THE 
 
 Tower of Percemont, 
 
 By 
 
 GEORGE SAND 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 
 14 AND i6 Vesev Street. 
 
-tDV^ 
 
 ^^&6>^^ 
 
'^^ 0" THE -^ 
 
 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was during my vacation, in the autumn of 1873. 
 that I first became connected with the De Nives family, 
 I possessed at that time an annual income of about thirty 
 thousand francs, acquired as much by my professional 
 labor as a barrister in the royal court as by the assiduous 
 and patient improvement of the real estate of Madame 
 Chantebel, my wife. My only son, Henri, had just finished 
 his law-studies at Paris, and I was expecting him the very 
 evening that the following note reached me by hand : — 
 
 '' To M. Chantebel^ barrister^ at the Maison-JBlanche^ 
 commune of Percemont^ Riom. 
 
 " Sir : May I ask for your legal advice ? I know that 
 it is your vacation, but I will come to your country-house 
 to-morrow, if you are willing to receive me. 
 
 ** Alix, Countess de Nives. 
 " Please reply by bearer." 
 I replied that I should expect the countess on the 
 
2 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT.\ 
 
 following day, and ray wife immediately began to find 
 fault with me. '* You always reply at once in the same 
 fashion," she said, *' and never allow any one to urge you 
 or wait for you, just as a briefless barrister would do-j 
 You never will know how to make the most of your posi 
 tion ! " 
 
 " My position ? What is my position, please tell me ? " 
 " You have the highest legal standing in the districte 
 Your fortune is made, and it is high time for you to take 
 a little rest." 
 
 " That will soon come I hope ; but until our son has 
 commenced the practice of his profession, and shown that 
 he is able to take my place, I do not intend to endanger 
 the situation. I wish to install him with every chance of 
 success." 
 
 " You always talk in this way ; you have a mania for 
 business, and are never willing to refuse a case. You will 
 die in harness. Come let us see ! -Suppose Henri has not 
 the ability to take your place ? " 
 
 " Then, as I promised, I will retire and end my days 
 in the country ; but Henri will take my place. He is a 
 good scholar; he is well endowed — " 
 
 " But he has not your physical strength and your 
 determined will. He is delicate. He takes after me." 
 
 " We shall see! If the work is too much for him, I 
 shall make a consulting barrister of him, under my 
 direction. I am sufficiently well known and appreciated 
 to be certain that practice will not be wanting." 
 
 " Well and good, I should like that better. A con- 
 sulting lawyer can give his opinion without leaving his 
 home, and while living on his estate." 
 
 " Yes at my age, with my reputation and experience ; 
 but this will not do for a young man. He must live in 
 the city, and even go to see his clients. It will be advis- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 3 
 
 able, 'during the first years of professional duty, that I 
 should be near at hand in order to direct him." 
 
 " That is just like you ! you do not wish to retire ! 
 Then of what use is it to purchase a chateau and go to the 
 expense of making it habitable, if neither of you will live 
 there?" 
 
 My wife had recently induced me to purchase the 
 manor house of. Perceraont, situated in the very middle 
 of our estate, in the commune of the same name. This 
 territory, within the enclosure of our land, had been a 
 source of trouble to us* for along time, and we desired very 
 much to become its owners; but the old Baron Coras de 
 Percemont valued his ancestral manor house at an exorbi- 
 tant price, and determined to make the purchaser pay dear 
 for the honor of restoring its ruins. We had given up the 
 idea of possessing it, when the b^ron died without chil- 
 dren, and the chateau, having been put up at auction, was 
 knocked down to us for a reasonable sum. At least thirty 
 thousand francs were required to render this nest of vul- 
 tures, perched on the summit of a volcanic cone, barely 
 habitable, and 1 was by no means so eager as my wife to 
 incur such an expense. Our country house, spacious, 
 neat, convenient, sheltered by hills, and surrounded by an 
 extensive garden, appeared to me altogether sufficient, 
 and our acquisition had no other merit in my eyes than 
 that of possibly freeing us from an inconvenient and mis- 
 chief-making neighbor. The declivities of the rocks on 
 which the Tower of Percemont stood were well planted 
 in vines. The summit, crowned with a growth of young 
 fir-trees, might hereafter become a good cover for game, 
 and I intended, if it were left undisturbed, to have there 
 an enjoyable preserve for shooting in time to come. My 
 wife did not take the same view of the-case. This gi-eat 
 tower had disordered her brain. It seemed to her that, 
 
4 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 in perching herself there, she raised her social level five 
 hundred feet above the level of the sea. Women have 
 their whims ; mothers have their weaknesses. Henri had 
 always manifested so strong a desire to possess Percemont 
 that Madame Chantebel gave me no respite until I had 
 bought it. 
 
 Almost the first words she said to Henri, while em- 
 bracing him, upon his arrival, when I had only been two 
 days in full possession of my new property, were, " Thank 
 your dear father ! behold yourself lord of Percemont." 
 
 "Yes," I said, " baron of thistles -and lord of screech- 
 owls. That is something to be proud of. I think you 
 must have some visiting cards engraved which will ac- 
 quaint the people around us with these lofty titles." 
 
 " My titles are more lofty than those," he replied. 
 "I am the son of the moet able and most honest man in 
 the province. My name is Chantebel, and I consider my- 
 self as greatly ennobled by my father's deeds ; I disdain 
 all other lordship; but the romantic manor-house, the 
 steep peak, the wild wood, are charming playthings for 
 which I thank you, dear father, and if you are willing, I 
 / shall find therein, some peppei'-box, a little nest where 
 j from time to time I can read or dream." 
 ^ '* If that is the height of your ambition, I approve," 
 said I, " and I give, you the plaything. You will allow 
 the game to come back which the old baron shot without 
 cessation — having, I fancy, nothing else to put in his pan- 
 try — and next year we will kill a few hares together. 
 With this understanding let us proceed to dinner, after 
 which we will talk of more serious matters." 
 
 I had indeed serious projects for my son, and we were 
 not about to discuss them for the first time. I wished 
 him to marry his -cousin, Emilie Ormonde, who was 
 familiarly called Miliette, or, still better, Miette. My late 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE 
 
 sister had married a rich countryman of the vicinity, the 
 owner of a large farm, who had left at least a hundred 
 thousand crowns to each of his children, Miette and Jac- 
 ques Ormonde. Jacques w^as thirty years old, Erailie was 
 twenty-two. 
 
 When I had refreshed Henri's memory in regard to 
 this plan, concerning which he did not appear over-anx- 
 ious to converse, I watched him still more attentively, 
 as I had attacked him unexpectedly in order to surprise 
 Ins first impression. It Avas more sad than gay, and he 
 looked at his mother, as if to seek in her eyes the answei; 
 he should make. My wife had always approved and 
 desired this marriage ; I was therefore extremely surprised 
 when, speaking in place of her son, she said, in a reproach- 
 ful tone, — 
 
 " Indeed, M. Chantebel, when you have set your mind 
 on anything, it is like an iron wedge in a piece of rock. 
 Can you not leave this poor boy, who is worn out with 
 exhausting labor, and who needs to breathe freely, a 
 single moment of joy and liberty ? Is it necessary so 
 soon to talk to him about putting the marriage-halter 
 around his neck ? '' 
 
 " Is it, then, a halter to hang one's self with? " I re- 
 plied, a little angry ; " do you find it so uncomfortable, 
 and do you wish to make him think that his parents do 
 not live happily together ? " 
 
 "I know it is not so," Henri replied, quickly. "I 
 know that we three make only one. If you both wish 
 that I should marry immediately, I stand for nothing, 
 and wish to stand for nothing; but — " 
 
 " But, if I am entirely alone in my opinion,'' I re- 
 sumed, " it is I who will count for nothing. Then, we 
 three do not make one, and matters will be decided 
 between us by the majority of votes." 
 
6 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 *'Do you know, M. Chantebel," said my wife, wlio 
 was not wanting in sense on the occasion, *' We are 
 happy in marriage in our fasluon, but every one regards 
 it in his own way, and since the good to be looked for, or 
 the evil that is risked, concerns our son exclusively, my 
 opinion is, that we should neither of us give him advice, 
 but leave him to decide the question by himself." 
 
 " This is exactly the conclusion that I held in reserve," 
 replied I ; " but I thought he was in love with Miette, 
 and had decided a long time ago to marry her as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 " And Miette ? " said Henri, earnestly — " is she as 
 decided as I am, and do you think that she is in love 
 with me ? " 
 / " In love is a term which is not found in Miette's 
 vocabulary. You know her: a young woman, calm, 
 pure, decided, and sincere; the personification of integ- 
 rity, goodness, and courage. It is certain that Miette 
 has a great friendship for you. She has, besides me, 
 only one guide and friend in this world, her brother 
 Jacques whom she blindly loves and respects. Miette 
 Ormonde will marry whomsoever Jacques Ormonde 
 chooses, artd, since his childhood Jacques Ormonde, who 
 is your best friend, has destined his sister for you. What 
 Mo you wish for better than this ? " 
 
 " I could never desire nor hope for anything better if 
 I were loved," replied Henri ; " but let me tell you, my 
 father, that this affection on which I thought I could rely 
 has for some time grown strangely cold. Jacques did 
 not reply when I announced my approaxilung return, and 
 ' Emilie's last letters displayed a noticeable reserve." 
 " Did you not set her the example ? " 
 " Has she complained ? " 
 " Miette never complains of anything ; she only re- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMOt^fT. 7 
 
 marked an abstracted kind of manner in your letters, and, 
 when I wished her to rejoice with me at the prospect of 
 your return, she appeared to doubt if it were as near as 
 I announced. Come, my son, tell us tlie truth. You 
 may safely make confession to your parents. I do not 
 ask you to give us an account of diversions for which 
 Miette could reproach you. We, students of former 
 times, have all passed through them, and I do not pretend 
 that we were better than you ; still we returned joyfully 
 to the fold. Perhaps in your correspondence with your 
 cousin you have suffered a regret to escape you for 
 matters which you would do wrong to take too seri- 
 ously." 
 
 " I hope not, my dear father, for this regret was very 
 slight and was quickly effaced by the thought of your 
 happiness. I cannot recall that any such expressions es- 
 caped me ; I am surely not simple enough to have said, 
 or even thought of anything that would furnish a motive 
 for the icy tone that my little cousin assumed in reply- 
 ing to me." 
 
 " Have you the letter with you ? " 
 
 " I will get it for you in a moment." 
 
 Henri went out, and my wife, who had listened in 
 silence, said quickly, " My husband, this marriage is 
 broken off ; we must think of it no longer." 
 
 " Why ? Who has broken it off ? For what pur- 
 pose?" • 
 
 " Miette is rigid and cold ; she understands nothing 
 of the requirements of a life of elegance in a certain 
 situation ; she is incapable of pardoning a slight wander- 
 ing from the right path in a young man's life." 
 
 '* Nonsense ! what are you talking about ? Miette 
 knows very well all the follies committed by her brother 
 when he studied law in Paris, and I do not believe Henri 
 
8 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 has a quarter as many to reproach himself with. How- 
 ever, Miette never manifested any disquietude or vexation ; 
 she received her brother with open arras when he returned, 
 two years since as much a seeker after adventures, and as 
 little of a lawyer, as possible. She helped him pay his 
 debts, without a word of reproach or regret. He told 
 this to me not long since, adding that his sister was an 
 angel for indulgence and generosity ; and now you would 
 like—" * 
 
 Henri, who returned with the letter, here interrupted 
 us. This letter was not cold, as he pretended. Emilie 
 was never v^ry demonstrative, and her habitual modesty 
 prevented her from becoming more so ; but it was plain 
 that she was under the influence of a trouble and some 
 kind of fright in her own home that were entirely unusual. 
 " Friendship," she said, " is indissoluble, and you will 
 always find in me a devoted sister ; but do not distress 
 yourself about marriage ; if time for reflection is necessary 
 for you, it is also necessary for me, and we have made no 
 engagement that we cannot discuss or put off, according 
 to circumstances." 
 
 " You will remark," observed Henri, addressing me, 
 "that she calls me you^ instead of ihou^ for the first 
 time." 
 
 " That must be your fault," I replied. " Let us see ! 
 Come to the fact. Are you really in love, yes or no, with 
 your cousin ? " 
 
 "In love?" 
 
 " Yes, passionately in love ? " 
 
 " He is at a loss how to answer you," said my wife. 
 " He is asking himself, perhaps, if he ever were so." 
 
 Henri seized the line his mother held out. " Yes," he 
 cried, " that is quite true ! I do not know if the respect- 
 ful and fraternal sentiment which Miette has inspired in 
 
THE TO WER OF PERCEMONT. 9 
 
 me from childhood can be called love. Passion has never 
 mingled witli it on either side." 
 
 " And you wish for passion in marriage ? " 
 
 " Do you think I am wrong ? " 
 
 " I think nothing about it ; I am not making a theory. 
 I wish to know the state of your heart. If Miette 
 Ormonde loved some one else, you would be perfectly 
 satisfied?" 
 
 Henri turned pale, and blushed the next moment. " If 
 she loves another," he replied, in a voice full of emotion, 
 " let her say so ! I have no right to oppose her, and I 
 am too proud to allow myself to reproach her." 
 
 "Come! " I resumed ; " the thing is clear, and the 
 case is settled. Listen : we dined at four o'clock ; it is 
 now hardly six. You can reach your cousin's in half an 
 hour. You will take Prunelle, your good little mare, 
 who has not been used much during your absence, and 
 who will be enchanted to carry you. You have nothing 
 to say to Miette, excepting that, having this minute 
 arrived, you hasten to grasp her hand and her brother's. 
 This eagerness is the most concise and clear explanation 
 of what concerns you. You will see whether it is met 
 with pleasure or indifference. Nothing more is required 
 for a young man of spirit. Welcomed joyfully, you remain 
 with them an hour, and return to tell us your triumph. 
 Otherwise guided by the first words, you come back 
 immediately without asking anything more. It is very 
 simple, and cuts short all the theories we could construct, 
 as well as all the fine words we could say." 
 
 " You are right," replied Henri ; " I will go at once." 
 
10 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Ix order to pass away the time, my wife took her knit- 
 ting while I amused myself with a book. I saw, indeed, 
 that she was burning to contradict and quarrel with me, 
 and I pretended not to suspect it ; but she burst out at 
 last, and I let her alone in order to find out her thoughts. 
 I discovered that her son's marriage with Miette had 
 become undesirable in her mind, and that her letters or 
 words had had some influence in the estrangement of 
 the lovers. She no longer loved her poor niece, and 
 found her too much of a vine-dresser, too .humbly 'born, 
 for hej* son ; her fortune was suitable, but Henri was an 
 only son, and could aspire to a richer heiress. He had 
 luxurious tastes and habits which Miette would never 
 understand. She had made of her brother, once brilliant 
 and polished, a great peasant, fast growing into unwieldy 
 proportions. She had all the virtues as well as all the 
 prejudice and obstinacy of a countrywoman. It was 
 allowable to think of this marriage when Henri was still 
 a scholar and a provincial. Now that he had come back 
 from Paris in all the splendor of his good looks, his 
 clothes, and his grand manners, he must seek for a girl of 
 birth, one capable of shining in society. 
 
 I listened to all this in silence, and when it was ended 
 I said : — " Do you wish me to draw a conclusion ? " 
 
 "Yes; speak." 
 
 "Well, if this marriage is detestable, it is neither 
 Henri's nor Miette's fault; it is the fault of the great 
 Tower of Percemont ! " 
 
 « Indeed! " 
 
THE TOWER OP PERCEMONT. 11 
 
 "Yes; without this accursed tower we should have 
 always been the good and happy citizens of former times, 
 and should not have found my sister's children too mucl! 
 like peasants ; but since we have machicolations above 
 our vines, and an ornamented door to our winepress — " 
 
 *' A winepress ! You intend to make a winepress of 
 our chateau ? " 
 
 "Yes, my dear friend; and if this does not put an 
 end to your folly, I intend to demolish the old shed ! " 
 
 *' You cannot do that ! " cried Madame Chantebel, 
 indignantly. " The chateau is your son's, you gave it to 
 him." 
 
 " When he sees that the chateau has turned your 
 brain, he will help me to demolish it." 
 
 My wife was afraid of raillery. She grew calm, and 
 promised to wait patiently for Emilie's decision ; but she 
 soon had a new source of agitation. The hours passed, 
 and Henri did not return. I was rejoiced ; I thought 
 his cousins had kept him, and that all three were very 
 happy in seeing each other once more. At last it was 
 midnight, and my wife, fearing some accident, was con- 
 tinually going from the garden to the road, when the 
 steps of Henri's little mare were heard, and a moment 
 after he was with us. 
 
 "Nothing has happened to me," he replied to his 
 mother, who questioned him with great anxiety. " I saw 
 Emilie a moment, and I learned that her brother had 
 been living for a month on his farm in Champgousse, 
 where he is having a Ikrge building put up. Emilie, 
 being alone at home, gave me to understand that I must 
 not prolong my visit ; and, as it was still early, I directed 
 my course to Champgousse to see Jacques. I did not 
 remember the road, and went further than was necessary. 
 At last I saw Jacques, talked and smoked an hour with 
 
12 TlfK TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 liim, and here I am after riding three leagues on my way 
 back through intricate paths which, without the in- 
 tt lligence.of my horse, I should not easily have recognizcfl 
 in the obscurity." 
 
 "And how did Emilie receive you?" asked Madame 
 Chantehel. 
 
 " Very pleasantly," replied Henri, " as nearly as I 
 could judge in so short a time." 
 
 "No chiding, no reproaches?" 
 
 " None at all." 
 
 " And Jacques ? " 
 
 " He was as cordial as usual." 
 / " Then nothing is decided ? " 
 
 '* The subject of marriage was not agitated. That is 
 a question we must discuss with you." 
 
 My wife, reassured, retired to her room, and Henri 
 immediately took my arm and drew me to the garden. 
 " I must speak to you," he said. " What I have to tell 
 you is very delicate, and I feared that my mother would 
 take the matter so much to heart that she would not be 
 prudent. This is what occurred." 
 
 "Sit down," I said, "and I will listen to you." 
 
 Henri, very much troubled, related to me what fol- 
 lows. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " First, I must tell you the state of my feelings when 
 
 I was going to see Emilie. It is very true that before 
 
 /quitting Parisian life I had a feeling of terror in thinking 
 
 / of mai-riage. The ideal dreamed of in my early^youth 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 13 
 
 had grown fainter year after year in the feverish atmos- 
 phere of the capital. You saw me so in love with my 
 cousin when I began my study of the law that you were 
 afraid — I well understood it — of my progress in my 
 studies being retarded by my impatience to get through 
 with them. You did not understand that this fervor- of 
 love and marriage was a phase of collegiate life, and 
 found its natural place between the baccalaureate and 
 the first law-entry. Perhaps you did not foresee that 
 the impatience would very soon be calmed, and possibly 
 desiring this marriage as you did, you would have done 
 better to allow me to come home at the vacations. You 
 thought it your duty to divert me from an anxiety which 
 I never felt after the first year's absence. You passed 
 your own vacations with me, travelled with me, took me 
 to the seaside, to Switzerland, and then to Florence and 
 Rome — in short, you so well fulfilled your duty that I 
 did not see Emilie for four years. The result is that I"! 
 dreaded to see her again lest I should find her no longer 
 as charming as she had appeared to me in the splendor 
 of her eighteen years. -^ 
 
 " I thought of this while galloping towards her abode 
 just as the sun was setting, and felt tempted to moderate ' 
 the ardor of Prunelle, who went on the wings of the 
 wind. She was constrained, however, to do this for her- 
 self as we approached Yignolette, and went at a slow 
 pace up the sandy ascent that has to be climbed to gain 
 a view of the roof of the house buried in the foliage. 
 There my disturbed mind at once grew calm, and an in- 
 describably tender emotion took possession of my heart. 
 The evening was beautiful; there was a golden glow in 
 tlie heavens and on the earth. The mountains appeared 
 in the mists of a rosy violet tint. The road shone under 
 my feet like the dust of rubies. The vines waved play- 
 
14 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 fully on the hills, and the great purpled branches, loaded 
 with fruit already black, stood erect and hung in abun- 
 dant festoons over my head. Pardon me, I have written 
 poetry ! My happy, youthful days returned once more. 
 I dreamed over the scenes of my forgotten pastorals. I 
 fancied myself transported to the time when, in my 
 collegian's garb — too short for my great lean arms — ^I ap- 
 proached with a palpitating heart the abode of my little 
 cousin, then so pretty, gracious, and confiding ! I recom- 
 menced my love-dreams, and it seemed to me that hopes 
 and desires wbicb Had taken entire possession of my be- 
 ing could not be a vain illusion. I spurred on my horse, 
 and arrived, panting, feverish, fearful, and passionately 
 in love as when I was seventeen years old ! 
 
 " Do not be impatient, my father. I must sum up 
 what a few hours ago was the past, a past already more 
 than a century from the present. I trembled when knock- 
 ing at the door, that little door painted green, still frayed 
 and mended with great nails as in former times. I took 
 pleasure in recognizing every object,and in finding the wild 
 honeysuckle shading the rustic entrance as fresh as ever 
 and grown into a great bush. Formerly an iron wire ex- 
 tending along this arbor of vines was sufficient to give 
 entrance to familiar acquaintances without troubling any 
 one; but this hospitable confidence had disappeared; I 
 had to wait at least five minutes. I said to myself : 
 'Emilie is alone, and perhaps she is at the end of the en- 
 closure. It takes time to cross the vineyard, but she 
 must have recognized my peculiar way of knocking; she 
 will come and open the door for me herself as in the old 
 times ! ' 
 
 " She did not come ; old Nicole opened the door and 
 took hold of my horse's bridle with an eagerness full of 
 trouble. ' Enter, enter, M. Henri ! Yes, yes, mademoi 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 15 
 
 selle is very well ; she is at home, M. Henri ; you must 
 excuse us, iu is washing-day, our people have all gone to 
 the river to bring back the linen ; this is the reason you 
 had to wait. You know very well, M. Henri, these are 
 the days when everything is topsy-turvy.' 
 
 "I quickly cleared the long and narrow walk, too 
 long at least for my liking ! Formerly they recognized 
 my voice at a distance, and Jacques ran to meet me. 
 Jacques was absent. Emilie came to meet me at the 
 head of the flight of steps. She held out her hand first ; 
 but there was more terror than joy in her surprise at 
 seeing me. She was dressed as she used to be, in a half- 
 girlish fashion, the muslin dress well turned back on the 
 hips, the silk apron trimmed with lace, th^ little straw 
 hat of peasant-shape turned back behind over her magni- 
 ficent braids of brown hair. She was still as pretty as 
 ever, perhaps even prettier! Her fresh countenance had 
 become a little more oval in form, her eyes were larger, 
 and a serious expression rendered her glance more pene- 
 trating, her smile more full of meaning. I do not know 
 what we said to each other ; we were both very much 
 moved. We asked about the news, and did not listen to 
 the answers. 
 
 " I understood at last that Jacques (Jaquet, as she 
 always calls him) was putting up some buildings on a 
 farm a couple of leagues away. Champgousse is his part 
 of the inheritance. For a long time the stables and barns 
 bad l)een going to ruin. He did not wish to trust the 
 work to a contractor, who would have charged him a 
 high price without doing things to suit him. He had, 
 therefore, installed himself with his tenants, so as to be 
 there from sunrise to sunset, and watch the labor of hifl 
 workmen. 
 
 " ' But he comes to see you every day ? ' 
 
16 " THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 " 'N"© it is too far away; it would keep him up very 
 late. I am going to see him next Sunday, to make sure 
 that he does not want for anything.' 
 
 " ' It must be very tedious for him to be there alone ? ' 
 
 " ' No, he is so busy ! ' 
 
 " ' But does not this solitude make you sad ? ' 
 
 " ' I have no time to think of it ; there is always so 
 much to do when one has a home to look after.' 
 
 " ' You should come and live with us ! ' 
 
 " ' That is impossible.' 
 
 " ' You are, then, still a model housekeeper? ' 
 
 " ' It is necessary.' 
 
 " ' And you like this austere life ? ' 
 
 " ' As well as I ever did.' 
 
 " ' You do not think—' 
 
 "'Of what?' 
 
 " ' Of being two to—' 
 
 " I believe I came near committing myself, when 
 Emilie rose abruptly as she heard the creaking of the din- 
 ing-room door adjoining the drawing-room ; she rushed 
 forward in that direction, and I heard her say very dis- 
 tinctly,' He is there — do not let him see you ! ' 
 
 "You start with surprise, father. I felt a rending of 
 the heart. I heard the door shut, and Emilie returned, 
 absent-minded and constrained, and asked me some idle 
 questions about your health and what you were doing; 
 although she knows everything that concerns you, and it 
 was I rather who should have learned the news from her. 
 I saw that my presence was simply torture to her, and 
 that her eyes watched the clock in spite of herself so as 
 to count the insupportable minutes of my stay. I took up 
 my hat, saying that as yet I had scarcely seen you, and, be- 
 sides, I was unwilling to encroach further upon her time. 
 ' You are right,' she replied. ' You cannot come here as 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 17 
 
 you used to — I am alone in the house, and it would 
 not be proper ; but if you will go next Sunday to see 
 Jaquet at Champgousse, we shall meet there.' I do not 
 remember if I made any reply. I hurried off, running as 
 if my clothes were on fire, fetched Prunelle from the 
 stable, and started at full speed on the road home. And " 
 then I suddenly stopped short, asking myself if I were 
 dreaming, and if I were not insane. ' Miette Ormonde ^ 
 unfaithful, or concealing a lover in her house ! No it is 
 impossible,' I said ; ' but I wish to know and I will know ! 
 I will go and see Jacques. I will question him frankly. 
 He is an upright man ; he is my friend, and will tell me 
 the truth.' 
 
 " I took the cross road that leads to Champgousse. I 
 lost my way at times, for it was entirely dark. At last I 
 arrive in the obscurity, and catch a glimpse of a mass of 
 buildings, which do not appear to me noticeably changed. 
 I dismount in the midst of furious dogs. I look for the 
 door of the master's dwelling, when suddenly it half opens. 
 In the light projected from the interior, I detect the 
 huge form of Jacques Ormonde in the dress of one just 
 risen from his bed. 
 
 " He throws himself into my arms, clasps me vigorous- 
 ly in his, cried out that he had gone to bed, and that he 
 was very near taking his gun to receive me, for he thought 
 it was a robber, the dog made such an uproar. He took 
 possession of Prunelle, and, still half naked, led her himself 
 to the stable, where I followed to assist him in unbridling 
 her. ' Let me do it,' he said, ' you cannot see. I see in 
 the night like an owl, and then I know where to find 
 everything.' In truth, he makes all the arrangements, 
 gives water, grain, forage, to his * little friend Prunelle, 
 returns without having awoke any one, distributes plenti- 
 ful kicks to his dogs, who still growl at me, makes me 
 
18 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 enter bis sitting-room, the sole luxury of which consists in 
 guns of all calibres and pipes of all dimensions. There 
 were neither books, an inkstand, nor pens ; all was exactly- 
 like his student's room in the Latin Quarter at Paris. 
 
 " ' Ah ! how long is it since you arrived in the 
 country ? ' 
 
 " ' Only since this afternoon.' 
 
 " ' And you come to see me immediately ? That is 
 pleasant, indeed ; and I thank you. How are they all at 
 your house ? I believe, it is more than a month since I 
 have seen your parents. I have so much to do here I I 
 cannot leave ; but they knew where I had pitched my 
 tent this time, since you surprise me here.' 
 
 " * They knew absolutely nothing, for they sent me to 
 Yignolette, where I expected to find you.' 
 
 *' Here Jaquet's expressive face became distorted, and 
 the great fellow blushed like a young woman might have 
 done at the least surprise. He exclaimed, in a tone full 
 of alarm and anxiety : ' You come from Vignolette ? You 
 have seen my sister ? ^ 
 
 " ' Reassure yourself,' I replied ; * I have seen no one 
 but her.' 
 
 " * You have seen only her ? She has, then, told 
 you — ' 
 
 " ' She has told me everything,' I replied, with assur- 
 ance, wishing at any price to profit by his emotion in 
 order to extract the truth from him. 
 
 " ' She told you — but you did not see the other f 
 
 " *• I did not see the other.' 
 
 " ' She told you her name ? ' 
 
 " * She did not tell me her name.' 
 
 *' * She intrusted the secret to you ? 
 
 ** * She intrusted nothing to me.' 
 
 " ' Ah, well ! I ask as a matter of honor, and in the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 19 
 
 name of the friendship you have for us, that you will not 
 breathe a word of what you have found out ! Will you 
 swear not to reveal it ? ' 
 
 " ' 1 have no need to swear when Emilie's honor is at 
 stake.' 
 
 " ' That is right. I am an idiot. But you must take 
 some refreshment, and smoke a pipe, a cigar — which do 
 you prefer ? Take your choice ; I am going down into 
 the cellar.' 
 
 " '- Do not give yourself so much trouble.' 
 
 " ' It is very little trouble,' he replied, opening a trap- 
 door in the middle of the room. My provision is always 
 at hand.' 
 
 "And in a moment he descended two steps, and 
 returned, bearing a basketful of bottles of every growth 
 in his vineyard. 
 
 " * Thank you,' I said, ' but I have lost the habit of 
 drinking wine in the way of refreshment. Have you any 
 eau piquante f ' 
 
 " ' I should think so ; the acidulated source runs at my 
 door. Here it is entirely fresh ; put a little brandy in it. 
 Hold ! here is the cognac and sugar ; mix some grog for 
 yourself.' 
 
 " I saw, while I was mixing according to my taste, 
 that he uncorked his own wine, to drink himself; and, 
 knowing liow wine loosens the tongue, I feigned a great 
 thirst, to induce him to drink as well. I hoped for the 
 revelation of the grand secret ; but it was lost labor for 
 him to swallow the wine of his hills ; he always changed 
 the conversation with an address of which I did not 
 believe him capable. Besides, I quickly gave up the role. 
 Why did I want to know the name of the man who had 
 taken possession of my place in Emilie's heart? She 
 ought to have said to me frankly ; 'I do not love you any 
 
20 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 longer; I am going to marry some one else.' Jacques 
 appeared to think that she had told me so. I wished to 
 go directly to the point, and interrupted him in the midst 
 of his digressions by saying, • Let us talk about serious 
 affairs. When is the marriage to take place ? ' 
 
 " ' My marriage ? ' replied he. ' Well, I must wait i 
 month before I am able to declare myself openly.' 
 
 " * You have, then, marriage projects on your owe 
 account ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, great projects; but do not ask me to tell you 
 aiiything more. I am very much in love, and I hope to 
 marry — that is all. A month hence you will be the first 
 one in w^hom I shall confide.' 
 
 " ' That is to say, that you will never confide in me 
 during the present chapter, for in a month you will have 
 forgotten it, and will commence another.' 
 
 " ' It is true that I am unsteady. I have given too 
 many proofs of this to deny it ; but this time it is serious, 
 very serious, upon my word of lionor !' 
 
 " ' So be it ; but I did not speak of your marriage 
 Do not pretend to misunderstand me. I spoke of Emilie's 
 marriage.' 
 
 " ^ Of my sister's marriage with you? Ah! so it is 
 again under discussion ! Well, I regret it very much, I 
 can assure you ! ' 
 
 u 4 u Again under discussion " is a charming expres- 
 sion ! ' I exclaimed bitterly. 
 
 " He did not allow me to continue. * WelL yes,' he 
 said, ' it is broken off. You ought not to complain, for it 
 is according to your own wish. Did you not write to 
 Miette, a month or six weeks since, a kind of veiled con- 
 fession, in which you doubted the possibility of her pardon, 
 and appeared to submit to her refusal, with a very 
 resigned sorrow? I understood it all very well, and, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 21 
 
 questioned by her, I told her in a pleasant way that the 
 enjoyments of youth were nothing grave, and did not 
 prevent true love from again becoming serious. She did 
 not know what I meant ; and asked me a number of 
 questions too delicate for me to reply to. Then she went 
 to see your parents ; your father was not at hom6. She 
 talked with your mother, who did not conceal from her 
 that you were leading a gay life in Paris, and laughed in 
 her face when she manifested astonishment. My dear 
 aunt is sometimes too frank. She gave Miette clearly to 
 understand that, if your infidelity scandalized her, the 
 family would be easily consoled in spite of her, and that 
 there would be no difficulty in procuring a finer establish- 
 ment for you. Poor Miette was utterly cast down, and 
 repeated to me the conversation, without any reflections 
 of her own. I wished to console her ; she said, " It is 
 unnecessary for any one to teach me what my duty is ; '* 
 and, if she wept I did not see it. I think she has had a 
 great sorrow, but is too proud to own it, and now she 
 knows of your mother's aversion to the marriage, I do 
 not believe she will ever hear it spoken of.' 
 
 " Surprised and angry at learning that my mother 
 indulged such feelings, but not wishing to hear from those 
 she had wounded their grievances against her — feeling, 
 besides, that the first wrong had come from me, and that 
 in my student's life I had allowed my infidelity to be too 
 apparent — I asked Jacques to allow me to leave. ' I am 
 tired,' I said ; 'I have a headache, and, if I am vexed, I 
 do not wish to yield to my feelings at this moment. We 
 will put off the explanation to another day. When will 
 you come to lunch with me ? ' 
 
 " ' You,' he replied, ' must pass the day with me ou 
 Sunday. Miette will be here, and you can talk the matter 
 over together. You will then have consulted your 
 
22 THE TO WER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 parents, .'ind will know if ray sister's pride was voluntarily 
 wounded ; and, as I am sure you will regret it, you will 
 afterwards become good friends.' 
 
 *' ' Yes, we shall become brother and sister ; for I j^re- 
 sume she will tell me frankly what she ought to have 
 told me this evening.' 
 
 " Thereupon we separated — he still gay, I sad as death. 
 I had, indeed, a frightful headache, which was relieved by 
 the fresh air; and now^ I am stupid and bruised like a 
 man who has just fallen from the roof of a house on to 
 the pavement."'' 
 
 When my son had finished speaking, we looked at 
 each other earnestly, for, while telling the story, he had 
 followed me into the drawing-room. "I am very well 
 satisfied with your. recital," I said ; "it is comparatively 
 clear at the first view. However, if I had, like a judge, 
 to take into consideration the detailed deposition of a 
 witness, I should reproach you for not being very clear- 
 sighted ; I should ask if it were very certain that you 
 found a man in Miette Ormonde's house." 
 
 "I am sure of the words I heard. Would she have 
 said to a woman, in speaking of me, ' He is there — do 
 not let him see you ?' Besides, Jacques' confession — " 
 
 " Presents to my judgment some singular ambigui- 
 ties." 
 
 " In wiiat way ? " 
 
 " I cannot exactly say. I must reflect carefully, and 
 make a serious inquiry. I will spare no pains, if it is 
 necessary — that is, if you are still interested in Emilie. 
 Do you really love her very much ? Is the trouble in 
 w^hich I now see you simply the result of wounded pride ? 
 Are you offended to find Emilie go susceptible and so 
 quickly consoled ? In that case your reason and your 
 goodness of heart will soon gain the ascendency. The 
 
c>» 
 
 THE TOWER OF PESS^^EJ^QNT. 
 
 affair will clear up of ityelf ; either ErS8iet5i^-.bfi^j^i- 
 fied, and you will still love each other, or she will avow 
 her engagement with another, and you will go philosoph- 
 ically to her wedding. But if, as I think, your sorrow is 
 sufficiently deep — if there is grieved and wounded love in 
 your heart — then Einilie must return to you, and send 
 away the suitor who has insinuated himself into her 
 favor to take advantage of her vexation at your absence." 
 
 " Emilie ought not to have received the attentions of 
 this pretender. She should have known that I was not a 
 man to contend for a wife who compromised her reputa- 
 tion, and gave herself up to vengeance. I regarded her 
 as a kind of saint; she is now no more in my estimation 
 than an inconsistent and undio^nified little villaore co- 
 quette." 
 
 " Then you ought not to regret her, and you do not 
 regret her ? " 
 
 ''N'o, father, I do not regret her. I had no longer any 
 desire to be married ; but if I had found her such as I 
 knew^ her, or .thouglit I knew her, I would have offered 
 her my hand and heart out of respect to her and to you. 
 Now I am rejoiced to be able to break the bond without 
 grieving you, and without caring myself for any regret 
 she will feel." 
 
 I could not obtain from my son any more softened 
 avowal of his sorrow. He was so inflexible and stern as 
 to disturb the first opinion that I had formed, leading me 
 to think he would be easily consoled. It was late ; we 
 agreed to say nothing to my wife, and to put off to the 
 next day our calm judgment upon the strange event of 
 the evening. 
 
24 * THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Henri slept late the' next morning, and I had no 
 leisure to talk with him. At nine o'clock my wife an- 
 nounced to me the arrival of the Countess de Nives. I 
 was just getting ready to shave myself, and begged 
 Madame Chant ebel to entertain this client until I was 
 ready. 
 
 " No," she said, " I dare not. I am not fashionable 
 enough. This lady is so beautiful, she has so noble an 
 air, and such a magnificent carriage and horses — ah ! true 
 English horses, a coachman who looks like a lord, and a 
 footman in livery ! " 
 
 '' All that dazzles you, lady of Percemont ! " 
 
 " This is not the time to jest, M. Chantebel. What 
 are you doing there, wiping your razor a dozen times ? 
 Make haste ! " 
 
 " I cannot cut my throat to please you. To-day how 
 eager you are to see me run after this countess ! Yester- 
 day you blamed me for accepting her as a client so 
 quickly ! " 
 
 " I had not seen her. I did not think she held so high 
 a position in the fashionable world. Well ! here are your 
 white cravat and your black coat." 
 
 *' No, indeed ! we are in the country ; I will not ap- 
 pear in full dress at nine o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried my wife, putting on, in spite of 
 me, the dress-cravat. " I wish you to look like what you 
 are!" 
 
 To cut the matter short, I was obliged to yield, and 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 25 
 
 I passed into my private room, where Madame de Nives 
 awaited me. I had never seen her excepting at a dis- 
 tance, and did not expect to find her still so young and 
 beautiful. She was a woman of about forty years of age. 
 tall, blonde, and slender. Her manners were excellent. 
 Excepting for the romance of her life, which I knew 
 grosso modo^ her reputation was irreproachable. 
 
 " I come, sir," she said, " to ask counsel in a very deli, 
 cate affair, and you will allow me to tell you my story, 
 of which you probably do not know the details. If I en- 
 croach upon your time — " 
 
 " My time is yours," I replied, and, having seated her 
 in an easy-chair, I listened. 
 
 *' My name is Alix Dumont. I belong to an honor- 
 able but poor family, who brought me up with the expec- 
 tation of my having to earn my own living. I was a 
 teacher in various boarding-schools for young ladies. 
 When I was twentyrtwo years old I entered the servioe 
 of the Countess de Nives, as governess for her only 
 daughter, Marie, then ten years old. 
 
 " Madame de Nives treated me with much esteem and 
 confidence. "W^ithout her kind consideration, I could not 
 have endured Marie's undisciplined character and fantas- 
 tic caprices. She was an unreasonable and heartless 
 child, whom no one could restrain. This sad duty was 
 very painful to me ; and when, two years later, Madame 
 de Nives died, commending her daughter to my care, I 
 begged the Count de Nives to spare me a task beyond 
 my strength : I wished to go away. 
 
 " He would not allow me to leave ; he entreated, said 
 that without me his way of living would be broken up, 
 and his daughter abandoned to the chances of an educa- 
 tion that he did not know how to direct. I was obliged 
 to yield ; he placed me at the head of the house ; and 
 
26 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 Marie, who knew she would be compelled to enter a con- 
 vent if I left, put more restraint upon herself, and begged 
 me to remain. 
 
 "The Count de Nives, after having been a widower 
 for a year, announced to me that he wished to marry 
 again, and that he had chosen me for the companion of 
 his life. I refused, on account of the child, whose aver- 
 sion, I foresaw, would be always ready to burst forth ; 
 and, when he insisted, I took flight, without letting him 
 know where I went. I remained concealed for several 
 months with some of my old friends. He discovered my 
 retreat, and came to entreat me once more to accept his 
 proposal. He had sent Marie to a convent. She accuses 
 me to this day of having separated her from her father. 
 On the contrary, I did my best to bring her back to him. 
 The count was inflexible towards her even on his death- 
 bed. 
 
 " Beset by a passion which in spite of myself I began 
 to sliare, pressed by my friends to accept the honorable 
 offer of M. de Nives, I became his wife, and am now the 
 mother of a daughter. Her name is Leonie ; she is seven 
 years old, and the living portrait of her father. 
 
 "I was happy, for I always cherished the hope of rec- 
 onciling my husband with his elder daughter, when he 
 met with a fall while hunting\ and only survived the acci- 
 dent a few days. He left a will in which he made me 
 Marie's guardian, conferring upon me the use of his entire 
 income during my life ; but the income is not large ; M. 
 de Nives's fortune came from his first wife. The estate 
 that I control, and where I live with my daughter, be- 
 longs entirely to Marie, and the time approaches when 
 this young perso*i will demand the account of my guard- 
 ianshijD, contrary to her father's intention, after which she 
 will tin-n us out of the house." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MONT. 27 
 
 Here Madame Alix de Nives was silent, and looked 
 at ine to find out my oi)inion without giving expression 
 to her own thoughts. 
 
 " You wish to know," I said, " some means of elud- 
 ing this sad necessity. There are none. By M de 
 Nives's will he bestowed upon you the use of all his prop- 
 erty, relying upon your character and loyalty to provide 
 for the wants and the establishment of his two daughters. 
 He could not confer upon you the right to dispose of the 
 estate of his deceased wife. Have you brought the will 
 and the two marriage-contracts of the Count de Nives ? " 
 
 " Yes, here they are." -^ 
 
 When I had examined the documents, I saw that the 
 deceased had di^ludedjiiraself with an idea that his wife 
 had also shared. He believed that he had power to 
 leave her the income of the De Nives estate so long as 
 the landed property, which returned by law to Marie, 
 was lie J deteriorated or encroached lipon. 
 
 " My husband took advice before drawing up this 
 will," said the countess, with a doubtful air, seeing me 
 shrug my shoulders. 
 
 " He could take advice, madame, but no trustworthy 
 lawyer could have counselled him to make a will like 
 this." 
 
 " Excuse me, it was — " 
 
 '• Do not tell me who, for I am forced to insist that 
 this lawyer, if he is a lawyer, greatly misled him." 
 
 The countess bit her lips with vexation. "M. de 
 Nives," she resumed, "always regarded Marie as a per- 
 son without judgment or reason, and ineapable ©f man- 
 aging her affairs. He destined her for the cloister. If he 
 had lived, he would have obliged her to take the veil." 
 
 " M. de Nives was the victim of an illusion in this 
 case also ', ancient families sometimes neglect to gain 
 
28 TOWER OF PEROEMONT. 
 
 information on present usages. I have heard that M. de 
 Mves did not always take into account what has been 
 introduced into legislation since 1789; but you, madam e, 
 who are still young, and must by your education have 
 overcome certain prejudices, do you admit that a legiti- 
 mate heiress can be forced to resign her rights and en- 
 ter a convent !" 
 
 '' No, but the law can place her in custody and de- 
 prive her of the power to exercise her civil rights if she 
 has given proof of insanity." 
 
 " That is another question ! Is Mademoiselle Marie 
 de Nives really insane ?" 
 
 " Did you never hear of it, M. Chantebel ?" 
 
 '^ I have heard that she was odd; but people say so 
 many things !" 
 
 ^' Public opinion has, however, its value." 
 
 "Not always." 
 
 " You astonish me, sir; public opinion is on my side; 
 it has always done me justice; it would still be for me if 
 I invoked it." 
 
 *' Take care, madame ! one must not risk too much 
 the good reputation which it has taken long to acquire. 
 I believe that if you were to apply for a judgment of 
 deprivation of civil rights against Mademoiselle de 
 Nives, you would create many partisans for her who 
 would turn against yourself." 
 
 "Does that mean, sir, that you are already preju- 
 diced against me ?" 
 
 "No, madame; I have the honor to speak to you to- 
 day for the first time, and I have never seen Mademoiselle 
 de Nives. But examine your situation. Poor and 
 without name, but beautiful and educated, you enter a 
 house the head of which, soon a widower, marries you 
 after having sent away one whose hostile presence would 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 29 
 
 .create nothing but trouble and sorrow for you. This is 
 only a child, his own daughter, whom he sends away, 
 and who attributes her exile to you. You did, you say, 
 your best to bring her back again. It is unfortunate 
 that you did not succeed; it is unfortunate, also, that 
 j^ur husband's will reveals a preference for you that 
 effaces all paternal affection from his heart. Certain 
 persons might think that Mademoiselle Marie's misfor- 
 tune is your work, and, if she is insane, that you have 
 done everything to make her so," 
 
 "I see, M. Chantebel, that your ear is open to cruel 
 insinuations againt me." 
 
 "I declare that it is not so, madame ! My judgment 
 arises from the situation in which I find you placed and 
 the counsel you ask of me. But what are the proofs of 
 insanity which your stepdaughter has given ? " 
 
 " There are more than I could ever tell you. Ever 
 since she was ten years old, she has been rebellious 
 against all discipline, furious against all restraint. Her 
 nature is abnormal, capable of every kind of misconduct. 
 I dare not tell you — " 
 
 " Tell me everything or nothing." 
 
 " Yery well. I believe that, in spite of the seclusion 
 of the convent, she has found means more than once to 
 have guilty relations with — " 
 
 " You believe this ? " 
 
 " And you, you doubt ? Very well ! I must trust 
 you with a very grave secret. While she lived with the 
 nuns at Riom she was discovered to be carrying on an 
 intrigue with some person outside. I had her trans- 
 ferred to the convent of Clermont, which is more severe in 
 its discipline. Do you know what she did there ? She 
 disappeared entirely, sending me a letter ki which she 
 declares that she cannot stay in that conve«t — that she 
 
30 THE TOWER OF FEKCEMONT, 
 
 is going to Paris to enter of her own free will the con- 
 vent of the Sacre Coeur, where she will remain until the 
 day of her majority." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well you should have let her d© this." 
 " Yes, I asked nothing better, but I had to assure 
 myself that this pretended change of community did not 
 conceal an elopement or something siill worse. I at 
 once begged the nuns of Clermont to say that she had 
 run away to return to my house, and then I immediately 
 hastened to Paris. Marie was not at the Sacre-Coeur; 
 neither was she in any other convent of the city or its 
 environs. She has evidently fled with some man, for 
 the traces of very large feet were seen on the gravel-walk 
 of the garden from which she took her flight." 
 
 " This is not insanity, as it is understood in forensic 
 medicine. It is simply misconduct." 
 
 " This misconduct imposes upon the guardian the duty 
 of finding the guilty person and reinstating her in some 
 convent of the most severe order." 
 
 " Agreed ! Have you accomplished this ? " 
 " No. I passed a whole month in useless search, and 
 tired out, I returned to my little Leonie, from whom I 
 could not be separated any longer. I did not wish to 
 trust to any one the sorrowful secret that you have just 
 heard, but it is necessary that I should act, and I come 
 to ask you what I ought to do. Must I apply to the 
 courts, to the police, or to whom, in order to have Marie 
 discovered and snatched from infamy ? Or rather must 
 1 keep silent, conceal her disgrace, and suffer her to ruin 
 me and drive me away from my husband's house? 
 Should this wicked girl be declared incapable of man- 
 aging her affairs, she will still have to thank me for de- 
 fending her immodesty under the plea of insanity. On 
 the other hand, if I let her go unpunished, should I ful- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 31 
 
 ill my duty to my own daughter, who will be banished 
 and despoiled without my having made an attempt to 
 save her ? " 
 
 " You must give me time to reflect, and to review all 
 the facts with you, before I pronounce an opinion." 
 
 " But time presses, sir ! Marie will be of age in twenty- 
 nine days. If any attempt is to be made, it would be 
 proper to announce to the court and the public the fact 
 of her disappearance before she gets the start of me by 
 putting in her claims and entering into possession." 
 
 " If she is ready to put in her claims, and reappears 
 at the appointed time, she is not insane, and every one 
 will believe that she is in full possession of her reason. 
 You would then have nothing but the charge of miscon- 
 duct against her. This will be of no avail from the day 
 when your guardianship ceases. No text of law depriv 
 a girl of twenty-one years of age, who was simply guilty 
 of a folly a month before, of her rights and liberty. 
 Something else would be necessary besides a love-affair 
 through a grating, and an escape over the walls of a 
 convent, to prove she was deprived of reason." 
 
 Madame de Nives listened to me attentively, and her 
 glance questioned me with grievous intensity. Was she 
 avaricious of money and comfort to such a degree as to 
 risk everything to avoid having to make restitution ? 
 Was she moved by maternal love or by one of those 
 feminine spites which render the reason deaf to the in- 
 junctions to follow a prudent course ? Her beauty had 
 at the first view a character of distinction and serenity. 
 At this moment she was so visibly agitated that she 
 raised a vague sensation of fright in me, as if the devil in 
 person had come to ask me how to set the four corners 
 of the world on fire. My scrutinizing look made her own 
 hesitate. *' Sir," she said, rising and taking a few steps, 
 
 ives\ 
 lilty I 
 
82 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, . 
 
 as if she had cramps in her limbs, '' you are very hard to 
 persuade. I expected to find in you counsel and support, 
 whereas I find an examining magistrate who wishes to be 
 more sure than I am myself of the goodness of my cause." 
 
 " It is my duty, madame. I am not at the commence- 
 ment of my career ; I have no need to gain a name by 
 putting my talent at the service of the first case that 
 presents itself. I do not like to lose a suit, and all the 
 eulogies which the whole world could heap upon me for 
 having pleaded skilfully would not console me for having 
 accepted the defence of a bad cause." 
 
 " It is because such is your character," replied Ma- 
 dame de Nives, in a caressing tone, " it is because you 
 have a reputation for scrupulous integrity, it is, finally, 
 because a cause sustained by you is almost always a cause 
 gained beforehand, that I desire to trust mine to you. If 
 you refuse, it will be a great precedent against me." 
 
 " If I refuse, madame, it is very easy to keep the step 
 you have taken in coming to see me secret, or I will 
 explain your visit in any way you please. Whatever 
 course you choose, I will act in conformity with your 
 wishes. 
 
 " Then yon refuse to go further ? '' 
 
 *' I have not refused — I am waiting for you to furnish 
 me with proofs that will satisfy my conscience." 
 
 " You wish for more details about Marie de Nives ? 
 "Well, this is her history. I have told you her character ; 
 here are the facts." 
 
 The countess sat down again in the easy-chair, and 
 spoke thus : " At eleven years of age this unhappy child 
 was already an inexplicable compound of delirious folly 
 and profound dissimulation. You think these two traits 
 of character are incompatible. You are mistaken. Marie 
 pretended to adore her mother, and perhaps she did love 
 
fj 
 
 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 33 
 
 her after her own fashion. But she never cared for the 
 trouble she caused her if she could only run at random 
 and play truant with the little peasants of the neighbor- 
 hood. Neither did she care for her mother's suffering 
 when she risked her life in dangerous sports with boys. 
 She mounted the horses in the fields, and galloped with- 
 out saddle or bridle, at the risk of serious accidents. 
 She climbed trees ; she fell, and came home with her 
 clothes torn to pieces ; frequently she was even wounded. 
 Here was the delirium, the passion of a violent nature. ' 
 
 " It was a little the character of her father, I have 
 been told." 
 
 "Possibly, sir. He was passionate and impetuous; 
 but he was sincere, and Marie is skilfully deceitful. She 
 will invent all kinds of stories to lay the blame of her 
 faults upon others. When her mother died she was a 
 prey to a despair that seemed to me sincere, but a few 
 days after she again began to play and to run wild." 
 
 " She was eleven years old ! At that age one cannot 
 weep for a long time without a violent reaction in the 
 direction of active life ; that sometimes happens even to 
 grown-up persons." 
 
 " Yery well, sir ; you are pleading for her ! " 
 
 ii.1 tell you I am not acquainted with her." 
 
 " It is certain that you are prepossessed in her favor \ 
 by some one. Wait a moment — you have a relation, a 
 niece, I think, who was with her at the convent at Riom 
 it was a young lady — pardon me, I have forgotten her . 
 name. Marie called her her dear little Miette." 
 
 I could not help starting, such a lively commotion 
 was produced in my brain. The person concealed the 
 evening before at Emilie's house — concealed, perhaps, 
 for a month — to whom she had said, " Do not let him 
 see you ! " — the cross purposes between Jacques and 
 
34 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 my son — that hope of marriage announced oy jacques, 
 aud which he would perhaps confide to my son in a month 
 — those large footmarks on the gravel-walk of the garden 
 of the Clermont convent ! Was the burly Jacques Or- 
 monde, the perpetrator of the abduction ? Was Miette 
 Ormonde, the old convent friend, his accomplice ? 
 
 '* What is the matter, M. Chantebel ? " asked Madame 
 de Nives, who was watching me. I had instinctively 
 put my hand to my forehead to collect my ideas. " Are 
 you tired of listening to me ? " 
 
 " J^o, madame ; I am trying to remember. Truly, I 
 cannot recall that Mademoiselle Ormonde, my niece, has 
 ever spoken to me of Mademoiselle de Nives." 
 
 " Then I will continue." 
 
 " Do so. I am listening." 
 
 " When Marie saw that I sincerely mourned for her 
 mother, she seemed to change her opinion in regard to 
 me, and, bursting into tears, she embraced me, thanking 
 me for having taken faithful care of tlie dying. I be- 
 lieved that better feelings had taken possession of her 
 heart : she deceived me. When she heard her father 
 beg me to remain, she became disagreeable and outrage- 
 ous. I then resolved to go away, and announced my 
 determination ; but her father having said she shouki go 
 into a convent, she threw herself at my feet and begged 
 me to remain. Two days later she resisted and abused 
 me again. Her dread of the convent could not overcome 
 her hatred and wickedness." 
 
 " Bad character, aversion, provoked perhaps by yours, 
 natural impetuosity, the unreasonableness of childhood, 
 inconsistency in passion ; I grant all this, but I do not 
 yet see any proof of mental alienation." 
 
 " Wait ! When her father, during my absence, had 
 put her in the convent, telling her that she should never 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT*. 35 
 
 come out, there were, I am told, outbursts of despair. 
 The nuns treated her with great gentleness and kindness. 
 She very quickly made up her mind, and, as they talked 
 to her of the happiness of a religious life, she told them 
 that she was inclined to try it. She appeared really to 
 be very pi(Jus, and the nuns were fond of her. "When M. 
 de Nives, after our marriage, brought me home, I went 
 to make inquiries concerning her. She was entirely en- 
 grossed with amusements, and very idle : she learned 
 nothing, but they believed her good and sincere. I 
 asked to see her. She received me kindly, for she 
 imagined I was going to take her home. I was obliged 
 to tell her that I would give a good account of her con- 
 duct to M. de Nives, and would plead her cause, but that 
 \ Imd not permission to take her away immediately. 
 
 " When the superior called me madame, as a mark of 
 respect, Marie asked why she did not say mademoiselle. 
 They had foolishly allowed her to remain ignorant of my 
 marriage, and that I was henceforth Madame de Nives. 
 It was necessary to explain the matter to her. She fell 
 into a transport of ungovernable rage, and had to be 
 carried away by force, and shut up. Her fury subsided 
 as quickly as it had displayed itself. She was thir- 
 teen and a half years old. She wished to enter at once 
 upon her novitiate, and could hardly be made to compre- 
 hend that she was too young, and that while waiting she 
 must strive to improve. 
 
 " She worked for a year, but without method, and like 
 . a person whose brain is not susceptible of the least ap- 
 plication. The teachers tell me that she was not malicious 
 but slightly idiotic. They, were only half mistaken — she 
 is idiotic and malicious. 
 
 "I tried to believe them, and was the dupe of her 
 submission. She wrote a letter to her father, deficient 
 
36 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 in composition and orthography, such as a child six years 
 old would have written, to tell him that, she had decided 
 to take the vows next year, and that she only asked to 
 see once more the room where her mother died and to 
 embrace her little sister L6onie. I begged M. de Nives 
 to grant her this favor, and offered to go for her. He 
 refused emphatically. ' Never I ' he said. * On the day 
 after her mother's death, she threatened to set the house 
 on fire if I married again. She wished me to swear not 
 to give her a stepmother. She had her head full of the 
 servants' gossip in regard to you. She declared if I had 
 other children she would strangle them. She is mad, 
 dangerously mad I She is well off at the convent ; re- 
 ligion 4s the only restraint that can calm her. Write 
 and inform her that I will go to see her some yeaij^ 
 hence, when she has taken the veil.' 
 
 " In the meantime, M. de Nives died without having 
 revoked his decision. Marie manfested a violent sorrow, 
 but resisted the advice of the nuns, who wished her to 
 write to me. They told her, from me, that I was dis- 
 posed to have her home if she took the least step to con- 
 ciliate ijie. She rejected their advice with perfect fury, 
 saying that I had killed her father and mother, and that 
 she would rather die than put her foot in the house.'* 
 
 " Does she really accuse you of this? " 
 
 " She accuses me of almost every crime. How can 
 this furious hatred and these outrages be reconciled with 
 the devotion she manifested at the same time ? However, 
 I still believed in her religious vocation. These terrible 
 and insane beings can only find alleviation in a mystic 
 life." 
 
 " I think otherwise. A mystic life exasperates the 
 troubled mind. But no matter; continue." 
 
 '* Notwithstanding her apparent devotion to religion, 
 
THE TOWER OF 
 
 Marie began, as she grew older, to long for worldly joyg, 
 and one day it was discovered that she was carrying on 
 an amorous correspondence outside of the convent with 
 a student whose name was unknown, but whose ortho- 
 graphy was on a parallel with her own. I therefore re- 
 moved Marie, who was getting too old to incur such dan- 
 gers (she was nearly fifteen years of age), to the clois- 
 tered convent of the nuns of Clermont. She seemed at 
 first rebellious, afterwards very gentle, and then very 
 much taken up with^ amusements. She changed her 
 character and disposition every fortnight. I have all 
 the letters of the superior, describing her as a person 
 Avhose insanity is beyond question. Marie is not even fit 
 for a nun. She will never be restrained by any rule ; 
 she is wanting in intelligence, and the least reasoning ex- 
 asperates her ; she has also nervous attacks, which bor- 
 der on epilepsy; she cries, appears as if she would tear 
 herself in pieces, tries to kill herself. She inspires such 
 fear that they are forced to shut her up. This convent 
 will furnish all the proofs I need, and I have already a 
 certain quantity that I will place in your hands if you 
 will accept the defence of my legitimate interests." 
 
 *^And if I did not accept, what would you do, ma- 
 dame ? Would you renounce a pursuit that offers serious 
 dangers to the honor of both parties ? I am willing to 
 believe that the proofs held by you in reserve are over- 
 whelming against Mademoiselle de ]N"ives. Even if I 
 admit that you could succeed in finding out her hiding- 
 place, and that you have the means of dishonoring her in 
 establishing the truth of a shameful folly, do you not fear 
 that the barrister who will defend her cause will impute 
 to you the misfortunes of this young girl, sacrificed by 
 her father, repulsed, persecuted (it will be said), driven 
 to despair by your hatred ? If you will follow my advice. 
 
38 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 you will proceed no further, you will ignore Mademoi- 
 selle de Mves's flight, and await her approaching ma 
 jority. If she does not appear in that time, your cause 
 will become better, perhaps good. You would have ' a 
 right to searcn out the place of her concealment, and to 
 put the police on her track ; then we should probably 
 find incontestable proofs of her incapacity. "We would 
 make the most of them. I should have no more consci- 
 entious scruples. Reflect, madame — I beg you to re- 
 flect ! ■'' 
 
 " I reflected before I came here," replied Madame de 
 Nives, in an unmoved tone, " and I have fully resolved 
 to listen to no counsel that will result in both my own 
 and my daughter's ruin. If I await events, they may. 
 indeed be favorable ; but if they are not so — if Marie, in 
 spite of her misconduct, is acknowledged to be capable 
 of managing her property — I have no arms against 
 her." 
 
 "And you positively wish for it ? Whether she is 
 innocent or not, you wish for her fortune at any price ? " 
 
 ''I do not wish for her fortune, which remains inalien- 
 able. I want the management of it, according to my 
 husband's desire." 
 
 " Well then ! You are not taking the path that leads 
 to success, if you attempt to bring dishonor upon theheiress 
 In your place I should wait for her appearance, and then 
 endeavor to effect a compromise with her." 
 
 " What compromise ? " 
 
 " If her reputation is really lost, you can make her 
 feel the price of the generous silence you have kept, and 
 perhaps induce her to refrain from demanding the ac- 
 counts of your guardiaiishij) up to the present day." 
 
 " Sell my generosity ? I would rather have open war; 
 but, if there is no other means of saving my daughter, I 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MO NT. 39 
 
 must resign myself to do it. I will reflect, sir, and, if I 
 follow your advice, will you promise to serve me as an 
 intermediate agent? " 
 
 '* Yes, if you can fully prove that your stepdaughter's 
 reputation is lost, and that your silence is necessary. I 
 shall then act in her interest as well as yours, for you do 
 not appear to be generous for the pleasure of being so." 
 
 " N"o, sir ; I am a mother, and I will not sacrifice my 
 daughter in order to be acceptable to my enemy. But 
 you speak of the account of my guardianship. Has she, 
 then, a right to demand a very strict account ? " 
 
 '■' Without any doubt ; and, as slie has been brought 
 up in the convent, k will be easy to establish almost ex- 
 actly what you have spent for her education and main- 
 tenance. It will not be a large sum, and, if I am rightly 
 informed, the income of the' De Nives estate exceeds 
 thirty-five or forty thousand francs a year." 
 
 " That is exaggerated ! " 
 
 " The rents will give evidence. Suppose it is only 
 thirty thousand francs. Have you calculated the amount 
 during the ten years that you have enjoyed the income ? " 
 " Yes ; if I am forced to restore this income, I am ab»- 
 solutely ruined. M. de Nives did not leave a hundred 
 thousand francs of capital." 
 
 " With that, if you are not forced to make restitution 
 for the past, and if, as I believe, you have been prudent 
 enough to be economical in your expenditure, you will 
 not live in poverty, madame. You are considered an 
 economical and orderly person. You have education 
 and talents, you will yourself attand to the education of 
 your daughter, and you will teach her to do without 
 luxury, or to procure it by her own labor. At all events, 
 you can both enjoy an independent and worthy exist- 
 ence. Do not involve yourself in the disastrous issue of 
 
40 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 a lawsuit whicli will not bring honor to yonr character, 
 and will cost you very dear, I forewarn you. There is 
 nothing so tedious and so difficult as to exclude from the 
 exercise of her civil rights one even much more alienated 
 in mind than Mademoiselle de Mves appears to be/' 
 
 *' I will reflect," replied Madame de Nives, " as I 
 promised. I thank you, sir, for the attention you have 
 given me, and I ask pardon for the time you have lost 
 in listening to me." 
 
 I conducted her to her carriage, and she set out for 
 the De Nives estate, situated five leagues from Riom, on 
 the road to Clermont. I noticed — for I have a habit of 
 noticing everything — that the English horses that had 
 dazzled my wife were thoroughly worn out animals, and 
 that the servants in livery were very shabby. It was 
 evident that this woman sacrificed nothing to luxury. 
 -'^' ,- . 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 My wife and son were waiting breakfast for me. 
 
 " I shall not take any breakfast," I said to them. ** I 
 will merely swallow a cup of coffee while Bibi is being 
 harnessed. I shall not return till three or four o'clock.'* 
 While I gave my orders, I examined my son stealthily. 
 His features seemed distorted. " Did you sleep well ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " Never better," he replied. " I found my pleasant 
 chamber and my comfortable bed delightful." 
 
 ** What are you going to do this afternoon ? " 
 
THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT. 41 
 
 «' I will goVith you, if I am not in your way." 
 
 " You would be in my way ; so I tell you frankly. I 
 hope to tell you this evening that you will never be in 
 my way again. And even now — I ask you not to go 
 away, because I may return at any moment to say this to 
 you." 
 
 *' You are going to see Emilie, father ? I beg you 
 not to question her, not to speak to her of me. I should 
 suffer mortal agony were she to come back to me after 
 having welcomed another. I have reflected : I do not 
 love her, I never have loved her ! " 
 
 " I do not expect to see Emiline. I am going on pro- 
 fessional business. Not a word of Emilie before your 
 mother ! " 
 
 . Madame Chantebel returned with my coffee. While 
 taking it, I asked Henri to examine the. old chateau and 
 choose the apartment he would like to have arranged for 
 our shooting parties. He promised not to think of any- 
 thing else, and I took my seat alone in my little cabriolet. 
 I needed no servant to drive the peaceable and vigorous 
 Bibi, and wished for no witness of the step I was about 
 to take. 
 
 I set out on the road to Riom, as if I were going to 
 the city ; then, turning to the left, I penetrated the sandy 
 and shady roads that lead to Champgousse. I marked 
 out my course, but, as in giving counsel it is necessary to 
 take into account the character and the temperament of 
 persons even more than the facts and the situation, I re- 
 viewed in my mind the antecedents, qualities, and faults 
 of my nephew, Jacques Ormonde. The son of my sister, 
 who was the prettiest woman in the country, Jacques had 
 been a very beautiful child, and, as he was very good- 
 natured, we all adored him. It is a misfortune for a man 
 to be too handsome, and to be constantly told of it. Th^ 
 
42 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 cliild was idle, and the young man grew foppish. Wnat 
 can be more agreeable, at the age when one thinks of 
 love, than to read a welcome, bold or bashful, earnest in 
 every, case, in all the women's eyes? Jacques had a pre- 
 cocious success ; his herculean strength did not exert an 
 unfavorable influence upon his character, but his intel- 
 lectual strength succumbed to this captious reasoning : 
 " If, without cultivating my moral being, I attain with 
 the greatest ease the triumph which is the feverish aim 
 of youth, why need I spend time and trouble in improving 
 myself?" 
 
 Tlius he did not study, and his utmost- attainment was 
 some knowledge of his own language. He possessed 
 natural intelligence, and that kind of facility which con- 
 sists in assimilating, the top of the basket without caring 
 for what there is in the bottom. He could talk about 
 everything in a lively way, and j^ass for an eagle in the 
 eyes of the ignorant. As he was brought up in the 
 country, he was well acquainted with the produce and 
 the culture of the land. He knew all the secrets of tlie 
 horse-dealers, and made the most of his cattle and com- 
 modities. The peasants looked upon him as a shai]) 
 fellow, and consulted him with respect. His proverbial 
 honesty with honest people, his familiar and cordial 
 frankness, and his unwearying desire to oblige, made him 
 a general favorite. It was a common saying among the 
 peasants that big Jacques was the best, the handsomest, 
 and the most intelligent man to be found among the 
 farms and villao^es in the neiofhborhood. 
 
 After finishing his college course, during Avhich he 
 learned nothing, he went to Paris to study law, but gave 
 himself up to a life of dissipation. His years of study 
 were a perpetual fete. Kich, generous, eager for pleasure, 
 and always ready to do nothing, he had numerous friends, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 43 
 
 squandered his income gayly, wasted his youth, health, 
 brain, and character, and gave us great uneasiness while 
 seeing him prolong indefinitely his pretended studies. 
 
 But at the bottom of all this thoughtlessness my beau- 
 tiful nephew inherited with his blood an effective means 
 of safety. He had an inborn love of property, and, when 
 it was plain that he must quit this gay life or encroach 
 upon his capital, he returned to the country, and did not 
 again leave it. 
 
 His estate of Champgousse was well leased,^ but the 
 term had expired, and he managed to renew it, at a con- 
 siderably increased rental, without driving away his ten- 
 ants ; and even discovered the secret of making himself 
 much liked. He formed a plan for building a fine house, 
 but he was in no hurry to carry it out. Vignolette, the 
 })aternal mansion, fell to his sister Emilie's-ehare. It was 
 a habitation charming for its simplicity — a luxuriant en- 
 closure of fiowers and fruits, in a country adorable for 
 freshness and beauty in that fertile region which extends 
 between the river Morge and the latest eruptions of lava 
 from the Dome mountains towards the north. Miette 
 was so tenderly attached to this dwelling, where she had 
 closed the eyes of her parents, that she preferred to give 
 up the larger jDortion of the landed inheritance to her 
 brother, and keep the vineyard and house of Vignolette. 
 She lived there alone with my aged sister Anastasie 
 during Jacques's absence, and cared tenderly for this 
 good aunt, who died in her arms, leaving to her all her 
 property, consisting of a hundred thousand francs in- 
 vested in government funds. 
 
 As soon as Miette came into possession of this legacy 
 she wrote to her brother, then in Paris : " I know that 
 you are in debt, as you have directed our notary to sell 
 your meadow and woodland of chestnut-trees. I do not 
 
44 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 want you to encroach upon your property. I have 
 money ; if you wish for a hundred thousand franos, 
 they are at your service." 
 
 Jacques's debts did not amount to half that sum. 
 They were paid, and he returned, resolved never to run 
 into debt again. He decided to live at Vignolette with 
 Emilie, who was left entirely alone by the death of her 
 aunt, and he put off his plan of building at Champgousse 
 until Emilie's marriage took place. During the two years 
 that he had lived with her, his gay life had taken a strange 
 practical character. He carefully concealed his wild ad- 
 ventures from the good Emilie ; this |vas easily accom- 
 plished, as she lived in absolute retirement, and hardly 
 ever left her home. He attended shooting expeditions 
 in all directions, and joined his friends in pleasure-parties 
 in every season of the year. 
 
 Jacques had nearly reached his. thirtieth year and had 
 never spoken of marriage. He was so happy in his 
 liberty, and used it so well ! He was growing very stout ; 
 his complexion, once fair as a girl's, had taken a purplish 
 lustre in striking contrast with his silver-blonde hair. He 
 had one of those faces that one can see afar off, with high 
 color, large features, a fine aquiline nose, and a quivering 
 movement which brought out two natural marks on the 
 skin, once charming, but now a little like warts. The 
 chin was distinguishable beneath the fine light silky 
 beard, which resembled a tuft of ripe corn in the midst 
 of a field of poppies. The expression of the eyes was 
 always lively and amiable, but too bright to be tender. 
 The mouth remained handsome and healthy, but the 
 charm of the smile was effaced. It was easy to see that 
 wine and other excesses had cut down the flower of a 
 youth still susceptible of abundant growth, and Henri 
 defined very justly the impressive, agreeable, and 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 45 
 
 slightly grotesque appearance of his cousin when he said, 
 *' He is a buffoon, still young and good." 
 
 Having recalled all this to mind, to decide how to 
 open fire with him, I arrived at the entrance of the farm. 
 The workmen told me that M. Jacques was in a wood 
 near by, and offered to call him. I intrusted Bibi to 
 their care, and hastened in search of my nenhew. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I EXPECTED to encounter him engaged in shooting, in- 
 stead of which I found him extended on the turf, sleeping 
 under a tree. He slept so soundly that I was obliged to 
 touch him lightly with the end of my cane to waken 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, uncle ! " he cried, starting with a bound upon 
 his great feet, what a pleasant surprise, and I am so glad 
 to see you ! I was just thinking about you ! " 
 
 "That is to say, you were dreaming about me ? " 
 
 " Yes, perhaps ; I was asleep ? It is no matter ; you 
 were in my thoughts. You seemed to be angry with 
 me ; that is not true, is it? " 
 
 « Why should I be angry ? " 
 
 " Because it is a very long time since I have been to 
 see you ; I am so busy here." 
 
 " I see that plainly. Fatigue has overpowered you, 
 and you are therefore forced to take a siesta^ no matter 
 where." 
 
 " Come here and see my plans, uncle ; you must give 
 me advice. 
 
46 THE TOIVER OF PEKCEMONT. 
 
 " Anotlier time. I come now to ask you for informa- 
 tion. You know, I am told, a young person who is called 
 Mademoiselle de Nives ? " 
 
 Jacques started at this abrupt attack. " Who told 
 you so, uncle? I am not acquainted with her." 
 
 '' But you know persons w^ho are acquainted with her, 
 since Miette is one of them. She must talk to you some- 
 times of her old friend at the convent ? " 
 
 " Yes, no — stay ! I cannot remember. You would 
 like — what would you like to know ? " 
 
 " I want to know if she is an idiot." 
 
 This brutal word fell like a second stone on Jacques's 
 head, and his ruddy complexion grew slightly pale. 
 
 " Idiot ! Mademoiselle de Nives an idiot ! Who 
 pretends to think so ? " 
 
 " The head of a family who came to consult me this 
 morning, as one of his sons wishes to ask this young per- 
 son in marriage as soon as she leaves the convent. Well, 
 this father had heard that the young lady was not in pos- 
 session of her reason, that she was epileptic, insane, or 
 imbecile." 
 
 " Indeed ! 1 do not know. How should I know ? " 
 replied Jacques, who, scarcely recovered from his siil-prise, 
 began to put himself on guard. 
 
 " Then, if you do not know anything, I must find 
 Miette, who will be better informed, and will be willing 
 to give me the information I desire." 
 
 Here was a new trouble for Jacques. " Miette will 
 cair' upon you, uncle," said he. " There is no need of 
 your going to see her." 
 
 " Why should I not ? It is not very far." 
 
 " She is probably not at home to-day. She had some 
 purchases to make at Riom." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 47 
 
 " It is no matter ; if I do not find her, I will leave 
 word that she may expect me to-morrow." 
 
 " She will call on you, uncle, I will let her know that 
 you want to see her." 
 
 " Are you so very much afraid of my going to Yig- 
 nolette?" 
 
 " It is for the sake of sparing you useless trouble 
 uncle." 
 
 " You are very good. I rather think that you are afraid 
 I shall find out a secret." 
 
 ^a ? How ? Why do you say that ! " 
 
 "You know very well that no longer ago than last 
 evening, Henri discovered that Miette was concealing a 
 secret very painful to him, and consequently to me." 
 
 " Painful to you — to him? I cannot comprehend it." 
 
 " What comedy are you playing ? Did you not con- 
 fess everything to Henri ? " 
 
 " He told you thisi^ Why, I confessed nothing at 
 all." 
 
 " You confessed to him that Miette had a lover wliom 
 slie preferred, and that my son had nothing to do but to 
 retire from the field." 
 
 " I confessed that ? Never ! never ! My sister has 
 no other lu\ or. Is it possible that" you doubt Miette's 
 uprigiitiies.s and modesty ? A lov^r at her liouse Avlien I 
 *was not there ! If any one but you had said that — " 
 
 " Then the person concealed at Vignolette is a woman." 
 
 " It cannot be a man ; I swear that the thing is im- 
 possible, and that it is not true." 
 
 " You must, then, be sure of it. You often go to 
 Miette's—-" 
 
 " I have not put my foot in the house for a month. 
 
 '' That , is strange ! Has she forbidden you to go 
 there ? " 
 
48 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 " I have had no time." 
 
 *^How is that? You find time to attend all the fairs 
 in the vicinity." 
 
 " For my business, not for my pleasure. I am not 
 going to waste my time aay longer; it is the solemn 
 truth." 
 
 " Fou are thinking of getting married ? " 
 
 "Perhaps so." 
 
 "With an heiress?" ^ 
 
 " With a person whom I have loved for a long time." 
 
 " And who is not an idiot ? " 
 
 " Love an idiot ! It's perfectly horrible ! " 
 
 " You are not like the young man who seeks Made- 
 moiselle de Nives for her fortune, and who does not care 
 whether she knows her right hand from her left. You 
 can conceive the uneasiness of the father who has con- 
 sulted me on this point. He would think his son dishon- 
 ored if this were certain." 
 
 " It would be a mean, base deed, certainly. But who 
 has circulated this report about Mademoiselle de Nives ? 
 It must be her stepmother." 
 
 "You are acquainted, then, with her stepmother? 
 Come, tell me what you know." 
 
 " But I know nothing at all. I only know what every 
 one says, what you have heard a thousand times. The 
 Count de Nives married an adventuress, who drove away 
 and persecuted the child of his first wife. It is even said 
 that this young girl died in a convent." 
 
 " Ah ! you thought she was dead ? " 
 
 " I have heard such a report." 
 
 " Very well. I can tell you that she is living, and, if 
 my inferences do not mislead me, for she has escaped 
 from the convent, she is now concealed at Yignolette." 
 
 "Ah! she escaped?" 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 49 
 
 ** Yes, young man, with a loyer who has very large 
 feet." 
 
 Jacques Ormonde looked involuntarily at his feet and 
 then at mine, as if to make a comparison that had never 
 entered his mind before. Perhaps until this moment he 
 had never suspected that there could be the slightest im- 
 perfection in any part of his person. 
 
 I saw plainly that he was foiled, and that if I pressed 
 him a little further he would tell me everything ; but my 
 object was to discover his exact position in regard to the 
 cas^ and not to gain his confidence. I changed the con- 
 versation abruptly. " Tell me about your sister," I said. 
 "- Is it true that she is angry with Madame Chantebel ? '' 
 
 " My aunt has hurt her feelings very much by giving 
 her to understand that she did not look favorably upon 
 her marriage with Henri." 
 
 " I know there is a misunderstanding between them, 
 as there is between Henri and you. I hope everything 
 will be made up, and as you are sure that Miette has 
 formed no other plans — " 
 
 " I will take my oath of it." 
 ^" Well, I am going to talk with her. Come with me 
 as far as Yignolette." 
 
 " I will go half-way, for I have masons here who dis- 
 arrange all my plans the moment my back is turned." 
 
 When we were at a little distance from Yignolette, 
 Jacques begged me to let him return to his work. He 
 seemed afraid to go any farther. I gave him his liberty 
 but, after watching his progress for a little while, I dis- 
 covered that he was not returning to Champgousse. He 
 made his way stealthily among the vines, as if to watch 
 the result of my visit to his sister. 
 
 I whipped up my horse, and made him redouble his 
 pace. I did not wish Jacques to arrive before me by the 
 
50 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 narrow footpaths, and to forewarn his sister of my arrival. 
 However, as I must drive around the farm in order to 
 enter it by the carriage-road, I was not certain that with 
 his great limbs and the habits of a sportsman who over- 
 comes all obstacles, he had not been beforehand with me, 
 when, without announcing myself, I entered my niece's 
 garden. ^ 
 
 She came to me, with a basket of peaches, freshly 
 gathered, in her hands, and putting them upon a bench, 
 cordially^ embraced me. "Let us sit down here," I said ; 
 " I want to talk to you; " and in order to seat myself I 
 took up a white silk umbrella lined with rose-color, that 
 was lying on the bench. " Is this pretty plaything 
 yours ? " I asked. " I did not know you cared for fine 
 things like this." 
 
 " No, uncle," she replied, with the frank decision 
 which was at the base of her mind and character. " This 
 plaything is not mine ; it belongs to some one who is 
 staying with me." 
 
 "And who has run into the house ? " 
 
 " She will return if you will consent to see her, and 
 hear what she has to say ; she wants to talk to you, for 
 last evening I convinced her that this was her wisest 
 course." 
 
 " Have you seen your brother to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle. I know Henri found out the existence 
 of some secret here. I do not know what he told you, 
 nor what he thinks of it ; but I am unwilling to have any 
 secrets with you, and was obliged to tell the person who 
 has trusted hers to me that I would not tell you any 
 falsehoods. You have come to question me, dear uncle ; 
 I am ready to answer all your inquiries. 
 
 *'*Indeed, my child,*' I resumed, " I will only ask you 
 those to which you can reply without betraying any- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 51 
 
 thing. I will not demand the name of the person — I be- 
 lieve I know it — neither will I ask to see her. I am in- 
 terested solely in what concerns your brother and you 
 personally, for it is of great importance that Jacques 
 should not make you an accomplice in a j^iece of folly 
 the consequences of which will be disagreeable if not 
 serious." 
 
 " I assure you, uncle, that I do not understand what 
 you are talking about. Jacques has nothing to do with 
 my decision to receive this person, and protect her as 
 long as it is in my power." 
 
 " You say Jacques has nothing to do with it — and you 
 assure me. Emilie, you have never told me an un- 
 truth ? " 
 
 " N'ever ! " replied Miette, with that all powerful ex- 
 pression of truth that needs no proof to impress its 
 claims. 
 
 " I believe you, dear girl — I believe you ! '' I cried. 
 " Thus Mademoiselle de — we Avill not call her by name — 
 came to you a month since, alone and of her own free 
 will, that is to say, no one brought her to you, persua- 
 ding her to come here, and no one helped her to escape 
 from the walls of her prison ? " 
 
 Before replying, Miette hesitated a moment, as if 
 what I said gave birth to a suspicion that had not before 
 occurred to her. " The truth that I can swear to," she 
 rej)lied, " is this : one evening last month I was here 
 alone. Jacques had gone to the fair of Artonne. He 
 had been away more than a week, when I heard some 
 one ringing at the gate. I thought at first it was he, 
 but, while getting up to go to the door, I guessed who it 
 must be ; for I had received a letter announcing a ^lan, 
 a hope of escape, and asking for an asylum and secrecy.- 
 I did not arouse my domestics, who were asleep, but I 
 
52 THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT. 
 
 ran to the door, and found the person I expected. I 
 welcomed her cordially, and led her to the room already- 
 prepared for her. Old Nicole was my only confidant, 
 and I am as sure of her fidelity as of my own. 
 
 " And this person was alone ? " 
 
 " No, she was accompanied by Charliette, her nurse, 
 who had planned her escape for a long time and at last 
 succeeded in effecting it." 
 
 " What has become of this woman ? " 
 
 " She did not remain here. She is in Riom, where 
 she is living with her husband. I am not much pleased 
 with her appearance, but she comes to see Marie occa- 
 sionally, to tell her what her stepmother is doing, for she 
 has taken upon herself to watch her movements." 
 
 " Tell me what Jacques did after you had received 
 your friend." 
 
 " Jacques returned in two days, but did not see my 
 recluse. I met him on the road, and said to him : ' You 
 must not put your foot in our house, for it would cause 
 a scandal. I have ihere a friend who cannot see any 
 one. You must sleep at Champgousse. To-morrow I 
 will bring you everything you need, and help you to get 
 settled there. You are anxious to commence building ; 
 begin now ; do not come home for a month, and preserve 
 the most absolute secrecy.' Jacques promised not to try 
 to see my friend, and not to speak of her to any one. 
 He has kept his word." 
 
 " You are sure of it ? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle, even though you should think I am mis- 
 taken," replied Miette, firmly ; " I know all the levity for 
 which my brother is reproached, but he is blameless 
 where I am concerned. He feels, indeed, that if he came 
 here he would quickly be accused of paying court to my 
 friend, and that I should play a villanous part," 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 63 
 
 ** What villanous part, my dear ? This is the sole 
 point that interests me. What should you think of your 
 situation if Jacques was in love with this young lady ? " 
 
 " Jacques cannot be ; he is not acquainted with her." 
 
 " But suppose — " 
 
 " That he has deceived me ? It is impossible ! it 
 would be unpardonable ! This young lady is rich, noble, 
 and has a social position above Jacques. If, to make 
 such an alliance possible, he had tried to become ac- 
 quainted with her, to win her affection, to profit by her 
 abode with me to compromise her character, I should 
 pass for the accomplice of a base intriguer, or for a ridi- 
 culous dupe. Is not this your opinion, uncle ? " 
 
 In my turn I hesitated to reply. The burly Jacques 
 seemed to me both thoughtless and practical enough to 
 deceive his sister. " My darling," I at last said, embra- 
 cing her, " no one will ever accuse you of being concerned 
 in any intrigue whatever, and, if there were persons ill- 
 advised enough to do so, your uncle and cousin would box 
 their ears." 
 
 " But my aunt Chantebel ! " replied Miette, with an 
 expression of sorrowful pride. " My aunt is prejudiced 
 against me, and perhaps she has already spread unfavor- 
 able reports in regard to me ? '* 
 
 " Your aunt has not heard ^anything. Forget what 
 she said to you, for she will make amends for her thought- 
 lessness. I cannot deny that my dear wife is thoughtless ; 
 but she is good, and has a high esteem for you." 
 
 " She does not love me, uncle ; that was plain the 
 last time I saw her, and she has prejudiced Henri's mind 
 against me." 
 
 " But am I of no account ? I am here, and I love 
 you enough for four. Tell me one thing : do you still 
 love Henri ? ' 
 
54 THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT. 
 
 " The Henri as he used to be, yes ; but as he is now, 
 I cannot say — I must make his acquaintance over again. 
 He has changed in appearance, language, and manners. 
 It will take time to gain a knowledge of his character, 
 but he cannot come to my house for some weeks, neither 
 can I go to yours; you now understand the reason why." 
 
 " Well ! pat off the examination you wish to make for 
 a few weeks, and answer a final question. Do you know 
 the person to whom you are giving an asylum well ? " 
 
 "Yes, uncle." ' . 
 
 "You love her?" 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " And you esteem her?" 
 
 " I firmly believe that she has never done anything 
 that merits serious disapprobation." 
 
 " Is she intelligent? " 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Weli educated?" 
 
 " As well educated as one can be in a convent; she 
 reads a great deal now." 
 
 " Does she reason soundly ? " 
 
 " Much more so than the person who has brought her 
 misfortunes upon her, and who still persecutes her." 
 
 " Enough ! I do not want to know any more at pres- 
 ent, neither do I desim to see your friend until I have 
 something important to tell her." 
 
 " Ah, uncle ! " cried Miette, who was not deficient in 
 penetration — " I guess ! You have been consulted ; you 
 are commissioned to — " 
 
 " I have been consulted, but I am entirely free to act 
 as I decide. I would not enter upon* a case where your 
 name would be used in the pleadings for anything in the 
 world : but you maybe certain there will be no case, and, 
 if there were, I would refuse to plead against one who is 
 
THE TO WER OF PERCEMONT. 55 
 
 dependent on, and protected by you. As it is now a 
 question of compromise, I have the right to give good 
 advice to both parties. Tell your friend that she has 
 done a very imprudent thing in quitting her convent when 
 she would so soon have the full ris^ht to leave it of her 
 own free will ; and let me tell you that, iVi encouraging 
 her, you have been guilty of a foolish act of which I did 
 not believe you capable." 
 
 *' No, uncle, I have been deceived by appearances. 
 Marie wrote : ' I am of age, but see no prospect of regain- 
 ing my liberty. My only resource is in flight, and yoi 
 are the only person in the world who can give me ac 
 asylum. Are you willing to receive me ? ' I could not 
 refuse. When she arrived, she told me she would not 
 be of age for several weeks. I was well acquainted with 
 Marie, and knew she was a year younger than I, but did 
 not know her birthday. After I found this out, I fullj 
 understood that she must be closely concealed, and tool; 
 all possible precautions. I have succeeded until now 
 Marie does not go out of the enclosure, and my tenants 
 are refiable and devoted. They do not know her name^ 
 have not seen her, and, without being in my confidence», 
 are sufficiently distrustful not to reply to any questions, 
 that might be asked them." 
 
 " Ah, well ! my dear girl, redouble your precautions, 
 for at the present time Mademoiselle Marie is still undei 
 her guardian's control. She has power to take her home, 
 or force her to return to the convent — between two gen- 
 darmes, as they say ! " 
 
 " 1 know it, uncle, I know it ! therefore I sleep with 
 one eye open. If such a thing should happen — poor 
 Marie ! I would follow her ;. I should be seen conducted 
 through the country by the gendarmes." 
 
 " As Jacques would not endure this — nor I, any more 
 
56 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 than he, if I were there — we should be in a fine piece of 
 business. Friendship is a good thing, but I find that 
 your friend has well used, not to say abused, yours." 
 
 " She is so unhappy, uncle ! If you knew — ah ! how I 
 wish she could talk to you, and tell you the story of her 
 life ! " 
 
 " I do not wish to see her, and I must not. It is im- 
 possible for me to be the confidant of her presence here. 
 Remember this would spoil everything, and destroy my 
 power of being useful to you. Now I am going away. 
 I have not seen her, you have not told me her name, I 
 know absolutely nothing. Embrace me, and say to your 
 recluse that she must not even leave her umbrellas in 
 your garden." 
 
 '' Take this basket of peaches, uncle ; my aunt likes 
 them." 
 
 '• No ! Your peaches, though superb, are less velvety 
 and fresh than you are ; and, as 1 shall not speak at home 
 of having seen you, I do not wish to carry anything 
 away. Allow me only to say to Henri that you will con- 
 sent to renew your acquaintance with him next month.? " 
 
 " You are going to tell him, then, that you have seen 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, him alone, but he will not know anything of 
 your secret." 
 
 " Then, dear uncle, tell him — ^tell him — ^tell him no- 
 thing ; learn, before all else, what my aunt has against 
 me. As long as she feels unkindly towards me, I can- 
 not think of anything." 
 
THE TOWER OF 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 i 
 
 I RESOLVED to confide nothing of what I had learned 
 to Henri. I felt, however, that I must remove his sus- 
 picions of Miette, and console him, for despite his ap- 
 parent calmness, I knew he was wounded to the deptlis 
 of his heart, and I feared to see him, both by his conduct 
 and his attitude, render a marriage, in which, I felt, the 
 happiness of his life was bound up, impossible. I returned 
 about three o'clock, ajid found no one at home. My wife 
 and son had gone to the Tower of Percemont, and I 
 went there to join them. 
 
 The plaything decidedly pleased Henri, and his 
 mother was trying to persuade him, under the pretciico 
 of his requiring a study, to fit up a comfortable suite of 
 apartments suitable for a bachelor. I did not agree with 
 them. In my opinion, the manor-house ought to be left 
 exactly as it was, the only change advisable being to 
 clean and repair the room which old Coras de Percemont 
 had occupied. " Henri," said I, " whether he marries his 
 cousin Emilie or not, will marry someone in two or three 
 years. Who knows if he will go to live with his wife or 
 remain with us ? In the latter case, I suppose his wife 
 will wish to live in the tower ; great expense must then 
 be incurred to prepare it for housekeeping and for a family. 
 All that you would do at present would be of no use, 
 and would perhaps have to be undone ; do not be in a 
 hurry to throw money away to no purpose." 
 
 Henri yielded to my judgment. His mother blamed 
 him for always giving in to me, and never carrying out 
 
58 THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT. 
 
 any idea that slie suggested. " You just promised 
 me," she said, " that you would not think of marrying be- 
 fore you were thirty years old.'' 
 
 After scolding liim until she was tired, she left us 
 alone, and I hastened to say to Henri : " I have just been 
 to see Miette. I was sure of it ! The person whose 
 presence perplexed you so much at her house last even- 
 ing was a woman." 
 
 " You are sure, father ? Why, then did she conceal 
 her?" 
 
 " It is a Hun from the convent of Riom, whom the 
 physician has ordered to be sent into the country for a 
 while. You know these nuns are cloistered, and must 
 not see any one belonging to the outside world. When- 
 ever a visitor arrives, Miette has promised to give her 
 warning, so that she may take herself out of the way. 
 Miette has also received instructions not to reveal to any 
 one the presence of this nun uofler her I'oof, for tharule 
 of the order requires slie should live and die in a con- 
 vent. The bishop, seeing the urgency of the case, granted 
 a dispensation of two months, upon condition that the 
 matter should be kept quiet. I intrust the secret to you, 
 and beg you to say nothing to your mother in regard to 
 it. Miette, very much attached to this nun, who was 
 like a mother to her at the convent, spends her whole 
 time in taking care of her, waiting upon her, and keep- 
 ing her concealed. As usual, Miette, with the heart of 
 an angel, acts the part of a Sister of Charity." 
 
 " What must she think of me for bringing such an ac- 
 cusation against her ? Did you tell her what I said ? " 
 
 " I was not so foolish. She w6uld not readily pardon 
 you ; but tears are in your eyes ! Tell me frankly if 
 Emilie is not dearer to you than you are willing to 
 own?" 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 59 
 
 " Father," said Henri, " I feel inclined to weep and 
 to laugh also.'' 
 
 " Laugh and weep as much as you like, but speak ! " 
 
 "That is difficult. I cannot tell you how I feel when 
 my own mind is not clear to myself. I know that Emilie 
 is an angel — better still ; she is a saint ; for, if she has 
 the innocence and candor attributed to celestial beings, 
 she has also the merit of a generous and courageous soul 
 that surmounts all trials. It is a glory to be loved by 
 lier, a supreme felicity to have her for a wife. You see, 
 I know what slie is worth ; but am I good for anything? 
 Am I worthy of such a wife ? What have I done to 
 deserve her ? On the contrary, I have passed, not with- 
 out stain, through an experience of life of which she has 
 not the least idea, and from which I was compelled to 
 drive away her image to prevent it from making me 
 ashamed of my pleasures. And now I return to her de- 
 teriorated and sorrowful. A man should marry at eigh-l\ 
 teen, father, in the fervor of faith in himself and in the ] . 
 pride of holy innocence. He would then feel himself the ' 
 equal of his companion, and be sure of meriting her re- 
 spect. Yes, conjugal love is that austere and sacred 
 thing concerning which it may be said, if it is not all in 
 all, it is nothing. 
 
 " Well ! I did not understand this until lately, and, 
 when my senses drew me elsewhere, I did not dream 
 that my esteem and respect for Emilie would be lessened. 
 I have since seen my mistake. My worship has grown 
 cold ; I am convinced that I never loved her as I ought, 
 since I could forget her. I was fearful of her and of my- 
 self : 1 thought her too much my superior, morally 
 speaking, to receive me with pleasure, and to give herself 
 to me with enthusiasm ; I saw in marriage a chain of a 
 frightful seriousness. My imagination reverted to other 
 
(30 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 types ^han that of this young girl, who is too perfect for me. 
 I had been corrupted. If I did not drown myself like 
 my cousin Jacques in the dissipation of Paris, I neverthe- 
 less lost the taste for simplicity and love for the right 
 ])ath ; I put, in fact, too many artificial flowers in my 
 garden of love. I cannot speak to Emilie, I dare not 
 look at her. I shall never know how to gain her love. 
 
 "Do you wish me to tell you everything — to confess 
 something absolutely shameful ? Yesterday, when I be- 
 lieved her unfaithful, at first my blood ran cold, and 
 then suddenly I became furious. Jealousy tormented 
 me, and I did not close my eyes the whole night. If she 
 had been near me, I should have insulted, perhaps struck 
 her ! So that I was madly in love with her when be- 
 lieving her unfaithful. I had the greatest possible trouble 
 to prevent myself from going to see her notwithstanding 
 her prohibition and yours. Now you make plain to me 
 that I have been a madman and a fool, you show me 
 Emilie's image, with its immaculate aureole, and behold 
 me cast down and repentant, but uncertain and fearful. I 
 cannot tell whether I love her or not ! " 
 
 " That will do, that Avill do," I replied ; " now I un- 
 derstand everything ! These things must happen. 
 There is a period of life when fathers with the best in- 
 tentions are forced to abandon their sons to fate, very 
 happy if they are restored in no worse condition than 
 you are. Accept the past which you cannot change, and 
 do not aggravate its influence by too serious reflections. 
 You have made a voyage where you have been forced to 
 feed on condiments, and irow our fruits and milk-diet 
 seem insipid to your taste. You are no longer a Yir- 
 gilian" shepherd. Hav^ patience — these simple pleasures 
 will return. Man is modified according to his sphere ; 
 you will a})preciate more quickly than you imagine the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MONT 61 
 
 conditions of true happiness. Forget for a little while 
 the question of marriage. Emilie does not seem dis- 
 posed to recall it to your mind. She says you are so 
 changed that she does not feel acquainted with you any 
 longer, and her mind, I plainly see, has no fixed plan in 
 regard to you. You are both absolutely free to recom- 
 mence the romance of your youth, or to suffer it to be 
 effaced in the rosy clouds of the past." 
 
 I am not easily alarmed, neither am I heedless of con- 
 sequences. I saw plainly that in this, as in everything 
 else, happiness is transitory, and security chimerical. I 
 expected that the day which restored my son to me 
 would be one of the happiest of my life. I was so glad 
 to see him once more, and had such happy dreams when 
 expecting him ! In spite of the faults which he freely 
 confessed, and took little pains to conceal in his letters, 
 he had worked hard, and was at the commencement of a 
 career promising a brilliant fortune. He was intelligent, 
 handsome, good, rich, and as reasonable as could be ex- 
 pected from his age and situation. We had near fit hand 
 the best girl in the country, rich also, good, beautiful as 
 an angel, and exceptionally intellectual. They loved 
 each other, and had been betrothed from childhood. 1 
 expected to see them meet joyfully, and talk of marriage 
 immediately — and already a strange coolness had sprung 
 up between them. My wife, whom I believed amenable 
 to reason, at least on this subject, was diligently working 
 to set them at variance. Miette, through the kindness of 
 her heart, was involved in a questionable adventure. 
 Jacques was carrying on an amorous intrigue which might 
 compromise or bring trouble to his sister ; and, worst of 
 all, Henri, troubled and tormented between love and 
 caprice, did not sleep the first night passed under the 
 paternal roof, and was evidently suffering fi-om an inde- 
 
62 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 finable mental condition beyond my power to cure. My 
 day of happiness was not unclouded, and, while pretend- 
 ing to smile at these trifling matters, I was considerably 
 worried by them. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The evening passed very cheerfully ; many relatives 
 and friends dined with us. Henri was a general favorite, 
 and every one congratulated me on the possession of si>ch 
 a son. He received several invitations, but only accepted 
 those where I could accompany him. He had been away 
 so long, he said, that he was determmed not to lose sight 
 of me during the vacation. 
 
 We accej^ted for the next day an invitation to a shoot- 
 ing-party, from one of our cousins who lived so far off 
 that we were obliged to be absent from home a couple of 
 days. Jacques Ormonde promised to join the party, but 
 did not come. We scarcely thought of his absence, the 
 sport and the dinner were so animated and enjoyable ; 
 but I noticed his evident care in avoiding us. It was 
 very difiicult for Jacques to keep a secret, therefore I in- 
 ferred that he had one, and dreaded my scrutiny. We 
 stayed a day longer than we intended, and did not re- 
 turn until the Monday afternoon. 
 
 The object that first attracted my attention, as I bade 
 my wife good-day, was a j^i'etty Tittle girl six or seven 
 years old, full of smiles and play, who^clung to her skirts 
 and said to me in a defiant tone :— 
 
 " Are you Bebelle's husband ? " 
 
 " Who is Bebelle ? and wlio is this pretty child ? " 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 63 
 
 " It is Mademoiselle J^eonie de Nives," replied my 
 wife, taking her in her arms ; " she heard me called 
 Madame Chantebel, and she finds it shorter and prettier 
 to call me Bebelle. Oh ! we are already great friends — 
 is it not so, Ninie? We get along famously together." 
 
 " But how came you to be acquainted with her ? " 1 
 asked. 
 
 My wife explained the matter, while the child left us 
 to play in the garden. Madame de Nives came the even- 
 ing before to talk with me, and my wife had gained con- 
 fidence enough to receive her to the best of her ability* 
 Tlie exquisite toilet and brilliant equipage of the countess 
 had turned her head. Madame did her best to be agi-ee- 
 able and fascinating to the wife of the lawyer whom she 
 wished to secure for her cause. She consented to let her 
 liorses stand in the stable for two hours. She walked in 
 the garden, and even went to see the great tower of 
 which Madame Chantebel was proud to do the honors. 
 She admired the locality, the garden, the house, the birds, 
 and promised a pair of real Dutch canaries for the aviary. 
 She deigned to accept a collation of fruit and cake that 
 was served for lier ; declared that no grapes or pears at 
 Nives bore any comparison with ours ; even asked tlie 
 recipe for the cake. She went away, saying she should 
 return the next day. 
 
 She did return, as she promised, with her daughter, 
 ex2:)ecting to find me at home, as I had appointed to be ; 
 but I was never in season. This poor countess had waited 
 for me more than an hour; then, having business at Riom, 
 she had conferred upon my house the distinguished honor 
 of leaving her little girl there, in my wife's arms, and she 
 was now expected every minute. " I hope, M. Chante- 
 bel," said my wife, as she finished the story, '' that you 
 will have your clothes brushed, for they are covered with 
 
64 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 dust, and change your cravat, for it is very much soiled." 
 I noticed that she was richly dressed to receive her new 
 friend. 
 
 A little while after, Madame de Nives arrived, and 
 my wife hastened to meet her, leading the little one by 
 the hand. The countess announced to me that she was 
 on her way to Paris, some one having written her that 
 her stepdaughter had been seen entering an hotel in the 
 Faubourg St-Germain, leaning on the arm of a young 
 man very tall and very fair. '' The person who gives me 
 this information," she added, " thinks that Marie is still 
 there; at any rate 1 shall know where she went after 
 leaving this hotel, which is not otherwise designated. 
 People are so afraid of being compromised, or finding 
 themselves implicated in some scandal ! I must go myself 
 to find out the truth. I shall act energetically, take Marie 
 by surprise, oblige her to make a statement of her mis- 
 conduct, and bring her back to replace her triumphantly 
 in the convent." 
 
 " You are going too far ! Then any reconciliation 
 will be impossible, any concessions on her part hopeless. 
 I have told you, and I repeat it, that misconduct does not 
 involve deprivation of civil rigiits." 
 
 " When I possess her secret, I will bring her to you, 
 M. Chantebel, and you shall lay down the conditions of 
 my silence." 
 
 If I had felt certain that, before taking refuge with 
 Emilie, Mademoiselle de Nives, after escai^ing from the 
 convent, had not been seen in Paris with Jacques, either 
 for her own pleasure or for advice in regard to her posi- 
 tion, I should have hastened the departure of the coun- 
 tess. The time she would lose in lier useless search for 
 Mademoiselle Marie would be just so much gained for the 
 inhabitants of Vignolette ; .but, if this journey took place 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 65 
 
 without Erailie's knowledge, Madame de Nives could trace 
 out the fugitive, and, with the aid of the police, discover 
 the truth. I advised once more patience and prudence. 
 Madame de Nives was, however, determined to have her 
 own w^ay, and took leave of me, saying that to surprise 
 Marie in open criminality was her surest means of safety. 
 Whatever she might say, I saw plainly that she had taken 
 other advice than mine, and had easily found persons dis- 
 posed to gratify her passion and enter into her views. 
 / Pier cause became more and more disagreeable to me, 
 I and I felt strongly impelled to have nothing to do with 
 it. 
 
 I accompanied her only as far as the garden. Another 
 client was waiting for me, and I was occupied with him 
 until dinner-time. What was my surprise when, upon en- 
 tering the dining-room, I saw the young Leonie de Nives 
 seated in a high chair, that had done service in Henri's 
 childhood, and my wife in the act of tying a napkin 
 around her neck ! 
 
 Madame de Mveshad confided to Madame Chantebel, 
 on the previous evening, all that she had intrused to me 
 as a profomid secret. Women have a marvellous facility 
 in becoming intimate, when hatred on one side and curi- 
 osity on the other find the savory aliment of a scandal to 
 confide and to listen to. Madame Chantebel was, then, 
 thoroughly versed in all the details of the case, and my 
 astonishment amused her very much. As she could not 
 enter into any explanation before the child, she simply 
 said to Henri and me that " her mamma would return in 
 the evening." 
 
 "I asked her to stfcy and dine with us,'' said my wife, 
 " but, as she intends to start for Paris this evening or to- 
 morrow morning, she has too much to do at Riom, and 
 begged me to keep her little one until she came for her." 
 
66 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 Madame de Nives did not return in the evening. My 
 wife did not appear to be much astonished, and had a 
 little bed arranged near her own for her young guest. 
 After undressing Mademoiselle Ninie, and sitting by her 
 until she went to sleep, she came back to explain the 
 mystery. 
 
 Madame de Nives had been obliged to take the live 
 o'clock train for Riom ; she was now on her way to Paris. 
 I ought to know that not a moment should be lost in such 
 an important affair as that which engrossed her attention. 
 Madame de Nives had dreaded the tears of her little 
 daughter, whom she could not take with her, and had ac- 
 cepted her offer to keep her until evening. Her nurse 
 would have come with the carriage to take her to Nives, 
 but she had shown much anxiety on account of this nurse, 
 having discovered on that very day that she was carrying 
 on an intrigue at Riom. " The servants of this poor 
 lady," my wife said, " were not as faithful as they should 
 be. Her domestic arrangements had not prospered at the 
 chateau since her husband's death. The old servants took 
 the side of the elder daughter. She was obliged to turn 
 them out of the house, but they left behind their evil in- 
 tluence and their wicked insinuations ; it was useless to 
 take these servants to Paris : at the least discontent they 
 became insolent, and talked to Ninie about her sister 
 Mfjrie, driven away and shut up in a convent on her ac- 
 count. All this irritated the child, and during the last 
 absence of the countess many things were said to the little 
 girl that made her unhappy and disobedient when her 
 mother returned. It appears, also, that Madame de 
 Nives's neighbors are not on good terms with her. She 
 has neither relatives nor friends; she is truly an object 
 of pity. 
 
 " While listening to her grievances, which aroused my 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 67 
 
 sympathy, the idea came into my head of proposing to 
 take care of the little one. 'If the nurse has behaved 
 improperly, you cannot trust the child to her any longer. 
 Give her to me ; you know who I am, and with what in- 
 dulgence I brought up my son and the other two dear 
 ones I lost. You say that you will be absent but a week 
 at most. What is it for us to take care of the child for 
 a week? It will be a pleasure to me. Trust me to dis- 
 miss your bad nurse when she comes back, and to find 
 another for whom I will be responsible as for myself.' 
 She was inclined to accept my offer, but dared not on 
 your account ; she said ; ' My child is noisy, and will 
 annoy M. Chantebel.' ' Nonsense ! ' I replied ; ' you do 
 not know him ! He is a patriarch ! He is good as bread, 
 and adores children.' At last I urged her so much that 
 she left me her darling, who is a love of a child. The 
 poor woman was so touched that she wept and embraced 
 me when she bade me good-by." 
 
 " Is it possible, wife, you have been embraced by a 
 countess ! That is the reason why I find a more noble ex- 
 pression on your face than usual." 
 
 " You are making fun of me ! It is unsufferable ! It is 
 of no use to try any longer to talk reasonably with you, 
 M. Chantebel ; you are " 
 
 " Insufferable, you said." 
 
 "No ; you are the best of men, you cannot blame me 
 for having received a poor child who needs to be taken 
 care of and watched over during her mother's absence." 
 
 " God keep me from it ! — especially as you pay me 
 compliments whicli I have no desire to cliange for re- 
 proaches. The child does not make me angry : a child 
 never annoys me. Keep her. as long as you please ; but(\ 
 let me tell you that your countess is a regular fi-aud." \ 
 
 "A fraud! How disrespectful you speak of the Coun- 
 
68 THE TO WER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 tess de Nives. What manners you sometimes nave, M. 
 Chantebel ! " 
 
 " Yes I have the bad manners and the bad taste to 
 think that a reasonable mother does not trust her child, 
 even for a week, to a person whom she has known only 
 since last evening, and that, if among all her former con- 
 nections she had neither a devoted relative, nor a sincere 
 friend, nor a faithful servant, it must be her own fault." 
 
 " You are right. I would not have trusted Henri to 
 strangers in this way ; but I am not unknown to Madame 
 de Nives. She has heard me spoken of often enough to 
 know that I have always been a good mother and an irre- 
 proachable wife." 
 
 " It is not I who will say anything to the contrary ; 
 but this sudden confidence astonishes me none the less." 
 
 " There are exceptional circumstances ; and you ought 
 to know that the future of the child depends upon there- 
 suit of her mother's visit to Paris." 
 
 " She told you, then — " 
 
 " Everything." 
 
 " She did wrong." 
 
 •• I promised to keep the secret." 
 
 " God grant that you niay keep your word ! for I 
 \sarn you that, if your new friend brings reproach upou 
 the reputation of her stepdaughter, she is ruined." 
 
 " Oh, no ! This stepdaughter is a wretched being 
 who " 
 
 *' You do not know her ! Keep the epithets that will 
 be appropriate for the time when we find out whether 
 she is a victim or a fiend." 
 
rilE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 69 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The next day, Mademoiselle ISTinie's nurse not hav- 
 ing made her appearance, my wife found an excellent ser- 
 vant-girl whose parents lived near, and with whom we 
 were well acquainted, to take her place. The little girl 
 seemed to be very happy with us. 
 
 I was curious to know her feelings in regard to her 
 half-sister. One morning I saw her alone in the garden; 
 my wife, busy with her work, was sitting at one of the 
 lower windows, and watching the little girl at her play. 
 I went in to. the garden, took the child by the hand, and 
 led her to see some rabbits in a little enclosure where 
 they were kept. When she had admired them for some 
 time, I took her on my knee, and began to talk to her. 
 " You must have, at Nives," I said, " much more beautiful 
 ;abbits than these ? " 
 
 " No, there are no rabbits at all. There are only hens^ 
 dogs, and cats ; but m.amma will not let me play witli 
 them for fear that I shall soil or tear my clothes, and this 
 makes me angry, for I am very fond of animals. Mam- 
 ma scolds me for loving them, because she is stingy." 
 
 " Stingy ! What does that word mean ? " 
 
 "Ah, dear me ! I don't know. The servants call her 
 so, because she is always scolding them." 
 
 " That is a bad word. You mus* never repeat words 
 that you do not know the meaning of. I am sure your 
 mamma loves you veiy much, and that she is very good 
 to you," 
 
70 THE TOWER OF PEKCEMONT. 
 
 " She is not good at all. She whips me and smacks 
 me, and I only amuse myself when she goes away." 
 
 " Have you any brothers and sisters?" 
 
 *' I have a grown-up sister wlio is very good. I should 
 like to live with her always." 
 
 " Always ! Do you not see her often ? " 
 
 " No ; she is in prison in a convent. I saw her — I 
 mean I saw her portrait. I think I never saw her." 
 
 " Then how do you know that she is good ? " 
 
 " My nurse and the old gardener's wife told me that 
 she was put in prison because she was." 
 
 " What ! put in prison brcause she is good ? " 
 
 " So it seems. Therefore, when mamma tells me to 
 be good I answer : ' N"o ; you would make me go to pris- 
 on in the same way ! ' I am very glad she brought me to 
 your house. I hope you will let me stay here always." 
 
 Then without waiting for my reply, Mademoiselle 
 Ninie, whom I had hard work to hold, ran after the rab- 
 bits faster than ever. I saw a child already the victim of 
 misfortune and a wanderer from the right path. I no 
 longer doubted that her mother was both avaricious and 
 wicked. It was even possible that she saw in her daugh- 
 ter only a pretext for contesting Marie's inheritance with 
 greater avidity. She had not even the resource of hyp- 
 ocrisy, the power of making dupes ; for she was thorough- 
 ly detested ; and her servants had disturbed if not irre- 
 trievably injured, the moral sense of poor N^inie. 
 
 I looked with painful emotion upon this bewitching 
 child, clothed in all the physical beauty of her happy age, 
 and thought that there was already a gawning worm in 
 the heart of this rose. I watched her closely to discover 
 the ruling impulses of her character: they were good 
 and tender. She ran after the rabbits in order to caress 
 them, and, when she had succeeded in catching one, she 
 
THE TOWER OE FERCEMONT. 71 
 
 covered it with kisses and tried to swaddle it in her hand- 
 kerchief, to make a baby of it. As the animal was un- 
 manageable, and threatened to scratch her pretty face, I 
 took him away gently, without opposition on her part, 
 and gave her a tame dove, which made her wild with de- 
 light. At first she squeezed it very closely, but when I 
 made her understand that she must let it go free in order 
 to have the pleasure of seeing it come back and follow 
 her of its own accord, she listened to me willingly, and 
 handled it gently ; but there was an ardor in her ca- 
 resses that revealed a heart full of unrequited love and 
 repressed sensibility. 
 
 The following day, St. Hyacinth's day, was my birth- 
 day, and also our village festival. Two or three dozen 
 cousins and nephews arrived, with their wives and chil- 
 dren to pass the holiday with us. They went to partici- 
 pate in the rural fete, while my wife, up with the dawn, 
 prepared a Homeric feast. I was absorbed as usual with 
 a crowd of clients — prosperous peasants or humble citi- 
 zens — wlio, taking advantage of the holiday to consult me, 
 deprived me of the pleasure of being present at the festi- 
 al. 
 
 I endured the long and confused explanations of these 
 worthy persons until the first bell rang for dinner. Then 
 I resolutely put them out of doors, not without a strug- 
 gle on the stairway against their references and repeti- 
 tions. When I entered the drawing-room, shutting the 
 door in their faces, I met with an agreeable surprise. 
 Emilie Ormonde was waiting for me, with a large bou- 
 quet of magnificent roses in her hand. The dear child 
 threw herself into my arms, wishing me a pleasant birth- 
 day, with happiness, good fortune, and health. 
 
 " This " I said pressing her to my lieart. 
 
72 THE TOWER OE PERCEMONT. 
 
 enjoyment which I did not exj^ect. Have you been here 
 long, my dear niece? " 
 
 '' I have just arrived, uncle, and I am going awa/ im- 
 mediately. You must excuse me from dining with you 
 as in otlier years ; but you know why I cannot. Marie 
 is imprudent ; she is tired of being shut up. The poor 
 child has been a prisoner so long ! Would you believe 
 that this mornins: she took it into her head to disoruise 
 herself as a peasant to come to the fete ? She said no 
 one knows her face, and she wanted to accompany me 
 as a servant. The only way I could dissuade her from 
 her purpose was by promising to be gone but an hour. 
 I could not let the day pass without bringing you some 
 Vignolette roses, nor without telling you to-day, as 
 always, that you and Jacques are the two persons whom 
 I love the best in the world." 
 
 " And your aunt ? " ' - 
 
 " I hfave not seen her. I will pay my respects to her 
 as I go out." 
 
 " How will you explain the reason why you do not 
 «tay?" 
 
 " She will not care to have rae stay, uncle." 
 
 *' And if I allow you to go, will you imagine that I 
 do not love you any longer ? " 
 
 " Oh ! it is different with you ! And besides you 
 know I have a child to take care of." 
 
 " Ah unreasonable child, I am sure of it ! Do you 
 know that her stepmother was here two days ago ? " 
 
 "Yes; I knew also 'that she left her little girl with 
 you." 
 
 '* Who told you so ? " 
 
 " Old Nicole's daughter, who came yesterday to bring 
 back some "baskets you had lent us. She saw the child, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 73 
 
 and WHS told that the mother had gone to Paris. Is it 
 true ? " 
 
 " It is true, and Mademoiselle Marie runs a great risk 
 of being discovered, if, after escaping from the convent, 
 she were seen in Paris before coming to your house." 
 
 "• She was there, uncle ; I know it now. She was 
 obliged to purchase underclothing and dresses, and 
 especially to seek counsel in her affairs, concerning which 
 slie had always been kept in entire ignorance." 
 
 " She was in Paris — alone ? " 
 
 " No, wdth her nursje, the one who helped her to 
 escape. This woman is devoted to her, and yet I am 
 afraid of her ; she does not understand the necessity of 
 being prudent ; she suspects nothing, and, when she 
 comes to see Marie, I do not dare to leave her alone in 
 the house with her." 
 
 "But where is Jacques' all this timer " 
 
 " He must be at the dance, and doubtless he will come 
 and dine with you." 
 
 " That is right ! Go, then, if you must. I hope you 
 will make ample amends to me when you are no more 
 the guardian slave of your beautiful friend. Have you 
 seen Henri ? " • 
 
 '' No ; I have seen and wish to see no one but you. 
 Adieu until we meet again, dear uncle ! " 
 
 The second bell rang for dinner as my niece went 
 away through the farmyard, where she had left her 
 vehicle in charge of a domestic. Henri, who passed 
 through the garden, did not see her. The crowd of 
 nephews, cousins, second-cousins, and grand-nephews 
 arrived, and at last came Jacques Ormonde, red as a 
 peony from having danced until the last minute. The 
 dinner was not very tedious for a family repast in the 
 
74 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 country ; it was well known that I did not like to sit 
 long at table. It was served promptly, and did not allow 
 of the guests going to sleep while they were eating. As 
 soon as it was finished, feeling the need of breathing the 
 out-door air, after the confinement my clients had im- 
 posed upon me in the morning, I proposed to go and 
 take coffee at old Rosier's,who kept a rustic establishment 
 in the village. We could see the dances and diversions 
 from his garden. My proposition was enthusiastically 
 welcomed by my young nieces and cousins. We set off 
 laughing, shouting, frisking about, and singing. The 
 village was only half a mile from the house, taking tlie 
 paths through my meadows. 
 
 Our boisterous arrival brought all the young people 
 out of the wine-shops. They were getting ready to light 
 up, for it was becoming dark. They called the fiddlers, 
 scattered around in the cabarets, together. The young 
 folks who came wdth me cared little for drinking coffee ; 
 they wished to dance. The fete brightened up very much. 
 The dance, abandoned for a time, was reorganized, as is 
 usually the case when hunger is appeased and the even- 
 ing begins. 
 
 Curing this quarter of an hour of impatient expecta- 
 tion and joyful disorder, I chanced to be alone for a few 
 minutes on old Hosier's terrace. This terrace was a lit- 
 tle garden, planted with hazel-bushes, on the declivity of 
 a hill, and about six feet above the level of the place 
 where they were dancing. It was much the prettiest 
 place for obtaining a general view of the fete. Three 
 blue lanterns concealed in the foliage gave the appear- 
 ance of moonlight, and made it easy for persons to rec- 
 ognize each other. The illumination had, however, not 
 commenced, and I was waiting in the obscurity until my 
 turn came to be served, when I perceived some one ap- 
 
THE TOWER OE PERCEMONT 75 
 
 proaching with a stealthy step, who touched me lightly 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 " Don't say a word, uncle ; it is I, Emilie." 
 " What are you doing here, dear child ? I thouglit 
 you had gone home." 
 
 "I have been home — and come back, uncle. Are we 
 alone here ? " 
 
 " Yes, just at this moment ; but speak low." 
 " Yes, certainly ! I must tell you that 1 did not find 
 Marie at Yignolette. Nicole told me that Charliette 
 came in my absence, and that they went out together." 
 " Well ! you think they are liere ? " 
 *' Yes, I think so ; and I am looking for them." 
 " In this way, entirely alone among these peasants 
 flushed with wine, many of whom are not acquainted 
 with you, for they come here from all parts of the coun- 
 try?" 
 
 "I am not afraid of anything, uncle. There are 
 enough who are acquainted with me to protect me in 
 case of need. Besides, Jacques will be here, and I 
 thought you would take care of me." 
 
 " Then do not leave me, and let your madcap friend 
 follow her own adventures. It is not right" that, to save 
 a person who does not wish to be saved, you should ex- 
 pose yourself to insult. Remain with me. I will not 
 allow you to take care of Mademoiselle Marie. Jacques 
 is here to take care of her in your place and in his own 
 way." 
 
 " Jacques does not know her, uncle. I assure you — " 
 I interrupted Miette by making a sign for her to ob- 
 serve a couple moving stealthily along the rock below us 
 in the thick shade that the hazel-bushes threw upon the 
 lower ground-plot. I recognized Jacques's voice. We 
 
76 'J^IIE TO WER OF FEKCEMONT. 
 
 remained motionless, listening, and heard the following 
 dialogue : 
 
 " No ; I will not go back yet. I want to dance the 
 hourree with you. It is dark ; and, besides, no one 
 knows me." 
 
 " They will soon light up, and every one will notice 
 you." 
 
 " You ask the reason ? Do you believe there is an- 
 other peasant girl here as fair, as slender, as pretty as 
 you are ? " 
 
 " You are flattering me. I will tell Miette." 
 
 " You had better not boast of my acquaintance ! " 
 
 " I know it is not worth speaking of." 
 
 " Cruel creature ! Come, call Charliette, and go home 
 with her." 
 
 " It is you who are cruel ! How can you refuse me 
 this little enjoyment ? " 
 
 " My uncle is here, and you know that he is your step- 
 mother's adviser." 
 
 " That makes no difference to me ; he will be mine if 
 I wish. When he knows me, he will be on my side. 
 You said so yourself. Come. Jacques, here are the bag- 
 pipes coming. I must dance." 
 
 " It is absolute madness ! " 
 
 " Oh, to dance the hourree as in my childhood ! To 
 have been ten years in a dungeon, to escape from the icy 
 coldness' of death, to feel myself alive, and to dance the 
 hourreel Jacques, my good Jacques, I have set my heart 
 upon it ! " 
 
 The noisy music of the bagpipes interrupted the con- 
 versation, or prevented us from hearing it. The large 
 lantern at the top of the pole was at last lighted, and old 
 Hosier's garden was also illuminated. I saw all my 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MO NT. 77 
 
 guests ; those who were not dancing were* taking the 
 coffee I had ordered, while the young men, scattered over 
 the open space, were inviting their partners for the dance. 
 
 I moved a few steps out of the way with Emilie, in 
 such a manner as to prolong my tete-a-tete with her, 
 without ceasing to observe what was taking place on the 
 green. When the lantern burned brightly, we saw very 
 distinctly the burly Jacques bounding in the dance and 
 lifting in his arms a slender and pretty peasant-girl, very 
 gracefully attired. 
 
 " It is indeed she ! " said Emilie, in consternation ; " it 
 is Marie, disguised ! " 
 
 '" You b^gin to think that she is a little acquainted 
 with your brother ? " 
 
 " I was deceived, uncle — ah ! very much deceived ! 
 He has done wrong." 
 
 "And now what are you going to do ?" 
 
 " Wait until her fancy is gratified, approach her, speak 
 to her gently as to a domestic in my service, and take 
 her home before she has attracted too much attention." 
 
 " Wait nntil I look at her." 
 
 "Do you think she is pretty, uncle ? " 
 
 " Yes,indeed; very pretty, and she dances admirably." 
 
 " Look at her critically, uncle ; you will see that she 
 is a child, utterly unconscious of what she is doing. I am 
 certain that she has not the least idea of causing me or 
 any one else trouble. It is possible that she has become 
 acquainted with Jacques without my knowledge ; that he 
 has helped her to escape, accompanied her to Paris, as 
 you think, brought her even to my door, and seen her 
 secretly since ; that they love each other, are betrothed, 
 and have deceived me to avoid the obstacle of my con- 
 scientious scruples." 
 
 " It is even certain now." 
 
i 
 
 78 T//E TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 " Very well, uncle, it matters little; Marie is still 
 pure, and more ignorant than I am ; for I know from 
 what danger a girl twenty-two years old must be kept, 
 while she — is still like a child of twelve ! In the couA^ent 
 she learned nothing of those things she needs most to 
 know at the present time. She is just the same as I left 
 her at the Riom convent, fond of movement, noise, free- 
 dom, and dancing, but not suspecting that she can become 
 blameworthy, and incapable of permitting any impro- 
 priety in Jacques." 
 
 " However, my dear Miette, when Mademoiselle de 
 Nives was at the convent, and only fourteen or fifteen 
 years old, she had a lover who wrote her letters badly 
 spelled, and this lover was Jacques." 
 
 *' No, uncle, this lover — must I tell you ? — it was an 
 entirely innocent affair." 
 
 " Tell me everything." 
 
 " Well, this lover was your son — it was Henri." 
 " " Are you in earnest ? " 
 
 ''"-' *' Yes, I saw tlie letters, and recognized the writing. 
 Henri was then at college, the grounds of which were 
 only separated by a wall from the convent; the students 
 threw balls over the walls, and concealed letters in them, 
 declarations of love, of course, in prose or verse, with 
 full signatures, and addressed at random to Loui&e, 
 Charlotte, Marie. Henri was delighted with this sport, 
 and excelled in writing in the style of a shoemaker, with 
 a corresponding orthography. He signed his name 
 tTaquet^ and addressed his burlesque loveletters to Marie, 
 who made fun of them. He knew her Christian name, 
 for he often heard it called out in our garden ; but did 
 not take the trouble to find out whether she was pj-etty 
 or not, for neither at this time nor since has he ever seen 
 her face. She told me the whole story." 
 
THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT, 79 
 
 "You are sure that he never saw her ? I have my 
 doubts — look, Miette, look." 
 
 The bou7'ree was finished ; the dancers were going to 
 commence again, and, at the moment when Jacques was 
 about to lead out his partner, Henri, addressing her, 
 invited her for the next dance. She accepted, regardless 
 of Jacque's visible disapprobation. She took my son's 
 arm, and danced with him, manifesting as much enjoy- 
 ment as when dancing with my nephew. 
 
 " Well ! what does this prove ? " said the good Emilie, 
 without any appearance of vexation. " Henri has noticed 
 this pretty girl, and said to himself, that, since Jacques 
 has danced with her, he could do the same. Permit me, 
 uncle, to go near her, for she begins to make a sensation, 
 and every one will be asking her to dance. I must take 
 her aw^y. Charliette is here^-I see her ; but she spoils 
 her, and will allow her to remain long enough to attract 
 too much attention." 
 
 " Go, then ; but all this annoys me excessively. Tids 
 girl is possessed. She will cause you a thousand cares, 
 will certainly injure your reputation. Meantime, she 
 dances with Henri, while, excepting for her presence 
 under your roof, he would have renewed the tender and 
 serious pledge of your mutual affection, and to-day he 
 would have opened the ball with his betrothed, instead of 
 dancing with a fair unknown, whose beautiful eyes may 
 perhaps arouse his passionate admiration but will not be 
 able to gain a permanent hold upon his heart." 
 
 " Who knows ? " said Miette, with a profound expres- 
 sion of sorrowful n^signation. 
 
 " Who knows ? " I exclaimed. '' I know that I will 
 not suffer the least coquetry between your and your 
 brother's betrothed ! " 
 
 " Uncle, do not betray her ! " quickly replied the 
 
80 THE TOURER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 generous girl. " Whatever happens, I have promised to 
 devote myself to her service, both as a sister and a 
 mother. I will keep my word." 
 
 An unexpected incident interrupted us. Jacques Or- 
 monde, seeing Mademoiselle de Nives wild with excite- 
 ment, and regardless of consequences, contrived a plan for 
 interrupting the ball. He climbed up to the large lantern, 
 as if he were going to light his cigar, and put it out, ap- 
 ])arently without intention, plunging the assembly into 
 darkness. As he descended, he pretended to laugh loudly 
 at the accident, and was lost in the sliglit tumult it pro- 
 duced. There were a few moments of astonishment and 
 disorder. Some continued to dance, feigning to mistake 
 their partners; others were honestly looking for theirs. 
 Some modest girls, frightened, sought the protection 
 of their parents ; others, more bold, laughed and shouted 
 as loud as they could. I descended from the terrace 
 with Miette ; at the moment wliQn the light was re- 
 kindled,we saw Jacques, wandering, disappointed, looking 
 around among the different groups ; Henri and Ma- 
 demoiselle de Nives had disappeared, either with or with- 
 out Charliette. 
 
 I saw then that Miette still loved Henri, for great 
 tears glistened for a minute on her cheeks. She tried to 
 conceal them, and, turning towards me, " We must," she 
 said, " prevent Jacques from making any further search. 
 He cannot conceal his feelings, and his anxiety will be 
 noticed." 
 
 " Never fear," I replied, " Jacques knows very well 
 how to keep his own counsel ; you cannot doubt it any 
 longer. He will take good care, if he is jealous, not to 
 pick a quarrel with Henri, for this would betray or avow 
 everything. If Mademoiselle de Nives has chosen Henri 
 for her attendant, and he takes her back to Vignolette, 
 
-- I 
 
 THE TOWER OE P^^^^^^^'^^'.^ ^" 
 
 you must not let them see that you are uneasy or jeal- 
 ous." 
 
 " Certainly not, uncle, I am neither ; but — " 
 
 " But here is Jacques, who sees you, and is coming 
 towards us. It is not the time for explanations ; appear 
 to be ignorant of everything. Presently I will make him 
 confess." 
 
 " I did not expect the pleasure of seeing y eu," said 
 Jacques to Emilie ; " you told me you were not coming to 
 the fete.." 
 
 "I have just come," replied Miette. ''I had some- 
 thing to say to my uncle. I knew that he would be here 
 this evening." 
 
 " And you have seen — only him ? " said Jacques, 
 almost distracted. 
 
 "Only him? Indeed, I haj;^ seen a great many 
 people." 
 
 '' I thought you were looking for some one ? " 
 
 " I was looking for no one but my uncle, and you 
 see plainly that I have found him. What is the matter 
 with you, and why do you look so troubled ? " 
 
 Jacques saw that he had betrayed himself, and 
 hastened to reply with a forced air of gayety : — " I am 
 not troubled about anything ! I am looking for Henri, 
 that he may be my vis-a-vis in the dance — with you, if 
 you wish." 
 
 " Thanks, I am going away. My vehicle is waiting 
 for me under the pines yonder. Please tell old Pierre to 
 put the bridle on the mare. I will follow you." 
 
 " Why are you hurrying away ? " I asked my niece, 
 as soon as Jacques had started off. " Henri is here 
 without doubt, and, if you desire it, will dance with you." 
 
 " Uncle, Henri has gone with Marie ; they are on their 
 way to Vignolette." 
 
82 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 " It is possible — everything is possible : but upon 
 reflection, it is very improbable ; you said they did not 
 know each other ? Do you now think your young charge 
 so foolish and imprudent as to have made Henri her con- 
 fidant ? " 
 
 " I know nothing about the matter, my dear uncle ; 
 I do not understand her any longer ! " 
 
 *' She is coquettish and frivolous, that is plain ; how- 
 ever — " 
 
 " They were talking with much earnestness during 
 the hourree and yesterday Marie wrote a letter which she 
 intrusted to the letter-carrier with great secrecy." 
 
 " You suppose — what ? " 
 
 " She has a great desire to see you and ask your advice. 
 I was obliged to tell her of your refusal. She then 
 questioned me more tl\^n she had ever done before about 
 Henri, his character, and the influence he possessed over 
 you. I should not be surprised if she had commissioned 
 him to ask you for an interview." 
 
 " If she wrote to him yesterday, he would have spoken 
 to me to-day. I believe you are mistaken ; whatever it 
 is, we shall see very soon. If she has selected him for ail 
 intermediary, he will tell me so this evening. Now, what 
 are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Return home quietly at a slow pace. As Marie is 
 probably going home on foot, I want to give her time to 
 return to Vignolette, take off her disguise, and go to bed 
 without telling me anything, unless she pleases. You 
 understand, uncle ? If she confesses her inconsiderate 
 act, I shall have a right to scold her and question her. 
 If she wants to conceal it from me, I cannot reproach her 
 without making her angry and humiliating her very much. 
 Remember she is under my roof, and has no other asylum ; 
 if I offend her, she will leave me, and wh^re then would 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE AfO/^T. 83 
 
 she go ? To Charliette's, whom I believe capable of any- 
 thing ? N'o, she must not quit rae, for she would com- 
 promise herself, and give her stepmother the means of 
 destroying her reputation ! " 
 
 '' In til is, as in everything, you are as wise as you are 
 generous, ray dear Emilie. Say nothing to her, if she is 
 silly enough to wish to deceive you ; but I will speak to 
 Jacques ! Never mind ! he will not dream that you heard 
 his conversation with the damsel." 
 
 We arrived at this moment under the pines where, 
 owing to want of room in the inn, a number of horses 
 were tied to the trees. Jacques had not troubled himself 
 particularly about delivering his sister's message to the 
 old servant. He was searching in all directions, looking 
 always for Mademoiselle de Nives, and finding it very 
 difficult to obtain information in any other way than by 
 his eyes, which were of little use to him in the thick shade 
 of the pine-grove. Obliged to come at my call, he helped 
 me in seeing Emilie safely started for home. Then 
 taking his arm, I led him to an unfrequented path, and 
 said : — *' Let us see, young man, what you intend to do, 
 and what will be the end of this fine intrigue." 
 
 In three words I convinced him I knew everything, 
 and that it was perfectly useless to deny it. He drew a 
 long breath, and replied : — " Oh uncle ! you confound 
 me ; but you release me from torture, and excepting for 
 the penalty of being severely scolded, I am delighted at 
 the opportunity of telling you the truth." 
 
84 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " I WAS in love with Mademoiselle de Mves," said 
 Jacques, '' when she was at the Riom convent. I had 
 left college for a long time, though Henri was still there, 
 and was intending to go to Paris to commence ray law- 
 studies. I was passing my vacation at our town house, 
 and from one of the dormer-windows of the loft frequently 
 saw Mademoiselle de Nives standing at the window of 
 her cell looking out upon the convent-garden. It is true, 
 she was but fourteen years old ; but she was already 
 beautiful as an angel ; and at the age I had then reached 
 admiration for beauty may really be called love. But I 
 was too little accustomed to persons of her condition to 
 think of making a declaration of my passion, and if by 
 chance she turned her head in my direction I quickly hid 
 Avhere she could not see me. 
 
 " One Sunday Henri, who came to pay me a visit, not 
 finding me in the house, took it into his head to look for 
 me up in the loft, where he discovered me absorbed in 
 contemplation, and made fun of me. I hurried him from 
 the room in great haste, lest he should see the beautiful 
 charmer who occupied my thoughts. As, however, he 
 persisted in teasing me with epigrams, I confessed that I 
 was in love with a certain Marie in the convent. The 
 malicious fellow took it into his head, to write ridiculous 
 letters to her under the signature of ' Jacques,' and she 
 imprudently made fun of them with her companions. 
 They laughed too loud, and the nuns, who kept watch, 
 seized the l)alls, in which were concealed the love-letters, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 85 
 
 thrown over the college-wall. Madame de Nives was in- 
 formed of this grave offence. She used it as a pretext 
 for transferring Marie to the convent of Clermont, where 
 she passed a most unhappy youth. 
 
 " She will tell you herself what she suffered, uncle ; 
 for she has set her heart upon seeing you and asking your 
 advice and protection. You must, indeed, listen to her. 
 During this time I forgot her, willing or not, for I was in 
 Paris, and my childish dreams gave place to more serious 
 realities. However, I learned how much the poor girl 
 was to be pitied through my fault and Henri's. He knew 
 nothing about it, as Miette only told me, and sametimes 
 she showed me her friend's letters, which gave me great 
 pain; but w^hat could I do to repair the injury ? I was 
 not an eligible match for her, and could not ask her hand 
 in marriage ; besides, the countess did not wish her to be 
 married. Sho was determined to force her to become a 
 nun, pretending that her stepdaughter wished to devote 
 herself to a religious life, and rejected the idea of mar- 
 riage. 
 
 " Chance alone could bring about the events that fol- 
 lowed. I found myself thoughtlessly involved in a ro- 
 mance, and obliged to accept the part assigned me. Two 
 years since, I was at Clermont on account of an affair of 
 which it is unnecessary for me to speak. All the hotels 
 were full, as it was during the assizes. I was passing 
 through the streets with my valise in my hand in search 
 of a lodging, when I met Charliette face to face. I had a 
 vague idea that this woman, married and settled at Riom, 
 had been Mademoiselle de Nives's nurse, but I was igno- 
 rant that she had remained faithful to her charge as a dog 
 to its master. I did not even know that, on account of 
 this devotion, she and her husband had since taken up 
 their residence at Clermont. I repeat it, and I solemnly 
 
86 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 assure you, my dear uncle, that chance alone has been the 
 powerful agent in all that concerns me. 
 
 " Charliette had been pretty ; she has still a fresh and 
 agreeable countenance. I had been civil to her at an age 
 wlien I had no idea of anything else. We were, there- 
 fore, very well acquainted, and I was glad to meet her. I 
 (ionfided my embarrassment to her, asking if she knew of 
 any furnished room that would answer my purpose. 
 
 " ' You need not go far,' she replied : * I have a fur- 
 nished room that is very clean. I do not use it, and I 
 shall ask you no rent for it — too happy to render a service 
 to a countryman, and especially to Mademoiselle Miette's 
 brother, for slie is so good and ready to render any one a 
 service. Come and see if the lodging suits you.' 
 
 " I followed her down a narrow, dark lane, bordered 
 on either side by high walls, and entered into an old 
 house more picturesque than pleasant ; but the chamber 
 in question answered my purpose, and Charliette's hus- 
 band offered it to me so cordially that, lest I should hurt 
 the feelings of these worthy persons, I immediately took 
 possession. I intended to have my dinner at a hotel, 
 but they would not hear of it. Charliette said that she 
 had formerly been cook at the Chateau deNives, and was 
 sure she could suit me. In truth, her cooking was excel- 
 lent ; but I am not aristocratic, and do not like to eat 
 alone. I accepted only on condition of having my hosts 
 at my table, and of seeing them served at my expense in 
 the same manner as I was. 
 
 " The same night I went out to meet some one, taking 
 a key of the house with me. This does not interest you, 
 uncle ; but I am obliged to tell you in order to explain 
 the conversation I had with Charliette the next evening. 
 Her husband had gone to the workshop, and I was sitting 
 at the table with her, tasting a quince-cordial of her mak- 
 
THE TO WER OF PERCEMONT. 87 
 
 ing that had been bottled at least ten years, when she said 
 to me : ' Are you going to run away again this evening, 
 and return at three o'clock in the morning:? Poor fellow ! 
 your health will be ruined by such late hours; it would 
 be far better for you to marry and settle down quietly. 
 Have you never thought of it ? ' 
 
 " 'No, indeed,' I answered. ' I have not yet exhausted 
 the pleasures of youth.* 
 
 " ' But when you have, it will be too late, and you will 
 find nothing but a rejection of your offers. If you will 
 be reasonable, even while you are still young and hand- 
 some, I can perhaps make a match for you beyond your 
 hopes.' 
 
 " At first I laughed at Charliettc, but she insisted so 
 much, that at length I was forced to listen to her. She 
 talked of a fortune of more than a million, and a young 
 girl of noble birth whom I already knew, since I had been 
 in love with her. ' Ah ! ' said I, ' can it be possible that 
 you are speaking of the little De Nives ? ' 
 
 " ' The little De Nives,' she replied, ' is now a young 
 lady nineteen years old, beautiful and good as an angel.' 
 
 " * But she is in the convent ? ' 
 
 " * Yes, on the other side of this wall against which 
 you are leaning.' 
 
 " * Indeed.' 
 
 "It is just as I tell you. This old house, where we 
 are, forms one of the outbuildings of the convent.' I set- 
 tled here as a tenant soon after Mademoiselle Marie was 
 shut up in the convent. I promised to follow her, and we 
 arranged beforehand a plan of action. \ knew how to play 
 my part, although I could not conceal that I had been her 
 nurse. The nuns, who wished to force her to take the 
 veil, distrusted me a little when I asked for work, and 
 questioned me adroitly to find out whether I should en 
 
88 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 courage the resistance of the young novice. I was more 
 shrewd than they were : I. replied that Marie was alto- 
 gether wrong, that theirs was the happiest condition in 
 life, and that I had always advised her to adopt it. They 
 brought us face to face ; but we were on our guard. She 
 received me very coldly, and I accosted her in the harsh 
 tone of a devotee determined to preach her a sermon. 
 She declined to listen to me. The farce was well played. 
 The nuns thought a great deal of me, and intrusted me 
 with the washing of the linen for the chapel. I did it so 
 well, and showed myself so assiduous in the performance 
 of convent duties, that I was soon looked upon as one of 
 the regular servants of the community, and was free to 
 go where I wished, and communicate as much as I pleased 
 with Marie. If you will go upstairs with me I will re- 
 veal a secret that you must not betray. Your sister is 
 the best friend of my dear little one, and you would not 
 wish to add to her unhappiness.' 
 
 " I swore to keep the secret, and went up a little 
 breakneck staircase lighted by a candle that Charliette 
 held. I found myself in an old loft, where, albs, surplices, 
 and linen garments, embroidered or trimmed with lace, 
 were hung to dry on lines arranged for the purpose. 
 
 " ' See,' said Charliette, 'this is my work, and the way 
 I earn my living. The abb^s who officiate in the nuns' 
 chapel say that nowhere else do they find vestments so 
 white, well-starched, and smelling so sweet ; but this does 
 not interest you. Wait ! you are here in the interior, or 
 nearly so, of the convent, for the door that you see above 
 those four steps communicates directly with the bell- 
 turret of the chimes that announce the services. My 
 husband, who is piously inclined, has been engaged to 
 keep these bells in order, and repair them, when neces- 
 sary. He has a key to this door, which he would not 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT §9 
 
 trust to me during the night for anything in the world ; 
 but the dear man must sleep, and, when I want the key, 
 I shall have it. And, when Marie desires to, she shall 
 pass through this door to make her escape ! Do you un- 
 derstand me now ? ' 
 
 " I understood only too well ; and the thought of such 
 a fine adventure almost drove Ine crazy. My amusements 
 in the town seemed altogether tame beside it, and I did 
 not go out that night. I talked all the evening with 
 Charliette, who came back to renew the conversation 
 after her husband had gone to bed. This devil of a 
 woman wrought me up to such a state of excitement — I 
 do not wish to conceal anything from you, uncle — that, 
 if the thing had been possibK at that moment, I would 
 have carried Marie off at once, regardless of the future. 
 
 '* But Mademoiselle de Nives's consent had to be ob- 
 tained, and as yet she knew nothing of the matter. 
 Charliette's plan had been improvised on seeing me. I 
 had therefore several days during which to reflect upon 
 the undertaking, and a crowd of objections rose in my 
 mind. That young lady who did not know me, whose 
 sole idea of m/ person rested upon the memory of those 
 absurd letters that she perhaps still attributed to me — 
 that girl of noble birth, so rich, and probably so proud, 
 would most certainl/ reject Charliette's suggestions. 
 You may imagine my surprise when the next evening 
 Charliette said to me: * Everything works well; she 
 did not say " ISTo ;" she wants to see you first ; she well 
 knows that you are considered the handsomest man in 
 )ur part of the country — but she has never seen you. 
 Gro on Sunday morning to mass at the convent ; she will 
 36 behind the curtain, so situated that she can look at 
 ^ou ; only appear very collected, and do not raise your 
 jyes from your prayer-book. I will lend you one ; be- 
 
90 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 s!fles, I shall be near you to see how you behave. You 
 must be prudent." 
 
 " I was very prudent, no one seemed to notice me, 
 and Marie had a good opportunity to gratify her curi- 
 osity. In the evening Charliette showed me a letter 
 from her that I know almost by heart. It said: ' My 
 good friend, I have seen him ; I do not know whether he 
 is witty or handsome — I am no judge of that — but he 
 looks kind, and I know from his sister that he has an ex- 
 cellent character. As to marrying him, that requires 
 time for reflection. Tell him to come back in a year ; 
 if he is still decided, perhaps I shall then be the same ; 
 but I will make no promise, and I wish him to know this.' 
 
 "I could have wished for a shorter probation — but I 
 must abridge the story so as not to bore you. Charliette 
 could not obtain a more favorable answer, and I re- 
 turned home very much absorbed in my romance. At 
 the end of the year of trial — that is, last year — I returned 
 secretly to Clermont, and quietly took possession of my 
 room in Charliette's house. I said nothing to my 
 sister, in compliance with Marie's formal commands; 
 moreover I was sure that Miette would not plead my 
 cause. I learned, however, through her, that she was 
 the confidante of Marie's desire to escape from the con- 
 vent, and that she had entreated her to be patient until 
 she became of age, offering her an asylum in her house 
 80 soon as she was legally free. This did not favor my 
 suit, for Marie, no longer needing my assistance when 
 she became of age, would not have the least reason for 
 choosing me in preference to any one else. 
 
 " However, my submission to the trial imposed, and 
 my fidelity in returning at the appointed hour to receive 
 her orders, pleaded for rae. This time I had an inter- 
 view with her in Charliette's loft. I was dazzled with 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 91 
 
 her beauty ; she was dressed as a novice, in white from 
 head to foot, and as pale as her veil : but such eyes, 
 mouth, and hands ! I lost all control of myself in my 
 passionate admiration, and, in spite of Charliette's pres- 
 ence, who did not leave her, I found words to declare 
 my love. 
 
 " ' It is as I feared,' she said ; ' you expect an ans- 
 wer, and if I do not say " Yes " immediately, you will 
 hate me.' 
 
 " * No,' I replied ; * I shall suffer much, but I will still 
 submit a little.' 
 
 " ' Only a little ? Very well ! listen ; I believe in you 
 now, and rely on your assistance in escaping from this 
 convent, where I am slowly dying, as you plainly see ; 
 but I have no desire to be married at present, and I will 
 only accept a man ^\o loves me with the most absolute 
 disinterestedness. If you are that man, you must prove 
 it, by giving me your aid unconditionally.' 
 
 This decision did not alarm me ; it is strange if a 
 man cannot make himself loved if he wishes it, when he 
 is as good looking as another. I promised all that she 
 demanded She told me that she wished, as soon as she 
 escaped from the convent, to take refuge with Miette, 
 and to see me there secretly until she became better ac- 
 quainted with me ; but she knew Miette would oppose 
 every plan for a marriage between us, and she must not 
 be allowed to have any suspicion of the contemplated 
 arrangement. Marie was also sure of her willingness to 
 receive her. ' I no longer fix any date,' she added, ' for 
 I have already received proofs of your honor and devo- 
 tion. When circumstances permit me to regain my 
 liberty, I will send you this little ring that you see on 
 my finger. It will say : " I am waiting for you ; take 
 me to your sister." 
 
9*2 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 " Ever since this interview, 1 have been more in love 
 with Marie than ever, and I assure you, uncle, that no 
 .other woman has occupied my thoughts. My second 
 probation was much longer than I anticipated, almost as 
 long as the first. I learnt, from Charliette, who came 
 and passcid one day at Riom, that Miette insisted in her 
 letters that Marie should wait until she was twenty-one 
 years old. It was through Charliette that the two friend 
 corresponded. 
 
 "I was almost discouraged as the epoch drew near, 
 and thought, unless I carried her o:ff, I should never be 
 anything to her but a friend. However, one fine morn- 
 ing, about two months since, I received the gold ring, 
 slender as a hair, carefully folded in a letter ! I set out, 
 I ran, I flew, I arrived at the place appointed — " 
 
 " And you carried her away ?^ Then the story is 
 finished ! " 
 
 " No, uncle, it only commences." 
 
 " I understand very well ; but there are confidences I 
 do not wish to receive, or some vain boasting that I will 
 not listen to." 
 
 " Neither th6 one nor the other, uncle ; I will tell 
 you the truth ; Mademoiselle de Nives is still, as before, 
 entitled to every one's respect." 
 
 " That does not lioncern me." 
 
 "Which means that you doubt it! Well, will you 
 believe me when I say that I behaved, not like the 
 buffoon to whom you often do me the honor to compare 
 me, but like the clown who draws the chestnuts out of 
 the fire for — " 
 
 "For whom?" 
 
 "For the harlequin." 
 
 " Who is the harlequin V 
 
 '' Can you not guess?" ^ 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 93 
 
 " No, unless yon are jealous of Henri because he 
 danced with the pretty peasant girl this evening." 
 
 "Yes, I am very jealous, for there is something else/ 
 
 " Then go on ; I will listen to you." 
 
 "I arrived at Clermont incognito. I alighted,\ 
 threaded my way carefully, and slipped stealthily into 
 Charliette's house at night; I then gave expression to 
 my joy and gratitude. 
 
 "^Listen to me,' she said; 'fine words are only 
 words. I am engaged in a matter that may have serious 
 results, and, if my husband does not kill me jvhen he 
 finds out wha-t I have done, he will at least beat me. 
 You are going to run away with a girl who is a minor^ 
 Her stepmother will make a public scandal of the affair ; 
 there will, perhaps, be a lawsuit, in which I shall be im- 
 plicated — at all events, driven, from the convent where \ } 
 have a good place, that is, the means of earning my liv- 
 ing ! I know very well that Mademoiselle Marie, who 
 is rich, will reward me generously for all that I do for 
 her ; but there is my husband, who knows nothing and 
 will countenance nothing. This will not prevent him 
 from losing his employment at the convent and being 
 obliged to leave the neighborhood on account of the 
 Btir that will be made. Will you not make some sacri- 
 fice on your side for my poor husband, who may not 
 find another situation for a long time ? I am a poor 
 ignorant ^oman, and do not know anything about busi- 
 ness ; I do not even know if Mademoiselle Marie will be 
 able to do me all the good she wishes to ; this is why I 
 have put you in communication with her, you who are 
 80 rich and generous ! However, ideas change some- 
 times ; and should you forget or disown my services, 
 you have bound yourself by no engagement, you have 
 
94 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 " I spare you the details, uncle. You must have ore- 
 seen, while listening to me, what then happened. I was 
 simple enough never to have thought of it. I had indeed 
 said to myself that there is no absolutely Platonic disin- 
 terestedness in this world, and that on the day when 1 
 married Mademoiselle de ISTives we should have a gener- 
 ous nuptial gift to bestow on the good nurse. This was 
 very simple, and as it ought to be ; but I had never ex- 
 pected that this woman would lay down her conditions 
 before hand and try to get me to sign a bill for twenty-five 
 thousand francs. I hesitated for a long time; on the one 
 hand, I was unwilling to purchase my wife from such a go- 
 between ; on the other, I was equally unwilling to bargain 
 for the honor and the pleasure of carrying off my intended 
 bride. I thought I could get out of the difficulty by 
 promising to pay a round sum in Paris when I arrived 
 there with Mademoiselle de Nives. But that would not 
 do; Char] iette would not give her aid in the elopement 
 unless she had the written promise in her pocket. I took 
 my pen and began to write out a conditional one. Char- 
 liette however demanded a promise without any condi- 
 tions. She maintained — and she was right to a certain 
 point — that an engagement drawn up in this way com- 
 promised her, her husband, and myself, ' I ought,' she 
 said, ' to rely upon her sense of honor to tear up the note 
 if the marriage did not take place ; ' but I could not bring 
 myself to risk losing twenty-five thousand francs without 
 any compensation, and we separated at midnight without 
 coming to any conclusion, Charliette promising that the 
 elopement should take place the next night if I yielded 
 to her demands. 
 
 *' I was so agitated and perplexed that I could not 
 think of going to bed. My window looked out upon a 
 bed of cabbages surrounded with a sliirbt fence, on the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MONT. 95 
 
 one side of which was the garden belonging to the little 
 house rented by my hosts, and on the other was the end 
 of the convent kitchen-garden. It was so low that I 
 could almost step over it. I had looked about enough to 
 know the locality by heart. On the side towards the 
 street, our little yard had a door always locked, and a 
 very high wall covered at the top with fragments of 
 broken bottles; but this door belonged to Charliette's 
 tenement, so her husband did not keep the key with the 
 same care as that of the loft. It often remained in the 
 lock on the inside. There was, perhaps, therefore, a 
 means of escape in this direction as w^ell as by the loft 
 and the door of the house ; but Mademoiselle de Nives 
 would have to be informed of it, and be able to make her 
 way into the convent kitchen-garden. I was altogether 
 ignorant as to whether the thing were possible. ' 
 
 " At all hazards, I determined to investigate the door 
 of the loft. Perhaps I could discover some means of 
 opening it ? I tried to go out, but I found that Clarliette 
 had locked tiie door of my room, and that I could not 
 break the lock without making a great noise. I had with 
 me my large country-knife supplied with instruments for 
 all purposes, and I walked from the door to the window 
 without any hope of finding a means of escape, when 1 
 fancied I saw a grayish figure glide along the fence, move 
 away, and return with every appearance of uneasiness. 
 It could only be Mademoiselle de Nives. I did not hesi- 
 tate. I made signs with my lighted cigar that appeared 
 to be perceived and understood, for the mysterious figure 
 did not go away. Then with dexterity and promptness 
 I took the sheets off the bed and tied them end to end. 
 I fastened them as well as I could to my window, which 
 was about twenty feet from the ground, and slid down. 
 When this extemporized rope came to an end, I let go 
 
ye THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 entirely, and fell among the cabbages without receiving 
 the least injury. I ran to Mademoiselle de Nives, for it 
 was indeed she ! With one kick I broke down the fence, 
 took her by the hand without saying a word, and led her 
 without making any noise to the door opening upon the 
 street. The key was not in the lock, and my knife was 
 not of an edge to struggle with this ancient and monu- 
 mental work. Mademoiselle de Nives, astonished at this 
 plan of escape, entirely different from what she had an- 
 ticipated, asked me in a whisper where Charliette was. 
 
 " ' I am going for her,' I said ; 'remain in the shade, 
 and do not stir ! ' 
 
 " I went into the locksmith's workshop to find some 
 kind of a tool ; but, as I groped about in the darkness, a 
 sudden inspiration recalled to my mind an insignificant 
 'circumstance of my first installation in Charliette's home. 
 At that time I asked her for the key of the yard door, so 
 that when I went out of an evening I could return late 
 without disturbing any one. She said, as she gave it to 
 me : " When you come back, you must hang it on a large 
 nail above my husband's work-bench, lest he should sus- 
 pect anything unusual. He is very religious and would 
 be scandalized.' I searched immediately for the nail 
 where, two years before, I had replaced the key. It was 
 there still and a key was on it ; I seized it, praying to 
 Heaven that it might be the same. 
 
 " Fortune was on my side — it was the same ! It turned 
 noiselessly in the lock : and, seeing myself master of the 
 field of battle in spite of my gaolers, I could not help say- 
 ing, with a smiling countenance : ' All is right ! My 
 host, the locksmith, keeps everything in his department 
 in good order.' 
 
 "- * Can you laugh at such a moment ? ' said Made- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 97 
 
 moiselle de Nives, full of amusement. ^ You have a 
 remarkable degree of coolness ! ' 
 
 " ' No but, I am gay — beside myself with joy,' I re- 
 plied, shutting the door carefully ; ' I know however, 
 what I am about.' 
 
 " ' You do not know ! you have forgotten Charliette, 
 who is to accompany us.' 
 
 " She is waiting for us at the station,' I said. Let us 
 run there ! ' 
 
 " I hurry her along through the dark and deserted 
 streets, and we soon reach the railway-station. A train 
 has just arrived, and stops only five minutes. Marie 
 lowers her veil, I buy the tickets, and hurry with her 
 into an empty carriage, ' What does this mean ? ' she 
 cries, as she finds the train starting. * I am here alone 
 with you ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes, you are alone with me for the journey. Char- 
 liette's courage failed her at the last moment, but I had 
 enough for two. Can you trust me ? Do you look upon 
 me as a man of honor ? " 
 
 " ' You are- a hero, Jacques ! I believe in you, and 
 will do as you wish. If Charliette is a coward, I am not ; 
 but I have no money, no luggage — ' 
 
 " ' I have in my pocket all you will need. With money 
 one finds everything in Paris. You said you wished me 
 to obey your commands unconditionally, and I promise 
 obedience. Your esteem is the only recompense I ask ; 
 but I want it without reserve ; your confidence will be 
 the proof that I have obtained it.' 
 
 "'You have it entirely, Jacques. I give it to you in 
 the presence of God, who sees and hears us ! ' 
 
 " I found myself put upon mylionor, but mademoiselle 
 de Nives helped me to control myself by her absolute igno- 
 rance of my agitation. She is a sinsjular girl, as bold 
 
98 THE TOWER OF FENCE MONT. 
 
 and courageous as a lion, innocent as a little child. She 
 has not a particle of coquetry, and yet there is an irresi- 
 stible seduction in her frankness and simplicity. She has 
 read, in her father's old chateau, romances of the age of 
 chivalry ; I really believe she has never read anything else, 
 and has always thought that every gentleman was easily 
 and naturally a perfect cavalier of the olden times. She 
 thinks that goodness is as easy to others as it is to herself. 
 I learned to know her even to the bottom of her heart in 
 the two hours' conversation we had together, and the 
 more passionately I loved her, the more impossible it be- 
 came for me to tell her so. I could do nothing but make 
 protestation of my devotion and submission ; I saw plain- 
 ly that not a word musU I utter concerning love and mar- 
 riage. 
 
 " As soon as the train had gone far enough to make it 
 impossible for her to leave me, I determined to tell her 
 the truth, and described my interview with Charliette. 
 ' When I saw,' added I, ' that this woman tried to take ad- 
 vantage of me, I lost all confidence in her. I feared also 
 that, not being able to extort money from you, she would 
 sell your secret to the Countess de Nives. I refused her 
 aid, and relied only on myself to deliver you. It is true 
 that chance served me admirably, for I do not yet know 
 why you happened to be behind that fence 
 
 " I will tell you,' she replied. • Every arrangement 
 was made for my escape this very night. I was already 
 supplied with the workwoman's dress I am now wearing. 
 I promised to be at the door of the loft at midAight, as 
 my cell is close by this was easily accomplished. At 
 midnight I was there according to promise ; but I scratch- 
 ed in vain upon the door — I even knocked cautiously; it 
 was not opened, and there was no response. I remained 
 for a quarter of an hour almost beside myself with uneasi- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 91 
 
 ness and impatience. I then thought that Charliette's hus 
 band had found out our secret, and had shut her up 
 Even in that case you ought to be there, and would have 
 spoken to me through the keyhole; if necessary, yoi; 
 would have broken down the door. Some serious accideni 
 must have happened to you. I cannot tell you what trag. 
 ic and frightful things I imagined. I could no longer 
 endure this anguish, and resolved to enter Charliette's: 
 house through the garden to find out what was going or 
 among you. I climbed on to the top of the wall sepa- 
 rating our flower-garden from the kitchen-garden, for I am 
 light and adroit, 1 then jumped down upon a heap of straw 
 I saw on the other side. While running to the fence, I 
 saw the light of your cigar shining in the darkness, and 
 watched the luminous whiffs you drew forth, until I com- 
 prehended that you recognized me. What terror I felt in 
 seeing you descend from the window so courageously ! 
 After all, you are here, and my nurse abandons 
 me ! What you tell me of her avarice grieves me without 
 astonishing me very much. She has never asked me for 
 money ; she knew I had none ; but she knew also that some 
 day I should come into possession of my fortune, and gave 
 me often to understand that sfie had a right to my grati- 
 tude. I am not disposed to forget her, and I will not bar- 
 gain with her ; but from this day I no longer accept her 
 services, and will send her away if she manages to rejoin 
 us. 
 
 '* ' She must not do so, ' I said. ' Trust me to render 
 pursuit unavailing. However, if by a miracle she finds 
 us, keep on the right side of her, and pretend to be igno- 
 rant of all I have told you ; otherwise she will hasten tD 
 denounce you. ' 
 
 " Having arrived at Paris without molestation, we took 
 refuge in the lodgings of Jules Deperches, the best 
 
100 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 friend I have there, and who I had asked long before- 
 hand to be ready at any time to render me a great service. 
 Like a gentleman, he at once gave up his apartment to 
 us without asking a single question, or even seeing the 
 veiled face of my companion. I hastened to hire a room 
 for myself at the nearest hotel, and left Marie to rest 
 herself. The next morning I lost no time in procuring 
 linen, dresses, bonnets, boots, and a cloak, for my poor 
 Marie, destitute of everything. I did not spare money ; 
 I bought her a charming costume, as well as a more simple 
 one which she asked for, not wishing to attract attention. 
 " I cannot describe the happiness the child felt in 
 receiving these gifts and in beholding her beautiful dress 
 and rich linen — she, who for years had worn only the 
 thick woollen garb of the young nun. I was delighted 
 with the appreciation she manifested, and ran to buy 
 her gloves, a parasol, a watch, ribbons, and everything 
 else I could think of ! She discovered that I had good 
 taste, and promised to consult me always in regard to 
 her dress. She was absolutely on confidential terms with 
 me, and called me her brother, her dear Jacques, her 
 friend. The sweetest words issued from her lips ; her 
 eyes caressed me ; she thought me handsome, amiable, 
 brave, witty, charming; she loved me at last, and I 
 ventured to kneel before her, and entreat the happiness 
 of kissing her hand. How do you think she received my 
 advances ? She held out her hand to me, and I was fool- 
 ish enough to try to kiss as high as the elbow. She 
 drew it back abruptly, angry at first ; then her feelings 
 found expression in a nervous burst of laughter. 
 
 " ' What kind of manners are these, my dear Jacques ? ' 
 she said. ' I do not understand them ; but I feel that I 
 do not like them. You forget who I am ; but, indeed, 
 you do not know, and I see that it is time to tell you. 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 101 
 
 I am not what you suppose — a girl eager for freedom, 
 and in a hurry to find a husband. I have not yet made 
 up my mind to marry. I am religious — a devotee, if 
 you will — and a life of c jlibacy has always been my ideal. 
 I have not been unhap^)y in the convent from the fault 
 of those around me. It is the necessity for conformity 
 to rule that was my enemy and my executioner. I require 
 movement, air, and noise. My father was a horseman 
 and a huntsman ; I take after liim, resemble him, have 
 his tastes ; confinement kills me, and I have a horro> of 
 convents because they are the prisons where I have been 
 forced to pass my life ; but I love the nuns when they 
 are good, because they are pure women, and their renun- 
 ciation of the delights of domestic life seems to mo an act 
 of courage and heroism. Therefore I deceived no one 
 when I said, as I often did, that I was not opposed to 
 convent-life. My stepmother relied upon this declara- 
 tion ; and, when I refused to make an unconditional en- 
 gagement before I became of age, she greatly feared lest 
 I might dispose of my fortune to some community. She 
 was even angry with the Abbess of Clermont, who did 
 not wish me to be pressed too strongly. I had an idea 
 in my head that I would not confide to any one, and I 
 still dream of being able to realize it. I intend to re- 
 cover my property, and I shall then found perhaps an 
 order of Sisters of Mercy, which I shall establish at .Nives, 
 to take care^of the poor and the sick, and to bring up 
 children. We shall not be cloistered, and we shall tra. el 
 about the country continually to help the needy and to 
 do good works. It seems to me that I shall be perfectly 
 happy in carrying out this plan. I shall be equally 
 devoted to a holy life, with charity for my only law of 
 action, without being shut up alive in a tomb, and run- 
 ning the risk of letting my heart die with my reason. 
 
102 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 You see, then, very plainly, my good Jacques, that you 
 must not kneel before me, nor be always kissing my 
 hand, as if I were a great lady, for I never shall be one." 
 
 " Such is Mademoiselle de Nives's plan, and, if you see 
 her, you wnll learn that she will not yet decide to modify 
 it. You will say that it ought to have been in my power 
 to make her change her resolution. You may well be- 
 lieve that I did my utmost ; but how can you persuade a 
 woman, when you have nothing but words to use in a con- 
 test ? Pai-don me, uncle, speech is a fine thing when one 
 possesses your power of using it. It was usless for me to 
 study law ; I shall always talk like a villager, and I know 
 nothing of the subtile arguments that hold, even against 
 their will, such sway over those who listen. A woman is a 
 being naturally captious, who cannot be taken hold of by 
 t lie ears, and who submits only to a certain magnetism 
 when she does not keep herself too far away from the 
 fluid ; but what can be done with a woman who will not 
 :illow the least familiarity, and who possesses such a spirit 
 of strife and revolt that no one but a brute or a savage 
 can tame her? 
 
 " I was obliged to submit absolutely, and become an 
 Amadis des Gaules, to be allowed to remain at her side. 
 The worst of the affair is, that in this game I have grown 
 as amorous as a schoolboy, and the fear of displeasing her 
 has made me a drudge and a slave. 
 
 " Besides all that I have mentioned, she is full of con- 
 trasts and inconsistencies. She had been brought up in 
 mysticism, while the cultivation of her reasoning power 
 has been systematically neglected. All her thoughts be- 
 ing turned heavenwards, she plays with the realities of the 
 world as with charming nothings which she will leave be. 
 hind, so soon as religious exaltation carries her elsewhere- 
 She is passionately fond of danqing, dress, pleasure. When 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. lOS 
 
 we were in Paris, on the very first evening, she wanted to 
 go to the theatre, and afterwards return there every night 
 to see the scenery, ballets, operas and fairy-scenes, but she 
 did not care a particle for literary performances or trage- 
 dies, and could not endure the slightest indelicacy. She 
 did not understand these things at all, and yawned while 
 looking on ; but the enchanted palaces, the grottoes of the 
 sirens and the Bengal lights were hapj3iness to her — al- 
 most delirium. I hii'ed a very dark box, and closeted my- 
 self with a pearl of beauty, admirably set ; and the 
 box-keepers, who alone saw her charming face free from 
 her thick veils, smiled at my happiness, while I played 
 the part of a great pendant condemned to explain the 
 strings and machinery to a child seven years old ! — You 
 are laughing at me, uncle ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am laughing ; I find it a well-merited punish- 
 ment for such a gay Don Juan, who takes it upon himself 
 to elope with a novice without having the least suspicion 
 of the kind of bird he has taken charge of. But to come 
 to the point, did she seek legal advice in Paris ? " 
 
 " Indeed she did ! Among her oddities, she possesses 
 a surprising knowledge of business, and a facile memory 
 of the law-terms connected with it. She consulted M. 
 Allou, and now knows her situation on her finger's end." 
 
 " Very well ; but did she tell him that, in allowing her- 
 self to be carried off by a great paladin, well known in 
 his neighborhood for his numerous conquests, she gave 
 arms against herself to a stepmother who is still her 
 guardian, and who can reclaim her and reinstate her by 
 force in the convent, if it were only for a week, with all 
 the flourish of trumpets of a great scandal ? " 
 
 " I do not believe she told all this to her lawyer, but 
 I think she told it to her confessor, for she had a religious 
 consultation with a very able and influential abbe, who, 
 
104 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 learning that she had more than a million to devote to the 
 service of her faith, found her above all suspicion, and 
 sheltered from all danger. Only he advised her to separ- 
 ate from me as quickly as possible, and to keep concealed 
 until the day she came of age. He did not, however for- 
 bid her from regarding me as a brother and a friend ; for 
 Marie, who was unacquainted with my past follies, prob- 
 ably represented me to him as a little lamb without spot, 
 capable of giving her assistance in her holy enterprise. 
 In short, all these proceedings being ended, we once more 
 took the train, and, after a week passed tete-a-tete in Paris 
 with your humble servant, she arrived at Vignolette on a 
 beautiful summer night, as pure and tranquil as when she 
 came out of the convent." 
 
 " Was it you, then, who accompanied her to your 
 sister's house ? I thought she arrived there with her 
 nurse," 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot to tell you. As we were leaving the 
 railway-carriage to dine at Montlueon, whom should we 
 meet but Charliette ? She was on her way to Paris in 
 search of us, and little thought of finding us so soon. 
 Marie, guided by my advice, received her kindly. " You 
 were afraid at the last minute ? ' slie said. ' This is all 
 for the best, since you are not involved in the affair, and 
 will be more useful than if you had followed me to Paris. 
 You can take me to Mademoiselle Ormonde's, and re- 
 main at Riom to gain information of my stepmother's pro- 
 ceedings." 
 
 " Charliette went with her to Vignolette, and then re- 
 joined her husband at Riom, where I have since met her. 
 We two had a lively explanation. She naturally is in a 
 rage with me, since I succeeded in frustrating her plans. 
 At first she thought I had acquired the rights of marriage 
 over Mademoiselle de Mves, When she found out her 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 105 
 
 mistake, she came to the fore again and renewed the offer 
 of her services on the same terms, pretending that, ac- 
 cording to her anticipations, her husband, driven from 
 the convent, had lost his situation and was encountering 
 many obstacles in recovering the one he had formerly oc- 
 cupied at Riom. She threatened, in covert words, to 
 reveal everything to the stepmother. I was obliged to 
 come down with the money, especially as I believe the 
 honest and pious husband is in perfect accord with his wife 
 to take advantage of the situation without appearing to 
 know anything about it. However, I made a better bargain 
 than the bill for twenty-five thousand francs, and resolved, 
 as soon as Marie came of age, to send the nurse about her 
 business. 
 
 " Unfortunately, and against my sister's wishes, who 
 dislikes and distrusts her, she has seen Marie very often 
 during her stay at Vignolette. She has kept her secret 
 faithfwlly, but has used every effort she could to prejudice 
 her against me ; and I am certain that she has suggested 
 another husband to her, but I cannot tell whom she has 
 chosen to supplant me, or upon whom she rests her new 
 hope of a fortune. I know only one thing ; this evening 
 Henri accosted Mademoiselle de Nives like a person with 
 whom she had made an appointment; they talked in a 
 low tone, but with much excitement, during the pauses 
 in the dance, ^and afterwards disappeared together. I 
 thought I had planned so wisely in putting out the light ; 
 it was indeed a brilliant idea ! they took advantage of 
 it to run away ! " 
 
 " Where do you think they have gone? If it is to 
 Vignolette, I 'am certain that Henri will not allow him- 
 self to cross the threshold." 
 
 " I do not think they have gone there, for that very 
 reason. Perhaps Marie has taken it into her head to 
 
106 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 return to the convent and remain there during the last 
 days of her minority.'' 
 
 " In that case, Henri would have given her better 
 advice than you did," 
 
 " And his position in regard to her would be better 
 than mine," replied Jacques, with a sigh. 
 
 " Hush ! " I said. '' Some one is calling us — it is 
 Henri's voice." 
 
 He soon joined us. " I was uneasy about you, father," 
 he said. '* All our relatives have gone, regretting not 
 being able to wish you good-by. My mother is still 
 waiting for you at Rosier's." 
 
 "And where have you been," I replied, "during the 
 two hours that I have been looking for you? " 
 
 " You were looking for me ? Not in this mysterious 
 wood, where you have been with Jacques for an hour at 
 least ? " 
 
 " But where do you come from ? " 
 , " From home. I returned a little fatigued and bored 
 with this ball in the midst of the dust ; but not seeing 
 you return, I thought you might perhaps want me, and 
 came back to the fete^ which is now over, and my mother 
 is getting very impatient." 
 
 We left Jacques slightly reassured, and went to de- 
 liver Madame Chantebel, who, accusing me of being de- 
 layed by a client, stormed for the hundred-thousandth 
 time against pleaders and barristers in general. 
 
 Did Henri wish to confide anything, or make a con- 
 fession of any kind to me? In order to give him the 
 opportunity, as soon as we returned, I went with him to 
 his room to smoke a cigar before going to bed. "You 
 know," I said, while talking of the events of the day, 
 " that Miette came to bring her bouquet to me ? " 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 107 
 
 " I know it," he replied, " and regret not having 
 seen her." 
 
 ** Who told you that she came ? " 
 ** A servant ; I cannot remember who it was." 
 " She was at the/e^e this evening. You did not come 
 near us, though We saw you from Hosier's garden dan- 
 cing with a very pretty village-girl." 
 
 "Yes, I danced one ^o^^rree, thinking it would amuse 
 me as it used to." 
 
 '' And that wearied you ? " \ 
 
 " If I had known that Miette was there — " 
 ''You would have invited her, I suppose?" 
 " Certainly. Did she see me when I was dancing ? " 
 "I don't know; I was looking at your partner. Do 
 you know that she is a remarkable person ? " 
 
 " Yes, for a peasant ; very white, with small hands." 
 " Who is she ? and where does she come from ? " 
 "I did not think to ask her." 
 
 In making this Teply Henri threw his cigar into the 
 fireplace, as much as to say, " Is it not about time to go 
 to bed?" 
 
 I left him without urging him any more. Either he 
 was sincere, and ought not to suspect what was passing 
 in my mind, or he was determined to be silent, and I had 
 no right to question him. My son was not as easily pene- 
 trated as his cousin Jacques. He possessed a stronger 
 will and greater breadth of character. 
 
 The next day and the day after, in order to see him 
 even for a little while, I was obliged to climb up to the 
 tower, where he had installed himself with two workmen 
 and a servant. He was so delighted with this romantic 
 spot, that he was fitting up a room for a refuge, should 
 stormy weather surprise him in his walks. 
 
 " You ai-e in a great hurry y" I said, finding liim en- 
 
108 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 grossed with painting and hanging. " I agreed to have 
 one or two rooms furnished to suit your own taste, and 
 you have carried out my economical ideas too rigidly." 
 
 "Not at all, father," he replied ; "I know very well 
 that I am a spoiled child, and that you would deny me 
 nothing for my pleasure ; but, on examifiing the building, 
 I discovered that it would be in better taste to leave the 
 rooms in their old-fashioned rusticity than to make addi- 
 tions aijd improvements. Here are the two rooms that 
 old Coras occupied.* I have put this great sofa of Cor- 
 dova leather in the bedroom in place of the broken-down 
 bedstead. The hangings were only soiled by the dust 
 that had settled upon them, and I have brought a carpet 
 to conceal the broken tiles. The windows close all right. 
 This ceiling, with its joists blackened by smoke, has an 
 excellent tone. In short, a great deal of sweeping was 
 required, and a few repairs in the painting that will be 
 dry this evening. To-morrow I can t>ring some books 
 and a good, solid, old table, and I shall be installed like 
 a prince." 
 
 The next day he easily finished his furnishing with 
 some of our old lumber, and passed the afternoon in ar- 
 ranging his books in the cupboards. 
 
 I was intending to go to Vignolette to find out if my 
 niece was in a more tranquil frame of mind, when I re- 
 ceived the following note from her : 
 
 *' Do not be troubled about me, my dear good uncle ; 
 we have had no disputes at home. I found my com- 
 panion there on my arrival : she had returned with her 
 nurse, and did not say a word of her thoughtless freak. 
 I thought it right to ignore it utterly, and not to oppose 
 her evening walks with this woman, who now comes 
 every day, and appears to have acquired much more in- 
 fluence over her than I have. I do not wish to be mixed 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 109 
 
 up too much with their little secrets ; my duty is limited 
 to hospitality. Fortunately, time moves apace, and will 
 soon release me from a responsibility always painful when 
 unaccompanied by authority." 
 
 This missive did not make me feel any more at ease, 
 and I began to watch Henri stealthily with scrupulous 
 attention. I noticed on this same evening, that, like the 
 evening before, he rose from table as soon as coffee was 
 served, and went away with Ninie on his shoulders to 
 " play horse " in the garden. There were shouts and 
 bursts of laughter, then the noise grew faint in the dis- 
 tance, and at the end of half an hour the child returned 
 jwith her nurse. Henri did not reappear until an hour 
 later, saying that he had smoked his cigar outside, that 
 shis mother might not be annoyed. 
 
 On the third day of these proceedings I resolved to 
 disburden my mind. Circumstances favored my inten- 
 tion ; Madame Chaniebel had two old friends for guests, 
 jwho plunged into cards with her as soon as dinner was 
 pver. She did not concern herself about the little girl, 
 who seemed to adore Henri, and on whom Henri ap- 
 peared to dote. 
 
 The days were rapidly growing shorter. I waited for 
 he twilight, increased by the thick foliage of the trees, 
 io steal into the garden, and thence into a neighboring 
 neadow, where a double foot-path ascended in one direc- 
 ion to the tower and in the other descended to the vil- 
 age. I heard the child's voice coming from a clump of 
 villows shading a spring on the border of the meadow, 
 ust at the foot of the rock that bears the tower. I 
 umed my steps in that direction, keeping close to the 
 mshes, and soon saw Henri come out from amongst the 
 villows, bearing Ninie in his arms. He took the shortest 
 lourse — that is, instead of going, as I did, along the 
 
110 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 hedge, he followed the path leading to the garden.! 
 Evidently he was carrying the child to the house to give 
 her back to her nurse, and he was going to return. I 
 was on the watch, and saw two women come from under 
 the willow-trees, take the path to the tower, and disap- 
 pear in the foliage of the vines covering the hillock. I 
 still waited, perfectly quiet, in the thicket, but I did not 
 see my son return as I anticipated. Upon reflection I 
 said to myself, if he returned to the tower he would take 
 a still more direct road — he would cross the nursery and 
 climb the rock perpendicularly. 
 
 I heard the village clock strike. It was only eight 
 o'clock. Henri would not re-appear in the drawing-room 
 till nine. He had, then, already returned to the tower. 
 I could go there through the vines, since the two women 
 had got the start of me. I did not hesitate, and, although 
 the ascent in this direction was steep, I arrived at the 
 foot of the tower in less than ten minutes. It was en- 
 tirely dark ; there was ho moon, and the sky was over- 
 cast, but everything was silent and calm. I could easily 
 conceal myself even when approaching near the entrance, 
 and I could only learn something by listening. This did 
 not take long, nor was it difficult. Henri and one of the 
 women were standing three steps from me ; the other 
 woman kept watch at a little distance. 
 
 '* Now, then," said Henri, " have you decided? " 
 " Yes, positively decided." 
 
 " Very well; do not return to-morrow — it is useless." 
 " Oh, yes, again to-morrow ! Do let me come." 
 " I warn you that it is very imprudent." 
 " I know nothing about prudence ; are you not aware 
 of that?" 
 
 " I can see very well that you do not I " 
 
 " I scorn all slander, and have a higher aim than to 
 
THE TOWER OF PERC 
 
 ^o?:iyM 
 
 watch that chimera which in human language is called 
 reputation. I am responsible only to God ; and, if I da 
 right in his eyes, I may laugh at everything else." 
 
 '* But you wish to be successful, so must not create 
 useless obstacles. If your secret is discovered, the object 
 of your solicitude will be sent away." 
 
 " How will my secret be discovered unless you betray 
 me?" 
 
 " I have sworn that I will not betray you ; but the 
 child will talk." 
 
 " What can she say ? She saw a peasant girl who 
 embraced and caressed her — that is all. My friend, let 
 me come to-morrow ! " 
 
 *' To-morrow it will rain in torrents ; the sky is 
 covered with clouds." 
 
 " If it rains, do not bring Ninie ; I will come just the 
 same to hear how she is." 
 
 " Very well ; on one condition, that it shall be the 
 last time, and you will allow me immediately after to 
 confide everything to my father." 
 
 "■ Let it be so ! Adieu until to-morrow. O my dear 
 friend, may God be with you and bless you, as I bless 
 you ! Adieu ! " 
 
 She called her companion with a light whistle, and 
 both took their way through the pines. Henri followed 
 them to the verge of the wood, as well as I could judge 
 from the light sound of their footsteps on the paths and 
 the dead branches. 
 
112 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 , CHAPTER XI 
 
 Although I found it necessary to watch my son's 
 movements, I did not wish him to have the least sus- 
 picion of it. I went home, and when he appeared, I did 
 not give him a hint of my discovery. Jacques arrived 
 about ten o'clock, saying that he had just returned from 
 a shooting-party, and could not pass the door without 
 coming in to see us. 
 
 " Didn't you kill anything? " asked Madame Chante- 
 bel ; " for, contrary to your usual habit, your hands are 
 empty." 
 
 " Excuse me, aunt," he replied, " I have left one poor 
 hare in the kitchen." 
 
 " Will you play a game of piquet with your uncle ? " 
 
 " I am at his disposal." 
 
 I saw plainly that Jacques had something to tell me. 
 " Perhaps we had better take a walk in the garden in- 
 stead," I answered, taking his arm. — " You have a great 
 fire for the season, ladies, and it is stifling here." 
 
 " Well, what is the news ? " I "said to my great boy 
 of a nephew, when we were alone. " You appear to be 
 entirely cast down." . ~ 
 
 '' Cast down to the depths, cast down to death, my 
 good uncle ! It is just as I told you — Henri treads upon 
 my heels. There is an appointment every evening at the 
 tower of Percemont." 
 
 « Who told you so ? " 
 
 " I saw, I watched, I followed. This very evening — " 
 
 " Did you listen ? " 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 113 
 
 " Yes, but I couldn't hear anything." 
 . " Then you are an unskilful fellow. He who does 
 not hear the bell knows nothing of its sound." 
 
 " Do you expect me to believe that Mademoiselle de 
 Nives keeps appointments with Henri to tell over her 
 beads ? " 
 
 " Did she pass her time in this way when she was 
 with you?" 
 
 '* She made fun of me, and perhaps she is now doing 
 tffi same with my cousin ; but in making fun of every- 
 body she risks her honor, and that is serious." ' 
 
 '* Did you not tell me that it was impossible to subdue 
 her will, or take advantage of her innocence ? " 
 
 '' I said that on my own account, for I am little skilled 
 ii^ the use of words or in the eloquence that produces con- 
 viction. Plenri is a barrister ; he knows how to say — " 
 
 " Then he is more dangerous than you, whom I be- 
 lieved irresistible." 
 
 " Ah ! uncle, you are laughing at me, which means 
 that you abandon my cause." 
 
 " Have I promised to help you in your love-affairs ? " 
 
 " You listened to my story with an attention that I 
 took for interest." 
 
 *' I have not made up my mind upon the subject, and 
 am very little interested in your projects for securing a 
 fortune. If you only think of marrying a million, that is 
 an affair between you and Charliette, and I will not be 
 mixed up with it." 
 
 " Uncle, you humiliate me. In truth, you treat me 
 with great injustice. The million is of no value, if the 
 woman is dishonored." 
 
 " She is not — of this I am sure ; but she will surely 
 be some day, if she shows the same want of judgment as 
 she has already done." 
 
114 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 •'You know, then — " "^ 
 
 " I know what you are going to tell me, and make 
 this reply : If she has relations with Henri they are and 
 may remain pure ; but if this young lady takes every day 
 a new confidant, she will end by finding some one who 
 will compromise her, and the scandal will be reflected 
 upon your sister. Now, as it is she, she alone, who in- 
 terests me in the whole affair, I shall to-morrow take 
 proceedings to put an end to a vexatious and ridiculous 
 situation." 
 
 " Take proceedings? Ah ! uncle, what are you going 
 to do? Inform Madame de Nives? Ruin this poor 
 child? 
 
 " Why, then, do you accuse her? " 
 
 " I do not accuse her ! I pity myself, that is all ; Iwit 
 I would sooner cut off both hands than do her an injury. 
 If you knew how grand and good she is with all her 
 faults, you would excuse her as being simply a little ab- 
 surd and romantic." 
 
 " However, if she leaves you in the lurch, and if, 
 after having deluded you with her mystic projects, she 
 takes a husband, and this husband is not you ? " 
 
 *' Well ! uncle ? " 
 
 '' Will you not seek to be revenged ? " 
 
 " No, never ! On that day I shall get drunk like a 
 Pole, or fire off my fowling-piece with my foot, I cannot 
 tell which ! but to wrong her, to speak evil, to betray — 
 no ! I could not ! She is not like any other woman ; 
 she is an angel, a strange angel, an insane angel ; there 
 are some perhaps who are so ; but she is also the per- 
 sonification of a kind heart, good intentions, disinterested- 
 ness, and charity. What would be wrong in another 
 person is not so for her. No ! she must not be harmed. 
 No, uncle, forget everything I have told you." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 115 
 
 " Come," I replied, taking Jacques's hand in mine ; 
 " I see that you are still my sister's child, the good kind 
 Jacquet who never injures any one but himself, and re- 
 deems everything with his heart. I think now that you 
 really love Mademoiselle de Nives. Therefore you ought 
 to marry her ; I promise to do everything in my power 
 to make you happy if she is as good as you say. I will 
 see her, question her, and study the matter thoroughly." 
 
 " Thanks my dear uncle ! but your son — »" 
 
 " My son has nothing to say concerning it." 
 
 "Indeed—." 
 
 '* Do not talk to me of him before I understand the 
 .state of affairs. Go to bed, and give up being a spy. I 
 will watch, but I wish to watch alone. You understand 
 me ! Keep quiet, or I will abandon your cause." 
 
 Big Jacquet embraced me, and I felt his warm tears 
 on my cheeks. He went to take leave of my wife, 
 grasped Henri's hand convulsively, and, mounting his 
 pony, set off at full gallop for Champgousse. 
 
 I waited patiently through the whole of the next 
 day. As Henri had foreseen, it rained incessantly, and it 
 was impossible for Mademoiselle N"inie to go out. After 
 dinner she climbed upon his shoulders and whispered to 
 him. 
 
 " You two have secrets between yourselves ? " said 
 my wife, struck with the sly and mysterious appearance 
 of the child. 
 
 " Oh, yes, great secrets, which I will not tell," replied 
 Ninie, putting her little l^ands over Henri's mouth — 
 " Don't tell them anything, my dear Henri, and please 
 carry me to the fountain." * 
 
 " No, it is impossible," said Henri. " There is no 
 fountain this evening. The rain would swamp our paper- 
 boats ; we must wait for another day." 
 
116 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 He got up and went out. Ninie began to cry. My 
 wife wished to console her. I did not give her an op- 
 portunity, for, taking the child in my arms, I carried her 
 to my study to show her some pictures. When she had 
 forgotten her disappointment, I endeavored, without 
 questioning her, to find out if she were capable of keep- 
 ing a secret ; I promised to make beautiful paper-boats 
 for her the next day, and to make them sail on the pond 
 in the garden. 
 
 " No, no," she said ; " your pond is not pretty enough. 
 I mean the fountain in the meadow ! there the water is 
 beautiful and clear. And there, too, is Suzette, who 
 knows how to amuse me better than you, better than 
 Henri, and all the world." 
 
 " Suzette, then, is a little girl of your own age, whom 
 you have met there? " 
 
 "Of my age? I don't know; she is much bigger 
 than 1 am." 
 
 «BigasB6belle?" 
 
 " Oh, no, and not so old ! Suzette is very pretty, and 
 loves me so much ? " 
 
 " And why does she love you so much ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; perhaps it is because I love 
 her in the same way, and kiss her as much as she wants 
 me to. She says that I am pretty and very good." 
 
 " And where does Suzette live ? " 
 
 " She lives — dear me ! I suppose she lives at the 
 fountain ; she is there every evening." 
 
 " But there are no houses there." 
 
 " That is true. Then she comes to see me so as to 
 make boats for me. " 
 
 " This, then, was your great secret with Henri ? " 
 
 " I was afraid Bdbelle wouldn't let me go out." 
 
 I saw that the child had not been entrusted with the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 117 
 
 secret, and would easily forget the pretended Suzette if 
 she did not see her again before her mother's return. I 
 saw, also, why Henri had been in such a hurry to put 
 the old rooms in order at Percemont, for, regardless of 
 the rain, he went there as he had promised, and did not 
 return until ten o'clock. As soon as his mother had re- 
 tired to rest, he said to me : 
 
 " I deceived you the other day, my dear father. Al- 
 low me to relate to you this evening the true story ; but, to 
 commence quickly and clearly, read this letter that I re- 
 ceived by post on the evening before St. Hyacinthe's 
 day." 
 
 " Sir, — Render a great service to a person who has 
 faith in your honor. Be to-morrow evening at the fete 
 of Percemont. I will be there, and will whisper in your 
 ear the name of Suzette.^' 
 
 " You see the orthography is a little fanciful. I im- 
 agined some frivolous adventure or a demand for assist- 
 ance. I followed you to the fete^ and saw Jacques, 
 dancing with a fascinating village-girl, with whom he 
 appeared to be very much enamoured, and who, passing 
 near me, threw adroitly into my ear the word agreed 
 upon — ' Suzette.' I invited her to dance with me, to 
 Jacques's great displeasure, and we came rapidly to an 
 explanation during the hourree. 
 
 " ' I am not Suzette,' she said, ' but Marie de Nives. 
 I am living in strict concealment at Vignolette. Emilie, 
 my excellent, my best friend, does not know that I am 
 here, and her brother Jacques is displeased with me for 
 coming. I have not told them my secret, for they would 
 say, I was doing a foolish thing ; however, I wish to do 
 it, and I will do it, unless you refuse your assistance and 
 friendship. I demand them, and I have a right to ex- 
 ])eot them. You did me a great wrong without suspect- 
 
118 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 ing it. When I was at the convent of Riom, you wrote 
 me letters that were looked upon as criminal. On ac- 
 count of these unfortunate letters, I was taken from this 
 convent, where I was loved and treated kindly, and shut 
 up at Clermont under more severe regulations. Jacques 
 helpe<2 me to escape. I went to Paris to obtain legal 
 advice. I now understand my rights, and shall soon 
 enforce them ; but while I condemn my stepmother, 
 there is in my heart one tender and ardent desire ! I 
 want to see her daughter, my poor father's daughter, my 
 little sister Leonie. She is at your house ; manage in 
 some way to let me see her. The present time is favor- 
 able, and another such opportunity may perhaps never 
 occur. Your whole family is here ; the child is alone 
 with her nurse in your house. I have skilful spies at 
 my command, who keep me informed of all that goes o^. 
 Take me to your house, let me only see my sister. I 
 will just look at her while she is sleeping, and I will not 
 weaken her. Grant me the privilege of seeing her, and I 
 shall owe you eternal gratitude.' 
 
 " The time and tlie place were not suitable for discus- 
 sion. I cannot tell what answer I should have made it 
 it had not been for an awkward incident provoked by 
 Jacques's jealousy. He put out the lantern, and, in the 
 confusion that followed, Mademoiselle de Nives, seizing 
 my arm with extraordinary nervous force, hurried me 
 along into the darkness saying : ' N'ow God wills it, you 
 see; let us go to your house.' 
 
 " I was literally blind. That light, that was bright 
 enough to put one's eyes out, having been suddenly ex- 
 tinguished, I walked without knowing where my steps 
 tended, and my companion seemed to lead me. After a 
 minute or two I discovered that we were going in the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 119 
 
 direction of the meadow, and that we were not alone, 
 A man and woman were walking in front of us. 
 
 " ' It is my nurse and her husband,' said Mademoiselle 
 de Nives ; Hhey are faithful servants, fe-ar nothing; I 
 have others besides these in my service. I have my 
 sister's nurse, who was discharged, and now watches 
 over my interests.' 
 
 " Do you know/ I said, ' that you make me somewhat 
 uneasy by acting in this way ? " 
 
 " ' How so ? " 
 
 " ' Perhaps you have formed a plan for carrying off 
 the child, in order to have the mother in your power. I 
 give you warning that I shall oppose it absolutely. She 
 has been confided to my parents, and, although this confi- 
 dence is a little strange, we are responsible, and consider 
 the trust sacred.' 
 
 " You have a very bad opinion of me,' she replied, 
 ' and must have heard many unkind reports concerning 
 me. I do not deserve them, and am resigned to wait for 
 the future to justify me.' 
 
 " Her voice had a penetrating clearness and sweet- 
 ness. I was ashamed of my suspicions, and tried to make 
 excuses for my rudeness. 
 
 " * Do not speak,' she said ; ' it'will only delay us — 
 run ! ' 
 
 And she hurried across the meadows scarcely touch- 
 ing the soil, light as a bird of night. 
 
 " We stopped a moment when we arrived at the gai- 
 den-gate. ' I have not yet thought of a way,' I said, ' of 
 taking you to the child without danger oi" your being 
 seen by the servant who has charge of her. I warn you 
 that Mademoiselle Ninie sleeps in my mother's chamber, 
 and that during her absence a nurse, installed in an easy- 
 chair, sleejjs perhaps very lightly. I know nothing about 
 
120 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 her ; she is a young peasant with whom I am not ac- 
 quainted.' 
 
 " * I am acquainted with her,' replied Mademoiselle de 
 Nives ; ' she came to Erailie's, a fortnight since, to ask 
 for work. We gave her some, and I know that she is 
 gentle and good. Do not be troubled. I know, also, 
 that she sleeps soundly, for she did not waken during a 
 frightful storm. Come, quick, let us enter ! ' 
 
 " '- Allow me — you must enter alone with me. The 
 persons who accompany you will wait here.' 
 
 " ' Of course.' 
 
 " I led her, without noise, to my mother's chamber, 
 guiding her through the dark passages. I entered first, 
 softly. The little nurse did not stir. A candle was burn- 
 ing on a table behind the curtain. Mademoiselle de Nives 
 took it resolutely, in order to look at the sleeping child ; 
 then gave it to me, and, kneeling by the bedside, glued her 
 lips to Ninie's little hand, saying, as if she were praying 
 to'God : 
 
 " '■ Grant that she may love me — I swear to love her 
 dearly ! ' 
 
 " I touched her gently on the shoulder. She arose 
 and followed me submissively to the garden. There she 
 took both my hands in hers, saying to me : ' Henri Chan- 
 tebel, you have given me the greatest happiness I ever 
 experienced in my hard and sad life ; you are now for 
 me like one of those angels whom 1 often invoke, and 
 who inspire me with calmness and courage during my 
 meditations. I am a poor girl, without mind and without 
 instruction. Those who had charge of me brought me up 
 in this way-, they did it on purpose, for they thought the 
 more ignorant I was, the less power I should have to as- 
 sert my rights. But the light necessary to guide my steps 
 comes from above ; no one can put it out. Have 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 121 
 
 confidence in me, as I had confidence in you. Confidence 
 is 80 noble ! Without it everything is evil and impossible. 
 Permit me to see my sister again, to hear her voice, to 
 read her looks, and to receive her first kiss. Let me re- 
 turn to-morrow, disguised as to-day. Remember, no one 
 knows my face ;^our parents have never seen me, and 
 Madame de Nives herself would perhaps not recognize 
 me, for she has not seen me for many years. I will hide 
 somewhere, you will bring Leonie to me, you will be 
 there, and you will not leave her. Must I e»treat you on' 
 my knees ? Behold me — here I am ! ' 
 
 " A little disturbed by her exaltation, but conquered 
 by the charm* emanating from so remarkable a person, I 
 consented to a meeting at the tower of Piercemont the 
 next day at dusk, promising to find some means of taking 
 her sister to meet her, and I asked permission to inform 
 you of what was going on. 
 
 " ' Oh no, not yet ! ' she cried. ' I shall tell everything 
 to your father myself, for I have much to tell, and he will 
 be obliged to listen to me ; it is his duty to Madame de 
 Nives and my sister. I can ruin them, but I do not wish 
 to. However there is one thing about which I have not 
 yet entirely made up ray mind ; I must see the child 
 again, and, if your parents oppose it, I shall not know 
 what I ought to do. Promise to keep my secret for a few 
 days.' 
 
 " ' Well, I promise. But Jacques ! — What shall I say 
 to him if he asks me any questions ? ' 
 
 '' ' He will not ask you any questions.' 
 
 " ' Is he not your betrothed ? ' 
 
 " * No, he is nothing to me but a generous and excel- 
 lent friend.' 
 
 " 'But he loves you. That is very clear.* 
 
 "'He loves me, vcs, and I return it with all mv 
 
122 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 heart, bat there is not a word of love-makiug- between 
 us. You swear to keep my secret ? ' 
 
 " * Yes, I swear.' 
 
 " 'Oh how I love you ! ' 
 
 " * Not so much as Jacques ? ' 
 
 " ' Still more ! ' 
 
 " After this she went away with her companion, leav 
 ing me astonished and rather staggered with the adven- 
 ture. 
 
 " The next day — that is the day before yesterday — I 
 decided upon the fountain in the meadow as the most 
 favorable jilace for the meeting. I found means of 
 informing Charliette, that devoted nurse, who came in 
 the daytime to explore the wood of Percemont so 
 as to find her way about without following the beaten 
 paths. She is a skilful and sagacious woman. I 
 showed her the fountain from the hill above it, and the 
 path through the vines that leads to it. I took down the 
 fences, and the same evening, while playing with Ninie* 
 carried her, without saying anything, to her^ sister, who 
 was waiting for her under the willows. The acquaintance 
 was quickly made, thanks to the paper-boats ; but I must 
 say that Mademoiselle de Nives's passion for this child 
 was like an irresistible magnet. In a short time Leonie 
 was hanging upon her neck, and devouring her with ca- 
 resses. She was unwilling to leave her, and I could only> 
 induce her to go back to her nurse by promising to bring 
 her the next day to the fountain and Suzette. 
 
 "Yesterday again I kept my word. Suzette had 
 crammed her pockets with blue and rose-colored paper. 
 She made, with a nun's dexterity, charming little boats 
 that floated delightfully ; but Ninie was not so much 
 amused as on the evening before. She had made up her 
 mind never to leave Suzette, and insisted upon taking 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 123 
 
 her home with her for a nurse. I had great trouble in 
 separating them. Finally, this evening for the last time 
 I saw Mademoiselle de Nives in the tower, where we had 
 agreed to meet. I considered this interview useless to 
 her plans, and agreed to it with regret, since the bad 
 weather prevented me from taking Leonie to her sister. 
 I went to the meeting a little out of temper. Mademoi- 
 selle de Nives is an irritating person. She throws herself 
 on your neck, morally speaking. She has inflections of 
 tenderness and exaggerated expressions of gratitude which 
 must trouble poor Jacques profoundly, and have made me 
 impatient more than once ; but it is impossible to give 
 expression to the disapprobation she provokes. She is 
 not affected, she does not study an attitude, she is natur- 
 ally beyond the region of probability, and yet she is in 
 the right when her point of view is accepted. We talked 
 for two hours, tete-a-tete^ in the town where I had kindled 
 a great fire of pine-cones to dry her wet garments, and was 
 obliged to see that she was warm in spite of herself. 
 Fearless, and like one insensible to all external influences, 
 she had walked smiling under a beating rain, and smiled 
 anew in seeing me troubled on account of her health. 
 She manifested no more embarrassment nor fear in find- 
 ing herself alone with me, coming to an interview dan- 
 gerous to her reputation, than if I had been her brother. 
 The nurse stayed below in the kitchen, warming herself 
 also, and troubling herself no more at leaving us together 
 than if eccentricities of this kind were nothing new to 
 her. All this would have turned the head of an ambi- 
 tious fool, for Mademoiselle de Nives is an eligible per- 
 son, and can be easily compromised ; but I hope that you 
 have a sufficiently good opinion of me to be very certain 
 that I have not made love to her, and shall not do so. 
 'This is my romance,dear father. Tell me what you think 
 
124 THE TOWER OP PERCEMONT. 
 
 of it, and if you blame me for having allowed the adverse 
 party — for my mother pretends that you are the de- 
 fender -and legal adviser of the countess — to embrace 
 her little sister Ninie without your knowledge ? " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Reduced to these proportions, the affair is not seri- 
 ous," I replied ; " but you have not told me the most im- 
 portant part — your conversation of this evening, your 
 only conversation ; for, until this time, you could exchange 
 nothing but a few interrupted words, as you were not 
 alone together." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! the two preceding days I escorted 
 her half-way to Vignolette through the woods ; the nurse 
 — I ought to say the duenna-— walked at a respectful dis- 
 tance." 
 
 "Then you know what those great projects are upon 
 which Mademoiselle de Nives, your client, intends to con- 
 verse with me ? " 
 
 "An attempt at reconciliation between herself and 
 her stepmother ; Mademoiselle de Nives wishes to be at 
 liberty to see her sister occasionally." 
 
 " I believe that the i-nterviews will be dearly purchased ; 
 and then how to make an engagement binding? Marie 
 de Nives has no power over L^onie de Nives, and the 
 law will give her no support." 
 
 " She relies upon you to find the means." 
 
 " Do you see any ? " 
 
 " I see a thousand if your client looks o^ily for money, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 125 
 
 as mine pretends she does. We have only to interest 
 her in the duration of the two sisters' friendship." 
 
 " Everything appears simple when suppositions are 
 taken for accomplished facts. Suppose that my client — 
 since client she is, according to you — has an unconquer- 
 able aversion to her stepdaughter, that she fights for her 
 fortune, but that it is only for her daughter's sake, and 
 that she would prefer her to remain poor rather than to be 
 exposed to the influence of a person of whom she has so 
 bad an opinion ? " 
 
 "^You will plead with her for poor Marie." 
 " Poor Marie is greatly to be pitied for the past ; 
 but seeing how she is behaving now she is free, I own 
 that 1 feel no special interest in her." 
 
 " You are not acquainted with her yet." 
 " I accept her as you paint her, and as Jacques has de- 
 scribed her. Your two versions, differently drawn up, 
 agree in essential points. I think she is an excellent per- 
 son, with very pure intentions. Is that sufficient to 
 make her a judicious woman, a serious being, capable of 
 directing a child like Leonie, and of inspiring some con- 
 fidence in her mother ? I do not believe her capable of 
 inspiring respect." 
 
 " Indeed ! I assure you she is quite capable of that." 
 " You mean, you have been very much interested in 
 her, and have known how to conceal it from her through 
 respect for yourself ! " 
 
 ''• Do not speak of me ; I am out of the question. 
 Speak of Jacques." 
 
 " Jacques has been still more interested and probably 
 more timid than you. Jacques is a youth whose wild 
 deeds and depths of sentiment need not be much dreaded 
 by any person ever so badly brought up. Shall I tell you 
 what I think ? I do not believe your client in danger, but 
 
126 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 I think her dangerous. I see her in a very agreeable and 
 even diverting situation, since she finds means to recon- 
 cile in her conscience, obscurely enlightened from above 
 — or from below — the frivolous pleasures of life with cel- 
 estial ecstasy. She cherishes in the convent the idea of 
 being a wise virgin, but has the instincts of a foolish vir- 
 gin, and, from the moment that she throws off the re- 
 traint of austerity which, armed at all points, forms the 
 strength of Catholicism, I do not see where she will stop. 
 She has nothing to put in the place of this terrible yoke 
 necessary to minds without culture, and consequently 
 without reflection. She has no philosophy to create a 
 law for herself, and no appreciation of social life and the 
 obligations it imposes. She forms a fantastic idea of duty, 
 seeks her own in the combinations of romance, and has 
 not the least conception of the most simple moral obliga- 
 tions. It pleases her to leave the convent before the time 
 — close at hand — fixed by the law for her deliverance ; 
 she did not know how to find a proper protection for this 
 rash act, and accepts that of a woman who speculates 
 upon the liberality of the suitors she recruits. She finds 
 it natural to accept Jacques Ormonde for a liberator, 
 passes eight days alone with him, and, as he does not in- 
 spire her with love — so I understand — cares very little 
 for the passion aroused in his breast, the hopes he cher- 
 ishes, the bursts of anger and suspense she imposes upon 
 him." 
 
 " Father, she is entirely ignorant of these things, and 
 has no idea of the passion of love." 
 
 " So much the worse for her ! A woman should have 
 an intuitive perception of what she does not know by ex- 
 perience ; otherwise she is not a woman, she is a hybrid, 
 mysterious and suspicious, whom every one should be 
 afraid of. Who can tell where the awakening of the 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 127 
 
 senses will lead such a person? I believe that the senses 
 .already play the principal part in that angelic chastity 
 yours drives the young lady from Jacques's arms into 
 mine ; she has sought and iound only protectors." 
 
 " Say, rather, from the support of Jacques's arm to 
 that ." 
 
 " One improvised protector is a great deal. Two are 
 much too many for two months of liberty ! Why has not 
 this heroine of romance succeeded in overcoming my re- 
 pugnance to become acquainted with her and listen to 
 her story ? Since she knows how to disguise herself so 
 well, she might have found entrance here as a servant — 
 we were looking for one to take care of the child ! " 
 
 " She thought of it, but was afraid of my mother's 
 penetration, who she knows is prejudiced against her." 
 
 " She was afraid of your mother, and she was afraid of 
 me ! Invited by Miette and Jacques to trust her affairs to 
 me, she did not dare to follow her ad vice — she does not 
 yet dare. She prefers to apply to you in order to see her 
 sister, as she applied to Jacquet to escape from her cage. 
 Shall I tell you why?" 
 
 "Tell me, father." 
 
 "Because the support of young men is always assured 
 to a pretty girl, while the old exercise their judgment in 
 the question. Beauty produces a rapid proselytism. A 
 young man is combustible material, and does not resist 
 like an old, incombustible man of the law. With a ten- 
 der glance and a suppliant word, in the twinkling of an 
 eye, she finds brilliant cavaliers ready for every foolish 
 enterprise. She trusts to them her most intimate secrets, 
 and they are delighted to be received as confidants. Is 
 not this confidence the supreme favor? She lures them 
 on this way and very soon controls them. She accepts 
 their love provided tliey do not express their feelings too 
 
128 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 
 
 plainly, exposes them without scruple to scandalous 
 tongues, makes use of their money — " 
 
 <* Father—! " 
 
 " Not you ! but Jacques is already in for a large sum, 
 I can tell you. She is rich, will pay her obligations, and 
 preserve a sincere gratitude for the two friends — and end 
 by marrying a third ; the others will get out of the affair 
 as they like. I tell you, my son, you have just passed 
 two hours tete-Or-tete^ intoxicating and painful at the same 
 time, with an angel ; but, united with this angel, there is 
 an ungrateful devotee and, perhaps, a consummate 
 coquette. Take care of yourself — that is all I say to 
 you ! " 
 
 My son, while listening to me, moved about uneasily, 
 his eyes fixed upon the embers, and his face pale in spite 
 of the red light reflected upon it by the fire. It seemed 
 to me I had touched the right chord. 
 
 " Then," he said, rising and fixing upon me his great, 
 black eyes full of expression, " you blame me for having 
 helped to carry out the plans of this young lady ?" 
 
 " Not at all. At your age I should have done the 
 same thing ; only, I tell you to be on your guard." 
 
 *'Lest I fall in love? You take me for a school- 
 boy." 
 
 " It is not very long since you were one, and so much 
 the better for you." 
 
 He reflected a few moments, and replied : " That is 
 true ; it is not very long since \ was in love with Miette, 
 when the thought of her made my heart beat, and kept 
 me from sleeping. Miette is much more beautiful now ; 
 above all, she has an expression, and I do not see that 
 freshness and health -injure the ideal in a type of woman. 
 The Greek statues have rounded outlines in poetry 
 Mademoiselle de Nives is pretty like a little boy. Her 
 
W ' 
 
 T//E TOWER OF PERCE MONT. 129 
 
 paleness is a matter of fancy. And then it is not beauty 
 that takes possession of the heart — it is character. I have 
 studied this character — a character entirely new to me — 
 more judicially than you think ; and, in all that you have 
 just said, I think there is much truth, in regard to ingrati- 
 tude, especially. I could not help telling her that she 
 made Jacques suffer cruelly ; she believed herself justified 
 in saying that she had made no promises to him." 
 
 " She does something worse that you did not think of. 
 She" tries to injure Emilie's character." 
 
 '' I thought of it, and told her so. What do you think 
 she said in leply ? ' Emilie's character cannot be injured. 
 She possesses a purity beyond all s-tain. If any one said 
 that I behaved improperly while under her roof, the 
 whole country would reply with one single voice that it 
 was agaii^t your cousin's will or without her knowledge. 
 And you also, would you not cry out to the detractors — 
 You spoke falsely ! The proof of her respectability is 
 that she is my betrothed, and I^ am going to marry 
 her?"' 
 
 " Very well. What did you reply to this question ? " 
 
 '' I made no reply. It was repulsive to me to discuss 
 Emilie and my secret sentiment with a person who can- 
 not comprehend human feelings." 
 
 " I regi-et that you found nothing to say." 
 
 " Tell me, father, do you think that Emilie^-" 
 
 " Go on. Emilie—" 
 
 " She must know that her friend has been absent every 
 evening for some days ? " 
 
 " It seems to me impossible that she can be ignorant 
 of it. Tlie house atV ignolette is large, but in such a 
 secluded life the absence of one of the two inmates must 
 be noticed." 
 
 '' Mademoiselle de Nives pretends that Emilie asks 
 
130 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 no questions and manifests no uneasiness. How do you 
 explain this ? " 
 
 " By the religion of a generous hospitality. See the 
 letter I received from her yesterday." 
 
 Henri read the letter and returned it. "I see," he 
 said, " that in the bottom of her heart the good and dear 
 child blames her strange companion. She is right. Did 
 you notice that she was unhappy the last time you saw 
 her?" 
 
 " Emilie unhappy ? No, but displeased." 
 
 " Displeased with Mademoiselle Marie ? " 
 • "Evidently." 
 
 '' And perhaps also with me? " 
 
 " I don't know what she thought about you." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Nives pretends that Miette has a 
 great sorrow." k 
 
 " For what reason ? " 
 
 " That is the reply I made ; there is no reason for it. 
 Miette is not in love with me." 
 
 "And you added, ' I am not in love with her? " 
 
 " No, father, I did not say so ; I avoided speaking of 
 myself ; it could not interest Mademoiselle de Nives. 
 What day will you receive her ? " — 
 
 "Here she runs the risk of meeting her stepmother, 
 who may, who ought to return for her daughter at any 
 moment." 
 
 " Madame de Nives cannot return yet ; she is ill in 
 Paris. " 
 
 " Who told you so ? " 
 
 *' Mademoiselle de Nives has her closely watched. 
 She caught influenza while running about Paris and the 
 suburbs to surprise her stepdaughter in some flagrante 
 delicto favorable to her hostile plans ; but as she had only 
 false information, she made no discoveries." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 131 
 
 " This young woman may then come to the tower to- 
 morrow with Miette. Your mother intends to make some 
 calls at Riom, and will know nothing about it. I wish 
 for your assistance at the interview, since you are Ma- 
 demoiselle Marie's adviser. I shall, perhaps, call up 
 Master Jacques, and give an order for Leonie to be 
 brought to us for a little while. I want to see with my 
 own eyes if this grand passion for the child is sincere. 
 We will go to bed now. To-morrow, early I will send 
 a messenger to Vignolette, and perhaps also to Champ- 
 go usse." 
 
 " The next day I wrote to Emilie and her brother- 
 At noon I went to the tower with Henri and little Leonie. 
 We found Miette there with Mademoiselle de Nives. 
 Jacques, who lived further off, arrived last. 
 
 My first word was an act of authority. Charliette 
 was on the threshold of the kitchen, but, perceiving me, 
 quickly took refuge within. I had seen her, however, 
 and, addressing Mademoiselle de Nives, demanded to 
 know if this woman was on the watch by her orders. 
 Mademoiselle de Nives seemed surprised, and said she 
 did not come with her. 
 
 " Then," replied I, " she comes on her own account, 
 and I shall request her to leave." 
 
 I entered the kitchen without giving Marie time to get 
 the start of me, and asked Charliette, who seemed quite 
 distracted, what she was doing in my house. She 
 replied tihat she had come to receive Mademoiselle Marie's 
 orders. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Marie does not need you ; go away. 
 I forbid you to ever put your foot in my house without 
 my permission." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Charliette, in a dramatic tone, " I see 
 
132 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 that my dear young lady is ruined ! You are all against 
 her!" 
 
 " Go," I resumed ; ** and the quicker the better ! " 
 
 She went away furious, and I rejoined the ladies in 
 the apartment refurnished by Henrt. Mademoiselle de 
 Nives wore her village girl's costume, which, I must 
 confess, was marvellously becoming to her. Ldonie threw 
 herself into her arms, and they were inseparable. Emilie 
 also caressed the child, and found her charming. I 
 saw that at the last moment Marie had made a full con- 
 fession. Henri appeared a little embarrassed in carrying 
 out the part Jie had assumed. He heard oj^portunely 
 the step of Jacques's pony, and went down to help him 
 put it in the stable. 
 
 During this time, I kept moving about, and without 
 having the appearance of wishing to enter upon the sub- 
 ject at once, I observed the features and attitude of 
 Mademoiselle de Nives, and found her simple and sincere. 
 This point gained, I examined my niece ; she was changed, 
 neither pale nor cast down, but serious, and as if 
 armed for any combat with a high and magnanimous 
 will 
 
 Jacques entered, and met with a cordial welcome. 
 He kissed respectfully the hand that Mademoiselle de 
 Nives extended to him without the least embarrassment. 
 He was much disconcerted by astonishment and uneasi- 
 ness, and appeared to be nerving himself up for a crisis 
 beyond his power to avert. 
 
 " Now," I said to Mademoiselle de Nives, '• we are 
 going to discuss matters that will be very tiresome to 
 Mademoiselle Ninie. She may go and play in the 
 meadow, directly under our eyes." 
 
 " Yes," cried Leonie ; " with Suzette 1 " 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 133 
 
 "By and by," I said. " I promise to let you see her 
 again before she goes home." 
 
 " That is not true ; you will not call me back I " 
 
 " I give you my promise," said Mademoiselle de Nives. 
 " You must be good, and obey M. Chantebel. lie is 
 master here, and every one is glad to do as he wishes." 
 
 Ninie submitted, but not without making Suzette 
 promise to sit near the window, where she could look at 
 her every moment. 
 
 When we were seated, Miette began resolutely : 
 " Uncle," she said, " you have consented to receive my 
 friend, and I thank you for her and for myself. I think 
 you have no need to question her in regard to the events 
 that brought her under my roof, for I believe you are 
 perfectly well acquainted with them. She comes to ask 
 your counsel upon her future course, and as she knows 
 what kind of a man you are, has for you the respect you 
 merit, and places in you the confidence that is your due 5 
 she is resolved — so she promised me — to follow your 
 adyice implicitly." 
 
 " I have but one question to address to Mademoiselle 
 de Nives," I replied ; " and my opinion of her cause will 
 depend upon her answer. Why, on the eve of the time 
 fixed for her certain and absolute liberty, did she think it 
 her duty to quit the convent? — Reply without fear, 
 mademoiselle : I know you have much frankness and 
 courage, and all the persons present are now in your con- 
 fidence ; it is important that I should be so also, and that 
 we all deliberate upon what is most favorable to your in- 
 terests." 
 
 *' It is a sort of public confession you demand," replied 
 Mademoiselle de Nives, who appeared much moved by 
 the presence of Henri and Jacques ; " but I can make it, 
 and I will make it." 
 
134 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 '^ We arc listening respectfully." 
 
 " Well, M. Chantebel, I had a reasou that you wSAj 
 scarcely credit for escaping from the convent before the 
 proper time. My ignorance of real life was so profound 
 — and this is not my fault — that I believed I must show 
 a deterraination to stand up for my legal rights before I 
 came of age. I was persuaded that, if I allowed one day 
 to pass beyond that term, I was bound by that act to 
 remain in the convent for life." 
 
 '■* Were you told this enormous falsehood in the con- 
 vent ? " 
 
 " No ; my nurse Charliette pretended to have asked 
 Legal advice in Clermont, and advised me to distrust the 
 patience with which the nuns and confessors awaited my 
 decision. ' They will not harass you,' she said ; ' they 
 will surprise you, and suddenly say to you, — The hour 
 lias passed, we hold you for your whole life.' " 
 
 " And you believed Charliette ? " 
 
 " I believed Charliette, having only her in the whole 
 world to care for me, and tell me what I thought to be 
 the truth." 
 
 " But since then you have found out she was deceiv- 
 ing you ? " 
 
 "Do not make me say anything against this woman 
 who rendered me great service — interested service, I 
 know — but I availed myself of her aid, and am still re- 
 ceiving it. Let her go for what she is worth. This mat- 
 ter is unworthy of your attention." 
 
 " Excuse me, 1 must know if I am in the presence of 
 a person counselled and directed by Charliette, or by the 
 friends she has now around her." 
 
 " I am ashamed that it is necessary for me to reply 
 that the persons present, commencing with yourself, are 
 everything to me, and Charliette nothing." 
 
THE TOWER OF TEKCEMONT. 185 
 
 " That is very well so far, but I must insist upon 
 other conditions before I undertake to save you from 
 .he dangers and difficulties into which this Charliette 
 has thrown you. You must swear that you will not see 
 her again, nor have any correspondence or any kind of 
 connection with her, so long as you remain with my 
 'liece. You ought to have understood that the presence 
 of a woman of that character defiled the abode of Emilie 
 Ormonde." 
 
 It was, I believe, the first time that Mademoiselle de 
 Mves ever heard the plain truth. Frightened and 
 menaced, on one side, by clerical thraldom ; spoiled and 
 twittered, on the other, by her nurse and the blind love 
 oljacques, she did not think she had anything to re- 
 j)raach herself with. She blushed with confusion, which 
 ippeared to me a good omen, hesitated a moment for a 
 nply, then, by a spontaneous movement, turned to 
 ^aette and said, casting herself on her knees and throw- 
 ing her arms around her : " Forgive me, I knew not 
 wiat I was doing ! Why did you not tell me ? " 
 
 "I should have told you, if you had trusted me," re- 
 pled Emilie, embracing and raising her, " Until tliis 
 mu-ning I did not know how guilty and contemptible 
 this Charliette is." 
 
 " I will never see her again ! " cried Mademoiselle de 
 Nives. 
 
 " You swear it ? " I said. 
 
 " I swear by my eternal salvation ! " 
 
 " Swear upon your honor ! Eternal salvation is 
 never compromised so long as a moment for repentance 
 !•» mains. It is a beautiful idea to make God greater than 
 tie justice of men, but here we treat of facts purely 
 haman, and are solely occupied with matters that may 
 be useful or injurious to our fellow creatures." 
 
136 THE TOWER OF PERCE MONT. 
 
 " I swear, then, upon my honor, never to see Char 
 liette again, although, in truth, human honor, as usually 
 understood, seems to me a frivolous thing." 
 
 " It is there the shoe pinches," I replied. " Will you 
 permit me to make a little explanation that is veiy 
 necessary ? " 
 
 " I am listening," said Mademoiselle de Nives, sittiig 
 down again. 
 
 "Very well. When the expression 'human honor' 
 has no clear meaning for the mind, it is best to withdnw 
 from the social sphere and communion with mankiid. 
 One lives then in a sublime companionship with the divine 
 Mind, and monastic rule imposing solitude and silence 
 exempts one from all obligation to the human race. ,1 
 know that you do not wish to choose this life ; then, ts 
 maid or wife, consecrated to works of charity or to the 
 occupations of this world, you must have a guide aid 
 master to teach you the obligations ofiife. You willio 
 no good, entirely by yourself, outside of the cell, slice 
 you disdain to learn anything of practical life. You vill 
 need a spiritual director to utilize your charity, or a his- 
 band to regulate the propriety of your conduct, li^ou 
 are nearly twenty-one years old ; you are fascinatfeg, 
 and conscious of your power, since you make use of jour 
 fascinations to carry out your plans from day to d^y. 
 From the moment you begin to exert an influence upn 
 the mind of others, you have no longer the right to s^y, 
 ' I do not know what I shall do — T will see ! ' You must 
 see, and decide at once ; you must choose between a hus- 
 band and a confessor, otherwise there is no means of 
 dealing with you in earnest." 
 
 "What?" exclaimed Mademoiselle de Nives, wio 
 started up, astounded at my frankness ; " what are v<^u 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 187 
 
 siyiiig to me, M. Chantebel? What do you demand of 
 me?" 
 
 " Nothing but the free exercise of your will." 
 
 " But precisely ! — I do not know my will. I wait 
 for God to inspire me." 
 
 "Has God inspired you thus far? Did he command 
 you to run away with Jacques Ormonde ? " 
 
 " Uncle," cried Jacques, " you forced my secret from 
 me, you had found it out before, and I thought it would 
 be sacred with you, and now you are tortudng me ! 
 Permit me to retire, I am stifling here, suffering martyr- 
 dom?" 
 
 "I do^ not blame you, Jacques," said Mademoiselle 
 de Nives ; " I intended to tell your uncle all that he 
 knows ah-eady." 
 
 " More especially," I resumed, '* since you confided 
 it to my son, with permission to re^'^al everything to 
 me." 
 
 Jacques became pale, looking at Henri, who remained 
 unmoved. Then he looked at Marie, who cast down 
 her eyes in confusion, then raised them immediately, and 
 said, artlessly : " It is true, Jacques, I told everything 
 to your cousin, for I needed his help to accomplish an 
 enterprise in which you would have refused to aid me." 
 
 '' You could not know," replied Jacques. " My 
 cousin certainly merits all your confidence, but I had 
 given you sufficient proof of my devotion to have a right 
 to it also." 
 
 " You forget, Jacques," I said, " that when Mademoi- 
 selle de Nives needs any one, as she says herself, she 
 goes directly to the .point, without troubling herself 
 about other people. She could, doubtless, have taken 
 your arm to look at L6onie through the park-railing, or 
 have accosted Henri in your presence, and made roman^ 
 
138 E TOWER OF PEKCEMONT 
 
 tic visitis to hi 111 in this tower, tlie unquestionable inno- 
 cence of which you could yourself have proved ; but all 
 this would not have succeeded so well. Henri would have 
 distrusted a person presented by you, and consequently 
 compromised. He would have reasoned and discussed, as I 
 am nowdiscussing. It was much preferable to surprise him 
 give him a mysterious rendezvous, confide herself to him 
 like a sacred dove whose purity sanctifies all it touches, 
 finally open her heart to him free from all attachment or 
 consideration towards you. Experience has proved that 
 Mademoiselle de Nives is not so much a stranger as one 
 might think to the manner of action in real life, and that 
 if she ignores the suffering she causes, she divines and 
 appreciates the manner of making use of it." 
 
 " Henri ! " cried Mademoiselle de Nives, pale and 
 with clinched teeth, "do you share in the cruel opinion 
 your father has of me ? " 
 
 Henri's face was for a moment contracted with an 
 expression of anguish and pity : then, suddenly gaining 
 the ascendency with the heroism of a good conscience, 
 he replied : " My father is severe, Mademoiselle Marie ; 
 but on the whole he says nothing that I did not say to 
 you here last evening, while alone with you." 
 
 Mademoiselle de Nives then turned to Jacques, as if 
 to demand from him aid and protection in her distress. 
 She saw that he was weeping, and took a step towards 
 him. Jacques took two, and, carried away by his good 
 disposition as much as by his want of conventional man- 
 ners, he threw his arms around her, and pressed her to 
 his heart, saying : " Indeed, all this is not my fault ! If 
 you deserve blame in regard to me, I forget it all the 
 moment you suffer ! Will you have my blood, will you 
 have my honor, will you have my life ? They are all 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCE MONT. 139 
 
 yours, and I ask nothing in exchange, as you know very 
 Nvell." 
 
 For the first time in his life, thankp to the force of 
 my attack, Jacques, struck to the heart, found real elo- 
 quence. The expression of the countenance, accent, 
 gesture, everything was sincere, and consequently seri- 
 ous and strong. It was a revelation for us all, and es- 
 pecially for Mademoiselle de Nives, who had never be- 
 fore understood him. She was sensible of the injury she 
 had done him, and read it in her own conscience. She 
 started like a person seized with vertigo on the border 
 of a precipice, and threw herself back ; but she instinct- 
 vely drew near again to the heart whose manly beat- 
 ing against her own she had felt for the first time, and 
 from that resting-place addressed Emilie. 
 
 " You ought to make the severest reproaches to me," 
 she said, " for 1 have been, it is plain, ungrateful to your 
 brother, and a coquette with your cousin ! As usual, 
 you say nothing, and suffer without complaining. I 
 promise solemnly to make amends for everything, and to 
 be worthy of your friendship ! " 
 
 "May God hear you mademoiselle !" I said, hold- 
 ing out my hand to her. " Pardon me for having made 
 you suffer, I think I have unraveled the truth from the 
 labyrinth i«to which Charliette threw you. I feel sure 
 that henceforth you will reflect and engage in no more 
 adventures, the consequences of which can be turned 
 against you. Now we will talk about business, and see 
 how you can be reinstated in your rights without mak- 
 ing a scandal or commotion. Let me tell yoii that I ac- 
 cepted your stepmother's confidence upon one condition, 
 that of acting as a peacemaker. I am not interested in 
 her personally; but she did a wise thing: she knows 
 that I adore children, that in every case where these 
 
140 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 poor innocents are concerned I plead for their interests, 
 and whether T was willing or not she trusted her daugh- 
 ter to me. There is poor Ninie, beautiful and good, and 
 as far as I can see, but moderately happy. Her fate will 
 be worse with a mother embittered by poverty." 
 
 " Say nothing more, M. Chantebel ! " , cried Made- 
 moiselle de Nives. " Settle yourself, without consulting 
 me, the sacrifices that I ought to make, then give me a 
 pen, and I will sign without reading. You know the 
 amount of my fortune, and I know nothing about it. 
 Arrange everything to make N'inie as rich as I am.. It 
 was to tell you this that I wanted to see you ! '* 
 
 The generous girl turned toward the window while 
 speaking thus, as if to throw a kiss to her sister ; but, 
 not seeing her, she called and received no reply. " Dear 
 me ! " she said, running to the door, " where can sho be? 
 I do not see her anywhere ! " 
 
 At the same instant the door was thrown open impet- 
 uously, and Ninie rushed into Mademoiselle de ISTives's 
 arras, crying out in a voice broken by fear : " Hide me ! 
 hide me ! Mamma ! she is coming ! she is running ! she 
 is on the stairs ! she will find me, and whip me ! Don't 
 let mamma have me ! Hide me ? " 
 
 And she rapidly hid herself under the table, the thick 
 covering of which reached to the floor. 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 Shb was out just in time, Madame de Nives, pale 
 ind excited, entered in her turn, absolutely as if she were 
 in her own house, without knocking or being announced. 
 Marie turned her face to the window, leaving visible only 
 
THE TOWER OF PEKCEMONT 141 
 
 her black and white fiohu, her blonde hair coquettishly 
 curled, and her straw hat turned up behind. Miette. 
 without being dressed as a peasant, wore as usual that 
 pretty Auvergnat hat which blends with the new fash 
 ions in such a manner as to appear elegant without ceas- 
 ing to be original. 
 
 " Excuse me, M. Chantebel," said Madame de Nives, 
 who at the first glance took, or pretended to take, the 
 two young ladies for peasant-girls : *' you are here in 
 consultation ; I did not know it. A thousand pardons . 
 I am looking for my daughter ; I thought she . was here. 
 They told me at your house that you had taken her in 
 this direction. Tell me where she is, that I may em- 
 brace her. I will wait in your garden till you have 
 leisure to attend to me in my turn." 
 
 While the countess was talking I had glanced to the 
 back part of the tower, visible through a window oppo- 
 site to the one occupied by Mademoiselle de Nives, and 
 had seen Charliette watching and wailing in the ruined 
 and abandoned part of the manor. Therefore, Madame 
 de Nives appeared to me perfectly "well informed of 
 what was going on, and I was unwilling to indulge her 
 in a useless pretense. 
 
 " You will not disturb me, madam e," I said. " I am 
 here w^ith my family. If there is a consultation, you will 
 not be in the way." And, advancing an easy-chair for 
 her, I added, " Mademoiselle Ninie is in this room ; but 
 she is in the midst of a game of * hide-and seek,' and does 
 not see you — Come, Ninie," I continued, raising the 
 table cover, " it is your mamma ; run and kiss her." 
 
 Ninie obeyed with a visible reluctance. Her mother 
 seized rather than took her up, and seated her on   her 
 knee, saymg, in a harsh tone; "What! are you crazy? 
 Don't you know me ? " 
 
142 THE TO WKR OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 While Ninie was embracing her mother with more 
 fear than love, Mademoiselle de Nives, anxious to know 
 if the child was a victim as she had beeti told, turned 
 round to observe this kiss. The clear, cold eyes of the 
 counteas were at once fixed upon hers, and I saw her 
 tremble as at the sight of a viper. Doubtless she would 
 not have recognized' her stepdaughter immediately and 
 under this disguise if she had not been informed of her 
 presence. She was evidently prepared for the interview, 
 as she did not mistake her for an instant for Miette, and 
 a ferocious smile contracted her lips. 
 
 "You pretend, sir," she said, in a loud and clear 
 voice, " that I shall not be in the way in the consulta- 
 tion I have interrupted. As far as I can see, the ques- 
 tion to be settled is a marriage between two young 
 ladies and two gentlemen. I am acquainted with one 
 of the young ladies ; which of the suitors is hers ! " 
 
 " This one !" replied Mademoiselle de Nives without 
 hesitation, taking my nephew's hand. " This is M. 
 Jacques Ormonde. The banns will be published in a 
 fortnight, and, although at that time your consent will 
 be unnecessary, I hope, madame, you will deign to ap- 
 prove my choice, for the sake of propriety." 
 
 " It wiU be very necessary," replied the countess," 
 " since this is the gentleman who, it appears, ran a^^ay 
 with you." 
 
 " This gentleman," added Jacques, to whom happiness 
 gave self-possession, " would suggest to the countess that 
 Mademoiselle Ninie is out of place here, and would be 
 better off amusing herself in the meadow," 
 
 " With Charlictte, who is still prowling about there ? " 
 I said, raising my voice ; " no, take the child to her nurse, 
 ^ ho is waiting for her among the vines, and come baok 
 
THE TO WER OF PE. 
 
 here yourself. If your future wife has to make any con- 
 cessions, we shall need your approval." 
 
 " She may make as many concessions as she pleases," 
 replied Jacques, taking Ninie by the hand, who followed 
 him with an instinctive confidence ; *' she gave you full 
 control of her affairs, and I do the same, uncle." And he 
 led the child away, followed by the glance of the countess, 
 who thought much less of her daughter than she did of 
 examining the features and appearance of Jacques with 
 a haughty and disdainful curiosity. 
 
 " There,' then," she said, as soon as he had gone out, 
 " is the object of Mademoiselle de Nives's great passion ! " 
 
 " That young man is my nephew," I replied, *' my 
 dear sister's son, an excellent person, and a very worthy 
 man." 
 
 "■ Or a very gallant man ? M. Chantebel, you are in- 
 dulgent, as is well known, to the members of your family ! 
 I see you find nothing worthy of condemnation in the 
 elopement. It will not, however, be approved by every 
 one.'*' 
 
 "Jt will remain unknown, for no one here wiU divulge 
 the secret, out of regard for Mademoiselle de N^ives and 
 you." 
 
 "For me? indeed!" 
 
 I made a sign to the others to draw-^ away, and, ap- 
 proaching very near her, said, in a whisper : " For you, 
 madame, who agreed with Charliette to bring about this 
 scandal, and dishonor Mademoiselle de Nives ! " 
 
 She became pale, as if she were going to faint ; but, 
 making a strong effort, she replied, in a low voice ; 
 *' This woman has told a frightful lie, and you will never 
 be able to prove it ! " 
 
 « Shall I call her ? She is* still there." 
 
 "Why call hor ! " she roplied, with a wild look* 
 
144 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 " You can summon her ]>efore us all to tell the truth. 
 The recompense you promised her will be at this price ; 
 and, if necessary, we can raise a subscription amongst 
 ourselves that will unloose her tongue. She will produce 
 your letters." 
 
 The countess feebly murmured these words :," You 
 must not do that ! I am in your hands — spare me I '' 
 
 Then she sank back in her chair in a real fainting-fit. 
 I had guessed right, for I learned the details afterwards. 
 Charliette had, of course, fleeced, taken advantage of, de- 
 ceived, and betrayed every one in turn. 
 
 My niece and Mademoiselle de Nives came eagerly to 
 Madame de Nives's assistance. She recovered her senses 
 very quickly, and wanted to renew the conversation. I 
 begged her not to fatigue herself uselessly. " We can," 
 I said, " renew the conference later this evening or to- 
 morrow." 
 
 ** No, no," she said, " at once, especially as I have 
 nothing to say. I have simply to wait for the proposi- 
 tions that it will be thought necessary to make to me on 
 the eve of a general settlement of our interests." 
 
 " There are no propositions to be made," I replied. 
 " You thought that Mademoiselle de Nives, having been 
 led to commit acts of grave imprudence, would need 
 silence and a generous pardon on your part. Things are 
 changed now, as you have just seen. Silence is for the 
 common interest, and pardon is only a matter of polite- 
 ness — say, rather, of Christian charity. Mademoiselle de 
 Nives is absolute mistress of a considerable fortune. I 
 know now the amount'of it, for I procured it during your 
 absence. She has a right to ask you for your accounts 
 of guardianship, which, as I had foreseen and calculated, 
 will amount to about two hundred and forty thousand 
 francs ; but she does not want her sister to be brought 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 145 
 
 up in constraint and privation. She will give you an 
 unconditional receipt for all sums expended or economized 
 by you during her minority. It is for you, madame, to 
 address to her — I will not say thanks — but at least to give 
 evidence of the satisfaction a mother ought to feel under 
 such circumstances." 
 
 Madame de Nives had expected to make a better bar- 
 gain by her unworthy plots. She was checkmated and 
 overwhelmed. She tried to speak, but she could not u-t- 
 ter a word, and treated Mademoiselle Marie to a sort of 
 grimacing smile, with a jerk of tlie head. She recovered, 
 however, strength enougji to say that L<^onie would still 
 be very poor, since the possibility of laying aside even a 
 small sum in the large and expensive Chateau de IsTives 
 was an entirely gratuitous supposition on my part. 
 
 " I know nothing about it," replied Mademoiselle de 
 Nives, rising. " M. Chantebel, would you be kind enough 
 to tell me the amount of my income as nearly as you 
 can ? " 
 
 " If you sell the Mves estate, mademoiselle, you wiU 
 have an income of about fifty thousand francs. If you 
 keep it, you will have thirty thousand." 
 
 " And now," she resumed, " will you ask Madame de 
 Nives how large an income she requires to live in ease 
 and security ! " 
 
 " I shall never enjoy those two blessings again," said 
 the countess ; " I must have at least fifteen thousand 
 francs a year to bring up my daughter, without letting 
 her feel the chancre in her situation." 
 
 " That, with your small savings, of which I also know 
 the amount, will give you the means of living in the same 
 manner as you have done since your marriage. Made- 
 moiselle de Nives must decide if your affection for her 
 erits such a sacrifice." 
 
146 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 ** I will do it .' " cried Marie, without a moment's 
 hesitation ; and, perceiving Jacques, who was just enter- 
 ing the room, she took his hand, adding : " We will make 
 the sacrifice; but upon one condition, without which I 
 shall adhere to the conditions that M. Chantebel has 
 drawn up — the unconditional receipt." 
 
 " What, then, is this condition ? '' inquired Madame 
 de Nives, whose piercing eyes shone with a metallic 
 lustre. 
 
 " You must give my sister to me, and resign all your 
 rights over her to me. At this price you will be rich, live 
 where you please — excepting at-Nives, where I intend to 
 dwell myself. You will see Leonie ; but she will be mine, 
 mine alone ! — Jacques ! you consent ? " 
 
 " Joyfully ! " he replied, without hesitation. 
 
 Madame de Nives did not appear thunderstruck, as she 
 should have done in conformity to the character she was 
 playing. The idea was not new to her. Marie had men- 
 tioned it to Charliette, and the countess had had time to 
 reflect upon it. She feigned, however, a new fainting- 
 fit, more finished, but less real than the first. Marie and 
 Miette were very much moved. 
 
 " This is too cruel! " exclaimed my niece ; " this lady 
 is ill, and cannot bear such emotion. She may be wicked 
 — that is possible ; but she cannot be indifferent to her 
 daughter, and you are demanding too much of her ! " 
 
 " Leave me alone with her," I said ; " and do not be 
 alarmed. Go to the house and wait for me, and, if 
 Madame Chantebel has returned, tell her to have a good 
 dinner ready to set us right after all the excitement of 
 the morning. 
 
 When they had gone, Madame de Nives did not keep 
 me waiting long before she recovered possession of her 
 faculties. She slied a few tears whei; resummg the sub- 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 147 
 
 ject, exclaiming that it was horrible, and that Made- 
 moiselle de Nives took her revenge in an atrocious man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Nives does not wish for revenge," 
 I replied. " She possesses in reality a remarkable sweet- 
 ness and gentleness. She has not addressed to you one 
 bitter word under circumstances where the wrong you 
 have done her would naturally turn her heart against^ you. 
 She has taken a great fancy to Leonie, and I think tlie 
 child returns it as far as she knows how." 
 
 " It is certain my daughter loves every one excepting 
 lier mother ! She has a terrible disposition. She was 
 taught to dislike me when she was very young." 
 
 " I know it, and it is a great misfortune ; but it is part- 
 ly your own fault, for you have not taken the right course 
 to make yourself loved by her and respected by your ser- 
 vants." 
 
 " You cannot, however, advise me to abandon her to 
 a crazy woman who has taken a passing fancy for her, 
 and will soon cease to care for her." • 
 
 " When she ceases to care for her, she will send her 
 back to you ; but then you must bid farewell to your 
 income of fifteen thousand francs ! Pray, then, in earnest, 
 that the two sisters may live happily together ! " 
 
 I saw plainly that Madame de Nives perceived the 
 justice of the argument. She still discussed the question, 
 however, for the sake of appearances. " You realy think, 
 then," she resumed, '' that Mademoiselle de Mves is ca- 
 pable of bringing up a young girl in a suitable manner? " 
 
 '' If you had asked this question yesterday, I sliould 
 have said, ' No, I do not think so.' I did not then fully 
 know her ; while to-day, here in your presence, I felt a 
 great admiration for her. This childlike generosity has a 
 sublime aspect that exalts it above the trifling mistakes 
 
148 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 of an over excited imagination. I had just been finding 
 great fault with her when you entered ! she punished me 
 by showing an admirable repentance and sincerity. I 
 am now entirely on her side, which will not prevent me 
 from serving you in taking care that payment of your in- 
 come shall be made a serious and inviolable contract." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! that is of special importance ! " cried the 
 countess, involuntarily. " This allowance must not be a 
 lure." 
 
 " Neither must it be an extortion, " I replied ; *' the 
 allowance will cease on the day when you reassert your 
 claim to Leonie." 
 
 " That is understood," said the countess, in an angry 
 tone ; " but if Mademoiselle Marie, who knows nothing 
 about money, should ruin herself ! I must have a mort- 
 gage on the Nives estate." 
 
 '* You shall have it ; but do not fear that she will ruin 
 herself ; on the contrary, the moment she marries Jacques 
 Ormonde she will grow richer and richer." 
 
 '' Wilf this famous Jacques Ormonde, who is called 
 the lady-killer, make his wife, and, consequently, my 
 daughter, happy ? " 
 
 *' This lady-killer has the best heart in the world, and 
 a natural disposition of the finest water." 
 
 " And, while awaiting the marriage, what shall I do 
 with my daughter, who thinks of nothing but running 
 away from me, and to whose absence I must become grad- 
 ually accustomed, in order to have courage to leave her 
 entirely ? " 
 
 " You will to go to Nives to make preparations for your 
 departure. Ninie will stay at my house with Madem- 
 oiselleMarie, who, being betrothed to Jacques, will remain 
 under the protection of her future uncle,' 
 
rHE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 149 
 
 " But your son — your son has just had — I know it 
 very well — an intrigue with her ! '^ 
 
 " That is one of Charliette's lies. My son is an 
 honest man and a serious-minded man. It is possible 
 that Charliette wanted to make money out of him also ; 
 but he is sharper than Jacques. Meanwhile,' as we must 
 not give occasion for gossip, my son will pass the rest of 
 his vacation with his cousin at Champgousse, and will 
 not return home until the marriage takes place. We will 
 sign on that day the deeds that concern you at the same 
 time as the marriage-contract, and, for the present, as you 
 have recovered your self-possession, you will dine at our 
 house with my family and yours." 
 
 '^ Impossible ! I cannot see all those people ; Ninie 
 especially ! That child, who leaves me with joy in her 
 heart, is my punishment." 
 
 " It is a deserved punishment, Madame de Nives ! 
 You wished to debase, ruin, and dishonor your husband's 
 daughter — you were determined either to make her a nun 
 or to destroy her character forever I It was too much ; 
 you even wearied the patience of God. Do not abuse that 
 of men ; and take every precaution to keep them in 
 ignorance of the secret designs of your guilty soul. Offer 
 your daughter as a recompense for your cruel deeds, and 
 accept in return the wordly wealth for which you have 
 worked with so much perseverance and so little scruple. 
 You must dine with me, since you have told my wife 
 everything you could think of against Mademoiselle 
 Marie. I do not ask you to confess your guilt nor to re- 
 tract your words ; but we will tell her that you are recon- 
 ciled with your stepdaughter, and that, through my 
 efforts, an arrangement has been made satisfactory to all 
 parties concerned.'' 
 
160 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Madame de Nives yielded, took my arm, and we 
 went together towards my house. As we came out of 
 the pinewood I saw Charliette, who was watching us, 
 very much disturbed on her own account at the result of 
 our conference. " We must settle with this jade," I said 
 to the countess. 
 
 " No, no ! " she replied, iti terror ; " I never want to 
 see her again." 
 
 '' For that very reason she must be paid." 
 And, turning towards Charliette, I made her a sign to 
 come to us. She quickly obeyed the summons. 
 
 " The time for settling your accounts has arrived," I 
 said ; " we have all agreed to have nothing more to do 
 with you. M. Jacques Ormonde has paid you three 
 thousand francs — it is more than you deserve. He has 
 no further need of you. Mademoiselle de Nives will 
 also give you three thousand francs. How much has the 
 Countess de Nives, who is here present, promised 
 you ? " 
 
 " Ten thousand," replied Charliette, boldly. 
 
 " Only five thousand," replied the countess, bristling 
 with indignation. 
 
 " On the day when Mademoiselle de Nives comes of 
 age," I rejoined, " you can come to my house to receive 
 the sum of eight thousand francs, after which you will 
 have nothing more to expect from any one." 
 
 " That is little for so much work," replied Charliette. 
 " If I told all that I know—" 
 
-^3^ 
 
 THE TOWER OF PERCEJ^NT,^ Inl 
 
 " You «ui tell it if it pleases you to Db-ldnven away 
 in all quarters as a promoter of intrigue, and a vile 
 woman. If you talk about us, we will talk about you 
 also ; beware ! " 
 
 Charliette, frightened by my words, went off as 
 quickly as possible, and, during the ten minutes it took 
 us to reach my house, I saw that Madame de Nives was 
 rapidly recovering her self-composure. This woman, 
 whose sole impelling power and sole passion was avarice, 
 horrified me. I was non^ the less very polite, respectful, 
 and attentive to her. I had told her some plain truths, 
 and had gained a good cause. I had no angry feeling to 
 excite me, and I was satisfied with myself. I conducted 
 her*to a room, as she wished to rest for a little while. 
 
 Madame Chantebel had not returned. Miette had 
 courageously gone to work to prepare the dinner. She 
 understood the art of cooking, was well acquainted with 
 my tastes, and much beloved by my servants. I saw with 
 pleasure that we should have a good dinner, and that no 
 dish would be a failure — my wife not being there to ex- 
 cite the nerves of the cook by giving too many directions. 
 It gave me still greater pleasure to see Henri smiling at 
 Miette's side, and helping her in the most lively mood ; 
 he had taken off his coat and put on a white apron. This 
 was so contrary to his tastes and usual serious bearing, 
 that I could not conceal my surprise. 
 
 " What would you have ? " he said ; " there are dra- 
 matic and romantic heroines here who would be very 
 much puzzled to know how to make a simple omelet. 
 Emilie, who is in my eyes the only and true heroine of 
 the day, and who makes no effort to attract attention, 
 consecrates herself to our service as if she were good for 
 Hothing else. It is only just for me to save her all the 
 
152 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 trouble I can, or at least make her laugh by ray awkward- 
 ness." 
 
 And, as Miette went away to look after her pastry— 
 " See," he said, " how skilful and quick she is I With 
 her silk dress and lace fichu, she takes no precautions, 
 and yet she will not soil them with a single spot. She is 
 in her element — home, country and domestic life." 
 
 " We must leave her there,** I replied, with a malicious 
 purpose. " Such a condition is not poetic enough for a 
 young man of the present time." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, father, I find it entirely sufficient ! 
 Poetry is present everywhere, if one has the eye to see it. 
 It was at Vignolette in the old times, when, in the y^v^ 
 middle of her great, black kitchen, where the huge copper 
 vessels shone so brightly, I looked at Miette as she 
 kneaded in her pretty fingers the cakes for our breakfast. 
 It was a Rembrandt with one of Corregio's figures in 
 the centre. Then I felt the charm of that everyday in- 
 tercourse, and of this model woman. I forgot everything, 
 but now I again see the past through the revived medium. 
 Miette is much more beautiful than she was in those 
 days, and has become much more graceful. Besides, I 
 am hungry ; the smell of the food seems to me delicious. 
 The animal is in harmony with the poet in crying out : 
 ' Here is the truth — a well-regulated and well-appointed 
 existence, an adorable wife, an inexhaustible depth of 
 confidence, mutual respect and tenderness.' " 
 
 " You have come to a full comprehension of the heart 
 as well as the reason. Will you not tell this to Emilie ? " 
 
 " No, I dare not ; I am not yet worthy of forgiveness. 
 I know Miette has suffered by my fault : she helieved for 
 a day or two that I was in love with the heiress, and that 
 I was willing to compromise her reputation to get her 
 away from Jacques. Without you, dear father — without 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT 153 
 
 the full explanations made to-day, she would, perhaps, 
 still believe it. Do you know you frightened me for a 
 moment ? But, when you put me under the necessity of 
 telling Mademoiselle de Nives before you all what I ought 
 to think, and what I really had thought, of her frivolity, 
 I understood that you were rendering me a great service, 
 and I regained at once my self-control and determined to 
 do as you desired. If Marie's odd ways surprised me for 
 a little while, no one but myself must ever know it, and, 
 if she felt any doubt in regard to the matter, I am glad 
 you gave me the opportunity to remove the impression. 
 She belongs to Jacques, certainly, and to no one else. She 
 has a noble character, notwithstanding her childish triv- 
 iality. Jacques has the great good sense that is wanting 
 in her,. and, since he loves her dearly, will impart it to her 
 unconsciously, without wounding her pride. He will al- 
 ways say the same as her ; but he will do it in such a way 
 that in her turn she will think like him." 
 
 "Very well reasoned, my son, and now may God 
 grant us his aid ! In these results that pressing circum- 
 stances often force us to improvise, life strongly resembles 
 a pleasing romance. I own that, in pleading before you 
 the cause of reason and right, I did not expect such a 
 success — I did not see that two beautiful and good mar- 
 riages would result from my simple and sincere words. 
 But where are our lovers? " 
 
 " Over there, on that bench you see from here. I be- 
 lieve they are waiting impatiently for the countess's de- 
 cision in regard to Mnie. Do you think she will give her 
 up?" 
 
 "That point is already gained," "I replied, "and I 
 must hasten to tell them so." 
 
 Miette at this moment came towards us with her pas- 
 try ready to put into the oven. " I am not in the habit 
 
154 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 of embracing my cooks," I said, kissing her on the fore- 
 head ; *' but this one is so much to my taste that I cannot 
 refrain." 
 
 Jacques and Marie, seeing me leave the kitchen, ran 
 to meet me with Ninie. " Well," said Mademoiselle de 
 Nives, pointing to the child, " may I hope ? " 
 
 " She is yours ! " I replied, in a low tone, " Do not 
 say a word, and endeavor to avoid additional trouble by 
 inducing her to bid farewell to her mother properly." 
 
 " That is easy," said Jacques ; and, taking Ninie in his 
 arms : " Listen, mademoiselle ; your mamma, seeing that 
 you are very well here, and very fond of us, consents to 
 leave you a few days longer with Suzette at Papa Bebel's. 
 You will certainly thank her for her kindness ? You will 
 embrace her, and be^ very good, will you not?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " cried the child, beside herself with joy ; 
 "I will be very good. What happiness*! — We shall go 
 after dinner to the fountain with Suzette and my hobby- 
 horse, Henri." 
 
 " It is I who will be the hobby-horse," replied Jacques, 
 smiling, " and Suzette will make the boats." 
 
 " Have you pardoned me," I said to Mademoiselle de 
 N'ives, " and will you consent to remain here until your 
 marriage ? " 
 
 Marie took my hands with that charming outpouring 
 of the heart that atoned for every fault, and, in spite of 
 my resistance, pressed her lips to them. " You have 
 saved me," she said ; " you are and you will be my father ! 
 I need so much to be directed and to be really loved ! 
 You must make me worthy of dear Jacques, who spoils 
 me, and from whom I cannot draw the slightest re- 
 proach." 
 
 '•'- Then I will scold you, and he will console you. He 
 will tell you that you are perfection." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 155 
 
 " Yes, indeed," exclaimed Jacques, " I shall say so ! '* 
 
 "And that I am an old dotard." 
 
 " As to that, no," he replied, half stifling me as he 
 pressed me to his breast ; " you will always be our guar- 
 dian ansjel." 
 
 Meantime my wife arrived, and her arms dropped with 
 surprise when she saw me embracing the lovers. Her 
 eyes were not large enough to examine the countenance 
 and costume of Mademoiselle de Nives. 
 
 "Madame Chantebel," I said, "while presenting her, 
 " be kind enough, I beg you, to bless and embrace your 
 future niece, a peasant-girl, as you see, but very well- 
 born, and worthy of your affectionate interest." 
 
 "Is this a joke ! " asked my wife; "would Jacques 
 marry in this way, and at once, a person with whom we 
 are not acquainted ? " 
 
 "A few words, madam e, will make you acquainted 
 with me," said Mademoiselle de Nives. " I came to Per- 
 cemont in disgjuise to consult M. Chantebel. He has ex- 
 pressed his approval of my marriage with Jacques 
 Ormonde. My stepmother arrived unexpectedly. M. 
 Chantebel brought about a reconciliation between us, and 
 she even consented to bestow on me an inestimable treas- 
 ure — the child whom you see playing yonder, whom you^ 
 love also, and who will become mine.'' 
 
 ."The child! your stepmother! 1 do not understand 
 you at all," said my wife, astounded. " Is it a wager to 
 mystify me ? *"' 
 
 " Look," I said, " at that beautiful lady who is adjust- 
 ing her toilet, and passing and repassing before the 
 window of chamber number two in your house," 
 
 " The Countess de Kives ! Is she here ? " 
 
 *' And Mademoiselle Marie de Nives also." 
 
156 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 "And the countess gives her daughter — she gives 
 Ninie to — " 
 
 *' To the person of whom she has spoken so unkindly, 
 and who does not deserve it. Did I not tell you that 
 your great countess was a fraud ? " 
 
 " I find the word very mild now, but I suppose there 
 is money in all this ? " 
 
 " A great deal of money, for Mademoiselle de Nives 
 does not count the cost when her heart speaks, and her 
 act is still more worthy of commendation since she had 
 nothing to fear from the calumny that menaced her. 
 Emilie, Jacques, Henri, and I, at their head were present 
 to defend and exonerate her." 
 
 " And you still receive this countess ? She has made 
 herself at home : " 
 
 " Until this evening only. She has been very much 
 agitated and we are taking care of her. She is going to 
 dine with us." 
 
 " To dine with us, indeed ! And I not at home ! And 
 with an ignorant cook, who has no brains ! '"' 
 
 " Therefore I have found another, a wonder whom I 
 wish to present to you. Will you not embrace your 
 future niece ? " 
 
 Marie approached gracefully and confidently. Madame 
 Chantebel was much moved, and, when after the embrace, 
 Mademoiselle de Nives took her hand to kiss in token of 
 respect, my wife had tears in her eyes ; she was con- 
 quered. 
 
 '' This does not prevent me from thinking," she said, 
 as we were on our way to the kitchen, " that Jacques's 
 marriage is remarkable, and far above his condition. 
 Since you understand so well how to perform miracles, M. 
 Chantebel, why did you not think of your own son 
 before^ any one else? Henri would have been a much 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 157 
 
 more suitable and agreeable husband for this young lady 
 in all respects than the great Jacques." 
 
 " My dear wife," I replied, '' listen to me. Leave the 
 cooking to take care of itself — everything is going on as 
 well as you can desire ; let us talk a little while under 
 these trees, like two old friends who ought to have but 
 one heart and one will." 
 
 I related to my wife all that had passed, and added : 
 "You see plainly that Mademoiselle de Nives waited for 
 and hoped for with good reason by Jacques, could not be 
 the wife of any one else, unless it were of an ambitious 
 person, entirely without scruple." 
 
 " You are right, M. Chantebel, I do not deny it ; only 
 I regret — " ^ 
 
 "There is nothing to regret. Henri will be happy in 
 his marriage, happier than any one in the world ! " . 
 
 " I see what you are driving at, M. Chantebel ! You ) 
 wish him to marry your Miette Ormonde ! " 
 
 " He wishes it also ; he loves her." 
 
 ** It is you who make him think so." 
 
 "No, I was very careful not to use any influence in 
 the matter ; it would have been the means of estranging 
 him from her, and I am not so foolish. What have you, 
 then, against my poor Miette ? " 
 
 " Against her ? Nothing, to be sure — I do justice to 
 her merits ; but it is — it is her hat." 
 
 " Her village hat? Why Mademoiselle de Kiveshas 
 one on to-day exactly like it, and looks none the less like 
 a countess," 
 
 " Yes, but she is one in reality — that is easily seen." 
 
 " And you think that our Miette looks like an ungainly 
 woman ? " 
 
 "No, she resembles her mother, who resembled you. 
 
158 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 There is nothing common in our family ; but Miette is 
 cold, she does not love Henri." 
 
 " Ah, there is your mistake ! Miette appears cold to 
 you because she is dignified and spirited. I thought you 
 would understand her, for I remember some one whom I 
 loved and sought in marriage — a long time ago. This 
 person was jealous of a little blonde, without the least 
 occasion, whom I asked to dance with me, I know not 
 why, at a ball. My lady-love wept, but I knew nothing 
 about it, and she never confessed her resentment until 
 after our marriage." 
 
 " That person was myself," replied my wife ; " and I 
 own I should sooner have been cut lio pieces than confess 
 that I was jealous." 
 
 '^ Why so, tell me?" 
 
 " Because — because jealousy is a feeling that leads us 
 to doubt the man we love. If we were sure that he was 
 deceiving us, we should cease to care for him ; but we 
 are not sure ; we are afraid of offending him and of 
 lowering ourselves in his estimation by the avowal of our 
 distrust." 
 
 " Yery well explained, wife. And, then, one suffers 
 all the more from the effort to conceal it ? " 
 
 " One suffers much, and must exercise great fortitude ! 
 Do you think that Miette has that fortitude ? " 
 
 "And that endurance! All the more since her pride 
 has been wounded by some one." 
 
 " By whom I " 
 
 '• That is the very thing I want to know." 
 
 " Is it perhaps by me ? " 
 
 " That is impossible." 
 
 "Well, it is the truth. I spoke sharply to her, 
 because she seemed to think Henri would stay in Paris. 
 I confess I was afraid of it also, and was out of temper 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 159 
 
 about it. I vented my spite on poor Emilie, and don't 
 know what I said to her. She went away in consterna- 
 tion, and, as I have not seen her since, I supposed she was 
 in the sulks ; but I assure, you I bear her no ill-will, and 
 love her as much as ever." 
 
 "Willyou tellher so?" 
 
 " At once. You say she is here ; where is she hid- 
 ing?" 
 
 '' In the kitchen, with Henri." 
 
 " Henri in the kitchen ? This is, indeed, something 
 new ! He, so aristocratic ! " 
 
 " He declares that nothing is so distinguished as a 
 young and beautiful girl engaged in the duties of house- 
 keeping, and nothing so deserving of respect as the mother 
 of a family like you taking care of the well-being of the 
 household." 
 
 " That means that I ought to go and see to the din- 
 ner?" 
 
 " It means that Emilie has it in charge already, and 
 that Henri looks upon her when he says the woman he 
 loves will be a person useful, serious, devoted, and 
 charming like his mother." 
 
 " M. Chantebel, you have a golden tongue ! The 
 serpent had a voice like yours in paradise. You do with 
 me whatever you please, and pretend all the time that I 
 am the mistress ! " 
 
 " Yes, you are the mistress ; for, if you are unwilling 
 to receive Miette, Henri and I must give her up. 
 
 Just at this moment Henri came to announce that 
 dinner was ready, and, reading from the expression of 
 my eyes the favorable condition of affairs, he embraced 
 his mother, and said to her : " Mother, I have a secret to 
 tell you after dinner." 
 
160 THE TOWER OF FERCE MONT. 
 
 "Tell it immediately," she replied, much excited. 
 " Dinner. win- wait. I want to know everything ! " 
 
 " Very well. Only two words are required, ray dear 
 mother. I love Emilie — I have always loved her ; but I 
 do not wish to tell her so without your permission.'' 
 
 My dear, good wife did not reply, but ran to the 
 kitchen. She found Miette in the pantry, washing and 
 wiping her pretty hands. She took her by the shoulders, 
 then by the neck, and embraced her maternally several 
 times. Miette returned the caresses with her eyes full 
 of tears and a charming smile upon her lips. 
 
 " There is no need of any other explanation," I said ; 
 "this is the best of all." 
 
 Henri thanked and embraced his mother also, and 
 then we went to take our places at the dinner-table. 
 The dinner was so good that, notwithstanding the gi'eat 
 constraint of the first moment, we could not resist the 
 animal, though at the same time profoundly cordial un- 
 derstanding of persons who hold social communion to- 
 gether after the fatigue of a struggle and the relief of a 
 reconciliation. I do not like to eat much or for a long 
 time, but I like a table elegantly supplied with choice 
 viands. Our thoughts, our faculties, our intellectual and 
 moral disposition, depend much upon the delicacy or the 
 grossness of the food we have assimulated. My wife, a 
 much poorer eater than I, was almost greedy on thi^ oc_ 
 casion, with the intention — very evident to me — of com- 
 plimenting Emilie, and showing her that she admitted 
 her superiority. 
 
 As I like to study character, and every action has a 
 significance in my mind, I remarked that Mademoiselle 
 de I^ives ate nothing but creams, fruits, and sweets, while 
 Madam Alix de Nives, with her extreme thinness, had 
 the robust appetite of avaricious persons who dine at 
 
rj ■• , 
 THE TOWER OF PERVMftiNT, 
 
 other people's expense. Burly Jacqi 
 thing cheerfully, with a sincere and hearty^ 
 but this angular person, with her 2:)inched-up mouth and 
 handsome, straight nose, too flat underneath, appeared 
 to be carefully storing a supply of provisions in her 
 stomach, as certain animals do in their nests at the ap- 
 proach of winter. Vice is an ugly thing, and the de- 
 scription of it is disagreeable, since it is impossible to 
 refrain from seeing its serious side ; but, when one has 
 escaped from its snares, one maybe permitted to perceive 
 its ludicrous aspect, and amuse oneself inwardly as I did 
 in replenishing the countess's plate ; she was seated at 
 my right hand, and treated by us all with every appear- 
 ance of tlie most devoted hospitality. Ninie's chair had 
 been placed next to her's ; she insisted, however, with a 
 great deal of affectation, on her sitting next to Mademoi- 
 selle de Nives. 
 
 "By the side of Suzette!" exclaimed the child. 
 " Ah, mamma, liow kind you are ! " 
 
 " These are the first affectionate w^ords she has ad- 
 dressed to me in her life," said Madame Alix to me in 
 a low voice. 
 
 " They will not be the last,"" I replied. " She was 
 left to your servants too much, and learned distrust and 
 rebellion from their evil example. Now she will be 
 brought up in the right way by generous souls, and will 
 learn to respect you." 
 
 Very much at ease in regard to future proceedings, 
 we put Madame de Nives into her carriage at dusk, and 
 Marie placed the child in her arms for the last time, 
 promising to see her again in a fortnight. Madame Alix 
 pretended to be much affected at parting with her child, 
 and made the movements of a person whose sobs pre- 
 vent utterance ; then turning to me while giving back 
 
162 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 Ninie — "Remember," she said, "I must have a mort- 
 gage." 
 
 As the carriage departed I indulged in an immoder- 
 ate outburst of laughter, which amazed Miette and my 
 wife, the one as simple-hearted as the other, aad all dis" 
 posed to be sympathetic. ^ 
 
 " Indeed, M. Chantebel, your keart is too hard ! " 
 cried Bebelle ; for, following Mademoiselle Mnie's ex- 
 ample, we all called my wife by this nickname. 
 
 " Oh, you wise woman ! " I replied, "you are pitying 
 the vulture that digests comfortably the fortune that has 
 been given her with the dinner that has been served for 
 her."' 
 
 When I had talked freely with my dear family,, Jac- 
 ques Ormonde raised an objection to one part of my 
 plan. " I ask nothing better," he said, " than to return 
 to Champgousse, where I am thoroughly domesticated ; 
 but I confess that I am no longer so eager to build a 
 house there for my own use ^ince Mademoiselle Marie 
 prefers to live in her chateau, and I have no reason for 
 regretting my small farm. The country is not lively, 
 and my dog-hole is already becoming too contracted for 
 me, though all by myself. I think that, even for a fort- 
 night, Henri, whom you condemn to this exile, will be 
 very uncomfortable. I propose an amendment; two 
 beds can be carried to the Tower of Percemont, we shall 
 be pleasantly located there, and nearer you, while the 
 proprieties will be equally observed." 
 
 " Ko, that is too near," I replied. " We all need a 
 .short season of reflective and philosophical retirement 
 before being reunited in the intoxication of happiness ; 
 but I will soften the sentence, for I also lind Champ- 
 gousse too far off, and I would like to have you. both 
 where I can conveniently discuss with you questioi.s of 
 
THE TOWER OF FERCEMONT. 163 
 
 importance in regard to future arrangements. Henri 
 admires Yignolette, which is within a stone's throw, and 
 Ave need Emelie at our house for all kinds of preparatir as. 
 She must stay here, and you will reside at your sister's 
 w4th my son." 
 
 This conclusion was adopted, and we found it very 
 convenient to dine together every Sunday either at Vigno- 
 let.te or at my house. 
 
 I plainly foresaw that Jacques's marriage could not 
 take place until six weeks. We needed that time to 
 regulate the settlement of ^N'inie's fortune, and the con- 
 ditions on which it was to be held. And then I did not 
 wish to hurry this marriage which had been brought 
 about so unexpectedly. I knew, indeed, that Mademoi- 
 selle de Nives would have no reason to repent of her 
 choice, but for all that she needed time for reflection, 
 and I wished to devote all the time possible to her' intel- 
 lectual and moral education. 
 
 The dear child made the task easy for me. I dis- 
 cussed with her the dalicate questions concerning love, 
 marriage, and monastic celibacy. I discovered in her 
 some regret for that renunciation that had always been 
 held up to her as a condition of grandeur and purity, and 
 had to destroy many false ideas regarding the world and 
 domestic life. She could not have, and did not have, 
 any systematic defence ; she was, fortunately, very igno- 
 rant. I had nothing to combat but an exaltation of ^ 
 feeling ; I made her understand that the most important 
 employment of our powers and resources is to bring up 
 a family and to give to humanity members worthy the 
 name of men. I initiated her into a respect for that ^ 
 sacred law which she had been educated to regard as the 
 worst thing possible for the true purpose and attainments 
 of the soul. She listened to me with surprise, but also 
 
164 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 with earnest interest, and, very sensible to the good in- 
 fluence of intelligible and friendly words, declared that 
 no teacher had ever moved and delighted her as I did. 
 
 The excellent Emilie, on her side, gave her the neces- 
 sary instruction. She had already undertaken at Vigno- 
 lette to interest her in a judicious course of reading ; but, 
 preoccupied or over-excited, the pupil had fatigued the 
 mistress to no. purpose. Now she was attentive and do- 
 cile. Intelligence was not wanting, and I must say that 
 Miett^ with her serene simplicity was an admirable 
 teacher. Miette liked to do well everything she under- 
 cook. At the convent, which she entered as a peasant, 
 she came out knowing everything better than her compan- 
 ions, and she had continued her studies since her return 
 to her own home. She had always consulted me in the 
 choice of books, and, when she had read them, came to 
 discuss them with me, to present her objections, and to 
 ask me to solve them. I saw then that she had read, and 
 read well, and admired the peaceful harmony that reigned 
 in her brain, which still retained its freshness and healthy 
 action in spite of the constant exercise of the will and the 
 rigid performance of moral obligations. I understood 
 perfectly the worth of the woman I wished to bestow upon 
 my son ; and Mademoiselle de Nives, who until the 
 present time had known only the patience and kindness 
 of heart, now comprehended the superiority of her com- 
 panion. At the end of a month she knew enough to have 
 no longer the resource of saying she was too ignorant to 
 be judicious. 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 166 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Whei?^ Marie was twenty-one years old, that is about 
 a fortnight after she took up her abode with me, and 
 when all her affairs were settled, signed, authenticated, 
 and terminated, and when Madame Alix, satisfied and 
 delighted, had taken flight for Monaco, where she wished 
 to pass the winter, Jacques Ormonde came with Henri to 
 take possession of the Tower of Percemont. The weather 
 was still fine, the chimneys did not smoke, and we saw 
 each other every day. Mademoiselle Ninie went to make 
 boats with her sister as often as she wis-hed, and Bdbelle 
 had the table well served all the time without giving her- 
 self any trouble, and without having dramatic scenes with 
 the cook. Miette, after finishing her duty as teacher, 
 hastened to pluck a partridge or make butter. Nothing 
 was ever behindhand for a moment, even when my wife, 
 who had a restless nature, anticipated the time fixed by 
 herself for such a piece of work. Besides, Miette pre- 
 served without effort a blind submission, which is the 
 sine qua non towards a provincial mother-in-law, and 
 Bdbelle thenceforth, finding herself satisfied in her legiti- 
 mate pride as a housewife, gave the absolute government 
 of the household into my niece's hands, and avowed that 
 repose was occasionally very pleasant. 
 
 Jacques Ormonde, during this time, was receiving 
 great benefit from Henri's influence. Their tete-Ortete at 
 Vignolette had been employed in mutual comprehension 
 and appreciation of each other. 
 
 " We did not think of running about or of shooting," 
 
166 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT, 
 
 said Jacques. " Would you believe that we shut our- 
 selves lip at Vignolette like two hermits, and that the 
 only exercise we took was to walk in the vineyards or 
 the garden while we talked together from morning till 
 evening? We had so much to say to each other ! Truly 
 we were but little acquainted before. Henri confessed to 
 me that he thought I was all stomach. I owned to him 
 that I thought he was all brain. 
 
 We discovered that we had, above all, hearts that un- 
 derstood each other perfectly. Emilie will find her cellar 
 in as good order as when she gave us the keys. We 
 drank nothing but the water of Anval. We felt from tte 
 beginning that we were sufficiently excited by the stirring 
 emotions our souls had experienced." 
 
 "This is the reason you look refreshed, and like one 
 rejuvenated. Continue this regimen,, my dear boy, and 
 in a few weeks time you will again become the handsome 
 Jacquet." 
 
 "isTever fear, uncle; I see now how it happens that, 
 after having been the favorite of so many women who 
 were good judges, I ran aground against a little schoolgirl 
 who, without your aid, never would have loved me. I 
 must now recover the power of pleasing. I have no desire 
 to make myself a laughing-stock the first time I kiss my 
 intended wife." 
 
 " Add oiie thing more," said Henri ; " that you made 
 sober reflections upon the duties of life, such as you 
 never took time to make before ! We make mutual con- 
 fessions ; one was no better than the other ; but we 
 touched upon each other's faults more lightly. "You were 
 too lenient? I was too severe ; we mean, however, to 
 walk henceforth in the true path, and, if our life is not 
 beautiful and good, I hope it will not be our fault anv 
 longer." 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 167 
 
 Jacques left us to join Marie and Ninie — who,' very 
 conveniently, clung to her sister like a shadow — in gather 
 ing the fresh bouquet that every day adorned our family 
 table. The frost was not yet severe. The garden still 
 contained some splendid chinaasters, model tea-roses, 
 mignonette and heliotrope, in abundance, and many 
 varieties of mallows, the beautiful, curled leaves of 
 which enliven and embellish the pyramids of fruit at 
 dessert. ^ 
 
 " Come, now," I said to Henri, " what are you going 
 to tell me of yourself? Tou have said nothing to Miette, 
 I know—" • 
 
 " And I shall say nothing to her," he replied. " I 
 cannot think of ^the proper words, my heart is too full. I 
 found again at Yignolette all the sweetness of my first in- 
 toxication ; every leaf, every blade of grass, was a page of 
 my life, and brouo^lit back to me a pure and burning image 
 of the past. Emilie's abode is a sanctuary for me. Would 
 you believe tliat 1 did not allow myself to look into her 
 chamber, even from the outside, though the casements 
 were often left open ? I was contented with examining 
 the embroidery on her furniture ; every stitch patiently 
 shaded and brought into line was a reproach to the hours 
 I had lost or employed unworthily when far away from 
 her. What a frightful contrast there is between the life 
 of a pure girl and a gay young man, even among the 
 least depraved of his class ! Emilie is already twenty- 
 two years old ; she has passed three or four years in 
 waiting to see if my will and pleasure would bring me 
 back to her, the most trying years, perhaps, in a woman's 
 life ! She has risen above the endurance of solitude, or 
 has accepted it ; a glance at the velvet-down of her cheeks, 
 at the purity of her smooth eyelids and rosy lips, gives 
 abundant proof that an immodest idea, or simply a bold 
 
168 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 one, has never tlirown its shadow over this flower, this 
 precious diamond. 
 
 " Jacques, in his hours of unreserved confidence, con- 
 fessed his many indiscretions, and I did not laugh, for I 
 remembered my own shortcomings. If I have become 
 reconciled with myself on account of my good resolutions. 
 I cannot yet get rid of a feeling of shame in Emilie's pres- 
 ence. Here we are reunited at last, living under each 
 other's eyes. Every moment when I can approach her 
 without being intrusive, I seek her smile, offer my assist- 
 ance, or talk with her of old times, that is, of our Old and 
 happy love ! I see plainly she has not forgotten the en- 
 joyment of the past ; she is pleased with my good memory? 
 and smiles or sighs at the remembrance of our childish 
 joys and sorrows. She understands, certainly, that I am 
 not ardently reviving all this past in order to bury it in 
 barren regret ; but when I am ready to put into the pres- 
 ent the word happiness, I perceive tlie necessity of com- 
 mencing with that oi forgiveness, and feeling that years 
 of reparation can alone give me this right. I cannot say 
 a single^word. When, then, alas ! shall I see tlie day 
 draw near, in which I can say to her, ' Be my wife ! ' " 
 
 *' Do not be so foolish," I said to him. " Ignore your 
 scruples, and ask her at the first opportunity." 
 
 Shortly afterwards, Emilie passed us with a basket of 
 ripe grapes gracefully posed upon her head. If she had 
 been a coquette, she could not have chosen a richer or more 
 becoming headdress. The delicate vine branches, with 
 their varied shades of vivid color, hung down over her 
 dark hair, and the grapes, brilliant as garnets, formed a 
 diadem on her beautiful brow, as pure and proud as that 
 of a chaste nymph. 
 
 "Miette," said Henri, who drew her towards me, " will 
 you be wholly the daughter of your uncle, who loves 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 169 
 
 you SO much, and the wife of your eousin, who adores 
 you." 
 
 " If you think I deserve the happiness of being yours 
 for ever," replied Miette, putting her arms ait)und my 
 neck, " take me, I belong to you." 
 
 The two marriages took place on the same day, and 
 the two weddings made but one at the Maison-Blanclie ; 
 tlien Henri and his wife went to pass a few days in theii- 
 beloved solitude at Vignolette. Marie and her husband 
 went away with Ninie to commence housekeeping in the 
 fine old Chateau de IsTives, which they were obliged to 
 refurnish, for Madame Alix had naturally carried every- 
 thing away, even to the tongs. Jacques appreciated the 
 value of money, but he had the good sense to sympa- 
 thize in his wife's disinterestedness, and, instead of being 
 indignant, his feelings found expression in loud bursts of 
 laughter, so that the avaricious despoliation of their home 
 was for several days a source of much mirth. 
 
 Besides, everything was not lost. One evening Marie 
 said to Jacques : " Take a pickaxe and shovel and we 
 will explore the park. I intend, if my memory does not 
 fail me, to give you the pleasure of digging up a treas- 
 ure." 
 
 She searched a few minutes among the ferns which 
 covered a remote corner of the park, and suddenly ex- 
 claimed : " This must be the place ; here is the old box- 
 wood tree ; this is the j^lace ; work away ! " 
 
 Jacques turned up the ground as she directed, and 
 found an iron-bound casket, containing the diamonds of 
 the late Countess de Nives. Some days .before her 
 death, foreseeing the ambition or distrusting the rapa- 
 cious instincts of her successor, she had confided her secret 
 to an old gardener, and had made him conceal her family 
 jewels in this spot, directing him to inform her daughter 
 
170 THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 
 
 of the hidden treasure at a proper time. The gardener 
 died a little while after ; but his aged wife had shown the 
 place to Marie, who had not forgotten it ; to her these 
 diamonds were doubly precious as imperishable souvenirs 
 of her mother. 
 
 However, the newly-married pair were somewhat 
 straightened pecuniarily during the first year of their 
 marriage, but they scarcely perceived it. They were 
 happy; they dearly loved Ninie, who repaid their devo- 
 tion, and, though until this time she had been small and 
 delicate, she soon became as plump as a skylark in full 
 corn and as bright as a rose in the warm sunshine. 
 
 At the return of the fine season, I determined to cele- 
 brate St. John's day with all my family gathered around 
 me, for 3t. John was my wife's patron saint. As all the 
 young people were going to pass the day with us, I ar- 
 ranged a pleasant surprise, by giving them an elegant 
 lunch at the Tower of Percemont. Henri had not 
 welcomed the idea of shutting himself up permanently 
 on this rock, for its isolation would interfere with our 
 frequent intercourse ; but, as it was one of the favorite 
 goals for our walks, I had several rooms cleared up and 
 furnished, particularly an elegant dining-room, where 
 the table was set on a carpet of rose-leaves of different 
 colors. 
 
 This Tower of Percemont was still a source of con- 
 siderable pleasure to my wife, who liked to say to her 
 friends, with a consequential air : " We do not live in it, 
 we prefer our own house; these things are only superflu- 
 ities with us." As for myself, I pardoned the old donjon 
 the slight vexations it had caused me. In it I had obtained 
 the greatest success of my life — a success gained by per- 
 suasion. It had decided the happiness of my children, 
 
THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT. 171 
 
 as well as that of poor little Leonie, who deserved to be 
 loved — the sacred right of children. 
 
 All my dear guests met there once more in the enjoy- 
 ment of a happiness that was touching to behold. Some 
 letters were brought to rae at dessert. The first that I 
 opened was one announcing the marriage of the Countess 
 Alix de Nives with M. Stuarton, an Englishman, hump- 
 backed and rickety, but reputed to be worth millions. I 
 liad met him in Paris when I was a young man, and he 
 had then reached maturity. Our inconsolable widow 
 had undertaken to take care of him, with the hope of in- 
 heriting his fortune in a short time. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Madame Ormonde, in great consterna- 
 tion, " she is now richer than I am, and she will take Ninie 
 away from me ! " 
 
 " Do not be uneasy," I said ; " that which is good to 
 take is good to keep. Madame Alixwill soon be a widow, 
 and N'inie would be a restraint upon her when seeking 
 a third husband." 
 
M A R I-A N N E 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Where can your thoughts be, Sleeping Beauty, as 
 you ride along the groves on that lean shaggy horse of 
 yours ? I call you Beauty, yet you are not really hand- 
 some ; you are t^'"> . lall and pale, and you want anima- 
 tion, there is not ch ' st sparkle in your large dark eyes. 
 But what can be ti >ject of your ride, or the subject 
 of your thoughts, as you pass along the groves without 
 a suspicion of any one being there to see you? Your 
 eyes look straight before them, gazing into the distance. 
 Maybe your thoughts travel as far, or maybe they slumber, 
 centerd in self!" 
 
 ' So soliloquized Pierre Andr^, as Marianne Chevreuse, 
 after slowly descending the hill beneath the walnut-trees, 
 passed between him and the stream, and vanished at a 
 hand gallop round the rocks, at the bend of the road. 
 
 Marianne was a young lady born in the country, who 
 owned a good farm, yielding an income of five thousand 
 francs or so, which represented a capital of two hundred 
 thousand in that part of the world. She was considered 
 
174 MARIANNE. 
 
 a tolerable match, yet she had reached the age of five and 
 twenty without marrying. People said she was too fas- 
 tidious, and somewhat eccentric, a failing far more dan- 
 gerous than a vice in the eyes of her neighbors. They 
 condemned her predilection for a hermit life, and could 
 not at all understand how, when left an orphan at the 
 age of twenty-two, she could have refused the offer made 
 by her relations in town, an uncle and two aunts, to say 
 nothing of three or four cousins, to take her to live with 
 them and bring her out in society, where she might have 
 had the opportunity of making a good match. 
 
 La Faille-sur-Gouvre was not an insignificant town. 
 It had a population of four thousand; about thirty middle- 
 class families, each worth from one to three hundred 
 thousand francs, besides some well to do and highly re- 
 spectable officials, in short, a circle, in which an heiress, 
 however fastidious, might find some one to her fancy. 
 Yet Marianne had preferred to live^one in the country 
 house, which had been left her by her parents, in good 
 repair and comfortably furnished, charmingly situatedin 
 an almost uninhabited tract of hill and woodland about 
 two miles out of La Faille sur-Gouvre. 
 
 This district, which lies near the centre of France, was 
 remarkably quiet in character, especially fifty years ago, 
 the date of this simple story. No gloomy drama had oc- 
 curred there within the memory of man. Its peasantry 
 are peaceful and well-disposed : they own their land, and 
 mutually respect each other's rights. And yet houses 
 are sparselyr scattered over the district inhabited by Mari- 
 anne and Pierre Andr^, owing to the large tracts of 
 moorland and coppice which are unproductive, and belong 
 moreover in large lots to the principal families of the 
 province. 
 
 Pierre Andr^ \7as nearly forty, and had been leading 
 
MARIANNE. 175 
 
 a retired country life for the last year only, not far from 
 Marianne Chevreuse, in a modest cottage, which he had 
 been altering with the intention of ending his days there. 
 Thus, while the young lady seemed about to enter on a 
 life of solitude and dreams, seeking perhaps in the future 
 for a solution which she had not yet found, the mature 
 neighbor, who was her godfather, and had been her early 
 friend, seemed to have severed every link that bound him 
 to the past, and to look for notliiiig but repose and ob- 
 livion in a retreat that suited his f;iucy. 
 
 And yet Pierre Andre had been ambitious like other 
 men. He was intelligent and studious, and had felt equal 
 to anything in his youth. His mother had been proud 
 of his early progress, and was ready to believe that he 
 might turn out a great man. His father, who was poor 
 and miserly, had consented, with much reluctance, to al- 
 low him to go and study law at Paris ; but the poor fellow 
 was kept so short of money that he had led a hard life of 
 privation, without seeing any hope of raising himself 
 above his cruel lot. He was an excelent talker, and a 
 still better writer, but tormented with a bashfulness which 
 formed a complete obstacle to his appearing in public, 
 or becoming known beyond his immediate circle of friends. 
 It was useless for him to think of the bar, and as to be- 
 coming an attorney or notary, beside his horror of legal 
 quibbles, he felt convinced that his father would never 
 consent to part with his small estate to secure him a 
 practice. Even had he been willing to make this sacri- 
 fice, Pierre would not have accepted it, feeling that he 
 lacked that special aptitude which could not assure his 
 repaying his parents. He completed his legal course from 
 a sense of duty, and then betook himself to other studies, 
 but pursued none sufficiently closely to make it remuner- 
 ative. He was fond of natural science, and mastered its 
 
176 MARIANNE. 
 
 principal elements withno object beyond the exercise of 
 liis intellectual faculties and powers of observation. He 
 had a gift for composition, and wrote a great deal, but 
 published nothing, fearing that his productions w^ere only 
 second-rate. At length he met with something to suit 
 him, in an engagement as travelling tutor to two young 
 men of good position. 
 
 CHAPTER II. ' 
 
 It had been Pierre's dream to travel. He was a valu- 
 able travelling companion, communicating to his pupils 
 just ideas of history and natural science in an agreeable 
 way. He travelled with them all over Europe and part 
 of Asia, and was recalled by their father's serious illness. 
 His recovery left him so infirm that his sons were obliged 
 to take his place at the head of their banking-house, and 
 thus Pierre Andre's engagement came to an end. 
 
 He was then five and thirty and had put by ten thou- 
 sand francs ; his parents besought him to invest his money 
 in land and come and settle near them. He spent some 
 weeks with them, but soon gi-ew wearied of a restricted 
 life, quite foreign to his habits. He had acquired a taste 
 for roving, and soon went off to Spain, which he had not 
 fully explored ; thence he crossed to Africa, and when 
 he had oome to the end of his savings he returned to 
 Paris in search of fresh employment. Fortune did not 
 favor him ; he could only hear of paltry posts in the 
 various government offices, and was forced to return to 
 the dull treadmill life he knew only too well, working for 
 
MARIANNE, 177 
 
 his livelihood and asking himself what was the use of 
 living to protract such a hard, monotonous, colorless ex- 
 istence. 
 
 His father's sudden death, which followed on a lin- 
 gering illness presenting no alarming symptoms, brought 
 him back to his aged mother in the barren valleys ©f the 
 Gouvre. 
 
 The poor woman had gone on cherishing her illusions 
 respecting him, and was horrified to find that he had 
 nothing to show for so many years of toil and exile, and 
 thought himself happy in having contrived to exist on a 
 scanty income without running into debt. She accused 
 Paris, government, and society in general, of injustice 
 and blindness in failing to recognize her son's merits. 
 He never could make her see, that to elbow one's way 
 through the crowd requires either great interest or great 
 audacity, and that he was deficient in the latter qualifica- 
 tion. His manner was lively, frank, and playful, but a 
 want of self-confidence lurked beneath. He shrank from 
 the ridicule which is heaped on unsuccessful ambition, 
 and was too proud to complain or ask for assistance. 
 He veiled his misery so proudly, that some of his friends 
 never suspected his sufferings and failed to offer a help- 
 ing or soothing hand, fancying that, thanks to his nat- 
 ural moderation and philosophic gayety, he was better off 
 than themselves. 
 
 Yet Pierre had suffered keenly, less from the material 
 privations on which his mind refused to dwell, than on 
 the sad implacable solitude which gathers round a poor 
 obscure man. His temperament was enthusiastic and 
 artistic, but his feelings and inspirations found no outlet. 
 He enjoyed the theatre, but could not afford to indulge 
 his taste. He was fond of paintings and a good judge ; 
 but in order to enter on the requisite course of study, 
 
178 MARIANNE, ' 
 
 he must liavehad means of subsistence, and he was forced 
 to earn his daily bread. He was a passionate politician 
 without any medium for communicating his ideas, and 
 too much of a sceptic to become the hanger-on of any 
 man or party. His love had been an intense but hopeless 
 passion, devoted to superior beings exalted far above 
 him. For months his enthusiasm was lavished on Pasta, 
 whom he had seen once or twice on the stage, and every 
 night that she acted, he waited at the door of the theatre, 
 to see her flit past. Then he had fallen in love with 
 Mademoiselle Mars, and dreamed of her voice and eyes 
 till he became ill with desperation. 
 
 In his passion for these stars, he forgot to look at 
 what came beneath his eyes, and when an opportunity 
 for a reasonable attachment presented itself, said that 
 reason and love were opposed. His enthusiasm then 
 reverted to the grand scenery in which he had once rev- 
 elled, and he craved for another sight of the Alps or 
 the Pyrenees ; he asked himself why he should not ac- 
 quire the cynicism of the Bohemian, or why he should 
 cling to the absurd vanities of wearing clean linen and 
 looking well dressed, when it was so easy to run about 
 the world in rags and hold out one's hand to the passers- 
 by ? He envied the lot of the vagabond who penetrates 
 the desert, content to receive hospitality from' the savage, 
 ready to lie down artd sleep beneath the starlit skv, and 
 happy if he can but walk on and see a fresh scene every 
 day. 
 
 In these moments of disgust and weariness, he told 
 himself despondingly that his was a thoroughly common- 
 place nature, without will, energy, or conviction, inca- 
 pable of the grand resolve which forces its own way ; that 
 he was a country boor who had strayed out of bounds, 
 capable of revelling in the splendors of nature and art, 
 
MARIANNE. 179 
 
 but too proud or too timid to make a desperate plunge, 
 and a slave to public opinion. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 Humiliated by his incapacity to acquire the means 
 of independence in the heart of civilization, Pierre had 
 returned to the home of his childhood, glad to accept the 
 first great duty devolving on him of consoling and sus- 
 taining his mother's declining years. His first wish was 
 to secure her from the privations which had fallen to his 
 own lot. It did not take much to feed and clothe the 
 good woman, but her health was endangered by the di- 
 lapidated state of the house which she had occupied for 
 fifty years. Pierre had it enlarged and put into repair, 
 which swallowed up the greater part of a bag of old 
 coins found in his father's desk. 
 
 Dolmor (for such was the name of the estate, dating 
 perhaps from druidical times), was worth about fifty 
 thousand francs. The income yielded by this small cap- 
 ital was sufficient in those days to maintain a small family 
 in the country in tolerable comfort, allowing them to 
 eat meat once or twice in the week, while their own 
 establishment supplied them with eggs, vegetables, and 
 some dairy produce. One man-servant was all that was 
 required, if they kept a horse, for the housewife attended 
 herself to the cooking and housework, with the assist- 
 ance of the farmer's wife. A horse was an unusual 
 luxury in those days. The farmer's brood mare took 
 the family where they needed to go, and its keep was 
 part of the working expenses of the farm. Nowadays 
 
180 MARIANNE, 
 
 every well to do peasant keeps a horse and cart. In 
 1825 it was a subject of astonishment to meet a villager 
 furnished with an umbrella, and the wife of the small 
 proprietor went to town mounted on a pillion behind her 
 farmer or ploughboy. 
 
 Mademoiselle Chevreuse was much better off than 
 Andr^, but she scandalized the neighborhood by being 
 so bold as to ride alone on horseback, and her side-sad- 
 dle was an object of curiosity as she passed along the 
 roads. Her steed was however very unpretending, only 
 a young mare bred in her own meadows and taught to 
 follow her about like a dog. Her farm-bailiff had re- 
 monstrated when she declared her intention of keeping 
 the animal for her own use. She had been obliged to 
 pay him half its value, and this did not prevent every 
 soul employed on the farm from lamenting over the 
 perils which their young lady was about to incur. The 
 mare was an ugly beast and remained lean in spite of 
 every attention from its mistress ; it was a true moor- 
 land horse, spirited but steady, prompt in action, sure- 
 footed on bad roads, playful but never vicious, fearless 
 and docile to the mistress to whom it was attached, but 
 not disposed to allow any one else to mount on its back. 
 
 Marianne, in her solitary life, felt the need of inter- 
 course, were it but for one hour in the day, with educa,ted 
 people. There was some connection between her family 
 and Pierre's, and she had kept up an intimacy with old 
 Madame Andre. She was in the habit of going every 
 evening to play draughts or chat with her until her bed- 
 time, which was nine o'clock at the latest. Then Mari- 
 anne galloped home by herself in a few minutes, thanks 
 to Suzon's quick steady paces, the mare knowing the 
 road too well to stumble over a stone in the darkest 
 night. 
 
MARIANNE. 181 
 
 Pierre had known Marianne from her infancy. When 
 he was a big schoolboy and came home for the holidays. 
 Marianne was learning to toddle, and he used to carry 
 her in his arms or on his back. Year by year he had 
 found her grown without losing his familiarity with her, 
 then his visits to the country had been at longer intervals 
 and, noticing that the little neighbor's beauty was not 
 fulfilling the promise of her childhood, he fancied her, 
 suffering from some chronic complaint, and was kind and 
 thoughtful for her. After this he was not seen for fully 
 five years, and when he at length came to settle abso- 
 lutely at Dolmor, his godchild was found at his old 
 mother's side, doing her best to cheer her and help hei 
 while awaiting the return of her long looked-for son. 
 Upon the latter's arrival, Marianne altered her habits, 
 and no longer came every evening to amuse and look 
 after the old lady ; the days she chose for her visits were 
 those when Pierre was absent, or when, absorbed in work 
 of some kind, he came and asked her to keep his mother 
 company. 
 
 This had gone on for a year without Pierre ever 
 troubhng his head much about Marianne. When he came 
 into the country he was weighed down with two heavy " 
 burdens, disgust with the disappointments of his past 
 life, and fear of a future which presented no gleam of 
 hope. He could not conceal from himself that the life 
 which had already languished in abstaining from pleasure 
 would become still more insupportable unless he could 
 contrive utterly to extinguish the very dream of pleasure 
 in the future. He had determined to submit to his fate, 
 not to fight against the impossible, to make his expecta- 
 tions as modest as his achievements, to try to become 
 selfish, or, at least, a lover of ease, clinging to a secured 
 existence, since the only boon he liad in pi'ospect was an 
 
182 MARIANNE, 
 
 escape from dying of starvation in a garret, or of ex- 
 haustion in a hospital. 
 
 And yet, for the last few days, Pierre Andr6 had been 
 suffering from a kind of fever. The task of completing 
 his house and garden, in which he had been so long 
 absorbed and interested, had nearly come to an end. 
 Besides, he had received a letter, which, for some mysteri- 
 ous reason, had disturbed his mind. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The letter was from Monsieur Jean Gaucher, once a 
 tradesman at La Faille-sur-Gouvre, but established for 
 the last ten years in an excellent business in Paris. 
 
 " My dear AiTDRE : 
 
 I am about to ask of you a great 
 favor, which will probably only cost you a few words. 
 You are aware that my son Philip, who is much more 
 volatile and less studious than his younger brother, has 
 devoted himself to painting, and calls himself an artist. 
 He has some taste and talent, a good heart, little judg- 
 ment, and still less prudence. Well, you know what he 
 is and like him well enough. He ought to marry. He 
 has been spending my money pretty freely, and is not in 
 the way of making any yet. Will he ever make any? I 
 begin to doubt it ; but I can settle a hundred thousand 
 fraiics on him, and as he is a handsome good-natured 
 fellow, and comes of a respectable family with an unsullied 
 
MARIANNE. 183 
 
 reputation, he may aspire to the hand of a young lady 
 with^wo hundred thousand. Thus established, he might 
 live without working, since that is his wish, and amuse 
 himself with his painting, since his taste lies that way ; 
 but the lady must not expect too much, and that sort of 
 girl is not often found in Paris. A few are still to be 
 met with in our good old country, and I thought of that 
 little Chevreuse, who inherits a tolerable fortune and has 
 been brought up to a country life. I knew her parents, 
 who were respectable people, and I saw the girl herself 
 last year at La Faille. She is no beauty, but still not 
 bad-looking. Your last letter spoke of her attentions to 
 your mother, and as she is still unmarried, she may easily 
 take a fancy to my son. 
 
 " And so, dear friend, I am sending my Philip down 
 to you for a week. He will be with you by the 7th. He 
 has no aversion to marriage, but would not like a plain 
 or ill-educated woman. He will see Marianne Chevreuse 
 at your house, and if he does not object to her, y^ might 
 arrange the matter before he leaves or directly after. I 
 rely on your old friendship, and shall be glad to assist you 
 in return." 
 
 Why should this plain mercantile letter have irritated 
 Pierre Andre so much ? To begin with, he felt as if 
 Monsieur Jean Gaucher were treating him very cavalierly. 
 Gaucher was wealthy, and yet, in his greatest straits, 
 Pierre had never felt sufficiently intimate to ask him for 
 the slightest assistance. The friend of his early days 
 might perhaps have guessed without much difficulty at 
 Pierre's position and offered him at any rate some suitable 
 occupation in his house of business. Gaucher was a 
 practical man and had taken care never to let this occur 
 to him, excusing himself by calling Pierre a highly 
 
184 MARIANNE. 
 
 educated man of good position, who was sure to find 
 some better opening. 
 
 Thus Pien-e was under no obligations towards him^ 
 and thought him intrusive in foisting upon him a guest 
 who would probably show him scant gratitude for his 
 hospitality and make him no amends by his society for 
 his loss of time. He knew but little of the young man, 
 and though he called him by his Christian name from 
 having known him when a child, took little interest in 
 him. He had always thought his assurance outstripped 
 his years. Beside all this, it was three or four years since 
 he had set eyes (^n him, nor did he feel that he knew 
 enough about him to recommend him as a husband to any 
 young girl, above all, to Marianne, whom he respected 
 for her irreproachable character, and to whom his affec- 
 tions were drawn through sympathy, gratitude, and th^ 
 paternal feeling which' clings to the title of godfather. 
 
 His first impulse was to reply as follows : 
 
 "My deab Gaucher : 
 
 You throw upon me a responsibility 
 to which I feel quite unequal. Since I have never been 
 able to help myself, how should I help others in such a 
 delicate business as matrimony ? Besides your plan 
 seems to me a doubtful one. -You must have forgotten 
 that Mademoiselle Chevreuse is five-and-twenty, and will 
 probably think Philippe too young for her, even if she 
 has not abandoned all thoughts of parting with her 
 liberty. To cross-examine her on such a subject would 
 seem to me a piece of j^resumption unwarranted by my 
 age—" 
 
 " You old fool,*' exclaimed Pierre Andrd to himself as 
 his pen paused ; " what in the world are you writing ? 
 
MARIANNE. 185 
 
 Gaucher will laugh at you. He is sixty, and fancies 
 every one else the same age. — And then it is all false ! 
 Why should you not speak to your godchild of love and 
 marriage ? She will not be vexed in the least at your 
 troubling yourself about her happiness, and will reply, 
 without a blush or a start, that she is ready to see the 
 suitor in question. And then, supposing she ever heard 
 that you had done your best to keep him at a distance, — 
 what would she think of you ? — No I must not send this 
 letter. I will write that I am obliged to leave home, and 
 must therefore beg the Gaucher s to choose some other 
 agent." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Pierre An'dre tore up his letter, but just afe he was 
 abont to begin another, he remembered that it could not 
 leave La Faille-sur-Gouvre before the following day, that 
 it would be two days in getting to Paris, and would not 
 be delivered until the very day that Philippe was to start 
 for La Faille, possibly not before he left home. It was 
 too late to send a refusal, M. Jean Gaucher had evidently 
 reckoned upon his consent. 
 
 He resigned himself to the situation, and strolled to 
 the banks of the Gouvre, in order to banish his vexation 
 by a walk in the charming meadows watered by this 
 limpid stream. It was there that, hidden among the 
 willows festooned with white con vol villus and wild balsam, 
 he saw Marianne pass, as he had often done without 
 
185 MARIANNE. 
 
 experiencing any peculiar emotion. This time, however, 
 he was disturbed by the sight of her, and instead of 
 hailing her with a friendly greeting, plunged into the 
 covert, and began to question himself with a touch of 
 bitter irony. 
 
 His words were a continuation of the soliloquy with 
 which our story opened, but the soliloquy was a written 
 one, for Pierre enjoyed composition ; he had always felt 
 the spirit of authorship seething within him under the 
 form of impulses which needed expression to make them 
 complete. These secret impulses had tyrannized over his 
 life, but not added to its pleasures, for he generally sup- 
 pressed them without putting them into shape. On this 
 occasion he imagined that he should master his agitation 
 by setting to work to analyze it. 
 
 He was in the habit of carrying about with him a 
 pocketbook of tolerable size, which he often made use of 
 during his morning walk. He jotted down in it remarks 
 on natural history, scenery, and archaelogy, of which he 
 was very fond, and often enriched it with the sketch of 
 some ruin or landscape, and as he made no effort to sup- 
 press his love of nature and art, often found that his 
 descriptions and observations assumed somewhat of ^ 
 literary form. 
 
 " I suffer from dreaminess," said Pierre to himself. 
 " My fancies evaporate like a mist before the sun. It 
 does me good to realize my enjoyment by expressing it. 
 Then why not attempt now to give expression to my 
 sufferings ? For I am suffering, though from what I 
 know not, and I might go on suffering a long while with- 
 out finding out the cause. Let me cast away all vague- 
 ness and ignorance, and learn what it really is ! If I can 
 put it into shape, its existence is proved ; if not, it is 
 nothing and will soon pass." 
 
MARIANNE. 187 
 
 So saying, Pierre had cut his pencil and opened his 
 notebook : sitting on the grass in the shade of the Avillows 
 and alders, he wrote as follows : 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " I HAVE been suffering from weariness for the last 
 week. My hermitage does not realize my fair dreams. I 
 should have liked to see it covered with moss and hung 
 with vines and clematis. Until the creepers I have 
 planted are grown up, I shall see nothing but staring 
 white walls, and bright new bricks. Fortunately my 
 mothers admires it all, and looks forward to living many 
 years in this place. Poor dear old soul ! Long may she 
 live to take pride and pleasure in it while I submit to the 
 terrible wearisomeness which will probably mark me for 
 its prey ! 
 
 " Probably, I say, for who knows ? — I have long fan- 
 cied that having such a strong faculty for ambition and 
 regret, I should have one for calmness and resignation 
 likewise ; but I have lost my balance or perhaps have 
 never been rightly hung. Am I too old or too young ? 
 Worn out or crushed ? What matter if the result be the 
 same? 
 
 " I seem rather to have been consumed. I have been 
 half eaten by the wild beasts, and what is left of my heart 
 only serves to make me feel how much of it is gone. But 
 what is the use of these complaints, these vain cries ? 
 Who will ever hear them ? My mother must be kept in 
 ignorance, then what heart can ever sympathize with my 
 wounds ? 
 
188 MARIANNE, 
 
 "Marianne — Well, what of Marianne? She came 
 into my head because she is the only person, beside my 
 mother, with whom I am on terras of intimacy ; but the 
 distance between us is too great for her to play a part in 
 my dreams ; we differ in age, in experience and habits of 
 thought. And yet Marianjae looks thoughtful, but she 
 says so little ! Her face and manner never give any sign 
 of expansion. 
 
 " I think she is happy. There is a surprising equa- 
 nimity in her disposition. Her health which seems so 
 fragile and used to make me so anxious, never fails her. 
 She never suffers from heat, cold, rain, snow, long rides, 
 or midnight vigils, ^le must have passed many a night 
 by a sickbed, especially by my father's. My mother was 
 prostrate with fatigue, but Marianne was always active 
 and impassive. She is not very sensitive, and did not 
 weep when she saw my mother in tears ; but she was 
 always on the spot and managed to keep up her spirits. 
 She is certainly kind and generous, faithful and cou- 
 rageous. 
 
 *' If I were ten years younger and a hundred thousand 
 francs richer, I should certainly have tried to induce her 
 to become my wife. I should not have fallen in lore 
 with her, at least I think not, but I should have esteemed 
 her highly and trusted her implicitly, and with this I 
 should have been satisfied. — But no, I could never be 
 happy on such conditions. I have loved, and my love 
 was passionate, without hope or power of expression. 
 Love is an enthusiastic state of delirium, a dream which 
 can exist only in an impossible and violent state of things. 
 When its ecstasy and despair have once been realized, 
 there is no charm or virtue in peaceful happy unions to 
 heal the decD wounds it has left. Then why prepare un- 
 
MARIANNE. 189 
 
 happiness for a fine well-disposed young creature who is 
 incapable of these feelings ? 
 
 " As to unhappiness — would Marianne ever be capable 
 of suffering from any fluctuation in the degrees of affec- 
 tion ? — Yes, if she were capable of loving passionately, 
 but probably she is not, A woman's life is subject to 
 the storms of passion and imagination between the age 
 of fifteen and twenty-five, but Marianne has passed 
 through this crisis without uttering a word or giving any 
 indication of feeling. Her nature is either cold or strong ; 
 now she is safe, she has doubled the stormy headland, she 
 is petrified, her tastes and habits are formed ; such are 
 the doubtful benefits of a country life like that we are 
 leading, a calm stupor and happiness which I myself long 
 to attain without any immediate hope of it. 
 
 "Must I then suffer thus another ten long years with- 
 out a hope of growing colder ? Shall I ask Marianne to 
 teach me the secret of her success ? She would not un- 
 derstand me, or would fail to give an answer ; she would 
 think it absurd of me not to understand her, and I am 
 absurd, for I don't understand her in the least. Few 
 men, in fact, know or understand women. Those who 
 fascinate and refuse us remain a mystery. Those on 
 whom we can make an impression lose their charm, and, 
 where our senses are intoxicated, we care little to trace 
 the workings of the soul. In this respect, marriage is a 
 tomb. I rejoice in being too old and poor to be caught 
 in the trap. 
 
 " It just occurs to me that I have not been inspired 
 with one thought of the least value during the quarter of 
 an hour I have been writing this. I have read it over 
 and cannot understand myself, or find the secret spring 
 of my foolish curiosity about Marianne. I am troubled 
 and anxious ; Marianne is serenity itself. What right 
 
190 MARIANNE, 
 
 has she to flit by like a reproach and sarcasm without 
 divining my i)resence or conceiving my unhappiness? 
 She is certainly not armed, as I ought to be, with phil- 
 osophy and experienee ; she is a child by comparison, no 
 struggle has tested her strength, no deception clouded 
 her spirit. 
 
 "Well, that is the real cause of her strength. She 
 has lost none of her powers, she has not fallen a prey to 
 the lions and vultures ; she is intact and her life com- 
 plete ; feeble as the flame within may be, it suffices her, 
 and what I have left serves but to consume me." 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 PiEREE closed his book and replaced it in his pocket. 
 He stood still for some moments, watching the dragonflies 
 as they chased each other over the rippling stream. He 
 noticed the affinity existing between the wings of these 
 handsome insects and the iridescent tints of the running 
 water. Then he discovered a relation between the play 
 of the wavelets and the graceful wheeling of the insects' 
 flight. He took out his book again, and wrote in it some 
 rather pretty verses, calling the dragonflies " daughters 
 of the stream," and " spirits of the flowers ; " then he 
 shrugged his shoulders, scratched out the lines, and strolled 
 towards Dolmor, feeling that his walk had been devoid of 
 pleasure or profit, but also of fatigue or constraint. It 
 was certainly far preferable to the long rounds he had 
 often been obliged to make on some uninteresting errand 
 through the heat and dust of Paris. In those days, 
 
nfARTANNE. 191 
 
 which were not yet far distant, how often had he men- 
 tally ejaculated as he entered some dusty chambers or 
 gloomy counting-house : " Good heavens ! give me a tree 
 on the banks of the Gouvre, and leisure to watch the flow 
 of its clear waters. I ask but little, and that little is denied 
 me ! " "I am an ungrateful fellow," said he, as he 
 walked along. " Here I have my wish gratified, and yet 
 1 am not happy." 
 
 He reached the turn by the rocks, and hurried on 
 with his eyes bent on the ground, watching a fly or a blade 
 of grass and telling himself that everywhere, on these 
 pretty sandy paths bordered with purple heather and 
 spikes of broom, he might evolve a poem or find a drama, 
 whereas, on the pavements of large cities, nothing met 
 his eye but mud and dirt. Then his thoughts fled to the 
 Alps, and he pictured to himself the snow sparkling in the 
 sunlight, and the icy blue pinnacles standing out clear 
 against a rose-tinted sky, — when suddenly, as he fancied 
 liimself arrived at the door of his own cottage, he dis- 
 covered his mistake. At the bend by the rocks he had 
 taken the wrong turn, and it had brought him to the gate 
 of Validat, Marianne's demesne. 
 
 Validat was a well-ordered farm for that district and 
 that epoch, but the manure-heap lay surrounded by an un- 
 drained pool, and the farmer's health was invaded by the 
 denizens of the poultry-yard. It was the season when the 
 cattle had ended their works in the fields, and were not 
 yet turned out to pasture. The hay crops were not yet 
 gathered ; and the poor animals were constrained to take 
 exercise in the yard, which had been closed by a hurdle. 
 The only fastening to these hurdles is a circlet of twigs> 
 interwoven and passed between the first two rails, so as to 
 hang on a nail from a ploughshare, driven into the bark 
 of the old tree which does duty as a stake. On raising this 
 
192 ' MARIANNE, 
 
 circlet, the long heavy hurdle swings back on its hinges, 
 which are fastened to some other tree or stump. The 
 fence is a bank surmounted by a quick set hedge, or a 
 hedge of dried thorns, cut and stuck evenly into the 
 beaten soil The one surrounding Validat was old and 
 very pretty, formed of plants which had grown up by 
 chance in the rich soil, black thorn and white thorn, elders? 
 flowering brambles, hazels and oak saplings, spreading 
 out on either hand a long branch to interlace with the ad- 
 jacent stakes, while the wild hop and briony festooned 
 the whole. The banks were covered with velvety moss, 
 and the little ditch was green with watercress, veronica, 
 and arrowiieads 
 
 Pierre, finding that he had lost his way, aud saying to 
 himself that it was useless to disturb Marianne when he 
 had nothing of importance to tell her, did not lift the cir- 
 clet of twigs which served as the padlock to her gate but 
 retraced his steps, vexed at having been so absent- 
 minded. 
 
 The young lady's sitting-room, howerer, had certainly 
 a back door which opened on the farmyard, but it faced 
 the contrary w^ay and looked out on the garden, which lay 
 to the south. The master's dwelling consisting of only 
 one story, generally looks upon the farmyard, the manure 
 heap, the laborers at their work, and the cattle all which 
 he loves to keep under constant surveillance. 
 
 Marianne had altered this arrangement and blocked 
 up the windows, merely reserving a door as a medium of 
 prompt communication with her servants. She had 
 thrown out a new window and opened a glass door on the 
 opposite side of the building. The dark wall of the house 
 on that side was enlivened by a large yellow jessamine, a 
 scented clematis which twined into countless festoons, 
 and tall hollyhocks of every color. She had had the 
 
MARIANNE. 193 
 
 ground levelled for a width of fifteen feet, ana a roof of 
 tiles protected this species of veranda, enclosed by flowers 
 and shrubs, from the damp, while a shady walk led down 
 from the centre of it to the bottom of the garden. The 
 garden was not large, though pretty and differed little from 
 that of any well-to-do peasant in the district ; there were 
 a few plots of vegetables, bordered with pinks and roses, 
 and edged with thyme and lavender ; in one corner grew 
 the old box-tree to furnish branches for Palm Sunday ; 
 beyond this the fine turf of the orchard was thickly shaded 
 by trees, and the whole was surrounded by the usual vine- 
 covered arbor, enclosed by a hedge resembling that round 
 the farm-yard and a fence made up with dry thorns. 
 
 In this quiet garden Marianne Chevreuse sat with her 
 book or sewing when not engaged in household work. She 
 was just walking under the vine-clad arbor as Pierre 
 Andre passed along the road beneath on his way back 
 to his own house. Their eyes met with surprise on both 
 sides, and they exchanged greetings in some embarrass- 
 ment. Pierre, only half conscious of being ill at ease him- 
 self, could not understand why Marianne should be so, 
 and supposed the awkwardness of his salutation must 
 have infected her. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Marianne asked Andrd after his motlier. " She is 
 qnite well," replied, he " only longing for a sight of you. 
 Do you know how rare your visits have become ? We 
 have seen nothing of our little neighbor for the last 
 week." 
 
194 MARIANNE. 
 
 " You have not been away for a week, have you ? " 
 
 "I have not been away at all. My journeys about my 
 garden and building have come to an end. It is all done 
 now, and I hope to stay with my mother and give her my 
 company. Is that any reason why you should deprive 
 us of yours ? " 
 
 " It would be no great loss to you ; but if Madame 
 Andre misses me, I am ready to come whenever she sends 
 for me." 
 
 " You must come child ! My poor mother does not 
 find it easy to get beyond her garden. She can scarcely 
 come to see you, but if you desert her she will miss you." 
 
 " I have no thoughts of deserting her, but I fancied 
 she preferred your society to mine, and that if I come 
 too often, I might be in your way." 
 
 "In our way? What an absurd idea, when you are 
 one of us ! " As Marianne made no reply, Andre sud- 
 denly plunged, without intending into what lay on his 
 mind. " Yes, Marianne," he went on to say, " you have 
 become rather strange of late, and I can't quite make you 
 out. May I speak freely ? Have you time to listen and 
 answer ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am listening to you." 
 
 " It is not very convenient to have to raise my voice 
 and talk to you through the hedge. May I come in ? '* 
 
 " If you will go on to the fence, I will join you." 
 
 Marianne ran forward and arrived first. She adroitly 
 removed the bundle of thorns without pricking herself, 
 clambered over the fence and alighted on the little green 
 pathway, where Andre found her ready to listen to him. 
 "You seem to allow no intruders in your garden?" said 
 he. " I thought you would have invited me in." 
 
 " My garden is an ugly one, and yet I am fond of it. 
 
MARIANNE. 195 
 
 But you, with your good taste, would laugh at it, and 
 then I should feel annoyed — " 
 
 " Did I not say what a strange creature you were ? '* 
 
 " I did not know I was ; you never made the remark 
 before in iny hearing." 
 
 " To begin with, why have you ceased to address me 
 familiarly since I came home for good ? Does my ad- 
 vanced age inspire you with such respect." 
 
 " No. for you are not old, nor am I very young now," 
 
 *' Then how is it ? Why do you never give a direct 
 answer to a direct question ?" 
 
 Marianne seemed surprised, and looking close at 
 Andr^, said : "Are you in a bad humor to-day ?" 
 
 He was struck with her glance, which was proud and 
 scrutinizing. It was the first time he had seen sucli a 
 look on her faee. " You are quite right, I am in a bad 
 humor," replied he. " I have an embarrassing communi- 
 cation to make, and you give me no assistance." 
 
 " Embarrassing ? " said Marianne, looking at him 
 again in some anxiety. " What embarrassment can there 
 be between us f " 
 
 " You shall hear. Let us walk on, it is too cool to 
 stand in the shade after getting heated. Will you take 
 my arm! " Marianne put her hand within Andre's arm 
 without a word, and waited for him to speak. 
 
 " Well," said he abruptly as he resumed his walk, " I 
 will tell you about it. Some one has applied to me for 
 an introduction to you, and I did not think it right to 
 give it without your sanction, as I was anxious you should 
 not be taken by surprise." 
 
 " I am much obliged to you, for I dislike surprises. 
 This has probably reference to an offer of marriage ? " 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " You know that I have refused several already ? " 
 
196 MARIANNE, 
 
 " So my mother tells me. She thinks you have'made 
 up your mind to remain single, is that the case?" 
 
 " No, she is mistaken. It was only that I objected to 
 the suitors who came forward." 
 
 " Did you dislike them ? " 
 
 " No ; but I did not care for them." 
 
 " Do you think it necessary to be in love with the 
 man you marry ? " 
 
 " Naturally I do. The one you propose " 
 
 " I iDropose no one, I am a mere agent." 
 
 * And care little whether he suits me or not ? " 
 
 " You will. have no difficulty in sending me about my 
 business, but you cannot give an answer at present, for the 
 person in question is merely known to you by name." 
 
 "Then my answer is ready. I have no objection 
 to see him, unless you tell me beforehand that he is sure 
 not to suit me." 
 
 " Would you take my word for it ? " 
 
 " Why surely you would not deceive me ! " 
 
 " Certainly not ! Well then, the young man has one 
 fault, that of being too young." 
 
 " la he younger than myself ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And what else? " 
 
 "What else, and what then? — You are summary m 
 your views, you pass over the main objection." 
 
 " I did not say that I thought it unimportant. But I 
 should like to know all." 
 
 " He is poorer than yourself at present, but likely to 
 be richer some day." 
 
 '* And what else ? " 
 
 " What else ? Nothing, so far as I know. I know 
 him by sight, but barely more. I have hardly ever talked 
 to him." 
 
MARIANNE. Wl 
 
 " What does he look like ? " 
 
 " He is rather good-looking; tall and well made, in- 
 deed a fine-lookinsf fellow." 
 
 *' And what sort of expression has he? " 
 
 *' Well, a self-satisfied expression, if I must tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " You don't say a word about the family ? " 
 
 " They are highly respectable people, and you can ob- 
 tain full information about them. They belong to our 
 part of the country and only left it ten years ago." 
 
 " Why, you must be speaking of one of Gaucher's 
 sons ? " 
 
 " I had not intended to mention his name until you 
 consented to be introduced ; but since you have made 
 suoh a good guess — " 
 
 " I don't quite remember — " said Marianne thought- 
 fully; " there are two or three of them." 
 
 " Only two. The younger is the aspirant to your 
 hancl." 
 
 ** He aspires — I have some confused recollection of 
 him. He was a child and cannot remember me. It must 
 be my little property that he covets — " 
 
 " The aspirations are scarcely his, but his father's — 
 Stay, here is the letter ; since you know all, you may read 
 it." 
 
 Marianne stood still and read old Gaucher's epistle 
 with her usual composure. Andrd watched her face, 
 which wore a faint smile at two or three passages in which 
 the tradesman jDut the matrimonial question in a plain 
 commercial light ; but she was neither astonished nor 
 vexed, and handed the letter back saying : " Well, let 
 him come, and we shall see I " 
 
198 MARIANNE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Pierre felt strangely scornful and resumed his usual 
 tone of raillery as he said : " I see that my mother was 
 completely mistaken. You have not the slightest incli- 
 nation for a single life, have you ? " 
 
 " I must marry now or never," replied Marianne. " If 
 I wait, I shall never make up my mind." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because .liberty is such a sweet and precious gift. If 
 we have it too long, it is hard to give up." 
 
 " I agree with you there. You had better marrj at 
 once, while you have tlie inclination. Then I may calmly 
 await M. Phillippe Gaucher's arrival without dreading 
 that he will be badly received. He will be with us by 
 Sunday morning: come and dine with us that day.'' 
 
 " I Avould rather not, the first advances should not be 
 on my side. You and Madame Andre had better come 
 and dine with me.'" 
 
 "You know that she cannot walk much, and would 
 never manage to get home at night." 
 
 " I have set up a chaise, and my bailiff's big mare 
 shall draw it. Your mother has long promised to come 
 and dine with me as soon as I had a carriage." 
 
 " And then you will throw open the sanctuary whicli 
 you refused to let me enter to-day ? " 
 
 " Ah, Madame Andre will be there then ! " 
 
 " Then you consider me a stranger like the rest of 
 the world ? How droll you are ! " 
 
 " Not droll at all. In my parent's lifetime it was 
 
MARIANNE. 199 
 
 quite natural for you to come about the place, but during 
 th3 five years you have been away, I have become an 
 orohan and been forced to live circumspectly, jf I would 
 keep my character. You know how inquisitive and tat- 
 tling our neighbors %re. In spite of our living in the 
 he^rt of a quiet country like ours, I could not receive 
 mo-e than one visit from any man without becoming the 
 subject of remarks." 
 
 " But I am so old, and your godfather, occupying 
 almost the position of a father to you ! " 
 
 " That makes no difference. I know the country, but 
 y)u have forgotten what it is like." 
 
 " Well, I ought to wish you to get married, that I 
 night have the pleasure of seeing you more frequently." 
 " I did not think it was so great a pleasure to you." 
 " Or you would not have deprived me of it so often? " 
 " You have voluntarily deprived yourself of it more 
 tlan once." 
 
 " I have certainly often taken advantage of your be- 
 inr with my mother to finish some work ii^ my own room. 
 Itwas not very polite, I own, but I thought you would 
 ha'dly notice it." 
 
 " I was glad to see that you gave me credit for suf- 
 ficent attachment not to stand on ceremony with me." 
 
 " Glad ! I would rather have had you texed, or at 
 lest sorry." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Marianne, standing still 
 anl questioning Andr^ carelessly with a glance from her 
 da*k eyes. The predominating expression on her counte- 
 naice was that of expectation, awaiting an explanation 
 tosave herself the trouble of thinking. 
 
 " I seem to have made a stupid speech, for I don't 
 kiow how to explain it," said Pierre to himself. There 
 ws but one course open, that of cuttincf short the con- 
 
200 MARIANN-E, 
 
 versation. " I don't mean to inflict a long walk on you," 
 said he, releasing Marianne's arm. " I forget that tie 
 nearer we are to my house, the further we are from yours. 
 ITow that we have arranged it all, I have nothing more 
 to ask. I shall bring your lover to^ee you on Sundaj." 
 
 " I have no lover as yet," returned Marianne coldly ; 
 " and as to Sunday, your mother must consent to niske 
 one of the party, otherwise it is quite impracticaUe. 
 I will come and ask her this evening, if you have no o\> 
 jection." ; 
 
 ** I have not the slightest objection," replied Andi"^ 
 rather drily, feeling really fretted and indignant at ha* 
 ceremonious manner. " Good-by till then ! " And iB 
 turned away dissatisfied, almost vexed. 
 
 ** What a cold nature hers is ! " said he, as he walked 
 along at a quick, uneven pace. " She is narrow-mindei, 
 self-conscious, icy, anxious about the world's opinion, a 
 prude, in fact. What could I be thinking of when I 
 tortured myself just now to sound the depths of this caln 
 lake ? It has no depths ; it is not a lake, but a pond fill 
 of reeds and frogs. See what we grow into with livirg 
 in the. country ! The child was pretty and looked h- 
 teresting, owing to her pensive delicate expression bf 
 face ; now she has grown up into a strong girl, strongm 
 her prudent calculations and devoid of feeling." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** And what does all this signify to me ? " said Pieiie 
 to himself, as he drew near his own house. ** My oottaje 
 is very pretty ! I was wrong to talk against it this mon- 
 
MARIANNE. 201 
 
 ing. The walls may be too white, but they turn quite 
 pink in the glow of the evening sun. My creepers are 
 making fine shoots and will reach the balcony towards 
 the end of the autumn. It is a real pleasure to have a 
 home of one's own, and enjoy perfect liberty. Why 
 should I blame my quiet godchild for thinking of herself 
 when my own aspirations for life in the future are con- 
 fined to the pleasure of breathing ? " 
 
 '' Come in at once, child ! " cried Madame Andre, 
 from the dining-room. " It is half-past five, and your 
 soup is growing cold." 
 
 " And I am keeping you waiting? " returned Pierre, 
 as he unburthened himself of his satchel, which was filled 
 with stones and flowers. " I had no idea that it was so 
 late ! " He sat down to table as soon as he had washed 
 his hands at the little blue porcelain cistern in the dining- 
 room, and feeling obliged to prepare his mother for Mari- 
 anne's visit, gave a full account of the affair before they 
 dined. 
 
 Madame Andi6 listened quietly till he mentioned Mari- 
 anne's readiness to comply with his request for the in- 
 terview. At this point she became incredulous. " You 
 are either romancing, or Marianne was making fun of 
 you,'^ said she. " Marianne does not intend to marry, 
 she has told me so again and again." 
 
 " Well, she has either forgotten it, for she avers the 
 contrary, or else she has changed her mind. Fickle as 
 her sex ! But what is the matter, dear mother ? Are 
 you crying ? '* 
 
 '* I may be, I don't know ? " replied the good lady, 
 wiping away with her napkin two large tears which had 
 rolled unconsciously down her cheeks. " My heart is 
 full, and it would not take much to make me cry." 
 
 ** Then let us talk of something else, I don't want to 
 
202 MARIANNE, 
 
 spoil your appetite. You are very fond of Marianne, I 
 know, mother, and she seems worthy of your affection, 
 but she is not so totally different from the rest of the 
 world as you may think her. She has longed for love 
 and family ties like other girls ; you do not surely expect 
 her to give this up for the pleasure of playing draughts 
 and picking up your knitting stitches to the end of the 
 chapter? She has some thought for herself like all of us, 
 and is not to be blamed for it.'! 
 
 " And you think it is selfishness that makes me vexed 
 with her determination? After all, perhaps you are 
 right. I own my fault, and will not vvear a sad face. 
 Let her come, and she shall find me as calm as yourself, 
 and in just as good spirits. ' 
 
 " As mine ? " said Andre, surprised at his mother's 
 steady gaze ; " why should I be disturbed ? " 
 
 " I thought you might have been rather troubled. 
 
 " You never thought, I hope, of my falling in love 
 with Marianne ? " 
 
 " If you had done so, I should have seen no objection," 
 
 " Do you really mean that ? Come, confess, now, 
 dear mother, you wanted me to be married to your little 
 pet ! How was it you never told me a word about it ? " 
 
 " I told you many a word, but you would never listen 
 to me." 
 
 *' When was that ? For I declare I have not the 
 faintest recollection of it." 
 
 *' A long while ago, six years now. It was the last 
 time you came to see us before your poor father died, you 
 had a little money then, and we wanted you to marry that 
 we might keep you in the country. Marianne w^as just 
 twenty, not an orphan, and rich and independent as she 
 is now. The marriage might have been possible then." 
 
 " More than it is now," rejoined, Pierre, with the live- 
 
MARIANNE. 203 
 
 liest emotion. " I am older and poorer than I was, and 
 should be no match for her. Pray, dear mother, never 
 expose me to the humiliation of being refused by such a 
 cautious and disdainful person ; never mention me to her. 
 I hope you never have done ? " 
 
 '' Yes, occasionally." 
 
 ** And what did she say ? " 
 
 *' N'othing. Marianne never makes any reply when 
 ner reply might implicate her." 
 
 " Quite true, it is what I have noticed. Her prudence 
 is perfectly horrible to me. I can understand a woman 
 of the world who is ready to make advances, a coquette, 
 and deceiver, — her motives are evident, she wishes to 
 surround herself with adorers ; but a country girl who 
 looks for a disinterested husband, and is so different in 
 her ways, seems to me an iceberg which nothing can melt." 
 
 " Hush, here she comes," said Madame Andr6, who 
 had noticed her son's air of chagrin. " Don't let us look 
 as if we were sitting in judgment upon her." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Having finished dinner, they went out to meet Mari- 
 anne, who galloppd quietly up on Suzon, and jumped 
 down from her saddle almost without drawing rein. The 
 docile animal seemed to divine her intentions and stopped 
 short, then walked slowly behind her till they reached 
 the cottage, where she turned to the left, going by her- 
 self to her accustomed quarters, a familiar corner of the 
 barn which she shared with the ass kept on the farm. 
 
204 MARIANNE. 
 
 Marianne's riding costume consisted merely of a white 
 cambric bodice, a chip hat, and a long striped blue and 
 gray skirt, which her deft lingers caught up gracefully in 
 a minute, by means of a leather belt. Her hair was 
 cropped short, and curled like a child's which, added to 
 her short and slender figure, made her look like a girl of 
 fourteen or fifteen. Her complexion Was a dead white, 
 slightly tinted round the eye and on the neck, but neither 
 tanned nor freckled. She had delicate features and splen- 
 did teeth, and might have been pretty, had she ever 
 thought of her charms, or believed in them. 
 
 " Well," said Madame Andr6 as she kissed her, " we 
 know what brings you here, darling. You have made up 
 your mind to be married." 
 
 ''Not so, Madame Andre," returned Marianne, "my 
 mind is not made up yet." 
 
 " Oh yes, for you have a wish to see your suitor, which 
 shows that you mean to accept him, if he takes your 
 fancy." 
 
 " That's a question. It will do no harm to look, as 
 they tell us in the shops. Will you promise to bring him 
 up on Sunday ? " 
 
 " I will, darling, for I can refuse you nothing." 
 
 " I will leave you to discuss this weighty matter," said 
 Pierre Andrd, turning away towards the fields. " Wo- 
 men always have their little secrets on these interesting 
 occasions, and I shall be quite in the way." 
 
 " Not at all," replied Marianne. " I have no confi- 
 dences to make, and do not intend to feel much interest 
 until I hear from your mother and yourself what I ought 
 to think of the person in question." 
 
 " What ! you would wait to hear our opinion before 
 deciding? " 
 
 '• Certainly." 
 
MARIANNE. 205 
 
 •* I could not undertake so grare a responsibility," re- 
 sumed Andr^ drily : ". I know nothing about husbands, 
 and think you must be laughing at us if you pretend to 
 know nothing about them either." 
 
 " And how should I know anything about them ? " said 
 Marianne, opening her .eyes with amazement. 
 
 " You must surely know why you have refused all 
 your former offers. So you must have an idea of what 
 you want, and what would make you accept this new sui- 
 tor." 
 
 "Or any other!" ejaculated Marianne with a faint 
 smile. " Don't go away, I want to ask you something." 
 
 *' Really ? Probably you want to know what sort of 
 husband would suit you? " They all sat down on a bench, 
 JJJ^adame Andre between the two others. 
 
 " Ko," returned Marianne, " you don't know, for you 
 have never considered the subject, or else you would 
 never give me a serious answer, for you don't take much 
 interest in my prospects. The question I wanted to put 
 is but remotely connected with marriage. I wanted to 
 know whether a girl in my position could educate herself 
 without changing her home or mode of life." 
 
 " What a singular question ! " said Pierre, turning to 
 his mother ; *' do you understand what she is driving 
 at?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed I do," replied Madame Andre, " nor is 
 it the first time that Marianne has troubled herself with 
 such ideas. I have no answer to give. I learnt all that 
 was taught me as a child, and it was enough for my sta- 
 tion in this country place, but I don't know much, and 
 there are many things I can never talk of, for I don't un- 
 derstand them in the least. The only course open to a 
 woman so placed, is to ask no questions, lest she should 
 expose her ignorance. Marianne is not satisfied with 
 
206 MARTAI^NE. 
 
 having tact and knowing all that is necessary in domes- 
 tic life, she would like to be able to converse with well- 
 educated people on any subject." 
 
 " Excuse me, Madame Andr^," put in Marianne, " but 
 I wish for information on my own account, rather than 
 on that of others. I see, for instance, how happy my 
 godfather is in walking about by himself all the day long 
 thinking over all he knows, and I should like to know 
 whether he is happier than myself, who walkabout, know- 
 ing nothing, and thinking of nothing." 
 
 " There," cried Andr6 in surprise. " you are touching 
 a spring which I could never find when I tried to dis- 
 cover the secret pleasures of reverie ! " 
 
 *' What, have you ever tried to find out whether there 
 was anything in my brain ?" « 
 
 " I had not the slightest thought of applying my re- 
 mark especially to you, dear child ; but I have asked ray- 
 self a thousand times the question you ask now. Often, 
 when watching the deep look of contemplation worn by 
 some peasants, the exuberant joy of some children, the ap- 
 parently ecstatic rapture of singing birds, or the exquis- 
 ite repose of flowers in the moonlight, I have asked my- 
 self whether the knowledge of nature is a benefit, or 
 whether reflection does not rob reverie of its greatest 
 charm, and sensation of its greatest power. Forgive me 
 for talking like a pedant, I must seem to be using ridicu- 
 lous expressions. To resume, I must own that I have 
 never found an answer to my question, and you might 
 do much to throw light on the subject, if you would take 
 the trouble to converse occasionally on other subjects 
 than washing at home, or the market' price of poultry." 
 
 *' I can only talk about what I understand, and can't 
 find words to express what I think. I 'should have to 
 take time and consider. Wait a moment, and I will try ! " 
 
MARIANNE, 207 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The two remained silent for several moments. 
 Marianne appeared to be engaged on some difficult sum 
 in mental arithmetic. Madame Andr^ showed no surprise 
 at her feeble powers. Pierre alone was a prey to mental 
 agitation. He had apparently taken the solution of the 
 problem he had that morning propounded, as to whether 
 Marianne's faculties were dormant or non-existent, much 
 to heart. 
 
 At length she broke the silence rather impatiently. 
 *' Ko, I can't explain myself," said she. " I must do it 
 some other time. Besides, I did not come to ask you 
 whether education made people happy or unhappy ; all 
 that I wanted to know was whether I could educate my- 
 self without leaving home." 
 
 " You may educate yourself anywhere," replied 
 Pierre, " if you have books, and you have the means of 
 of procuring them." 
 
 " But then I must know what books, and I reckoned 
 upon your telling me this." 
 
 " That will be easy enough, as soon as I learn what 
 you know and what you don't know. Your father was 
 an educated man, and had some standard works. He 
 often told me that you were idle and averse to study. 
 Seeing that you were delicate, he did not make any point 
 of diverting you from the rural occupations for which you 
 showed such a decided preference." 
 
 " As I have always done/' replied Marianne. " So 
 
208 MARIANNE, 
 
 long as I am in the open air, and moving about while I 
 think, I am all right. But if I sit down and reflect, I 
 feel as if I should die." 
 
 "Then you must remain as you are, my child, and 
 continue to lead the same sort of life. I don't see why 
 you should seek for fresh occupations when marriage will 
 provide you with so many of importance." 
 
 ^'•If I marry ! " pursued Marianne. " But if I do not, 
 I must provide myself with occupation against the time 
 when I am no longer able to be always out of doors. But 
 the sun has set now ; would you like your game, Madame 
 Andre ? " 
 
 Madame Andr^ accepted the offer, and Pierre, who 
 was irritated by every kind of game, remained in the 
 garden, walking on the terrace and looking at Marianne 
 as she played draughts with his mother in the drawing- 
 room ; the small lamp with its green shade cast a faint 
 light upon her, showing her as attentive to the game, as 
 unconscious and impassive as ever. 
 
 " Who knows," said Pierre to himself, " whether her 
 faculties may not have been blunted by her peculiar nerv- 
 ous condition ? Many talented young people come to 
 nothing, for lack of the physical vigor necessary for in- 
 tellectual exertion. No one pays attention to these 
 things in women, they choose some other course, and 
 other results follow. It is but rarely that they are 
 required to create for themselves any position demanding 
 great mental effort, or constant assiduity in study. How 
 is it that Marianne torments herself about becoming an 
 exception? Would she experience, like me, the secret 
 chagrin of never making a proper use of her gifts ? This 
 is not a feminine ailment. A woman's life has other 
 aims. It is fame and happiness enough for her to be a 
 wife and mother.** 
 
MARIANNE 209 
 
 When nine o'clock arrived, Marianne kissed Madame 
 Andre, gave her hand to her godfather, and vaulted 
 lightly upon Suzon, who had been taught to stretch out 
 all her legs so as to make her back lower. The rider and 
 her steed were both so light, that the sound of the horse's 
 hoofs were scarcely heard on the sand, and soon became 
 lost in the stillness of the night. The air was warm and 
 laden with odors. Pierre stood for some time motionless 
 by the garden-fence, following Marianne in imagination, 
 crossing the little beech grove and balmy heath, and the 
 clear stream strewn with blocks of dark stone. He 
 fancied himself gazing on nature with her eyes, and 
 amused himself with attributing to her secret emotions^ 
 which had possibly no existence. 
 
 The following day was a Saturday, market-day at La 
 Faille. Every one who lives in the country, be he peasant 
 or proprietor, goes to market, even when he has nothing 
 to buy or sell. It is a place of gathering where they are 
 sure to meet any one from the neighborhood that they 
 may be wanting to see'. There, too, news is exchanged, 
 and the rate of provisions fixed. Pierre went in order to 
 read the papers ; once a week he learned what was going 
 on in the world, and considered this enough for a man 
 who wished to keep aloof from active life. 
 
 Passing in front of the hotel — the " Chene-Yerte" — just 
 as the chaise drove up which came to meet the country 
 diligences, he saw a fine young man alight, and rush up 
 to him, crying, " Here I am ! " as he embraced him with 
 cordial familiarity. This fine young man, who looked as 
 strong as Hercules, and as fresh as a rose, and dressed in 
 the latest fashion in an elegant travelling costume, was ^ 
 Pliilippe Gaucher, arrived a day before his time. " Yes, 
 my dear fellow," repeated he, thinking from Andrd's air 
 
210 MARIANNE. 
 
 of stupefaction that he failed to recognize him, " Here I 
 am, Philippe — " 
 
 Pierre interrupted him. " I know perfectly well who 
 you are," said he, lowering his voice, *' but it is of no use 
 proclaiming your name on the house-tops ; the business 
 that brings you here will never be accomplished without 
 prudence. You must learn, my young Parisian, that the 
 first element of failure in the country is to reveal your 
 plans. Come, and I will take you home without going 
 through the town. We will turn down this half rural 
 lane, and be there in the time for dinner in less than an 
 hour." 
 
 " Nearly an hour's walk with my portmanteau in my 
 hand ? " said Philippe, astonished at the proposition. 
 
 " Is it heavy," asked Pierre, lifting it ; " no, it is no 
 weight at all." 
 
 " But I have other luggage. I have brought all my 
 painting paraphernalia, for I mean to make some sketches." 
 
 " Then I will go to the hotel, and order a man to bring 
 it all up to my house ; I have no sort of conveyance to 
 offer you ; my legs serve me, and I am all the better for 
 the exercise." 
 
 " And I, as a landscape painter, know hiow to use mine 
 and I can carry a well-furnished sketching apparatus on 
 my back. You shall see me do it to-morrow, but for the 
 present I prefer the man and the barrow." 
 
 " Wait for me here," said Pierre. He went inside to 
 give the necessary orders, and within five minutes re- 
 joined his guest, and off they started. 
 
 Philippe's first words startled Andr^ somewhat. 
 " Have you many good-looking women in the neighbor- 
 hood ? " asked he. 
 
 " Open your eyes and you Avill see," replied Pierre, 
 laughing. 
 
MARIANNE, 211 
 
 " I always keep them open," returned the young 
 artist, " it is a part of my profession, and I have just 
 seen a droll little creature pass by on horseback, the 
 horse trotting like a mouse." 
 
 " Unattended ? " said Andre, rather excited. 
 
 " Quite unattended — on a little iron-gray horse, with 
 black mane and tail." 
 
 Pierre professed not to know who it could be, though 
 he felt secretly convinced as to the identity 
 
 " And you say that she is pretty ? " 
 
 " I don't say so, lest I should be mistaken, for she 
 passed so quickly ; — but she looked perfectly charming," 
 
 *' She is not considered pretty, and has no pretensions 
 to beauty." 
 
 " Then you know who she is? " 
 
 " I think I do. You say she is little ? " 
 
 " And as slender as a spindle, but very graceful ; her 
 hair is very dark and curly, she looks pale and interest- 
 ing, and has fine large eyes." 
 
 " In short, you admire her ? " 
 
 " So far I do. But what, it can never be — ? " 
 
 " Yes, but it is — the very young person -whom your 
 father wishes you to marry." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Chevreuse ? Only fancy ! And I 
 chance upon her at once ? Does she know why I am 
 coming ? " 
 
 " She knows nothing," said Pierre curtly, '' nor did I 
 expect you till to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Just so. I set out a day sooner in order not to 
 travel through the country by night. An artist wants to 
 see everything ! And then I wished to form some idea 
 of my native country, for I was born at La Faille, like 
 yourself, my dear fellow, but I have lost all recollection 
 of those early days. As to the town, it is hideous so far 
 
212 MARIANNE. 
 
 as I have seen it, but the^ surrounding country is pretty, 
 and liere We ha¥.€ a pleasant green lane before us, and a 
 blue sky at the end of the vista — this is charming. One 
 gets accustomed to these big spreading walnut trees, and 
 your mutilated pollard elms frame an amusing contrast. 
 I could be happy enough here, and shall have no objec- 
 tion to spend the summer in this country, if my wife 
 wishes it." 
 
 " Who do you mean by your wife ? " said Andre, 
 casting a glance of haughty irritation at the young 
 artist in spite of himself. 
 
 ** Well, Mademoiselle Chevreuse, or some one else, 
 answered Philippe, quite undisturbed. "Here you see 
 me, come down into this country with injunctions from my 
 father to find a wife, and promise of a settled income, if I 
 obey. I am tired of living with him, he is a good enough 
 sort of man, you know, but I find him rather a bore. We 
 have not the same tastes. He will leave off worrying 
 and quarrelling with my artistic tendencies as soon as I 
 double my income by marrying. So, here goes for mar- 
 riage, since marrying and painting are one and the same 
 in his eyes !*" 
 
 " And for the sake of the art you love, would you 
 love the woman, whoever she might be ? " 
 
 " No, but I would be indulgent and not require her to 
 be a model of wit or beauty. As to temper, she must 
 have a very bad one if she could not get 6n with me. I 
 am the best natured fellow in the world, always in good 
 spirits, fond of light and liberty, and ready to laugh at 
 anything — but stay, here is the same lady on horseback 
 before us. Is it not Mademoiselle Chevreuse ? Let us 
 quicken our pace that I may take a good look at her." 
 
U 
 
 MARIANNE '^^TVB 21S 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Marianne had indeed stopped, or rather slackened 
 Suzon's pace to a walk, in order to speak to Marichette, 
 the farmer's wife, whom she had overtaken not far from 
 Dolmor. 
 
 Marichette was seated on some sacks of hay in the 
 hind part of a long cart drawn by oxen, while her hus- 
 band walked by its side, urging them on with a goad. 
 The lane was too narrow to allow a horse, or even a foot- 
 passenger, to go between the wheel and the hedge. The 
 oxen went slowly, Suzon sniffed the hay which had been 
 brought for her, and knowing whom she had to deal 
 with, had thrust in her nose till it touched the woman's 
 knees ; the latter stroked the animal's forehead as she 
 gave her mistress an account of the fat sheep she had 
 sold, and the pigs she had priced, which were all too dear 
 if they were worth anything. 
 
 During the course of this dialogue, Marianne left 
 Suzon to her own devices, and, throwing the bridle over 
 her arm, assumed the careless attitude of fatigue or medi- 
 tation. Catching sight of a beautiful spray of honey- 
 suckle in the thicket, she suddenly urged Suzon forward 
 witli a touch of her heel instead of pulling the bridle, 
 and stretched out both arms to gather the spray. 
 
 But at this juncture, Philippe, who, leaving Andre a 
 little behind, had come up unobserved, darted towards 
 the honeysuckle, broke off the spray, and presented it to 
 Marianne with the bold easy courtesy o^ a Parisian. 
 
 On seeing this handsome stranger, with his ardent 
 gaze and promising smile, Marianne did not fail to recog 
 
214 MARIANNE. 
 
 nize her intending suitor. N"o one in her own neighbor- 
 hood would have showed such ready gallantry. She 
 blushed slightly, but recovered her composure promptly, 
 and said with a faint smile, not accepting the proffered 
 spray : " Thank you, sir, but I was not wanting it for 
 myself; it was for my horse, who likes to eat it." 
 
 '-'■ Well," returned the artist readily, " then I will offer 
 it to your horse, who is sure not to decline it." So say- 
 ing, he held out the honeysuckle to Suzon, who munched 
 it without the slightest ceremony. 
 
 Philippe made his finest bow, raising his hat very 
 high, and holding it above his head, as if he were hailing 
 a sovereign or some popular character. Marianne had 
 gathered up the reins, and bowing slightly without look- 
 ing at Philippe, she urged Snizon into the ditch, which 
 took her up to the knees, and thus skilfully avoiding the 
 huge cart wheels and the long horns of the oxen vanished 
 at a gallop round the corner. 
 
 Pierre was pleased with Marianne's well managed 
 exit. The slightest accident would have made Philippe 
 master of the situation. ^' Well," said he to the artist, 
 disguising a sarcastic laugh, " have you had a good view 
 of her ? " 
 
 "She is charming," replied Philippe, "so lady-like, 
 besides being witty and self-possessed, in fact, quite the 
 coquette. She is the very picture of a woman. But 
 what can be her age ? My father called her older than 
 I am, he must have been jesting, she looks like a school- 
 girl." 
 
 " She is five and twenty." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " I can swear to it. She has no wish to conceal her 
 age." 
 
 " Well, it is all the same to me, people are never 
 
MARIANNE. 215 
 
 older than they look. I, who am already as bearded as 
 a Turk, might pass for as much more than my age as she 
 might for less than hers ; we might be painted together 
 as some classical subject, ' Strength and Grace,' or some- 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 " Then you have made up your mind ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. I am quite in love with her." 
 
 " And you have no doubts as to your success ? " 
 
 " N'ot the least." 
 
 *' You are fortunate in possessing so much self-confi- 
 dence." 
 
 " My dear Andr^, my confidence rests on two things, 
 my youth and my love. These are two grand powers; 
 love is felt and communicated, and youth inspires us 
 with nerve to dare and give vent to our feelings. There 
 is no vanity in calling oneself young or in love." 
 
 " You are right," replied Pierre, looking sad and de- 
 jected. " Vanity is only ridiculous in those who have 
 lost the freshness of inexperience and the ingenuity of 
 first impulses." 
 
 They had reached a part where the road widened, 
 allowing them to pass the cart, and were drawing near 
 Pierre Andre's cottage. Further on along the road, 
 which began to ascend, they saw Marianne, who had 
 again slackened her pace. 
 
 "She is not galloping now," said Philippe. "Who 
 knows if she is not thinking of me ? " 
 
 ** She must be," said Pierre to himself, and he felt a 
 sort of inward spasm. 
 
216 MARIANNE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Philippe Gaucher was so unfortunate as to find no 
 favor in Madame Andre's eyes. Yet lie was a well-mean- 
 ing young fellow, frank, simple, and as open as the day ; 
 but Madame Andre objected to any man who took upon 
 himself to look handsomer than her son, though the latter 
 was not what country folk call 2^ fine man. His shoulders 
 Avere not square, his beard black, his color high, nor his 
 chest arched. He looked interesting, modest, and intel- 
 ligent ; and both his face and person were cast in a re- 
 fined mould. 
 
 His mother, who had seen nothing of the world, and 
 could have given no definition of her ideas of refinement, 
 possessed in him a certain standard of comparison. She 
 was shocked by the air of vulgarity penetrating all Phil* 
 ippe's words, gestures, and attitudes, and concluded that 
 his ideas and actions were natural to a man of his type. 
 She was not deficient in that mother wit which belongs 
 to the centre of France, and esioecially to its women. 
 She rallied him politely all dinner time, without his con- 
 descending to notice it ; but then, as she was hospitable 
 before all things, she had received him kindly and shown 
 him every possible attention. 
 
 When Philippe learned that the Andres were to dine 
 with Mademoiselle Chevreuse on the day following, and 
 would take the opportunity of introducing him, he thought 
 more progress was made than he anticipated, and could 
 not help saying that his lucky star was in the ascendant. 
 
 " Which is it?" asked Madame Andre maliciously. 
 
MARIANNE, 217 
 
 " I don't know its name," answered he lightly ; " I 
 know nothing of astronomy, but when I see the largest and 
 brightest, I feel sure it must be mine. Don't you be- 
 lieve in the influence of the stars, Pierre ? " 
 
 " To be sure, I believe in them for Napoleon and for 
 you. If simple mortals like myself are patronized by a 
 star, mine must be tiny and very far away, for I have 
 never seen it yet." 
 
 Philippe had prolonged the evening to an unusual 
 hour at Dolmor, never suspecting thajt nine was the old 
 lady's bedtime. Pierre, seeing the finger of the clock 
 point to eleven, said to his guest: "You must be tired 
 with your journey ; you have only to say the word, and 1 
 will show you to your room." 
 
 " I am never tired," returned Gauch'er ; " nothing 
 fatigues me, but I still hear the rumbling of that diligence 
 in my head, which makes me rather sleepy ; so, if you will 
 allow me — " 
 
 Pierre conducted him to a little guest-chamber, quite 
 new and fresh, where the artist threw back the shutters, 
 in order, as he said, to be aroused by the first rays of 
 dawn. He thought of going out and exploring the coun- 
 try, in order to select some subject for painting during the 
 days following. 
 
 " I hope you will sleep well," said Pierre; " I wake 
 with the dawn, and will call you, if you would like to 
 be shown the prettiest spots in our valley." 
 
 " Thank you," said Philippe, " but I must own that 
 I prefer finding them out for myself. It is a trouble to 
 an artist to have to balance his own points of view against 
 those of others." 
 
 "Which means," thought Pierre Andr6, "that you 
 intend to track Marianne home and importune her by 
 your curiosity. I shall keep an eye on you, my boy ; sliP 
 
218 MARIANNE. 
 
 is not yet yours, and her godfather has a right to protect 
 her." 
 
 He returned to hi.*^ room, and thought of writing to 
 work off his ill-humor, but could not find the pocket-book 
 in which he had been scribbling the day before. His 
 searches after it were fruitless, and as he scarcely recol- 
 lected what he had written, he began to fear lest he might 
 have lost it durino- his walk. Rememberino- that he had 
 put down his stick and satchel in the drawing-room on 
 his return, he went down to see if the book Avere there, 
 and came upon his mother, who seemed just as much agi- 
 tated as himself. 
 
 " What are you looking for ? " said she. 
 
 " For a "wretched little book, in which I made my 
 notes.'* 
 
 " Here it is," said she, opening a drawer. " I found 
 it this morning when I was clearing things away, and 
 locked it up here." 
 
 " If you have read it you will think me demented," 
 replied Andre, as he pocketed his book. 
 
 *' Read it ? Dear me, no ; I never trouble myself to 
 read writing, and don't find it over-easy to make out . 
 but why do you say you must seem demented ? " 
 
 " Because — First tell me why you seem so disturbed 
 and put out." 
 
 " Oh, I have no difiiculty in answering. It makes 
 me furious to think of the sweetheart we have to present 
 to Marianne, and how we shall be forced to pretend be- 
 fore her that we think him charming, now that we have 
 received and welcomed him. But no, I can never act 
 such a part. I consider him absurd and wearisome, and 
 will not promise to disguise my opinion." 
 
 " You are judging rashly," replied Pierre, seating him- 
 self beside his mother, who had flung herself on the sofa 
 
MARIANNE. 219 
 
 in a pet. " He is neither foolish noT bad-hearted ; hia 
 manner is rather self-confident, I own, but it may suit 
 Marianne, who knows ? She may not have all the judg- 
 ment with which you, and I, for your sake, credit her." 
 
 " Marianne has plenty of cleverness and good sense 
 too," exclaimed Madame Andre ; " you do not know 
 her." 
 
 " Quite true ; she is a mystery to me." 
 
 " It is your own fault ; you talk to her so little and 
 make such light use of every opportunity of knowing more 
 of her!" 
 
 " It may be partly my fault, but still more hers. I 
 assure you that she likes to play the sphinx, and that I 
 lack Philippe Gaucher's boldness, and cannot lift the veil 
 of modesty in which a young girl shrouds herself. She 
 may be a child compared to me, but still she is a woman, 
 and I cannot encroach upon feminine reserve." 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Madame Andee reflected for some moments, then 
 taking her son's hand, she said : " You are timid, too 
 timid ! If you had chosen, you might have been the 
 man whom Marianne would .have loved and married." 
 
 " You are raking up bygone offences ! That was six 
 years ago. Remember that I have given up all thoughts 
 of marriage for the last six years." 
 
 ♦And why? Are you so old at thi«ty-five?" 
 
 "Sufficiently so to judge of my future by comparing 
 it with the past. When a man has not succeeded in 
 making a fortune before the age of five and thirty, it is 
 
220 MARIANNE. 
 
 safe to prophesy that he will never do it, and may with- 
 draw from the perplexities and emotions of life. 
 
 "All the more reason that he should marry well." 
 
 " To seek for love with an eye to marrying well, is 
 what I have never done, and never shall do." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand, I know you. I have some 
 pride myself and can enter into yours, but I am blaming 
 you for not having loved Marianne for her own sake.; 
 she deserved it, and would have been ready to return 
 your affection. When love comes on the scene, it destroys 
 any disparity in fortune." 
 
 " Quite true, but I never thought that Marianne could 
 possibly love me. If Philippe has too much self-eonfi- 
 dence, I may err in the other extreme. And then, I 
 must confess,.! had set my mind on travelling, and hoped 
 to make a fresh start. Any one but myself, with a little 
 dexterity and pushing would have made something of the 
 opportunity which came in his way. I made no use of 
 it. As I have told you more than once, I can never turn 
 anything to my own advantage. It is all over now, and 
 I am glad to be able to contribute a little to your happi- 
 ness. Do not spoil our present life by reverting vainly 
 to the past. You say that Marianne would have loved me 
 —she must feel that I never noticed it, and will never 
 forgive me. Now I can understand her coldness, the 
 pains she takes to keep me at a distance, and the ceremony 
 with which she treats me, so different from her old familiar 
 manner. However cold or amiable a woman may be, she 
 never pardons a man for being blind, and now that she is 
 about to fall a prey to the clear bold eyes of a resolute 
 unscrupulous boy, she will avenge herself on my stupidity ! 
 May she enjoy her revenge and be happy ! That is all we 
 can wish. I intend to look on with a good grace, and to 
 be frank in approving her choice." 
 
MARIANNE. 221 
 
 " You are mistaken, Pierre. If you cared for her, 
 there is vet time, but you don't care, you don't love my 
 poor Marianne, and she must suffer for it ! You would 
 have made her happy, as she can never be with a man so 
 much her inferior." 
 
 " If her superiority is as great as you fancy, she will 
 find it out betimes ; she has not yet spoken the fatal 
 word." 
 
 *' You don't think he'r intelligent, which proves your 
 own stupidity, if you will forgive me for saying so ! I 
 know that I cannot judge for you, and you may be right 
 in saying I know nothing about it. 1 know too that it 
 is difiicult to judge of the mind of any one who refuses 
 to show it ; but when we wish to love a person, we make 
 an effort, and when we love, we divine. If you loved — " 
 
 Pierre kissed his mother's hand with an emotion 
 which he speedily repressed. He had been on the point 
 of telling her how much he had been tempted to fall in 
 love during the last few days, and that he was perhaps 
 already vanquished. He refrained, for if he confessed his 
 torments, his mother would share them as fully, and urge 
 him into a struggle which he believed fruitless. 
 
 " We will talk of all this after to-morrow," said he. 
 " First let us see how Gaucher will take. It is late 
 now, and we must go to bed. Don't trouble yourself, 
 be sure that I am happy enough with you to wish for 
 nothing better." 
 
 On returning to his room, he resolved to unburden 
 his mind, and opened the pocket-book. At the last page 
 of his previous soliloquy, he found a little wild heartsease 
 which he did not remember enclosing, but which set him 
 musing. " One ouglit to make a collection of botanical 
 souvenirs," said he. " A flower, a leaf, or a bit of moss 
 assumes the virtue of a relic, if it recalls some mental 
 
222 MARIANNE 
 
 event, an emotion of the heart or an effort of the will 
 We recollect the fatigue or peril which some botanical 
 trophy cost us. We recall the grand or charming scenes 
 which have been impressd on our memory ; but these 
 vestiges always evoke the drama of external nature ; oui 
 ihental history would play a different part — " 
 
 At this moment Pierre's attention was diverted b^ 
 the sound of foot teps along the wooden corridors and 
 staircase of his cottage ; then he heard the front door 
 open, and saw Philippe Gaucher from his window, ap- 
 parently in the act of sallying forth by night to find sub- 
 jects for his pencil. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It was one o'clock in the morning. The conversa- 
 tion between Pierre and his mother, of which We have 
 given but an abstract, had lasted more than two hours. 
 What fancy could possess the artist to wander out of the 
 house and garden before daybreak? Andr^ burned 
 with sudden indignation at the idea that this yonug fool, 
 eager to secure an independent position, was ready to 
 compromise Marianne if he could but the more speedily 
 and safely secure his own ends. He overtook him in 
 a few hasty strides, as he was about to take the turning 
 to Validat. " Where are you going?" was his abrupt 
 question, " are you given to walking in your sleep ? " 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Philippe, more surprised than vexed 
 at being overtaken by his host, " I am walking in the 
 sleep of love, which goes straight to its goal without 
 
MARIANNE. 223 
 
 knowing the way ; but I shall manage to discover my 
 rustic beauty's manor or cot. I saw her pass this way 
 yesterday, and you told me she lived near the road by 
 those hills which rise on our right. The night is not 
 dark, and the sun will be up in another hour. Don't 
 trouble your head about me, my dear fellow, I should be 
 sorry to alter your habits." 
 
 " The first and most important of them," returned 
 Pirere, " is to watch over my friend's safety." 
 
 " You are realy too kind ! I had rather go alone, as 
 I told you." 
 
 " My anxiety was not about you, but about my god- 
 daughter." 
 
 "Your goddaughter, who is she ?" 
 
 " Mo demoiselle Chevreuse, whom, if I i^nderstand 
 rightly, you are about to compromise." 
 
 "Is she your goddaughter? Ah, well, that explains 
 all. I took you for a jealous and unsuccessful suitor ; 
 but the instant I know your rights as sort of father, I 
 hasten to vow and declare how sorry I shoald be to do 
 anything that might compromise your Marianne. Know, 
 Jear friend, that my intentions are as pure as the sky 
 above. Yesterday, my charming sweetheart declined 
 the flower I offered her, saying that she was about to 
 gather it for her horse, and I offered it to her horse, or 
 rather, her mare, who is called Suzon, as you told me 
 last night. Well, this morning I thought of scouring 
 every grove in the country to make a splendid bouquet 
 or garland of honeysuckle to hang on Mademoiselle Chev- 
 reuse's gate, with this modest inscription, which I carry 
 ready written in my poCket ; " To Mademoiselle Suzon, 
 from her devoted servant." You see I am going to do 
 nothing offensive, and your goddaughter will laugh over 
 the little adventure." 
 
^24 - MARIANNE, 
 
 " If your ambitien is to make her laugh, I have no 
 doubt of your success." 
 
 " You think the laugh -will be at ray expense. Never 
 mind that ! The point is to make her think of me, 
 eitlTer in jest or earnest, and you will be conferring a 
 favor on me by turning me into ridicule. I shall be 
 easily able to take my revenge when her head has been 
 turned by my absurdities. I mean to perpetrate no end 
 of them, but their nature shall be such that her austere 
 godfather will never need to remind me of the resjject 
 due to his adopted daughter.'* 
 
 Pierre felt ready to show him at once that his offer- 
 ino- to Suzon was tantamount to a declaration of love to 
 her mistress, and might give rise to a good deal of gos- 
 sip, since^ the farm-laborers, being unable to read, and 
 seeing this bouquet hanging on the gate, would be sure 
 to say it was 'Aposy or love-offering for their mistress ; but 
 Philippe seemed so decided, that he felt obliged to leave 
 him to himself for fear of becoming irritated, which 
 would have been quite absurd, and contrary to all the 
 laws of hospitality. So Pierre professed to treat the 
 affair as a joke and let him go, merely reminding hi^ 
 that his mother breakfasted at nine, and that towards 
 noon they would start for Validat, where they were to 
 dine at three o'clock, the usual hour in their neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about me," answered Phil- 
 ippe, " and, above all, don't wait for me. If I go too far 
 to be back for your breakfast-hour, I can get some bread 
 and milk anywhere. A landscape artist is never at a loss. 
 I have explored many a country beside your microscopic 
 Switzerland, my good fellow ! " 
 
 Pierre pretended to go in, but took a short cut across 
 the fields towards 'V'^alidat. He wished to keep an eye 
 
MARIANNE. 225 
 
 on his young man, as he contemptuously designated him 
 He gave a wild laugh of satisfaction within a quarter of 
 an hour when he descried Philippe in the distance, paus- 
 incf before the road which descended into the hollow to- 
 'wards Validat, and then continuing along the open road 
 on rising ground towards the castle of Mortsang. 
 
 Philippe had looked down on the mossy tiles wl^ch 
 roofed the farmhouse at Validat almost hidden by 
 spreading walnuts, and showing neither wing nor turret, 
 and had not chosen to suppose that his lady-love could 
 occupy so humble an abode. Seeing a picturesque castle 
 further on, he had hastened thither to deposit his offer- 
 ing on the gate of, an aristocratic family, who knew notb. 
 ing of his passion. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 Pierre, being resolved in any case to watch over 
 Marianne, went into the house to fetch his stick and 
 satchel, accessories which furnished a pretext for his ac- 
 customed walks, and without which, some surprise would 
 have been shown at his wandering about the country. 
 Rustics are inclined to think a man mad if he roams 
 about without any decided object ; but if he seems to be 
 looking for something or collecting it, he is set down as a 
 scientific man, a less dangerous reputation, unless it 
 chance to involve some toucli of sorcery. 
 
 Pierre was sufficiently acquainted with agriculture to 
 pass for a 2)ractical man. Besides, on seeing him ex- 
 amine ruins, plants, and rocks, it was popularly supposed 
 
226 MARIANNE, 
 
 that he was commissioned to draw up a report of the 
 country for government. A peasant in central France 
 can never imagine any maH of independent means mak- 
 ing such investigations for his own pleasure or j^rofit. 
 
 The sun had risen before Pierre Andre reached the 
 beech wood which clothed the ravine above Validat. 
 H»i-e, hidden by the undergrowth, he could command 
 both the farm and every road near it. He saw the 
 household busy, probably preparing the dinner Mari- 
 .'inne was to give, and towards five o'clock Marianne her- 
 self api^eared, going backwards and forwards and giv- 
 ing orders. Presently Suzon was brought, and mount- 
 ing her, she turned her head towards the part of the 
 wood traversed by the stream. 
 
 Pierre ran down the hill and reached the little ford 
 as she came up. " Where are you going this morning? " 
 said he, in a tone of authority which surprised her. 
 
 " Do you care to hear ? I am going to the farm of 
 Mortsang for some butter. We have not enough for 
 dinrter, and I don't like to be short of anything when you 
 are coming to see me." 
 
 " Don't go to Mortsang yourself, Marianne, send some 
 one; pray don't go anywhere or run about the country 
 to-day. Stay at home and await us ; by to-morrow you 
 will know whether you are to give up your solitary rides 
 or not." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " Or don't choose to understand. Well, then, you 
 must know that Phillippe Gaucher left Dolmor in the 
 dead of night to take you a bouquet. He /lost his way 
 certainly, and took it to Mortsang or somewhere else ; 
 but if you go that way, you run the risk of meeting him." 
 
 " And supposing I did'meet him ? " 
 
MARIANNE. 227 
 
 " Just as you choose. I have warned you. If you 
 like to run after him — " 
 
 " No one can suj^pose that I am so eager to see hiin.' 
 
 '-^ He will suppose it." 
 
 " Is he so ludicrously conceited ? " 
 
 " I don't say that, you shall judge for yourself ; but he 
 has plenty of assurance, as you must know by this time." 
 
 '' Yes he has certainly some assurance, but there is 'b 
 wide margin between that and absurdity. Now that we 
 are alone, tell me something about him. I will give up 
 doing my own errands to-day, since you object to it. I 
 will go back and say, that Suzon has fallen lame, so that 
 I do not wish to ride her. But since we have met so op- 
 portunely, let us have a little chat." 
 
 " This is no chance meeting. I have been keeping 
 guard." 
 
 '' Over mef Have you really ?" 
 
 " Yes, over you. You are entitled to my advice and 
 protection up to the moment when you say, 'I know 
 what this young man is, he will do for me.' That moment 
 may perhaps be this evening or to-morrow morning. I 
 cannot argue a long continuation of my guardianship from 
 Philippe's way of setting to work." 
 
 " You think that it will only take me till this evening 
 or to-morrow morning to know him? You credit me with 
 more sagacity than I possess." 
 
 " My dear child, your pretense of stupidity is mere 
 coquetry." 
 
 " What ! " said Marianne, listening, and examining 
 Pierre's countenance with more eagerness than usual. 
 " Say whatever you think, help me to understand myself, 
 for that is just what I want. Do you say that I pretend 
 to be stupid, but am not so in reality ? " 
 
 Pierre was embarrassed by this unexpected question. 
 
'228 MARIANNE. 
 
 pnt in such plain terms. " I did not come here to analyze 
 your cliaracter," said he. " My title of godfather merely 
 authorizes me to preserve you from wanton insults. You 
 want me to talk to you about M. Phillippe, and seem very 
 inquisitive about everything concerning him, though you 
 generally show so much indifference. Well, all that I can 
 say is that he is very enterprising, and determined to do 
 all he can to please you." 
 
 " Does he wish to please me ? Then he must like 
 me?" 
 
 " So he says." 
 
 " But does not mean it, you think ? " 
 
 '■' I know nothing about that ; I do not wish to sup- 
 pose that he is not in love with you for your own sake." 
 
 " What has he said about me '? He does not know me 
 at all. He cannot think me pretty." 
 
 " Yes, he does." 
 
 " But he does not really mean it, does he ? Do tell 
 me the truth." 
 
 While Marianne put these questions to Andre, her 
 face had become animated and looked resolute and timid 
 by turns; ber color had risen and her eyes flashed and 
 sparkled. This was a genuine transformation, and struck 
 Pierre very much. " You must be in love wth him al- 
 ready," replied he, " for you look quite pretty now, and 
 he has brought you the beauty which you never possessed 
 l)efore ! " 
 
 " If he brings me beauty," said Marianne, growing 
 still rosier with delight, "he has made me a grand pres- 
 ent already, and I ouglit to be grateful ! I always 
 thought myself plain, and no one ever undeceived me." 
 
 " You were never plain, and I did not know that I 
 had ever said — " 
 
MARIANNE. 229 
 
 " Oh, as to you," was her prompt rejoinder, " you 
 never looked at me to see what sort of a face I had ! " 
 
 "That again is coquetry, Marianne. I always looked 
 at you — with interest." 
 
 "Yes, just as a doctor looks at his patient; you 
 thought I should not live. Now that you see me alive 
 and well, you feel no further anxiety." 
 
 "And yet you see that my anxiety did. not allow ine 
 to sleep last night." 
 
 " Anxiety about what ? What danger could I be in 
 from M. Philippe Gaucher? Is he not an honorable man ? 
 N^o one is corrupt at his age, nor am I a child, unable to 
 resist a few soft words from a young man." 
 
 " The only danger is that of giving rise to gosssip be- 
 fore you have made up your mind to justify it, — you who 
 are so afraid of what the world will say, that you decline 
 to receive a call from me ! " 
 
 " Oh, it would be much worse to have anything said 
 about you. People know that you would not marry me, 
 it is quite a different thing with a young man who is be- 
 ginning life." 
 
 *' What absurdities you are talking ! Should not I 
 marry you if I had been so unfortunate as to compromise 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh yes, you would marry me from a sense of honor, 
 and I neither wish to place you in such a dilemma, nor 
 to feel myself obliged to accept your hand as a repara- 
 tion." 
 
 Andre was much disturbed by every word that fell 
 from Marianne's lips. They were both standing still, she, 
 in the stream where Suzon wanted to drink, and he, lean- 
 ing against a block of gritstone. The clear waters flowed 
 over the sand which they seemed scarcely to wet, and the 
 trees, shad.y with their new foliage, formed a soft green 
 
230 MARIANNE. 
 
 canopy, through which gleamed the rosy tints of the ris- 
 ing sun. 
 
 " Marianne," said Andrd thoughtfully, " you look 
 really very pretty this morning, " and the young spark 
 who first discovered your beauty must feel profound con- 
 tempt for me, for I spoke of you with the modesty 
 befitting a father listening to praises ®f his daughter. He 
 will be sure to say — " 
 
 " Well, what am I to think ? " 
 
 " You must think that a man in my position cannot 
 regard you with the eyes of a suitor, and that he is not 
 absurd for justifying himself. You seem to reproach me 
 with contempt or indifference because I was blind. Why 
 cannot you attribute it to virtue and respect?" 
 
 " I am grateful," returned Marianne with a beaming 
 smile, " and I never felt wounded by your indifference. I 
 care little whether I am thought pretty, so long as I am 
 loved, and I am Sure of the kind interest you have always 
 shown in me. If M. Gaucher is not the husband to suit 
 me, you liave only to say so, and I will take your advice." 
 
 *' Wait till this evening, Marianne ; if yow take a fancy 
 to him, it will alter everything, and you will not consult 
 me." 
 
 " 7" might like him, and you might not— Well, how- 
 ever that may be, it shall not prevent my listening to 
 you." 
 
 " That is all nonsense, child ; if he suits you, I have- 
 no right to object." 
 
 The expression on Marianne's face changed, and she 
 seemed again to shrink fnto the frigid little person with 
 whom Pierre was familiar. She appeared to be offended 
 by her godfather's resignation, and, weary of attempting 
 to stir him up, to renouncCj once for all, her hopes of win^ 
 ning his affections. • 
 
MARIANNE 281 
 
 " Since you leave me so perfectly free," said she, 
 "I have only myself to consult. Good-by for the 
 present." 
 
 She was about to turn her horsje's head, when Pierre, 
 yielding to a sudden impulse, seized Suzon by the bridle, 
 exclaiming : " Stop, Marianne, you cannot part from me 
 so coldly ! " 
 
 " Well," said she, softening, " what would you have 
 me say ? " 
 
 " Some word of affectionate confidence." 
 
 " Did not I &ay it when I promised not to marry 
 contrary to your wishes ? " 
 
 " And don't you see that I could not aacept such a 
 sacrifice as your submission? " 
 
 '' Perhaps it might be no sacrifice, who knows ? *' 
 
 " Who knows ? Quite true ! You know nothing about 
 it yet ! " 
 
 And Pierre, intimidated and discouraged at the \6ery 
 moment when he should have given vent to his feelings, 
 released Suzon and bowed his head, but not before 
 Marianne had caught sight of the tears which stood in 
 his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XVUI. 
 
 " Well," said Marianne to herself as she retraced 
 her steps, " at length I seem to see my way. I thought 
 he would never love me ! Did he not think and write 
 that marriage was a tomb, and that he could never be 
 satisfied with quiet unw^avering happiness ? And y^t he 
 
232 MARIAN-NE. 
 
 is chagrined by my hesitation ; what a sti'ange character 
 is his, and how doubtful he is of everything ! " 
 
 Marianne went indoors, and shut herself up in her 
 room, suffering from such agitation as she had never 
 before known. She was thoroughly sincere in her self- 
 examination, and knew that she had been rather disturbed 
 by her encounter with Philippe, and that if she followed 
 her instincts, it would give her some gratification to see 
 herself ai^preciated by this stranger. 
 
 " How easy it is to u-nderstand these decided people," 
 thought she, '' ought we not to be grateful to them for 
 sparing us the torments of hesitation ? Pierre's respect 
 for me is satisfactory and flattering, but does he not 
 carry it too far ? Does he want me to make the first 
 advances ? is it not natural for the man to take the in- 
 itiative ? " 
 
 Marianne felt impelled and restrained by a true and 
 logical propensity common to women, which leads them 
 to esteem above all things in the stronger sex the resolu- 
 tion which characterizes the masculine nature. She had 
 quivered with pleasure when Pierre seized her bridle 
 authoritatively and detained her; but she felt that 
 Philippe would never have relaxed his hold, and that 
 Pierre's courage had soon failed him. And yet, — the 
 tears he could not r'estrain would never have been shed 
 by Philippe. 
 
 " Perhaps his timidity is but the natural result of my 
 own," said Marianne to herself. " I have never said a 
 word or given a look to betray that I wished for his love. 
 I am too proud, he must think me indifferent or stupid. 
 Would he love me frankly if 1 were more of the coquette 
 and bolder ? Who knows ? " 
 
 Pierre, on his side, was retracing his steps to Dolmor 
 without any further thought of watching over Philippe's 
 
MARIANNE. 233 
 
 movements ; the tears were trickling down his checks, 
 though he was not aware of it. " I am accomplishing 
 my destiny," said lie ; " now I am crowning the history 
 of my aberrations by again longing for what is impossible. 
 So long as Marianne remained free and appeared indif- 
 ferent to me, I never troubled my head about her, but 
 as soon as a rival, with everything in his favor, appears 
 on th-e scene, I become desperately jealous. I am crazy 
 and idiotic too, for just at the moment when I ought to 
 speak, I feel more incapable than ever of wooing her." 
 
 He found his mother up and making breakfast, and 
 as he jjreferred complaining of Marianne rather than not 
 talking of her, he gave an account of their interview, add- 
 ing : " I assure you that Marianne is a coquette and loves 
 to tease. She tried to make me own myself in love with 
 her, that she might enjoy this triumph before taking her 
 revenge. To-night or to-morrow she would have laughed 
 Avitli her future husband at my folly. In vain Madame 
 Andre tried to argue the contrary. She even went so 
 far as to swear that he was the only man her little neigh- 
 bor had ever loved, and that she had been waiting on 
 pupose for him the last five or six years ; but, as she 
 could not quote any confidences of Marianne's in proof 
 of her assertion, Pierre repulsed such hopes as a dangerous 
 snare. He would not confess that he had lost his heart, 
 and his mother, waxing impatient, ended by saying : 
 '^ Well, let us make up our minds, and if we feel vexed or 
 annoyed by this marriage, let us say that we did not choose 
 to prevent it ! " 
 
 Philippe turned up for breakfast, and did justice to 
 the meal. He told Pierre afterwards that he had gone 
 far astray in looking for Yalidat, and would have left 
 his garland of honeysuckle on the gates of Mortsang, had 
 he not inquired in time the name of the nianor-house and 
 
234 MARIANNE. 
 
 its owner, that he had gone still further and found nothing 
 but a marshy desert of moorland, that finally, in retracing 
 liis steps, he had come upon an ugly farmhouse which he 
 should have passed without stopping, had he not espied 
 a pony grazing in the meadow, and recognized Ma- 
 demoiselle Suzon. Plunging through thorns, he made 
 his way into the meadow, and having hung his garland 
 round the neck of the bony animal, had returned in 
 trumph, considering his enterprise successful and his 
 night well employed. 
 
 Pierre scarcely replied, but, wishing to get rid of him, 
 advised him to go and lie down on his bed, lest the loss 
 of his sleep should paralyze his powers of seduction. 
 Philippe vowed that he could do without sleep for three 
 nights and seem none the worse ; nevertheless he wan- 
 dered off to stretch himself in secret on the moss between 
 some rocks, where he enjoyed a refreshing sleep till near- 
 ly noon. 
 
 As it struck twelve, the mare and chaise from Validat 
 drove up to the gate of Dolmor. Madame Andr^ wore 
 her puce silk dress, which looked quite fresh, though she 
 had had it ten years. Philippe arrayed himself in a 
 well-cut ooat of black cloth, and a gorgeous necktie^ 
 Andrd wore his ordinary Sunday suit. Madame Andrd 
 got into the chaise, and Marichette's husband prepared to 
 lead the mare and walk by her side. Philippe sat beside 
 Madame Andre, and professed to drive, but never suc- 
 ceeded in getting the animal into a trot, as a rustic brood 
 mare is unaccustomed to that pace. 
 
 Andre had gone before on foot. He was the first to 
 reach Validat, but waited for the chaise before present- 
 ing himself. The heavy vehicle, finding the barrier up, 
 drove in slowly, and ponderously, and drew up between 
 the house door and a manure heap. Philippe thought 
 
MARIANNE. 
 
 his future manor-house somewhat too rustic, and plannea- 
 to make different arrangements if he found the premises 
 convenient. Unfortunately, he did not ; Mananne stood 
 on the threshold of the kitchen and conducted them in, 
 just as if they had been mere peasants. Yet she had a 
 pretty little sanctuary of her own on the other side of 
 the wall ; but she did not feel inclined to admit a 
 stranger there yet, and Pierre was glad to see her in no 
 hurry to welcome her new guest. 
 
 Marianne kissed Madame Andre, gave her hand to 
 her godfather, and bowed with perfect self-possession to 
 the guest introduced ; then she took Madame Andre into 
 her room to lay aside her shawl and black veil. In those 
 days the poorer women of the middle class hardly ever 
 wore bonnets ; when th^y went out they covered their 
 white linen caps with a veil. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Pierre was secretly amused by Philippe's discom- 
 fiture, though.it was covered by his jaunty manner. He 
 had no suspicion of the simple, nay, rude, habits of coun- 
 try proprietors in that part of the country at that date. 
 Marianne appeared to have made no change in the ways 
 in which she had been brought up. She had long had 
 no sitting-room but this large hall with smoky rafters, 
 hung with ropes of golden brown onions, in the centre 
 of which was suspended, like a lustre, the lattice cage 
 which held the cheeses. The peasantry of the district 
 
236 MARIANNE, 
 
 are very tidy. If the poultry are constantly making 
 their way to the hearth, the housewife, armed with a 
 broom, is always on the alert to drive them out, and 
 remove every trace of their intrusion. The bedsteads, 
 like every piece of furniture, are polished and bright, 
 and the pewter vessels on the dresser shine again fr^m 
 constant scouring ; but the large beds hung with yellow 
 serge, faded till it assumes the hue of a dead leaf, the 
 black chimney-piece and iron chain suspended from it, 
 the heartli covered with pots, cats, and children, the un- 
 even cracked pavement, the small size of the single win- 
 dow and lowness of the ceiling Jhung with provisions and 
 utensils of which you have to steer clear, all failed to 
 satisfy the young Parisian's idea of comfort, nor could 
 he even imagine an artist's studio in such a low dark 
 bituation. 
 
 I^ot being devoid of worldly wisdom in spite of his 
 petulance, he took care not to express one word of dis- 
 satisfaction to Andre, but contented himself with asking 
 if this was where they were to dine. 
 
 " I suppose so," replied Pierre. " Mademoiselle 
 Chevreuse has indeed a little parlor of her own some- 
 where ; but I have never been inside since slie arranged 
 it, and I have no idea whether she has a dining-room or 
 not. I fancy ^slie lives quite on a footing of equality 
 with her farm-laborers, and takes her meajs with them." 
 
 " And we shall sit down with them all ? Well, this 
 is charming, quite a picture of rural life." 
 
 At this moment Marichette came to say to Pierre 
 that if the gentlemen liked to walk round the garden 
 they would find seats, and that her mistress had no doubt 
 gone there already with Madame Andre. 
 
 " The garden lies at the back of the house," added 
 she ; " but if you like to go through the young lady's 
 
rooms, it will save you from haying to go round by the. 
 buildings." 
 
 " We should prefer to go round," replied Pieri-e, who, 
 \^'ith all his curiosity to see Marianne's private rooms, 
 did not care to show them to his companion. They 
 })assed behind the farm buildings, and entered into 
 Marianne'« garden, where they found the table laid in 
 the little covered parterre in front of the parlor. The 
 glass door stood wide oj^en, and without entering, for no 
 one was there, they saw an old wainscoted room, painted 
 white, and newly varnished. The Louis Quinze furni- 
 ture assimilated with the wainscoting. The mirror, sur- 
 rounded by those graceful festoons in carved wood of 
 which we see such poor imitations now a days, appeared 
 very old-fashioned and was considered quite out of date, 
 especially in the country. Nevertheless it looked quaint 
 and pretty, with its polished white garlands drooping 
 over the clear glass, which some masses of real flowers 
 concealed in front, so that it looked like a mere brilliant 
 point, giving a vista into space. 
 
 Pierre racked his memory and recognized the room 
 and furniture, which, in old M. Chevreuse's days, he had 
 seen dirty and chipped, betraying poverty or apatljy. 
 Marianne had shown good taste in appreciating these 
 relics of the former century and having them renovated. 
 The floor was covered with a light carpet. There was 
 nothing hung against the wainscoting, but splendid 
 flowers were seen at every corner, and rose as shrubs or 
 almost trees even upon the bracket which stood opposite 
 the fireplace. 
 
 " How exquisite this is ! " cried Philippe. " I felt 
 sure she was artistic ! " 
 
 "How could you know that?" asked Pierre, who 
 was really the more surprised of the two. 
 
MARIANNE. 
 
 " My dear fellow, the first glimpse of the woman tells 
 me, without any need of definition. Marianne's type is 
 aristocratic." 
 
 " What do you mean by the aristocratic type ? I am 
 not like you, and have not seen much of the world." 
 
 *' Is that what makes you in such a caustic humor 
 to-day ? " said Philippe, laughing. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Mariani^e's appearance with Madame Andrd put an 
 end to this dialogue. They came out into the garden, 
 and the gentlemen hastened to join them. Pierre told 
 his godchild, that, having been so long excluded from 
 her sanctuary, it was quite new to him, and that he 
 should like to see what alterations she had made in it. 
 
 *' You will find none," replied she ; " my father was 
 fond of his garden, and had planted it himself ; I did 
 not like to destroy any part of it, besides, the farm peo- 
 ple have a right to their share of the vegetables. Time 
 has killed many of the trees, and frost cut down many of 
 the shrubs. Wild ones have sprung up in their place, 
 and the end of the enclosure, at the bottom of the gar- 
 den, where my father tried to make a nursery, has be- 
 come a wilderness." 
 
 " I should like to see it," said Pierre, " I remember 
 how damp it was, and that I prophesied to your father 
 that his ornamental trees would never thrive there." 
 
 "Will you go by yourself?" said Marianne; " it is 
 rather too damp and muddy for Madame Andr^." 
 
MARIANNE. 239 
 
 Pierre crossed the orchard and plunged into the for- 
 mer nursery, which occupied a narrow strip of ground 
 enclosed by very high hedges, and watered by the brook. 
 He felt enchanted. Marianne had let nature have her 
 own way with this tiny natural park. The grass had 
 grown up high and bushy in some parts, short and full 
 of flowers in others, according to the caprice of the 
 many rills wliich diverged from the brook and returned 
 to it, after idly wandering through the crevices in the 
 soil. This light black mould, mixed with fine sand, was 
 particularly favorable to the local flora, and all the na- 
 tive plants seemed to have met there. The iris and 
 white and yellow lilies swarmed in the water. The haw- 
 thorn and elder had shot up into luxuriant trees. All the 
 varied orchises of the country enamelled the turf, with a 
 thousand other charming flowers, all sorts of forget-me-not 
 ragged robin, grass of parnassus, and wild hyacinths, 
 some white and all deliciously scented. The higher parts 
 of the ground, being drier, had retained their covering 
 of purple heather and creeping broom, through which 
 peeped the starlike flowers of the wild anemone, white 
 inside and pink beneath. There was no path ; the de- 
 posits of sand served as a guide into this labyrinth, 
 which was never entered by cattle, and frequented only 
 by Marianne herself. Some rocks furnished a seat for 
 her day-dreams, and some clumps of alder and slender 
 beech-trees afforded sufficient shade without depriving 
 the low gi-owing vegetation of air. 
 
 '^ Marianne must be fond of nature," said Pierre to 
 himself, secretly exhilarated ; " she understands it and 
 enters into it as I do ! But she never says anything, 
 never talks about it, so I never suspected it ! " 
 
 "Well," said she, suddenly appearing by his side, ** you 
 see what a poor gardener I am, and how sorry you would 
 
^40 MARIANNE, 
 
 be to exchange your garden, which you complain of as 
 too new, for this deserted old bog." 
 
 " I should find this old bog a perfect paradise ! Are 
 you aware that a botanist might make here almost a com- 
 plete collection of our local flora ? It has given me more 
 than one surprise to find here some of the rarest species, 
 in search of which I have often walked long distances • 
 such as this club-rush for instance beneath our feet." 
 
 " Oil, that came from the rocks at Crevant, and has 
 taken kindly to this spot." 
 
 " Then you have sometimes been as far as Crevant ? " 
 
 " Frequently ; it is a rich natural garden ; 1 brought 
 this pretty white hyacinth from there." 
 
 " That is not a hyacinth, but the bog-bean, a far more 
 beautiful and uncommon flower." 
 
 "I know nothing about the names of plants, but I 
 know their appearance and scent. Whenever I go out, I 
 collect seeds, bulbs, or young plants, and bring them here, 
 where nearly everything thrives." 
 
 " That explains what I see. You have created this 
 little Eden yourself? " 
 
 " Partly ; but I never boast of having acclimatized all 
 these wild things, or peoi3le would think me mad." 
 
 " You might have confessed it to me, who share your 
 mania." 
 
 " Oh, you ! you are a scientific man, and it is quite 
 natural for you to be interested in all these specimens. 
 But I am ignorant, so I have no excuse." 
 
 " What excuse can you want for your love of flowers ? 
 It is all the more charming of you because you are not 
 acquainted with the secrets of their beauty. If you were 
 to examine them carefully — " 
 
 " Oh, I examine them, so far as that goes, and could 
 ^ell you their relations and differences without knowing 
 
MARIANNE. 241 
 
 one word of science. They are so beautiful and so varied ! 
 I admire the beautiful exotics you have in your garden 
 still more, but I should never love them. These little 
 wild flowers are more to my taste, and within my reach.'' 
 
 " Then you look at them as you ride along ? I fancied 
 that you saw nothing, that you enjoyed galloping on Su- 
 zon for the pleasure of the swift motion, that in fact, what 
 you liked in the country was its freedom and space, and 
 the exercise for its own sake." 
 
 " Yes, there is certainly a great pleasure in rapid mo- 
 tion, in cleaving the air, and bounding over the heather 
 as swift as a hare ; but a still greater in seeing everything 
 as one walks along and stops before whatever one likes or 
 admires. I enjoy both what I know and what I don't 
 know. I want to learn nothing, and yet to know every- 
 thing, or, rather I should like to know it all, and then 
 forget it, but to be able to recall it wlien I choose, for 
 there is a great deal of pleasure in making guesses, and 
 that I should lose if I knew everything." 
 
 " Stay as you are, Marianne ! I see that your nature 
 is one of those which grasps truth without requiring de- 
 monstration, and since you are making revelations to-day 
 just tell me — " 
 
 *' Not now. I am afraid your mother will be missing 
 me, for I left her to join you here. Let us go back to 
 her." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Will you take my arm ? " said Pierre, sorry to tear 
 himself away from the flowery oasis where Marianne had, 
 for the first time betrayed the secret of her solitary 
 musings. 
 
242 MARIANNE. 
 
 "We cannot walk two abreast," replied Marianne. 
 " It is only a path for a single person." 
 
 " Single — but you will not be so always ! I think you 
 will soon be making a road here."' 
 
 " Let us quicken our steps," said Marianne. " Here is 
 M. Gaucher coming in search of us, and I don't want 
 him inside my wilderness.'"' So saying, she started at a 
 swift run over the uneven ground, skimming it like a 
 swallow. 
 
 " Bless you, Marianne ! " was Pierre's mental rejoinder. 
 His raptures were, however, soon dissipated, when he saw 
 Marianne accepting the arm which Philippe offered to 
 lead her back to Madame Andre. He wished she could 
 have found some pretext for refusing it, which would not 
 hay,e been easy, unless she meant to play the prude, a 
 part which she seemed to have no intention of assuming 
 towards Gaucher. 
 
 Marianne's dress was rather striking, it was an amber 
 mousseline-de-laine, which set off her complexion to advan- 
 tage. The bright color was softened and toned down by 
 simple ruches of very transparent tulle at the neck and 
 arms. Her black hair was merely adorned by a yellow 
 rose shading into pink, but her thick short locks wore 
 curled with more than usual care. Her shoes were neat^ 
 and displayed a very tiny foot, which was genei-ally all 
 but concealed in heavy boots, or even vulgar walnut- 
 wood sabots. Gaucher scrutinized her with a bold curi- 
 osity which did not seem to offend her. He examined her 
 feet, hands, and waist with the air of a satisfied con- 
 noisseur eager to express his approbation. He was quite 
 ready to tell her that the shade of her dress was bewitch- 
 ing, and that her figure looked like a palm swayed by the 
 breeze. 
 
 *' My figure like a palm ? " responded Marianne 
 
MARIANNE. 243 
 
 lightly. *'It must be a dwarf palm, a cAama?rojt?5 then? 
 Don't you think so ? " said she, addressing her godfather. 
 
 " What, are you a botanist ? "' exclaimed Philippe 
 naively. 
 
 " No, indeed. But M. Pierre has a palm of that sort 
 growing in a box, and I remembered its name." 
 
 " But you must be fond of flowers, for your vases and 
 baskets are marvels of taste." 
 
 "They are only wild flowers from our fields and 
 hedgerows. I like them better out of doors than in my 
 little parlor ; but it is not often that I have the pleasure 
 of welcoming Madame Andre here, and as the ancients 
 offered victims to their tutelary gods, so I sacrifice the 
 lovely i3lants to my dear friend." 
 
 '' I don't see one bit of honeysuckle," said Philippe, 
 who had followed Marianne into the sitting-room where 
 Madame Andre was resting. 
 
 " Suzon might have given us a bit of hers," returned 
 Marianne ; " but the necklace fretted her, so she rolled 
 over with it, and you may imagine its condition after that. 
 There was nothing left but the inscription, about which 
 she did not trouble herself, as she cannot read." 
 
 " Why do you laugh. Monsieur Andre ? " said Phil- 
 ippe, to Pierre. "I have accomplished my object — " 
 
 *' What was your object ? " asked Marianne. 
 
 " Why, I wanted to show you that I was thinking 
 "of you even before daybreak. Now you know it, and I 
 am satisfied." 
 
 " And Avhat made you think of me so early ? " 
 
 "Must I tell you?" 
 
 " You seem to expect me to ask." 
 
 " How can I reply here in the presence of witnesses ? " 
 
 " You made no secret of saying that I had been the 
 subject of your thoughts. It does not do to commence 
 
244 MARIANNE. 
 
 any speech aloud that has to end in a whisper, it is better 
 to leave it alone." 
 
 "In other words, I had better have held my tongue?" 
 
 *' I did not say that; I want to know what you 
 thought of me this morning. It must have been some- 
 thing pleasant, since you paid Suzon such attentions." 
 
 "I thought you were charming and graceful enough 
 to turn any man's head." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. You dispense your compliments 
 with the urbanity of a sovereign. Must I acknowledge 
 them by a courtesy ? " 
 
 " If you please, Mademoiselle Marianne." 
 
 " Then here it is, Monsieur Philippe," replied she, 
 making a low mock courtesy very gracefully. 
 
 Pierre looked at her in amazement. He had never 
 supposed she could be so animated and coquettish. 
 Philippe, growing bolder, began to pay her still more 
 marked attentions, charmed by her banter, and thinking, 
 as any one else in his place might have done, that she was 
 delighted with his admiration. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 • 
 
 Dinner was served under the vines and jessamine, 
 which covered the verandah with long festoons, and hung 
 down their tendrils over the heads of the guests. The 
 table was enlivened with old china, of no great value in 
 those days, though it would be now, and its bright 
 colors, standing out on a bluish ground, looked gay and 
 pretty. Mariann^'^ had brought out some old Nevers 
 
MARIANNE. 245 
 
 glass, put out of sight as old-fashioned, by her parents, 
 but sure to be admired by a collector. Philippe was 
 artist enough to appreciate at least the quaiiitness of these 
 pretty objects, and omitted no opportunity of praising 
 both the general effect and every detail of the service. 
 His appetite was good, for Marichette, under her mistress' 
 direction, was an excellent cock, and the simplest food 
 was converted into dainty dishes under her hands. Old M. 
 Chevreuse had left some bottles of capital wine in his 
 cellar, and Marianne had taken care of it. In short, she 
 showed as much coquetry in her dinner as in her dress 
 and manner. Philippe, who had not much faith in the 
 part he was playing of an unexpected guest, was not slow 
 to believe that he was getting on famously, and would 
 find no difficulty in winning the lady's hand and fortune. 
 The wine seemed to have got into his head, at any 
 rate he became very tender over dessert. Pierre's 
 attempts to restrain him by criticism or contradiction, 
 did but excite him the more ; and Madame Andre teased 
 him openly, in hopes of making him look ridiculous. 
 Marianne was so skilful in encouraging him to confidence 
 and expansion that he augured well for his cause, and on 
 rising from table, after a perfect volley of compliments, 
 some of which were pretty well turned, and others in 
 rather bad taste, Philippe seized Marianne by the arm, 
 saying that he wished to see the big oxen and fat sheep, 
 for a landscape artist knew more about cattle than the 
 farmers. 
 
 " I don't agree with you," said Marianne, withdrawing 
 her arm ; " you pretend to appreciate everything better 
 than we do, whether in town or country, because you are 
 an artist by profession ; but it seems to me that your 
 calling spoils everything and hinders you from seeing." 
 Then, in reply to Philippe's remonst. ances, she resumed 
 
246 MARIANNE, 
 
 " You see too much, and you do not see things aright ; 
 you try to express what is inexpressible. The beautiful 
 is like the Deity, its existence is all-sufficient and no 
 hymns or songs of praise can add one iota to its glory. 
 Words, verses, pictures, and whatever may be invented to 
 embellish the truth tend only to diminish the feeling it 
 inspires when "we gaze on it without any thought of trying 
 to express it." 
 
 " What are you saying there ? " exclaimed Philippe. 
 " Are you opposed to art ? A systematic Philistine ? 
 Such words from your lips are as bad as a caterpillar on 
 
 a rose 
 
 \ " 
 
 "There you are caught," said Marianne promptly, 
 " for a caterpillar on a rose is a lovely object, those that 
 live on our rose-trees are a fine and glossy and emerald 
 green. You can never have examined a caterpillar, ar- 
 tist as you are. Some of them are marvels of beauty, 
 and I know of none that are ugly. How are you to look 
 at my big oxen, when you cannot even look at such a 
 tiny creature ? " 
 
 " Is it you the naturalist, who have persuaded your 
 goddaughter that the love of nature is killed by art?" 
 asked Philippe of Andrb. " If so, you have taught her 
 a pretty paradox.'' 
 
 " It seems to figure as such in your discussion," re- 
 turned Andre, " and your proposition is quite as much of 
 a paradox as Marianne's. I think it would be easier 
 to discuss the question if the argument were better 
 stated." 
 
 " Pray state it properly," said Marianne. 
 
 " Well, this is the shape it would assume with me," 
 replied Pierre, addressing Gaucher. " You think that 
 we require knowledge to enable us to see things, and this 
 I grant ; a naturalist sees more than the peasant, but 
 
MARIANNE, 247 
 
 art differs from science, and we must feel things before 
 we can give them expression. This is what Marianne 
 means. She thinks that you have not loved and studied 
 nature sufficiently to render it. Pray observe that she 
 has not seen any of your paintings ;iny more than I 
 myself, so it is not your talent that she is criticizing, but 
 your theory, which sounds rather presumptuous as com; 
 ing from such a youngster. She thinks that the way 
 does not lie through the studio into the country, but 
 from the country into the studio ; in other words we do 
 not learn to see by becoming artists, but we become art- 
 ists by learning to use our eyes. Was not that what 
 you meant, Marianne ? " 
 
 " Exactly," she replied ; " then you agree with 
 
 me 
 
 9" 
 
 " Let us go and look at the live stock," exclai med 
 Phillipe, "you are far too clever for me! " 
 
 " Well, we will go and see the animals," replied Mari- 
 anne. — " Won't you come too ! " said she to her god- 
 father, adding in a low voice : " I shall go with you as 
 far as the stables, and then come back to play the game 
 with your mother" 
 
 " We will follow you," returned Pierre. 
 
 He did not follow, however, but returned to the par- 
 lor with Madame Andre, saying : " let us leave them to 
 come to an understanding. The time for Marianne's 
 decision is arrived. She has brought it on by her confi- 
 dences. He will, sum up all the declarations he has 
 been making over the dinner-table. If Marianne likes 
 him, it is useless to give any advice, we have only to 
 accept the facts." 
 
 "Madame Andre felt uneasy, and did not like Pierre's 
 leaving the young couple together. She pressed him to 
 follow Marianne, and he promised to obey, but went off 
 
248 MARIANNE. 
 
 by himself into the little wilderness, where, a few hours 
 before, he had felt happy and sanguine for a moment. 
 This was all over now and the life marred by ex cessivc 
 bashfulness rose up before him as a bitter irony, when 
 contrasted with the rapid triumph of a youngster, whose 
 sole merit consisted possibly inhis self-confidence. 
 
 After an hour's dejection, he returned to his mother, 
 whom he found discussins: household matters with Mari- 
 chette, as she helped her to replace the old china and 
 pretty glass behind the panels of the sitting room. 
 " Well," said she, as she took Pierre's arm and led him 
 out into the garden, " are you come back alone ? " 
 
 "I don't know what has become of ttiem," answered 
 Pierre. " I thought I should find them here." They 
 walked round under the trellis of vines, but saw nothing 
 of them. • "You know now," said Pierre, "that there 
 must be something decisive in this lengthy tete-a-tete." 
 
 " No, they must still be-going round the farm. Do 
 go and join them ! " 
 
 " I don't wish to play the spy, and if they are taking 
 a sentimental walk through the beech-wood, I should 
 not like to draw the attention of the farm-people by 
 looking for Marianne." 
 
 They came back to the parlor which Marichette had 
 vacated, and waited another quarter of an hour. Ma- 
 dame Andre felt vexed and anxious. Pierre sat in silent 
 dejection. 
 
 At length Marianne entered alone, slightly agitated, 
 though smiling. " Forgive me for being such a bad 
 hostess, dear friend," said she, .kissing Madame Andre, 
 "I have been very remiss in doing the honors of my 
 ];ouse, but the fault is yours. Why did you bring me 
 : uch an enterprising guest ? " 
 
 " Enterprising?" repeated Pierre with bitter irony. 
 
MARIANNE. 249 
 
 "Yes, indeed ! He expects me to fall in love within 
 three hours, and promise to marry him. Rather a sum- 
 mary way of proceeding, you will allow." 
 
 " Not too summary, if he has succeeded in getting 
 you to make up your mind." 
 
 "I have made up my mind," said Marianne. 
 
 " Then you have come to announce your engage- 
 ment," said Pierre, dolefully. " Wliy is he not here to 
 proclaim his triumph?" 
 
 "Oh, he is modest about his triumph, and has left 
 us." 
 
 " Has he gone hack bj himself to Dolmor ? " 
 
 " No ; he is going back to Paris." 
 
 "To buy the wedding presents?" said Madame 
 Andre. 
 
 " He will soon be buying them for some Parisian, I 
 have no doubt," replied Marianne, " for he vows he has 
 had enough of country girls." 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 Madame A^^^dre started to her feet, exclaiming: 
 " Then it is all at an end ! " 
 
 Marianne looked at Pierre who had been unable to 
 restrain a cry of joy. "Are you glad? " asked she. 
 
 " Not if you regret it ! " 
 
 " I regret nothing. All he had in his favor was his 
 audacity, which impressed me at first. I felt that with 
 X man of such decision I should be spared all trouble in 
 
^2b0 MARIANNE, 
 
 thinking for myself, whicli would have been very conven- 
 ient; but if a man never hesitates, he ought to liave ex- 
 cellent juclgment, and as soon as he began to talk, I saw 
 that, however clever and kind-heaited he might be. he 
 had very little sense. What would become of such a 
 poor weak creature as myself, if I had a liusband without 
 brains ? It would never do, and since he pressed me to 
 say Avhat I thought of him, I gave him my opinion as 
 frankly as I have just done to you." 
 
 " Tell us how it all came about," said Madame Andre. 
 "To begin with, where were you? Did he make his 
 offer in the cowshed ? " 
 
 " No, in tlie meadow, on the further side of tlie grove. 
 I vvonder you did not hear us, for we had a good deal of 
 argument during our walk. As to any declaration of his 
 sentiments, that took place in your presence, under the in- 
 flu<?.nce of the muscat, and there was no need to repeat it. 
 He began at once to talk of marriage ; but I had made up 
 my mind, and told him at once that I had no intention of 
 marrying and then he became angry. ITe can 'be ill-tem- 
 pered enough if you thwart him. Ho reproached me 
 with being a villnge coquette, for flirting with him the 
 whole of dinner time. He even went so far as to sny some 
 hard things, and I took it meekly, for I deserved them. 
 It is quite true that I flirted, and I cannot disown it, but 
 my coquetry was not displayed on his account, and as I 
 could not confess my secret, I chose to let him think what 
 he liked of me." 
 
 " Then for whom was your coquetry displayed ? " 
 asked Madame Andre. 
 
 " For one avIio refuses to guess anything that he is 
 not told. One must have M. Philippe's self-confidence 
 to come to an understanding with him. I tried to have 
 it, and only required the excitement of his praise to give 
 
MARIANN. 
 
 me the courage 1 had always lacked 
 structor has gone, and I begin to ask mySe^ ^diulirrP lfie 
 really thought me pretty or intelligent, for all my old 
 doubts are returning ! " 
 
 "Marianne, Marianne," cried Pierre, tlirowing liim- 
 self on his knees before his goddaughter, '* if you have 
 guessed my feelings in spite of my roughness, you will 
 pardon it, for I have done penance enougli to-day. 
 
 " I have to ask for pardon too," returned Marianne. 1 
 read what you wrote down in your pocket-book. It slipped 
 from your hand two days ago, upon the little grassy 
 path, as you were talking to me of M. Gaudier, and I 
 found it as I walked back. Thinking it was an album 
 full of sketches, such as you often make when you walk 
 out, I opened it, and saw my own name. And then — well, 
 I read it, I read it all, and in the evening I brought back 
 the book and laid it on your drawing-room table, by the 
 side of your satchel, without saying a word. There you 
 have my offence. I knew tlien that you doubted my affec- 
 tion, and- regretted that you could not count upon it^ I 
 wanted to see whether you would be jealous of my 
 suitor, so I made myself agreeable, and now — " 
 
 "Now," cried Madame Andre, "he will bo happy, 
 for, in spite of all his endeavors, I gues-sed his reasons for 
 abusing himself so much ! " 
 
 " But I am quite unworthy of you, Marianne,"" said 
 Pierre, shrinking again ; " you are adorable, and I am — " 
 
 " Never mind what you think of yourself," returned 
 Marianne briskly ; " you have said everything you could 
 imagine in my presence to discourage me from loving 
 you, but all in vain. I have loved you for six years. 1 
 never thought when it first began, that it would be so long 
 before you returned. I kept expecting you with the 
 rustic patience which we learn in our childhood, but your 
 
252 MARIANNE,^ 
 
 return was a disappointment, for I saw that you were 
 determined not to fall in love, and, but for the pocket- 
 book, I should have thought all was over. Finding that, 
 in spito of all your efforts, you could not help thinking 
 of me, I took courage, and then, this morning — I saw the 
 tears in your eyes. Come now, let us own that we love 
 each other, and could never be happy apart." 
 
 "7%a^we never could," replied Pierre Andre, "for 
 never were two people more alike. We are both timid 
 and reserved, yet we have the same frank rectitude. We 
 have the same tastes, with the same aversion to making 
 tliem public, but feel the need of communicating them to 
 one another and enjoying them together. We adore 
 nature and love the country; while separated, our en- 
 joyment of them was melancholy, now it will be rap- 
 ture ! But what we have both felt the want of most 
 has been mutual love and sympathy, unbounded confi- 
 dence in another being who is our second self. At forty, 
 I offer you a virgin heart that has been bestowed only 
 on visions. Accept it as your own, for its past, present, 
 and future shall centre in you." 
 
 It was night before Pierre and his mother left Validat 
 Madame Andrcf wished to walk part of the way ; then she 
 got into the cliaise and left them to follow, feeling that 
 they must wish to be alone, and Marianne, having the 
 carriage to take her back, walked on to Dolmor, leaning 
 on the arm of her godfather, whom she had again begun 
 to address as Pierre. 
 
 " What a lovely evening ! " said he, as they looked up 
 to the stars. " How fresh the air is, and how balmy ! 
 The very earth and rocks seem to smell sweet to-night ! 
 I never saw the stars look so clear before, we seem to be 
 passing through an enchanted land, that has sprung up 
 without our knowing it, since morning. Ah ! if I had 
 
'MARIANNE. 1^53 
 
 been as happy as this in my youth I shouhl have become 
 a great poet and artist.'' 
 
 " Thank heaven yon did not," replied Marianne, " or 
 my inferiority Avould seem all the greater to you, for i 
 know notliing of all these fine things ; but I fancy I love 
 nature all the more from being unable to ex]u*ess my feel- 
 ings. M. ]-*hilippe horrified me to-day by the queer ped- 
 antic words he used to qualify all that he saw. No, words 
 cannot express one's feelings, and it seems to me that the 
 more people say,the less they see. Nature must be like 
 love, Pierre. It dwells in our hearts, and it don't do for 
 us to talk about it, for it grows weaker by description. 
 When I dream, I don't know what comes over me but I 
 see notliing but heaven and myself. And now I put myself 
 out of the question, for if I think of you, I am absorbed by 
 you, and forget my own existence. You are my liappiness, 
 my poetry, and my science." 
 
 After Marianne had driven off in lier chaise and Pierre 
 had gone indoors he found the following note awaiting 
 him from Philippe, — 
 
 " My dear Andre : 
 
 I have called in at your liouse for 
 my luggage, and leave a line behind to thank you for your 
 kind reception. If your pretty little neighbor made fun 
 of me, tlie fault was not yours, but my own ; I ought to 
 have opened my eyes wider and become sooner aware of 
 her preference for you, a preference which she could not 
 altogether conceal though she never avowed it. I might 
 have spared myself the annoyance of liaving been in love 
 with her for three or four hours, but love is no killing 
 matter, and I remain her friend as well as yours, for she 
 
254 MARIANNE. 
 
 IS .'I cliarming woman, and I congratulate you on your 
 good fortune. " 
 
 The day following, Pierre Andrd and Marianne 
 Chevreuse had their banns published 
 
 THE EKD. 
 
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