TALES FROM FOREIGN TONGUES. 
 
 UNIFORM IN STYLE AND PRICE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Memories : A Story of German Love. Translated from 
 the German of MAX MULLER, by GEO. P. UPTON. i6mo, 
 173 pages, gilt top. 
 
 II. 
 
 Graziella: A Story of Italian Love. Translated from 
 the French of A. DE LAMARTINE, by JAMES B. RUNNION. 
 i6mo, 235 pages, gilt top. 
 
 III. 
 
 Marie: A Story of Russian Love. From the Russian 
 of ALEXANDER PUSHKIN, by MARIH H. DE ZIELINSKA. 
 i6mo, 210 pages, gilt top. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Madeleine: A Story of French Love. Translated from 
 the French of JULES SANDJBAU, by FRANCIS CHARLOT. 
 i6mo, 244 pages, gilt top.
 
 jan. 
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE 
 
 (CROWNED BY THE FRENCH ACADEMY.) 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH 
 
 OF 
 
 JULES SANDEAU, 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS CHARLOT. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY 
 
 1 801.
 
 COPYRIGHT. 
 
 JANSEN, McCLURG & CO. 7 
 A. P., 1878.
 
 2138137
 
 MADELEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T IKE most provincial villages through which 
 * ' passes a royal route, Neuvy-les-Bois is 
 an ugly town muddy in Winter, dusty in 
 Summer, in all seasons without poetry and 
 without mystery. It possesses so little impor- 
 tance that, previous to the day when our simple 
 narrative commences, the inhabitants had no 
 recollection of any public carriage ever having 
 stopped in their streets. The disdain that the 
 postilions and conductors of the diligences had 
 from all time affected toward Neuvy-les-Bois, 
 will convey an idea of the poor quality of its 
 wines. 
 
 It was mid-day of a Sunday in Autumn.
 
 MADELEINE ; 
 
 Grouped at the entrance of the little hamlet, 
 under a fiery sun whose rays fell like lead upon 
 their heads, the inhabitants waited gravely for 
 the passage of the diligence from Paris to 
 Limoges. This weekly event was their only 
 diversion ; brief, it is true, but intoxicating, like 
 all joys that are soon lost. On these occasions, 
 at the moment when they first heard the 
 approaching vehicle, they ranged themselves sol- 
 emnly on each side of the road ; and when the 
 huge machine, rolling in at the grand trot of the 
 Limousine horses, had passed between the two 
 rows of noses in the air, staring eyes, and wide- 
 open mouths, and disappeared in a cloud of 
 dust at a bend of the road, these worthy people 
 would re-enter their houses, their hearts filled 
 with a sweet satisfaction. 
 
 On this particular Sunday, there was nothing 
 to indicate any change from the usual course of 
 things ; but it was written above that Neuvy-les- 
 Bois should that day be the theater of an event 
 upon which this modest village, profoundly
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. g 
 
 discouraged by a half-century of waiting, had 
 not dared to count. Instead of passing through 
 the village in a flash, as was its habit, the 
 diligence stopped short in the middle of the 
 street, between the two living fences which had 
 been formed as usual to await its passage. At 
 this unexpected spectacle, all Neuvy-les-Bois 
 remained standing in its place, without dreaming 
 of asking whence came so rare an honor. Even 
 the dogs, that were in the habit of running 
 barking before the coach, inviting blows from the 
 postilion's whip, seemed to partake of the 
 astonishment of their masters, and held them- 
 selves, like them, stiff and mute with stupor. 
 
 Meanwhile the conductor had descended, 
 opened the coach door, and uttered in a dry tone 
 the word "Neuvy-les-Bois." A young girl 
 alighted, her only baggage being a small packet 
 which she carried in her hand. She was dressed 
 in black, and could not have been more than 
 fourteen or fifteen years of age. Her pale face, 
 her eyes evidently used to tears, and her sad
 
 I0 MADELEINE : 
 
 and suffering air, said more than her mourning 
 dress. Although but a child, she seemed grave 
 beyond her years. Before she had time to say 
 adieu to her traveling companions, the conductor 
 had climbed again to his seat, and the diligence 
 whirled away. When she found herself in the 
 road at the entrance of this miserable village, 
 where not a soul knew her, alone in the midst of 
 all these faces that examined her with an ex- 
 pression of curiosity simple yet suspicious, the 
 poor girl seated herself upon a pile of stones, 
 and, feeling her heart give way, bowed her head 
 between her hands and wept bitterly. The 
 peasants continued to regard her with the same 
 air, but without a word, and without budging 
 from the spot. 
 
 Happily, in this rustic group there were some 
 women; and among these women was a mother, 
 who cradled upon her breast a little new-born 
 babe. She approached the afflicted girl, and 
 regarded her with a hesitating pity ; for although 
 the child seemed friendless and poor, there was
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. XI 
 
 about her a natural distinction that relieved 
 singularly the simplicity of her costume, and 
 easily commanded deference and respect. 
 
 " Poor young lady ! " said the woman at last ; 
 " since you are traveling alone at your age, it 
 must be that you have lost your mother." 
 
 "Yes, Madame, I have lost my mother," 
 replied the young girl, in a sweet voice, with a 
 slight foreign accent. " Alas ! I have lost all 
 even the little corner of the earth where I was 
 born, and where rest the remains of those who 
 were dearest to me. I have nothing now left 
 under heaven," added she, dropping her head. 
 
 " Dear young lady, may the good God take 
 pity upon your pain. I can tell from your 
 speech that you are not of our country. No 
 doubt you have come far." 
 
 "Oh, yes indeed far. I have often feared 
 I would never arrive." 
 
 "And you go ?" 
 
 " Where my mother, before she died, directed 
 me. I knew when I started that once at
 
 I2 MADELEINE: 
 
 Neuvy-les-Bois I could easily find my way to 
 Valtravers." 
 
 " You are going to Valtravers ? " 
 
 "Yes, Madame." 
 
 " To the chateau ? " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " You have come the longest way, Mademoi- 
 selle. You should have stopped at the last 
 village. However, it is nearly the same. You 
 have only three little leagues to walk, and you 
 can make them yet shorter by going through the 
 woods. If you will permit, my nephew Pierrot 
 will conduct you. But the heat is overpowering; 
 and I dare say, my child, that you have taken 
 no food to-day. Come to our farm and taste 
 some milk, and then in the cool of the evening 
 you can go on your way." 
 
 "Thanks, Madame; you are good. But I 
 need nothing. I would rather start at once. 
 And if it would not be imposing on Pierrot " 
 
 " Come here, Pierrot ! " cried the woman. 
 
 At this invitation, made in a tone that
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I3 
 
 admitted of no reply, a droll little fellow 
 detached himself from the crowd, and advanced 
 toward the woman with the piteous manner of 
 a dog that feels that his master calls him for a 
 beating. Pierrot, who all day had soothed him- 
 self with the delightful hope of playing ball on 
 the church common after vespers, seemed little 
 pleased at the proposition of his aunt. She, 
 however, reiterated her command in such a tone 
 that he deemed it prudent to resign himself. 
 Putting in his hand the little packet of the 
 stranger, she pushed him by the shoulders, and 
 said: 
 
 "Go through the woods; and above all, do 
 not make the young lady walk too fast. She 
 has neither thy feet nor thy legs." 
 
 Pierrot started, with a sullen air; whilst 
 Neuvy - les - Bois, beginning to recover from its 
 stupor, absorbed itself in commenting upon the 
 events of the great day. 
 
 We suspect that the village of Neuvy-les-Bois 
 had been thus named by way of paradox:
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 Neuvy, if you please; but as for woods, that 
 was another matter. I know of nothing more 
 fallacious and uncertain than these names of 
 persons and of places which have a precise 
 signification, and which are like formal engage- 
 ments rarely fulfilling that which they promise; 
 their failure being usually in precisely those 
 qualities for which they are named. I have 
 known Angeliques who were not angels, and 
 young Blanches that were as black as little 
 crows. And as for places, without going farther 
 than Neuvy-les-Bois since we are there it 
 has no trees, not even a group of poplars to 
 shelter it from the Northern winds or the Sum- 
 mer heats. The country is naked and flat as the 
 sea; and for a distance of half-a-league around, 
 you will not find even the shadow of an oak. 
 At Fontenay-aux-Roses you will at least find a 
 few withered rose-bushes. 
 
 However, as the young girl and her guide 
 left the dusty road and advanced through the 
 fields, the landscape assumed an aspect more
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I $ 
 
 smiling and green. After two hours' walk, they 
 could see the forest of Valtravers undulating 
 on the horizon. In spite of the injunction of 
 his aunt, Pierrot walked rapidly, without care 
 for his companion. The possibility of being 
 able to return in time to take part in the 
 game of ball, gave the little rascal wings. 
 Although the young girl was quick-footed and 
 light, she had begged him to go slower; but 
 the abominable Pierrot was deaf to her entreaty, 
 and pursued his way without pity. Though 
 going post-haste, he yet could not fail to see 
 by the lengthening shadows of the grain in the 
 fields, that, try his best, he could not reach 
 Valtravers and return in time for his Sunday 
 play. At the edge of the forest, an idea sud- 
 denly crossed the brain of this young cow-boy. 
 " See ! " said he resolutely, placing the packet 
 upon the ground ; " you have only to follow 
 this wide path, and it will lead you direct to 
 the chateau. In a quarter of an hour you will 
 have your nose in the door."
 
 1 6 MADELEINE: 
 
 Upon this, he prepared to leave her, when 
 a gesture detained him. Detaching from her 
 belt a little purse, which did not appear very 
 heavy, the young girl drew out a piece of silver, 
 which she handed to Pierrot, at the same time 
 thanking him for his trouble. At this trait of 
 generosity, upon which he had not counted, 
 Pierrot hesitated; and perhaps he would have 
 heeded the cry of conscience, had he not at 
 that instant caught a glimpse of the church- 
 spire of Neuvy-les-Bois, in the distance. By 
 some effect of mirage, which the passion for 
 play can perhaps explain, he also saw upon the 
 common a dozen little rascals like himself, 
 with their bats and balls. At this sight, Pierrot 
 could restrain himself no longer. He took the 
 piece of silver, buried it in the depths of his 
 pocket, and took to his legs as if the devil 
 pursued him. 
 
 Upon reaching the cool shade of the trees, 
 the young girl experienced a grateful sense of 
 relief, as of one going from a heated room to a
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I7 
 
 cool bath. Her first act was to thank God for 
 having sustained and protected her in the long 
 journey which was about to end, and to pray 
 of Him to render hospitable the door at which 
 she was soon to knock. Not doubting that the 
 chateau was very near, she seated herself at 
 the foot of an oak, and gave herself up to the 
 enchantment of the forest. Kind and indulgent 
 Nature ! Thou art the friend of all ages ; thou 
 consolest the old, and even children, when 
 thou smilest upon them, forget that they have 
 lost their mother. Around her was harmony, 
 freshness, and perfume. The oblique rays that 
 the sun sent through the leaves to die at her 
 feet, reminded her that night approached. She 
 rose and pursued her path, expecting every 
 instant to see walls and towers. But she soon 
 found that the path which Pierrot had told her 
 led direct to the chateau, ended in an avenue 
 that crossed it at right angles. The child 
 listened, to catch sounds from any habitation 
 that might be near; but she heard instead 
 
 2
 
 1 8 MADELEINE: 
 
 only the profound murmurs of the forest. She 
 climbed a little mound, and saw nothing around 
 her but an ocean of verdure. For a long time 
 she wandered on, alone save for the care of 
 God; when, wishing to retrace her steps, she 
 found it was impossible to distinguish the path 
 by which she came. The setting sun filled the 
 forest with shade and with mystery. The songs 
 of the birds had ceased ; the butterflies beat 
 the air with their silky wings ; and there had 
 already begun the sinister concert of the frogs. 
 It is at this hour, above all others, that solitude 
 and sadness weigh heaviest upon the souls of 
 the unfortunate. Tired and discouraged, and 
 without strength to go farther, the poor child 
 fell upon the grass, while her tears ran down 
 afresh. She had untied the black ribbons of 
 her straw hat ; and whilst she wept, the breezes 
 played with her blonde hair, that was gilded 
 by the sun's last ray. 
 
 She had been for some minutes thus lost 
 in despair, when she saw near her a beautiful
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I9 
 
 horse, whose approach she had not noticed, 
 and which had been stopped, when a few steps 
 from her, by its rider, who was now regarding 
 her with the surprised air of one not accus- 
 tomed to such meetings at such an hour and 
 in such a place. She sprang to her feet ; then, 
 re-assured by the frank smile of the cavalier, 
 she said: 
 
 "Monsieur, it is God who has sent you to 
 my aid. If you belong in this country, you 
 know already that I am a stranger. For more 
 than two hours I have wandered in this forest, 
 not knowing where its paths led. Will you do 
 me the kindness to put me in my way ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Mademoiselle," replied a voice 
 almost as soft as her own ; " only, I must know 
 where you wish to go." 
 
 " To Valtravers, Monsieur." 
 
 "To the chateau?" 
 
 "Yes to the chateau of Valtravers." 
 
 " You could have found no one to direct you 
 better, Mademoiselle, for I am going there, and
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 if you will permit I will have the honor of 
 guiding you." 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, the cavalier 
 sprang from his horse. He was a young man, 
 in all the freshness of life's Spring-time; slender 
 and elegant, with soft yet proud eyes, and above 
 all that grace that cannot be described. His 
 hair, lustrous as jet, curled closely about his 
 temples. Tied negligently about his neck was a 
 scarf of gray silk striped with blue, which did 
 not hide but only relieved the pure ivory of the 
 throat. A brown riding-coat fitted closely to his 
 flexible figure, and white pantaloons fell over a 
 boot slender and straight and arched, armed at 
 the heel with a tinkling spur of steel. His 
 appearance was thus at the same time simple 
 and charming. 
 
 "Is this yours, Mademoiselle?" he asked, 
 pointing with his whip to the little packet on the 
 grass. 
 
 " Yes, Monsieur, it is all my fortune," replied 
 the little stranger, with a sad smile.
 
 A STO.RY OF FRENCH LOVE. 21 
 
 The young man took the packet and fastened 
 it securely to the saddle ; then, offering his arm 
 to the girl, they proceeded in the direction of the 
 chateau, followed by the beautiful and docile 
 horse, which cropped on each side of the way 
 the young buds of Autumn. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I thank the chance which 
 brought me here ; for, lost as you were, you 
 were likely to sleep to-night under the stars and 
 upon the moss of the woods." 
 
 "I had resigned myself to that, Monsieur;" 
 and the young girl recounted the manner in 
 which she had been deceived by Pierrot. 
 
 " Pierrot is a rascal who deserves to have his 
 ears cut off," said the young man. " As you are 
 going to Valtravers, Mademoiselle, you must 
 know the Chevalier, or at least some one at the 
 chateau ?" 
 
 " I know no one there." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Absolutely no one. But you, Monsieur, 
 you know the Chevalier ? "
 
 22 MADELEINE: 
 
 "Certainly; we are old friends." 
 
 " It is said that he is good, generous, and 
 
 charitable." 
 
 " Oh, very charitable," replied the young 
 
 man, who thought this was perhaps some case of 
 
 misfortune seeking aid ; but after a rapid survey 
 
 of his companion, he gave up this idea, and 
 
 decided that she could not be an ordinary seeker 
 
 of charity. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," he continued, gravely, "the 
 
 Chevalier has the most noble heart that ever 
 
 beat." 
 
 " I did not doubt it," she replied, simply. 
 
 " Still, at this moment it is sweet to hear it 
 
 affirmed anew. And little Maurice, Monsieur; 
 
 you must know him ? " 
 
 "What little Maurice, Mademoiselle?" 
 
 "Oh, the son of the Chevalier." 
 
 "Indeed! indeed!" cried the young man, 
 
 laughing; "certainly I know little Maurice." 
 " Does he promise to become some day as 
 
 good and generous as his father ? "
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 23 
 
 "Oh, he passes generally in the country for a 
 good-enough fellow. I do not wish to say any 
 evil of him." 
 
 "I feel that I shall love him like a brother." 
 
 " And I can assure you, on his part, that he 
 will be charmed to see you. " 
 
 At this instant they crossed a clearing; and 
 behind the wall of a park whose gate opened 
 upon the forest, there appeared a pretty castle, 
 its windows burning with the last rays of the 
 setting sun.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON the same evening, at the same hour, the 
 old Chevalier de Valtravers was seated 
 upon his door-step, in company with the Marquise 
 de Fresnes, whose neighboring chateau could be 
 seen in the depth of the valley, through the yet 
 green foliage of the poplars that bordered the 
 Vienne river. They were entertaining each 
 other in talking of by-gone times ; for at their 
 age life has little to illumine it beyond the dim 
 and pale reflection of the past which is called 
 Memory. 
 
 The friendship of the Chevalier and the 
 Marquise was of long standing. At the first 
 stroke of the tocsin sounded by the Monarchy 
 to its supporters, the Marquis de Fresnes had
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 25 
 
 determined that the proper thing for him to do 
 was to make with his wife a tour of a few months 
 along the Rhine; thus protesting against what 
 passed in France, while giving at the same time 
 a mark of respect and devotion to the throne of 
 St. Louis. The Chevalier de Valtravers decided 
 to accompany them. It is now known how 
 these journeyings, begun as pleasure-excursions 
 of but a few months, ended for the most part in 
 a long and hard exile. The three companions 
 counted so surely upon an early return, that 
 they had taken with them enough to sustain 
 them in a life of idleness but little more than a 
 year. These resources exhausted, the income 
 of their home estates diverted by the govern- 
 ment, their diamonds and jewels and other 
 valuables converted into money, they went 
 quietly to Nuremberg, where they installed 
 themselves in the simplest manner, their only 
 study being how to exist. The Marquis and the 
 Chevalier were firmly wedded to the old ideas 
 of the aristocracy ; and so, as always happens,
 
 26 MADELEINE: 
 
 it was a woman who first set the example of 
 resignation, of courage, and of energy. When 
 the two friends asked anxiously what they should 
 do in the new condition of things, Madame de 
 Fresnes said simply, "We will work." 
 
 She painted tolerably in pastel and miniature. 
 She made portraits, and she gave lessons. Her 
 beauty, her grace, and her misfortune were more 
 marked than her talents, and soon gained for 
 her numerous patrons. The two fine gentle- 
 men, who began by decrying her work as lower 
 ing one of her rank, ended by admitting that they 
 were supported without their own efforts, and 
 that it was the Marquise who, to use an old say- 
 ing, "brought water to the mill." The Marquis, 
 however, did not care to do anything ; but the 
 Chevalier realized that to stand thus with arms 
 folded from false pride, was to present a poor 
 front to fortune. But what employment could 
 he find for his faculties? to what industry 
 could he apply his two strong arms? It oc- 
 curred to him that he could teach French; but
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 27 
 
 the thought that he must first learn another lan- 
 guage, upset this beautiful idea. After having 
 studied and turned himself in all ways, the 
 Chevalier decided in all humility that he was 
 fit for nothing but to go and be killed in the 
 army of Conde". For this he prepared himself, 
 seriously, but without enthusiasm. One day, as 
 he wandered sadly in the street, he stopped 
 mechanically before a toy-shop, where he saw, 
 among other little objects of wood made with a 
 turning -lathe, some cups and balls artistically 
 cut, and a goodly number of those humming- 
 tops which are the delight of children and the 
 glory of Nuremberg. It would seem that for a 
 gentleman emigrant, completely ruined, and 
 long past the age of cups and balls and spin- 
 ning-tops, this spectacle had nothing that could 
 excite the imagination or induce a transport of 
 the brain. It happened, however, that after 
 some minutes of silent contemplation, the Chev- 
 alier seemed to experience something of that 
 shock of discovery that struck Columbus when
 
 2 8 MADELEINE : 
 
 he saw rising from the bosom of the ocean the 
 shores of a new world ; or Galileo, when he felt 
 our little globe, stationed by ignorance for six 
 thousand years in space, move itself and prom- 
 enade around the sun. 
 
 M. de Valtravers was born in 1760; when, 
 thanks to the "Emile" of Rousseau, it was the 
 fashion among the higher classes of French 
 society to complete an education by an appren- 
 ticeship to some trade. The example set was 
 of the highest; for in 1780 the King of France, 
 who was the most honest man in his kingdom, 
 was also the best locksmith. It was then the 
 fashion for all the great lords to know some 
 mechanical art, and for the grand ladies to 
 nurse their own children. In general, this state 
 of affairs shaped itself without any pre-arrange- 
 ment or design. One sex played at work, the 
 other at maternity; lending themselves more 
 to the caprice of the day than to the instincts 
 of Nature. The noblemen never suspected, as 
 they handled the plane and the file, that the
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 29 
 
 time was coming when the sons of the great 
 families would be forced to become the sons 
 of toil, and that it was more wise to act than 
 to dream, as they must thenceforth create for 
 themselves titles in the State. 
 
 At the sight of all these playthings, before 
 which chance or the instincts of a mysterious 
 vocation had conducted him, M. de Valtravers 
 remembered that he had learned in youth the 
 art of turning in ebony and in ivory. Three 
 months after this, he passed in Nuremberg as 
 the Benvenuto Cellini of wood - turning. He 
 excelled in the making of toys. His humming- 
 tops delighted the public; but what shall we 
 say of his nut-crackers, which, by the delicacy 
 and finish of their details, were simply marvels 
 of art ? His works in ivory were valued as 
 real jewels. Fashion mixed itself in all this, 
 and his products, like the pastels of Madame 
 de Fresnes, were soon greatly in vogue. During 
 the two years they spent in this old German 
 city, every well-born face considered it a duty
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 to pose before the Marquise ; while there was 
 not a filbert eaten in society without the inter- 
 vention of the French emigrant. 
 
 It can readily be believed that, unlike some 
 people, our two artists did not take their suc- 
 cess very seriously. Though holding it in 
 public at a very high price, it furnished them 
 material for much pleasant badinage at home. 
 After working hard all day, they met in the 
 evening; and then there was a scene of child- 
 like gaiety. When the Marquise exhibited upon 
 her easel the full-blown face of some fat 
 Nuremberger, the Chevalier drew from his 
 pocket half-a-dozen nut-crackers that he had 
 turned during the day ; and they laughed like 
 children, without perceiving that it was to work 
 that they owed their light -heartedness to 
 labor, that made them happier and better than 
 they had ever been in their prosperity. The 
 Marquis, however, still clung to his belief that 
 to toil for his daily bread was beneath the 
 character of a gentleman, who should respect
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 31 
 
 himself and know how to die, like a Roman 
 senator in his cerulean chair, rather than live 
 like common workers. He grew disdainful in 
 manner toward his wife, and despised sove- 
 reignly the Chevalier ; and he did not trouble 
 himself to conceal his feelings. What exasper- 
 ated him most was to see them constantly 
 occupied, and in good humor ; whilst he was 
 literally dying of that heavy and profound 
 ennui which inaction drags after it. In respect- 
 ing himself, however, he was still able to eat 
 with a good appetite ; availing himself, without 
 scruple, of the benefits of the association, and 
 showing himself in every respect more exact- 
 ing than when in his chateau on the banks of 
 the Vienne. It was when they were assembled 
 at meal-times that his bile showed itself most. 
 Sometimes the Chevalier would then rejoin by 
 asking: "Marquis, do me the favor to say where 
 would we now be except for the pastels of the 
 Marquise?" "And without the nut-crackers 
 of our friend ? " the Marquise would add, laugh-
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 ing. But M. de Fresnes would shrug his 
 shoulders, speak of the stain on his escutcheon, 
 ask pardon for his wife of the manes of his 
 ancestors and then complain bitterly that 
 there was no Bordeaux wine upon the table. 
 
 At length, when they were assured of the pros- 
 perity of their household, Madame de Fresnes 
 and M. de Valtravers could obey a sentiment 
 more disinterested and .more poetic, which had 
 insensibly developed in them. They had crossed, 
 without suspecting it, the steps that lead from 
 trade to art, like the ladder of Jacob, reach- 
 ing from the earth to heaven. The Marquise 
 attempted miniature copies of the portraits of 
 the old masters, and succeeded so well that 
 buyers competed for these miniatures after Hol- 
 bein and Albert Diirer. For his part, the Cheva- 
 lier labored earnestly at sculpture in wood. He 
 distinguished himself, and became in this genre 
 one of the most eminent artists beyond the 
 Rhine. There is shown yet in the Cathedral of 
 Nuremberg a chair, whose ornaments, though
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 33 
 
 not in irreproachable taste, includes a carving 
 representing St. John preaching in the wilder- 
 ness, which is one of the most beautiful in Ger- 
 many, and would bear comparison with the carv- 
 ings in the Church of St. Giorgio Maggiore. 
 
 Outside of the enjoyments that it procures, 
 humble and modest as they are, art has some- 
 thing yet more sure and precious. It elevates 
 the heart and widens the spirit; it opens to 
 thought a wider and serener horizon. At least, 
 this is what it did for the Marquise and the 
 Chevalier. It broke, little by little, the circle 
 of narrow ideas in which their birth and educa- 
 tion had confined them. They recognized the 
 aristocracy of labor and the royalty of intelli- 
 gence. Like two butterflies escaped from the 
 chrysalis, they emerged from the wrappings of 
 caste to enter triumphantly the grand family of 
 humanity. During this time, worn by ennui to 
 the very marrow of his bones, the Marquis con- 
 tinued to be consumed by impotent desires and 
 sterile regrets ; till at last, one beautiful day, he
 
 34 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 rendered to God what he had of soul, and his 
 wife and his friend wept over him like children. 
 Some months after, in 1802, upon the invita- 
 tion of the First Consul, they re-crossed the 
 Rhine and returned happily into their own 
 country, like it regenerated. They had both 
 long comprehended and accepted the new glory 
 of France. In again touching this heroic 
 ground, they felt their hearts tremble, and 
 sweet tears moistened their eyes. The best 
 portions of their estates had been preserved by 
 the government, and they easily obtained permis- 
 sion to enter upon their possession. Once more 
 established at home, their long exile seemed 
 like a dream ; only, unlike the Epimenides, they 
 awakened young after having gone to sleep old. 
 Hardly was he re-established in the castle of 
 his father, when the Chevalier hastened to bring 
 there a chaste and beautiful girl whom he had 
 loved in Germany, whom he married, and who 
 died in giving birth to a son. This child grew 
 up between his father and Madame de Fresnes,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 35 
 
 who devoted themselves to him, living philo- 
 sophically in their retreat, doing good, occupied 
 with their old pursuits, deaf to the noise of the 
 world, and strangers to ambition. Of all habits, 
 that of work is the most rare and the most 
 imperious. The Marquise painted as she did 
 in the old time. The Chevalier rose at day- 
 light, and cut and hollowed and polished the 
 wood of the pear and walnut and oak; for he 
 had undertaken the task of renewing magnifi- 
 cently the worm-eaten wood- work of his old 
 chateau. Also, in memory of his old success, 
 he turned nut-crackers, which he presented 
 to the daughters of his tenantry. Reading, 
 walking, and the delights of a friendship whose 
 charm seemed never to grow old, with the edu- 
 cation of young Maurice, absorbed the remain- 
 der of days all too short when one works and 
 when one loves.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ONE evening, as these old companions were 
 seated near each other, entertaining 
 themselves in re-traversing the current of the 
 days they had descended together, they saw, 
 coming up the avenue of the park, the two 
 young people whom we left at the gate. 
 Arrived at the foot of the steps, the young girl 
 ascended them slowly, with a grave air, although 
 visibly affected. The Marquise and the Cheva- 
 lier rose to receive her. She drew from her 
 breast a letter, which she first carried reverently 
 to her lips, and then presented it to M. de Val- 
 travers, who contemplated, with a sentiment of 
 benevolent curiosity, this child that he saw 
 for the first time. The old gentleman broke 
 36
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 37 
 
 the seal and read. Standing with her thin 
 arms crossed upon her breast, calm in her grief, 
 dignified in her humility, the little stranger 
 drooped her eyes under the gaze of Madame 
 de Fresnes, who regarded her with interest ; 
 while, some steps apart, the young man who 
 had brought her joined in discreet witness of 
 the silent scene. 
 
 "MUNICH, i3th July, 18 . 
 
 "About to quit this world, in face of the 
 eternity which is immediately to open for me, 
 it is not toward Heaven, it is toward France, 
 that my eyes turn before closing. It is not 
 toward God, but toward you, my brother, that I 
 cry, and to whom I extend my suppliant hands 
 in the name of her who was my sister and the 
 wife of your choice. Alas ! this house, that you 
 have known so prosperous, has been cruelly 
 tried. Where have gone the joys of that fireside 
 at which in other days you came to seat your- 
 self? The tomb has taken from me all. My 
 husband has not survived the loss of his for- 
 tune ; and I, unhappily, in my turn, see death
 
 38 MADELEINE : 
 
 approach. I die, and I am a mother. O God ! 
 this is to die twice. When you read these lines, 
 my only treasure, the sole inheritance that I 
 could leave in going my daughter will have 
 only you upon this earth. When you hold in 
 your hands this paper, wet with my tears, my 
 child will be before you ; alone, come from afar, 
 broken by grief and by fatigue, without other 
 refuge than your roof, without other support 
 than your heart. Oh, by the sweet tie which 
 was dear to you, and which death has not 
 broken; by this Germany which showed itself 
 so hospitable to you, and which for a long time 
 was for you your country; by my family, become 
 yours ; by the adorable creature so soon ravished 
 from your love, and who adjures you here 
 through my voice, oh, do not repulse my orphan 
 child. Receive her. Warm in your breast the 
 dove that has fallen from her nest. And thou, 
 whom I do not know, but whom I have loved to 
 include so often with my daughter in the same 
 sentiment of tenderness and solicitude son of 
 my sister if thy mother has given thee her 
 soul, thou wilt be good and fraternal to my 
 beloved Madeleine. Protect and watch over 
 her when thy father shall be no more. And
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 39 
 
 forget not, young friend, that the orphan child 
 that Heaven sends us sometimes becomes the 
 tutelary angel of the house that opens to her." 
 
 " Come, my daughter ! come to my arms ! " 
 cried the Chevalier, when he had finished the 
 reading. " Be welcome, my child, under the 
 roof of thy old uncle. Were it not for the 
 mourning that has brought thee hither, I should 
 say thrice happy for us all is the day of thy 
 arrival. Marquise, it is my niece," he added, 
 taking in his hands the fair head of the young 
 girl. " Maurice, it is thy cousin. It is a young 
 sister, who conies to thee from the country of 
 thy mother." 
 
 The orphan passed from the arms of her 
 uncle to those of the Marquise. Madame de 
 Fresnes had lost an only daughter, taken in her 
 flower, near the age of Madeleine ; and, like all 
 who have known such bereavements, she felt an 
 irresistible impulse to find, even where it did 
 not exist, striking and vivid resemblances between 
 the child death had taken and those me^ along
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 the way. Touching illusion of love and of grief, 
 which transforms all these fresh faces into living 
 portraits of the adored being who is no more ! 
 The Marquise felt herself naturally attracted 
 toward the fair creature who appeared to her 
 the image of her daughter; having the same 
 eyes, the same look, the same charm, sad and 
 grave, peculiar to the young who have suffered 
 or who are condemned to die before their time. 
 With this predisposition, one can judge that 
 Madame de Fresnes, with her impulsive and 
 ardent nature a nature whose generosity 
 age had not changed adopted with enthusiasm 
 the cause of the young stranger. She pressed 
 her to her breast, called her by tender names, 
 and covered her with kisses and caresses. Then 
 it was the turn of the young man. 
 
 " What, my cousin ! it was you ? " she cried, 
 smiling through her tears. " You are the little 
 Maurice ? I had fancied you could only be a 
 child like me." 
 
 Maurice embraced her cordially though it
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 4I 
 
 is doubtful if he had ever thought before of the 
 existence of his cousin. 
 
 Meanwhile the Chevalier gave his orders, 
 troubling himself to see to everything, and saying 
 to each one of the old servants, " We have one 
 child more." Certainly if she could that evening 
 have seen the welcome that her daughter 
 received at Valtravers, the mother of our heroine 
 would have been content in Paradise. 
 
 The installation of Madeleine did not change 
 the way of things at the chateau. A simple, 
 pious, and modest girl, already serious and reflect- 
 ive, taking a quiet place, making but little noise, 
 the most of the time silently bent over her 
 needle-work, in a few days she had rendered 
 herself agreeable to everyone by her sweetness 
 and her goodness. Of her face and figure, we 
 shall say but little. She was just at the age 
 which has lost the graces of childhood and has 
 not yet reached those of womanhood. She was 
 not really beautiful, nor will we say that she 
 promised to become so. Before pronouncing
 
 4 2 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 upon questions so delicate, it is always prudent 
 to wait until the season of transition accom- 
 plishes its mysterious work, in which ugliness 
 is transfigured and the early flowers of beauty 
 are too often withered. But just as she was, 
 the Marquise and the Chevalier loved her with 
 a true tenderness; and the life of the child was 
 divided between their neighboring houses 
 which really made but one family. So far from 
 having been neglected, her education had been 
 pushed so fast that she could continue it herself 
 and finish it at need without other help. She 
 spoke French with purity almost without 
 accent. Like all Germans, and too many 
 French, she thoroughly understood music; and 
 a quality unhappily more rare she did not 
 abuse it. The Chevalier and the Marquise 
 were delighted to have her sing the Tyrolese 
 songs; but these airs, which brought back so 
 pleasantly to them the happy days of their exile 
 and poverty, recalled cruelly to her her mother 
 and her country, both lost without return ; and
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE 
 
 43 
 
 often the poor child's song was interrupted by 
 her tears and sobs. 
 
 As for Maurice, at the end of two or three 
 weeks, during which he felt obliged to pay some 
 attention to his cousin and to do the honors 
 of the country, he scarcely perceived her 
 presence. He was twenty years old, and had 
 all the ardor and impetuosity of his age. He 
 had grown in entire liberty, doubly spoiled by 
 his father and by the Marquise, who thought 
 no one in the world more handsome or more 
 charming. A tutor had taught him a little 
 Greek and Latin; while at the same time his 
 father, whose love for wood-carving had become 
 almost a mania, initiated him into th.at art. The 
 old Chevalier wept with pride and joy when he 
 saw near him his son, squaring and turning and 
 polishing, and promising to surpass his instruc- 
 tor; while Maurice, on his part, appeared to 
 take pleasure in this inoffensive pastime. But 
 one beautiful day, there came to him a misfor- 
 tune. He asked himself the question if, after
 
 44 MADELEINE : 
 
 the Chevalier, the Marquise, and wood-carving, 
 there was nothing else for him in the world. 
 To this indiscreet question, addressed to him 
 by the turbulence of his unquiet youth, the 
 response did not wait. 
 
 There are tender and poetic natures, veiled 
 in their morning by a light mist. There are 
 others, vivacious and energetic, whose dawn 
 seems to burst with the fire of mid-day. With 
 the one, the first unquiet of the awakened sense 
 and of imagination reveals itself without noise 
 and translates itself into dreamy sadness. With 
 the other, there is violent and tumultuous 
 agitation. Maurice partook of both these na- 
 tures; at times, sad, preoccupied, dreamy; 
 then all at once seized with ardors without end 
 and without name ; unable to remain in-doors ; 
 impetuous, boiling, even a little angry ; and not 
 knowing to what wind to throw the savage 
 energy that consumed him; but through all, 
 affectionate toward his father, full of attentions 
 for Madame de Fresnes, adored by everybody.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE, 
 
 45 
 
 Having constantly in his head the wood-carvings 
 of the old chateau, and the endless histories 
 that he had heard for twenty years, he asked 
 himself, in great irritation, if his life was to be 
 forever devoted to turning wood and fashioning 
 oak, and in listening at evening, with his feet 
 upon the fender in the chimney-corner, to the 
 eternal histories of the time of exile. Waiting 
 for something better, he hunted everywhere in 
 the region, and lamed his horses. 
 
 It was at the height of this explosive period 
 that Madeleine arrived. One can judge of how 
 little importance, at such an hour in the des- 
 tiny of this young man, could be the apparition 
 of a little girl of fourteen or fifteen years, timid, 
 reserved, silent, without too much beauty or 
 grace. He occupied himself with her but little 
 more than if she had never quitted Munich. 
 He departed at daylight every morning, and 
 did not return till night. He often passed a 
 week at some neighboring town or chateau. 
 If he chanced to see Madeleine at her window,
 
 46 MADELEINE : 
 
 he nodded to her carelessly. At meal-time he 
 addressed her an occasional insignificant word. 
 When she sang her "Tyroliennes," as this was 
 always the occasion for the Marquise and the 
 Chevalier to speak of Nuremberg and recall 
 the nut-crackers of the one and the miniatures 
 of the other, Maurice never failed to escape at 
 the first note. One evening, however, as he 
 stood near her, he could not help noticing the 
 beauty and luxuriance of her hair. He re- 
 marked upon it, lifting with a familiar hand the 
 magnificent blonde mass that covered the head 
 of the little German. The poor child was so 
 unaccustomed to being an object of interest to 
 her cousin, that she blushed and trembled ; but 
 when she wished to thank him with a smile, 
 Maurice, fearing some new " Tyroliennes," had 
 already escaped. Another time, returning from 
 the chase, he gave her a pretty pheasant that 
 he had rescued alive from his dogs. 
 
 " My cousin, then you think sometimes of 
 me?" inquired the young girl, much affected.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 47 
 
 But Maurice had already turned upon his 
 heel. 
 
 It was not that he saw with jealous dis- 
 pleasure the presence of the orphan under the 
 paternal roof. Far from that ; if he had all 
 the hot-headedness of his age, he had also its 
 noble and generous instincts. It had never 
 occurred to him to dispute any place that 
 Madeleine might one day have in the will of 
 the Chevalier. Let us also say, in passing, 
 that such shameful calculations rarely enter 
 the heart at twenty years. Maurice was as 
 ready to share with his cousin as with a sister; 
 and if he was not more tender and attentive 
 to her, it was simply because she had not come 
 into the world fifteen or twenty months sooner 
 than she did. The Marquise and the Chevalier 
 did not at first comprehend the abrupt change 
 in Maurice, whom they had hitherto found so 
 simple in taste and so even in temper. They 
 both distressed themselves, without understand- 
 ing why. They had been young at a time
 
 48 MADELEINE: 
 
 when youth wasted itself, right and left, in 
 little distractions and elegant frivolities ; with- 
 out a thought of that heavy unrest and pro- 
 found weariness which later was the martyrdom 
 of a generation. Although reared in the re- 
 tirement of the country, Maurice had submitted 
 to the influence of the new ideas. Ideas are 
 living forces, mixed with the air we breathe. 
 The wind carries and sows them everywhere ; 
 and do what one can to escape these invisible 
 currents though he keep to one side or in 
 the distance he is yet penetrated and impreg- 
 nated, for he is always the child of his century. 
 That which was most surprising to the 
 Chevalier and the Marquise was not the 
 devouring need of activity, which was naturally 
 explained by the heated blood of youth, but the 
 sombre melancholy in which its ardor and 
 impetuosity seemed lost. But in fact, how 
 could they comprehend the malady of an epoch 
 when gaiety, exiled from the heart of twenty 
 years, found a home under the white hairs of
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 49 
 
 age ? After discussing the question, they arrived 
 at the conclusion that the life which Maurice 
 had led till then was neither profitable nor 
 amusing; and that, in spite of the incomparable 
 charms of wood-carving, it was not surprising 
 that a young heart was not entirely absorbed by 
 it. That was the opinion of the Marquise : the 
 Chevalier ended by agreeing with her. The 
 question was, what to do. They spoke at first 
 of a marriage ; but that remedy seemed a little 
 too violent. Besides, the Marquise observed, 
 with reason, that young men of rank in that 
 generation did not marry at twenty ; and that, in 
 another respect, unlike the old times, marriage 
 had become less a commencement than an end. 
 In brief, after ripe reflection, it was decided to 
 send Maurice for two or three years to Paris, 
 and then, at his choice, to Germany or Italy; 
 thus to complete his education by a profound 
 study of men and things. This programme 
 was not much more vague than that usually 
 traced for the sons of families in the Provinces, 
 
 4
 
 5 o MADELEINE: 
 
 before putting the bridle-rein on their necks and 
 launching them into the life of Paris. 
 Some time after, on an Autumn evening 
 which was the anniversary of Madeleine's 
 arrival, the Chevalier, his son, and the Marquise 
 were re-united in the chateau of Valtravers. 
 The horse that was to take Maurice to the 
 neighboring town through which passed the 
 mail-route, waited, saddled and bridled, at the 
 door. It was the hour of adieu. A parting has 
 always something sad and solemn, even when 
 the separation is but temporary. The Chevalier 
 seemed painfully affected. The Marquise con- 
 cealed her depression poorly. Maurice himself 
 appeared much agitated; and when his old 
 father opened his arms, he threw himself into 
 them, weeping as if he embraced him for the 
 last time. Madame de Fresnes pressed the 
 young man to her heart with emotion. The old 
 house-servants, who had been present at his 
 birth, embraced him as their child. 
 
 Time passed. Maurice tore himself from
 
 A STOR Y OF FRENCH LO VE. 5 r 
 
 the farewells of his friends. At the last 
 moment, as he was about to put his foot in the 
 stirrup, he remembered Madeleine. Surprised 
 at her absence, he was about to send for her, 
 when he was told that the young girl had left 
 the chateau several hours before. Leaving 
 some affectionate words of adieu for his cousin, 
 he moved away at the slow walk of his horse, 
 turning often with gestures of salutation to the 
 kind beings who followed him with their eyes. 
 Arrived at the gate of the park he hesitated like 
 a young eagle on the edge of its nest before 
 launching itself in space. He recalled the 
 happy days that he had passed in the shade of 
 this pretty manor, between the care of the 
 Marquise and the tenderness of his father. He 
 seemed to see through the trees the gracious 
 phantom of his youth, that regarded him with 
 sadness and tried to detain him. He seemed 
 to hear voices that said, " Ingrate, where do you 
 go ? " His heart swelled to bursting, and his 
 eyes moistened with tears. But his destiny
 
 52 MADELEINE: 
 
 controlled him. He plunged into the forest 
 that he must cross to reach the town. 
 
 At the end of a rapid ride, at the very place 
 where he had met her a year before at the same 
 day and hour, he saw Madeleine, seated and 
 dreaming. As before, she had not heard the 
 sound of his gallop upon the moss. Lifting 
 her eyes, she saw her cousin regarding her. It 
 was the same frame and the same picture. 
 Nothing was changed, only in place of an unde- 
 veloped child, frail and delicate, without beauty 
 and almost without grace, he saw a fair face, 
 around which there had commenced to hover a 
 bright host of the sweet dreams of youth. It 
 was not yet the flower in bloom ; but the 
 bud had opened its leaves. It was not the 
 Aurora, but the misty white dawn of awaken- 
 ing Nature, trembling under the first kiss of 
 Morning. 
 
 Maurice dismounted from his horse, and 
 hastened to embrace his cousin and to say 
 adieu. Again in the saddle, he pursued his
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 53 
 
 route, without knowing, alas! that he left happi- 
 ness behind him. 
 
 When he had disappeared at the bend of the 
 avenue, Madeleine returned to the chateau. 
 Entering the drawing-room she found the 
 Chevalier seated by his deserted fireside. She 
 walked sadly to the back of the chair in which 
 the old man sat in a bent attitude, and for some 
 minutes contemplated him in silence. 
 
 " My father," she said, bending toward him 
 her blonde head, " my father, you have still a 
 daughter." 
 
 The Chevalier smiled, and drew her softly to 
 his heart.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ATER the departure of Maurice, Madeleine 
 became the joy of Valtravers; enlivening 
 with her growing graces the household which 
 was no longer animated by his presence. Like 
 a young Antigone, she redoubled toward her old 
 uncle her pious and tender care. Though her 
 heart was still sad, and her spirit more reflect- 
 ive than is usual at her age, yet, to divert 
 him, she forgot herself, and transformed her 
 natural gravity into a smiling serenity. She 
 accompanied him in all his excursions ; lingered 
 around him in his workshop; read aloud his 
 journals ; encouraged him in recounting the old 
 stories of his exile ; and never failed to go 
 into ecstacies before each piece of carving with 
 
 54
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 55 
 
 which this indefatigable artist encumbered every 
 corner of the chateau. At the same time, she 
 was a devoted daughter to the Marquise, who 
 taught her painting, and whose highest pleasure 
 was in cultivating the charms that God had 
 given her. Thus loved and guarded by these 
 two old people, this orphan child grew in 
 talents and in virtue. 
 
 In the three years succeeding her arrival, 
 Madeleine had developed into a good and 
 beautiful creature; though not of that acquired 
 and conventional beauty which marks the hero- 
 ines of poets and romancers. Her figure was 
 neither large nor small, and had not the flexi- 
 bility of the willow. A critic devoted to the 
 plastic side of art would have found something 
 to remodel in the oval of her face. Her hair, 
 which had grown darker, could not truthfully 
 be compared either with the black of ebony or 
 the sheen of gold. Though her skin had that 
 heavy whiteness of the camellia which defies 
 the effects of sun and air, her eyes were more
 
 56 MADELEINE: 
 
 gray than blue. If her teeth were even and 
 white as the pearls of a necklace, the mouth 
 was rather large, the lips were a little heavy. 
 Her lashes did not fall upon her cheek like 
 the fringe of a gentian ; and the line of the 
 nose recalled but vaguely the straight noses 
 of royal races. Yet such a face and figure 
 may form a pleasing whole in which imperfec- 
 tions of detail are lost, harmonizing so well 
 that each one appears but a new charm. I 
 love this style of beauty, which is less correct 
 than sympathetic, which captivates the heart 
 more than the eyes, and which, without any- 
 thing to dazzle or fascinate the first view, is 
 always ready to reveal, to those who can com- 
 prehend it, some unexpected grace, some new 
 enchantment. Although she occupied herself 
 closely with domestic affairs, the practical wis- 
 dom and judgment that she brought to these 
 duties did not preclude a certain air of dis- 
 tinction, a cast of spirit romantic, poetic, 
 dreamy, that she inherited at the same time
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 57 
 
 from her mother, from Germany, and from 
 God. 
 
 One can readily imagine the attachment that 
 was formed between Madeleine, the Marquise, 
 and the Chevalier. She was the light of their 
 old age, the soft ray which illumined the end of 
 their days. Mixed and blended, these three 
 existences ran in slow and peaceful waves. 
 But it sometimes happened that these waves, 
 usually so pure, were troubled. 
 
 The letters of Maurice were at first full of 
 charm and poesy; fresh and perfumed like the 
 bouquets that are gathered in the dew of the 
 fields. It is thus that one writes at the happy 
 age which flies so quickly. At the hour when 
 life commences its decline, have you never 
 found, in the depths of an old drawer, some 
 such letters of your youth ? Have they not 
 surprised you? In reading them, have you not 
 seen pass across your tears the image of your 
 beautiful past? Have you not asked yourself 
 if it was indeed the same spring, now ready to
 
 5 8 MADELEINE: 
 
 dry up, which poured out all these treasures of 
 enthusiasm and of faith, of grace and of virtue, 
 of happiness and of love ? It was such letters 
 that Maurice wrote at twenty years. 
 
 The days of the letter-courier were joyful 
 ones at Valtravers. As far as she could see 
 the post-man, Madeleine ran to meet him, and 
 returned triumphantly to the chateau. Ordina- 
 rily it was she who read, in a clear voice, her 
 cousin's letters. When as did not always 
 happen she found in them her name, her 
 bosom heaved, and a rosy tint, almost imper- 
 ceptible, colored for a moment the alabaster of 
 her face. If there was no mention of her as 
 more often was the case she was grave and 
 silent for the rest of the day. These letters of 
 Maurice made all the fibres of the good Cheva- 
 lier's heart to vibrate; for he could trace, 
 beneath the outbursts of their passionate ten- 
 derness, the development of an elevated spirit 
 and of a lively intelligence. Sometimes old 
 friends at Paris would write to congratulate him
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 59 
 
 upon his son. All seemed promising for the 
 best; and they already began to speak of the 
 happiness of his return. 
 
 But at the end of a year, the letters of our 
 young friend became rarer and briefer, less and 
 less affectionate and tender. Vague in thought 
 and constrained in expression, they betrayed a 
 great disquiet of the senses and of the soul. 
 The little family began by distressing itself in 
 silence ; it soon became seriously alarmed. To 
 the indulgent reproaches that were addressed to 
 him, Maurice returned evasive responses. The 
 term fixed for his stay in Paris had long since 
 expired ; but he showed no disposition to leave, 
 though it had been decided that he should go 
 from there to Germany or Italy. To the 
 Chevalier, who pressed this, Maurice at first did 
 not reply. Then, pushed to extremes by the 
 persistence of his father, he answered in lan- 
 guage through which shone an impatience of 
 control. If the Chevalier's old friends still 
 wrote to him, it was to express their regrets at
 
 60 MADELEINE : 
 
 seeing no more the Maurice of the past. At 
 last an explosion came in the form of some 
 heavy drafts upon the honest manor, which was 
 stricken with affright. 
 
 These things were not accomplished in a 
 week, nor even in a month. It had taken little 
 less than three years to reach this point. And 
 there were other troubles. If, by virtue of the 
 pretexts, more or less specious, with which 
 Maurice tried to excuse his wanderings, M. de 
 Valtravers could have kept up any illusions as 
 to the conduct of his son, the good souls with 
 which the Provinces abound would not have 
 failed to lift the illusions from him. The 
 Chevalier was a perfect gentleman, in the most 
 beautiful acceptation of this word, which has 
 become so common since the thing is so rare. 
 Accessible to all, with a charming spirit, a noble 
 heart, a loyal character, he had yet many 
 enemies in the country; not among his peas- 
 antry, who loved him, but at the neighboring 
 town, where there were some officers and some
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 61 
 
 lawyers pillars of the coffee-houses, leaders of 
 liberalism, and vermin of the Province who 
 had never pardoned him for having re-entered 
 his possessions. All the town had long known 
 the kind of life young Valtravers led at Paris; 
 for the Province is a good mother, who never 
 forgets her absent sons. She follows them 
 through life with an eager eye, curious and 
 jealous, always ready to overwhelm those who 
 fall, in order to avenge herself for those who 
 rise. In general, if you wish to throw despair 
 and consternation into the haunts of men who 
 have seen you born and grow up, arrive with 
 your head high and by a straight path at suc- 
 cess, honors, and fortune. If, on the contrary, 
 it pleases you to diffuse there a sweet joy, run 
 into all possible errors, that your virtuous fel- 
 low-citizens may weep over your ruin. For 
 when our fellow-citizens weep over us, it is to 
 hide their laughter. 
 
 Maurice had for some time been for the 
 town in question a marvellous subject of
 
 62 MADELEINE: 
 
 public scandal and internal satisfaction. Trai- 
 torously hidden under the mantle of pity, 
 hate gives free vent to its joy. Nothing 
 failed the poor Chevalier; neither charitable 
 warnings nor hypocritical condolence. Anony- 
 mous letters did the rest. The Marquise 
 wept in secret. The Chevalier wasted himself 
 with grief. Happiness seemed to have fled 
 from under the roof of these old friends. 
 Madeleine went from one to the other like 
 an angel of consolation. She defended Maurice, 
 and spoke constantly of his speedy return ; 
 though she really believed in it no longer, and 
 often hid herself to conceal her tears. It 
 was easy to see that the Chevalier was 
 seriously affected; for having commenced to 
 neglect wood-carving, he presently aban- 
 doned it entirely. He had no more taste for 
 anything. Madeleine alone knew how to 
 unwrinkle his forehead, and to bring to his 
 lips a faint smile. He would sometimes say : 
 " Poor child! before I die I need to make sure
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 63 
 
 thy destiny; for in the way he is going, it is 
 not Maurice who will watch over thee when 
 I am gone." "Come, come, my father," 
 Madeleine would reply, " do not trouble yourself 
 about that. I wish for nothing but your love. 
 I shall have need of nothing when you are 
 gone. I am old enough to watch over myself. 
 I have resolution and courage, thank God! 
 and what you have done in my Germany, you 
 and the Marquise, I will do in your France. 
 I will work. Why not?" The old man 
 smiled, and tremblingly shook his head. 
 
 The young girl one day wrote secretly to 
 her cousin an admirable letter; but Maurice 
 never replied. As for the old Chevalier, he 
 wrote no more; and in those last days he 
 scarcely permitted anyone to speak in his 
 presence of his son. As he grew more and 
 more feeble, and felt the end approaching, he 
 decided to throw to this unhappy young man 
 a last cry of love and of despair. The response 
 was slow in coming. After three months of
 
 64 MADELEINE : 
 
 waiting, it arrived. It said that, absent from 
 Paris nearly a year, traveling I know not 
 where, in company with I know not whom, 
 Maurice had received on his return the last 
 counsel of his father. God be praised ! the 
 young man awoke to better sentiments. His 
 letter proved it. It showed the distress of a 
 fallen soul, which, by a supreme effort, tries to 
 uplift itself. He embraced the knees of his 
 father; he covered with tears and kisses the 
 hand of the Marquise ; Madeleine found herself 
 mixed in the effusion of his repentance. He 
 only asked a few weeks in which to break 
 with these wretched ties, and then he would 
 return. He would say an eternal adieu to that 
 world in which he had wandered. Beaten by 
 the tempest, he would enter the port of home, 
 and quit it no more. "Paternal roof! I shall 
 see thee again. I return to the home of my 
 childhood. Dear companions of my young 
 years ! I shall press you to my heart. You 
 also, little cousin." Exalted by these lively
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 65 
 
 images, his imagination had found for an instant 
 the grace and freshness of youth. Unhappily, 
 when this letter arrived at the chateau, for 
 twenty-four hours the Chevalier had been no 
 more. He had died the evening before, at 
 the window, to which they had rolled his 
 chair, between the Marquise and Madeleine, 
 who each held him by the hand. 
 
 The day of the funeral, when the earth 
 covered all that was left below of this excellent 
 being that chance had made a gentleman and 
 that work and poverty had made a man, the 
 Marquise affectionately embraced Madeleine, 
 made an orphan for the. second time. 
 
 " My child," said she to her, " thy work 
 is not accomplished. Thou hast yet to aid 
 me to die, and to close my eyes." 
 
 They threw themselves into each other's 
 arms, and remained thus a long time. 
 
 "Ah!" cried the Marquise, "since you 
 have restored to me my daughter, it is only 
 just that I take the place of thy mother."
 
 66 MADELEINE ; 
 
 From this day, Madeleine lived at the 
 Chateau de Fresnes. 
 
 A week before his death, the old Chevalier 
 had put into the hands of the Marquise an 
 autograph will, by which he had left to his 
 niece the small farm of Coudray, of the value 
 of eighty or a hundred thousand francs. This 
 will was expressed in the most touching and 
 affectionate terms. All the exquisite delicacy 
 of the Chevalier there showed itself. When, 
 to re-assure her as to the future, Madame de 
 Fresnes confided to Madeleine this precious 
 proof of the love of her uncle, by an impulse 
 of pious gratitude, the young girl pressed it to 
 her lips and against her heart. Then, tearing 
 it to pieces, she put the shreds in her breast. 
 
 " My daughter! what have you done ? " cried 
 the Marquise, apparently surprised, but really 
 delighted. 
 
 " Can a heart noble as yours ask ? " replied 
 Madeleine, smiling. " I know nothing of the 
 life of Maurice. I am only sure that he will
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 67 
 
 have need of all his resources; and I should 
 but poorly recognize his father's goodness if I 
 took from the son part of his inheritance. You 
 could not have acted otherwise, in my place." 
 
 " But, my poor child, thou hast nothing. I 
 cannot counsel thee to trust to the devotion 
 of Maurice ; and when I am gone and I 
 have not a long time to stay what will be- 
 come of thee ? " 
 
 "That which becomes of anyone who has 
 courage and a good will. Am I not, thanks to 
 your lessons, as rich as you were when you 
 arrived in Nuremberg? The God who aided 
 you will not abandon me ; and I will make my 
 nest as you have made yours." 
 
 * You are a brave girl ! " said the Marquise, 
 taking between her withered white hands the 
 head of Madeleine. 
 
 Every day they expected Maurice, whom the 
 death of his father had stricken like a thunder- 
 bolt. But weeks and months ran by, and he 
 did not come. They soon learned that he had
 
 68 MADELEINE : 
 
 sent a power-of-attorney to arrange the affairs 
 of his inheritance. He had written to his 
 cousin, offering her, without either enthusiasm 
 or bad grace, a generous portion in the estate 
 of his father. It was precisely this same little 
 farm of Coudray, which, without his knowledge, 
 the orphan had already so generously re- 
 nounced. The young girl replied simply, that, 
 living with Madame de Fresnes, she had need 
 of nothing. The young man did not insist. 
 What had become of his good resolutions? 
 Restrained by respect, and perhaps by remorse, 
 he dared not. look upon a tomb that, without 
 too much rigor, he could accuse himself of 
 having made before its time. They credited 
 him with reserve, and did not doubt that later 
 he would come to Valtravers with his offering 
 of expiation. Whilst at the Chateau de Fres- 
 nes they solaced themselves in this last hope, 
 a few steps from there the mortgages fell like 
 rain. Scarcely a year after the death of the 
 old Chevalier, the news ran through the country
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 69 
 
 that the domain and chateau of Valtravers were 
 to be offered at public sale. The Marquise 
 and Madeleine refused to believe it, and cried 
 out against the calumny, as they had done so 
 many times in defending Maurice against the 
 comments of the Province. One day, however, 
 as they were walking together in the forest, 
 they saw through the gate of the park at Val- 
 travers a number of servants and peasants who 
 looked at one another with an air of consterna- 
 tion. Influenced partly by their presentiments, 
 and partly by curiosity, they advanced toward 
 the manor. 
 
 "Ah! Madame la Marquise. Ah! Madem- 
 oiselle Madeleine ! " cried the people, as they 
 drew near. "What a terrible misfortune for 
 us ! The thunderbolt has fallen upon our 
 heads. It is the ruin of our lives." 
 
 " What is it, my children ? What has hap- 
 pened to you ? " asked Madame de Fresnes. 
 
 " See ! see ! Madame la Marquise ! What 
 will our good master the Chevalier think of
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 this in Heaven? " And with frightened gestures, 
 they showed the door of the chateau, dishon- 
 ored by immense placards that announced the 
 sale. 
 
 Doubt was no longer possible. Madeleine 
 drooped her head, and silent tears rolled down 
 her cheeks. Until then she had never under- 
 stood all of the comments she had heard 
 upon the conduct of Maurice. In her heart 
 she had always absolved him. This time, all 
 her noble instincts in revolt cried unpityingly 
 that the young man was lost. 
 
 The Marquise felt her forehead redden with 
 the indignant blood of her heart that gen- 
 erous heart that age had not yet cooled. 
 
 " No, my children ! " she cried resolutely. 
 " Whilst I live, this domain and this chateau 
 shall not become the prey of these harpies. 
 These villains shall not have such a pleasure. 
 Be comforted, my friends. You shall remain 
 upon the farms where you were born, in this 
 home where you have grown old; nothing shall
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 7I 
 
 be changed in your lives. Take my word for it, 
 and go and console your wives and children." 
 
 Without delay, she sent for her notary, and 
 put in his hands deeds which represented the 
 best part of her fortune, directing him to con- 
 vert them into money and buy the entire prop- 
 erty enumerated in the announcement of the sale. 
 
 And so, one bright morning, the Marquise 
 found herself proprietress of the domain of 
 Valtravers. She still continued to live with 
 Madeleine in the Chateau de Fresnes, where 
 her daughter had died, and where she wished 
 to die. Alas! this last blow struck fatally the 
 beloved Marquise. For some time she had 
 felt herself irresistibly drawn by the impatient 
 soul of her old companion. 
 
 " What would you have ? " said she to 
 Madeleine. "For so long a time we were 
 never separated. Without speaking of the 
 Marquis, whom thou hast not known, I am 
 sure that my poor Chevalier wearies himself 
 in Paradise, not to see me. It is wicked in
 
 7 2 MADELEINE : 
 
 me to make him wait so long. That which 
 embarrasses me is to know what I shall say 
 to him when he asks me for news of his son." 
 The evening of her death, awakening from 
 a long unconsciousness, Madame de Fresnes 
 said to Madeleine, who waited at her bedside: 
 " I have had a strange dream. I saw Maurice 
 in the depths of an abyss. Horrible serpents 
 crawled and hissed at his feet. The unhappy 
 youth exhausted himself in desperate efforts 
 to remount to the regions of day. I wished 
 to run to his aid, but felt my feet chained to 
 the ground. I extended toward him my feeble 
 hands, when suddenly I saw thee arrive from 
 afar, calm and serene. At the side of the 
 abyss, after having untied thy white scarf 
 which surrounded thy throat and floated upon 
 thy shoulders, I saw thee throw it smilingly 
 tc Maurice, who seized it and was drawn up 
 without effort; and by thy side he appeared 
 radiant and transfigured. Behold my dream 
 what thinkest thou, my daughter?"
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 73 
 
 A faint glow lit the lips of Madeleine, who 
 remained pensive and in silence. 
 
 The Marquise died the following day; or, 
 to express it better, she went to sleep in the 
 arms of the young girl, to whom her beautiful 
 soul said good-night in her last smile. 
 
 Some hours before her death, she had said 
 gaily, " I have not forgotten thee in my will. 
 Since thou hast a taste for miniature-painting, 
 I have left thee my colors and my brushes. 
 Try with these to find a husband." 
 
 At the opening of the will, Madeleine found 
 that Madame de Fresnes had spoken truly ; 
 only to this little legacy the Marquise had 
 added the domain and the chateau of Val- 
 travers leaving still a large portion to her 
 natural heirs, who were not in want. 
 
 Thus this young girl re-entered as sovereign 
 the house where, one Autumn evening five 
 years before, she had arrived with her little 
 packet in her hand.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 C,SS elated than one would have believed 
 from her new position, Madeleine rever- 
 ently re-entered the chateau where all the old 
 servants had seen her grow from girlhood to 
 womanhood, and where now she was loved and 
 received like a young queen. She lived there, 
 as in the past, modestly and quietly, solely 
 occupied with the beings confided to her care. 
 Her authority only revealed itself in the 
 profusion of benefits that she shed around her. 
 In all other respects, no one would have 
 suspected any change in her fortune, but would 
 have said that she was still the same little 
 orphan who had been sheltered by the charity 
 of her uncle. Her only command was that 
 nothing should be changed in the manner of life 
 
 74
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 75 
 
 at the chateau ; that all the customs of the old 
 Chevalier should be respected as absolutely as 
 if he were not dead, and might return at any 
 moment. For her own use, she selected the 
 little chamber in which she had spent the last 
 days of her childhood and the first years of her 
 youth. Whenever the servants came to her for 
 directions in any matter of moment, she never 
 failed to inquire what the Chevalier would have 
 done in like circumstances. If counsel or 
 reproof was needed, she always began it by 
 some such phrase as, " I believe, my children, 
 that your good master the Chevalier would have 
 
 said ." She repeated often that the best 
 
 way to honor the memory of those who have 
 loved us is to do nothing to distress them, and 
 to ask ourselves before acting what they would 
 have thought if they were yet here. When she 
 spoke of Maurice, it was with the respect that 
 might be due to a young king upon whose 
 kingdom she administered during his minority. 
 She was less queen than regent.
 
 76 MADELEINE: 
 
 The news of her prosperity ran through the 
 country, and suitors were not slow to present 
 themselves. Valtravers became a Mecca, to 
 which journeyed the bachelors of the Province. 
 In Summer, one could see a long file of these 
 pilgrims marching toward the sacred place to 
 pay their devotions. Little country squires, 
 ruined gentlemen, younger sons, bachelors, 
 young and old, in willow carriages, on foot, or 
 on worn-out jades, came from all points to recite 
 their pater-nosters at this shrine. Though 
 serious and reflective, Madeleine had that frank 
 and hearty gaiety which flows naturally from a 
 pure conscience, an upright heart, and a healthy 
 spirit. She replied to these faithful ones that it 
 was an edifying spectacle to see a poor orphan 
 become all at once the object of so pure a 
 worship, of attentions so disinterested. She 
 had heard, she said, in Germany, that France 
 was the country of pious souls and generous 
 hearts ; but she never before suspected that they 
 carried so far the religious duty of caring for
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 77 
 
 the unfortunate. She confessed that though 
 touched almost to tears, she had only one 
 regret : that she was so content and happy in 
 her humble condition that she did not wish to 
 change it for the rare honor they came to offer 
 her. Thus, one by one, these devoted and pious 
 personages were dismissed. 
 
 Madeleine had always replied in something 
 of the same manner when the Chevalier or the 
 Marquise had spoken to her of marrying. She 
 had decided that she would not marry. If such 
 was her taste, I approve it ; never having under- 
 stood the ridicule which attaches to old maids. 
 I esteem far more highly the woman who resigns 
 herself to grow old in solitude than the one 
 who consents to mismate her heart or her soul. 
 
 Disincumbered of her suitors, Madeleine 
 continued to live in her retreat, dividing her 
 days between the care of her little empire, 
 works of charity, and the culture of the arts 
 that she loved. She had exhumed from her 
 uncle's library some good old books that had
 
 7 8 MADELEINE : 
 
 done much to ripen her intelligence. In her 
 smiling gravity, in her calm and serene beauty, 
 at twenty -one years of age she was a living 
 representative of good sense, of reason, of grace 
 and poesy; like the flowers that draw up the 
 sweets of the earth by their roots, and drink 
 at the same time in their chalices the balmy 
 dew of heaven. Her religion was not simply 
 a matter of mass at Neuvy-les-Bois, but she 
 visited often and willingly the miserable village 
 that she had entered so poor and forlorn, and 
 where she now had her own poor and her 
 orphans who blessed her. Upon such visits, 
 she rarely failed to stop for a moment at the 
 house of the good woman who, when she first 
 entered the place five years before, had so char- 
 itably offered her refreshment and repose. But 
 as for Monsieur Pierrot, she never succeeded 
 in coming near him. Whether it was because 
 in her presence he felt himself crushed with 
 remorse, or feared that she would seek to 
 reclaim the piece of silver that he had so
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 79 
 
 easily gained, the scamp put in play both his 
 legs whenever he saw her in the distance. 
 
 When the funereal tints that death leaves 
 after it were dispelled from around Madeleine, 
 when time had changed to smiling shadows 
 the spectres of her grief, this young girl would 
 have deemed herself happy in the midst of 
 her duties but for one constant and increasing 
 anxiety. Where was Maurice ? What was he 
 doing? The only signs of life he had given 
 since his father's death were the ravages in 
 his estate caused by his growing excesses. 
 Before taking possession of Valtravers, Made- 
 leine, actuated by sentiments of delicacy which 
 lofty spirits can easily comprehend and which 
 commonplace natures never can, had written to 
 him to explain and excuse her own fortune. 
 This letter, which he should have carried rev- 
 erently to his lips if he was not dead to every 
 sentiment of virtue, had remained unanswered. 
 But in spite of so many reasons, both in his 
 own acts and his reputation, for discarding him
 
 8o MADELEINE : 
 
 from her heart, he remained in her dreams as 
 she found him that Autumn evening when for 
 the first time he opened to her this hospitable 
 door. True, she was then merely a child ; but 
 at this age, when boys think only of their 
 amusements, it is impossible to know what 
 germ has already taken root in the heart of a 
 girl of fifteen years. In this, girls have no 
 childhood ; and no matter how young may be 
 the wife, there is seldom a husband who dares 
 flatter himself that he has gathered the first 
 perfume of her soul. 
 
 God, who sees the diamond formed in the 
 bowels of the earth and the budding pearl in 
 the depths of the ocean, alone knew what had 
 passed in the heart of this child since their 
 first meeting. Madeleine had long refused to 
 believe that Maurice had fallen as low as people 
 assured her. For a long time she had defended 
 him against all ; even against his father, so in- 
 dulgent; against the Marquise, so good. At 
 last, after having seen the days of the Chevalier
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 8 1 
 
 shortened and the home of his ancestors ex- 
 posed to public sale, she could no longer resist 
 the evidences of his wrong-doing. But none 
 the less had this young man remained the 
 secret thought, the hidden romance of her life. 
 These sentiments had redoubled in intensity 
 since Madeleine had returned to Valtravers, 
 and found at every step some lively trace of 
 this youth whom she had known so impetuous 
 but so charming in his enthusiasm. In his 
 apartment nothing was changed. She passed 
 there long, long hours, sometimes sad and 
 sometimes enchanted. In the park, she sat 
 under the trees that he had planted. In cross- 
 ing the court, his dogs would run to meet her. 
 By the borders of the Vienne, she saw the horses 
 that he had ridden, now at liberty in the grass. 
 The forest was filled with his image. He had 
 carved the oak that ornamented the dining- 
 room. This was not all. 
 
 There was at Valtravers a good and honest 
 girl, who had never been away from the house,
 
 82 MADELEINE: 
 
 and who was born the same day with Maurice. 
 They were nurslings of the same mother, which 
 in the Province establishes always between 
 children a close fraternity. The Chevalier 
 gave to this foster-sister of his son a moderate 
 education. She had the rare spirit to profit 
 but little by it, and to remain simply what 
 Nature had made her; neat, active, alert, 
 attentive, speaking frankly on all occasions, 
 and rejoicing the sight by her splendid health. 
 She had few faults, except the boisterousness 
 proceeding from an excess of animal spirits. 
 She simply adored her foster-brother. She 
 found it only natural that he had spent all 
 his means; and she was only surprised at the 
 surprise of others. If, in the place of selling 
 it, he had set fire to the chateau of his father, 
 Ursula would have declared without hesitation 
 that it was admirably done. If he had roasted 
 his farmers for his own amusement, she would 
 have judged the case at most a little singular. 
 From the first, she had conceived for Made-
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 83 
 
 leine an affection almost as strong. On hearing 
 that the little German orphan, a cousin of 
 Maurice, had arrived at the chateau, she had 
 run to meet her, thrown her arms around her, 
 and almost drowned her in her tears of 
 welcome. She was intolerant of the servants 
 or peasants who dared in her presence to 
 doubt the virtues of the young Chevalier. A 
 blow here and a kick there cost her nothing. 
 She had a heavy fist, and the most courageous 
 among them dared not cross her. Madeleine 
 would talk with her for hours. What charm 
 could there be in this ? We scarcely need 
 to say. Ursula talked always of her young 
 master. Seated in the embrasure of a window, 
 one at her embroidery, the other mending, the 
 only topic was Maurice. Ursula would tell 
 the stories of their youth, always the same; 
 but what the one was never tired of hearing, 
 the other was never tired of repeating. In 
 following these reminiscences, they always 
 arrived insensibly at the present hour, when
 
 84 MADELEINE: 
 
 Ursula, having depicted her foster-brother as a 
 lamb without stain, would prophesy his speedy 
 return. The small farm of Coudray had not 
 been sold; consequently they believed Maurice 
 had not said a final adieu to his country. 
 
 This last hope was soon broken. They 
 heard one day that Coudray was for sale; and 
 as a misfortune never comes alone, the same 
 day a morG unexpected event brought trouble 
 and confusion to the chateau. Madeleine's 
 notary came to tell her that a nephew of 
 Madame de Fresnes, whom they had thought 
 dead for many years, had returned from 
 America; that he was resolved to dispute the 
 will of his aunt, and that hostilities were 
 about to commence. 
 
 A few evenings after, Madeleine was walking 
 in the avenue to the park, alone and sad, 
 thinking of her new troubles and complications. 
 It was impossible to foresee the issue of the 
 lawsuit; and although she naturally shrank 
 from the publicity and annoyance of this affair,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 85 
 
 it was not care for her fortune which troubled 
 her. Her first impulse had been to give up 
 her inheritance without dispute ; and when, on 
 reflection, she concluded to defend her rights, 
 it was through respect for the memory of her 
 benefactors. Then, let what would happen, as 
 she had followed the path of duty, the end 
 should not disquiet her. Besides, what was 
 this house to her if Maurice did not return? 
 She had always considered it his property, and 
 it had been the dream of her life that one 
 day the prodigal should be reinstated by her 
 in the domain of his fathers. 
 
 At the turn of the walk, Madeleine saw him 
 before her Maurice but so pale and so 
 changed that one would have thought it was 
 his spectre. Alas! he was in truth only the 
 spectre of himself. Surprised and delighted, 
 Madeleine started to throw herself into his 
 arms; but her emotion was chilled by the frozen 
 attitude of this still figure. Simply remarking 
 that the evening was chilly, he offered his cousin
 
 86 MADELEINE : 
 
 his arm to conduct her to the chateau ; and 
 although Madeleine trembled, he walked with a 
 firm step. He mounted without hesitation the 
 steps to the doorway ; but when he entered the 
 drawing-room and Madeleine said to him, " It 
 is here that your father died," his strength 
 appeared to falter, and he hid his face between 
 
 his hands " Ah ! it is thou ? " he 
 
 said to Ursula, who almost stifled him with her 
 embraces ; then, after some commonplace com- 
 pliments to his cousin, he told them that, about 
 to leave France for a long voyage, he wished to 
 see for a last time the house of his fathers, and 
 say adieu to those whom he had loved. At the 
 end of an hour, he retired to his chamber; 
 Madeleine having insisted that he should seek 
 no other shelter. When he had gone, she burst 
 into tears, and sobbed aloud. As for Ursula, 
 she seemed changed to stone. 
 
 In coming to Valtravers, Maurice had 
 intended passing only a few hours there, 
 before returning to Paris to arrange the pre-
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 87 
 
 parations for his journey. At the entreaty of 
 his cousin, he consented to remain some days. 
 During this period, Madeleine could observe 
 the ravages that dissipation had made, not less 
 in his appearance than upon his heart and 
 mind. He was sombre, stern, critical ; rarely 
 affectionate or kind. He seemed, however, to 
 take some interest in the affairs of his cousin. 
 One evening, as if to ease his conscience, he 
 carefully examined the papers in her lawsuit, 
 and declared that in his opinion it was a matter 
 that was decided in advance. 
 
 " That concerns you, my cousin," said the 
 young girl, smiling. 
 
 " Me ? " 
 
 "You know that since the death of your 
 father the place has not changed masters." 
 
 " Oh, my cousin," replied Maurice, in an 
 indifferent tone, "your generosity is lost. I 
 could have all the chateaus in France without 
 being any happier." 
 
 "Are you then so unhappy? asked the
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 young girl, in a voice so soft and sweet that it 
 might have melted a heart of stone. 
 
 " I, my cousin? I am the happiest of men." 
 The following day, Madeleine learned that 
 Maurice had gone away without saying farewell. 
 He wrote from Paris to excuse this abrupt 
 departure. Two months after, he wrote again. 
 His preparations, he said, were complete. In 
 fifteen days he should be gone. Beneath their 
 tone of raillery, these two letters showed the 
 unhappy condition of his mind. The last 
 especially seemed to breathe a spirit of dis- 
 couragement, and was full of sombre thoughts. 
 At the first reading, Madeleine felt sad ; at the 
 second, she was stricken with affright. 
 
 During this time, the lawsuit went on. All 
 the pious pilgrims whom Madeleine had 
 repulsed, rejoiced over the bad turn in the 
 affairs of the little German. Madeleine alone 
 was undisturbed.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AS he had announced to Madeleine, Maurice 
 *^ was indeed about to take a long journey 
 a journey from which no one returns, and 
 before which the most intrepid heart recoils. 
 His preparations were completed, and it only 
 remained for him to say an eternal adieu to 
 this world, which he was to quit for a better 
 at least, that is what we are assured; and it 
 is a trust to which we are permitted to cling, 
 without presuming too much on the goodness 
 of God. Maurice had reached this point in 
 his career by an insensible but sure descent. 
 It is a history so common, and so often told 
 by more eloquent pens than mine, that there 
 is need to sketch here only its leading phases.
 
 go MADELEINE : 
 
 See this young man, of twenty years at most! 
 He enters life, which till now he has seen only 
 in the enchanted dreams of the solitude in 
 which he has grown. His childhood has run 
 itself away in the shade of the paternal roof 
 and in the depths of valleys. Nature has 
 cradled him upon her bosom. God has placed 
 around him noble and pious examples. See 
 him as he advances, escorted by the laughing 
 cortege which Youth draws around her. Grace 
 sits upon his forehead. Illusion dwells in his 
 breast. Like a flower that uncloses beneath 
 crystal waters, the beauty of his soul shines 
 from the depths of his eyes. He believes 
 without effort in chaste passions, in the ten- 
 derness that reaches beyond the tomb, in the 
 vows that are exchanged in the purity of 
 serene nights. He has only one ambition : 
 love. Ah, well ! whilst we ask ourselves in 
 what balmy airs so precious a blossom will 
 unfold, whilst you search for the Beatrice whose 
 hand is pure enough to gather this virginal
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 91 
 
 flower, it is already the prize of some vicious 
 and corrupt nature. Beatrice never arrives in 
 time ; and when at last the angel presents her- 
 self, there is nothing left for her to glean but 
 the harvest sown by demons. 
 
 Such was Maurice's first experience in the 
 world. Some women they are rare have 
 received from Heaven the gift of ennobling all 
 who approach them. Even the grief which they 
 bring us is blessed. Others more numerous 
 have the deadly quality of those waters which 
 petrify all objects dropped in their depths. 
 Unhappy oh, thrice unhappy the credulous 
 and confident youth who is taken in these fatal 
 charms. Maurice left there the best portion 
 of himself; and like most feeble yet ardent 
 natures who have touched all extremes of life, 
 he lost his faith in humanity. There are noble 
 souls that are strengthened and purified in the 
 blood of their wounds. There are others that 
 are embittered and corrupted. Maurice rushed 
 headlong into the cynical philosophy which
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 ridicules all exalted sentiments, and affects to 
 consider as chimeras all that does not enter 
 into the circle of material enjoyment : a phi- 
 losophy of the ante-chamber, in older times 
 reserved for the valets in comedies, for the use 
 of " Frontin " and " Gros-Rene," and which cer- 
 tain vain spirits of our day have had the pre- 
 sumption to make the doctrine of reason, the 
 theory of good sense and elegance. These 
 abortive souls have no other occupation than 
 to strike at all that would uplift humanity ; 
 deeming enthusiasm, poetry, heroism, love, 
 country, and liberty, mere senseless words that 
 serve only to amuse mediocrity. Maurice be- 
 came one of the most fervent disciples of this 
 mocking skepticism. Once upon this incline, 
 he went fast. At first he persuaded himself 
 that it was but a play; and, in effect, it was 
 for a long time only a play. Say what he may, 
 the cynic believes that he has still virtually 
 within himself the very sentiments of which 
 he professes to be divested. He fancies that
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 93 
 
 whenever the occasion comes, he will find them 
 again ; that at the first serious call, not one 
 will fail to answer. He rests in this belief, 
 not perceiving that this boasting of vices, this 
 parade of unbelief, degrades and ruins the 
 moral sense. He discovers some fine morning 
 that, thanks to his own raillery and ridicule, 
 these sentiments upon which he had counted 
 as a reserve corps have folded their tents and 
 silently departed. Thus, commencing by being 
 unwilling to avow openly that which at heart 
 he believes, he finishes by becoming in reality 
 that which he had sought only to appear. 
 
 Maurice still turned his thoughts at times 
 toward Valtravers; but too many ties held 
 him on every side. The letters of his father 
 irritated him, although maternal in their ten- 
 derness. The remonstrances of the Marquise 
 made him smile in pity, or rage like a wounded 
 lion. It was then the fashion of youth to hold 
 in little honor that which in older times they 
 had the weakness to venerate in Lacedemonia.
 
 94 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 The Restoration was finished, and the times 
 bordered upon that social crisis which seemed 
 about to change the face of the world : and I 
 know no epoch that has carried so far con- 
 tempt for all rule and absence of all respect. 
 Maurice was imbued with that spirit of revolt 
 which filled the air, and toward which his 
 natural impetuosity of character impelled him. 
 Alas, that he was so far away from that kind 
 being, endowed with so many graces, affection- 
 ate, charming, good to all ; one of those poetic 
 and fragile organizations that are like glass, 
 smooth to the touch when whole, but cutting 
 when it is broken. 
 
 However, Maurice did nothing but walk 
 the streets of Paris, eating his wheat in the 
 flower, and cultivating his intelligence just 
 enough to avoid the air of having arrived the 
 evening before from Congo. Unlike those 
 grand souls who, when they are deeply wounded, 
 bury themselves in solitude, to be cured in 
 silence or to die, he launched himself into
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 95 
 
 the whirlpool of vulgar dissipations. Idleness, 
 and the weariness which succeeds the storms 
 of passion, plunged him every day deeper. 
 Strange remedies for the wounds of a soul ; to 
 wash them in the waters of a gutter! He is 
 to be pitied, the young man who knows not 
 how to respect his own grief. Handsome, 
 generous, prodigal, Maurice was not slow to 
 make a name in the dubious world where the 
 manners of the Regency, without its elegance 
 and charm, have found refuge. The talk there 
 was of duels, of horses, of debts, and of 
 intrigues. Descending step by step, he found 
 himself one day face - to - face with debauch. 
 He regarded the monster without fright, and 
 threw to him the remainder of his youth. 
 
 It was in the midst of these wild disorders 
 that the last letter of his father found him. 
 This letter was beautiful and touching, without 
 anger or denunciation. In reading it, Maurice 
 felt the prick of remorse, which re-awakened all 
 his nobler instincts. At this voice, august and
 
 96 MADELEINE: 
 
 dear, his sobs burst forth, tears came to his 
 eyes, and a cry of love rose from that heart that 
 had been silent so long. He would go. He 
 would tear himself away from these accursed 
 ties. Then he learned that his father was dead. 
 Young and full of days, we too often forget 
 at a distance that the years of our father are 
 numbered. We put off from month to month 
 the debt of tenderness ; and it is usually upon 
 a tomb that we tearfully place our offering of 
 tardy piety. 
 
 Maurice was stricken to the earth. Under 
 pretext of consoling him, his friends or, more 
 accurately, his accomplices gathered around 
 his bedside. Thus the stroke which seemed 
 about to break these unhappy ties only fastened 
 them more securely. Besides, what could he 
 do at Valtravers ? After useless efforts to guide 
 himself, he found it easier to float with the cur- 
 rent. This current, so easy to descend, is diffi- 
 cult to fight against. It leads to the gulf of 
 strange fascinations, unknown to those who have
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 97 
 
 navigated only peaceful waters. Meanwhile, 
 troublesome realities began to torment him. 
 Embarrassments multiplied about him ; for the 
 disorder of sentiment leads straight to all other 
 disorders. To appease the hydra of debt, and 
 fill the abyss that yawned at his feet, Maurice 
 was forced to resign himself to the sale of the 
 chateau where he was born and the domain of 
 his fathers. In brief, he insensibly joined the 
 group of veteran route that are seen at Paris, 
 without patrimony, without career, and without 
 position ; yet overshadowing with their inex- 
 plicable fortunes those honest people whom they 
 despise, and who, God knows, return their con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Do what we can to escape it, there comes 
 inevitably an hour when that unpitying creditor, 
 Destiny, knocks at our door. Whether we will 
 or no, she regulates her accounts with us. It 
 is said that man is the play of hazard. But for 
 my part, I do not know a logic more close or 
 more inflexible than that of each human life.
 
 98 MADELEINE : 
 
 All there ties and enchains itself; and for him 
 who knows how to lay bare the premises and 
 wait patiently the conclusion, it is certainly the 
 most rigorous of syllogisms. Thus, what should 
 have happened to Maurice did happen. The 
 fatal hour surprised him, overwhelmed in a 
 past without other issue than suicide or dis- 
 honor. His was a soul perverted but not 
 perverse. At the height of his excesses, it 
 was easy to see in him the stamp of his origin, 
 and, although singularly altered, the impress of 
 a grand nature. In a world where ignorance 
 struts in the midst of luxurious furniture, in 
 the crowd of parvenues, where, as in the " Pr6- 
 cieuses Ridicules," one sees grooms give them- 
 selves the airs of Dukes, this young man at 
 least had brought elegant and chivalrous man- 
 ners, an adventurous and proud spirit. Between 
 the two issues that presented themselves, he 
 did not hesitate. Besides, his moral suicide 
 was already accomplished. Nothing remained 
 for him but to bury himself. The heavy weari-
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 99 
 
 ness that consumed him, the disgust that he 
 felt for himself, perhaps more than all else, 
 forced him sooner or later to this common 
 denotement, easy to foresee in an epoch when 
 it was not rare to meet youths of twenty years 
 who despaired of life. 
 
 His resolution once taken, too proud in his 
 abasement to quit existence like an insolvent 
 debtor who flies before the constable, he sold 
 the farm of Coudray, which he had hitherto 
 refrained from touching for the sake of Made- 
 leine; for though he had kept in his thoughts 
 only a half-effaced image of his cousin, he had 
 still foreseen that she might one day fall into 
 poverty. Reassured in this regard, since he 
 knew that Madeleine had inherited the domain 
 of Valtravers, he could discharge his debts with 
 this last remaining vestige of his patrimony. 
 Led by that vague impulse of emotion which 
 never dies in us, he had wished to see once 
 more before his death that corner of the earth 
 where he was born.
 
 loo MADELEINE: 
 
 The return to his native place, upon which 
 he had perhaps counted to revive his youth, 
 served only to show in all its sterile naked- 
 ness the impoverishment of his being. He 
 could scarcely recognize the familiar paths 
 where so many times he had walked between 
 the Marquise and the Chevalier. He saw 
 again, but without emotion, the places that he 
 had loved so well. When he seated himself 
 on the steps of the house where his father 
 had died, not a tear moistened his eyes. Just 
 punishment of fallen souls, who, having out- 
 raged all that is holy, come to quench their 
 thirst at the spring of pure emotions! 
 
 If this young man believed that he could 
 regenerate himself by contact with this pure 
 girl that we call Madeleine, he deceived him- 
 self strangely, and prepared for himself a bitter 
 disappointment. A Levite, gross from the wor- 
 ship of sensual beauty, how could he compre- 
 hend this pure soul ? In seeing her, he was 
 not only untouched by so much grace, but after
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE, IO i 
 
 studying her curiously, as he would a statue or 
 a picture, he thought his cousin failed decidedly 
 in character. All that he felt toward her re- 
 duced itself to that vague sentiment of con- 
 straint and uneasiness felt by all routs when 
 they chance to meet with a chaste woman. 
 Dreading the scene of adieu, he left one morn- 
 ing, as he had come, without a word to anyone. 
 Returning to Paris, he hastened to put his 
 affairs in order. Before his visit to Valtravers, 
 he had dismissed his servants and sold his 
 equipages. The sale of Coudray had paid his 
 last debts. He found himself now with three 
 thousand francs. It was enough to take him 
 to the end of his journey. Freed from care, 
 he decided to pass in quietude the few days 
 that remained to him on earth. If he had 
 lived badly, he wished to die decently that 
 is, with dignity; for he believed in nothing, 
 and the unhappy man troubled himself no 
 more with God than with men. The image 
 of Madeleine did not light with even a pale
 
 102 MADELEINE: 
 
 reflection the evening on which he was to take 
 leave of life. He did not once think of that 
 sweet face. In his cowardly egotism, he did 
 not call to mind the lawsuit which might 
 seriously imperil the destiny of his cousin. 
 
 The hour approached. If he waited, it was 
 not from irresolution ; only, after the fatigues 
 and vain agitations of life, he wished to taste 
 for a little time the calm and the silence that 
 precede death. He had written a letter of 
 adieu to Madeleine. His pistols were loaded. 
 More than once he had pressed to his fore- 
 head their bronze lips, as if to anticipate the 
 icy kiss of death. He touched that supreme 
 moment which was to annihilate the past, 
 and leave only a corpse to the comments of 
 curiosity.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GOING out of Paris that morning, he had 
 returned in the evening, after wandering 
 all day in the woods of Lucienne and Celle. 
 Never had life weighed upon him so heavily. 
 Never had he felt so profoundly the nothing- 
 ness of his soul, the exhaustion of his faculties. 
 Upon his return, he opened a little casket, in 
 which, heaped in confusion, with no more care 
 or order than he showed in his daily life, were 
 the letters he had received in better times, with 
 withered flowers, faded ribbons, and tresses of 
 hair ; in short, all the romance and poetry of his 
 youth. When he raised the lid of the casket, 
 although for years a stranger to emotion, he 
 trembled at the perfume which escaped from
 
 104 MADELEINE ; 
 
 the box, like a breath of Springtime, to remind 
 him of happier days. Among the letters that 
 he read over before burning them, accident 
 had placed the very one which his cousin had 
 lately written, unknown to the Chevalier and 
 the Marquise, and which he had left unan- 
 swered. For the first time, he read it care- 
 fully; smiling here and there at the naive 
 charm that it revealed. When the fire had 
 consumed the letters, Maurice took from the 
 casket a medallion, which he contemplated for 
 a long time with a gloomy air. In touching 
 it, he had started as at the contact of a viper. 
 It was the portrait of the first and only woman 
 he had ever loved. The face was beautiful, 
 but it was a beauty fatal and sensuous. Atten- 
 tively examined, it seemed a mysterious Sphinx, 
 offering to all comers her heart as a riddle, and 
 ready to destroy the madmen who presented 
 themselves to guess it. After many minutes 
 of moody contemplation, with a sudden motion 
 of hate and anger Maurice hurled from him
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 105 
 
 the slender and fragile ivory, which broke in 
 pieces at his feet. Worn out by this last effort, 
 he sank upon a divan, his face hidden in his 
 hands. 
 
 He remained thus for nearly an hour ; then, 
 raising his head, he saw Madeleine standing 
 near him, and looking upon him with a sad, 
 sweet smile. He thought for an instant that 
 it was an hallucination of his excited senses; 
 for a moment he believed her the angel of 
 death whom he was about to summon. But 
 he did not dwell long on so poetic an image. 
 
 "You, Madeleine? It is you? What do you 
 wish? What do you ask? What fantasy or 
 what need has brought you? Certainly your 
 place is not here." 
 
 " Yes, my cousin, it is I," said the young 
 girl, who seemed neither troubled nor surprised 
 at his words, spoken in an abrupt and almost 
 brutal tone. "It is I or, rather, we," she 
 added ; " for your foster-sister is in the ante- 
 chamber. She would come with me; and per-
 
 io6 MADELEINE: 
 
 haps you will not be displeased to see her 
 good and honest face." 
 
 "What has possessed you to quit your 
 home ? Why have you come to this infamous 
 city? You do not know that even the air you 
 breathe is tainted, here where virtue dies of 
 disgust, of sadness, and of weariness. You and 
 Ursula at Paris ? Return to Valtravers, and 
 remain in the peaceful shade of its woods." 
 
 " My cousin, that is very easy for you to 
 say," replied Madeleine, softly. "But you do 
 not know that this lawsuit, that I should have 
 gained, I lost in the last court. Valtravers is 
 no longer mine. I am absolutely at the same 
 point as when you found me in the shade of 
 those woods to which you counsel me to 
 return." 
 
 " You have lost your lawsuit ? Valtravers 
 does not belong to you?" cried Maurice. 
 
 " Yes, my cousin. Heaven is my witness 
 that I do not regret the loss of riches. The 
 only painful thought is that they have not
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 107 
 
 respected the last will of our beloved Mar- 
 quise. And one other hope that I cherished 
 was that this chateau which had fallen to me 
 would sometime go to you or your children." 
 
 "My children will have need of nothing; 
 and there is no question of me in the matter," 
 replied Maurice, in a tone becoming more and 
 more abrupt. " Why did you not accept the 
 farm of Coudray when I offered it to you? 
 Why did you let me sell it ? Why did you not 
 say that the day might come when you would 
 find yourself without resources ? The day has 
 come, and what is to become of you ? " 
 
 " Do not chide me, my cousin. You see I 
 have not doubted your heart, since I am here 
 to address myself to you. I have never hesi- 
 tated an instant. I said to myself, ' My cousin 
 is henceforth the only protector that is left to 
 me in this world ; he knows that I have ten- 
 derly loved his old father, and that I am 
 worthy of his affection ; I know him ; he is 
 generous; I will place myself under his care;
 
 io8 MADELEINE : 
 
 I am sure he will not repulse me.' And so I 
 made up my little package, as in the old time 
 when I left Munich ; and after a last prayer 
 beneath the roof that had been so hospitable, 
 after a sad adieu to the house wherein I had 
 grown to womanhood, and to all those dear 
 places that I shall see no more, I came to 
 you. Maurice, do you think that I could have 
 done otherwise?" 
 
 Maurice did not reply. Seated upon a divan 
 beside Madeleine, he regarded her with an air 
 of heavy stupor, like a man who is uncertain 
 whether he wakes or dreams. It did not need 
 much insight to divine what was passing in his 
 mind. Madeleine seemed not to perceive it. 
 She added, with a smiling dignity : 
 
 " Above all, my cousin, do not fear that I 
 will become a serious embarrassment in your 
 life. My tastes are modest and simple. My 
 poverty will not long burden you. I beg you 
 only to renounce for a little while the long voy- 
 age you have meditated. You could not leave
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 109 
 
 me alone and without protection, in the great 
 city that you call infamous. You will not go. 
 It is your noble father, it is the good Marquise, 
 that pray to you by my voice. It is also my 
 mother, who, before dying, confided me to the 
 son of her sister. Recall the letter, the only 
 inheritance she left me in dying. If you have 
 forgotten here, Maurice, take it and read it." 
 
 The truth is that Maurice had never read 
 that letter. As it was the only legacy of her 
 mother, the day after her arrival at Valtravers 
 the orphan had begged her uncle to give it 
 back to her; and the good Chevalier had im- 
 mediately acceded to this filial wish. It was 
 not surprising that the thoughtless young man 
 had never troubled himself to verify the titles 
 which established Madeleine's identity, nor to 
 know how his German aunt wrote French. 
 Naturally, these were the least of his cares. 
 His father had said, " See thy cousin ; " and 
 Maurice had accepted the relationship. 
 
 More through embarrassment than curiosity,
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 he mechanically took the paper from the hand 
 of the young girl, and, unfolding it, read at 
 first with indifference. No matter what the 
 reader thinks, no matter what he thought him- 
 self; his was not a heart entirely hardened. 
 Under its calloused surface there were some 
 fibers unparalyzed, which yet vibrated to the 
 touch of a strong emotion. He had preserved 
 not, it is true, in all its freshness or integrity 
 the most precious and the most fatal of the 
 faculties that man has received from Divine 
 anger and mercy ; that which awakens first 
 within us, and that which dies after all others ; 
 at the same time both a blessing and a curse, 
 poison and antidote, infernal punishment and 
 celestial enchantment; the superhuman force 
 which adds to our joys and intensifies our 
 griefs; in a word, Imagination. In reading 
 this letter, whose characters, worn by tears 
 and kisses, had passed first before the eyes of 
 his father, Maurice recalled little by little all 
 the circumstances of that Autumn evening
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. ZI1 
 
 when Madeleine first appeared to him. He 
 saw again the shady forest ; the clearing, bathed 
 in the light of the setting sun ; the gate of the 
 park; and upon the doorstep which the little 
 German slowly mounted, he saw the Chevalier 
 and the Marquise rise to give her welcome. 
 He was moved by these images. A slender 
 thread of living water pierced the arid side of 
 the rock; but in the last page, which was 
 addressed to him alone, when he reached the 
 lines "And thou, whom I do not know, but 
 whom I have loved to include so often with 
 my daughter in the same sentiment of tender- 
 ness and solicitude son of my sister if thy 
 mother has given thee her soul, thou wilt be 
 good and fraternal to my beloved Madeleine" 
 when he read these words, the rock was broken, 
 and for an instant the spring so long captive 
 burst out in quick and abundant waves. Whilst 
 Maurice stifled his sobs among the cushions of 
 the divan on which he was seated, Madeleine 
 regarded him in silence, standing with her arms
 
 I I2 MADELEINE: 
 
 crossed upon her breast, with the sad and grave 
 air of a young mother by the cradle of a sick 
 child. 
 
 "Maurice! my friend! my brother! what is 
 the matter?" said she, in a tender voice. 
 
 He seated her near him, took her hands in 
 his, and there, yet quivering with emotion, he 
 recounted to her his life; all that he could 
 recount without shocking the pure soul that 
 listened to his words. He told of the loss of 
 his illusions ; the dissipations into which weari- 
 ness and grief had plunged him; his wander- 
 ings ; his utter ruin ; his profound disgust with 
 existence; his final resolve to end it. In this 
 recital, Maurice seemed not so much to blame 
 himself as to imagine that he was the poetic 
 victim of the realities of life. He accused the 
 world, and even Heaven ; and in the destruc- 
 tion which he called down upon society, he 
 spared only himself. 
 
 Madeleine listened with an air of dreamy 
 sadness and melancholy pity. When he had
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. II3 
 
 finished, she remained silent for a long time, in 
 an attitude of reflection. 
 
 " It is a strange history," said she, pleasantly, 
 raising her eyes, whose limpid azure had not 
 been altered for an instant by what she had 
 heard. " Unhappily, my cousin, I have not 
 thoroughly understood what you have said. It 
 is too deep for the intelligence of a poor country 
 girl, who has grown up among honest hearts 
 that were content with little. We are unfamiliar 
 with such extraordinary sentiments; and, not- 
 withstanding its vicissitudes, I had believed 
 until now that life was the best gift of our 
 Heavenly Father. That which I have under- 
 stood clearly is, that you have wasted your 
 patrimony; and that, if I have nothing, you 
 have as much. But that is not a matter for 
 despair. Only, in my turn, I ask what are you 
 going to do? Kill yourself? You cannot. I 
 am not come to address myself to your for- 
 tune. I have counted only upon your affection. 
 Although poor, like me, you are my only rela-
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 tive and my natural protector. Be your own 
 judge. Our mothers were sisters. Both see 
 us and listen to us. When I arrived at your 
 door at Valtravers, your father opened his arms, 
 and I became his cherished daughter. I re- 
 placed you at his fireside. I was the last 
 solace of his old age. He died in my arms, 
 and my hand closed his eyes. And now, alone, 
 without resources, without other protection than 
 yours, in a world full of dangers that I do not 
 even know, tell me, Maurice, do you think that 
 your life belongs only to yourself?" 
 
 Crushed by the weight of duties which came 
 like a thunderbolt upon his head, as frightened 
 at this new obligation to live as he would have 
 been in happier days at the necessity of dying, 
 linked to existence like a galley-slave whose 
 chain was loosened only to be more strongly 
 riveted than before, Maurice replied only 
 
 an outburst of despair. What could he 
 do for his cousin? he, who could do nothing 
 for himself. What possible succor could he
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. n 5 
 
 lend ? he who bent under the burden of his 
 own destiny. 
 
 " Go ! leave me ! " he cried ; " respect my mis- 
 fortune ; do not insult my distress. From the 
 shore where you stand in safety, do not call to 
 your aid an unfortunate who is drowning. Do 
 not ask support of a reed beaten by the 
 winds." 
 
 "Friend," said Madeleine, "let us lean upon 
 each other, and we can resist the storm. Let 
 us give each other a helping hand, and we can 
 escape together the waves that threaten to 
 engulf us. We will, by a common effort, reach 
 that shore where you misjudge that I stand. 
 Come, Maurice ! have courage. Instead of 
 weeping, uplift yourself. Death is but a barren 
 expiation. Live! be a man! We are poor; 
 but is it for nothing that we have received from 
 Heaven the gifts of intelligence, strength, and 
 health ? We will do, my cousin, as in the olden 
 times did the Marquise and the Chevalier." 
 This prospect did not appear to charm
 
 1 1 6 MA DELEINE : 
 
 Maurice, who made a violent gesture of anger 
 and disdain. 
 
 " I am then to make nut-crackers ? " he 
 asked, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "And why not, cousin? Your father made 
 them, and I imagine he was as true a gentle- 
 man as you." 
 
 Maurice rose and rapidly paced the room. 
 He then stopped suddenly before Madeleine. 
 
 " Come, Maurice ! be resolved." 
 
 "Well, cousin, be satisfied," he said, in a 
 tone surely not affectionate, scarcely polite. 
 " I will do for you what I certainly should 
 not have done for myself. I will live." 
 
 "Thanks, dear cousin," said Madeleine, in 
 a tender voice. "I knew that you would not 
 repulse me. I will pray God to shed upon 
 your head his benedictions." 
 
 "Well, well, cousin. God has enough to do 
 without disturbing himself for so little. I will 
 live. But my conditions are, that once assured of 
 your destiny, I am again master of mine."
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 117 
 
 "That is understood," said the young girl. 
 " But I have my own plan of operation. We 
 will talk of that fraternally. I do not ask 
 more than two years to place myself comfort- 
 ably in life." 
 
 "Two years? you ask two years?" cried 
 the young man, with an expression of anger 
 that he did not seek to conceal. 
 
 "Is that exacting too much? I will neglect 
 nothing that may shorten this time of trial." 
 
 Maurice terminated the interview by a ges- 
 ture of heroic resignation. 
 
 At this moment, Ursula, unable to wait 
 longer, burst like a water -spout into the 
 chamber, and threw herself upon the neck of 
 her young master, who defended himself ill- 
 humoredly against her too violent tenderness. 
 Then retreating to the embrasure of a window, 
 pale, immobile, with hands clenched, he silently 
 regarded the two women. 
 
 It had grown late, and Maurice was com- 
 pelled to go with them to the door of the little
 
 n8 MADELEINE: 
 
 hotel where they were staying. During the 
 walk, he had to submit to the provincial ques- 
 tionings of Ursula, and her absurd amazement. 
 She thought the street lights were a sign of 
 public rejoicing ; and having been all her life 
 intimate with the saints of the calendar, she 
 inquired naively if it was in honor of St. Babo- 
 lein that they had illuminated the city. This 
 childishness, which under other circumstances 
 would have singularly diverted Maurice, served 
 only to exasperate him. He returned by the 
 quays, which were now deserted, looking eagerly 
 at the glistening black water of the river that 
 seemed to allure him. Returning to his apart- 
 ment, he opened his box of pistols and contem- 
 plated them with an ardent and sombre gaze. 
 
 " Sleep ! " said he at last, slowly closing the 
 lid. u Sleep, faithful friends, until the day of 
 deliverance, when I shall come to awaken you."
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AFTER some hours of feverish slumber, 
 * Maurice arose, ashamed of his weak- 
 ness, furious with Madeleine, and exasperated 
 with himself. Of what importance to him was 
 his cousin's destiny? What did he owe to her? 
 Of what right, by what title, had she come to 
 impose herself upon him? Was it his fault that 
 she had lost her lawsuit ? What ! because an 
 aunt whom he had never known had before 
 giving up the ghost sent into France a young 
 girl for whose existence he had never cared, 
 
 because a little German had one Autumn even- 
 119
 
 120 MADELEINE : 
 
 ing knocked at the door of Valtravers, was he 
 obliged thereby to live, and resign himself to 
 the rdle of guardian, at the moment when he 
 was about to take refuge in the arms of death ? 
 How long had it been the mission of young 
 men to escort their kinswomen through life ? 
 What more could one do for a sister ? Besides, 
 Madeleine was not a child. She was at least 
 twenty-two or twenty-three years old ; and at 
 this age orphans cease to be interesting. This 
 one had decidedly abused the advantage of 
 being without a family. And frankly, what 
 could he do for her? His resources were 
 exhausted. He had nothing not even the 
 furniture of his apartment, which represented 
 only the amount of his rent. If he had 
 resolved to kill himself, it was his own good 
 pleasure; and in fact, at the point where he 
 had arrived, any other determination would 
 have singularly embarrassed him. Work! the 
 word costs nothing. But when one has taken 
 root in vice and idleness, it is not so easy to
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 121 
 
 become transplanted and acclimated in the 
 regions of order and labor. 
 
 In the midst of these irritating and confused 
 reflections, ready to break the engagements so 
 heedlessly contracted the evening before, his 
 cousin, accompanied by Ursula, smilingly en- 
 tered the chamber. Madeleine was simply but 
 neatly attired in a muslin dress, without orna- 
 ments, while her hair was arranged in a plain 
 band upon each side of her forehead. Maurice, 
 so long accustomed to women magnificently 
 dressed, fancied that his cousin had the air of a 
 grisette. Thus it is that one rarely loses the 
 taste for simple things, without losing at the 
 same time the instinct that recognizes the truly 
 beautiful ; so intimately blended are these two 
 sentiments. Ursula was dressed in her richest 
 attire, in the costume of the girls of her pro- 
 vince. Her low shoes with silver buckles, her 
 short petticoats, extravagant head-dress that 
 she greatly exaggerated in the effort to render 
 herself more pleasing to her foster-brother, her
 
 122 MADELEINE: 
 
 stout and vigorous form, full bust, white teeth, 
 and ruddy lips, revealed at the distance of a 
 league that she was the product of Limoges. 
 The shock of seeing her thus bedizened did 
 not tend to restore the tranquillity of Maurice. 
 
 As if she had understood her cousin's mood, 
 Madeleine seated herself, and without giving 
 him time to reconsider what had been decided 
 the evening before, she explained to him how 
 she intended to arrange their way of living. 
 First they must find, in a quiet quarter, 
 under one roof, two small lodgings, one for 
 Maurice, the other for herself and Ursula, 
 where they would install themselves simply, as 
 suited henceforth their humble condition. Mad- 
 eleine had saved from the shipwreck of her 
 fortune some diamonds left her by the Mar- 
 quise. The amount they would bring would 
 be sufficient for their installation and for their 
 present needs, provided she felt herself directed 
 by a firm hand and sheltered by a faithful heart. 
 She declared herself undisturbed about their
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 123 
 
 affairs, and said she could build a nest in keep- 
 ing with her taste. She had, according to the 
 proverb, " more than one string to her bow." 
 She embroidered like a fairy, and worked in 
 crochet little purses of silk beaded with gold, 
 marvellously fine and delicate. She painted, 
 on wood, birds and flowers, which, when var- 
 nished, had the lively colors of the tropics. 
 She could give lessons on the piano, and in 
 singing. Above all, thanks to the teachings of 
 Madame de Fresnes, she excelled in miniature 
 painting. Whether from respect for the memory 
 of the Marquise, or whether really the most 
 available of her resources, it was this she first 
 determined to attempt. Thus, her talents did 
 not fail her. She had, besides these, the winged 
 courage which plays with obstacles ; the spon- 
 taneous energy that seems to act without effort ; 
 the charming gaiety which laughs and sings; 
 the unfailing aid of the will that works. It was 
 thus decided that Madeleine should try her 
 hand at miniatures; and she was joyous as a
 
 124 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 child in thinking that she would live in Paris 
 as in other days the adorable Marquise had 
 lived in Nuremburg. As the reader will remem- 
 ber, that had always been her dream. We could 
 even affirm that in this view there was in the 
 loss of her fortune something that pleased her. 
 As for Maurice, he would remain free to act at 
 his own pleasure, and to follow his inclinations. 
 Madeleine only asked that he would support 
 and direct her first steps in the world, and 
 in the career she had chosen. It was under- 
 stood that at the end of two years he was to 
 be given his independence, and become again 
 the master of his destiny. Only until then 
 Madeleine would have the right to lean upon 
 him as if he were her brother as, indeed, he 
 was to be before the public, to escape malignant 
 comments. 
 
 All this was said with such animation and 
 intensity that Maurice found no place to put 
 in an objection, and with such grace and good- 
 humor that he could not prevent himself from
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 125 
 
 occasionally smiling; although whenever the 
 young girl finished a sentence, he shook his 
 head with the air of a man but little touched 
 and not at all convinced. But immediately 
 she arose and took his arm without hesitation. 
 
 "Cousin, to-day our fraternity commences. 
 Remember that your father called me his 
 daughter; and indeed I was his daughter, 
 well beloved. The day is beautiful, and we 
 will profit by it to seek a shelter under some 
 modest roof you must decide in what quarter. 
 Besides, you must be in haste to quit this 
 apartment, whose luxury insults your poverty. 
 Leave it as soon as possible; and," added she, 
 gaily, " try to leave here that gloomy and heavy 
 air which does not suit your age, and which is 
 not becoming to you." 
 
 " Yes, my young master," said in her turn 
 the good Ursula. " You must laugh and play, 
 and divert yourself. You will not be twenty- 
 nine until St. Nicaise's day. Jarni-Dieu ! it 
 is the beautiful age. You will see what a
 
 I2 6 MADELEINE: 
 
 pretty little family we will make, we three, 
 and what care I shall take of you two. All 
 is not lost, since there remain to you health, 
 youth, and your foster-sister, who will make 
 for you, as at Valtravers, brown biscuits and 
 the pancakes that you loved so well." 
 
 Meanwhile, Madeleine had led out Maurice, 
 who allowed her to conduct him with the 
 heartiness of a criminal about to be beheaded. 
 At the door, he turned and saw Ursula, who 
 prepared to follow them. 
 
 " Art thou going with us ? " he asked, 
 brusquely, surveying her from head to foot. 
 
 " What ! Am I going with you ? " she cried, 
 with profound astonishment. " My young mas- 
 ter, do you suppose that it is to gape in the 
 air that I have put on my best clothes ? " 
 
 " Stupid girl ! " exclaimed Maurice, in a rage 
 that he was scarcely able to conceal. " Dost 
 thou not comprehend that thou wilt be re- 
 garded like some curious beast in the streets 
 where we are going ? "
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 127 
 
 "What do I care ?" replied Ursula, bridling 
 up. " For my part, I will not be afraid to show 
 your Parisians of what timber the girls of Val- 
 travers are made. In seeing me they will say, 
 'Behold the foster-sister of Monsieur Maurice; ' 
 and, with due respect, I dare believe that will 
 do you honor," added she, making him a low 
 courtesy. 
 
 Resigning himself to drink the bitter cup 
 to the last drop, Maurice replied only by a 
 gesture of mute despair. 
 
 A few moments after, they were walking in 
 the boulevards, Madeleine on the arm of her 
 cousin, followed closely by the full form of 
 Ursula, her arms akimbo, defending herself 
 from the billows of the crowd like a ship under 
 full sail, with all its signals spread. It was one 
 of those splendid days when Paris opens its 
 gilded cages and liberates its prettiest birds ; 
 one of those bright suns which bring upon the 
 glittering pavements of the great city a popula- 
 tion of young gallants and smiling women. To
 
 ! 2 8 MA DELEINE : 
 
 the lively regret of Ursula, who had achieved 
 already a complete success, and whose steps 
 were marked by a veritable triumph, Maurice 
 hastened to quit these regions where he had so 
 many times displayed the luxuriance of his 
 mistresses and his horses. To tell the truth, 
 the place was no longer tenable. Without 
 speaking of her costume, which riveted the 
 attention of all passers, Ursula, believing her 
 young master as well known in Paris as at 
 Neuvy-les-Bois, addressed him from time to 
 time in a high voice, that all might know that 
 she was in his company. Sometimes, when the 
 crowd was unusually compact, she held tightly 
 to the tails of his coat, in fear of losing him or 
 of being herself lost. Maurice occasionally 
 turned around and launched at her a withering 
 look, to which the brave girl replied simply by 
 a kind smile. The unhappy young man was in 
 torment. He had at first hoped to conceal his 
 shame in a carriage ; but his cousin had pre- 
 vented this by remarking that such grand man-
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 129 
 
 ners did not suit their humble fortune. The 
 sky, she said, was clear, the pavement dry; and 
 simple good sense told that they could not 
 inspect apartments from a carriage. Madeleine 
 walked lightly, without seeming either surprised 
 or annoyed at the noise and motion around her ; 
 apparently unconscious of the ill-humor of her 
 companion, which he no longer troubled himself 
 to conceal. They had now reached the river. 
 Near the gate of the Louvre, at the moment they 
 came out upon the quay, that which Maurice 
 had most dreaded, happened. They stepped 
 aside to make way for an open carriage, which 
 advanced rapidly. He was quickly recognized 
 by its gay occupants, who were going to the 
 Bois. They were the very cream of that world 
 in which he had lived. With a salutation too 
 profound to be sincere, four or five gay heads 
 bowed as they passed, leaving behind them a 
 penetrating perfume of cigars and Patchouly; 
 while the poor fellow, immovable in his steps, 
 heard in the distance loud bursts of laughter.
 
 130 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 At this instant, he felt a lively longing to throw 
 both Madeleine and Ursula in the Seine. 
 
 Even if on quitting his lodgings he had been 
 piously resolved to keep his engagements of the 
 evening before, this promenade like that of a 
 galley-slave with a ball at each leg would 
 have convinced Maurice that what he had 
 promised was beyond his power to fulfil. To 
 spend two years in such a life was simply to 
 take two years in which to die. At the same 
 time he saw that unless he had lost all manhood 
 he could not abandon these two poor creatures in 
 Paris without either protector or guide. Perhaps 
 he would not have recoiled before a crime; but 
 he had a horror of cowardice. For an hour, for 
 example, he had wished to wring the neck of 
 Ursula; but he could not desert two helpless 
 women placed under his protection. 
 
 Pale with rage and mortification, Maurice 
 continued his walk with Madeleine. Since she 
 desired to retire into a modest and quiet corner 
 of Paris, he thought the neighborhood of the
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 131 
 
 Luxembourg would realize her wish. As Mau- 
 rice had to resign himself to pass some months 
 near her, he knew that in this quarter the 
 asylum of science and of serious study he 
 would be tolerably certain of meeting none of 
 his acquaintances. After seeking vainly in the 
 public streets lodgings that suited at the same 
 time the poetic instincts and the modest ambi- 
 tion of the young German, they dined together 
 in the neighborhood of the Observatory. This 
 did not lighten, however, the ill-humor of Mau- 
 rice ; for the task of climbing four or five stories, 
 frequently repeated, had disposed him to a 
 much less frugal repast. It should be added, 
 that in face even of suicide Maurice had re- 
 tained habits that were not those of an anchor- 
 ite. He valued, above all, elegance of service ; 
 and although disgusted with life, thought that a 
 gentleman, the evening before blowing out his 
 brains, should not touch different kinds of meat 
 with the same fork. He drank with the edges 
 of his lips, and ate with the tips of his teeth.
 
 132 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 Ursula simply devoured. Madeleine declared 
 that she had never made so charming a repast 
 in her life. As they returned, seeking right 
 and left an attractive house, they plunged by 
 common consent into a street whose rural aspect 
 attracted Madeleine; crossing from the Boule- 
 vard des Invalides to the Rue du Bac, which 
 Madame de Stael has rendered famous. 
 
 Thanks to the increase of population and 
 the progress of industry, before five hundred 
 years there will not remain in Paris a refuge 
 for reverie. For to-day, all that remains of 
 this street which so charmed Madeleine is a 
 double row of houses, more or less new, ugly, 
 and badly built. Then, one would have thought 
 it a hamlet, or at least the verdant outskirts of 
 a little city lost in the foliage. In following its 
 paths, one met the odor of the lilac or the 
 perfume of the lindens in flower ; above the 
 walls, acacias, laburnums, trees of Judea, shook 
 their odorous clusters. In the depths of parks, 
 where the nightingale sang during the Summer
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I33 
 
 nights, one could see through the gates beauti- 
 ful houses, before which played happy children. 
 It was, in a word, the Rue du Babylone ; thus 
 named perhaps because of its gardens, perhaps 
 because in old times it had been the residence 
 of the bishop of the antique city of Semiramis. 
 Ursula fancied herself at Valtravers, and asked 
 where was the Vienne. Madeleine declared 
 that it would be happiness for her to live in 
 this little village, lost in the bosom of Paris. 
 The wish of the young girl was fulfilled. She 
 found, in one of those rare houses which here 
 and there dot the landscape, two little adjoin- 
 ing apartments, one for Maurice, the other for 
 herself and Ursula; under the roof, it is true, 
 but opening upon shady grounds. My opinion 
 is and it was that of Madeleine that it is 
 better to have before the window a sprig of 
 verdure than the colonnade of the Louvre. 
 
 Thus terminated the day which gave Maurice 
 a foretaste of the delights in store for him. 
 The next day, and those which followed, were
 
 134 
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 yet more rude and laborious. It is not all to 
 have chosen the bush in which to build a nest; 
 it is necessary also to bring there sticks, moss, 
 and down. With Ursula always at his heels, 
 Maurice was compelled to accompany Made- 
 leine to the shops, to see and examine all, and 
 to hear prices discussed and debated; he, who 
 had never bargained in his life, but who rather 
 had made it a point to pay dearer than others. 
 Though she possessed in a high degree the sen- 
 timents of practicality, though naturally endowed 
 with reason as well as grace, Madeleine showed 
 in her purchases a childlike joy that does not 
 think of figures, and that is careless of calcula- 
 tions. But Ursula, who imagined that the shop- 
 people wished to cheat her as a Limousine, the 
 unpitying Ursula constantly raised interminable 
 objections, and defended the interests of her 
 master with a sharp parsimony worthy of a Jew. 
 Strong in the jaws as a servant of Moliere, she 
 disputed with the trades-people, and treated 
 them as rascals and sharpers. More than once,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I3S 
 
 they politely showed her the door. Maurice 
 thought he would lose his head. He wished 
 the devil had her. But Ursula did not restrain 
 herself; and it was only by threatening to send 
 her back into the country, that Maurice could 
 bring her to moderation. 
 
 At the end of a week, the three companions 
 took possession of their little domain. On the 
 day of their removal, a hack, before which two 
 lean jades were harnessed, stopped noisily at 
 the door of the sumptuous hotel where Maurice 
 yet resided. Ursula and Madeleine alighted. 
 
 " Come, Maurice ! come, my brother ! " cried 
 the young girl. " The great day has arrived. 
 It only remains to say a last adieu to these 
 gilded walls. You will not find them where we 
 are going; but poverty has its luxury, and 
 happiness does not require a magnificent home." 
 
 " Poor lamb ! " said Ursula, with an expres- 
 sion of ineffable tenderness. " We will love and 
 cherish him, spoil and coddle him, until he 
 believes himself yet at Valtravers. Sundays
 
 136 MADELEINE: 
 
 and holidays, when we have done our work, we 
 will all go to promenade in the public gardens. 
 Hold, Monsieur Maurice ! I am too happy ! It 
 suffocates me. Jarni-Dieu ! I must embrace 
 you ! " 
 
 With these words, the good creature threw 
 herself upon him like a panther, and in spite of 
 his utmost efforts to tear himself from her arms, 
 she gave him two huge kisses upon the cheeks. 
 
 The hour had sounded; the hour that 
 Maurice thought should never have arrived. 
 He had counted upon some unforeseen accident, 
 some insurmountable obstacle, to interpose ; and 
 yet all went as by enchantment. The evening 
 before, he had said to himself that something 
 must yet happen to relieve him of this strange 
 position. Yet nothing had come nothing but 
 the Actual, with her sure foot and her wrist of 
 iron. Recoil? He had no longer time. Mau- 
 rice was not the man to waste himself in 
 plaintive elegies or poetic adieus. He per- 
 mitted Ursula to put his effects in the carriage;
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 137 
 
 then he took under his arm his box of pistols, 
 carrying thus all his fortune and his last hope. 
 At this instant, one could have seen upon the 
 face of Madeleine a reflection of that celestial joy 
 which must illuminate the faces of angels when 
 they come, bringing a soul that has wandered, 
 into the presence of God.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A POET, at the time when poets lived in 
 garrets, would have been charmed with 
 the lodgings of Madeleine and Maurice. 
 Though of an exceeding simplicity, taste and 
 elegance were shown in all the details of the 
 furniture. The young girl's chamber was hung 
 with a delicate pearl-gray paper, on which were 
 strewn bouquets of violets and roses. The 
 only ornaments were a few of the miniatures 
 of Madame de Fresnes, which had been re- 
 ligiously preserved among them a copy of 
 the Madonna which Madame de Mirbel or 
 David might not have disowned; some hang- 
 ing-shelves with books, and a few withered 
 138
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 139 
 
 flowers that had been brought from Valtravers. 
 Near the window was a table, covered with 
 brushes, boxes of colors, and small squares of 
 porcelain. Maurice's chamber was arranged 
 with equal neatness and simplicity ; but nothing 
 there indicated habits or plans of work, and 
 one would have searched vainly for any object 
 to which was linked a hope or a recollection. 
 
 " It is not elegant," said Madeleine to him, 
 "but the four walls where we work and love 
 and dream are to us always those of a palace." 
 
 These words were scarcely noticed by Mau- 
 rice, who, when left alone, strode about his 
 room like a lion newly put in his cage. It was 
 then his anger found vent ; he struck his fore- 
 head, and rolled upon his bed with smothered 
 cries of rage. He asked himself by what 
 cowardly condescension, what incredible weak- 
 ness, he had permitted himself to be brought 
 to this. He accused himself of imbecility, and 
 cursed the name of his cousin. 
 
 Whilst Madeleine busied herself in arranging
 
 140 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 the new ways of her life, Ursula was also at 
 work. She scrubbed and cleaned and polished, 
 and sang in a high voice the songs of her coun- 
 try. This was the finishing stroke to Maurice, 
 who left the house, and wandered in the city 
 all the evening, not knowing or caring where 
 accident might lead him. Toward midnight it 
 began to rain. Having no other shelter than 
 his garret in the Rue Babylone, he reluctantly 
 sought refuge there. Ursula, who was watching 
 for his return, was frightened at his appearance. 
 His face was pale, his lips livid, and his sunken 
 eyes burned with a feverish light. The kind 
 girl, seriously alarmed, begged him to come into 
 their apartment; but he refused angrily, and 
 retired to his chamber. Seating himself near 
 an open window, he remained there till morn- 
 ing, listening to the trees groaning in the wind, 
 and watching a sky little less sombre and 
 gloomy than his own soul. In the morning, 
 Ursula found him delirious with fever. 
 
 For a long time they feared for his life ; but
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I41 
 
 the skill of science, and the youth which was 
 not yet dead within him, more than the solici- 
 tude of Madeleine and Ursula, recalled him 
 gradually back to life. More than once he 
 thanked them with a tearful eye; more than 
 once his hand sought the hand of his cousin. 
 One day, perceiving a portrait of his father, 
 painted by the Marquise a year before his 
 death, which Madeleine had placed upon the 
 wall, he addressed to it, in a voice stifled with 
 sobs, touching words of repentance and remorse. 
 The first day he was able to leave his bed, he 
 found upon the mantel a walnut box which he 
 had not seen before. He raised the lid, and 
 recognized the tools which in the olden times 
 his father had used in wood-carving. 
 
 " I thought," said Madeleine, who was seated 
 near the window, " that you would like these 
 instruments in your possession or at least 
 that you would not like to leave them to the 
 mercy of strangers." 
 
 "Thanks, my sister," he replied.
 
 142 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 It was the first time he had called her by 
 this name, and the young girl paled and 
 trembled. 
 
 " Only to think," said Ursula, " that it was 
 with these that Monsieur le Chevalier earned 
 his bread among the infidels ! Monsieur le 
 Chevalier, a nobleman, a great lord, an aristo- 
 crat ! and that his white hands turned toys 
 as if he had only done that all his life ! He 
 was not ashamed to work like one of the people. 
 And yet he was a proud man." 
 
 "He had a grand heart," said Madeleine. 
 
 " And the Marquise ! " continued Ursula, who 
 was not the girl to be easily diverted from 
 her path. "She did not have to knock long 
 at the door of Paradise. Think of a great lady 
 like her one who had been at court paint- 
 ing portraits for a lot of beer-drinkers and 
 saur- kraut eaters! Jarni-Dieu! she was a 
 grand woman ! " 
 
 "Yes," said Madeleine, " she had indeed a 
 beautiful soul."
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 143 
 
 " Like yours, my brave young lady," said 
 Ursula, carrying Madeleine's fingers respect- 
 fully to her lips. 
 
 Like people who hear a fable without caring 
 for the moral, Maurice heard, without asking 
 himself if perchance there was in this discus- 
 sion anything intended for him. The one 
 delightful feature of convalescence is its pro- 
 found forgetfulness of the future. Too feeble 
 to look beyond the present hour, we are lost in 
 the material sentiment of our recovery. We 
 feel existence, and that is enough. Little by 
 little, with returning health, we resume the 
 burden of life. 
 
 Although he was out of danger, and almost 
 re-established in health, Madeleine and Ursula 
 passed most of their time with Maurice. At 
 his request, his cousin had brought her easel 
 into his chamber, and worked there during the 
 day and often watched far into the night, whilst 
 Ursula dozed and knit. Maurice was at first 
 pleased with this ; but with the progress of his
 
 144 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 physical cure the irritation of his spirit revived, 
 and he began to weary of the solicitude of these 
 two women, who would not quit his bedside. 
 Soon Conscience began to whisper to him of 
 duty. 
 
 One night, as he appeared to be sleeping 
 soundly, Madeleine and Ursula, working by the 
 shaded light of the lamp, talked in a low voice. 
 
 "Poor cherubin! " said Ursula, drawing out 
 her needle. " I do not regret the money he has 
 cost us. For him, I would pawn my bonnet 
 and my last petticoat. The expenses of this 
 illness have brought us to our last louis." 
 
 " Do not disquiet thyself, my good Ursula. 
 To-morrow I will finish this little box, and I am 
 sure they will buy it at the shop where I have 
 sold ten already. And these little purses are 
 not badly made. Such trifles sell well in Paris. 
 Besides, I have yet a few rings and jewels, 
 which we will send to join my diamonds." 
 
 " In company with my earrings and gold 
 cross," added Ursula. "All that is nothing;
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I45 
 
 but, my dear young lady, you work too late. 
 You will lose your eyesight, and, what is more 
 precious, your health." 
 
 " I am stronger than I appear," said Made- 
 leine. " And think, Ursula, of our invalid. 
 His convalescence may perhaps be long, and if 
 we do not provide for him with all the care 
 that his condition requires, we should merit 
 reproach, for he resigned himself to live only 
 for us." 
 
 " Yes," said Ursula, turning a look of adora- 
 tion toward the bed where her young master 
 was sleeping. " Just at the moment he was 
 about to blow out his brains, he deprived him- 
 self of the pleasure out of love for us. And 
 how proud he was to walk with us in the 
 streets ! Once cured, he will be delighted to 
 work for his cousin and his foster-sister. For 
 he is an angel, Mademoiselle Madeleine! I 
 always said he was an angel." 
 
 Maurice was not sleeping. He had heard 
 
 all ; and the next day he left his bed, as calm 
 i o
 
 146 MADELEINE : 
 
 and resolute as we have before known him 
 angry and wild. He accepted at last the task 
 that had fallen to his lot. 
 
 It would be an error to attribute this re-awak- 
 ening of his will to emotions of tenderness and 
 gratitude. With his health Maurice had refound 
 also the obduracy of his soul. The devotion of 
 these two noble women only irritated him. 
 God has put pride in the depth of our hearts, to 
 supplant at need virtue. Maurice was ready to 
 assume the duties that devolved upon him, 
 without hesitation but without enthusiasm. But 
 what could he do? To work, is easily said; but 
 one must first know how to work. To make 
 toys was well enough in Nuremburg, which is 
 the land of toys; but to attempt wood-carving 
 in Paris there were a thousand difficulties. 
 Besides, he had neglected the art so long as 
 almost to fiave forgotten it. As for literary 
 labor, he dared not think of it. At that period 
 letters had some prestige; and the most difficult 
 of arts had not then become the most easy of
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 147 
 
 trades. Some years later, he would not have 
 hesitated; and thus we should now have had 
 one great writer the more. To be born at the 
 right time is one of the great secrets of life. 
 
 Tired of the fruitless study, Maurice con- 
 sulted his cousin. The young girl replied 
 sweetly : 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself. There is nothing 
 pressing. You are yet weak and suffering. 
 Regain your strength ; the rest will follow. So 
 long as I feel myself under your care, it is 
 enough. I am strong, and have good courage. 
 I will work for you with joy till the time comes 
 when happily we can work together." 
 
 It is easy to imagine how such words irritated 
 Maurice's pride. But it was thus that chance 
 or, rather, Providence, in the character of 
 Madeleine constrained the young man into 
 the only path that was open to him.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TN a wing of the house where Maurice and 
 *- Madeleine resided, and facing their apart- 
 ment, were three modest rooms, inhabited by a 
 young artisan and his family. Pierre Marceau 
 was a cabinet-maker, about twenty-five years of 
 age, honest, handsome, frank, always in a good 
 humor, quite charming in his blouse of gray 
 cotton with its belt of varnished leather drawn 
 around his supple and vigorous body. True, he 
 made no verses, and had no other instruments of 
 music than his plane and chisel. Rising with 
 the dawn, he worked gaily from morning till 
 night, as if convinced that labor is at once the 
 poetry of the people and the best means by 
 
 which to better their condition. Gentle and 
 us
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 149 
 
 amiable, his wife worked diligently with her 
 needle, while keeping her eye constantly upon 
 two hearty urchins that frolicked about their 
 father. From time to time Pierre would leave 
 his bench to bend over his wife's embroidery, 
 or to take in his arms the two little rogues; 
 then he would return to his work with new 
 ardor. Sometimes the young mother would 
 hum in a soft voice a song of Be'ranger 
 one of those immortal songs that have consoled 
 the heart of the people. Without ceasing 
 his work, the father would join in the refrain 
 with a proud and energetic voice. When 
 the day was near its close, the pretty house- 
 wife busied herself in preparing the supper, 
 which was enlivened by the prattling of the 
 happy children. They often sat long around 
 the frugal table, and the evening was prolonged 
 in pleasant and familiar talk. 
 
 Leaning his elbow upon the window-sill, 
 Maurice frequently watched with a listless eye 
 the movements of this industrious and happy
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 household. Not that he took any interest in 
 them, or sought any useful instruction; it was 
 to him simply a novel spectacle. But Made- 
 leine, from her window, was delighted to observe 
 the life of this humble family, and found in it 
 a wondrous charm. Little by little, neighborly 
 relations had come to be established between 
 her and these people. She caressed the chil- 
 dren when she chanced to meet them upon the 
 stairs ; and during the illness of Maurice, Pierre 
 Marceau had come more than once to ask news 
 of him. 
 
 One morning, having noticed that the cab- 
 inet-maker planed and polished oak, as in the 
 olden time Maurice had done in company with 
 the good Chevalier, the young girl watched him 
 attentively. Bent over his work-bench, near 
 the open window, Marceau appeared to be 
 absorbed in some difficulty which he tried in 
 vain to overcome. Suddenly, with a violent 
 gesture, he threw down his tools and struck 
 his forehead as if in despair; then, crossing
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I5 r 
 
 his arms upom his breast, he assumed an atti- 
 tude of profound dejection and discouragement. 
 His young wife hastened to him, and seemed 
 trying, by caresses and sweet words, to restore 
 his courage. Perhaps for the first time, he 
 repulsed her rudely. The poor woman began 
 weeping; whilst the children followed her 
 example, and screamed at their best. At this 
 scene, Madeleine, moved by a feeling of sym- 
 pathy, left her chamber, and in a few moments 
 appeared in the midst of the little family. 
 
 "Alas, Mademoiselle !" said the wife, whom 
 she questioned first, "my husband should finish 
 to-day an order upon the success of which our 
 future depends. Either because in accepting 
 the work he overestimated his own skill, or 
 because his powers have failed him, he feels 
 now that he is not able to finish the task con- 
 fided to him. He is distressed because of me 
 and our little children ; and I weep because of 
 his distress." 
 
 "See, Mademoiselle!" said the young work-
 
 152 MADELEINE: 
 
 man, in his turn. " God pardon me for having 
 dared to presume that He had put in me the 
 stuff of an artist. I see now that I am only 
 fit to plane planks and to turn sticks." 
 
 " Talent has its hours, like fortune," replied 
 Madeleine, softly. " Mediocrity alone is always 
 ready, and never hesitates. But let us see, 
 Monsieur, what is the trouble." 
 
 The difficulty was one respecting a piece of 
 wood-carving, designed to represent the figure 
 of an archangel, and intended to ornament one 
 of the churches of Paris. As a matter of fact, 
 the figure was badly outlined. Although natu- 
 rally indulgent, Madeleine was forced to admit 
 that if the future of the young family depended 
 upon the merit of this piece of work, there was 
 good reason for despair. At this instant, she 
 saw Maurice at his window; and in answer to 
 her signal, he came loungingly toward her. 
 
 " See, my brother ! " she said. " Is there no 
 way to aid these good people in their embarrass- 
 ment ? "
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE 
 
 153 
 
 The situation explained to him, Maurice 
 approached the piece of work and inspected 
 it with a disdainful air. Ranged around him, 
 the young cabinet-maker, his wife, and Made- 
 leine, awaited anxiously his decision. 
 
 Maurice said nothing, but suddenly took off 
 his coat, turned back his cuffs, and seizing one 
 of the tools, resolutely attacked the block of 
 oak, which had been so obstinate under the 
 hand of Marceau. Madeleine was lost in 
 admiration. Standing in mute contemplation, 
 the young couple followed the progress of the 
 work; whilst at the farther side of the work- 
 table, perched curiously in their chairs, with 
 blonde heads and cherubic faces, the two chil- 
 dren formed natural counterparts of the figure 
 which grew into life under the creative chisel. 
 
 Whatever storms may have traversed and 
 devastated the heart, does it, like the desert 
 of Sahara, enclose only arid and desolate sands? 
 One flower yet grows there, in all its freshness 
 and in all its bloom. Though all others in its
 
 154 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 region be dead, in this not a petal fails in the 
 corolla. It laughs upon the end of its stalk, 
 which no wind can uproot. This flower immor- 
 tal of the human heart has its name: it is 
 Vanity. Thus, though all that makes life 
 worthiest was dead in Maurice, he enjoyed with 
 a secret complaisance the effect that he pro- 
 duced upon his audience. Under the stimulus 
 of his self-love, he had found, as by enchant- 
 ment, that boldness and precision of the chisel 
 which in old times had been the pride of the 
 Chevalier. Loosened from the confining oak, 
 already the victorious archangel shook his 
 quivering wings. At the end of a few hours, 
 the figure that Maurice had found in a rough 
 outline appeared as distinct and pure as if 
 sculptured in marble. 
 
 "See!" said he, throwing down his tools 
 and turning down his cuffs; "it was not very 
 difficult." 
 
 It is impossible to picture the joy of the 
 little household. The two children clapped
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. I55 
 
 their hands in delight. The husband and wife, 
 with blended sentiments of gratitude and admi- 
 ration, praised Maurice's skill and thanked him 
 for his kindness. Silent and smiling, Madeleine 
 contemplated, with happy elation, what she 
 fancied was passing in the mind of her cousin. 
 But this elation was short - lived. Maurice 
 interrupted their expressions of gratitude by 
 curtly putting on his coat, inwardly cursing 
 himself for the stupid pleasure he had felt 
 in his task. 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur! you have saved my life!" 
 cried the young workman, joyfully. 
 
 " I prefer to believe, Monsieur," replied 
 Maurice, dryly, " that what you have said is an 
 exaggeration of speech. Otherwise, I have 
 rendered you a very bad service, for which 
 it is scarcely necessary to thank me." 
 
 Then, rudely pushing aside the little chil- 
 dren, who had caught at his knees, he went out 
 as he had come in, and retired to his chamber. 
 
 Whence came this angry and unreasoning
 
 156 MADELEINE: 
 
 humor? From the heart of man, which is an 
 abyss of cowardly infamies. Maurice was 
 furious because he had no longer either pretext 
 or justification for doing nothing. 
 
 The artisan and his family were mortified 
 at their inability to express their gratitude, and 
 grieved at the abrupt departure of their bene- 
 factor. Madeleine, cruelly stricken, turned 
 aside to wipe away her tears. 
 
 After this, as she had scarcely dared hope, 
 Maurice had frequent interviews with Pierre 
 Marceau. He said nothing in Madeleine's 
 presence, but she saw from his serious and 
 earnest air that there was impending a change 
 in his destiny. 
 
 One morning, Ursula hurried in and threw 
 herself upon Madeleine, whom she covered 
 with tears and kis-ses. Then, taking her by the 
 hand, she drew her silently toward Maurice's 
 apartment. 
 
 " Make no noise," she whispered, "but look! " 
 
 Madeleine held her breath, and peered
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 157 
 
 through the half-open door. What did she 
 see? The most grateful sight possible to her. 
 For there, bent over his table, in his blouse, 
 Maurice was at work.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 r 1 ""HE time was a propitious one for wood- 
 -*- carving. For a long time neglected and 
 nearly lost, this branch of art had revived again 
 in the capricious breath of fashion. We were 
 then in the full moyen dge. Literature made 
 itself Gothic, to rejuvenate itself. The taste 
 dominated poetry, as it had all the arts 
 painting, statuary, architecture. By a natural 
 sequence, furniture had followed the same ten- 
 dency. Fashion commenced by pulling down 
 a number of chateaus in the Provinces, to satisfy 
 this Parisian mania ; then, when the chests, the 
 dressing-tables, the pantries, the arm-chairs 
 158
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 159 
 
 with armorial carvings, failed of a market, when 
 the true moyen dge was exhausted, they were 
 forced to create one of new things. Wal- 
 nut, oak, pear, fashioned by able hands, 
 cleverly duped more than one connoisseur; 
 and this innocent ruse enriched some favorite 
 artists. 
 
 Through the agency of Pierre Marceau, 
 Maurice soon found himself charged with some 
 important orders. He saw that he could in a 
 little time surround himself with ease ; at least 
 he could shelter from want the two beings 
 confided to his care. It was poverty, but inde- 
 pendent poverty, which owes nothing to anyone; 
 without care in the morning, without regret in 
 the evening; a hundred times preferable to 
 that factitious and tormented luxury in which 
 Maurice had lived. It is true, the young man 
 appeared to be neither convinced of the advan- 
 tages of his new condition, nor affected by them. 
 He accepted his destiny, but he detested it. 
 He worked, but cursed the work. Many times,
 
 160 MADELEINE: 
 
 during these last months, he felt his courage 
 weaken and his will falter. Many times he 
 abandoned himself to feelings of desperation, 
 even in the presence of his cousin. He would 
 throw down his tools in anger, and break under 
 his feet the work he had commenced, as though 
 ignorant of that simple courtesy which doubles 
 the worth of sacrifice. That which stimulated 
 and sustained him in the struggle he had com- 
 menced, was pride. Above all, he wished to 
 owe nothing to his cousin. He said to himself 
 that the sooner he could assure the future 
 existence of Madeleine, the sooner he would 
 be free to finish as he pleased. The spectre 
 of suicide still watched at his bedside; not 
 menacingly, but as an angel of deliverance. 
 
 There is a joy of which those are ignorant 
 whose life has only cost the pain of being born ; 
 a joy that Maurice felt more keenly, because, 
 not having foreseen it, he had not thought to 
 defend himself against it. I speak of the 
 puerile joy, if you choose so to call it, that one
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 161 
 
 feels in holding in his hand the first money 
 that he has gained by his labor. No, this joy is 
 not puerile ; for it is nothing else than the con- 
 sciousness of our personal value. Are not the 
 riches created by our work the most legitimate 
 of all riches, and those of which we are most 
 justly proud? The heir who counts his gold 
 is poorer in the sight of God than the workman 
 who receives his wages. These reflections were 
 far from Maurice's mind ; but when he saw 
 upon his table some louis that Pierre Marceau 
 had received for him, he examined them one 
 by one with an expression of childish curiosity. 
 One would have thought him a miser, or a poor 
 wretch who handles money for the first time. 
 By a naive impulse, worthy of the best days 
 of his youth, he started gaily to carry his earn- 
 ings in triumph to Madeleine. He laughed as 
 at twenty years. Alas ! he was not at her door, 
 before he despised his own contentment the 
 stupid sentiment which had brought him to his 
 cousin. Ursula was in the ante-chamber. He 
 11
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 threw coldly into her lap a handful of money, 
 and retired without a word. 
 
 In the accomplishment of a serious duty, 
 hard and painful as it may be, God has given 
 even degraded souls an internal feeling of 
 satisfaction. The most disagreeable calling 
 has its hours of elevation ; and the culture of 
 an art, modest though it be, has its moments 
 of enthusiasm. Maurice was conscious of an 
 unacknowledged charm in feeling himself useful 
 and necessary. He sometimes even conceived 
 a passion for the figure his chisel had created. 
 The chaste images of his youth played around 
 his table. The portrait of his father seemed 
 to smile down upon him in encouragement. 
 His fits of fury became less and less frequent; 
 and before many months, when the night came 
 Maurice would be astonished at the flight of 
 time and at the peace he had felt. Labor 
 brings with it its own recompense. It isolates 
 us from the world, and also from ourselves. 
 If we owed to it only the serenity which crowns
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 163 
 
 each day that is well spent, we should bless 
 and love it. Unhappily, these healthy influ- 
 ences had not time to fructify in the spirit 
 of Maurice, who, when his day was finished, 
 dissipated in the outer world the moral profit 
 he had gained in retirement. Too exalted, in 
 his opinion, to subject himself to an existence 
 commonplace and regular, he had declared 
 definitely that he would now live in his own 
 manner. The truth is, he was not anxious for 
 a permanent lease of the cuisine of Ursula; 
 and to take his repasts Ute-a-tete with Madeline, 
 did not tempt him. Like all weak natures, 
 he wished to show plainly that it was by his 
 own will that he uplifted himself. He break- 
 fasted frugally in his chamber; in the evening, 
 when the clock struck six, he quit his blouse, 
 dressed himself, and left the house, often 
 without having seen his cousin during the 
 day. He thought that after providing for her 
 wants, he owed her nothing. He went out 
 calmly, his head clear, his blood cooled by
 
 164 MADELEINE: 
 
 work, silence, and solitude ; elated at leaving 
 his garret, being lost in the crowd, and free 
 upon the pavement. But where should he 
 go ? He had broken violently with his past. 
 No friend remained to him ; or, more correctly, 
 in the world where he had wasted his youth, 
 one has companions, but not friends. He 
 wandered by chance ; but a fatal charm too 
 often led him to those places where he had 
 foundered. Pale and haggard, he wandered 
 on, keeping in the shadow of the walls ; like 
 a shipwrecked mariner driven upon the shore, 
 and regarding with a jealous eye the vessels 
 that ride upon the waves which have engulfed 
 his fortune. He passed along, with a sombre 
 air, in this eternal ftte of Paris which wears no 
 mourning for its victims; where the youngest, 
 the most beautiful, the most brilliant, disappear, 
 leaving behind them neither regret nor vacancy 
 not even the luminous trace left by a falling 
 star. 
 
 Upon those boulevards flooded with light, in
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. ^5 
 
 the midst of those enchantments that are the 
 pride of Paris and the marvel of the world, in 
 those avenues where he had so often prome- 
 naded in his elegant idleness, Maurice thought 
 of the Rue Babylone, of his garret and his table ; 
 and tears of rage rolled down his cheeks. 
 Irritable, feverish, miserable, he returned like a 
 wild beast with a thousand wounds. Before 
 retiring to his chamber, he rarely failed to enter 
 the apartment of Madeleine, who, as well as 
 Ursula, had the habit of working late. This 
 was an impulse of neither solicitude nor polite- 
 ness. He simply obeyed the cowardly need of 
 venting his anger ; and avenged upon these two 
 poor women the ills that he endured. It is the 
 special characteristic of egotists, to wish when 
 they suffer that all around should suffer with 
 them. His hat upon his head, his coat buttoned 
 to his throat, he would enter brusquely, his face 
 haggard, and his mouth fixed in an expression 
 of disdain. Ursula would receive him with a 
 caress, and Madeleine with a smile; never an
 
 1 66 MA DELEINE : 
 
 indiscreet question, never a wounding word ; 
 nothing in their welcome that did not breathe 
 tenderness, as if he were the most amiable of 
 brothers, the most charming of friends. Repuls- 
 ing brutally his foster-sister, and casting a 
 haughty glance at the picture the young Ger- 
 man was making, he would seat himself at the 
 extremity of the chamber, watching their work 
 with an angry and cynical air. The calmness, 
 the order, the harmonious grace, which reigned 
 under this humble roof, in place of appeasing, 
 only exasperated him. Ordinarily taciturn, he 
 had at these times a cruel, aggressive, and 
 implacable gaiety. Habitually silent, he became 
 ingenious, witty, eloquent, to torture the heart 
 of his cousin. Madeleine responded only by 
 soft reason and unalterable goodness; but 
 Ursula knew how she wept when he was gone. 
 The outrage went even farther. Maurice 
 belonged to that school of young route Love- 
 laces of the side-scenes, Don Juans of the 
 lower class who, because they have stupidly
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. ^ 
 
 consumed their patrimony with lost creatures, 
 believe that they know women, and glorify 
 themselves for their contempt of them. For 
 two or three withered and faded Bacchantes, 
 these petty dandies speak of one -half the 
 human race with such irreverence that one is 
 tempted to ask of what trades are their sisters, 
 and what breasts have nourished them ? 
 Although he did not consider his cousin either 
 beautiful or desirable, Maurice thought to him- 
 self that he was playing the part of a fool. 
 Instead of those feelings which this chaste and 
 fair beauty left perfectly tranquil, self-love and 
 vanity mounted to his head. Was it natural, he 
 asked himself, that a young man not yet thirty 
 should live fraternally under the same roof with 
 a fair young girl ? What would his old com- 
 panions think? What could Madeleine think 
 herself? For, in the tenderness which she had 
 shown him, Maurice did not hesitate to see an 
 encouragement. However, every time he went 
 near her with the intention of changing a
 
 !68 MADELEINE: 
 
 position that seemed to him ridiculous, seized 
 with a vague sentiment of respect that he could 
 not explain, he retired without daring even to 
 touch her hand. 
 
 Having gone out one morning when work 
 failed, Maurice wandered until evening under 
 one of those burning suns which ferment the 
 mire of swamps and the vileness of impure 
 passions. He dined at a rude tavern *in the 
 neighborhood of the old Theatre Italien. 
 Seated in an obscure place, under the light of 
 a dim lamp, he ate but little, and drank deeply 
 of a bottle of old wine mixed with alcohol, which 
 had never paid duty at the Custom House. 
 Leaning upon the table, his forehead in his 
 hands, he was plunged for a long time in a 
 chaos of irritating thoughts. Excited by the 
 fumes of drunkenness, his brain and his senses 
 inflamed, he passed the remainder of the even- 
 ing in public places, watching the movements 
 of those infamous sirens who are emptied upon 
 the pavement by the sewers of Parisian life.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 169 
 
 When he entered the apartment of his cousin, 
 he felt a savage joy at finding her alone. Made- 
 leine was reading when Maurice entered. She 
 closed her book, laid it on the table, and wel- 
 comed her cousin without appearing to notice 
 the change in his features. Maurice seated 
 himself near her, and with an abrupt voice, 
 whose accents suited insult better than flattery, 
 he began such exaggerated compliments that 
 the young girl regarded him at first with sur- 
 prise, which ended with a hearty burst of laugh- 
 ter. This was another spur ; this silvery laugh, 
 this gaiety of a nymph without suspicion, 
 pursued by a satyr and believing it only play, 
 finished the irritation of Maurice and pushed 
 him to the end. Stifling a cry of inward rage, 
 he spoke of love with the transports of hate, 
 of tenderness in a tone of wrath, in language 
 whose obscurity was sometimes pierced by a 
 sinister light. White, cold, immobile, like Chas- 
 tity astonished to see at her feet offerings suited 
 to the altar of the impure Venus, Madeleine,
 
 I 7 o MADELEINE: 
 
 whilst he spoke, regarded him with an air at 
 once so proud and so sad, that Maurice, crushed 
 under her look, stopped short as if he had 
 pressed in his arms an insensible marble. Still 
 in the same attitude, Madeleine. betrayed neither 
 anger nor indignation ; only a mixture of mater- 
 nal pity and grieved astonishment. Maurice, 
 unable to endure it, arose and fled in affright. 
 
 After some hours of that heavy sleep that 
 follows drunkenness, he awoke, and remember- 
 ing what had passed, was ready to die with 
 shame and confusion. Not that his conscience 
 reproached him ; it was habituated to indul- 
 gence. But he could not bear the thought of 
 having to blush before Madeleine. The day 
 drew to its close. Maurice was still a prey to 
 these reflections, when his cousin entered his 
 room. He blushed, paled, and trembled. He 
 wished the floor would open beneath his feet, 
 or the roof fall upon his head. With her hand 
 extended, and a kind look, she called him her 
 brother. For an instant he thought he had
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 171 
 
 only dreamed the scene of the evening before. 
 Maurice was touched by the generosity of 
 Madeleine. He saw that Virtue is not neces- 
 sarily ridiculous or harsh, but that she can be 
 amiable and forgiving. Madeleine said that 
 she came to ask him to dine with her that 
 day. He first looked at the sky, which since 
 morning had been dark with rain. To go out 
 in such weather to seek a meagre repast at a 
 rude tavern, was not a pleasing prospect. On 
 the other hand, his stomach yet suffered from 
 the excesses of the previous evening. I have 
 read somewhere that the days that follow orgies 
 make anchorites. In short, Maurice, who judged 
 himself culpable towards his cousin, was not 
 sorry to expiate his sin at so little expense. In 
 his turn grand and generous, he yielded to 
 Madeleine's request.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE table was spread in a small dining- 
 room, beautifully papered in imitation of 
 oak. The fire-place was surrounded by clusters 
 of asters, dahlias, and chrysanthemums. The 
 single window looked out upon the little park, 
 whose trees the winds of Autumn had now 
 stripped of their foliage. The table was narrow; 
 and the luxury of the service would not have 
 startled either a Quaker or a Trappist. But 
 the shining whiteness of the cloth, which ex- 
 haled the perfume of lavender, gave the whole 
 a bright and pleasant air. Seating himself 
 face-to-face with Madeleine, who did the honors 
 of her poverty with a grace sometimes unknown
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 173 
 
 to riches, Maurice was forced to confess to him- 
 self that it was much better than the horrid 
 tavern where he usually dined. The dishes 
 were not numerous or expensive ; but they 
 were wholesome, and exquisitely prepared ; for 
 Ursula had shown in this dinner all her skill, 
 and the good girl had surpassed herself. Neat, 
 smiling, quick -footed and light-handed, her 
 sleeves turned back to the elbows, uncovering 
 her rounded and dimpled arms, she hovered 
 about the table, serving Maurice with the 
 daintiest morsels, and overjoyed whenever he 
 found something especially to his taste. Made- 
 leine ate little, and gave all her attention to 
 her cousin, with the proud and happy solicitude 
 of a young housekeeper. The object of all this 
 care could not help being a little touched by 
 it ; and asked himself, in some humiliation, 
 what he had done to merit it. It should be 
 added that he was not insensible to the talent 
 of Ursula, which he had not before suspected. 
 Another surprise revealed itself to him at
 
 174 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 dessert. Ursula approached him with an enor- 
 mous bouquet, and recited a little verse that 
 she had learned for the occasion. But emotion 
 choked her voice, and she ended by throwing 
 herself upon her foster-brother, wishing him a 
 happy birth-day, and covering him with tears 
 and kisses. It was then Madeleine's turn. 
 Extending her pretty hand across the table to 
 Maurice, she addressed him some simple and 
 affectionate words. Ursula then brought, with 
 the pancakes and biscuit, as at Valtravers, 
 a bottle of old wine wreathed with flowers, 
 that they had purchased in honor of this day 
 by a month of privation and rigorous economy. 
 The sky was clear; the birds had finished 
 their evening songs; the odor of fallen leaves 
 entered at the open window; and, as he was 
 about to disappear below the horizon, the sun 
 sent a joyous ray across the table, lighting 
 the glasses until they shone like precious 
 crystals. 
 
 Since Maurice had quitted the paternal
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 '75 
 
 roof, it was the first celebration of his birth- 
 day. For ten years forgotten and lost, this 
 anniversary awakened the best recollections of 
 his youth. He recalled the time when it was 
 a day of public rejoicing at Valtravers ; when, 
 seated between the Marquise and the Chevalier, 
 the old servants had come to offer their com- 
 pliments and good-wishes. At these memories, 
 his heart softened and his eyes filled with 
 tears. Madeleine, who was observing him, rose 
 and went to him, to take advantage of this 
 good impulse. Leaning upon his shoulder, she 
 bent over him her virginal head, and remained 
 thus, like the beautiful statue in the Louvre 
 known as Polyhymnia; or like a guardian 
 angel watching the resurrection of the soul 
 committed to her care. In thinking what she 
 had been to him, and what he had been to 
 her, Maurice's hardened soul was softened. 
 This time his pride, instead of being irritated, 
 bent in humiliation. Not a word disturbed 
 the tender scene. Ursula herself was silent
 
 176 MADELEINE: 
 
 Only when the young man, by a gesture too 
 abrupt not to be involuntary, seized Madeleine's 
 hand and carried it to his lips, Ursula could 
 not restrain one of her usual bursts of 
 adoration, as if her foster-brother had just 
 accomplished the most beautiful action in the 
 world. 
 
 The evening was finished in Madeleine's 
 chamber, in exchanging reminiscences of Val- 
 travers, of the Marquise, of the good Chevalier; 
 and also of that Autumn evening when Maurice 
 found Madeleine, a victim of the rascally 
 Pierrot, weeping in the forest. They enter- 
 tained themselves in recounting the scene of 
 their arrival at the chateau, the little orphan 
 upon the arm of the young cavalier, she not 
 suspecting that it was the little Maurice of 
 whom she had so often heard; the horse 
 following after, with the bridle on his neck; 
 the setting sun illuminating the towers of the 
 beautiful chateau; and at last the two old 
 companions who stood upon the doorstep to
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 177 
 
 receive the young stranger. They forgot them- 
 selves in these recollections, which warbled 
 in their memories like birds in an aviary. 
 Maurice, charmed by the melody, forgot, 
 except at rare intervals, the cynical accom- 
 paniment of Don Juan, which grew feeble and 
 was almost lost in the song. 
 
 When about to retire, he was forced to admit 
 to himself that life still had its good half-hours, 
 and that poverty as well as fortune has its 
 fetes. He regarded his tools without anger, 
 and the portrait of his father with satisfaction. 
 Saying to himself that they were two good 
 girls his cousin and his foster-sister he 
 slept in unaccustomed peace. His slumber 
 was calm and profound. Awakened at dawn 
 by the voice of Pierre Marceau, who saluted 
 the day and praised God by singing and 
 working, he sprang from bed and set himself 
 resolutely at his work. 
 12
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " I X) believe that Maurice was saved, to 
 -*- rejoice and chant victory, to believe that 
 it only remained for him to extend his hand 
 and seize again youth and its vanished trea- 
 sures, would be to expose oneself to cruel 
 disappointments, and to misunderstand at the 
 same time the purpose of God, who wills that 
 expiation precedes rehabilitation, and does not 
 permit man to regain in one day the summit 
 of the holy mountain from which he has fallen. 
 The ascent is hard to climb ; and I have known 
 those stronger than Maurice to be arrested 
 midway, pallid, bruised, despairing, when they 
 measured with frightened eye the distance they 
 178
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 179 
 
 had yet to go. It is true that they had not near 
 them an angel to sustain them and wipe the 
 sweat from their faces ; to show the shortest and 
 easiest way by which fallen souls can regain 
 those celestial heights. 
 
 Autumn drew near its close. November 
 advanced, shivering in her frosty mantle. Re- 
 covered from his prejudice against the cooking 
 of Ursula, forced by the rigor of the weather to 
 reconcile himself to family life, Maurice had 
 finally resigned himself to dine regularly with 
 his cousin. When the north-wind whistled, and 
 the hoar-frost wrought fantastic figures on the 
 windows, it was not unpleasant for him to think 
 of the place waiting for him at Madeleine's 
 table, not two steps off, in a warm and com- 
 fortable room, where two smiling faces never 
 failed to welcome him with eagerness. To 
 appreciate such joys it is not necessary to be 
 a Grandison. Maurice brought usually to these 
 repasts the formidable appetite that he owed 
 to work, and that rendered him indulgent to
 
 !8o MADELEINE: 
 
 the plainness of the service. Ursula knew the 
 tastes of her young master, and it was her glory 
 to prepare the dishes that he liked. Madeleine 
 added the grace of her spirit. Maurice, who no 
 longer allowed himself to be easily charmed by 
 poetic illusions, marveled at the qualities in his 
 cousin to which he had been blind so long. 
 Thus all went well at the table. Unhappily, 
 the evenings dragged more heavily; not for 
 Madeleine or Ursula, but for Maurice, who did 
 not know how to employ them. It is to be 
 remarked that women are always occupied; 
 whilst men do nothing when they cease to work 
 seriously. While they busied themselves with 
 their needles or crochet, Maurice, with his hands 
 in his pockets, wandered about the chamber 
 with a wearied air. Even between the finest 
 intellects, subjects of conversation are not inex- 
 haustible. Men have invented cards and chess, 
 to dispense with speech when they are together. 
 Since the birth-day supper, Maurice had been 
 less bitter in his manner, and had more self-
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE jgi 
 
 control. More than once, with trembling lips, 
 he had held back some reproachful sentence; 
 and yet, do what he could to subjugate himself, 
 exasperated by ennui, he rarely finished an 
 evening without some bitter or wounding word 
 escaping him. Madeleine, becoming more sure 
 of her empire, replied with a pleasant firmness, 
 in that charming tone which reason employs 
 when tempered with kindness and goodness. 
 From time to time Ursula glided in her little 
 word. Maurice, at first irritated, would pre- 
 serve a sullen silence ; sometimes he could not 
 keep himself from laughing. To overcome his 
 weariness, Madeleine occasionally begged Mau- 
 rice to read to them ; but he refused in disdain. 
 During his life of idleness and dissipation, he 
 had rarely opened a book. Repulsed at first, 
 Madeleine did not despair. One evening she 
 handed him one of the most charming works of 
 English literature : the " Vicar of Wakefield." 
 In this book, Goldsmith has recounted the joys 
 and anguish of a family. Maurice, in his pro-
 
 1 82 MADELEINE: 
 
 found ignorance, looked at the first page, and 
 asked Madeleine if she considered him a child 
 that was to be amused with nursery stories. 
 Madeleine insisted ; and Maurice, to rid himself 
 of her importunities, began the reading of this 
 admirable narrative. In the painting of its 
 characters, the manner in which they are intro- 
 duced, the art with which the least circumstance 
 conforms to the action of the story, there is so 
 much that is natural, and so powerfully is it 
 depicted, that it is difficult to quit the book 
 before having finished it. Maurice, in spite of 
 his superb disdain for what he called these 
 nursery stories, could not resist the attraction 
 of this domestic epic. His daily association 
 with Madeleine had already softened his heart, 
 and prepared it to receive and nourish these 
 precious germs. In seeing how the most obscure 
 destinies are proved by trial, he understood that 
 there is a place for the most exalted virtues, for 
 the most heroic devotion, in the humblest con- 
 ditions of life. He finished the story at a
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. ^3 
 
 sitting, and thanked his cousin for the pleasure 
 she had furnished him. From that day he did 
 not need to be urged to read. Closing the 
 books, the little group exchanged their thoughts 
 and their sentiments. Ursula took part in the 
 discussions; and thus the evenings were fin- 
 ished without having to count the hours. 
 
 Occasionally Pierre Marceau and his wife 
 would come to pass the evening with Madeleine, 
 who felt a sincere friendship for this little 
 household. In Pierre she saw the providential 
 instrument for the restoration of Maurice. She 
 could not forget that but for him Maurice 
 would have been a long time without the 
 occasion to put himself to work. The artisan 
 remembered the intervention of Madeleine, 
 and the succor that Maurice had rendered at 
 a moment when his fortune was at stake. The 
 little family had soon understood that these 
 young people, whom they believed to be brother 
 and sister, were not in their proper place. 
 Also, with a tact that education does not give,
 
 MADELEINE: 
 
 they brought into the relation of neighbors a 
 sentiment of respect and deference which took 
 nothing from the sincerity of their affection. 
 They came usually after their children were in 
 bed. Sometimes, at the request of Madeleine, 
 they brought their little ones. Maurice at 
 first opposed this intrusion. Of the aristo- 
 cratic blood that he had in his veins, the poor 
 fellow had kept only the instincts of pride and 
 idleness. One day, before Madeleine, he spoke 
 of these poor people with contempt. She, 
 feeling more secure of her place, answered 
 him for the first time with severity. 
 
 " You are an ingrate," said she. " Even if 
 Marceau had not opened to you the way 
 of life in which you have entered, you should 
 still be proud to touch the hand of a man 
 who has closed the eyes of his old father, 
 and who supports his wife and children." 
 
 At this merited rebuke, Maurice, who a 
 short time before would have raved in anger, 
 blushed and was silent.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. ^5 
 
 One evening both families were together. 
 The'rese the wife of the young artisan had 
 brought her work, and the three women were 
 seated about the lamp, working and talking 
 in a low voice. Marceau sat a little apart. 
 Maurice, leaning upon the table, one hand in 
 his hair, turned with the other the leaves of a 
 book that he had brought home, and the 
 selection of which would have astonished 
 Madeleine if she could have divined the poison 
 it contained. He read it with the air of a 
 fallen angel, triumphant in evil. The sight 
 singularly troubled his cousin. Curious and 
 disquieted, she begged of him to read it aloud. 
 He obeyed with alacrity. 
 
 It was one of those romances, so numerous 
 some years ago, but which happily become 
 rarer from day to day, which speak with disdain, 
 almost with contempt, of such sentiments as 
 duty and family; whilst on the other hand 
 they exalt passion, and attribute to it a divine 
 mission. In this romance, like so many others
 
 1 86 MADELEINE: 
 
 published at that period, the hero, after tramp- 
 ling under his feet all the ridiculous prejudices 
 that education gives, after posing himself in 
 the face of society like an Ajax insulting the 
 gods, or rather like a Solon who would regen- 
 erate them by the example of his life, after 
 having maintained against existing institutions 
 a bitter struggle, finishes by losing his own 
 courage. Despairing of things and of men, 
 indignant towards a corrupt society that refuses 
 to receive the mandates of his pride as the 
 oracles of genius, to punish it he takes refuge 
 in suicide, as the last and only asylum remain- 
 ing here below for grand hearts and beautiful 
 souls. But he does not wish to acknowledge 
 himself vanquished. He tries to hide his agony 
 and defeat by throwing to Heaven and to earth 
 a cry of rage and defiance. All these beautiful 
 things, which have been the admiration of a 
 generation, were written in a high-sounding 
 but hollow style something like the humming- 
 tops which the old Chevalier had made at
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. i8j 
 
 Nuremburg. Maurice found in this book the 
 faithful image of thoughts that had long 
 dwelt with him, and which, now slumbering, 
 might re-awaken at the first imprudent breath. 
 His eyes glowed with a sinister light. His 
 voice assumed, little by little, a terrible and 
 menacing accent. He had so thoroughly iden- 
 tified himself with the hero whose imprecations 
 he read, that he believed himself speaking in 
 his name. The genius of evil had again seized 
 him. Madeleine listened tremblingly; The"rese 
 was astonished; Ursula had a jeering look; 
 whilst Pierre Marceau had his accustomed 
 expression of good humor. When Maurice had 
 finished, he threw his book upon the table, 
 and surveyed his auditors with an air of 
 triumph and questioning curiosity. 
 
 "What stuff!" said Ursula. "What silly 
 trash ! Who is this wicked scapegrace who has 
 taken it into his head to reform the world, and 
 who does not even know how to govern his own 
 life?"
 
 !88 MADELEINE: 
 
 "Monsieur," said Pierre Marceau, "it is a 
 worthless hero who can find nothing better to 
 do than to kill himself. Men of any value have 
 always a part to play in the drama of life; 
 only they must be careful to choose a rdlc suited 
 to their strength. I am only an artisan, but I 
 value the work of my hands higher than the 
 grand phrases of this false logic." 
 
 Therese confessed candidly that she knew 
 nothing about it. Madeleine applauded silently 
 the words of Ursula, of Marceau, and of 
 Therese. Astonished by the strange result 
 of his reading, Maurice took his hat and went 
 out. 
 
 This evening was not lost to Maurice. Alone 
 with himself, after having given scope to his 
 anger, after having qualified as one can imagine 
 the intelligence of Ursula, of Therese, and of 
 Marceau, after having exhausted all the epithets 
 which disdain could furnish, he was forced in 
 spite of himself to recognize that they had taken 
 in hand the cause of good sense.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. igg 
 
 Later, he returned and found Madeleine with 
 Marceau and his wife. His spirit was soothed 
 by their calmness and happiness. Even the 
 children, who usually excited his impatience and 
 ill-humor, awakened in him an unaccustomed 
 tenderness. He took them upon his knees, 
 covered them with caresses, and comprehended 
 for the first time the joys of a family. 
 
 Thus this young man struggled against the 
 muddy current that pressed against him. A 
 little sturdy effort, and he would touch the 
 shore, where he could shake the mire from his 
 feet and uplift his head in serene regions. 
 
 But this laborious and retired existence had 
 its diversions and its pleasures. Maurice and 
 Madeleine sometimes went to the theatre. One 
 night they were at the Opera when the play was 
 "William Tell." In the days of his excesses, 
 he had never passed an evening at the opera 
 without profound weariness. In the midst of 
 the frivolities of his companions, it is doubtful 
 if he had ever understood what inspiration
 
 190 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 there is in music in this form of imagination 
 so vague and yet so rich. The accents of a 
 melodious voice had never transported him to 
 the ideal regions of passion and reverie. 
 
 Seated near Madeleine, alone in the crowd 
 that surrounded them, and that sent him not 
 one friendly look, he listened to this last chant 
 of Rossini as to a new language whose meaning 
 is revealed to him for the first time. The first 
 measure had deliciously affected him. Aston- 
 ished, he felt himself penetrated with sympathy 
 and enthusiasm for this beautiful poem. The 
 sobs of Arnold, at the moment when he learns 
 of the death of his father, awakened within him 
 memories of his own father, dead, without his 
 having pressed for a last time that feeble hand. 
 The oath of the Cantons, united for common 
 deliverance, touched in his heart a chord that 
 had been mute before : the love of country and 
 of liberty. All these holy sentiments held him 
 closely; for when one of them takes possession 
 of our conscience, she calls her sisters by a
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 191 
 
 mysterious sign, and opens to them the door of 
 a new domain. 
 
 Maurice subjected himself to a sad and 
 severe review. He asked himself what he had 
 done for his country, what he had done for his 
 family. He exchanged a few words with his 
 cousin; but Madeleine understood from the tone 
 of his voice that his thoughts were not upon his 
 lips. Fearing to trouble him, she did not speak 
 again. 
 
 They returned in the starry night, recounting 
 to each other their emotions. In listening to 
 Madeleine, Maurice discovered new reasons for 
 admiration that had escaped him before. Dom- 
 inated by the profound impression created by 
 the play, after reaching home he opened the 
 window to contemplate the heaven whose seren- 
 ity had descended into his heart. Then he 
 seated himself near the young German, who, to 
 crown worthily this poetic evening, begged him 
 to read to her the " William Tell " of Schiller. 
 He obeyed with joy. Scarcely had he read the
 
 192 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 first page, when his voice, transformed as if 
 by enchantment, took a new accent, to which 
 Madeleine listened with delight. As he ad- 
 vanced in this recital of the marvellous deliver- 
 ance of a people, he appeared to be transfigured. 
 His forehead lightened; his look seemed ani- 
 mated with celestial hope. The old man was 
 effaced, and Madeleine contemplated with pride 
 the new man that she saw before her. That 
 evening was to be fruitful. 
 
 In comprehending the extent of his duties, 
 Maurice did not deceive himself as to his own 
 power; for Madeleine had the art both to 
 excite and restrain him. He did not exag- 
 gerate the importance of the part he had to 
 play. There are people enough, God knows, 
 who believe they have been called to occupy 
 the chair of state. Maurice had the good- 
 sense not to desire to increase the number. 
 He kept himself prudently in his place; feeling 
 that it is not given to all to conduct public 
 affairs, but that it is the duty of all to interest
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 193 
 
 themselves in them. From that day he followed 
 with an ardent solicitude the march of events. 
 His heart was no longer shut to those senti- 
 ments of honor and of glory which before he 
 had ridiculed. 
 
 Thanks to his constant labor, Maurice now 
 enjoyed a fair degree of prosperity. Madeleine 
 had studied music, and sang with taste. 
 Maurice had not forgotten this; and to thank 
 his cousin for the care that she had lavished 
 upon him above all, in recognition of the 
 angelic patience with which she had borne his 
 anger and his hardness, he made her a 
 present of a piano. It was a grand occasion 
 for Madeleine. This unexpected present gave 
 new life to their little family assemblies. 
 Pierre Marceau, with his wife and children, 
 listened to the music with delight. Maurice 
 also was pleased. 
 
 One evening when he was alone with 
 Madeleine, she played for him one of the 
 most beautiful and touching of the melodies 
 
 13
 
 194 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 of Schubert: the "Adieu." That which I 
 love above all else in the compositions of 
 Schubert, is that they cannot endure medi- 
 ocrity. Faithfully and sympathetically rendered, 
 they inspire us to ecstacy, lulling us to delicious 
 reverie. Sung without intelligence, but with 
 literal exactness, they plunge us into profound 
 weariness. They are a touchstone which 
 rarely deceives. To charm with the melodies 
 of Schubert, it is not enough to know music. 
 It needs also the soul of a poet. Madeleine felt 
 profoundly the influence of this divine genius ; 
 and she knew how to render with simplicity 
 all that she felt. Her voice had not great 
 volume, but silvery sweetness. One could not 
 hear it without emotion. She sang the " Adieu " 
 with a melancholy so touching that Maurice 
 was deeply moved. As he looked at her, 
 he understood for the first time that she 
 was beautiful. Not, as I have said, that 
 she offered to the sculptor a type of perfection ; 
 but her soul looked through her eyes, and her
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 195 
 
 melodious lips had a sweetness that no words 
 could tell. Maurice had never before separated 
 beauty from voluptuousness. He had con- 
 founded admiration with desire. But a new 
 sense was about to unfold its bud. He 
 contemplated Madeleine with a devotion 
 almost religious; like that which a pilgrim 
 might feel, kneeling before a Madonna.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THUS was realized the dream of the good 
 Marquise, which came to her but a few 
 hours before her death. By the aid of the 
 hand which Madeleine extended to him, Maurice 
 climbed little by little from the depths of the 
 abyss where he had fallen, to the light of day. 
 Already he was strengthened by the exhilar- 
 ating influence of those higher regions that he 
 had gained. He felt their cool breezes fanning 
 his forehead and playing in his hair. He 
 heard confusedly the voices of his youth, 
 chanting the chorus of his return. His face 
 wore the glorious impress of rehabilitation. 
 His features, so long marred by evil passions, 
 and withered before their time, now bore the 
 196
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 197 
 
 stamp of dignity that labor impresses upon the 
 brows of men of courage and of will. His 
 eyes, once dulled by debauch, had regained 
 their clearness. The tones of his voice had 
 softened. When he walked near his cousin, his 
 step re-found the lightness of his young years. 
 A second Spring-time bloomed for him with 
 less of grace and freshness than the first, but 
 fruitful in promises more sure, and already 
 rich with treasures of the Summer. 
 
 Alas! the poor child had not reached this 
 height without effort. How many times, with 
 bleeding feet and face bathed in sweat, he had 
 stopped discouraged by the way! How many 
 times, stumbling when almost at the summit, 
 he felt himself slip back to the beginning of 
 the ascent that he had climbed so painfully! 
 Often, in a single hour of weakness or rebellion, 
 he lost the fruits of months of struggling. 
 Often, at the moment when the good seed had 
 commenced to germinate in his heart, some 
 dreadful storm, impossible to foresee, annihi-
 
 198 MADELEINE; 
 
 lated the hope of the harvest. But Madeleine 
 watched always. Her angelic patience, her 
 indefatigable solicitude, sustained and uplifted 
 him; and her hand planted anew the growth 
 that the tempest had uprooted. 
 
 It is the punishment of those who have 
 lived badly, that they drag after them, even 
 in a better life, the sombre shadow of their 
 past. There were hours in Maurice's life when, 
 overwhelmed with despair under the burden 
 of his faults, the spectre of his lost youth rose 
 before him, and struck him mute with terror. 
 With dismay the unhappy man saw slowly 
 defile before him the gloomy cortege of his 
 recollections : his father abandoned in his 
 old age; the home of his ancestors sold to 
 strangers; the destiny of Madeleine left to 
 the hazard of accident. He suffered in silence 
 under his self-reproach, like the Lacedemonian 
 youth with the wolf gnawing at his side. But 
 Madeleine was always with him, vigilantly 
 watching every impulse of his soul. She knew,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE, 
 
 199 
 
 better even than himself, what was passing in 
 his thoughts. In his days of weakness or of 
 silent melancholy, she redoubled her touching 
 tenderness. Sometimes she would go to the 
 piano; and, like Orestes at the voice of his 
 sister Electra, the listening Maurice felt his 
 remorse assuaged. Tears came tears that 
 are divine ; the celestial dew that washes away 
 the stains of the soul. 
 
 Kneeling in her chamber, the pure young 
 girl prayed for her cousin with fervor know- 
 ing that the creature is nothing without the 
 Creator, and that the noblest enterprises fail 
 unless favored by Heaven. God, who reads 
 hearts, had already blessed her work. The 
 Maurice whom we have known cynical, bitter, 
 unpitying, disbelieving this Maurice existed 
 no longer. Madeleine had made of him a new 
 man ; and if sometimes the old man re-appeared, 
 it was but a pale and unsubstantial phantom, 
 that the brave girl exorcised with a gesture or 
 a look. If the passing storm reverberated at
 
 200 MADELEINE: 
 
 intervals, it was only the sound of the distant 
 thunder which clears the sky. Maurice had no 
 longer moods of sadness or ill-humor that could 
 withstand a word from his cousin. Even Ursula, 
 who so long had only irritated him, now infected 
 him with her gaiety. Whenever he showed 
 signs of the old restlessness, his foster-sister 
 brought him to his better senses with some pro- 
 vincial sally which, instead of exasperating him, 
 forced him to laughter. He now ate willingly 
 of that fruit of reality which he at first turned 
 from in disgust. The taste of this fruit, though 
 bitter, is wholesome ; and Maurice came to 
 love it. He learned that there is more of real 
 greatness in the accomplishment of a duty, 
 humble and modest though it be, than in that 
 philosophy of lackeys which consists in decry- 
 ing all that uplifts humanity. Like his father 
 at Nuremburg, he had learned to respect the 
 royalty of intellect. He loved the arts, he read 
 and appreciated the poets. He became an 
 attentive witness of the progress of ideas ; and
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 2 OI 
 
 welcomed with eagerness, sometimes with en- 
 thusiasm, those Utopian dreams that not long 
 before had excited his anger and disdain. Pre- 
 serving an implacable hatred of that envious 
 low democracy which, pretending to be the 
 friend of the people, is the enemy of all true 
 excellence, detesting the charlatans who make 
 a trade of socialism and philanthropy, he yet 
 venerated those disinterested souls who embrace 
 with sincere devotion the cause of labor and 
 poverty. Child of an unbelieving century, under 
 the influence of his good angel he felt re-awaken 
 within him, not faith, but hope and charity. He 
 did not yet believe; but he hoped, and he 
 wished to believe. He agreed willingly with 
 Madeleine, that one risks nothing in following 
 the truths that Religion teaches. He learned 
 also that life is sweet when it is useful ; that it 
 is only the egotist and the weak who kill them- 
 selves. The spectre of suicide no longer watched 
 beside his couch. People who work from morn- 
 ing until evening, do not think much about
 
 2O2 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 blowing out their brains. Those famous pistols, 
 which had inspired such beautiful phrases, Mau- 
 rice sold to buy flowers for his cousin upon her 
 birth-day.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A5IDE from the days of Maurice's despon- 
 dency, which had become more and more 
 rare, time ran on in enchanted hours. The 
 two years which he had pledged, with such 
 bad grace, to his cousin, had been for some 
 months expired. He no longer sought to 
 reclaim his liberty. Captivated by the taste 
 for labor, he was passionately in love with his 
 art. Work did not fail him. By the agency 
 of Pierre Marceau, orders came to him without 
 his solicitation. He gained in wood-sculpture 
 almost as much success as his father had in 
 making nut-crackers and humming-tops; whilst 
 Madeleine's miniatures had become numerous 
 in the galleries of the aristocracy. The story 
 had run through society, that the son of a 
 noble family, and his young sister, ruined by 
 
 903
 
 204 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 a lawsuit, lived by the labor of their hands 
 under a roof in the Rue Babylone. No more 
 was needed to interest a world which watches 
 eagerly every occasion of diversion. After 
 their poverty, Madeleine and Maurice enjoyed 
 their growing prosperity. They might, if they 
 had chosen, have now quitted their Mansard 
 and established themselves more elegantly ; 
 at least, they could have sought two nests less 
 highly perched. Maurice had contemplated 
 this. Not that he desired more sumptuous 
 apartments. He loved his little lodging, where 
 he had learned to recognize the truth of the 
 words of Madeleine " The walls that see us 
 work and dream and hope are always to us 
 the walls of a palace." But this young man, 
 before so brusque and hard, now felt for 
 Madeleine the solicitude of a brother. It was 
 the grief of his life, that he was not able to 
 restore to her the fortune that she had lost. 
 Many times he had offered her larger and 
 more commodious apartments, in a less retired
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 205 
 
 quarter; but she had answered : " Why change 
 our way of life? We are happy here, and 
 happiness has its habitudes, which it is not 
 wise to disturb." If Maurice still urged the 
 matter, he secretly applauded her decision. 
 Thus they remained in their retirement, without 
 other acquaintances than the Marceaus. As 
 for Ursula, she regretted nothing and desired 
 nothing. She sang continually the praises of 
 Maurice, and repeated oftener than ever that 
 he was "An angel an angel from Heaven 
 an angel from the good God!" 
 
 In fine weather they went on Sundays to the 
 country. These were their only holidays. They 
 passed the day on the hills or in the valleys, 
 returning at night happy and joyous. Thus 
 Maurice saw again, with his cousin, the forests of 
 Luciennes and of Celle, where two years before 
 he had walked and thought of suicide. Under 
 the chestnut trees and by the side of the little 
 lake bordered with mimosas, where before Death 
 had appeared, Life bloomed for him anew.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IT happened that Maurice was seized by a 
 strange malady He felt, when with Made- 
 leine, an inexplicable trouble. He paled and 
 blushed beneath her look, and trembled at the 
 sound of her voice. If by chance she came to 
 his apartments, he received her with the awk- 
 wardness and embarrassment of a boy. At all 
 hours, even in his slumbers, he was conscious 
 of an enchantment that was going on within 
 him. What was passing? Maurice had one 
 day a vague presentiment. 
 
 Through the friendly offices of Marceau, the 
 young artist had received an order for a grand 
 figure in wood, representing Saint Elizabeth of 
 
 Hungary, which a wealthy English baronet de- 
 206
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 207 
 
 signed for the decoration of an oratory in his 
 castle in Lancashire. Maurice had undertaken 
 this piece the more willingly, because it was for 
 this saint that his mother was named. But in 
 proceeding with his work, in spite of the knowl- 
 edge he had gained from the instructions of his 
 father, in spite of the dexterity with which he 
 had so long handled the chisel, he felt an unac- 
 countable distrust of his own skill. Till then 
 he had played with difficulties with a boldness 
 that was almost presumption. Now he delayed 
 and hesitated. He scarcely dared attempt the 
 outline of the figure upon the wood. He was 
 surprised at his own timidity; for he did not 
 yet know that distrust of oneself may be a 
 sign of talent. He studied all the figures that 
 he could find in churches. None of them real- 
 ized his idea of a queen and a saint ; none had 
 the nobility and the chasteness that he sought. 
 Time pressed. He ventured to sketch the 
 drapery and the hands. His ambition to pro- 
 duce a work that should establish his reputation
 
 208 MADELEINE: 
 
 as an artist and merit the praise of his cousin, 
 rendered him exacting of himself. He was 
 not content with the folds of the drapery. It 
 seemed to him that the fabric lacked flexibility, 
 and its outline wanted grace. The hands de- 
 layed him for a long time; but he forced himself 
 to give them a royal elegance. When the time 
 came to commence the head, his hesitancy was 
 redoubled. But he put himself resolutely at 
 work, and immediately the chisel obeyed the 
 impulse of a mysterious thought. The forehead 
 rounded without effort. The eyes, modelled as 
 if by enchantment, softly shaded, seemed to 
 express the ecstacy of a soul in prayer. The 
 lips, slightly opened, seemed to give passage to 
 a balmy breath. The hair divided itself into 
 plain bands, that framed the gracious oval of 
 the face. 
 
 After a few moments of mute contempla- 
 tion, Maurice slowly re-touched all that seemed 
 modelled with imperfection. At last he threw 
 aside his tools, and retreated a few steps to
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 209 
 
 judge better of his work. At this instant, 
 Madeleine entered ; and seeing the figure, had 
 no trouble in recognizing there herself. She 
 clapped her hands, and showed a childlike 
 joy ; whilst Maurice, confused and embarrassed, 
 blushed like a young girl. In searching for a 
 model to guide him, he had found in his heart 
 the image of Madeleine; and without wishing 
 or even thinking of it, he had faithfully repro- 
 duced the features of his cousin. From that 
 day, his serenity was more profoundly troubled 
 than he dared own, even to himself. 
 
 This figure of Saint Elizabeth decided his 
 destiny. Although apparently finished, it re- 
 mained still in his work-room, because he was 
 unwilling to let it go. From day to day he 
 found some pretext for retaining it. There was 
 always some point that was unfinished, some 
 detail that needed yet his chisel. 
 
 One morning, the Baronet presented himself 
 in person. He was a young man about 
 Maurice's own age, but appearing some years
 
 2 1 o MA DELEINE : 
 
 younger; tall and slender, fair and blue-eyed. 
 Entering coldly, he slightly saluted Maurice, 
 and walked directly to the statue of Saint 
 Elizabeth, which he examined for a time in 
 silence. 
 
 "They have not deceived me," he said at 
 last, as if speaking to himself. " It is the 
 ideal that I have dreamed. It is the work 
 of a great artist." 
 
 Saying this, he opened a little pocket-book 
 and took from it a handful of bank-notes, 
 which he laid carelessly on the table. 
 
 " No, Monsieur," cried Maurice. " We will 
 keep to the price that was agreed. Take back 
 your notes. Your generosity is entirely lost; 
 for if you wish to put upon this figure the 
 price at which I estimate it, your fortune is 
 not sufficient for the purchase." 
 
 At these words, Sir Edward for the first 
 time looked upon the wood-cutter. Although 
 Maurice was clad in a workman's blouse, his 
 white hands, the purity of the lines of his
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 211 
 
 face, the proud attitude of this young man 
 upon whose brow Labor had re-established 
 the impress of his race, revealed to the Baronet 
 that he was no ordinary workman. He com- 
 prehended this the more easily, since he was 
 himself possessed of faculties that lifted him 
 high above the crowd of men of wealth. Con- 
 fused and troubled, he did not wish to retire 
 without asking pardon for his Britannic entrance. 
 Seating himself upon the side of the couch 
 which served both as bed and divan, he 
 conversed with Maurice with a grace that is 
 indeed rare to the sons of Albion. He spoke 
 of Art with the taste of a man who appreciated 
 and loved it. At first reserved and silent, 
 Maurice was won by the exquisite simplicity 
 of his language and his manner. 
 
 In this little chamber, in the midst of blocks 
 of oak and sticks of walnut that encumbered the 
 floor, they conversed as if in a drawing-room. 
 By an involuntary impulse of vanity, whilst one 
 sought to show that he had not always lived by
 
 212 MADELEINE: 
 
 the work of his hands, and that he was not a 
 stranger to the elegancies of life, the other was 
 equally desirous of proving that in spite of his 
 riches and his rank he knew the worth of labor 
 and intelligence. In listening to Maurice, Sir 
 Edward felt that he had met one of his peers. 
 In listening to Sir Edward, Maurice recognized 
 that poverty has not the sole privilege of wis- 
 dom, but that every condition of life, from the 
 highest to the lowest, offers fruitful instruction 
 to those who know how to profit by it. Return- 
 ing to the figure of the sainted queen, the 
 Baronet said that his mother had borne the 
 sweet name of Elizabeth during her brief life. 
 Maurice, in his turn, said that his mother, who 
 also died in her youth, was called by the same 
 name. This coincidence, slight as it was, estab- 
 lished between the two young men a bond of 
 sympathy; and at the end of two hours, they 
 separated as friends. 
 
 The intimacy did not stop here. Rich with- 
 out arrogance, grave without stiffness, expansive
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 213 
 
 and affectionate, Sir Edward was one of those 
 Englishmen that one sometimes meets when 
 one is born under a happy star. Of a generous 
 and chivalrous nature, he possessed in a high 
 degree the sentiment which conceals the advan- 
 tages of birth, and which might be called the 
 modesty of riches. Stronger in will than Mau- 
 rice, he had crossed the stormy regions of youth 
 without leaving there his native purity. The 
 shipwreck of his illusions had not turned him 
 from his way. In learning to know men, he had 
 not felt obliged to hate or to despise them. 
 With the experience of a sage, he had the 
 enthusiasm of a poet, the candor and simplicity 
 of a child. He happily combined two rare fac- 
 ulties which seem ordinarily to exclude each 
 other : he was as wise as those who no longer 
 love, and he loved like those who are not yet 
 wise. He had cultivated his mind by travel 
 and by study. Gifted with an instinct for the 
 beautiful in art, he honored talent and glorified 
 genius. For many years he had passed his
 
 214 MADELEINE: 
 
 Winters in Paris, in the intimacy of artists. The 
 world attracted him but little ; and he was more 
 frequently seen in studios than in drawing- 
 rooms. 
 
 From this time he visited Maurice daily. 
 He would come in the afternoon, bringing some 
 excellent cigars; and, seating himself upon 
 the side of the bed, he would smoke while 
 watching Maurice at his task, occasionally 
 giving the artist the benefit of his opinion 
 upon the progress of his work. The intimacy 
 grew, until Maurice insensibly arrived at half- 
 confidences. Although prudently silent upon 
 the excesses of his past life, he spoke with 
 enthusiasm of his sister and of her devotion. 
 Of a tender and poetic nature, Sir Edward 
 did not fail to be interested in the description 
 of their fraternal existence. But although he 
 desired to become acquainted with this young 
 sister, he had not yet ventured to ask Maurice 
 to present him; and notwithstanding the artist's 
 sincere attachment for him, he made no further
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 215 
 
 offering of courtesy than the welcome to his 
 work-room. 
 
 Alas! No one escapes his destiny. One 
 day when Madeleine was in her cousin's work- 
 room, the Baronet entered. Maurice had 
 spoken to her more than once of his friend; 
 and the young girl, rejoiced to see the new 
 sentiment growing in the heart so long desolate, 
 had encouraged the friendship. Thus she 
 was under no restraint in the presence of the 
 Baronet; and desiring to render herself agree- 
 able to her cousin, she was cordial and amiable 
 to his friend. Sir Edward was delighted 
 with her, and after she had retired he said to 
 Maurice : 
 
 " You are right, Monsieur, to speak with 
 pride of your sister. I am only surprised that 
 you have failed to describe her grace and 
 beauty. A purer soul I am sure was never 
 reflected in a sweeter face. I can understand 
 now why it will be easy for you to be a great 
 artist. The beauty of the model assists the
 
 216 MADELEINE: 
 
 genius of the master. Fortune has been kinder 
 to you than I suspected, since she has left 
 you such a treasure." 
 
 The speaker ran no risk of interruption. 
 Bent over his table, Maurice fashioned a piece 
 of wood, not appearing to hear what his com- 
 panion said. 
 
 At dinner that day, and in the evening, in 
 Madeleine's room, the talk was all of the 
 Baronet. By the elegant simplicity of his 
 manner, the delicacy of his language, and the 
 elevation of his ideas, Sir Edward had gained 
 the sympathies of Madeleine, who warmly con- 
 gratulated her cousin upon such an intimacy. 
 Women who love us have a marvellous instinct 
 by which they measure at a glance the sincerity 
 and value of the friendships that surround 
 us. Ursula, who had met the gentleman in 
 the stairway, was not silent concerning his 
 good face, and absolutely refused to believe 
 that he was an Englishman. Pierre Marceau, 
 who had known the Baronet a long time,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 217 
 
 recounted some incidents of his generosity that 
 delighted Madeleine, whilst Ursula uttered 
 cries of unbounded admiration. In this concert 
 of praise, Maurice was not mute: though he 
 was scarcely able to account to himself for 
 the uneasiness that he experienced like plants 
 which feel the approach of a storm while the 
 sky is yet clear. 
 
 After that day, the Baronet occasionally 
 visited Madeleine in her apartments. Short 
 and rare at first, these visits soon became 
 longer and more frequent. Sometimes he 
 would come in the morning, and again in the 
 evening. Madeleine always received him with 
 frank cordiality, not dissimulating in any way 
 her liking for him. Maurice observed her 
 with disquietude. There were hours when he 
 felt an irritation toward his friend that he 
 could not explain. It seemed to him that 
 his cousin was less reserved to this stranger 
 than to him. He also noticed that the Baronet 
 no longer spoke of leaving Paris. One evening
 
 2i8 MADELEINE: 
 
 when he hazarded a question upon this point, 
 the Baronet replied that he was not going; 
 and Maurice believed that he saw Madeleine 
 thank him with a smile. 
 
 This disquietude, this mysterious distress, 
 assumed a more serious and alarming character. 
 Maurice sought solitude, and seemed to have 
 lost his taste for work. Madeleine, hitherto 
 so vigilant and clear-sighted, did not appear 
 to notice any change in her cousin. One would 
 have thought she had eyes only for Sir Edward. 
 
 One morning the Baronet entered Maurice's 
 room, more grave than usual. He seated 
 himself upon the bed, and, without opening 
 his mouth, commenced tracing invisible circles 
 with the end of his cane upon the floor. 
 He had the air of a man who has something 
 important to say, but who does not know 
 where to begin. Maurice waited with anxiety, 
 as if he divined that the storm he had feared 
 was about to burst above his head. 
 
 " My friend," said the Baronet at length,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 219 
 
 with that amiable embarrassment which is so 
 becoming to riches when addressing poverty, 
 " I loved your sister before knowing her. You 
 taught me to love her to associate her with 
 you in the same sentiment of affection and 
 respect. After meeting her, the sentiment im- 
 mediately became love. Could it be other- 
 wise? I make you the judge. If she were not 
 your sister, could you see her and not adore 
 her ? I know nothing of your family or of your 
 history; but I have seen your daily life, and 
 from the manner in which you have borne mis- 
 fortune, I know you are not unworthy of wealth 
 and rank. I believe I have shown you that I 
 am not unworthy of poverty. We are already 
 friends : are you willing that we should become 
 brothers ? " 
 
 Paler than death, Maurice spoke at length, 
 in a voice of forced composure. 
 
 "Sir Edward," he said, "your words honor 
 us all. Believe me, I am deeply touched aa 
 I should be. But Madeleine .... my siste*
 
 220 MADELEINE: 
 
 ..... doubtless she loves you. You have 
 her consent?" 
 
 "No, my friend, I do not know that I am 
 loved by her. But I believe firmly in the force 
 of attraction of a pure love ; and I have said to 
 myself that perhaps by a devotion and affection 
 without bounds, I may gain the heart I have 
 chosen." 
 
 " But, Sir Edward, does Madeleine know that 
 you love her?" asked Maurice. 
 
 " I have never spoken to her of my love," 
 replied the Baronet. " It was my duty to come 
 first to you and loyally ask your consent." 
 
 " It is well," said Maurice, in his turn ex- 
 tending his hand to Sir Edward. " You have 
 entirely gained my esteem. I will tell Made- 
 leine what you have said, and if she consents 
 to your wish I shall be content with her happi- 
 ness and yours." 
 
 The Baronet withdrew, his heart filled with 
 hope. If he loved Madeleine if he had not 
 failed to be captivated by so much of candor,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 221 
 
 reason, grace, and beauty he also loved Mau- 
 rice ; and it was a lively pleasure to this poetic 
 spirit, this generous and tender soul, to think 
 that he might now avenge these young people 
 upon fortune, and restore them before the world 
 to the position they had lost.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 E,FT alone, Maurice was lost in a chaos of 
 confused thoughts, of sentiments so op- 
 posed and contradictory that the most subtle 
 analyst, the most consummate psychologist, 
 would have been baffled by them. After con- 
 ducting Sir Edward to the door, Maurice threw 
 himself upon his bed, prostrated by his emo- 
 tions. He felt a sense of suffering that he 
 could neither define nor name. Little by little 
 the tumult of his feelings quieted, and his per- 
 ceptions became clearer. His face was illumim 
 ated by a soft and gentle glow, like the first 
 rays of the dawn. In truth, it was the dawn 
 dawn of a newer life. He remained a long time 
 silent; upon his lips, yet pale and trembling,
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 223 
 
 was the smile of a child but just awakened ; his 
 bosom heaved ; tears filled his eyes ; and, like 
 the resurrected Lazarus, he lifted his hands to 
 Heaven. 
 
 Looking into the depths of his own heart, 
 Maurice had seen a newly-opened flower. He 
 had breathed its perfume. This flower was 
 Love. He loved. . . . Ah, to understand that 
 rapture, one must himself have known it; at 
 the close of a too -early Autumn, have felt 
 awaken in his soul a second Spring-time, in 
 which blooms this divine flower of Love, that 
 he has believed forever faded. . . . Maurice's 
 rapture was brief. It ended in an emotion of 
 anger and despair. Like a bird mortally 
 stricken in the empyrean, he fell heavily upon 
 the ground of reality. He loved when the hour 
 of love had passed. He arrived too late at the 
 gate of Eden, through whose bars he caught a 
 glimpse of happiness, only to bid it an eternal 
 farewell. The violence of his nature again 
 asserted itself; and he exhausted his strength
 
 224 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 in jealous imprecations upon Sir Edward, who 
 had closed against him the door of happiness. 
 In his frenzy, he did not spare even Madeleine. 
 He recalled her every look and attitude in these 
 last days. He saw her smiling at the Baronet 
 and he felt his bosom stung by the serpents 
 of Hell. He had not even the consolation of 
 thinking that he might possibly deceive himself. 
 Even if he had not observed these lovers, if he 
 had not followed with an unquiet eye the 
 progress of their mutual affection, the vague 
 uneasiness that he had felt would have sufficed ; 
 the martyrdom which he endured at this hour 
 would have revealed to him that Madeleine 
 loved Sir Edward. He paced his chamber for 
 some time in silence ; then, suddenly arresting 
 his steps, ashamed of his violence, he said to 
 himself: "Of what, miserable wretch, dost thou 
 complain ? Barely escaped from the mire where 
 thou hast dragged thy youth, thou pitiest thy- 
 self because thou art not loved ? Thou art 
 indignant at seeing preferred to thee a noble
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE 
 
 225 
 
 heart, a virtue without stain, a conscience that 
 has never failed? What hast thou done to 
 merit this affection which to-day seems to thee 
 the supreme good? In the years when this 
 treasure was within thy reach, what effort hast 
 thou made to prove thyself worthy of it ? Thou 
 hast misunderstood it, disdained it, trampled it 
 under thy feet ; and now thou art in revolt 
 because one more worthy takes it from thee! 
 Rest in the shadow of thy grief, and thank 
 Heaven for having given thee the grace of 
 knowing how to love." 
 
 Never before had Maurice so bitterly la- 
 mented the faults of his past; never had 
 remorse for his ill-spent days so weighed upon 
 him. For the first time, he saw his ruin in 
 all of its extent. At the moment when his 
 soul opened to the sentiment of love, to the 
 hope of happiness, they had escaped his grasp. 
 He said to himself: "If I had always followed, 
 like Sir Edward, the inflexible line of duty, 
 I would now be under the roof of my father, 
 
 15
 
 22 6 MADELEINE: 
 
 beside Madeleine, who perhaps would have 
 loved me for I would then have been worthy 
 of her love." 
 
 True love is humble, resigned, and ready 
 for sacrifice. What, Maurice asked himself, 
 could he offer his cousin? In spite of his 
 courage and his perseverance, in spite of the 
 favor that his work had won supposing even 
 this favor durable he would never be able 
 to secure to her anything more than a wretched 
 and stinted existence; whilst in marrying Sir 
 Edward she would take again the rank in 
 society that belonged to her. If she felt 
 herself drawn toward the Baronet by even a 
 feeble sentiment of affection, should Maurice 
 discourage it? Was it not rather his duty to 
 encourage her, and to sacrifice all for her 
 happiness ? He did not hesitate. He decided 
 upon the instant. 
 
 He passed the evening, as was his wont, 
 with his cousin. He was sad and silent; 
 whilst she, by one of those contrasts that so
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 227 
 
 often occur in life, was unusually gay. Maurice 
 did not invite a word or a look that could 
 shake his resolution. Only, when about to 
 retire, he begged her to sing the " Adieu " of 
 Schubert, which had one night affected him so 
 profoundly. Never had she sang so touchingly. 
 When she had finished, Maurice took her hands 
 in his and pressed them to his lips. 
 
 In the ante-chamber he met Ursula. 
 
 " You are sad, Monsieur Maurice," said she. 
 " What is the matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing, my good Ursula," he replied. 
 "Thou knowest that my sadnesses are not 
 serious. But embrace me; I am sure that will 
 do me good." 
 
 Ursula sprang to her foster-brother, who 
 pressed her to his heart. 
 
 The following morning, rising at daylight, 
 Maurice went to his table, and, to make com- 
 plete this immolation of his hopes, stifling the 
 cry of his soul, he wrote with a firm hand 
 this letter :
 
 228 MADELEINE; 
 
 "MADELEINE: I have kept my promise. 
 You asked of me two years of abnegation and 
 devotion. They have long since expired. In 
 them, you have assumed my rdle. You have 
 been to me more than I was to you. In leading 
 me to understand the value of labor, the gran- 
 deur and holiness of duty, you have almost 
 effaced in me the traces of my wanderings. 
 Whatever may be the future that God has 
 reserved for me, I shall never have for you any 
 sentiment but gratitude, any words but those 
 of benediction. But I do not wish, I cannot 
 accept longer, the sacrifice to which you have 
 resigned yourself with so much courage. That 
 would be in me a gross selfishness for which 
 I could never pardon myself. It is no longer 
 a question of me, but of you and your happiness. 
 Sir Edward loves you. He is worthy of your 
 love. He can secure to you the rank that you 
 merit. He has for me a sincere affection, and 
 will charge himself to acquit my debt to you. 
 Adieu then. Be not disquieted for my destiny. 
 In whatever place I find myself, my labor will 
 suffice for all my needs. Do not fear that I will 
 again fall into the profound night from which
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 229 
 
 you have rescued me. A mysterious star will 
 guide me in the path that you have opened. If 
 discouragements arise, if my strength fails, I 
 have only to look into my heart, and I shall find 
 there your image. I am going to see again the 
 home of my father. It is a reparation that I 
 owe his memory. I wish to present myself, 
 pure and regenerated, in the place that beheld 
 me debased and dishonored. I trust this 
 pilgrimage will appease the trouble of my con- 
 science. Then I will go with a firm step 
 wherever God may lead me. Adieu, Madeleine. 
 Be happy ; and then I shall bless the memory 
 of the days we have passed together, since the 
 memory will not then be bitter to you. 
 
 Your Brother, 
 
 MAURICE." 
 
 He folded the letter, and traced upon the 
 envelope the sweet name which should hence- 
 forth fill his life. Putting the letter where it 
 would be found, upon the chimney-piece, he 
 saw, at this instant, Marceau and his wife, 
 already at work, near the cradle of their chil-
 
 230 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 dren. He saluted them affectionately ; and 
 after contemplating fondly for several minutes 
 the peace and happiness of this little household, 
 he prepared for his departure. When all was 
 ready, he clasped his leathern belt around his 
 blouse, put upon his back the knapsack which 
 contained all his fortune, and took in his hand 
 a workman's travelling staff. Then, surveying 
 tenderly the little chamber, which he had 
 entered hardened by selfishness, withered by 
 idleness, aged by debauch, he left it, regener- 
 ated by labor, rejuvenated by love, and sancti- 
 fied by sacrifice.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TT 7HILE still in Paris, Maurice's sadness 
 * * was mixed with a secret irritation. He 
 even felt misgivings for the generous resignation 
 that had led him to leave Madeleine. It seemed 
 as if there was in the atmosphere of the great 
 city a remnant of the unhappy influences of his 
 past. But outside of Paris, where his breast 
 swelled with the country air and he was face-to- 
 face with Nature, his heart was softened, and 
 he was dominated by but one sentiment his 
 love for Madeleine. He had now a clear 
 glimpse of the greatness and the holiness of a 
 passion of which before he had known only the 
 gross image. The farther he found himself 
 from Madeleine, the more his heart bled at the 
 
 931
 
 232 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 separation. But there was still some sweetness 
 in his grief. In the exile to which he resigned 
 himself, he felt a joy keener and more profound 
 than in the intoxication of passion. He was 
 not loved; but he felt himself worthy of love, 
 and the consciousness of moral value inspired 
 a legitimate pride. He was not loved ; but he 
 applauded himself for the sacrifices he had 
 made for the happiness of the woman he loved, 
 and he found in this sacrifice a joy that nothing 
 could take away. His pilgrimage to Valtravers 
 was not only a mark of respect for his father's 
 memory ; he wished also to see again those 
 places where he had known Madeleine for the 
 first time ; to breathe the air that had been 
 embalmed by her presence ; to walk the paths 
 where he had heard her voice. 
 
 The sentiment of the beautiful in Nature, so 
 long dead in his heart, all the undulations of 
 the country, the caprices of the sky, the tones 
 of the landscape, were to Maurice a source of 
 unexpected joy. His simple delight would have
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 233 
 
 made one believe that he saw for the first time 
 the marvels of creation. The fatigues of this 
 journey on foot were sweeter to him than those 
 excursions which he had so often made in car- 
 riages or in the saddle. The halts at evening 
 in country inns ; the departure at dawn ; the 
 meetings at the common table ; the chats with 
 the little children before the door, all were to 
 him poetic episodes, renewing and varying the 
 interest of his pilgrimage, while perfecting him 
 in the practice of equality. 
 
 A last moral revolution crowned all the 
 others in the soul of Maurice. Madeleine had 
 succeeded in awakening a religious sentiment in 
 his heart, and had often besought him to have 
 recourse to prayer. But he had never consented 
 to enter a church for worship. It was reserved 
 for the influence of grief to bring him, by an 
 insensible but sure ascent, to the beliefs and 
 practices that he had ridiculed. He found the 
 truth that all sincere griefs lift us to God. In 
 passing through a village, he found himself one
 
 234 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 day before a little church. Moved by an irre- 
 sistible impulse, he entered. It was one of 
 those plain and humble churches which God 
 prefers to a sumptuous and gilded temple. The 
 sun shone softly in through a window. Field- 
 flowers adorned the altar, upon whose steps 
 some aged men and women kneeled in prayer. 
 Maurice too sank upon his knees and prayed. 
 He prayed to obtain pardon from his father for 
 his wanderings, and from Heaven the happiness 
 of Madeleine. 
 
 After a solitary walk of fifteen days, he 
 passed unrecognized through the little village 
 of Neuvy-les-Bois. His costume served as a 
 disguise. Besides, in this assured step, in this 
 proud and serene look, in the calmness and 
 dignity of this noble and manly face, how 
 should anyone detect a likeness to the young 
 man who had departed like an outlaw three 
 years before? 
 
 Who can tell the emotions of his heart, 
 when an hour later, he saw at the horizon's
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 2 35 
 
 edge the forests that had sheltered his child- 
 hood, in whose mysterious depths he had so 
 often walked between his father and the 
 Marquise, and where Madeleine had first 
 appeared to him? In finding himself, full of 
 life and love, once more in these beautiful 
 places where three years before he had brought 
 only the consciousness of his fall, his first 
 impulse was to cry aloud to Nature that he 
 was young, that he could love, that he loved. 
 His regenerated soul was exalted in an ecstacy 
 of holy delight. " Nature, rejoice thou ! " he 
 cried. " It is yet thy child. Light breezes ! 
 caress, as in the old time, my forehead. Mosses 
 of the woods, grasses of the clearing, recognize 
 my step ! Tremble and bend lovingly above 
 my head, ye trees that my father planted." 
 
 He walked slowly. Recollections rose before 
 him, like skylarks in a field. In the shade of 
 this oak he had rested, with his father. Under 
 the silvery leaves of this sensitive tree he 
 had forgotten himself for a day, listening to
 
 2 3 6 MA DELEINE : 
 
 the first passionate murmurs of the youth 
 awakening within him. At the turn of an 
 avenue, he recognized the place where that 
 Autumn evening he had found his cousin. 
 He recalled all the details of their meeting. 
 He also remembered that one year later 
 the day of his first departure he had again 
 found Madeleine at this place. 
 
 " Ah, poor wretch ! " he cried sadly. " What 
 demon possessed thee? She was here, a 
 celestial warning, the image of the happiness 
 thou wert leaving behind thee. Why hast 
 thou not taken her by the hand and returned 
 upon thy steps?" 
 
 The day faded. Overcome by his emotions, 
 Maurice had fallen upon the grass. He arose 
 and proceeded toward the chateau. He did 
 not even know who inhabited it; but he was 
 not curious to see or know the owner. He 
 only wished to say a last adieu, and depart 
 from the Eden from which he was forever 
 exiled. At the gate of the park, he remained
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 237 
 
 a long time leaning against the bars ; then he 
 mechanically opened the gate and entered. 
 The park was deserted. The shadows of 
 evening were beginning to fall about him. 
 Maurice heard only the murmurs of the wind 
 in the leaves, the calls of birds in their 
 nests, the crushing of the sand under his 
 feet. 
 
 At the end of the avenue, which brought 
 the chateau into view, he stopped, held his 
 breath, and pressed his hand against his heart. 
 . . . Could he believe his eyes? Was it not 
 a dream a mirage an hallucination of his 
 excited brain? The staff escaped from his 
 hands. His knees bent under him, and he 
 was obliged to lean against a tree. 
 
 Twenty steps before him, seated upon the 
 door-step of the chateau, lit as of old by the 
 fires of the setting sun, whilst two children, 
 whom Maurice knew, rolled upon the sward, 
 were Madeleine, Sir Edward, and Pierre Mar- 
 ceau and his wife.
 
 2 3 8 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 Madeleine arose and advanced smilingly to 
 Maurice, as serene and calm as if his presence 
 were the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 " My friend," she said, " we have waited for 
 you." 
 
 Taking his arm, the young girl drew him 
 softly toward the Baronet, The"rese, and Mar- 
 ceau, who came to meet him. They shook 
 hands; but all hearts were affected to silence. 
 
 "Oh, my friends," at length said Maurice, in 
 a trembling voice, "what is it that is passing? 
 what has passed ? Have I dreamed of grief and 
 of despair, or do I now dream of happiness ? " 
 
 The faces of those about him answered only 
 by an affectionate smile. 
 
 Led by Madeleine, Maurice ascended the 
 steps. All the old servants were waiting in 
 the hall. 
 
 " My children," said Madeleine, " see your 
 young master, who has returned again to 
 us." 
 
 They surrounded him with expressions of
 
 A STOXY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 239 
 
 respect and love, whilst Ursula unfastened with 
 delight the buckles of his knapsack. At this 
 moment a servant announced in a high voice 
 that Monsieur the Chevalier was served. Fol- 
 lowed by Sir Edward and the Marceaus, Made- 
 leine conducted him to the dining-room, and 
 seated him, in his workman's blouse, in the 
 chair of his father. The repast was brief and 
 silent. Maurice had the air of a man who is 
 uncertain whether he wakes or sleeps, and who 
 fears to break, by an abrupt motion or an 
 imprudent word, the enchantment that holds 
 him. 
 
 At the end of the meal, Madeleine arose, 
 and quitting the group, went toward the forest 
 with her cousin, who permitted her to lead him 
 like a child. They reached a green mound, 
 where the young girl seated herself, and made 
 Maurice sit beside her. 
 
 It was one of those evenings that seem to 
 double the value of happiness. Whilst one 
 part of the sky was empurpled with the dying
 
 240 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 fires left by the descending sun, on the other 
 side of the horizon the moon was rising in a 
 lake of azure, and mounting slowly to the 
 summits of the trees that she silvered with 
 her pale rays. The nightingale sang with full 
 throat in the thick foliage. The breezes of the 
 night awakened and sounded in the depths of 
 the forest like the distant murmurs of a 
 cascade. 
 
 " Oh, my friend," said Madeleine, in a voice 
 sweeter than the song of the nightingale, fresher 
 than the breezes of the night, " I have loved 
 you from the day when I saw you here for the 
 first time. You had need to pass, by the way 
 of poverty, of labor, and of abnegation, to 
 regeneration. I comprehended this, and I de- 
 termined to share the trials that I imposed upon 
 you. These trials are ended. Maurice, will you 
 pardon me?" 
 
 Maurice was kneeling at the foot of the 
 mound where his cousin was seated. The fair 
 girl bent toward him her sweet face, and under
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 241 
 
 the light of the starry heavens, their lips met in 
 a chaste kiss. 
 
 Madeleine had not lost her lawsuit. The 
 chateau was yet hers. She had deceived Mau- 
 rice that she might save him. . . . I do not 
 wish to recount here what had passed day by 
 day in the heart of the young girl whilst Mau- 
 rice pursued the work of his rehabilitation. It 
 is a recital which delicate souls can make for 
 themselves ; whilst vulgar souls would not com- 
 prehend it. 
 
 As soon as they had learned of Maurice's 
 departure from Paris, they all followed by 
 diligence; and thus the young Chevalier found 
 the friends of his last days in Paris, under the 
 roof of his fathers. 
 
 "They were the witnesses of our struggles 
 and our efforts," said Madeleine. "It is just 
 that they should be present when you receive 
 the recompense that you have merited. That 
 which Sir Edward loved most in me was 
 
 16
 
 242 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 our poverty. Our happiness will console 
 him." 
 
 A month later, Maurice and Madeleine 
 were married, without ostentation, at Neuvy- 
 les-Bois. The next day, Pierre Marceau, with 
 his wife and children, left for Paris. It was 
 in vain that Madeleine and Maurice begged 
 them to remain at the chateau, where they 
 would find abundant employment for their 
 activity and intelligence. 
 
 "You have re-found your place," replied 
 Marceau. "Let me keep mine. I would only 
 weary your felicity. I fear nothing from your 
 pride. Labor has established between us an 
 equality which nothing can disturb. But the 
 world in which you live would refuse to com- 
 prehend it ; and its astonishment would be to 
 me a reproach which I wish to spare us both." 
 
 And so the little family left them, loaded 
 with tokens of affection. 
 
 At the end of a month, Sir Edward also 
 took his leave.
 
 A STORY OF FRENCH LOVE. 
 
 243 
 
 " Watch over your happiness," said he to 
 Maurice, at the moment of his departure. " It 
 is a delicate plant, which needs tender and 
 vigilant care." 
 
 My task is terminated. Happy lives have 
 no history. Maurice was henceforth beyond 
 danger. Work was no longer a necessity; but 
 he was not inactive. He occupied himself in 
 doing good, and sowed his riches about him 
 with an open hand. Madeleine is paid with 
 usury for her devotion ; and no cloud troubles 
 the serenity of their mutual tenderness. 
 
 No matter what Madeleine may say, Ursula 
 persists in believing that her young mistress 
 really lost her lawsuit, and that Maurice found 
 in wood-carving the means to buy again the 
 home of his ancestors. 
 
 Maurice has ever for his young wife a 
 steadfast and exalted gratitude. When he is
 
 244 
 
 MADELEINE : 
 
 impelled to bless her for their happiness, she 
 will reply : 
 
 " My friend, it is not I that you should 
 thank. I have only pointed the way in which 
 you should walk. It is Labor that you should 
 bless, for it is through Labor that you have 
 found again youth, love, and happiness." 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000 129 228