. Monsieur le baron, that if you have an3' idea of marrying Madame Marneffe you are undoubtedl3^ rejected b3- a black-beJl under the name of Crevel. M3' good friend, Crevel has eight3' thousand francs a year ; probably you have not as much, or, I feel quite sure, you would have been preferred." Montez listened with an air half-dream3", half-smiling, which seemed alarming to the company about him. At this moment the head-waiter entered the room and whispered to Carabine that one of her relations was in the salon and wished to speak to her. The lorette I'ose, left the room, and found Madame Nourrisson, alias Madame de Saint-Esteve, waiting for her, enveloped in a cloud of black lace. "Well, am I to go to 3-our house, m3' dear? Has he taken the bait?" "Yes," replied Carabine, " the pistol is so well loaded that I am afraid it will burst." Cousin Bette. 607 CHAPTER XXXYI. THE CHEAP PARISIAN PARADISE OF 1840. An hour later Montez, C^'dalise, and Carabine, return-'"^ ing from the Roeher de Cancale, entered Carabine's little salon in the rue Saint-Georges. There the lorette saw Madame Nourrisson on a sofa beside the fire. ( " Dear me ! here 's my worth}- aunt," she said. " Yes, m}' child, I came to get ni}' little stipend. You Ve a good heart, but I feared you might forget that I have bills to pay to-morrow. Who is that with you? — the gentleman looks as though matters were not going well with him." The hideous Madame Nourrisson, completel}' dis- guised, looked like a respectable old woman as she rose to kiss Carabine, one of the hundred or more lorettes whom she had started in the horrible career of vice. " He is an Othello who makes no mistakes; I have the honor of introducing to 3'ou Monsieur le baron Mon- tez de Montejanos." " Eh ! I have heard a good deal about him ; you are called Combabus, they tell me, because 3'Ou love onl}' one woman. In Paris that's the same as if you loved none at all! He}'! can it be the one we were talking of — Madame Marneffe, who is to be Crevel's wife? If it is, bless 3'our stars, my dear monsieur, for having lost her, instead of taking it to heart. She is a shameless huss}', that little woman — I know her wavs." 508 Cousin Bette. "Ah," said Carabine, into whose hands Madame Nourrisson had covertly slipped a paper as she kissed her, "you don't understand Brazilians. Thej' are mad- men who stick knives in their own hearts. The more jealous the}^ are the more the}' want to be. Monsieur talks of murdering everybody, but he won't kill a thing, because he 's in love. I have brought him here to give him proofs of Madame Marneffe's infidelity which I got out of Steinbock." Montez seemed drunk ; he listened as if what he heard did not concern him. Carabine leisurely took off her velvet mantle and then read the following note aloud : — " My treasure, Jie dines to-night with Popinot and will come to the Opera for me about eleven o'clock. I leave home at half-past five and shall expect to find you in our paradise, where you must order a dinner from the Maison d'Or. Dress so that you can take me to the Opera. We shall have four hours to ourselves. Return this note, — not that your Valerie distrusts you, — I would give you my life, my for- tune, and my honor, — but I fear accidents." "There, baron; that's the fac-simile of a little note sent by Madame Marneffe to Comte Steinbock this morning. Read the address. The original is burned." Montez turned and returned the paper ; he recog- nized the handwriting ; then a wise thought struck him, which proves how much he was shaken. " You have some interest in tearing mj' heart in two," he said, looking at Carabine; "otherwise why should you take the trouble and pay the costs of having this letter lithographed ? " " Simpleton I " cried Carabine, at a sign from Ma- Cousin Bette. 509 dame Nonrrisson, " don't you see that poor C\dalise, a, child of sixteen, has loved you for the last three months, till she can neither eat nor drink nor sleep because 3'ou take no notice of her?" (CydaHse put her handkerchief to her eyes and appeared to weep.) " She is furious, in spite of her missish airs, at see- ing the man she loves made a fool of by that scandal- ous woman," continued Carabine; "she is ready to kill her — " *• Ha ! " said the Brazilian, '^ that's m}' affair." " Kill her ! you, m}' young friend?" exclaimed Ma- dame Nourrisson ; " that's not allowed in these days." " Ah," said Montez, " I don't belong to this country ; its laws are nothing to me ; I live in a land where I laugh at them, and if you give me proof — " ' ' Bless me ! the note — is n't that enough ? " "No," said the Brazilian, "I don't believe in writ- ing, I must see — " "See!" exclaimed Carabine, quickl}' understanding another gesture of her pretended aunt, " ^'ou shall see all, my dear tiger, on one condition." "What is it?" "Look at Cydalise." . At a sign from Madame Nourrisson, Cydalise gazed tenderly' at the Brazilian. " Listen to me," cried Montez, perceiving this femi- nine masterpiece for the first time, "if you show me Valerie — " " — and the Comte Steinbock, together? yes," in- terposed Madame Nourrisson. For the last ten minutes the old woman had watched the Brazilian narrowly, — she saw in him an instrument 510 Cousin Bette. tuned to the pitch of murder ; she saw moreover that he was so blinded b}' excitement that he would take no notice of those who led him on. Sure of these two things, she now interposed. " Cydalise is m}' niece," slie said, "and I have a right to inquire what all this means. As for 3'our de- mand to see Madame MarnelFe, that 's an affair of ten minutes. One of m}' friends lets to Comte Steinbock the room where vour Valerie is this moment drinkino" her coffee — queer coffee ! but she calls it coffee. But let us understand each other. What of Brazil? I like Brazil ; it is a warm country. What will be m}' niece's position there ? " " Old ostrich ! " said Montez, struck by the feathers which adorned Madame Nourrisson's bonnet. " Show me Valerie and the artist together — " "As 3'ou would like to be with her," said Carabine — " that 's understood." " — and I will marry this girl, if 3'ou want me to, and take her to Brazil — " Cydalise took the Brazilian's hand, which he extricated as soon as possible, continuing his own thoughts : — ''I came back intending to return to Brazil with Madame Marneffe," he said; "you don't know why it took me three years to get back? " " No, m}^ wild Indian," said Carabine. " She told me she wished to live alone with me in a desert — " " Not so wild after all," cried Carabine, bursting with laughter ; •' he belongs to the tribe of civilized savages." " She said it so often," continued the baron, regard- less of the lorette's laughter, "that I prepared a de- Cousin Bette. 511 lightful residence on m}^ property in l^razil ; I came back to Paris, and the night I again beheld her — " " ' Beheld' ! the word is decent. I'll remember it," said Carabine. " — she told me to wait the death of that wretched Marneffe, and she would marr}' me. I consented ; I even forgave her for accepting Baron Hulot's attentions. I don't know whether the devil was in her petticoats, but from that moment that woman satisfied all my wishes, all ni}^ caprices, all my exactions, — in short, she never gave me reason to suspect her ; no, not for an instant." '*Ah, that's too bad!" said Carabine, looking at Madame Nourrisson, who nodded her head in assent. " M3' faith in that woman," continued Montez, whose tears were now flowing, " equalled my love. I almost came to blows with those men just now — " " Yes, I saw it," said Carabine. " If I am deceiA'cd, if she is to be married, if she is at this moment in Steinbock's arms, that woman de- serves a thousand deaths, and I would kill her as I would crush a fly." ''And the police, my little man?" said Madame Nourrisson, with a smile that made the flesh creep. "Yes, and the galle3's and all the rest of it?" said Carabine. "You are only boasting, ni}' dear fellow," said Ma- dame Nourrisson, who wanted the Brazilian to reveal his plan of vengeance. "I will kill her," repeated Montez calmly. "Ha! 3'ou call me a wild Indian, a savage. Do you think that I shall imitate the folly of 3'our compatriots, who buy 512 Cousin Bette. poison and pistols in the shops ? I thought over m}' re- venge as 3'ou were bringing me here. I am prepared in case 3'oa produce proofs against Valerie. One of my negro servants has brought with him an animal poison, the surest of all poisons, which creates a disease far more certain and horrible in its effects than any vegeta- ble poison. I will find a way to convey it to that woman ; and then, when death is in the veins of Crevel and his wife, I shall be far be3'ond the Azores with your niece, and I will marrj' her. We barbarians, as you call us, have our ways and means! — I am going mad," ex- claimed the Brazilian, in a hollow voice, suddenly fall- ing backward on the sofa. "I shall die of this. But I icill see ; I tcill know ! It is impossible ! The note was lithographed ; how do I know it was not forged? — Baron Hulot love Valerie?" he continued, remembering Josepha's revelations, "why, the proof that he did not love her is that she still lives. Would I suflfer her to live on if she were not wholly' mine?" Montez was terrifying to see, and more terrifying to hear. He foamed, he bellowed, he contorted himself; everything he touched he broke ; the woodwork about him crashed like glass. " He '11 break everything," said Carabine to Madame Nourrisson. " Come, come," she said, tapping the Bra- zilian, " a mad Roland is ver}' well in a poem, but in a private house it is prosaic and costh'." " My son," said Madame Nourrisson, rising and plant- ing herself before the Brazilian, " I am of your faith. When we love in a certain wa}' we reckon with death ; whoever betrays love tears life out by the roots, and pays with death ! You have my respect, my admira- Cousin Bette. 513 tion, m}' consent. Bat you lovo that woman ; you will back down ! — " " I? — if you prove her infamous, I will — " "Come, come, 3'ou talk too much — let's see what comes of it," said Madame Nourrisson, becoming herself again. " A man who reall}' intends to revenge himsell' does n't tell how he means to do it. To see your Va- lerie in her paradise, you must take Cydalise with you, and enter b}^ mistake, as it were, — no scandal, no disturbance, remember. If you really mean vengeance you must pretend to hang back, seem shocked at your intrusion, and let her abuse you. Are you up to that?" added Madame Nourrisson, observing the Brazilian's surprise at the subtle scheme. " Come, ostrich," he exclaimed, " let us go ; I under- stand you ; I am ready." " Adieu," said Madame Nourrisson to Carabine. She signed to Cydalise to go before with Montez, and stayed a moment alone with Carabine. "Now, my dear." she said, "I'm only afraid that he '11 strangle her. That would put me in a bad box — we want such things done quietly. You 've earned your Raphael ; but they say it is n't a Raphael, only a Mignard. Never mind, — it is handsomer; they tell me the Raphaels have all turned black, but this one is as pretty and bright as a Girodet." " I only want to get the better of Josepha," cried Carabine ; " and I don't care whether it is a Mignard or a Raphael. That little thief wore pearls to-night — such pearls ! I'd damn my soul for them." Cydalise, Montez, and Madame Nourrisson took a hackney-coach from the stand near Carabine's front 33 514 Cousin Bette, door. Madame Nourrisson whispered to the coachman the address of a house in the block under the Opera- house ; which they would soon have reached, — for the time required to go from the rue Saint-Georges is only about seven or eight minutes, — but Madame Nourrisson ordered the man to drive through the rue Lepelletier and to go slowly past the carriages that were drawn up there waiting for the opera to be over. " Brazilian ! " said the old woman, " see if 3'ou recog- nize 3^our angel's carriage." The baron pointed to an equipage which the hackney- coach was then passing. " She told her servants to be here at ten o'clock ; but she went herself in a street cab to the house where she now is with Comte Steinbock. She dined there, and she will come to the Opera in about half an hour. That woman manages well ! " added Madame Nourrisson. ' ' Now you see how it is she has contrived to escape detection so long." The Brazilian made no answer. Turned into a tiger, he had recovered the imperturbable coolness which the Frenchmen had admired at dinner. He was, in fact, as calm and composed as a bankrupt on the day after his assignment. Before the door of the fatal house stood a street-cab with a pair of horses, of the kind called " cotnpagnie ghierale" from the name of the enterprise. " Stay here," said Madame Nourrisson to Montez, "you can't enter tliis house as you would a tavern. You will be summoned in a few moments." The paradise which Madame Marneffe and Wences- las were now occupying was not in the least like Crevel's Cousin Bette. 515 little nest ; which, b}- the b3'e, he had just sold to Max- ime de Trailles, fondly believing all use for it was over. Valerie's present paradise, the paradise of man}- other persons, consisted of one room on the fourth stor}-, opening on the staircase of a house situated in the block of the Italian Opera-house. On each stor}- was a room opening directly on the landing of the stairs, which had formerl}' served as kitchen to each apartment. But the house had now become a sort of inn let to clandes- tine lovers at exorbitant prices ; the chief proprietor, the real Madame Nourrisson, of the rue Neuve-Saint-Marc, having justlj' estimated that her kitchens would return a better profit if used in this wa}'. All these rooms, inclosed by thick partition-walls and lighted from the street, were completel}' isolated from the rest of the house, and very thick double doors shut them off from the landing. Important secrets might be talked of without the least risk of their being overheard. For greater security, the windows were provided wdth out- side blinds and inside shutters. These rooms could be hired for three hundred francs a month. The whole house, big with mysteries and Parisian seventh heavens, was let to Madame Xourrisson for twenty-four thousand francs a year ; on it she cleared, one 3'ear with another, twenty thousand francs profit over and above the rent. The special paradise let to Comte Steinbock was hung in chintz. A soft, thick carpet protected the feet from the chill}' hardness of a red-tiled floor. The furniture con- sisted of two pretty chairs and a bed in an alcove, partly hidden just now by a table covered with the remains of a choice dinner, where two long-necked bottles, and a 516 Cousin Bette. bottle of Champagne standing empty in ice marked out the fields of Bacchus which Venus cultivated. Beside the fireplace stood a comfortable eas}'- chair, sent no doubt b}^ Valerie, and against the wall was a prett}' bureau in rosewood with a mirror draped a la Pompa- dour. A lamp, hanging from the ceiling, gave some light, which was increased by the wax-candles on the table and others standing on the mantle-shelf This sketch will serve to show, nrhi et orhi^ the petty and vulgar conditions of clandestine love as practised in the Paris of 1840. What a distance has the world travelled from the adulterous love symbolized by the net of Vulcan three thousand years ago ! As Cydalise and the baron were going up the four flights of stairs, Valerie, standing before the fireplace, where a few sticks were burning, was teaching Wen- ceslas to lace her corset. " Upon m}' word ! after two years' practice, yow. don't know how to lace a woman better than that ! Ah ! you 're too much of a Pole still ! Come, it is almost ten o'clock, my Wenceslas." Just then a maid-servant of the house, using the blade of a knife, adroitly slipped the bolt of the double door which made Adam and Eve secure in their para- dise. She opened the door abruptly, — for people who hire rooms in such houses have little time to spare, — and disclosed one of those geiire pictures in Gavarni's st^'le so often exhibited in the Salon. " This wa}', madame," said the maid. Cydalise entered, followed b}' Baron Montez. "Ah! there's some one here !" said the frightened Cydalise. " Excuse me, madame." Cousin Bette. 517 "'It is Valerie ! " cried Montez, slamming the door violently. Madame Marneffe, overcome with an emotion too strong to be mastered in a moment, fell on a chair at the corner of the fireplace. Tears came into her e3'es, but dried instantl}-. She looked at Montez, then at C3Tlalise, and burst into a forced laugh. The anger of an offended woman stood her in place of her de- ficient clothes ; she came straight to the Brazilian, and looked at him so fiercely that her e3'es glittered like weapons. " So," she said, pointing to Cj^dalise, "this is yonv fidelity ! — 3'ou, who have made me promises enough to convert an atheist in love ! you, for whom I have done so much — crimes even ! You are right, monsieur ; I am nothing in comparison with a girl of that age and beauty ! I know what you would say," she went on, pointing to Wenceslas, whose disordered appearance was a proof too evident to be denied. "This is m}* afi'air. If I could love 3'ou, after this infamous be- ti'a3'al, — for 3'ou have spied upon me, you have bought ever3' step of that stairway, and the mistress of the house, and the servant, even Reine, perhaps, — oh ! what noble conduct ! — if I had an atom of affection left for a man so base I would make him bite the dust ; but I leave 3'ou, monsieur, to your doubts, which will turn into remorse. Wenceslas, m3^ dress." She took the garment, put it on, looked herself all over in the glass, and tranquill3' finished dressing, with- out even glancing at the Brazilian, absolutel3' as though she were alone. "Wenceslas, are 3'ou read3'? go first," she said. 518 Cousin Bette. With the corner of her e3'e she had seen the ex- pression of Montez's face in the glass. In its pallor she thought she saw the indication of that weakness which delivers strong men over into the power of a woman's fascination. She took his hand, coming near enough to let him breathe those terrible and beloved perfumes with which lovers intoxicate themselves ; then, aware of his emotion, she looked at him reproachfull}^ and said : — ' ' I permit 3'oa to go to Monsieur Crevel and tell him of your discover}'. He will never believe you. I do right to marry him ; I shall marry him the day after to-morrow, and I shall make him happy. Adieu ; tr}' to forget me." "Ah, Valerie!" cried Henri Montez, clasping her in his arms ; ' ' that is impossible ! Come with me to Brazil ! " Valerie looked at him ; she had recovered her slave. "If 3'ou still loved me, Henri," she said, "I could be 3^our wife in two years — but no, there 's something sl}^ and dangerous in your face at this moment." " I swear to you that the}' made me drunk and flung that woman upon m}' hands, — false friends that they were ! Believe me, it is all accidental ! " "Then I can still forgive 3'ou?" she said, smiling. " Will you marry me now? " asked the baron, a prey to the keenest anxiet}'. "Eighty thousand francs a year!" she cried, with an enthusiasm that was almost comical; "and Crevel loves me so he must soon die ! " "Ha! I begin to understand you," said the Bra- zilian. Cousin Bette. 519 She left him triumphantl}'. " I have no longer any scruples," thought the baron, who remained for a moment rooted to the spot. " Can such things be? That woman means to use her love to get rid of that old fool, just as she reckoned on the destruction of Marneffe. Yes, I will be the instrument of the wrath of God."' Two da3's later the guests who at du Tillet's banquet had torn Madame Marneffe to pieces with their tongues were all breakfasting at her table an hour after she had cast her skin and changed her name for the more illustrious one of the maj'or of Paris. Such infidelities of the tongue are among the commonest peccadilloes of Parisian life. Valerie had seen with much satisfaction that Montez was present in the church, and his appear- ance at the breakfast astonished no one. All those men of wit and intellect were accustomed to the degradations of passion and the compromises of intrigue. The gloom displayed by Steinbock, who was beginning to despise the woman he had so long thought an angel, seemed to the persons present to be in excellent taste, intended to show that all was over between Valerie and himself. Lisbeth arrived to kiss her dear Madame Crevel, but excused herself from remaining to the breakfast on the ground of Madame Hulot's alarming condition. " Don't be uneas}^," she said to Valerie as she left her, " they will invite j'ou to their house, and you will receive them in 3'ours. Those four little words, tico hun- dred thousand francs^ simply annihilated Adeline when she heard them. Oh ! 3'ou hold the whip hand with that story, — but you must tell me what it is." A month after her marriage Valerie had reached her 520 Cousin Bette. tenth quarrel with Steinbock, who insisted on explana- tions about Henri Montez and reminded her of expres- sions which she used during the scene in paradise. Not onl}' did he wither her with his contempt, but he watched her so closely that she no longer had a moment's free- dom, caught as she was now between the jealous}' of Wen- ceslas and the eagerness of Crevel. Lisbeth's excellent advice being no longer at hand, Valerie lost her head sufficient!}' to reproach Wenceslas sharply for all the money he had cost her. Steinbock's pride was up in arms and he absented himself from the Crevel mansion. This was Valerie's object ; she wished to get rid of him for a short time and recover her libert}'. Crevel ex- pected to pa}' a visit to Comte Popinot at his country- place for the purpose of negotiating Madame Crevel's presentation at court, and Valerie was anxiously await- ing that moment in order to come to an explanation with Montez. The morning of the day when all this was to happen, Reine, who judged her crime by the largeness of the sum received for it, tried to warn her mistress, in whom she was naturally more interested than in strangers ; but she had been threatened with accusations of insanity and imprisonment in the Sal- petriere in case she played false, and was therefore timid. " Madame is so happy now," she began, "why should she trouble herself about that Brazilian? I distrust him," " That's true, Reine," answered her mistress, " and I am going to send him off." " Ah, Madame, I am so glad; he frightens me, that blackamoor ! I think he 's capable of a crime." Cousin Bette. 521 " Silly girl I It is for him 3'ou ought to fear when he is with me." Just then Lisbeth came in. "Ah, my dearest, how long it is since I have seen you!" cried Valerie. "I'm ver}' unhapp}'. Crevel plagues me to death and I 've lost Wenceslas — we 've quarrelled." " I know that," said Lisbeth, " and I have come about it to-da}'. Victorin met him at five o'clock the other evening just as he was entering a twenty-five sous restaurant in the rue de Valois ; he caught him fasting and plied him with sentiment and finally brought him to the rue Louis-le-Grand. When Hortense saw him, pale and ill and shabb}', she held out her hand to him. That 's how you 've betrayed me." "Monsieur le baron Montez, raadame," said the footman. "You must go now, Lisbeth; I'll explain it all to-morrow." But, as we shall see, Valerie was soon to be unable to explain anything. 522 Cousin Bette, CHAPTER XXXVIL FULFILMENT OF VALERIE's JESTING PROPHECIES. Toward the end of Ma}^ Baron Hulot's pension was wholly freed by the payments which Victorin made from time to time to Baron Nueingen. Everybod}" knows that the quarterly distribution of pensions is not paid unless a certificate of the life of the annuitant is pre- sented ; and as nothing was known of Baron Hulot, the quarterly sums which had been assigned over to Vauvi- net still remained unpaid in the Treasur3\ Vauvinet had signed his release of all claims and it now became necessary to find the nominee so as to draw out the ac- cumulated funds. Madame Hulot, thanks to Dr. Bian- chon, had recovered her health. The kind Josepha contributed to this result b^' a letter, the style and or- thography of which betra3'ed the collaboration of her little duke. The following was all the information »the singer was able to convey to the baroness after an ac- tive search of fort}' daj's : — Madame la baronne, — Monsieur Hulot was living two months ago in the rue des Bernardins, with Elodie Chardin, the lace-mender, who took him away from Mademoiselle Bi- jou. He has now disappeared from there, leaving everything that he possessed behind him, and without saying where he was going. I am not discouraged, however; and I have set a man upon his traces who thinks he saw him not long ago on the boulevard Bourdon. Cousin Bette. 523 The poor Jewess will keep her promise to the Christian. Will the good spirit pray for the evil one? surely that is often done in heaven. I am with deep respect and forever, Your humble servant, JOSEPHA MiRAH. Yictorin Hulot, hearing nothing more of the dreadful Madame Nourrisson, finding that his father-in-law w^as reall}' married, and having brought his brother-in-law back under the famil}' roof, turned once more to his legal and political duties, and was carried along b}^ the current of Parisian life, in which hours often count for as much as days. Having a certain report to make in the Chamber of Deputies, he sat up one night toward the close of the session to prepare it. He was sitting in his stud}' about nine o'clock in the evening, waiting for the footman to bring him a shaded lamp, and thinking of his father. Feeling some reproach at leaving the search to Josepha, he was resolving to see Monsieur Chapuzot the next day about the matter, when he saw in the dim twilight, at his open window, the fine head of an old man, with a bald crown fringed with white hair. " Monsieur, will 3'ou tell 3'our servants to admit a poor hermit who has just come from the deserts to beg mone}' to rebuild his convent ? " This apparition, speaking in human tones, suddenh' reminded Victorin of Madame Nourrisson's prophecy, and he shuddered. " Let that old man come in," he said to the footman. " He'll poison the air of Monsieur's stud}-," said the man. "That brown robe of his hasn't been changed since he left Sj'ria, and he has no shirt." *' Let him come in," repeated the lawyer. 524 Cousin Bette. The old man entered. Victorin looked with a suspi- cious ej'e at the so-called pilgrim-hermit, and beheld a superb specimen of those Neapolitan monks whose robes are sister garments to the rags of the lazzarone, their sandals leathern thongs, and they themselves mere human tatters. The man was so perfect a speci- men of his kind that Victorin, distrustful as he still was, checked his first impulse of belief in Madame Nourrisson's warning." " What is it 3'ou want? " " Whatever 3'ou choose to give me." Victorin took a five-franc piece from a pile of silver on the table and gave it to the old man. "It is a small sum on account for fifty thousand francs," said the mendicant. The words put an end to Victorin's doubt. " Has heaven fulfilled its promises?" said the lawyer frowning. " That question is an insult, my son," replied the hermit. "If 3'ou do not wish to pay until after the funeral, you have tSe right to refuse. I will return in a week." " The funeral ! " exclaimed Hulot, rising. "Action has been taken," said the old man, bowing himself out ; " the dead die quick in Paris." When Hulot, who had lowered his head for a mo- ment, was about to repl}^, the active old man bad dis- appeared. "I don't understand one word of it," said Victorin to himself. "But if he does come back in eight days I will ask him to produce my father, — if he is not found in the mean time. Where in the world does Madame Cousin Bette. 625 Kourrisson (3'es, that is her real name) find such actors ? " The next day Dr. Bianchon allowed Madame Hulot to go into the garden ; he was asked at this visit to ex- amine Lisbeth, who had been confined to her room for two or three weeks with a slight bronchial trouble. The wise doctor, unwilling to express his opinion on Bette's state until he had seen more decisi\'e symptoms, accompanied the baroness into the garden to watch the eflfect of the open air on her nervous quivering after be- ing shut awa}' from it for over two months. The hope of curing this infirmit}' incited his genius. " Your life is a busy one," said the baroness, " and full of sadness. I have known what it is to spend days in watching phj'sical suflTering and infirmit}'." "Madame," said the doctor, "I know the work which 3'our charity prompts you to undertake ; but in the long run j'ou will do like the rest of us. It is the law of social life. The confessor, the magistrate, the law^'er would find their occupation gone if the sjm'it of the common iceal did not counteract the heart of man. Could existence continue without the accomplishment of that Dhenomenon? The soldierv, in times of war, see sufferings more terrible than those which we see, but all soldiers who have been under fire are tender-hearted. We physicians, have the jo3's of cure ; you, the happi- ness of saving a famih' from hunger, degradation, mis- ery, b}' enabling it to work and thus restoring its social status ; but what shall console the magistrate, the com- missar}' of police, the lawyer, who spends his days in lajing bare the base intrigues of self-interest, — that social monster which knows no resfret but that of not 526 Cousin Betfe. succeeding, and which remorse or repentance never reaches ? One half of society spends its time in watch- ing the other half. I have a friend, a lawjer, now re- tired from business, who tells me that for the last fifteen 3-ears notaries and legal advisers are as distrustful of their clients as of their clients' adversaries. Your son, madame, is a lawyer ; has he never been compromised b}^ the man he w^as retained to defend ? " " Oh, often ! " said Victorin, smiling. " What is the root of such evil ?" asked Madame Hulot. " The lack of true rehgion," said the doctor ; ' the en- croachment of mone3^-getting, which is, in other words, egotism materialized. Money was formerly not the whole of life : other forms of superiority were admitted — nobilit}', genius, great services done to the State — but to-day law itself makes mone}^ the one standard ; it has made it the essential basis of political capacit}' ! Certain magistrates are not eligible ! Jean-Jacques Rousseau would not be eligible. The perpetual divid- ing up of patrimonies obliges every man to look out for his own interests from the age of twenty-one. And so, between the necessity- of making a fortune and the demoralization of trickery and intrigue the barriers are broken down ; for the religious sentiment is lacking in France, in spite of the praiseworth}' efforts of those who are trying to bring about a Catholic restoration. That is the opinion of those who, like me, view society in its inward parts." " You have little pleasure in life," said Hortense. "The true physician," said Bianchon, " has a passion for science. He is borne up by that emotion as much Cousin Bette. 527 as he is by the conviction of his social usefuhiess. Wh}', at this veiy moment I am all alive with scientific jo}', and man}' persons would take me for a heartless fellow. To-morrow I shall announce a great discovery before the Academy of Medicine, — a lost disease, of which I have two cases. It is incurable ; science is powerless against it, at least in temperate climates ; it can be cured, they sa}', in the Indies. It existed in Europe in the middle ages. What an inspiring strug- gle between our noble profession and such a malady ! For the last ten da3's I have thought incessantl}' of my patients ; there are two — a husband and wife. B3' the b3'e, madame," he added, turning to Celestine, "can they be relations of yours? Are you not the daughter of Monsieur Crevel?" " M}^ father ! " exclaimed Celestine. " Does your patient live on the rue Barbet-de- J0U3' ? " *'Yes, he does," answered Bianchon. "And the disease is fatal?" said Victorin, horror- stricken. " I must go to my father," cried Celestine, rising. " I positively forbid it, madame," said Bianchon, quietly, " the disease is contagious." "You can do so if you like, monsieur," said the 3'oung woman, firmh' ; " but do 3'ou think that the dut3' of a daughter is less imperative than that of a physician ? " " Madame, a ph3'sician knows how to protect him- self; and your unreflecting self-devotion warns me that you have not m}' prudence." Celestine rose and went up to her own rooms, where she dressed to go out. 528 Cousin Bette. "Monsieur/' said Victorin to Bianchon, "have 3'ou an}' liope of saving Monsieur and Madame brevel?*" " I hope it without expecting it," replied Bianchon. " The case is inexplicable to me. The disease is pecu- liar to negroes and to those American nations whose cuticle differs from that of the white races. Now I cannot trace any connection between Monsieur and Madame Crevel and the blacks, or the copper-colored or half-breed races. The disease, though a very interesting one for us, is horrifying for all who come near it. The poor woman, the}' sa}-, was prett}' ; to-da}' she is some- thing too frightful to b^ehold — if indeed she is a thing at all ! Her teeth and her hair have fallen out ; she looks like a leper ; her hands are horrible, swollen and covered with greenish pustules, the nails fall out and remain in the holes which she scratches in her flesh, — indeed all the extremities are being destroj'ed by the ichor which is eating into them. Poor woman ! she has a horror of herself." "But what caused it? " said Hulot. " Ah ! " said Bianchon, " the cause is apparently the decomposition of the blood, which is going on with frightful rapidity. My hope is to attack the disease in the blood itself, which I have had analyzed, and I am now going home to learn the result from my friend Professor Duval, the famous chemist ; I shall probably tr}' one of those heroic measures which we doctors sometimes play against death." " The finger of God is in it ! " said the baroness, in a voice of awful emotion. " Though that woman has caused us evils which have made me call down the Cousin Bette. 529 divine justice on her head, 3'et I pray to God 3'ou may succeed in saving her." Victorin Hulot was scarcely master of himself; he looked at his mother, his sister and the doctor alter- nately, trembling lest the}' should read his secret thoughts. He felt like an assassin. Hortense, for her part, thought God was just. Celestine returned dressed to go out, and requested her husband to accompany her. " If you insist on going, madame, and 3-ou too, mon- sieur, remember to keep one foot awaj- from the beds ; that is the only precaution necessary. Neither you nor 3'our wife must touch the patients. You must not leave 3'our wife a moment. Monsieur Hulot, lest she trans- gress this rule." Adeline and Hortense, left alone, went up to sit with Lisbeth. Madame Steinbock's hatred against Valerie was so great that she could not restrain an explosion of it. "Cousin Bette, m}' mother and T are avenged," she cried. " That venomous creature is stung at last ; she is a heap of decomposition." "Hortense," said Madame Hulot, " 3'ou are not a Christian woman. You ought to pray God to inspire that unhappy woman with repentance." "What are 3'Ou talking about?" cried Bette, rising from her chair. " Are you s[)eaking of Valerie? " "Yes," answered Hortense, "the doctors give her up ; she is d3'ing of a horrible disease, the very descrij)- tion of which would make you shudder." Bette's teeth chattered ; a cold sweat came out upon her, a terrible convulsion of her whole being proved the depth of her feeling for Valerie. " I must go to her," she said. 34 530 Cousin Bette. " But the doctor forbade your going out." ' ' No matter ; I shall go. Poor Crevel ! what a state he must be in, for he loved his wife." " He is d^'ing too/' said Madame Steinboek. " Ah, the devil has laid liands on all our enemies ! " " M}' daughter, the}' are in God's hands." Lisbeth dressed herself, putting on the famous 3'ellow cashmere, a black velvet bonnet, and laced boots ; then, regardless of her cousin's remonstrances, she departed as though driven by some despotic power. Reaching the rue Barbet not long after Monsieur and Madame Hulot, she found seven doctors, called together b}' Bian- chon to view the extraordinar}' and unique case. Bian- chon himself came in shorth' after. These gentlemen, standing about the salon, were discussing the disease eagerl}' ; first one and then another would go into Valerie's bedroom or into Crevel's to observe some point and then return with an argument based on that hast}' examination. Three opinions were held by these princes of science. One physician alone denied the existence of the malady of the middle-ages, and declared the case was one of simple poisoning from private motives. Three others considered it a decomposition of the lymph and other fluids of the system. The third opinion, held by Bian- chon and the rest of the doctors, maintained that the disease was caused by a vitiation of the blood, corrupted by some unknown deadly element. Bianchon brought with him the results of Professor Duval's analysis of the blood. The proposed method of cure, though des- perate and altogether empirical, depended on the present discussion of the question. Cousin Bette. 531 Lisbeth stood petrified three feet from the bed -where Valerie la}' d\'ing when she saw the vicar of St. Thomas Aquinas beside the pillow of her friend, and a sister of charit}' taking care of her. Religion found a soul to save in that mass of corruption, where, of the five hu- man senses, sight alone seemed all that was left. A sister of charity, who was found willing to nurse the d3'ing woman, stood at a little distance. The Catholic Church, that divine bod}', ever guided b}' the inspiration of sacrifice in all things, was there to help the wicked, and now loathsome creature, with its double work for mind and bod}', its infinite compassion, and its treasures of mercy inexhaustible. The servants, horror-stricken, and believing that their masters were justly punished, thought only of them- selves, and refused to enter the sick-rooms. The stench was so great that, in spite of the open windows and the powerful perfumes strewn about, no one could re- main long; near Valerie. Relio-ion alone watched over her. Could a woman with a mind so superior as hers refrain from asking herself what interest kept those representatives of the Church beside her? No ; and she therefore gave heed to the words of the priest. Re- pentance entered and filled that corrupted soul, even as corruption ravaged and destroyed the beauty of its body. The delicate Valerie had offered less resist- ance to the fell disease than Crevel, and she was about to die before him, having, moreover, been the first attacked. " If I had not been ill, my Valerie, I should have been here to nurse you," said Lisbeth at last, after exchanging a look with the sunken eyes of her friend. 532 Cousin Bette. '' It is fifteen or twenty daj^s since I left mj^ room, but liearing to-day from the doctor of your illness, I have come at once." " Poor Lisbeth! 3'ou love me still. I know it," said Valerie. ' ' Listen, dearest ; I have but a day or two to think — I cannot say to live. You see me ; I have no body left. I am a mass of filth — I have what I deserve. Oh, would that I could now undo the evil I have done, that I might find mercy — " "Oh," said Lisbeth, "if you talk like that, you are dead indeed." " Do not hinder this woman from repentance," said the priest ; " leave her to Christian thoughts." "Nothing left of her!" muttered Lisbeth, horror- stricken, — "not a feature; the mind gone too! Oh, it is frightful ! " " You do not know " said Valerie, " what it is to die, — to be forced to think of the day after death, of what there must be in the coffin : worms for the bodj', but what for the soul? Ah, Lisbeth, I am conscious there is another life, and the terror of it keeps me from feel- ing the pains of my rotting flesh ! — I, who mimicked a good woman, and told Crevel, laughing, that God's vengeance had many wa3'S of punishment — ah, I was a prophet ! Do not trifle with sacred thingS; Lisbeth ! If you love me, repent, repent ! " " I ! " said Bette ; "I have seen vengeance every- where in nature : the insects perish to satisfy their need of vengeance when they are attacked ! And these gentlemen," she said, pointing to the priest, "tell us that God is revengeful, and that his vengeance lasts through all eternity — " Cousin Belie, 533 The priest turned and looked gently at her. ' ' You are an atheist, madanie," he said. "But see, Lisbeth, what I have come to," said Valerie. *' How did you get that gangrene?" asked Bette, doggedh' maintaining her peasant scepticism. " Henri sent me a note which left no doubt upon my fate. He has killed me. To die just as I meant to live decently — and to die an object of horror ! — Lisbeth, give up all thoughts of vengeance ; be good to that famil}' ; I have left them, in ni}' will, all that the law allows me to dispose of. Lisbeth, j'ou are the only being who does not rush away from me in horror, and yet I pra}* you go, go — leave me! I have so little time to give m3'self to God ! — " "She's delirious," thought Lisbeth, as she left the room. The strongest known sentiment, the friendship of a woman for a woman, was not capable of the heroic con- stanc}' of the Church. Lisbeth, suffocated b}' miasmatic odors, left the chamber. She found the doctors still disputing ; but Bianchon's opinion was gaining ground, until fin all V no opposition was made to his proposed heroic measures. ^' At any rate, there will be a magnificent ^os^mor^em," said one of the opponents ; " we shall have two subjects and be able to establish comparisons." Lisbeth accompanied Bianchon as he returned to Va- lerie's chamber and leaned over the bed, apparentl}' not perceiving the effluvium that proceeded from her. " Madame," he said, " we are going to tiy a power- ful remedy which may possibly save you." 534 Cousin Bette, " If 3'on save me," she said, " shall I be as beautiful as before ? " "Perhaps," said the cautious doctor. " I know what your perhaps means ! " said Valerie ; " I shall be like those women who fall into the fire. No, leave me to the Church ! I can please none but God. Let me strive to make my peace with him, — it is m}" last seduction." "Ah, now I recognize my Valerie!" cried Lisbeth, weeping. She felt herself obliged to go into Crevel's bedroom, where she found Victorin and his wife sitting three feet from the bed of the plague-stricken man. "Lisbeth," he cried when he saw her, "they are hiding m}^ wife's condition from me ; you have seen her, how is she ? " "She is better; she says she is saved," answered Lisbeth, allowing herself the play on words to ease Crevel's mind. " Ah, good ! " said the mayor ; " I have been terribly anxious. If I were to lose her what would become of me? M}'' children, believe me, on my word, I adore that woman." Crevel tried to assume his attitude, sitting up in bed. " Oh, papa ! " said Celestine, " if 3'ou were only well again I would receive my step-mother ; I vow it." " Poor little Celestine ! " said Crevel, '^come and kiss me." Victorin caught his wife as she was about to spring forward. " You are not aware, monsieur," he said, gently, " that your disease is contagious." Cousin Bette. 535 " True," said Crevel, " and the doctors are congrat- ulating themselves on finding a sort of middle-age black death in it, which they have long been hunting up. Queer, is n't it ? " " Papa," said Celestine, " be brave, and j-ou may still ^ conquer the disease." X/ " Oh ! don't be uneas}', m.y dear ; death thinks twice before it strikes a mayor of Paris," he said, with comi- cal ease of manner. ' ' Besides, if my arrondissement is so unfortunate as to lose a man whom it has twice honored wdth its suffrages (hein ! that 's a well-turned phrase, is nt it?), I shall know how to pack mj' trunk. I 'm an old traveller, in the habit of starting off on jour- ney's. Ha ! my children, I 'm a free thinker, I always was." ''Papa, promise me you will let the Church minister at 3'our bedside." "Never!" rephed Crevel. "I have sucked the breasts of the Revolution ; my mind is not the equal of Baron d'Holbach's but I have his strength of character. Heavens and earth ! I 'm more than ever regency', mousquetaire. Abbe Dubois, and Richelieu ! M}' poor wife, who is out of her head, has just sent me a man in a cassock, — to me, the admirer of Beranger, the friend of Lisette, the child of Voltaire and Jean- Jacques ! Dr. Bianchon said, to test me and see if the fever were go- ing down, 'Have 30U seen a priest?' Well, how do you think I answered ? I imitated the great Montes- quieu. Yes, I looked at the doctor — there, like that [putting himself at a three-quarter profile, as in his pict- ure, and stretching forth his hand authoritativel}'] — and then I said : — 536 Cousin Bette, * The helot came ; He showed his order, and he left with shame.' Monsieur le president de Montesquieu retained all his wit on his death-bed. I 'm fond of that passage — ha, ' passage ' — a pun ! the passage-Montesquieu." Victorin Hulot gazed at his father-in-law, asking him- self sadly whether ignorance and vanity did not pos- sess as great a force as true grandeur of soul. The causes which pull the hidden wires of the soul seem to have no connection whatever with results. Can it be that the strength of will displayed bj- a great criminal is the same as that of which a Champcenetz was justly proud on his waj' to the scaffold ? B}^ the end of the week Madame Crevel was in her grave, after unheard-of sufferings, and Crevel followed his wife within two da3's. According to the terms of the marriage contract Crevel inherited his wife's prop- erty', having survived her. The day after their funeral Victorin Hulot received a second visit from the old monk. The mendicant silently held out his hand, and silently Hulot placed within it eighty bank-bills of one thousand francs each, exactly the sum which was found in Crevel's desk. Madame Hulot, junior, inherited the estate of Presles and thirt}^ thousand francs a year. Madame Crevel had be- queathed three hundred thousand francs to Baron Hulot. The scrofulous Stanislas was to receive, on coming of age, the Crevel mansion and an income of twenty-four thousand francs. Cousin Bette. 537 CHAPTER XXXVIII. RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL FATHER. Among the numerous and sublime associations insti- tuted b}' tlie Catholic charity of Paris is one founded by Madame de la Chanteiie, the object of which is to marry legally and ecclesiastically persons of the working classes who live together illegitimatel}'. Legislators who hold by the statistics of registration, the sovereign bourgeoisie which clings to its notarial fees, feign to ig- nore that three fourths of the working-people cannot pay fifteen francs for a marriage contract. Notaries are behind lawyers on this point. The Parisian lawyers, a body of men who are a good deal calumniated, bring suits gratuitously for the ver}' poor, whereas notaries have never been willing to draw a marriage contract gratis for such persons. As to the public Treasury-, one would have to shake the whole machine of government to make it relax its system in this matter. Registration is deaf and dumb. The Church, on its side, claims cer- tain rights over marriage. The Church in France is ex- tremely — fiscal ; in the house of God it carries on a petty traflSc in little benches and chairs which disgusts foreigners, though it cannot have forgotten the Saviour's anger when he drove the money-changers from the Temple. However, if the church is reluctant to yield its sordid rights, we must remember that those rights (called 538 Cousin Bette, parish propert}') are to-day one of its means of living, and therefore the meanness of the Church is the fault of the State. This combination of claims — in days when people are thinking far too much of the woes of the negro and of the prisoners in jail to consider the suffer- ings of the worth}' poor — results in the fact that a vast number of honest persons are living in a state of concu- binage solel}' for lack of thirty francs, the lowest price at which a notary, the registration office, the maj^or and the clergy can many two Parisians. Madame de la Chanterie's institution, founded for the purpose of put- ting such poor households back into the paths of relig- ion and virtue, searches out such couples, relieves their necessities in the first place, and then restores them to their lawful condition as citizens. When Madame Hulot had entirety recovered her health she went back to her charitable occupations ; and about that time the excellent Madame de la Chan- terie asked her to add this legalization of natural mar- riage to the other good works for which she was an agent. One of Adeline's first efforts in this line was in the dangerous quarter known formerty as " Little Poland," inclosed b}' the rue du Rocher, the rue de la Pepiniere, and the rue Meromenil. It forms a sort of annex to the faubourg Saint-Marceau. In order to describe this neighborhood it is onty necessary to say that the own- ers of certain houses inhabited by workmen who do no work, b}' roughs, and seditious talkers, by beggars ph'- ing dangerous trades, are afraid to insist on their rents, and seldom find sheriff 's officers who are wiUing to eject those who do not pay. At the present moment specula- Cousin Bette. 539 tion in real estate, which tends toward changing the whole face of Paris in this quarter and to build up the space which separates the rue d' Amsterdam from the rue de la Faubourg-du-Roule, will doubtless improve the character of the inhabitants, and rid the neigh- borhood of its sinister population and its low haunts, where the police never set foot unless in the pursuit of criminals. In June, 1844, the appearance of the place Delaborde and its surroundings was far from reassuring. If an elegant j'oung gentleman had chanced to turn from the rue de la Pepiniere into one of these horrible thorough- fares he would have been astonished at the squalid Bo- hemia h'ing cheek b}' jowl with the aristocratic street. In such quarters, where ignorance and abject poverty have reached their lowest depth, the street letter-writer of Paris still flourishes. Wherever vou see the two words ' ' Pub- lic Writer," written in a large, flowing hand on a sheet of white paper affixed to the filth}' window of some ground- floor room, you ma}' confidently believe that the neigh- borhood is thronged with illiterate persons, and, as a natural result, with vices, crimes, and criminals. Ig- norance is the mother of crime, and crime is, above all, a lack of reason. Now during Madame Hulot's illness this quarter, to which she had been a second Providence, acquired the services of a public writer, whose sign was hung up in the passage du Soleil, — a name which presents an antithesis not uncommon in the nomenclatures of Paris ; for this " passage of the sun " is sunless and doubly dark. This writer, thought to be a German, was named Vyder, and li/ed matrimonially with a young girl, of whom he 5-AO Cousin Bette. was so jealous that he would only allow her to visit the family of a certain respectable chimney-builder of the rue Saint-Lazare, — Italians of course, like all others of that trade, who had lived many years in Paris. These worthy people had been saved from bankruptcy-, which would have made them poor for life, by Madame Hulot, acting on behalf of one of her societies. In the course of a few months ease replaced distress, and religion en- tered minds which had long cursed fate with the ardor characteristic of the Italian nature. One of Madame Hulot' s first visits was to this family. She was de- lighted with the sight that met her eyes at their es- tablishment in the rue du Rocher. Above the busy warehouses and workrooms, where the apprentices and laborers, — all Italians from the valle}' of Domodossola — were singing and whistling at their work, the family occupied a little apartment now abundantly supplied. Madame Hulot was welcomed like a vision of the Blessed Virgin. After a quarter of an hour's talk (being obliged to wait for the husband to hear the exact state of af- fairs) Adeline began her pious search for persons living out of the pale of wedlock b}- inquiring if there were any such among the acquaintances of her Italian friends. '•'- Ah, ni}' good lady, you who can save souls from hell," cried the Italian wife, "yes, there's a 3'oung girl living close by who might be dragged from perdition." " Do you know her? " asked the baroness. " She is the granddaughter of a former employer of my husband, named Judici, who came to France after the Revolution, in 1798. During the empire he was one of the best chimne3--builders in Paris, and he died in 1819, leaving a fine fortune to his son. But the son Cousin Bette, 541 spent eveiTthing on bad women and finally' married one of the sl3'est of them, b}^ whom he had this poor little girl, who is about fifteen years old." " What has happened to her?" said the baroness, struck with the resemblance in conduct between the father of the girl and her own husband. " Well, madame, the cliild, named Atala, left her father and mother and came to live here with an old German, eight}' 3'ears old at the least, named Vyder ; he writes letters and does business for people who don't know how to read or write. They sa}' the old scoun- drel bought the girl of her mother for fifteen hundred francs, and it would be a good deed if 3'ou could get him to marr}' the little thing, — he has but a short time to live, and I am told he is likely to come in for several thousand francs ver}' soon. The child, who is a little angel, would be taken out of evil, and above all out of poverty, which is sure to corrupt her." ' ' Thank you for telling me of so good a thing to do," said Adeline, " but I must act cautiouslj'. Who is the old man ? " *' Well, he's quite a worthy old fellow, madame; he makes the child happy and has excellent good sense about her. He left the Judici neighborhood to protect her from her mother. The woman was jealous of her own daughter ; and she meant to make a penn}' out of her beauty and set her up as a ' Mademoiselle.' Atala remembered us, so she advised ' monsieur ' to settle in our neighborhood ; and when the good man saw the kind of people we are he allowed the little one to come and see us. If 3'ou will get him to marr}^ her, madame, you will do a good action. Once married, the little thing 542 Cousin Bette. will be free of her mother, who watches her and would like to see her do better, either at the theatre or in the dreadful career she wants to start in." ' ' Why does not the old man marry her ? " "It wasn't necessar}^, madame," said the Italian. " Old V3'der is not an absolutely bad man ; I think he is wise enough to want to stay master of the little thing ; whereas if he marries her, he is afraid, poor fellow ! of all that hangs over the head of an old husband." " Can 3'ou send for the girl? " said the baroness ; " I will see her here, and judge for myself if there is an}^ way-" The Italian signed to her eldest daughter, who ran out, and returned ten minutes later leading a young girl be- tween fifteen and sixteen, of a beauty that was thoroughly Italian. Mademoiselle Judici derived from her father that olive skin which is yellow by day and dazzling under the lamps at night, eyes of Eastern grandeur, shape, and brilhancy, lashes curling upward like little jet-black feathers, ebon hair, and the majestic carriage of the Lombard women, which makes a foreigner fanc}^, when he sees them for the first time, on a Sunday in Milan, that these daughters of the people are queens in their own right. Atala, told by the other girl that a great lady wanted to speak to her, had hastily put on a pretty silk dress, nice boots, and an elegant mantle. A cap with cherr3'-colored ribbons added to the effect of her head. The little thing stopped short in an attitude of naive curiosit}', examinmg the baroness out of the corner of her eyes, and greatty surprised by the nervous trem- bling of the lady's head. Cousin Beffe, 543 " What is 3'onr name, my child? " "Atala, madame." " Can you read and write ? " " No, madame — bnt that's no matter, because mon- sieur knows how — " " Did 3'our parents take 3'ou to church? Have 3'ou made 3-our first communion? Do 3'ou know your catechism ? " " Madame, papa wanted me to do those things you mention, but mamma would not let me." ' ' Your mother would not let you ? " exclaimed the baroness ; " was she unkind to you? " "She was always beating me. I don't know win', but my father and mother were continuallj' quarrelhng about me." "Did no one ever tell you about God?" said the baroness. The child opened her ej'es wide. " Papa and mamma used to say, ' In the name of God I ' ' The curse of God ! ' " she said, artlesslj-. " Have 3'Ou never seen a church? Did it never occur to 3'ou to go inside of one? " "Church? Ah, yes, Notre-Dame, the Pantheon; I have seen them at a distance when papa took me to Paris, but that was very seldom. There were no churches in the faubourg." " What faubourg did 3'OU live in? " " The faubourg." " Yes, but what faubourg?" " Wh3', the rue de Charonne, madame." The inhabitants of the faubourg Saint-Antoine never call that famous quarter anything but " the Faubourg." 544 Cousin Bette. To them it is the faubourg pai* excellence, the sovereign faubourg ; manufacturers themselves accept the word as meaning specially the faubourg Saint- Antoine. ' ' Did no one ever explain to you what is good and what is evil?" "Mamma whipped me if I did things she didn't like." ' ' But did 3^ou not know you did wrong when 3^ou left your father and mother and went to live with an old man?" Atala Judici looked at the baroness grandly, and said nothing. " The girl is an absolute barbarian," thought Adeline. "Ah! madame, there are many like her," said the Italian wife who stood by. " But she is ignorant of ever3'thing, even sin ! Good God ! Wh}^ don't 3^ou answer me? " continued Madame Hulot, trying to take Atala by the hand. The child, displeased, drew back. "You are an old fool!" she said. '-'My father and my mother went hungr}^ a week. My mother wanted to make something bad of me, and vaj father beat me and called me a thief. Just then Monsieur Vyder came and paid my father's and m^- mother's debts and gave them mone^' — oh, a whole bagful ! — and he carried me away, and my poor papa cried ; but he knew we had to sa}^ good-b3^ Well, do you call that wrong?" she demanded. *'Do 3'ou love this Monsieur V3'der?" "Do I love him ? " said the child, " I should think so, madame ! He tells me such beautiful stories at night. And he has given me pretty dresses and linen and a Cousin Bette. 545 shawl. I'm tricked out like a princess, I can tell j'ou. I never wear wooden shoes now ! And besides, I don't know what it is to go hungry. I get something better than potatoes to eat. He brings me sugar-plums, burnt almonds ! Oh, is n't chocolate good? I'd do anything he tells me for a bag of chocolate. And my dear old papa Vyder is so kind ; he takes such care of me, he does just what one would think my mother might have done. He is going to get an old servant-woman to help me, for he says I must n't spoil my hands cooking. For the last month he has earned a good bit of money. He brings me three francs every night — which I put awa}" in a money-box. Tlie only trouble is he does n't like me to go out — except to come here. But he 's a love of a man, and he does what he likes with me. He calls me his ' little kitten' — my mother used to call me a ' cursed little thief,' a ^ viper,' and I don't know what all." *' Well, then, my child, why should not Monsieur Vyder be j'our husband?" "So he is, madame," said the girl, looking straight at the baroness, proudly', without blushing, her brow calm and her e^'es clear. " He told me I was his lit- tle wife ; but I should n't like to be a man's wife if it was n't for the sugar-plums." "Good God!" said the baroness, in a low voice; " what a monster he must be to take advantage of sucli perfect and hoi}' innocence ! To bring the child back to the paths of decency ought to redeem many faults. I knew what I was doing," she murmured, thinking of the scene with Crevel ; "but she is ignorant of all." "Do 3'ou know Monsieur Samanon?" asked little Atala, with a coaxing air. 35 546 Cousin Bette. " No, my child ; why do you ask ? " " Really and truly?" said the girl, shyly. " Don't be afraid of madame, Atala," said the Italian v»'oman. " She is an angel." " Well, my dear old man is afraid Samanon ma}' find him. He has to hide ; and 1 do wisli he could be free." "Why?" " Oh, bless 3'ou ! he 'd take me to Bobino, — perhaps to the Ambigu." "You delightful little creature!" said the baroness, kissing the child. " Are you rich? " asked Atala, playing with Madame Hulot's sleeves. " Yes and no," replied the baroness. " I am rich for good little girls like you, when they are willing to be taught their Christian duties by a priest, and to walk in the right way." " What way ? " said Atala. " I walk on my two legs." She looked slyl}' at the baroness and laughed. " Look at madame, here," said the baroness, point- ing to the Italian wife ; " she is happy in her home ; but you are only married, like the animals, for a time." " I ! " replied Atala ; " but if you will give me what pere Vyder gives me I should be glad not to be married at all. It is a torment — that 's what it is." " When once a woman has married a man as you have married Monsieur Vyder," said the baroness, " vir- tue requires her to be faithful to him." "Till he dies?" said Atala, with a shrewd look. "Then I sha'n't have to wait long. If you only knew how pere Vyder coughs and wheezes ! Hu, hu I '" And she imitated the old man. Cousin Bette. 547 "Virtue and moralit}' require," said the baroness, "that the Church, wliich is the i-epresentative of God on eartli, shall consecrate your marriage. See madame here ; she was married legitimately." "Would it be more amusing?" asked the child. "You would be happier," said the baroness; "no one could then blame you. You would please God. Ask madame if she was married without the sacrament of marriage." Atala looked at her friend. "I don't see that she is an}' better than I. I'm the prettiest." " Yes, but I am an honest woman, and folks can give 30U a bad name," said the Italian. " How can 3'ou expect God to protect j'ou if you trample under foot all laws, both human and divine ?" said the baroness. " Don't 3'ou know that God keeps a paradise for those who live according to his will ? " "What is there in paradise, — any theatres?" " Paradise," said the baroness, "means all the hap- piness you can possibly imagine. It is filled with angels with shining v»'ings. God is there in all his glor}- ; we share his power, we are happ}" to all eternit}'." Atala Judici listened to the baroness as she miglit have listened to music. Seeing that she was totally un- able to understand her, Adeline thought she had better take the surer means of appealing to the old man. " Go home now, mj' dear little girl," she said, " and I will follow, and talk with Monsieur Vyder. Is he a Frenchman ? " " He is an Alsatian, madame. He is going to be very rich some da}'. If you could onh' pay what he 548 Cousin Bette. owes to that villain Samanon he would return you the money ; he will have six thousand francs a 3'ear in a few months, so he sajs, and then we are going to live in the countrj^, ever so far awaj^, down in the Vosges." The word Vosges sent the baroness into a passing reverie ; her mind reverted to her native village ; but she was presentlj' roused b}' the entrance of the chim- ney-builder himself, who came to give her the partic- ulars of his prosperity. " In another year, madame," he said, ending his tale, "I shall be able to pay back the loan you made me. I call it the money of the good God. It is that of the poor and the unfortunate. If I make a fortune you shall put your hand in my purse. I will return to others, through 3'ou, the benefits 3'ou have given to us" "Just now," said the baroness, smiling, " I will not ask 3'ou for mone3', but for your help in a good work. I have just been talking with that little Judici who lives with an old man. I want them to be married legally, and b3' the Church as well." " Ah, old Vyder ! He 's a worth3' fellow, and knows what he is about. He has made friends alread3' through the neighborhood, though he has been here onl3' two months. He is now making out m3' bills. Ah, how he loves Napoleon ! He was one of the old colonels ; he's decorated, but he never wears the cross. He sa3's he 's waiting till he can show his face in the woild. He has debts, poor man ! I think myself he is hiding for fear of arrest." " Tell him I will pa3' his debts if he will marry the child." " Then it will be soon done. Come, madame, sup- Cousin Bette, 549 pose we go and see him. He lives close by, in the passage du Soleil." The Italian showed Madame Hulot the wa3\ The passage du Soleil is reall}^ the beginning of the rue de la Pepiniere, and it opens on the rue du Rocher. About the middle of this recently created passage (the rental of its little shops being very low indeed) the bar- oness observed in the upper panes of a window, cur- tained from inquisitive eyes b}' a draper}^ of old green silk, the words, "Public Writer," and on the panel of the door a further notice : " Business Office. Here peti- tions are drawn up, bills made out, cop3'ing done, etc. Discretion. Celerity." The interior was somethhig like those waiting-rooms at the omnibus-stations where people congregate to make connections. A staircase led up to an apartment above which belonged to the shop or office. The bar- oness noticed a bureau in whitewood, now blackened, a few engravings, and a cheap armchair. A man's cap and a green shade for the ej'es with a steel spring, both extremely dirtj', showed either certain precautions taken to conceal his identity or a failure of e^'esight on the part of the old man. " He is upstairs," said the Italian. "I '11 go up and call him." The baroness lowered her veil and sat down. A heav}" step shook the little wooden staircase, and Ade- line could not restrain a shriek when she saw her hus- band in a gray knitted jacket, a pair of old woollen trousers, and slippers. " What can I do for 3'ou, madame?" said the baron, gallantl3\ Adeline rose, seized him, and said in a voice breathless with emotion : — 550 Cousin Bette. " At last I have found 3'on ! " '' Adeline ! " cried the baron, stupefied, but turning to fasten the street door. ""Joseph!" he cried to the Italian, "go out the baek-wa}'." "My friend," said his wife, forgetting everything in the excess of her J03' ; "you can come back to the bosom of 3'our family ; we are rich ! Your son has a hundred and sixty thousand francs a 3'ear ; your debts are all paid, your pension is free, and 3'ou have fifteen thousand francs waiting to be drawn on the certificate of your existence. Valerie is dead ; she bequeathed to you a large sum of mone}-. Your past is forgotten ; don't be afraid ! you can safely re-enter fife. Come back, and our happiness will be complete. For three years I have searched all Paris for you ; I knew I should find you. Y'our room is ready to receive 3'ou. Oh, come, come away from this dreadful place ! * " Y^es, willingh'," said the baron, half-bewildered; "but can 1 take the little one with me?" " Hector, 3'ou must give her up ! make that sacrifice to your Adeline ! I promise to give the child a dowr^^ to have her educated, to marry her well. It shall never be said that an^^ one of those who have made 3'ou happj' has suffered for it, or fallen into disgrace or vice." "So it was you," said the baron, smiHng, " who came to make me many her? — Walt here a few minutes ; I have suitable clothes in a trunk upstairs ; I '11 go and put them on." When Adeline was alone she looked again round the horrible den and burst into tears. " He lived here ! " she exclaimed, " while we were in luxury ! Poor man, how bitterly he is punished — he who was elegance itself!" Cousin Bette. 551 The Italian came back at this moment and the bar- oness sent him for a carriage. When the man returned Adeline begged him to take the little Atala into his famil}', and to cany her awa}' at once. "Tell her," she said, "that if she will put herself under the instruction of the cure of the Madeleine, I will give her thirty thousand francs on the day she makes her first communion, and I will find her a good husband, some fine 3'oung man." " My eldest son, madame ! He is twentj'-two years old, and he adores the child." Tlie baron came down at this moment ; his ej'es were wet. "You force me," he whispered to his wife, "to leave the only creature I have ever known whose love could be compared with yours ! The poor little girl is dissolved in tears — I cannot abandon her in this way." " Don't fear, Hector; she is going among kind and worthy people ; I will answer for her good conduct." "Ah! then I am readj' to follow you," said the baron, taking his wife to the carriage. Hector, once more Baron Hulot d'Ervj', had donned trousers and frock coat of blue cloth, a wiiite waistcoat, black cravat, and a pair of gloves. Just as the bar- oness seated herself in the carriage Atala slipped in after her like a lizard. "Ah, madame," she said, "let me go with 3'ou. I'll be very obedient; I'll do just what 3'ou tell me; but don't part me from pere V3der, who has been so good to me ; who ^ives me such pretty things — I shall be whipped at home." 552 Cousin Bette. " No, Atala," said the baron ; "this is my wife, and we must part." " She? that old woman, wlio shakes like a leaf! Oh, see her head ! " And she mimicked Madame Hulot's infirmity. The Italian was standing bj' the door of the carriage and the baroness signed to him. " Take her awaj'," she said. The man took Atala in his arms and carried her off b}^ force. "Thank 3'on for making me that sacrifice, dear friend," said Adeline, taking the baron's hand and pressing it with almost delirious jo3\ " How changed you are ! How you must have suffered ! What a sur- prise for 3'our children ; how happ}' we shall be ! " Adeline talked, as lovers talk who meet after a long absence, of a hundred things in a minute. When they reached the rue Louis-le-Grand she found the following letter : — Madame la baronne, — Monsieur d'Ervy lived a month in the rue de Charonne, under the name of Thorec, anagram of Hector. He is now in the passage du Soleil, under the name of Vyder. He calls himself an Alsatian, does writing, and lives with a young girl named Atala Judici. Be cautious, madame, for others are actively in search of Monsieur le baron, — for what purpose I do not know. The actress has kept her word, and remains as ever, Ma- dame la baronne, Your humble servant, J. M. The baron's return excited such family joy that he gave himself up to the delights of his home. He forgot Cousin Bette. 553 his little Atala, for one of the effects of indulged pas- sion was to make his feelings as volatile as those of a child. The satisfaction of the family was however less- ened b}' the great physical change which had come over him. He had left them a hale old man ; he returned almost a centenarian, broken, bent, and debased in countenance. At their first dinner, with luxuries im- provised by Celestine which reminded him of Josepha's feasts, he whispered to Adeline : — "You have killed the fatted calf for the prodigal father." " Hush ! " she said, " all is forgotten." " Where is Lisbeth? " asked the baron, noticing the old maid's absence. " Alas," said Hortense, " she is confined to her bed ; she never leaves it, and I fear we are to lose her soon. She hopes to see you after dinner." The next da3% at sunrise, Victoria was informed by the porter that a body of the municipal guard had sur- rounded his whole property. The}^ were in search of Hulot. The officer in charge followed the porter and presented documents bj- which it appeared that the baron owed notes for ten thousand francs to a usurer named Samanon, from whom he had probably received two or three thousand at the utmost. Victorin paid the notes and requested the officer to withdraw his men. '" Is that the whole? " he thought to himself, uneasilj'. Lisbeth, unhappy enough already at the good fortune of the family, could not endure this additional happi- ness. She grew so rapidly worse that Bianchon an- nounced she must die in a week, — conquered at last in the long struggle where she had scored so man}^ victo- 554 Cousin Bette. ries. She kept the secret of her hatred through the wear\' ching anguish of puhnonary consumption ; and found supreme satisfaction in seeing Adehne, Hortense, Hu- lot, Victorin, Steinbock, Celestine, and the children, in tears around her bed, considering her the angel of the family. Baron Hulot, restored by a good diet, began to look himself again ; and Adeline was so peacefulh' happ3' that the nervous quiver of her head and hands diminished sensibly. " She will end by being happy," thought Lisbeth the evening before her death, as she noticed the veneration which the baron showed for his wife, whose sufferings had been told to him by Hortense and by Victorin. The sight hastened Bette's end ; and her coffin was followed b}- the whole family in tears. The baron and baroness Hulot, who had now reached an age when life needs absolute repose, gave up their handsome apartments on the first floor to the Comte and Comtesse Steinbock, and removed to the floor above. The baron, through the influence of his son, obtained a situation on a railway at the beginning of the year 1845, with a salar}^ of six thousand francs ; this with his pension and the interest of the mone\^ left him by Madame Crevel gave him an income of twentj'-four thousand francs. Hortense had been separated from her husband as to property during the three years' quar- rel, and Victorin no longer hesitated to make over to her the two hundred thousand francs entrusted to him by the Prince de Wissembourg ; he gave her, moreover, from his own funds an annuit\' of twelve thousand francs. Wenceslas, as the husband of a rich woman, was never unfaithful to her again, but he idled and lounged, always unable to settle to an}- work, however Cousin Bette. 555 unimportant it might be. Once more an artist 'hi parti- bus^ he had great success in society and was much con- sulted b}' amateurs. He came to be thought a past- master of criticism, like other incapables who fall below their natural promise. Each of the three households was thus independent in . means, though the}' continued to live together as one famil}'. Learning wisdom from her misfortunes, the baroness allowed her son to manage her money mat- ters, and confined the baron to his own income, trusting that its limitations might keep him from falling back into his old errors. But, by an unexpected happiness, on which neither the mother nor the son had really counted, the baron appeared to have renounced the fair sex. This tranquillity, which might be attributed to his age, had so far reassured his famil}' that the}' en- joyed without a sense of distrust the delightful amiability and charming domestic manners of the old baron. Full of little attentions to his wife and children, he accom- panied them to the theatre and reappeared with them in society ; and he did the honors of his son's salon with a grace that was all his own. In short, the prodigal father, restored to the bosom of his family, was a con- stant satisfaction to them. He was a charrains; old man, completely used up, but still lively and witty, with no remains of his vice except that part of it which can be turned into a social virtue. The whole family lived therefore in complete security. Mother and children praised the father to the skies, — forgetting the death of the two uncles. Madame Victorin was a good housekeeper, made so in part by cousin Bette's instructions, and the necessities 556 Cousin Bette. of her great household compelled her to hire a man-cook. The man-cook required a scullion. Such girls are very ambitious in these da3's ; their object is to get the secrets of the chef, and to be cooks themselves as soon as they know how to concoct a sauce. The consequence is that scullions are a class of servants who are contin- ually changing. At the beginning of December, 1845, Celestine engaged a stout Norman woman from Isigny with a short waist, red arms, and a common face ; stupid, moreover, as an owl, and who could with diffi- culty be persuaded to abandon the classic cotton caps which the women of lower Normandy inherit. This girl, with the figure of a wet-nurse, threatened to burst the calico gown which enclosed her bust. Her rudd}^ face reall}^ looked as if cut in stone, so firm were its yel- lowish outlines. Naturally' no one in the famil}^ took any notice of the arrival of this girl, who was named Agatha, one of the many whom the provinces send daily to Paris. Agatha presented no temptations to the cook, for she was vulgar in language, having lived among carters and serA^ed in country taverns ; instead, therefore, of making a conquest of the cAe/and getting out of him the secrets of his fine dishes, she was merely an object of his contempt. The cook was courting Louise, Ma- dame Steinbock's maid. Agatha considered herself ill- treated ; she was sent out on errands on any excuse or no excuse, when the chef was finishing a dish or per- fecting a sauce. " I 've no chance," she said to herself, ' ' and I '11 go somewhere else." Nevertheless she stayed. One night Adeline, wakened by an unusual noise, missed Hector from the adjoining bed ; she waited au hour, expecting his return. Terrified, fanc3'ing some Cousin Bette, 657 catastrophe, paralj'sis or apoplex3^ she went up to the attic floor to call the servants, and was attracted to Aga- tha's room b}' a bright light and a murmur of voices. Suddenl}' she stopped short, horror-stricken on hearing the baron's voice. Seduced b}' the woman's charms, lie was saving, in answer to her shrewd resistance : " My wife has n't long to live ; and I will marrj' you." Ade- line uttered a cry, dropped her candlestick, and fled downstairs. Three days later, after receiving the last sacraments, Madame Hulot lay dying, surrounded by her Trvliiil^' in tears. A moment before she expired she took her hiTi^ band's hand, pressed it, and whispered, " Friend, my life is all that is left me to give ; you are now free ; 30U can take another wife." The survivors saw, what is rare indeed, two tears issuing from the e3^es of a corpse. The ferocit}' of vice had worn out the patience of an angel, from whose lips, on the borders of eternit}', came the sole word of re- proach she had ever uttered. Baron Hulot left Paris three da3's after his wife's funeral. Eleven months later Victorin heard indirectly of his father's marriage with Mademoiselle Agatha Piquetard, which took place at Isigny on the Istof Feb- ruarv, 1846. " Parents can oppose their children's marriage, but children cannot prevent the follies of their childish parents," said Hulot, junior, to his friend Popinot, the second son of the minister of Commerce, who talked to him about the marriage. CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT 202 Main Library RIOD 1 USE 2 3 5 6 KS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS loans may be renewed by calling 642-3405 loans may be recharged by bringing books to Circulation Desk and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due dote DUE AS STAMPED BELOW --^ _ l\ Q 'ftO 1980 /Eo a } u m\ 3K' o--^' » UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY DD6, 60m, 3/80 BERKELEY, CA 94720 \ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY ^ ja. '^'^^^^ pSftt f^^ £^<^&^ \ T^ Cz^ Bt^'f^ -^t^^'^^JAk; "^ ^{fcJ^N^ ''W^^ i^^ 0^ i^i^ l^^^w -