^1 nt 
 
 
 r 
 
 ^ /-' 
 
 MALkVY
 
 presented to the 
 UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 From the Estate of 
 Mrs. Anna L. Bailhache
 
 Fq 

 
 THI-: ABBI-; CONSTANTIN
 
 LUDOVIC HALEVY 
 
 OF THi: ACAUEMIt: IKAN^AISE 
 
 THE 
 
 ABBE CONSTANTIN 
 
 II.I.tSTRATKI) BY 
 
 MADHLFJNl: LhMAIRh 
 
 M:\V YORK 
 
 DODD, MHAl) ANIJ COMPANY
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PACK 
 
 On TiiF. Terrack Frontispiece 
 
 The Domain for Sale, i 
 
 The Curb's Garden, 7 
 
 News of the Sale 13 
 
 The Castle of Longleval 26 
 
 Arrival at the Vuara(,i.. .... 27 
 
 Paii.ine and Jean, 39 
 
 In the Garden, 43 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Bettina, .... 47 
 
 Dinner at the Vicarage, 48 
 
 Mrs. Scott Arranging Betiina's Hair, . 5=; 
 
 In the Cemetery, 69 
 
 Bettina Playing the Harmonium, . . 71 
 
 The Hundred Louis, ...... 73 
 
 At the Opera, 8r 
 
 Jean's Study .85 
 
 The Cur^ Praying, .... 88 
 
 "Mazette!" ..... .89 
 
 The C(hNFF:ssioN, ... . 103 
 
 Leaying the Railway Station.. . .107 
 
 **Gooi)-BY, my Lovers! ■' .... 112
 
 VI 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 The Drawing Room at Longueval, 
 
 Mrs, Scott and her Children, 
 
 IBettina at the Balcony, . 
 
 The Ride. .... 
 
 The F'irst Tete-a-tete, 
 
 Child and Pony, 
 
 At the Ball, . . 
 
 " It is Raining ! " . 
 
 Bettina's Room, . 
 
 Rain and Wind, 
 
 OOOD-BY ! . . . . 
 
 Bettina at the Vicarage, 
 
 Will it be Fine? 
 
 The First Kiss, 
 
 The Wedding. 
 
 "3 
 125 
 128 
 130 
 137 
 140 
 142 
 
 155 
 161 
 167 
 172 
 174 
 175 
 T99 
 201
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 With a step still valiant and firm, an old priest 
 walked along- the dusty road in the full rays of a 
 brilliant sun. For more than thirty years the Abbe 
 Constantin had been cure of the little village which 
 slept there in the plain, on the banks of a slender 
 stream called La Lizotte. 
 
 The Abbe Constantin was walking by the wall 
 which surrounded the park of the castle of Longue- 
 val ; at last he reached the entrance gate, which 
 rested high and massive on two ancient pillars of 
 stone, embrowned and gnawed by time. The cure
 
 2 TIIR ABBE COXSTAM'IX. 
 
 stopped and mournfully regarded two imuiense blue 
 posters fixed on the pillars. 
 
 The posters announced lluit on Wednesday, May i8, 
 1881, at I o'clock P. M., would take place, before the 
 Civil Tribunal of Souvigny, the sale of the donuiin of 
 Longueval. divided into four lots. 
 
 1. The castle of Longueval, its dependencies, fine 
 pieces of water, extensive of^ces, ])ark of one hundred 
 and fifty hectares in extent, completely surrounded 
 by a wall, and traversed by the little river Lizotte. 
 Valued at six hundred thousand fiancs. 
 
 2. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, three hundred 
 hectares, valued at five hundred thousand francs. 
 
 3. The farm of La Rozeraie, tw'o hundred and 
 fifty hectares, valued at four hundred thousand francs. 
 
 4. The woods and forests of La Mionne, containing 
 four hundred and fifty hectares, valued at five hundred 
 and fifty thousand francs. 
 
 And these four amounts added together at the foot 
 of the bill gave the respectable sum of two millions and 
 fifty thousand francs. 
 
 Then they w^ere really going to dismember this 
 magnificent domain, which, escaping all mutilation, 
 had for more than two centuries always been trans- 
 mitted intact from father to son in the family of 
 Longueval. The placards also announced that after 
 the temporary division into four lots it would be pos- 
 sible to unite them again, and offer for sale the entire 
 domain ; but it w^as a very large morsel, and to all 
 appearance no purchaser would present himself. 
 
 The Maiquise de Longueval had died six months
 
 THE ABBE CONSTAXTEV. 3 
 
 before. In 1873 she had lost her only son, Robert de 
 Longiieval ; the three heirs were the oiandchildien of 
 the marquise, Pierre, Helene, and Caniille, It had 
 been found necessary to offer the domain for sale, as 
 Helene and Camille were minors. Pierre, a young 
 man of three-and-twenty, had lived rather fast, was 
 already half ruined, and could not hope to redeem 
 Longueval. 
 
 It was midday. In an hour it would have a new 
 master, this old castle of Longueval ; and this master, 
 who would he be .'' Wiiat woman would take the 
 place of the old marquise in the chimney-corner of the 
 grand salon, all adorned with ancient tapestry — the 
 old marquise, the friend of the old priest ? It was 
 she who had restored the church ; it was she who had 
 established and furnished a complete dispensary at the 
 vicarage under the care of Pauline, the cure's ser- 
 vant; it was she who, twice a week in her great 
 barouche, all crowded with little children's clothes 
 and thick woollen petticoats, came to fetch the Abbe 
 Constantin to make with him what she called "la 
 chasse aux pauvres." 
 
 The old priest continued his walk, musing over all 
 this ; then he thoight, too. — the greatest saints have 
 their little weaknesses.— he thought, too. of the beloved 
 habits of thirty years thus rudely interrupted. Every 
 Thursday and every Sunday he had dined at the castle. 
 How he had been petted, coaxed, indulged ! Little 
 Camille— she was eight years old— would come and sit 
 on his knee and say to him : 
 
 "You know. M. le Cure, it is in your church that
 
 4 THE ABBE CON ST A. V TIN. 
 
 I mean to be married, and grandmamma will send 
 such heaps of Howeis to fill, quite fill, the church — 
 more than for the month of Mary. It will be like 
 a large garden— all white, all white, all while!" 
 
 The month of Mary ; it was then the month of 
 Mary. Formerly at this season the altar disappeared 
 under the fiowers brought from the conservatories of 
 Longueval. None this year were on the altar, except 
 a few bouquets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilac in 
 gilded china vases. Formerly, every Sunday at high 
 mass, and every evening during the month of Mar\-, 
 Mile. Hebert, the reader to Mme. de Longueval, 
 played the little harmonium given by the marquise. 
 Now the poor harmonium, reduced to silence, no 
 longer accompanied the voices of the choir or the 
 children's hynms. Mile. Marbeau, the postmistress, 
 would with all her heart have taken the place of 
 Mile. Hebert, but she dared not, though she was a 
 little musical. She was afraid of being remarked as 
 of the clerical party and denounced by the mayor, 
 who was a Freethinker. That might have been 
 injurious to her interests and prevented her pro- 
 motion. 
 
 He had nearly reached the end of the wall of the 
 prnk, that park of which every corner was known to 
 the old priest. The road now followed the banks of 
 the Lizotte, and on the other side of the little stream 
 stretche^d the fields belonging to the two farms ; llien, 
 still farther off, rose the dark woods of La Mionne. 
 
 Divided ! The domain was going to be divided ! 
 The heart of the poor priest was rent by this bitter
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN, 5 
 
 thouglit. All that for thirty years had been insepa- 
 rable, indivisible, to him ; it was a little his own, his 
 very own, his estate, this great property. He felt at 
 home on the lands of Longueval. It had happened 
 more than once that he had stopped complacently 
 before an immense cornfield, plucked an ear, removed 
 the husk, and said to himself : 
 
 "Cornel the grain is fine, firm, and sound. This 
 year we shall have a good harvest ! " 
 
 And with a joyous heart he would continue his way 
 through his fields, his meadows, his pastures — in 
 short, by every chord of his heart, by every tie of his 
 life, by all his habits, his memories, he clung to this 
 domain whose last hour had come. 
 
 The abbe perceived in the distance the farm of 
 Hlanche-Couionne ; its red-tiled roofs showed dis- 
 tinctly against the verdure of the forest. There, 
 again, the cure was at home. Bernard, the farmer of 
 the marquise, was his friend; and when the old priest 
 was delayed in his visits to the poor and sick, when 
 the sun was sinking below the horizon, and the abbe 
 began to feel a little fatigue in his limbs and a sensa- 
 tion of exhaustion in his stomach, he stopped and 
 supped with Bernard, regaled himself with a savory 
 stew and potatoes, and emptied his pitcher of cider. 
 Then, after supper, the farmer harnessed his old 
 black mare to his cart and took the vicar back to 
 Longueval. The whole distance they chatted and 
 quarrelled. The abbe reproached the farmer with 
 not going to mass, and the latter replied : 
 
 "The wife and the girls ijo for me. You know
 
 6 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 very well, M. le Cure, that is how it is with us. The 
 women have enough religion for the men. They will 
 open the gates of Paradise for us." 
 
 And he added maliciously, while giving a touch of 
 the whip to his old black mare: 
 
 "If there is one! " 
 
 The cure sprang from his seat. 
 
 " What ! if there is one ? Of a certainly ihere is 
 one." 
 
 "Then you will be there, M. le Cure. You say 
 that is not certain, and I say it is. You will be 
 there ; you will be there at the gale, on the watch for 
 your parishioners, and still busy with their liille 
 affairs; and you will say to St. Peter— for it is 
 St. Peter, isn't it, who keeps the keys of Paradise.^ " 
 
 " Yes, it is St. Peter." 
 
 " Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if lie 
 wants to shut the door in my face under the pretence 
 that I did not go to mass— you will say to him : 
 * Bah ! let him in, all the same. It is Bernard, one of 
 the farmers of Mme. la Marquise, an honest man. 
 He was Common Councilman, and he voted for the 
 maintenance of the sisters when they were going to be 
 expelled from the village school.' That will touch 
 St. Peter, who will answer: 'Well, well, you n>ay 
 pass, Bernard, but it is only to please M. le 
 Cure.' For you will be M. le Cure up there, and 
 Cure de Longueval, too, for Paradise itself would 
 be dull for you if you must give up being Cure de 
 Longueval." 
 
 Cure de Longueval ! Yes, all his life he had been
 
 77//-; ABBE COXSTAX 1 IX. 9 
 
 nothing; but Cure dc: Longucval, had never dieaiiied 
 of anyiUiny; else, liad never wisUeil lo be anytliiiii^ 
 else. Three or four times excellent livini^s, wiih one 
 or two curates, had been offered to him ; but he h.id 
 always refused them. He loved his little church, his 
 little villayje, his little vicarage. There he had ii .dl 
 to himself, saw to everythinj^ himself; calm, tranijuil, 
 he went and came, summer ami winter, in sunshme 
 or storm, in wind or r.iin. His frame became h.nd- 
 t^\\^y\ by falii;ue and exposure ; but his soul rem.iineil 
 genilc. tender, and pure. 
 
 IIj lived in his vicara_<;e. which was only a lar;;er 
 laborer's cotlaj^e separated from the church by the 
 churcliyard. When the cure motmied the ladiler to 
 tr.iin his pear- and peach-trees, over the to|) of the wall 
 he perceived the ;;raves over which he h.id said the 
 last prayer, and cast the first spadeful of earih. Then, 
 while conlinuinj; his work, he said in his heart a liitle 
 prayer for the repose of those amonir his dead whose 
 fate disturbed him. and who nus^ht be still detained in 
 pur«;atory. He had a irancpiil and childlike f.iiih. 
 
 Hut amonjj these graves there was one which oftener 
 than all the others received his visits and his prayers. 
 It was the tomi) of his old friend Dr. Reynaud, who 
 hail died in his arms in 187 i, and under what circum- 
 stances I The doctor had been like Bernard — he 
 never went to mass or to confession ; but he was so 
 good, so charitable, so compassionate to the sufferim; ! 
 This was the cause of the cure's great anxiety, of his 
 great solicitude. His friend Reynaud. where was he ? 
 Where was he? Then he called to mind the noble
 
 lO THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 life of the country doctor, all made up of courage and 
 self-denial ; he recalled his death,— above all, his 
 death, — and said to himself : 
 
 "In Paradise; he can be nowhere but in Paradise. 
 The good God may have sent him to purgatory just 
 for form's sake ; but he must have delivered him after 
 five minutes." 
 
 All this passed tiirough the mind of the old man as 
 he continued his walk toward Souvigny. He was 
 going to the tow^n, to the solicitor of the marquise, to 
 inquire the result of the sale, to learn who were to be 
 the new masters of the castle of Longueval. The 
 abbe had still about a mile to walk before reaching 
 the first houses of Souvigny, and was passing the park 
 of Lavardens, when he heard above his head voices 
 caUing to him : 
 
 " M. le Cure, M. le Cure ! " 
 
 At this spot, adjoining the wall, a long alley of 
 lime-trees bordered the terrace ; and the abbe, raising 
 his head, perceived Mme. de Lavardens and her son 
 Paul. 
 
 "Where are you going, M. le Cure.^" asked the 
 comtesse. 
 
 "To Souvigny, to the Tribunal, to learn " 
 
 " Stay here ; M. de Larnac is coming after the sale 
 to tell me the result." 
 
 The Abbe Constantin joined them on the terrace. 
 
 Gertrude de Lannilis, Comtesse de Lavardens, had 
 been very unfortunate. At eighteen she had been 
 guilty of a folly, the only one of her life, but that one 
 irreparable. She had married for love, in a burst of
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTIX. II 
 
 enthusiasm and exaltation, M. de Lavardens, one of 
 the most fascinating and hriUiant men of his lime. 
 He did not love her, and only married her from neces- 
 sity ; he had devoured his patrimonial fortune to the 
 very last farthing, antl for two or three years had 
 supported himseif by various exi)edieuts. Mile, de 
 Lannilis knew all that, and had no illusions on 
 these points ; but she said to herself : 
 
 " I will love him so much tliat lie will end by loving 
 me." 
 
 Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence might 
 have been tolerable if she had not loved her husband 
 so much, but she loved him too much. She had only 
 succeeded in wearying him by her importunities and 
 tenderness. He returned to his former life, which had 
 been most irregular. P'ifteen years iiad passed thus- 
 in a long martyrdom, supported by Mine, de La- 
 vardens with all the appearance of p.issive resigna- 
 tion. Nothing ever could distract iier from, or cure 
 her of. the love which was destroying her. 
 
 M. de Lavardens died in 1869; he left a son four- 
 teen years of age, in whom were already visible all the 
 defects and all the good qualities of his father. With- 
 out being seriously affected, the fortune of Mme. 
 de Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly 
 diminished. Mme. de Lavardens sold her mansion 
 in Paris, retired to the country, where she Hved with 
 strict economy, and devoted herself to the education, 
 of her son. 
 
 But here, again, grief and disappointment awaited 
 her. Paul de Lavardens was intelligent, amiable, and
 
 12 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 affectionate, but thoroiiohly rebellious against any 
 constraint and any si)ecies of work. He drove to 
 despair three or four tutors who vainly endeavored to 
 force something- serious into his head, went up to the 
 military College of Saint-Cyr, failed at the examina- 
 tion, and began to devour in Paris, with all the haste 
 and folly possible, two or three hundred thousand 
 francs. 
 
 That done, he enlistt-d in the first regiment of the 
 Chasseurs d'Afrique, had in the very beginning of his 
 military career the good foi tune to make one of an 
 expeditionary column sent into the Sahara, distin- 
 g-uished himself, soon becauie quarter-master, and at 
 the end of three yeais was about to be appointed sub- 
 lieutenant when he was captivated by a young ]-)er- 
 son who played the " Fdle de Mme. Angot " at the 
 theatre in Algins. 
 
 Paul liad finished his time ; lie quitted the service, 
 and went to Paris with his chaimer. Then it was a 
 <lancer ; then it was an actiess ; then a circus ridei-. 
 Me tried life in every form. He led the briUiant and 
 rm'serable existence of the unoccupied. 
 
 But it was only three or four months that he passed 
 in Paris each year. His mother made him an allow- 
 ance of thiity thousand francs, and had declared to 
 him that never while she lived should he have another 
 penny before his marriage. He knew his mother; he 
 knew lie must consider her words as serious. Thus, 
 ^vishing to make a good figure in Paris and lead a 
 merry life, he spent his tliirty thousand francs in three 
 months, and then docilelv leturned to La\ardens,
 
 r?;-
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXIEV. 15 
 
 where he was " out at grass." He spent his time 
 hunting, fishing, and riding with the officeis of the 
 artillery regiment quartered at Souvigny, The little 
 provincial miUineis and " grisettes " replaced, without 
 rendering him oblivious of, the little singers an(J 
 actresses of Pai is. By searcliing for them one may 
 still tind grisettes in country towns, and Paul de 
 Lavaidens sought assiduously. 
 
 As soon as the cure had reached Mme, de 
 L uardeiis she saiil : 
 
 " Wiihout waiting for M. de Larnac, I can tell you 
 the names of the j)urchasers of the domain of 
 Longueval. 1 am quite easy on the subject, and have 
 no doubt of the success of our ])lan. In order to- 
 avoid any foolish disputes we have agreed aniong 
 ourselves ; that is, between our neighbor M. de 
 Larnac, M. Gallard, a great Parisian banker, and my- 
 self. M. de Larnac will have La Mionne, AL Gallard 
 the castle and Llanche-Couronne, and I — La Rozeraie. 
 I know you, M. le Cure ; you will be anxious 
 about your poor, but comfiMt yourself. These Gal- 
 lards are rich and will give you plenty of money." 
 
 At this moment a cloud of dust appeared on the 
 road ; from it emerged a cai"iiage. 
 
 " Here comes AL de Larnac ! " cried Paul ; " I 
 know his ponies I " 
 
 All three hurriedly descended from the terrace, and 
 returned to the castle. They arrived there just as M. 
 de Larnac's carriage drove up to the entrance, 
 
 " Well ? " asked Mme. de Lavardens. 
 
 " Well ! " replied ]\L de Larnac, " we have nothing.""
 
 1 6 THE ABBE COX ST AN TIN. 
 
 "What? Nothing?" cried Mine, de Lavardens, 
 very pale and agitated. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing— the one 
 or the other of us." 
 
 And M. de Larnac, springing from his carriage, 
 related what had taken place at the sale before the 
 Tribunal of Souvigny. 
 
 " At first," he said, " everything went upon wheels. 
 The castle went to M. Gallard for six hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs. No conij^etitor ; a rise of fifty 
 francs had been sufficient. On the other hand, there 
 was a little battle for Bianche-Couronne. Tlie bids 
 rose from five hundred thousand francs to five hun- 
 dred and twenty thousand francs, and again M. Gal- 
 lard was victorious. Another and more animated 
 battle for La Rozeraie ; at last it was knocked down 
 to you. madame, for four hundred and fifty-five thou- 
 sand francs. I got the forest of La Mionne without 
 opposition at a rise of one hundred francs. All 
 seemed over, those present had risen, our solicitors 
 were surrounded with persons asking the names of 
 the purchasers. 
 
 " M. Brazier, the judge intrusted with the sale, 
 desired silence ; and the bailiff of the court offei ed the 
 four lots together for two million one hunched and 
 fifty or sixty thousand francs, I don't remember which. 
 A murmur passed through the assembly. ' No one 
 will bid,' was heard on all sides. But little Gibert. 
 the solicitor, who was seated in the first row and till 
 then had given no sign of life, rose and said calmly: 
 * 1 have a purchaser for the four lots together at two
 
 THE ABBE COXSTANThV. i? 
 
 million two hundred thousand francs.' This was 
 like a thunderbolt, A tremeiulous clamor arose, fol- 
 lowed i)y a dead silence. The hall was filled with 
 farmers and laborers from the neighborhood. Two 
 million francs ! So much money for the land threw 
 tliem into a sort of respectfid stupor. However, 
 M. Gallard, bt ncling- toward Sandrier, the solicitor who 
 had bid for him, whispered something in his ear. 
 The struggle began between Gibert and Sandrier. 
 The bids rose to two millions five hundred thousand 
 francs. M. Gallard hesitated for a moment — 
 deciiled — continued up to three millions. Then he 
 stopped and the whole went to Gibert. Everyone 
 rushed on him ; they surrounded, they crushed liim. 
 ' The name, the name of the purchaser.?' ' It is an 
 American,' replied Gibert, ' Mrs. Scott.' " 
 
 " Mrs Scott I " cried Paul de Lavardens. 
 
 " You know her.? " asked Mme. de Lavardens. 
 
 " Do I know her } Do I ? Not at all. But I was 
 at a ball at her house six weeks ago." 
 
 " At a ball at her house ! and you don't know her.? 
 What sort of a won^an is she, then .? " 
 
 " Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle ! " 
 
 " And is there a Mr. Scott } " 
 
 " Certainly ; a tall, fair man. He w^as at his ball ; 
 they pointed him out to me. He bowed at random, 
 right and left. He was not much amused, I will answer 
 for it. He looked at us as if he were thinking, ' Who are 
 all these people .? What are they doing at my house .? ' 
 We went to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival, her 
 sister; and certainly it was well worth the trouble."
 
 1 8 THE ABBE COiX STAN TIN. 
 
 "These Scotts," said Mme. de Lavardens. address- 
 ing M. de Lainac, " dt) you know who they are ? " 
 
 " Yes, luachune, I know. Mr. Scott is an American. 
 possessing a colossal fortune, who settled himself in 
 Paris last year. As soon as their name was men- 
 tioned 1 understocxl tiuit tlie victory had never been 
 doui)tful. Gallard was beaten beforehand. '1 he 
 Scotts began by buying a house in Paris for two 
 million francs ; it is near the Pare Mor.ceau." 
 
 "Yes, Rue Murillo," said Paul ; " 1 tell you I went 
 to a ball theie. It was " 
 
 " Let M. de Larnac s])eak. You can tell us pres- 
 ently about the ball at Mrs. Scott's." 
 
 " Well, now, imagine my Americans established 
 in Paris," continued M. Larnac, " and the showers 
 of gold begun. In the orthodox parvenu style they 
 amuse themselves with throwing handfuls of gold out 
 of window. Their great wealth is quite recent, they 
 say. Ten years ago Mrs, Scott begged in the streets 
 of New York." 
 
 " Begged ! " 
 
 " Tliey say so. Then she married this Scott, the 
 son of a New York banker, and all at once a success- 
 fid lawsuit put into their hands not millions, but tens 
 of millions. Somewhere in America they have a silver 
 mine, but a genuine mine, a real mine— a mine with 
 silver in it. Ah ! we shall see what luxury will reign 
 at Longueval ! We shall all look like paupers beside 
 them ! It is said that they have one hundred thousand 
 francs a day to spend." 
 
 " Such are our neighbors! " cried Mme. de Lavar-
 
 THE ABBE COySTANriN. 19 
 
 dens. " An adventuress ! and that is the least of it ; 
 a heretic, M. TAbbe, a Protestant ! " 
 
 A heretic I a Protestant ! Poor cure ; it was indeed 
 that of which he had immediately tliought on hearing 
 the words, " An American, Mrs. Scott." The new 
 chatelaine of Longueval would not go to mass. What 
 did it matter to him that she had been a beggar.? 
 What did it matter to him if she possessed tens and 
 tens of millions? She was not a Catholic. He would 
 never again baptize children born at Longueval ; and 
 the chapel in the castle, where he had so often said 
 mass, would be transformed into a Protestant oratory, 
 which would echo only the frigid utterances of a Cal- 
 vinistic or Lutheran pastor. 
 
 Everyone was distressed, disappointed, over- 
 whelmed, but in the midst of the general depression 
 Paul stood radiant. 
 
 "A charming heretical all events," said he, " or, 
 rather, two charming heretics. You should see the 
 two sisters on horseback in the Bois, with two little 
 grooms behind them, not higher than that." 
 
 " Come, Paul, tell us all you know. Describe the 
 ball of which you speak. How did you happen to go 
 to a ball at these Americans' } " 
 
 "By the greatest chnnce. My Aunt Valentine wns 
 at home that night. I looked in about ten o'clock. 
 Well, Aunt Valentine's Wednesdays are not exactly 
 scenes of wild enjoyment, give you my word ! I had 
 been there a!)out twenty minutes when I caught sight 
 of Roger de Puymartin escaping furtively. 1 caught 
 him in the hall, and said .
 
 20 THE ABBE CONSTANTIiV. 
 
 " 'We will go liome together.' 
 
 " 'Oh, I am not going iiome.' 
 
 " ' Wiiere are you going ? ' 
 
 '" To the hall.' 
 
 " ' Where ? ' 
 
 " ' At Mrs. Scott's. Will you come ? ' 
 
 " ' But I have not been invited." 
 
 " ' Neither have I.' 
 
 " ' What ! not invited.^ ' 
 
 " ' No. I am going with one of my friends.' 
 
 " ' And does your friend know them ? ' 
 
 "'Scarcely; but enough to introduce us. Come 
 along; you will see Mrs. Scott.' 
 
 " ' Oh, I have seen her, on horseback in the Bois.' 
 
 " ' But she does not wear a low gown on horse- 
 back ; you have not seen her shoulders, and they are 
 shoulders which ought to be seen. There is nothing 
 better in Paris at this moment.' 
 
 "And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. Scott's 
 red hair, and I saw Mrs. Scott's white slioulders, and 
 I hope to see them again when there are balls at 
 Longueval." 
 
 " Paul !" said Mine, de Lavardens, pointing to the 
 abbe. 
 
 " Oh, M. I'Abbe ! I beg a thousand pardons. Have 
 I said anything ? It seems to me " 
 
 The poor old priest had heard nothing ; his thoughts 
 were elsewhere. Already he saw, in the villnge streets, 
 the Protestant pastor fi'om the castle stopping before 
 each house, and slipping under the doors little Evan- 
 gelical pamphlets.
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 21 
 
 Continuing his account, Paul launched into an en- 
 thusiastic description of the mansion, wliich was a 
 marvel 
 
 " Of bad taste and ostentation," interrupted Mme. 
 de Lavardens. 
 
 " Not at all, motlier, not at all ; nothing startling, 
 nothing loud. It is admirably fuinished. everything 
 done with elegance and originality. An incompara- 
 ble coiiseivatory, flooded with electric light ! The 
 buffet was placed in the conservatory under a vine 
 laden with grapes, which one could gather by hand- 
 fuls, and in the month of April ! The accessories of 
 the cotillon cost, it aj)pears, more than forty thousand 
 francs. Ornaments, bonboiuiieres, delicious trifles, 
 and we were begged to accept them. For my part I 
 took nothing, but there were many who made no 
 scruple. That evening Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott's 
 history, but it was not at all like M. de Larnac's 
 story. Roger said that when quite little Mrs. Scott 
 had been stolen from her family by some acrobats, 
 and that her father had found her in a travelling 
 circus, riding on bare-backed horses and jumping 
 througii p iprr ho )ps." 
 
 "A circus-rider I " cried Mme. de Lavardens; " I 
 should have preferred the beggar." 
 
 " And while Roger was telling me tin's Family 
 Herald romance I saw approaching from the end of 
 a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and satin. It sur- 
 rounded this rider from a wandering circus, and I 
 admired those shoulders, those dazzling shoulders, on 
 which undulated a necklace of diamonds as bin as
 
 2 2 THE ABBE coys I AN TIN. 
 
 the stopper of a decanter. They say that the Minis- 
 ter of Finance had sold secieil\ lo Mrs. Scott half the 
 crown chanionds, and that tiiai was h.ow, the month 
 before, he had been able lo sliow a surplus of fifteen 
 hundred thousand francs in the budget. Add to all 
 this that the lady had a remaikably good air, and that 
 the little acrobat seemed jjerfectly at home in the 
 midst of all this splendoi." 
 
 Paul was going so far that his mother was obliged 
 to stop him. Before IVI. de Larnac, who was exces- 
 sively annoyed and disappointed, he showed too 
 plaiidy his delight at the prospect of having this 
 marvellous American for a near neighbor. 
 
 The Abbe Constantin was preparing to return to 
 Longueval, but Paul, seeing him ready to start, said : 
 
 " No, no, M. le Cure, you must not think of walk- 
 ing back to Longueval in the heat of the day. Allow 
 me to drive you home. I am really grieved to see you 
 so cast down, and will try my best to amuse you. Oh, 
 if you were ten times a saint, I would make you laugh 
 at my stories." 
 
 And half an hour after the two — the cure and 
 Paul — drove side by side in the direction of the village. 
 Paul talked, talked, talked. His mother was not 
 there to check or moderate his transports, and his joy 
 was overflowing. 
 
 " Now, look here, M. I'Abbe, you are wrong to 
 take things in this tragic manner. Slay, look at 
 my little mare, how well she trots ! What good ac- 
 tion she has ! You have not seen her before .? What 
 do you think I paid for her .? Four hundred frar.cs.
 
 THE ABBE CO.VSTANTLY. 23 
 
 I discovered her a fortnight ago between the sliafts of 
 a market gardener's cart. She is a treasure. I assure 
 you she can do sixteen miles an hour, and keep one's 
 hands full all the time. Just see how she pulls ! 
 Come, tot, tot, tot! You are not in a iiurry, M. 
 I'Abbe, I hope. Let us return through the wood ; 
 the fresh air will do you good. Oh, M. I'Abbe, if you 
 only knew what a regard I have for you, and respect, 
 too. I did not talk too much nonsense before you 
 
 just now, did I } I siiould be so sorry " 
 
 " No, my child, I heard nothing." 
 *' Well, we will take the longest way round." 
 After having turned to the left in the wood Paul 
 resumed his communications. 
 
 " I was saying, M. I'Abbe," he went on, "that you 
 are wrong to take things so seriously. Shall I tell 
 you what I think } This is a very fortunate affair." 
 " Very fortunate ? " 
 
 " Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see the Scotts 
 at Longueval than the Gallards. Did you not hear 
 M. de Larnac reproach these Americans with spend- 
 ing their money foolishly } It is never foolish to 
 spend money. The folly lies in keeping it. Your 
 poor, — for 1 am perfectly sure that it is your poor of 
 whom you are thinking, — your poor have made a good 
 thing of it to-day. That is my opinion. The re- 
 ligion } Well, they will not go to mass, and that will 
 be a grief to you ; that is only natural. But they will 
 send you money, plenty of money, and you "will take 
 it, and you will be quite right in doing so. You will 
 see that you will not say no. There will be gold rain-
 
 24 THE ABBE CONS'IANTIX. 
 
 ing over the \vliole pUice ; a movement, a l)ustle, car- 
 riages Avith four horses, postihons, powdered foot- 
 men, paper-chcises, hunting-parties, balls, fireworks, 
 and here in this very spot I shall perhaps find Paris 
 again before long. I shall see once more the two 
 rideis and the two little grooms of whom I was speak- 
 ing just now. If you only knew how well those two 
 sisters look on horseback ! One morning I went right 
 round the Bois de Boulogne behind them, I fancy I 
 can see them still. They had high hats and little 
 black veils drawn very tightly over their faces, and 
 long riding-habits made in the princess form, with a 
 single seam right down the back ; and a woman must 
 be awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like that, 
 because, you see, M. I'Abbe, with a habit of that cut 
 there is no deception possible." 
 
 For some inoments the cure iiad not been listening 
 to Paul's discourse. They had entered a long, per- 
 fectly straight avenue, and at the end of this avenue 
 the cure saw a horseman galloping along. 
 
 " Look," said the cure to Paul, " your eyes are bet- 
 ter than mine. Is not that Jean .^ " 
 
 " Yes, it is Jean. I know his gray mare." 
 
 Paul loved horses, and before looking at the rider 
 .,)oked at the horse. It was indeed Jean, who, when 
 lie saw in the distance the cure and Paul de Lavar- 
 dens, waved in the air his kepi, adorned with two 
 golden stiipes. Jean was lieutenant in the regiment 
 of artillery quartered at Souvignv. 
 
 Some moments after he stopped by the little car- 
 riage, and, addressing the cure, said :
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 25 
 
 " I have just been to your house, inon parraui. 
 PauHne told me that you had gone to Souvigny about 
 the sale. Well, who has bought the castle ? " 
 
 *' An American — Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And Blanche-Couronne ? " 
 
 "The same, Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And La Rozeraie ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Scott again." 
 
 " And the forest } Mrs. Scott again } " 
 
 "You have said it," replied Paul; "and I know 
 Mrs. Scott, and I can promise you that theie will be 
 something going on at Longueval. I will introduce 
 you. Only it is distressing to M. I'Abbe bec:'.use she 
 is an American — a Protestant." 
 
 " Ah ! that is true," said Jean sympalhizingly. 
 " However, we will talk about it to-morrow. 1 a^n 
 going to dine with you, godfather. I have warned 
 Pauline of my visit ; no time to stop to-day. I am 
 on duty, and must be in quarters at three o'clock." 
 
 " Stables .?" asked Paul. 
 
 "Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, godfather." 
 
 The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de Lavardens 
 gave his little horse her head. 
 
 " What a capital fellow Jean is ! " said Paul. 
 
 " Oh, yes, indeed." 
 
 " There is no one on earth better than Jean." 
 
 " No, no one." 
 
 The cure turned round to take another look at Jean, 
 who was almost lost in the depths of the forest. 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is you, M. le Cure." 
 
 " No. not nie ! not me ! "
 
 26 
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 "Well, M. I'Abbe, shall I tell you what I think ? I 
 think there is no one better than you two— you and 
 Jean. That is the truth, if I must tell you. Oh, what 
 a splendid place for a trot ! I shall let Niniche go ; I 
 call her Niniche." 
 
 With the point of his whip Paul caressed the flank 
 of Niniche, who started off at full speed, and Paul, 
 delighted, cried : 
 
 "Just look at her action, M. I'Abbe! Just look at 
 her action ! So regular — just like clockwork. Lean 
 over and look." 
 
 To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbe Constantin 
 did lean over and look at Niniche's action ; but the 
 old priest's thoughts were far away.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called Jean 
 Reynaud. He was the son of a country doctor who 
 slept in the churchyard of Longueval. 
 
 In 1846, when the Abbe Coiistantin took possession 
 of his little living, the grandfather of Jean was resid- 
 ing in a pleasant cottage on the road to Souvigny, 
 between the castles of Longueval and Lavardens. 
 
 Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was finishing 
 his medical studies in Paris. He possessed great in- 
 dustry and an elevation of sentiment and mind ex- 
 tremely rare. He passed his examinations with great 
 distinction, and had decided io tix his abode in Paris 
 and tempt fortune there ; and everything seemed to 
 promise him the most prosperous and brilh'ant career, 
 when in 1852 he received the news of his father's 
 27
 
 28 7 HE ABBE COXSTAXT/X. 
 
 deatli. He had been struck down by a fit of apo- 
 plexy. Marcel hurried to Longueval overwhelmed 
 ■with g-rief, for he adored his fatlier. He si)ent a 
 month with his mother, and then spoke of the neces- 
 sity of returning to Paris. 
 
 •' That is true," said his mother ; " you must go." 
 
 " What ! I must go ! IVe must go, you mean. Do 
 you think that I would leave you here alone .'' I shall 
 take you with me." 
 
 " To live in Paris ? to leave the place where I wns 
 born, wdiere your father lived, where he died } 1 could 
 never do it, my child, never ! Go alone ; your life, 
 your future, are there. I know you ; I know that you 
 will never forget me, that you will come and see nie 
 often, very often." 
 
 " No, mother," he answered ; " I will stay here." 
 And he stayed. 
 
 His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment \nn- 
 ished. He saw only one tiling— duty, the duty of not 
 abandoning his aged mother. In duty, simply ac- 
 cepted and simply discharged, he found happiness. 
 After all, it is only thus that one does find happiness. 
 
 Marcel bowed with courage and good grace to his 
 new existence. He continued his father's life, enter- 
 ing the groove at the very spot where he had left it. 
 He devoted himself without regret to the obscure 
 career of a country doctor. His father had left him a 
 little land and a little money ; he lived in the most 
 sim])le maniifr p()ssii)]e, and one-half of his life 
 belonged to ilie poor, fiom whom he would never 
 receive a penny. This was his only luxury.
 
 THE ABBE CONSTAXTIN. 29 
 
 He found in his way a young girl, cliarming, penni- 
 less, and alone in the world. He married her. This 
 was in 1855, and the following year brought to Dr. 
 Reynaud a great sorrow and a great joy — the death 
 of his old mother and the hiith of his son Jean. 
 
 At an interval of six weeks the Abbe Constantin 
 recited the prayers for the dead over the grave of the 
 grandmother, and was present in the position of god- 
 father at the baptism of the grandson. 
 
 In consequence of constantly meeting at the bedside 
 of the suffering and dying, the priest and the doctor 
 had been strongly attiticted to each other. They 
 instinctively felt that they belonged to the same 
 family, the same race — the race of the tender, the just, 
 and the benevolent. 
 
 Year followed year — calm, peaceful, fully occupied in 
 labor and duty, Jean was no longer an infant. His 
 fatht-r gave hitn his Hrst lessons in reading and writ- 
 ing, the priest his first lessons in Latin. Jean was 
 intelligent and iiuhistrious. He made so much prog- 
 ress that the two professors — particularly the cure — 
 found themselves at the end of a few years rather cast 
 into the shade by their pupil. It was at this moment 
 that the countess, after the death of her husband, 
 came to settle at Lavardens. She brought with her a 
 tutor for her son Paul, a very nice but verv lazv little 
 fellow. The two children were of the same age: they 
 had known each other from their earliest }eais, 
 
 Mme. de Lavardrns had a great regard for Dr. 
 Reynaud, and one day she made him the following 
 proposal :
 
 so THE ABBE CONSl'AN TIN. 
 
 " Send Jean to me every morning," said she. " I 
 will send him home in the evening-. Paul's tutor is a 
 very accomplished man ; he will make the children 
 work together. It will be rendering me a real service. 
 Jean will set Paul a good example." 
 
 Things were thus arranged, and the little bourgeois 
 set the little nobleman a most excellent example of 
 industry and application ; but this excellent example 
 was not followed. 
 
 The war broke out. On November 14, at seven 
 o'clock in the morning, the " mobiles " of Souvigny 
 assembled in the great square of the town ; their 
 chaplain was the Abbe Constantin, their surgeon- 
 major Dr. Reynaud. The same idea had come at the 
 same moment to both ; the priest was sixty-two, the 
 doctor fifty. 
 
 When they started, the battalion followed the road 
 which led through Longueval, and which passed before 
 the doctor's house. Mme. Reynaud and Jean were 
 waiting by the roadside. 
 
 The child threw himself into his father's arms. 
 
 " Take me too, papa ! take me too ! " 
 
 Mme. Reynaud wept. The doctor held them both 
 in a long embrace ; then he continued his way. 
 
 A hundred steps farther the road made a sharp 
 curve. The doctor turned, cast one long look at his 
 wife and child — the last ; he was never to see them 
 again. 
 
 On January 8, 1871, the mobiles of Souvigny at- 
 tacked the village of Villersexel, occupied by the 
 Prussians, who had barricaded themselves. The firing
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTEY. 31 
 
 began. A mobile who mnrched in the front rank 
 received a ball in the chest and fell. There was a 
 short moment of trouble and hesitation. 
 
 " Forward ! forward ! " shouted the ofTicers. 
 
 The men passed over the body of their comrade, 
 and under a hail of bullets entered the town. 
 
 Dr. Reynaud and the Abbe Constantin marched 
 with the troops. They stopped by the wounded man ; 
 the blood was rushing in floods from his mouth. 
 
 " There is nothing- to be done," said the doctor. 
 " He is dying ; he belongs to you." 
 
 The priest knelt down by the dying jnan, and the 
 doctor rose to go toward the village. He had not 
 taken ten steps when he stopped, beat the air with 
 both iiands, and fell all at once to the ground. The 
 priest ran to him ; he was dead — killed on the spot by 
 a bullet through the temples. That evening the village 
 was ours; and the next day they placed in the ceme- 
 tery of Villersexel the body of Dr. Reynaud. 
 
 Two months later the Abbe Constantin took back 
 to Longueval the coffin of his friend, and behind the 
 coffin when it was carried from the church walked an 
 orphan. Jean had also lost his mother. At the news 
 of her husband's death Mme. Reynaud had remained 
 for twenty-four hours petritied, crushed, without a 
 word or a tear; then fever had seized her, then 
 delirium, and after a fortnight death. 
 
 Jean was alone in the world ; he was fourteen years 
 old. Of that family, where for more than a century 
 all had been good and honest, there remained only a 
 child kneeling beside a grave : but he, too, promised
 
 32 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 to he what his fnther and his grandfatlier before him 
 had been — good and honest and true. 
 
 There are frimilies hke that in France, and many of 
 tliein — more than one ventures to say. Oui" poor 
 country is in many respects cruelly calumniated l)y 
 certain novelists, who draw exaggerated and distorted 
 pictures of it. It is true the history of good people is 
 often monotonous or painful ; this story is a proof 
 of it. 
 
 The grief of Jean was the grief of a man. He 
 remained long sad and long silent. The everiing of 
 his father's funeral the Abbe Constantin took him 
 liome to the vicarage. The day had been rainy and 
 cold. Jean was sitting by the fireside ; the piiest was 
 reading his breviary opposite him. Old Pauline came 
 and went, arranging her affairs. 
 
 An hour passed without a word, when Jean, raising 
 liis liead, said : 
 
 "Godfather, did my father leave me any money .^ " 
 
 This question was so extraordinary that the old 
 priest, stupefied, could scarcely believe that he heard 
 aright. 
 
 " You ask if your father " 
 
 " I asked if my father left me some money." 
 
 "Yes ; he must have left you some." 
 
 " A good deal, don't you think } I have often heard 
 people say that my father wms rich. Tell me about 
 liow much he has left me ! " 
 
 " But I don't know. You ask " 
 
 The jioor old man felt his heart rent in twain. Such 
 a question at such a moment! Yet lie thought he
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTEV. 33 
 
 knew the boy's lieart ; and in that heart there slioukl 
 not be room for such thoughts. 
 
 "Pray, dear godfather, tell me," continued Jean 
 gently. " I will explain to you afterward why 1 ask 
 that." 
 
 "Well, they say your father had two or three 
 hundred thousand francs." 
 
 " And is that much ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is a great deal," 
 
 " And it is all mine ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is all yours." 
 
 " Oh, I am glad ! because, you know, the day that 
 my father was killed in the war, the Prussians killed 
 at the same time the son of a poor woman in Longue- 
 val— old Clemence, you know ; and they killed, 
 too, the brother of Rosalie, with whom I used to play 
 when I was quite little. Well, since I am rich and 
 they are poor, I will divide with Clemence and Rosalie 
 the money my father has left me," 
 
 On hearing these words the cure rose, took Jean by 
 both hands, and drew him into his arms. The white 
 head rested on the fair one. Two large tears escaped 
 from the eyes of the old priest, rolled slowly down his 
 cheeks, and were lost in the furrows of his face. 
 
 However, the cure was obliged to explain to Jean 
 that, though he was his father's heir, he had not the 
 right of disposing of his heritage as he would. There 
 would be a family council, and a guardian would be 
 appointed. 
 
 " You, no doubt, godfather ? " 
 
 " No, not I, my child ; a priest has not the right of
 
 34 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 exercising the functions of a guardian. They will, I 
 think, choose M. Lenient, the lawyer in Souvigny, who 
 was one of your father's i)est friends. You can speak 
 to him and tell him what you wish." 
 
 M. Lenient was eventually appointed guardian, and 
 Jean urged his wishes so eagerly and touchingly that 
 the lawyer consented to deduct from the income a 
 sum of two thousand four hundred francs, which, 
 every year till Jean came of age, was divided between 
 old Clemence and little Rosalie. 
 
 Under these circumstances Mme. de Lavardens 
 was perfect. She w-ent to the abbe and said : 
 
 *' Give Jean to me ; give him to me entirely till he 
 has finished his studies. I will bring him back to you 
 every year during the holidays. It is not I who am 
 rendering you a service ; it is a service which I ask of 
 you. I cannot imagine any greater good fortune for 
 my son than to have Jean for a companion. I must 
 resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a time. Paul 
 is bent upon being a soldier and going up to Saint- 
 Cyr. It is only in Paris that I can obtain the neces- 
 sary masters. I will take the two children there. 
 They will study together under my own eyes like 
 brothers, and I will make no difference between 
 them ; of that you may be sure." 
 
 It was difficult to refuse such an offer. The old 
 cure would have dearly liked to keep Jean with him, 
 and his heart was torn at the thought of this separa- 
 tion ; but what was for the child's real interest ? 
 That was the only question to be considered ; the 
 rest was nothing. They summoned Jean.
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTiy. 35 
 
 "My child," said Mine, de Lavardens to him, 
 "will you come and live with Paul and me for some 
 years ? I will take you both to Paris." 
 
 " You are very kind, madame, but 1 should have 
 liked so much to stay here." 
 
 He looked at tiie cure, who turned away his eyes. 
 
 " Why must we go ? " he continued. "Why must 
 you take Paul and me away ? " 
 
 " Because it is only in Paris that you can hav^e all 
 the advantages necessary to complete your studies. 
 Paul will prepare for his examination at Saint-Cyr. 
 You know he wants to be a soldier," 
 
 "Socio I, madame. I wish to be one, too." 
 
 "You a soldier !" exclaimed the cure; "but you 
 know that was not at all your father's idea. In my 
 presence he has often spoken of your future— your 
 career. You were to be a doctor, and, like him, doc- 
 tor at Longueval, and, like him, devote yourself to the 
 sick and poor. Jean, my child, do you remember.? " 
 
 " I remember; I remember." 
 
 "Well, then, Jean, you must do as your father 
 wished. It is your duty, Jean ; it is your duty. You 
 must go to Paris. You would like to stay here ; I 
 understand that well, and I should like it, too, but it 
 cannot be. You must go to Paris, and w'ork — work 
 hard. Not that I am anxious about that ; you are 
 your father's true son. You will be an honest and a 
 laborious man. One cannot w^ell be the one without 
 the other. And some day, in your father's house, in 
 the place where he has done so much good, the poor 
 people of the country round will find another Dr.
 
 36 THE ABBE CO\^STANTIN. 
 
 Reynaud, to wliom lliey may look for lielp. And I, — 
 if by chance I am still in iliis world, — when that day 
 comes, I shall be so happy ! But I am wron^ to speak 
 of myself ; I ought not ; I do not count. It is of your 
 father that you must think. I repeat it, Jean, it was 
 his dearest wish. You cannot have forgotten it." 
 
 " No, I have not forgotten ; but if my father sees 
 me and hears me, I am certain that he understands 
 and forgives me, for it is on his account." 
 
 " On his account } " 
 
 " Yes. When I heard that he was dead, and when 
 I heard how he died, all at once, witiiout any need of 
 reflection, I said to myself that I would be a soldier, 
 and I will be a soldier ! Godfather, and you, madame, 
 I beg you not to prevent me." 
 
 The child burst into tears — a perfect flood of pas- 
 sionate tears. The comtesse and the abbe soothed 
 liim with gentle words. 
 
 " Yes, yes, it is settled," they said ; " anything that 
 you wish, all that you wish." 
 
 Both had the same thought : leave it to time ; Jean 
 is only a child ; he will change his mind. 
 
 In this both weie mistaken ; Jean did not change 
 his mind. In the month of September, 1876, Paul de 
 Lavardens was rejected at Saint-Cyr, and Jean Rey- 
 naud passed eleventh at the Ecole Polytechnique. 
 The day when the list of the candidates who had 
 passed was published he wrote to the Abbe Constan- 
 tin : " I have passed, and passed too well, for I want to 
 go into the army, and not the Civil Service. How- 
 ever, if I keep my place in the school, that will be the
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIiV. 37 
 
 business of one of iny comrades ; he will Iiave my 
 chance." 
 
 It happened so in the end. Jean Reynaud did bet- 
 ter than keep his jjhice. The pass-hst showed iiis 
 name seventh ; but instead of entering- L'Ecole cies 
 Fonts et Chaussees, he entered the mihtary college at 
 Fontainebleau in 1878. 
 
 He was then just twenty-one; he was of age, mas- 
 ter of his fortune, and the first act of the new a(hnin- 
 istraiion was a great, a very great piece of extrava- 
 gance. He bought for old Ciemence and Utile Rosalie 
 two shaies in government stock, yielding tifleen hun- 
 dred francs each. That cost him seventy thousand 
 francs, almost the sum that Paul de Lavardens, in 
 his first year of liberty in Paris, spent for Mile. Lise 
 BiTiyere of the Pcdais-Royal Theatre. 
 
 Two years later Jean passed tirst at the examina- 
 tion, and left Fontainebleau with the right of choosing 
 among the vacant places. There was one in the 
 regiment quartered at Souvigny, and Souvigny was 
 three miles from Longueval. Jean asked for this, and 
 obtained it. 
 
 Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth regi- 
 ment of artillery, came in the month of October, 1880, 
 to take possession of the house that had been his 
 father's ; thus he found himself once more in the 
 place where his childhood had passed, and where 
 everyone had kept green the memory of the life and 
 death of his father; thus the Abbe Constantin was 
 not denied the happiness of once again having near 
 him the son of his old friend, and, if the truth must
 
 38 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 be told, he no longer wished that Jean had become a 
 doctor. 
 
 When the old cure left his church after saying mass, 
 when he saw coming along the road a great cloud of 
 dust, when he felt the earth tremble under the rum- 
 bling cannon, he would stop, and like a child amuse 
 Inmself with seeing the regiment pass ; but to him the 
 regiment was — Jean. It was this robust and manly 
 cavalier, in whose face, as in an open book, one read 
 uprightness, courage, and goodness. 
 
 The moment Jean perceived the cure he would put 
 his horse to a galloj), and go to have a little chat with 
 his godfather. The horse would turn his head 
 toward the cure, for he knew very well there was 
 always a piece of sugar for him in the pocket of that 
 old black soictaiie, rusty and worn — the morning 
 soutane. The Abbe Constantin had a beautiful new 
 one, of which he took great care, to wear in society — 
 when he went into society. 
 
 The trumpets of the regiment sounded as they 
 passed through the village, and all eyes sought Jean — 
 " little Jean," for to the old people of Longueval he 
 was still little Jean. Certain wrinkled, broken-down, 
 old peasants had never been able to break themselves 
 of the habit of saluting iiim when he passed with, 
 " Bonjour, gamin ; 9a va bien ? " 
 
 He was six feet high, this " gamin " ; and Jean 
 never crossed the village without perceiving at one 
 window the old furrowed parchment skin of Cle- 
 mence, and at another the smiling countenance of 
 Rosalie. The latter had married during the previous
 
 THE ABBE C0NS1\4NTIX. 41 
 
 year ; Jean had given her away, and joyously on 
 the wedding-night had he danced with tlie girls of 
 Longueval. 
 
 Such was the lieutenant of artillery who on Satur 
 day, May 28, 1881, at half-|)ast four in the afternoon, 
 spiang from his horse before the door of the vic.irage 
 of Longueval. He entered the gate. The horse 
 obediently followed and went by himself into a little 
 shed in the yard. Pauline was at the kitchen 
 window. Jean approached and kissed her lieartily on 
 both cheeks. 
 
 " Good-evening, Pauline. Is all well } " 
 
 " Very well. I am busy preparing your dinner. 
 Would you like to know what you are going to have y 
 Potato-soup, a leg of mutton, and a custard." 
 
 "That is excellent; I shall enjoy everything, for 
 I am (lying of hunger." 
 
 " And a salad ; I had forgotten it. You can help 
 me cut it directly. Dinner will be at half-past six 
 exactly, for at half-past seven M. le Cure has his 
 service for the month of Mary." 
 
 " Where is my godfather } " 
 
 *' You will find him in the garden. He is very sad 
 on account of this sale of yesterday." 
 
 " Yes, I know, I know." 
 
 " It will cheer him a little to see you ; he is always 
 so happy when you are here. Take care ; Loulou 
 is going to eat the climbing roses. How hot he 
 is!" 
 
 " I came the long way by the wood, and rode very 
 fast."
 
 42 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 Jean captured Loulou, who was directing his steps 
 toward the chnibing roses. He unsaddled him, fas- 
 tened him in the little shed, rubbed him down with 
 a great handful of straw, after which Jean entered 
 the "house, relieved himself of his sword and kepi, 
 replaced the latter by an old straw hat, value six- 
 pence, and then went to look for his godfather in the 
 garden. 
 
 The poor al)be was indeed sad ; he hnd scarcely 
 closed an eye all night, he who generally slept so 
 easily, so quietly, the sound sleep of a child. His soul 
 was wrung. Longueval in the hands of a foreigner, 
 of a heretic, of an adventuress ! 
 
 Jean repeated what Paul had said the evening 
 before, 
 
 " You will have money, plenty of money, for your 
 poor." 
 
 " Money ! money ! Yes, my poor will not lose, — 
 perhaps they will e\en gain by it, — but I must go and 
 ask for this money ; and in the salon, instead of my 
 old and dear friend, I shall find this red-haired Amer- 
 ican. It seems that she has red hair! .1 will certainly 
 go, for the sake of my poor I will go. And she w ill 
 give me the money, but she will give me nothing but 
 money. The marquise gave me something else— her 
 life and her heart. Every week we went together to 
 visit the sick and the poor. She knew all the suffer- 
 ings and the miseries of the country round, and when 
 the gout nailed me to my easy-chair, she made the 
 rounds alone, and as well, or better, than I," 
 
 Pauline inteirupiecl this conveisation. She can ied
 
 TflE ABBE CONSTAXTLV. 45 
 
 an immense eartlienware salad-tlish, on which 
 bloomed, violent and startling-, enormous red 
 fioweis. 
 
 " Here I am," said Pauline ; " 1 am going to cut the 
 salad. Jean, would you like lettuce or endive ? " 
 
 " Endive," said Jean gayly. " It is a long time 
 since I have had any endive." 
 
 " Well, you shall have some to-night. Stay, take 
 the dish." 
 
 Pauline began to cut the endive, and Jean bent 
 down to receive the leaves in the great salad-dish. 
 The cure looked on. 
 
 At this moment a sound of little bells wns heard. 
 A carriage was approaching — one heard the jangling 
 and creaking of its wheels. The cure's little garden 
 was only separated from the road by a low hedge, 
 in the middle of which was a little trellised gate. 
 
 All three looked out, and saw^ driving down the 
 road a hired carriage of most primitive construction, 
 drawn by two great white horses, and driven by an 
 old coachman in a blouse. Beside this old coachman 
 was seated a tall footman in livery, of the most severe 
 and correct demeanor. In the carriage were two 
 young women, dressed both alike in very elegant but 
 very simple travelling-costumes. 
 
 When the carriage was opposite the gate, the 
 coachman stopped his horses, and, addressing the 
 abbe, " M. le Cure," said he, " these ladies wish to 
 speak to you." 
 
 Then, turning toward the ladies : " This is M. le 
 Cure de Lontiueval."
 
 46 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 The Abbe Constaniin approached and opened the 
 little gate. The travellers alighted. Their looks 
 rested, not without astonishment, on tlie young officer, 
 who stood there, a little embarrassed, with his straw 
 iiat in one iiand and his salid-dish, all overflowing 
 with endive, in the other. 
 
 The visitors entered the garden, and the elder, — she 
 seemed about twenty-tive, — addressing the Abbe Con- 
 stantin, said to him with a little foreign accent, very 
 original and very j^eculiar : 
 
 " I am obliged to introduce myself — Mis. Scott ; 
 I am Mrs. Scott ! It was I who bought the castle 
 and farms and all the rest here at the sale yesterday. 
 I hope that I do not disturb you, and that you can 
 spare me five minutes." Then, pointing to her 
 travelling companion : " Miss Bettina Percival, my 
 sister; you guessed it, I am sure. We are very much 
 alike, are we not ? Ah, Bettina ! we have left our 
 bags in the carriage, and we shall want them 
 directly." 
 
 " I will get them." 
 
 And as Miss Percival prepared to go for the two 
 little bags Jean said to her : 
 
 " Pray allow me." 
 
 " 1 am really very sorry to give you so much trou- 
 ble. The servant will give them to you ; they are on 
 the front seat." 
 
 She had the same accent as her sister, the same 
 large eyes, — black, laughing, and gay, — and the same 
 hair, not red, but fair, with golden shades, where 
 daintily danced the light of the sun. She bowed to
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 47 
 
 Jean with a pretty little smile, and he, haviiig returned 
 to Pauline the salad-dish full of endive, went to look 
 for the two little bags. Meanwhile, much agitated, 
 sorely disturbed, the Abbe Constantin introduced into 
 his vicarage the new Chatelaine de Longueval.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 This vicarage of Longueval was far from being a 
 palace. The same apartment on the ground floor 
 seived for (Hning and drawinfy I'ooin, communicating 
 (hrectly with the kitchen by a door, wliich stood 
 always wide open. This room was furnished in the 
 most scanty manner : two old armchairs, six straw 
 chairs, a sideboard, a round table. Pauline had 
 already laid the cloth for the dinner of the abbe and 
 Jean. 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival went and came, exam- 
 ining the domestic arrangements of the cure with a 
 sort of childish wonder. 
 
 " But the garden, the house, everything is charm- 
 ing," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 48
 
 THE ABBE CO^fSTANTIN. 49 
 
 They both boldly penetrated into the kitchen ; the 
 Abbe Constantin followed them, scared, bewildered, 
 stupefied at the suddenness and resolution of this 
 American invasion. 
 
 Old Pauline, with an anxious and gloomy air, exam- 
 ined the two foreigners. 
 
 " There they are, then," she said to herself, " these 
 Protestants, these accursed heretics ! " 
 
 " 1 must compliment you," said Bettina ; " it is so 
 l)eautifully kept. Look, Suzie, is not the vicarage 
 altogether exactly what you wished }'' 
 
 •'And so is the cure," rejoined Mrs. Scott. " Yes, 
 M. le Cure, if you will permit me to say so, you do not 
 know how happy it makes me to find you just what 
 you are. In the railway carriage what did I say to 
 you, Bettina .? And again just now, when we were 
 driving here } " 
 
 " My sister said to me, M. le Cure, that what she 
 desired above everything was a priest not young or 
 melancholy or severe, but one with white hair and a 
 kind and gentle manner. And that is exactly what 
 you are, M. le Cure, exactly. No, we could not have 
 been more fortunate. Excuse me for speaking to you 
 in this manner. The Parisians know how to make 
 pretty phrases, but I do not ; and in sj)eaking French 
 1 should often be quite at a loss if I did not say every- 
 thing in a simple and childish way, as it comes into 
 my head. In a word, I am satisfied, quite satisfied, 
 and I hope that you, too, M. le Cure, will be as satis- 
 fied with your new parishioners." 
 
 " My parishioners ! " exclaimed the cure, all at once
 
 50 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 recovering speech, movement, life — everything wliich 
 for some moments had completely abandoned him. 
 "My parishioners! Pardon me, madame, mademoi- 
 selle, I am so agitated. You will be — you are Catho- 
 lics ? " 
 
 " Certainly we are Catholics." 
 
 "Catholics! Catholics!" repeated the cure. 
 
 " Catiiolics ! Catholics ! " echoed old Pauline. 
 
 Mrs. Scott looked from the cure to Pauline, from 
 Pauline to the cui'e, much surprised that a single 
 word should i)roduce such an effect, and, to complete 
 the tableau, Jean appeared carrying the two little 
 travelling-bags. 
 
 The cure and Pauline saluted him with the same 
 w^ords : 
 
 " Catholics ! Catholics ! " 
 
 " Ah ! 1 ])egin to understand," said Mrs. Scott, 
 laughing. " It is our name, our country ; you nmst 
 have thought that we were Protestants. Not at all. 
 Our mother was a Canadian, French and Catholic by 
 descent; that is why my sister and I both speak 
 French, with an accent, it is true, and with certain 
 American idioms, but yet in such a manner as to be 
 able to express nearly all we want to say. My hus- 
 band is a Protestant ; but he allows me complete 
 liberty, and my two children are Catholics. That is 
 why, M. I'Abbe, we wished to come and see you the 
 very first day." 
 
 "That is one reason," continued Bettina, "but 
 there is also another; but for that reason we shall 
 want our little bags."
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTIN. 51 
 
 " Here they are," said Jean, 
 
 While the two httle bags passed from the hands of 
 the officer to those of Mrs. Scott and Bettina, the 
 cure introduced Jean to the two Americans; but his 
 agitation was so great that the introduction was not 
 made strictly according to rule. The cure only forgot 
 one thing, it is true, but that was a thing tolerably 
 essential in an introduction — the family name of 
 Jean. 
 
 " It is Jean," said he, " my godson, lieutenant of 
 artillery, now quartered at Souvigny. He is one of 
 the family." 
 
 Jean made two deep bows, the Americans two little 
 ones, after which they foraged in their bags, from 
 which each drew a 7'oiileau of one thousand francs, 
 daintly enclosed in green sheaths of serpent-skin, 
 clasped with gold. 
 
 " I have brought you this for your poor," said Mrs. 
 Scott. 
 
 "And I have brought this," said Bettina. 
 
 " And besides that, M. le Cure, I am going to give 
 you tive hundred francs a month," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " And I will do like my sister." 
 
 Delicately they slipped their offei'ings into the right 
 and left hands of the cure, who, looking at each hand 
 alternately, said : 
 
 "What are these little things.^ They are very 
 heavy; there must be money in them. Yes, but how 
 much, how much ? " 
 
 The Abbe Constantin was seventy-two, and much 
 money had passed through his hands ; but this money
 
 5 2 THE ABBE C OA^S TA A' TIN. 
 
 had come to him in small sums, and the idea of such 
 an offering as this had never entered his head. Two 
 thousand francs I Never had he had two thousand 
 francs in his possession — no, not even one thousand. 
 He stammered : 
 
 "I am very grateful to you, madame; you are 
 very good, mademoiselle " 
 
 But, after all, he could not thank them enough, and 
 Jean thought it necessary to come to his assistance. 
 
 " These ladies have just given you two thousand 
 francs ! " 
 
 And then, full of warmest gratitude, the cure 
 cried : 
 
 " Two thousands francs ! Two thousand francs for 
 my poor ! " 
 
 Pauline suddenly reap])eared, 
 
 " Here, Pauline." said the cure, " put away this 
 money, and take care " 
 
 Old Pauline filled many positions in this simple 
 household—cook, maid-of-all-woik, treasurer, dispen- 
 ser. Her hands received with a respectful tremble 
 these two little 7-ouleaiix, which represented so much 
 misery alleviated, so much suffering relie\ed. 
 
 " A thousand francs a month ! But there will be no 
 poor left in the country." 
 
 "That is just what I wish. I am rich, ver}' rich, 
 and so is my sister ; she is even richer than I am, 
 because a young girl has not so many expenses, while 
 
 I Ah, well ! I spend all that I can— all that I can. 
 
 When one has a great deal of money, too much, more 
 than one feels to be just, tell me, M. le Cure, is there
 
 THE ABBE COIVSTANT/iV. 53 
 
 any other way of obtaining- pardon than to keep 
 one's hands open, and give, give, give, all one can, 
 and as usefully as one can ? Besides, you can give 
 ine something in return," and turning to Pauline: 
 " Will you be so kind as to give me a glass of water ? 
 No, nothing else, a glass of cold water; I am dying of 
 thirst." 
 
 " And I," said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline ran 
 to fetch the water, " 1 am dying of something else — 
 of hunger, to tell the truth. M. le Cure, 1 know that 
 I am going to be dreadfully intrusive. I see your 
 cloth is laid ; could you not invite us to dinner.^" 
 
 *' Bettina ! " said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " Let me alone, Suzie, let me alone. Won't you, 
 M. le Cure ? I am sure you will." 
 
 I>ut he could tind no reply. The old cure hardly 
 knew where he was. They had taken his vicarage by 
 storm; they were Catholics; they had promised him 
 a thousand francs a month, and now they wanted to 
 dine with him. Ah, that was the last stroke ! Terror 
 Sf^ized him at the thought of having to do the honors 
 of his leg of mutton and custard to these two absurdly 
 rich Americans. He murnmred : 
 
 " Dine ! you would like to dine here.-^ " 
 Jean thought he must interpose again. " It would 
 be a great pleasure to my godfather," said he, " if you 
 would kindly stay. But I know what disturbs him. 
 We were going to dine together, — just the two of 
 us, — and you must not expect a feast. You will be 
 very indulgent ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, very indulgent," replied Bettina; then.
 
 54 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 addressing her sister : " Come, Suzie, you must not be 
 cross, because I have been a Httle, — you know it is my 
 
 way to be a httle Let us stay, will you ? It will 
 
 do us good to pass a quiet hour here after such a day 
 as we have had — on the railway, in the carriage, in 
 the heat, in the dust ; we had such a horrid luncheon 
 in such a horrid hotel. We were to have returned to 
 the same hotel at seven o'clock to dine, and then take 
 the train back to Paris; but dinner here will be really 
 much nicer. You won't say no .^ Ah, how good you 
 are, Suzie ! " 
 
 She embraced her sister fondly ; then, turning toward 
 the cure, she said : 
 
 " If you only knew, M. le Cure, how good she is !" 
 
 " Bettina ! Bettina ! " 
 
 "Come," said Jean, "quick, Pauline, two more 
 plates ; I will helj) you." 
 
 "And so will I," said Bettina; "I will help, too. 
 Oh, do let me! it will be so amusing. M, le Cure, 
 you will let me do a little as if I were at home } " 
 
 In a moment she had taken off her mantle, and Jean 
 could admire in all its exquisite perfection a hgure 
 marvellous for suppleness and grace. Miss Percival 
 then removed her hat, but with a little too much haste, 
 for this was the signal for a chaiming catastrophe. A 
 whole avalanche descended in torrents, in long cas- 
 cades, ever Bettina's shoulders. She was standing 
 before a window flooded by the rays of the sun ; and 
 this golden light, falling full on this golden hair, formed 
 a delicious frame for the sparkling beauly of the }oung 
 girl. Confused and blushing, Bettina was obliged to
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIX. 57 
 
 call her sister to her aid, and Mrs. Scott had much 
 trouble in introducing order into tiiis disordei'. 
 
 When this disaster was at length repaiied, notiiing 
 could prevent Bettina from rushing on plates, knives, 
 and forks. 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" said she to Jean, " I know very well 
 how to lay the cloth. Ask my sister. Tell him, Suzie, 
 when I was a little girl in New York, I used to lay the 
 cloth very well, didn't I ? " 
 
 " Very well, indeed," said Mrs. Scott. 
 
 And then, while begging the cure to excuse Beltina's 
 want of thought, she, too, took off her hat and mantle, 
 so that Jean had again the very agreeable spectacle of a 
 charming figure and beautiful hair; l)ut, to Jean's great 
 regret, the catastrophe iiad not a second representation. 
 
 \\\ a few minutes Mrs. Scott, Miss Peicival, the 
 cure, and Jean were seated round the little vicarage 
 table; then, thanks partly to the impromptu and 
 original nature of the entertainment, partly to the 
 good-humor and perhaps slightly audacious gayety 
 of Bettina, the conversation took a turn of the frankest 
 and most cordial familiarity. 
 
 " Now, M. le Cure," said Bettina, "you shall see if 
 I did not speak the truth when I said I was dying of 
 hunger. I never was so glad to sit down to dinner. 
 ^This is such a delightfid finish to our day. Both my 
 sister and I are perfectly ha]-)py now we have this 
 castle and these farms and the forest." 
 
 "And then," said Mrs. Scott, "to have all that in 
 such an extraordinaiy and unexpected manner! We 
 were so taken bv surprise."
 
 58 THE ABBE C0NS7AXTIN. 
 
 " You may indeed say so, Suzie. You must know, 
 M. rAl)be, that yesterday was my sister's birthday. 
 But first, pardon me, M. — Jean, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percival, M. Jean." 
 
 " Well, M. Jean, a little more of that excellent soup, 
 if you please." 
 
 The abbe was beginning to lecover a little, but he 
 was still too agitated to perform the duties of a host. 
 It was Jean who had undertaken the management iA 
 his godfather's little dinner. He filled the plate of the 
 charming American, who fixed upon him the glance 
 of two large eyes in which sparkled frankness, daring, 
 ^nd gayety. The eyes of Jean, meanwhile, repaid 
 Miss Percival in the same coin. It was scarcely 
 three-quarters of an hour since the young American 
 and the young ofificer had made acquaintance in the 
 cure's garden, yet both felt already perfectly at ease 
 with each other, full of confidence, almost like old 
 friends. 
 
 " I told you, M. rAbi)e," continued Bettina, " that 
 yesterday was my sister's biithday. A week ago my 
 brother-in-law was obliged to return to America ; but 
 at starting he said to my sister : ' I shall not be wiih 
 you on your birthday, but you will hear from me.' 
 So yesterday presents and bouquets airived from all 
 quarters, but from my l)rother-in-law, up to five o'clock, 
 nothing — nothing. We weie just starting foi' a ride 
 in the Bois, and a propos of riding " — she sto]i|)ed, 
 and, looking curiously at Jean's great dusty boots — 
 " M. Jean, you have s])urs on." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percival."
 
 THE ABBE CON S TAN 77 X. 59 
 
 " Tnen you are in the cavalry ? " 
 
 " I am in the artihery, ami that, you know, is 
 cavalry." 
 
 " Ami your regiment is quartered " 
 
 " Quite near here." 
 
 " Then you will be able to ride with us ? " 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure." 
 
 " That is settled. Let me see ; where was I ? " 
 
 " Vou do not know at all wliere you are, Bettina, 
 and you are telling these gentlemen things w hich can- 
 not interest them." 
 
 " 0!i, I beg your pardon ! " said the cure. " The 
 sale of this estate is the only subject of conxersatioii 
 in the neighborhood just now. and Miss Percival's 
 acciumt inteiests me veiy much." 
 
 " Vou see, Suzie, my account inteiests M. le Cuie 
 verv much ; then I shall continue. We went for our 
 ride, we returned at seven o'clock — nothi'ig. We 
 dined ; and just when we were leaving the table a 
 telegram from America arrived. It contained only a 
 few lines : 
 
 " ' I have ordered the purchase to-day, for you and 
 in your name, of the castle and lands of Longueval, 
 near Souvigny, on the Northern Railway line.' 
 
 " Then we both burst into a wild tit of laughter at 
 the thought." 
 
 "No, no Bettiiia ; you calumniate us both. Our 
 tirst thought was one of very sincere gratitude, for 
 both my sister and I are very fond of the country. My 
 husband knows that we had longed to have an estate
 
 6o THE ABBE COXSTAXTIN. 
 
 in France. For six months he had been looking out, 
 and found nothing. At last he discovered this one, 
 and, without telhng us.oidered it to be bought for my 
 l)irthday. It was a deUcate attention." 
 
 " Yes, Suzie, you are right ; but after the httle fit of 
 gratitude we had a great one of gayety." 
 
 " Yes, I confess it. When we reahzed that we had 
 suddenly become possessed of a castle, without know- 
 ing in the least where it was, what it was like, or how 
 much it had cost, it seemed so like a fairy-tale. Well, 
 for five good minutes we laughed with all our hearts, 
 then we seized the map of France, and succeeded in 
 discovering Souvigny. When we had finished with 
 the map, it was the turn of the railway guide, and this 
 morning, by the ten o'clock express, we arrived at 
 Souvigny. 
 
 " We have passed the whole day in visiting the 
 castle, the farms, the woods, the stables. We are 
 delighted with what we have seen. Only, M. le Cure, 
 there is one thing about which 1 feel curious. I know 
 that the place was sold yesterday ; but I have not 
 dared to ask either agent or farmer who accompanied 
 me in my walk, — for my ignorance would have seemed 
 too absurd, — I have not dared to ask how much it 
 cost. In the telegram my husband does not mention 
 tiie sum. Since I am so delighted with the place, the 
 price is only a detail ; but still I should like to know 
 it. Tell nie, M. le Cuie, do you know what it cost? " 
 
 " An enormous price," replied the cure, " for many 
 liopes and many ambitions were excited about 
 Lonijueval."
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 6 1 
 
 " An enoniious price ! You frijjhten me I How 
 much exactly ? " 
 
 " Three niilHons ! " 
 
 " Is that all ? Is that all ? " cried Mrs. Scott. " Tiie 
 castle, the farms, the forest, all for three millions." 
 
 " But that is nothing," said Bettina. " That deli- 
 cious little stream which wanders through the park is 
 alone worth three millions." 
 
 " And you said just now, M. le Cure, that there 
 were several persons wlio disputed the purchase with 
 us?" 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Scott." 
 
 " And after th sale was my name mentioned among 
 these persons } " 
 
 " Certainly it was." 
 
 " And when my name was mentioned was there no 
 one there who spoke of me ? Yes, yes, your silence is 
 a sufficient answer ; they did sjDeak of me. Well 
 M. le Cure, I am now serious, very serious. I beg you 
 as a favor to tell me what was said." 
 
 " But," replied the poor cure, who felt himself upon 
 burning coals, " they spoke of your large fortune." 
 
 " Yes, of course, they would be obliged to speak of 
 that ; and no doubt they said that I was very rich, but 
 had not been rich long — that I wa.s^ pa7-veiiiit\ Very 
 well, but that is not all ; they must have said some- 
 thing else." 
 
 "No. indeed ; I have heard nothing else." 
 
 " Oh, M, le Cure ! that is what you may call a white 
 lie, and it is making you very unhappy, because natu- 
 rally you are the soul of truth ; but if I torment you
 
 62 THE ABBE COXS /AXTIX. 
 
 tluis it is because I have the greatest interest in know- 
 ing what was said." 
 
 " Yon are right," interrupted Jean ; " you are riglit. 
 They said you were one of the most elegant, liie must 
 
 brilHant, and the " 
 
 " And one of tlie prettiest women in Paris. Witli a 
 little indulgence they nnght say that; but that is not 
 all yet —there is something else." 
 
 " Oh ! I assure you " 
 
 *' Yes, there is something else ; and I should like to 
 liear it this very moment, and I should like the informa- 
 tion to be very frank and very exact. It seems to me 
 that I am in a lucky vein to-day ; and I feel as if you 
 Avere both a little inclined to be my friends, and that 
 you will be so entirely some day. Well, tell me, if I 
 iim right in supposing that should false and absurd 
 stones be told about me, you will help me to contra- 
 -dict them ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Jean ; " you are right in believing 
 that." 
 
 " WfU. then, it is to you that I address myself. 
 You are a soldier, and courage is part of your pro- 
 fession. Promise me to be brave. Will you promise 
 me ? " 
 
 " What do you understand by being brave } " 
 
 " Promise, promise^without explanations, without 
 conditions." 
 
 " Well, I promise." 
 
 " You will then reply frankly, ' yes ' or ' no,' to 
 questions ? " 
 
 " 1 will."
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAX IIX. ^t, 
 
 "Did they say that I had begged in the streets of 
 New York ? " 
 
 " Yes, they said so," 
 
 " Did they say I had been a rider in a travelhng' 
 circus ? " 
 
 " Yes, they said that, too." 
 
 "Very well; that is plain speaking. Now. remark 
 first that in all this there is nothing that one might not 
 acknowledge if it were true ; but it is not true, and 
 have I not tiie right of denying it ? My history— I will 
 tell it you in a few words. I am going to pass a part 
 of my life in this i)lace, and I desire that all should 
 know who I am and whence I come. To begin, then. 
 Poor .^ Yes, I have been, and very poor. Eight years 
 ago my father died, and was soon' followed by my 
 mother. I was then eighteen, and Bettina nine. \Ve 
 were alone in the world, encumbered with heavy debts 
 and a great lawsuit. M\- father's last words had been : 
 • Suzie, never, never compromise. Millions, my chil- 
 dren, you will have millions.' He end)raced us both ; 
 soon delirium seized him, and he died, repeating, 
 ' Millions I millions I ' The next moi-ning a lawyer 
 appeared, who offered to pay all our debts, and to 
 give us besides ten thousand dollars, if we would give 
 up all our claims. 1 refused. It was then that for 
 several months we were very poor." 
 
 "And it was then," said Bettina, " that I used to 
 lay the cloih." 
 
 " I spent my life among the solicitors of New York, 
 but no one would take up my case. Everywhere I i-e- 
 ceived the same reply : ' Your cause is very doubtful ;
 
 64 THE ABBE COXSTAXTE^r. 
 
 you have i-ich and formidable adversaries ; you need 
 luoney, large sums of money, to bring such a case to 
 ii conclusion, and you have nothing. They offer to 
 ]iay your debts, and to give you ten thousand dollars 
 l)r-sidrs. Accept it, and sell youi- case.' But my 
 f.ither's last words rang in my ears, and 1 would not. 
 l*()ver(y. howexei', might soon ha\-e forced me to, when 
 one day 1 made anothei" attempt on one of m\ falhei's 
 old friends, a bankei" in New York, Mr. William 
 Scott. He was not alone ; a }oung man was sitting 
 in his office. 
 
 "'You may speak freely,' said Mr. Stotl ; ' it is my 
 son Richard.' 
 
 " I looked at the young man, he looked at me, and 
 we recognized each other. 
 
 " * Suzie ! ' 
 
 " ' Richard ! ' 
 
 " Formeilw as children, we had often plaxed to- 
 gether and were great fiiends. Se\en or eight years 
 before this meeting he had been sent to Europe to 
 finish his education. We shook hands ; his f;iiher 
 made me sit down, and asked what had brought me. 
 He listened to my tale, and replied : 
 
 "'You would require twenty or thirty thousand 
 dollars. No one would lend you such a sum upon 
 the unceilain chances of a very complicated lawsuit. 
 If you are in difficulties, if you need assistance ' 
 
 "'It is not that, father. That is not what Miss 
 Percival asks.' 
 
 " ' I know that very well, but what she asks is 
 impossible.'
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTLV. 65 
 
 " He rose to let me out. Tlieii the sense of my 
 helplessness overpowered me for the tlist lime since 
 mv father's death. I burst into a \-i()lent flood of 
 tears. An hour hiter Richard Scott was with me. 
 
 '• ' Suzie,' he said, ' promise to accept what I am 
 going- to offer.' 
 
 " I ])i-omised him. 
 
 "' Well,' said he, 'on the single condition that my 
 father shall know nothing about it, I place at )our 
 disposal the necessary sum.' 
 
 " ' But then you ought to know what the lawsuit 
 is — what it is worth.' 
 
 " ' I do not know a single word about it, and I do 
 not wish to. Besides, you have promised to accept 
 it ; )ou cannot withdraw now.' 
 
 " I accepted. Three months after, tlie case was 
 ours. All this vast property became be\ond dispute 
 tiie pi^opei'ty of Bettina and me. The othei' side 
 offered to buy it of us for h\'e millions. I consuhed 
 Richard." 
 
 "' Refuse it and wait,' said he; 'if they offer \nu 
 such a sum, it is because the property is worth 
 double.' 
 
 " ' However. I must i-eturn you youi" money ; I owe 
 you a great deal.' 
 
 "'Oh! as for that, there is no hurry. I am very 
 easy about it ; my money is quite safe now.' 
 
 " ' But I s'lould like to pay )'ou at once. I have a 
 horror of debt ! Perhaps there is another wav with- 
 out selling the property. Ricliard, will you be my 
 husband ? '
 
 66 THE ABBE CONSTAXTIN. 
 
 " Yes, M. le Cure, yes," said Mrs. Scott, laughing; 
 " it is thus that I threw myself at my husband's head. 
 It is I who asi<ed his liand. But really I was obliged 
 to act ihus. Never, never would he have spoken ; I 
 had become too rich, and as it was me he loved, and 
 not my money, he was becoming terribly afraid of me. 
 That is the history of my marriage. As to the history 
 of my fortune, it can be told in a few words. There 
 were indeed millions in those wide lands of Colorado. 
 They discovered there abundant mines of silver, and 
 from those mines we draw every year an income which 
 is beyond reason ; but we have agreed — my husband, 
 my sister, and myself — to gi\e a very large share of 
 this income to the poor. You see, M. le Cure, it is 
 because we have known very hard times that you will 
 always find us ready to help those who are, as we have 
 been oursehes, involved in the difficulties and sorrows 
 of life. And now, M. Jean, will you forgive me this 
 long discourse, and offer me a little of that cream, 
 which looks so very good } " 
 
 This cream was Pauline's custard, and while Jean 
 Was serving Mrs. Scott : 
 
 "I have not yet tinished." she continued. "You 
 ought to know what gave rise to these extravagant 
 stories. A year ago, when we settled in Paris, we 
 considered it our duty on our arrival to give a certain 
 sum to the ])oor. Who was it spoke of that.'' None 
 of us. certainly, but the thing was told in the news- 
 papeis.with the amount. Immediately two young re- 
 poiters hastened to subject Mr. Scott to a little exami- 
 nation on his past history ; they wished to give a sketch
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN 77 IV. 67 
 
 of our career in tlie — what do you c ill tliein ? — society 
 l)a])ei-s. Mr. Scott is sonietiiiies a little hasty : he was 
 so on this occasion, and dismissed iht^se gentlemen 
 rather brusquely without telling" them anything". So, 
 as they did not know our real history, they invented 
 one, and certainly displayed a very lively imagination. 
 First they related how 1 had begged in the snow in 
 New York; the next day appeared a still more sensa- 
 tional article, which made me a rider in a circus in 
 Philadelphia. You have some very funny papers in 
 France : so have we in America for the matter of 
 that." 
 
 During the last five minutes Pauline had been mak- 
 ing" dc-sperate signs to the cure, who persisted in not 
 understanding them, till at last the poor woman, call- 
 ing up all her courage, said : 
 
 " M. le Cure, it is a quarter-past seven." 
 
 " A quirter past seven ! Ladies, I must beg you to 
 excuse me. This evening I have the special service 
 for the month of Mary." 
 
 " The month of Mary ? And will the service begin 
 directly ? " 
 
 " Yes, directly." 
 
 " And when does our train start for Paris } " 
 
 " At half-past nine," replied Jean. 
 
 " Suzie, can we not go to church first ? " 
 
 "Yes, we will go," replied Mrs. Scott ; " but before 
 we separate, M. le Cure, I have one favor to ask you. 
 I should like very much, the first time I dine at 
 Loiigueval, that you would dine with me, and you, 
 too, M. Jean— just us four alone, like to-day. Oh,
 
 68 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 do not refuse my invitation. It is given with all my 
 heart." 
 
 " And accepted as heartily," replied Jean. 
 
 " I will write and tell you the day, and it shall be as 
 soon as possible. You call that having a house- 
 warming, don't you ? Well, we will have the house- 
 warming all to ourselves." 
 
 Meanwhile Pauline had drawn Miss Percival into a 
 corner of the room, and was talking to h.er with great 
 animation. The conversation ended with these 
 words : 
 
 "You will be there," said Bettina, " and you will 
 tell me the exact moment } " 
 
 " I will tell you. But take care ; here is M. le Cure. 
 He must not suspect anything." 
 
 The two sisters, the cure, and Jean left the house. 
 To go to the church they were obliged to cross the 
 churchyard. The evening was delicious. Slowly, 
 silently, under the rays of the setting sun, the four 
 walked down a long avenue. 
 
 On their way was the monument to Dr. Reynaud, 
 very simple, but which yet by its proportions showed 
 distinctly among the other tombs. 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Bettina stopped, struck witli this 
 inscription carved on the stone : 
 
 " Here lies Dr. Marcel Reynaud, surgeon-major of 
 the Souvigny Mobiles. Killed January 8, 1871, at the 
 battle of Villersexel. Pray for him." 
 
 When they had read it, the cure, pointing to Jean, 
 said :
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN 77. V. 
 
 71 
 
 " It was his father." 
 
 The two sisters ch-ew near the tomb, and witli bent 
 heads remained there for some minutes, pensi\e, 
 touched, contemplative. Then both tuiiied. and at 
 the same moment, by the same impulse, offered their 
 
 >" « 
 
 t^^ 
 
 '-^ 
 
 hands to Jean ; then continued their walk to the 
 church. Their tirst prayer at Longueval had been for 
 the father of Jean. 
 
 The cure went to put on his surplice and stole. 
 Jean conducted Mrs. Scott to the seat which belonged 
 to the masters of Longueval. 
 
 Pauline had gone on before. She was waiting for 
 Miss Percival in the shadow behind one of the pilars.
 
 72 rilE ABBJl COXSTAX'I IX. 
 
 By a steep aiul narrow staircase slie led Bettina to llie 
 gallery and ]:)laced her before the haiinoniuin. 
 
 P'-eceded by two little chorister-boys, the old cure 
 left the vestry, ami at the moment when he knelt on 
 the steps of the altar, " Now, miss," said Pauline, 
 whose heart beat with impatience. " Poor, dear man, 
 how pleased he will be ! " 
 
 When he heard the sound of the music rise, soft as 
 a murmui-, and sj^read through the little church, th.e 
 Abbe Constantin was filled with such emotion, such 
 joy, that the tears came to his eyes. He could not 
 reinembei' having wept since the day when Jean liad 
 said that he wished to share all that he possessed with 
 the mother and sister of those who had fallen by his 
 father's side under the Prussian bullets. 
 
 To bring tears to the eyes of the old priest a little 
 American had been brought across the seas to play a 
 revery of Chopin in the little church at Longueval.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The next day, at half-past five in the morning, the 
 bugle-call rang through the barrack-yard at Souvigny^ 
 Jean mounted his horse and took his place wiih his 
 division. By the end of May all the recruits in the 
 army are sufficiently instructed to be capable of shar- 
 ing in the general evolutions. Almost every day 
 manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are executed on 
 the para(le-grou;ul. Jean loved his profession ; he 
 was in the habit of inspecting carefully the grooming 
 and liarness of the horses, the equipment and carriage 
 of his men. This morning, however, he ijestowed 
 but scant attention on all the little details of his duty.. 
 
 One problem agitated, tormented him, and left him 
 always undecided ; and this problem was one of those 
 the solution of which is not given at the Ecole Poly- 
 
 73
 
 74 THE ABBE COXSTANTIiv. 
 
 technique, Jean could find no convincing reply to 
 this question: "Which of the two sisters is the 
 prettier ? " 
 
 At the butls, during the tirst part of the manoeuvre, 
 each battery worked on its own account inider the 
 ordtrs of the captain; hut he often relinquished the 
 place to one of his lieutenants, in order to accustom 
 them to the management of six field-pieces. It ha])- 
 pened on this day that the command was intrusteil 
 to the hands of Jean. To the great surj)rise of the 
 captain, in whose estimation his lieutenant held the 
 first rank as a well-trained, smart, and capable offict r, 
 everytliing went wrong. The captain was obliged to 
 interfeie. He addressetl a little re[)rimand to Jean, 
 which terminated in these words : 
 
 " 1 cannot understand it at all. What is the matter 
 Avith you this morning? It is the first time such 
 ii thing has haj')j:)ened with )ou." 
 
 It was also the first time that Jean had seen any- 
 thing at the butts at Souvigny but cannon, ammuni- 
 tion-wagons, horses, or gunners. 
 
 In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of the 
 Avagons and the hoofs of the horses Jean beheld not 
 the second mounted battery of the ninth legiment of 
 artillery, but the distinct images of two Americans 
 with black e\es and golden hair ; and at the moment 
 when he listened respectfully to the well-merited 
 lecture from l.is captain, h.e was in the act of sa)ing 
 to himself : 
 
 " The prettier is Mrs. Scott ! " 
 
 Every morning the exercise is divided into two
 
 THK ABBE COXSTANTIN. 75 
 
 parts by a little interval of ten niiiuites. The officers 
 gathered together and talked. Jean reniained apart, 
 alone with his recoileciions of the previous evening. 
 His thoughts obstinately gathered round tlie vicarage 
 of Longueval. 
 
 "Yes! the more charming of the two sisters was 
 Mrs. Scott ; Miss Pei'cival was only a child." 
 
 He saw again Mrs. Scott at the cure's little table. 
 He heard her story, told with such frankness, such 
 freedom. The harmony of that very peculiar, very 
 fascinating voice still enchanted his ear. He was 
 again in the church. She was there befoie him, 
 bending o\er her prie-Diei(, her pretty head I'esiing 
 in her two little hands. Then the music arose, and 
 far off in the dusk Jean perceived the tine anil delicate 
 profile of Betlina. 
 
 " A child— was she only a child ? " 
 
 The trumpets sounded, the joractice recommenced : 
 this time, fortunately, no command, no responsibility. 
 The four batteries executed tiieir evolutions together 
 ^this immense mass of men, horses, and carriages, 
 deployed in every direction, now di'awn out in a long 
 Hne, again collected into a compact group. All 
 stopped at the same instant along the whole extent of 
 the ground ; the gunners sprang from their horses, 
 ran to their pieces, detached each from its team, 
 which went off at a trot, and prepared to lire with 
 amazing rapidity. Then the horses returned, the men 
 reattached their pieces, sprang quickly to saddle, and 
 the regiment started at full gallop across the field. 
 
 Very gently in the thoughts of Jean Bettina re-
 
 76 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 gained her advantage over Mrs. Scott. She appeared 
 to him smiling and bkishing amid the sunUt clouds of 
 her floating hair. M. Jean, she had called him, 
 M. Jean ; and never had his name sounded so sweet. 
 And that last pressure of the hand on taking leave, 
 before entering the carriage: had not Miss Percival 
 given him a niore cordial clasp than Mrs. Scott had 
 <lone ? Yes, positively a little more. 
 
 " I was mistaken," thought Jean ; " the prettier is 
 Miss Percival." 
 
 The day's work was finished ; the pieces were 
 ranged regularly in line one behind the other. They 
 <lefiled rapidly, with a horrible clatter, and in a cloud 
 of dust. When Jean, sword in hand, passed before 
 his colonel, the images of the two sisters were so con- 
 fused and intermingled in his recollection that they 
 melted the one in the other, and became in some 
 measure the image of one and the same person. Any 
 parallel became impossible between them, thanks to 
 this singular confusion of the two points of com- 
 parison. Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival remained thus 
 inseparable in the thoughts of Jean until the day 
 when it was granted to him to see them again. The 
 impression of that meeting was not effaced ; it was 
 always there, persistent, and very sweet, till Jean 
 began to feel disturbed. 
 
 " Is it possible,"— so ran his meditations, — " is it 
 possible that I have been guilty of the folly of falling 
 in love madly at first sight ? No. One might fall in 
 love with a woman, but not with two women at 
 once."
 
 THE ABBE CONSTAN I I.W 77 
 
 That thought reassured him. He was very young-. 
 this great fellow of four-aiul-twenty. Never had love 
 entered fully into his heart. Love ! He knew very 
 little about it, except from books, and he had read but 
 few of them. But he was no angel. He could findi 
 plenty of attractions in the grisetles of Souvigny. 
 And when they would allow him to tell them that ihey 
 were charming, he was quite ready to do so ; but it 
 had never entered his head to regard as love those 
 passing fancies, which only caused the slightest and 
 niost superficial disturbance in his heart. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens had marvellous powers of enthu- 
 siasm and idealization. His heart sheltered always 
 two or three grandes passions, which lived there in 
 perfect harmony. Paul had been so clever as to dis-^ 
 cover in this little town of fifteen thousand souls num- 
 bers of pretty girls, all made to be adored. He always 
 believed himself the discoverer of America, when, in 
 fact, he had done nothing but follow in tlie track of 
 othei' navigators. 
 
 'l"he world — Jean had scarcely encountered it. He 
 had allowed himself to be dragged by Paul a dozen 
 times, perhaps, to soirees or balls at the great houses 
 of the neighborhood. He had invariably returned 
 thoroughly bored, and had concluded that these 
 pleasures were not made for him. His tastes were 
 simple, serious. He loved solitude, work, long walks, 
 open space, horses, and books. He was rather savage 
 — a son of the soil. He loved his village, and all the 
 old friends of his childhood. A quadrille in a draw- 
 ing room caused him unspeakable terror; but every
 
 7^> THE ABBE COXSTAXTLV. 
 
 year, at the festix'al of the patron saint of Longueval, 
 lie danced j^ayly with the young' girls and faimers' 
 daughters (A the neiglihorliooch 
 
 If he had seen Mrs. Scoit and Miss Percival at home 
 in Paris in all the splenckn" of their luxury, in all tlie 
 perfection of their cosily surroundings, he would have 
 looked at them from afar, with curiosity, as exquisite 
 works of ait. Then he would have returned home, 
 and would have slept, as usual, the most j)eacefid 
 slumber in the world. 
 
 Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had conie to 
 pass, and hence his excitement, hence his disturbance. 
 These two women had shown themselves before him 
 in the midst of a circle with which he was familiar, 
 and which had been, if only for this reason, singularly 
 favorable to them. Simj)le, good, fi'ank, cordial, such 
 they had shown themselves the very hrst day, and 
 delightfully pretty into the bargain— a fact which is 
 never insignificant. Jean fell at once under the charm ; 
 he was there still ! 
 
 At the moment when he dismounted in the barrack- 
 yard, at nine o'clock, the old i)riest began his cam- 
 paign joyously. Since the previous evening the abbe's 
 head had been on tire. Jean had not slept much ; but 
 he had not slept at all. He had risen very early, and 
 with closed doors, alone with Pauline, he had counted 
 and reCDunted his money, spreading on the table his 
 hundred lonis d'or, gloating over them like a miser 
 and, like a miser, finding exquisite pleasure in hand- 
 ling his hoard. All that was his! for him !— that is 
 to say, for the poor.
 
 THE ABBE co.vsTAyivy. 79 
 
 •* Do not lie too lavish. M. le Cure." said Pau- 
 line ; " l)e economical. I think that if you distribute 
 to-dav a hunch'ed francs " 
 
 " That is not enoui^h, Pauhne. I sliall only have 
 one such day in my hfe, but one I will have. How 
 much do you think I shall qive to-day } " 
 
 " How much, M. le Cure ? " 
 
 " A thousand francs." 
 
 " A thousand francs ! " 
 
 " Yes. We are millionnaires now. We possess all 
 the treasures of America; and you talk about econ- 
 omy.-' Not to-day, at all events; indeed, I have no 
 ri^ht to think of it." 
 
 After saying- mass, at nine o'clock he set out. and 
 showered gold along- his way. All had a share — the 
 poor who acknowledged their poverty and those who 
 concealed it. Each alms was accompanied by the 
 same little discourse : 
 
 " This comes from the new owners of Longue- 
 val— two American ladies, Mrs. Scott and Miss 
 Percival. Remember their names and pi'ay for 
 them." 
 
 Then he made off without waiting for thanks, across 
 the fields, through the woods, from hamlet to hamlet, 
 from cottage to cottage — on. on, on. A sort of intoxi- 
 cation mounted to his brain. Everywhere were cries 
 of joy and astonishment. All these lou/s d'or fell, as 
 if by a miracle, into the poor hands accustomed to 
 receive little pieces of silver. The cure was guilty of 
 follies — actual follies. He was out of bounds ; he 
 did not recognize himself. He had lost all control
 
 3o THE ABBE COXSTANTir^. 
 
 over Iiiinself; lie even gave to those who did not 
 ■expect anything. 
 
 He met Chiude Rigal, tlie old sergeant, who had left 
 •one of his ai'ins at Sehastopol. He was growing gray 
 •—nay, white, for time passes, and the soldiers of the 
 Crimea will soon be old men. 
 
 *' Here !" said the cure, " I have twenty francs for 
 you." 
 
 " Twentv francs ! 15ut I ne\'er asked for anything ; 
 I don't want anvthing; I have mv pension." 
 
 His pension ! Seven hundred francs ! 
 
 " But hsten ; it will be something to buy you cigars. 
 It conies from America." 
 
 And then followed the abbe's little speech about 
 the owners of Longueval. 
 
 He went to a i)oor woman, whose son had gone 
 to Tunis. 
 
 " Well, how is your son getting on ? " 
 
 "Not so bad, M. le Cure. I had a letter fiom 
 him yesterday. He do^s not complain ; he is very 
 well, oidy he says there are no Kroomirs. Poor 
 boy! I have been saving for a month, and I think I 
 shall soon be able to send him ten francs." 
 
 "You shall send him thirty. Take this." 
 
 " Twenty francs ! M. le Cure, you give me 
 twenty francs ? " 
 
 " Yes. that is for you." 
 
 " For my boy ? " 
 
 " For your boy. But listen ; you must know from 
 \vhorn it comes, and you must take care to tell yom 
 son when vou write to him."
 
 THE ABBE COX ST AX TIN. '^2y 
 
 Ag-ain the little speech alxnit the new owners of 
 Longueval, and again the adjutation to remember 
 them ill their pra\ers. At six o'clock he returned 
 home, exhausted with fatigue, but with his soul tilled 
 with joy. 
 
 "I have given away all ! " he cried, as soon as he 
 saw Pauline ; " all ! all ! all ! " 
 
 He dined, and then went in the evening to perform 
 the usual service for the month of Mary. But this 
 time the harmonium was silent ; Miss Percival was 
 no longer there. 
 
 The little organist of tlie evening before was at that 
 moMient much pei'plexed. On two couches in her 
 dressing room wei'e spread two dresses— a white and 
 a blue. Bettina was meditating which of these two 
 dresses she would wear to go to the opeia that even- 
 ing. After long hesitation she fixed on the blue. At 
 half-past nine the two sisters ascended the grand stair- 
 case at the Opera House. Just as they entered their 
 box the curtain rose on the second scene of the sec- 
 ond act of "Aida " — that containing the ballet and 
 march. 
 
 Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and Louis 
 (le Martillet, were seated in the front of a stage-box. 
 The young ladies of the corps de ballet had not yet 
 appeared, and these gentlemen, luiving no occupa- 
 tion, were amusing themselves with looking about the 
 house. The appearance of Miss Percival made a 
 strong impression upon both. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! " said Puymartin, " there she is, the 
 little goUlen nugget I "
 
 34 THE ABBE COXS lA^TIN. 
 
 " She is perfectly dazzlini^ ibis evening, this little 
 golden nugget," continued Martillet. " Look at her, 
 at the line of her neck, the fall of her shoulders — still 
 a young girl, and already a woman." 
 
 " Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off into 
 the bargain." 
 
 '• Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver mine is 
 still i)roduciive." 
 
 " Berulle told me twenty-five millions, and he is very 
 well up in American affairs." 
 
 "Twenty-five millions I A pretty haid foi' Roman- 
 elli!" 
 
 "What.^ Romanelli ! " 
 
 " Report says that that will be a match ; that it is 
 already settled." 
 
 " A match may be arranged, but with Montessan, 
 not with Romanelli. Ah, at last ! Here is the ballet." 
 
 They ceasetl to talk. The ballet in " Aida " oidy 
 lasts tive n)inutes, and for those five minutes they had 
 come. Consequently they must be enjoyed respect- 
 fully, religiously, for there is that i)eculiarity among a 
 number of the habitues of the opera that they chatter 
 like magpies when they ought to be silent to listen, 
 and that they observe t i- .nost absolute silence when 
 they might be allowed to speak while looking on. 
 
 The trumpets of " Aida " liad given their last heroic 
 fail/are in honor of Rhadames before the great 
 sphinxes under the green foliage of the palm-trees ; 
 the dancers advanced, the light trembling on their 
 spangled robes, and took possession of the stage. 
 
 With much attention and pleasure Mrs. Scott
 
 THE ABBE coxs'iwxriiW 87 
 
 followed the evolutions of the ballet, but Bettina had 
 suddenly become thoughtful, on perceiving in a box 
 on the other side of the house a tall, dark young 
 man. Miss Percival talked to herself, and said : 
 
 " What shall I do ? What shall I decide on ? Must 
 I marry him, that handsome, tall fellow over there, 
 who is watching me, for it is me that he is looking at? 
 He will come into our box directly this act is ovt r, and 
 then I have only to say, * I have decided. There is my 
 hand ; I will be your wife,' and then all would be set- 
 tled ! 1 should be Princess! Princess Romanelli ! 
 Princess Beitina ! Bettina Romanelli! The names 
 go well together; they sound very pretty. Would it 
 amuse me to be a princess ? Yes, and no ! Among 
 all the young men in Paris who during the last year 
 have run after my money this Prince Romanelli is the 
 one who pleases me best. One of these days I must 
 make up my mind to maiiy. I think he loves me. 
 Yes ; but the question is, Do I love him ? No, I don't 
 think I do, and 1 should so much like to love — so 
 much, so much ! " 
 
 At the precise moment when these reflections were 
 passing through Bettina's pretty head Jean, alone in 
 his study, seated before his desk with a great book 
 under the shade of his lamp, looked through, and took 
 notes of, the campaigns of Turenne. He had been 
 directed to give a course of instruction to the non- 
 commissioned officers of the regiment, and was 
 prudently preparing his lesson iox the next day. 
 
 But in the midst of his notes — Nordlingen, 1645 I
 
 83 
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 — lie suddenly perceived (Jean did not draw very 
 badly) a sketch, a woman's portrait, which all at once 
 appeared under his pen. What was she doing there 
 in the middle of Turenne's victories, this pretty little 
 woman ? And then who was she — Mrs. Scott or Miss 
 Pcrcival } How could he tell ? They resembled each 
 other so much ; and laboriously Jean returned to the 
 history of ihe campaigns of Turenne. 
 
 And at the same moment the Abbe Constantin, on 
 his knees befoie his little wooden bedstead, called 
 down with all the strength of jiis soul the blessin<i^s of 
 Heaven on the two women through whose bounty he 
 had passed such a sweet and happy day. He prayed 
 God to blfss Mrs. Scott in lu r children, and to give 
 to Miss Percival a husband after her own heart.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, and 
 that at no very remote period — thirty or forty years 
 ago. At that epoch the French were the masters of 
 Paris, as the Enghsh are tlie masters of London, the 
 Spaniards of Madrid, and the Russians of St. Peters- 
 burg. Those times are no more. Other countries 
 still have their frontiers ; tiiere are now none to 
 France. Paris has become an immense Babel, a uni- 
 versal and international city. Foreigners do not only 
 come to visit Paris ; they come here to live. At the 
 present d;iy we have in P;iris a Russian colony, a 
 Spanish colony, a Levantine colony, an American 
 colony. The foreigners have already conquered from
 
 90 THE ABBE CO i\ STAN TIN. 
 
 us the greater part of the Champs-EIysees and the 
 Boulevard Malesherbes. They advance ; they extend 
 their outworks; we retreat, pressed back by the 
 invaders; we are obhged to expatriate ourselves. We 
 have begun to found Parisian colonies in the plains of 
 Passy, in the plain of Monceau, in quarters v.hich 
 formerly were not Paris at all, and which are not quite 
 even now. Among the foreign colonies the richest, 
 the most populous, the most brilliant, is the American 
 colony. There is a moment when an Ameiican 
 feels himself rich enough, a Frenchman ne\er. The 
 American then stoi)s, draws breath, and while still 
 husbanding the cai)ital, no longer spares the income. 
 He knows how to spend ; the Frenchman knows only 
 how to save. 
 
 The Frenchman has only one real luxury — his 
 revolutions. Prudently and wisely he reserves him- 
 self for tiiem, knowing well that they will cost France 
 dear, but that at the same time they will furnish 
 the opportunity for advantageous investments. The 
 Frenchman says to himself: 
 
 " Let us hoard ! let us hoard I let us hoard I Some 
 of these mornings there will be a revolution, which 
 w'ill make the five per cents fall fifty or sixty francs. 
 I will buy then. Since revolutions are inevitable, let 
 us try at least to make them profitable." 
 
 They are always talking about the jieople who are 
 ruined by revolutions ; but ])erhaps the number of 
 those enriched by revolutions is still greater. 
 
 Tiie Americans experience the attraction of Paris 
 very strongly. There is no town in the world where
 
 THE ABBE CONSTAXTIN'. 9^ 
 
 it is easier or more agreeable to spend a great deal 
 of money. For many reasons, both of race and 
 origin, this attraction exei-cised over Mrs. Scott and 
 Miss Percival a very remarkable power. 
 
 The most French of our colonies is Canada, which 
 is no longer ours. The recollection of their hist home 
 has been preserved faithfully and tenderly in the 
 hearts of the emigrants to Montreal and Quebec. 
 Suzie Percival had received from !ier n)other an 
 entirely French education, and she had brought up' 
 her sister in the same love of our country. The two- 
 sisters felt themselves Frenchwomen, still better, 
 Parisians. As soon as the avalancb.e of dollars had 
 descended upon them the same desire seized them 
 both — to come and live in Paris. They demanded 
 France as if it had been their fatherland. Mr. Scott 
 made some opposition. 
 
 " If I go away from here," he said, " your incomes- 
 will suffer." 
 
 "What does that matter .^ " replied Suzie. "We 
 are rich— too rich. Do let us go. We shall be 
 so hajipy, so delighted ! " 
 
 Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded ; and at 
 the beginning of January, 1880, Suzie v. rote the fol- 
 lowing letter to her friend, Katie Norton, who had 
 lived in Paris for some years : 
 
 " Victory ! It is decided ! Richard has consented. 
 I shall arrive in April, and become a Frenchwoman 
 again. You offered to undertake all the preparations 
 for our settlement in Paris. I am horribly presum-
 
 92 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 ing^ — I accept ! When I arrive in Paris, I should like 
 to be able to enjoy Paris, and not be obliged to lose 
 my first month in running after upholsterers, coach- 
 builders, horse-dealers. I should like, on arriving at 
 the railway station, to find awaiting me my carriage, 
 Jiiy coachman, my horses. That very day I should 
 like you to dine with me at my home. Hire or buy a 
 mansion, engage the servants, choose the horses, the 
 •carriages, the liveries. I depend entirely upon you. 
 As long as the liveries are blue, that is the only point. 
 This line is added at the request of Bettina. 
 
 " We shall only bring seven persons with us. 
 Richard will have his valet, Bettina and I two ladies' 
 maids ; then there are the two governesses for the 
 ■children, and beside these, two boys, Toby and 
 Bobby, who ride to perfection. We sb.ould never find 
 in Paris such a perfect pair. 
 
 " Everything else, people and things, we shall leave 
 in New York. No, not quite everything ; I had for- 
 •gotten four little ponies, four little gems, black as ink. 
 We have not the heart to leave tliem. We shall 
 <lrive them in the piiaeton ; it is delightful. Both 
 Bettina and I drive four-in-hand very well. Ladies 
 can drive four-in-hand in the ' Bois ' very early in the 
 morning", can't they? Here it is quite possible. 
 
 " Above all, my dear Katie, do not consider money. 
 Be as extravagant as you like, that is all I ask." 
 
 The same day that Mrs. Norton received this letter 
 M'itnessed the failure of a certain Garneville. He was 
 a great speculator who had been on a false scent.
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTiy. 93 
 
 Stocks liad fallen just when he had expected a rise. 
 This Garneville had, six weeks before, installed him- 
 self in a brand-new house, which had no other fault 
 than a too startling magnificence. 
 
 Mrs. Norton signed an agreement — one hundred 
 thousand francs a year, with the option of buying 
 house and furniture for two millions during the first 
 year of possession. A famous upholsterer undertoolc 
 to correct and subdue the exaggerated splendor of a. 
 loud and gorgeous luxury. 
 
 That done, Mrs. Scott's friend had the good for- 
 tune to lay her hand on two of those eminent artists 
 without whom the routine of a great house can 
 neither be established nor carried on. The first was 
 a <r//^ of the first rank, who had just left an ancient 
 mansion of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, to his great 
 regret, for he had aristocratic inclinations. 
 
 " Never," said he to Mrs. Norton, " never would I 
 have left the service of Mme. la Duchesse if she had 
 kept up her establishment on tlie same footing as 
 formerly; but Mine, la Duchesse has four children — 
 two sons who have run through a good deal, and 
 two daugiuers who will soon be of an age to marry ;. 
 they must have their dowries. Therefore Mme. la 
 Uachesse is obliged to draw in a little, aifd the house 
 is no longer important enough for me." 
 
 This distinguished character of course made his 
 conditions. Though excessive, they did not alarm 
 Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was a man of the 
 most serious merit ; but he, before deciding, asked 
 pernussion to telegraph to New York. He wished to
 
 94 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 make certain inquiries. Tlie repl}' was favorable ; he 
 accepted. 
 
 The second great artist was a stud-groom of the 
 rarest and highest caiiacity, who was just about to 
 retire after having made liis fortune. He consented, 
 iiov^'ever, to organize the stables for Mrs. Scott. It 
 was thoroughly understood that he should have every 
 liberty in purchasing the horses ; that he should wear 
 no livery ; that he should choose the coachmen, the 
 grooms, and everyone connected with the stables ; 
 that he should never have less than fifteen horses in 
 the stables ; that no bargain should be made with the 
 coach-builder or saddler without his intervention ; and 
 that he should never mount the box, except early in 
 the morning, in plain clothes, to give lessons in driv- 
 ing to the ladies and children if necessary. 
 
 The cook took possession of his stores, and the 
 stud-groom of his stables. Everythiitg else was only 
 a question of money, and with regaici to this Mrs. 
 Norton made full use of her extensive powers. She 
 acted in conformity with the instructions she had 
 received. In the short space of two months she per- 
 formed prodigies, and that is how, when on tiie 15th 
 of April, 1880, Mr. Scott, Suzie, and Betlina alighted 
 from the mail train from Havre, at half-past four in 
 the afternoon, they found Mrs. Norton at the station 
 of Saint-Lazare, who said : 
 
 " Your caJeche is there in the yard ; behind it is a 
 landau for the children ; and behind the landau is an 
 omnibus for the servants. The three carriages bear 
 your monogram, are driven by your coachmen, and
 
 THE ABBE COXSl AXTIN. 95 
 
 drawn by your horses. Your address is 24 Rue 
 Murillo, and here is the menu of your dinner to-night. 
 You invited me two montiis ago ; I accept, and will 
 even take the liberty of bringing a dozen friends with 
 me. I shall furnish everything, even the guests. 
 But do not be alarmed, you know them all. They 
 are mutual friends ; and this evening we siiall be able 
 to judge of the merits of your cook." 
 
 The tirst Parisian who had the honor and pleasure 
 of paying homage to the beauty of Mrs. Scott and 
 Miss Percival was a little niarmiton of fifteen years 
 old, who stood there in his white clothes, his wicker 
 basket on his head, at the moment when Mrs. Scott's 
 carriage, entangled in the multitude of vehicles, slowly 
 worked its way out of the station. The little cook 
 stopped short on the pavement, opened wide his eyes, 
 looked at the two sisters with amazement, and boldly 
 cast full in their faces the single word : 
 
 ''Mazette ! " 
 
 When Mme. Recamier saw her first wrinkles and 
 first gray hairs, she said to a friend : 
 
 " Ah, my dear, there are no more illusions left for 
 me! From the day when I saw that the little chim- 
 ney sweeps no longer turned round in the street to 
 look at me I understood that all was over." 
 
 The opinion of the confectioners' boys is in similar 
 cases of equal value with the oi)inion of the little 
 chimney-sweeps. All was not over for Suzie and 
 Bettina ; on the contrary, all was only beginning. 
 
 Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott's carriage was 
 ascending the Boulevard Haussmann to the slow and
 
 96 THE ABBE COXSI'ANriN, 
 
 measured trot of a pair of admirable horses. Paris 
 counted two Parisians the more. 
 
 The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was 
 hiunechate, decisive, hke a fiasii of hghtning. The 
 benuties of Paris are not classed and catalogued like 
 the t)eauties of London ; they do not publish their 
 portraits in the illustrated papers, or allow their photo- 
 graphs to be sold at the stationers'. However, there 
 is always a little staff, consisting of a score of women, 
 who represent the grace and charm and beauty of 
 Paris, which women, after ten or twelve years' ser- 
 vice, pass into the reserve, just like the old generals. 
 Suzie and Bettina immediately became part of this 
 little staff. It was an affair of four-and-twenty 
 hours — of less than four-and-twenty hours, for all 
 passed between eight in the morning and midnight, 
 the da}- after their arrival in Paris. 
 
 Imagine a sort of little feei'ie, in three acts, of 
 whicii the success increases from tableau to tableau. 
 
 1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with 
 the two marvellous grooms imported from America. 
 
 2(1. A walk at si.K o'clock in the Allee des 
 Acacias. 
 
 3d. An appearance at tlie opera at ten in the 
 evening in Mrs. Norton's box. 
 
 Tile two novelties were immediately remaiked, and 
 <appreciated as they deserved to be, by the th.iity or 
 forty persons who constitute a sort of mysterious 
 tribunal, and who, in the name of all Paris, pass sen- 
 tences beyond appeal. These thirty or forty persons 
 have from time to time the fancy to deckire " deli-
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN-. 97 
 
 cious " some woman who is manifestly ugly. That is 
 enough ; she is " delicious " from that moment. 
 
 Tile i)eauty of the two sisters was unquestionable. 
 In the morning it was their grace, their elegance, their 
 distinction, that attracted universal admiration ; in the 
 afternoon it was declared that their walk had the free- 
 dom <md ease of two young goddesses; in the evening 
 there was but one ci'y of rapture at the ideal ])erfec- 
 tion of their shoulders. From that moment all Paris 
 had for the two sisters the eyes of the little pastry- 
 cook of the Rue d'Amsterdam ; all Paris repeated his 
 " il/.?;?^//*?," though naturally witii the variations and 
 developments imposed by the usages of the world. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's drawing room immediately became the 
 fashion. The habitues of three or four great American 
 houses transferred themselves in a body to the Scotts', 
 who had three hundred persons at their first Wednes- 
 day. Their circle rapidly increased ; there was a little 
 of everything to be found in their set — Americans, 
 Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, Russians, and e\en 
 Parisians. 
 
 When she had related her history to the Abbe Con- 
 stantin, Mrs. Scott had not told all; one never does 
 tell all. In a word, she was a coquette. Mr. Scott 
 had the most perfect confidence in his wife, and left 
 her entire liberty. He showed himself very little ; he 
 was an Jionorable man, who felt a vague embari'ass- 
 ment at having made such a marriage, at having mar- 
 ried so much money. Having a taste for business, he 
 had great pleasure in de\"oting himself entirely to the 
 administering" of the two imnicrnse fortunes which
 
 98 THE A DDE CONSTAXIIX. 
 
 were in his liaiuls, in continually incieasii g them, and 
 in saying every year to his wife and sisler-in law : 
 
 " You aie still richer than \ ou weie last yeai." 
 
 Not content with watching" with much j^iudence and 
 ahiliiy ovcf the inteiests which he had h^ft in Aniei'ica, 
 he launched in France into laige speculations, and was 
 as successful in Paiis as lie had been in New 'S'oik. 
 In order to make money the first thing is to have no 
 need of it. 
 
 They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enormciis 
 extent. They made lo\'e to her in French, in Italian, 
 in English, in Spanish, for she knew those four lan- 
 guages, and there is one advantage that foreigners 
 have over our poor Parisians, who generally ki ow 
 only their mother tongue, and have not the resouice 
 of international passions. 
 
 Natiu-ally Mrs. Scott did not chase her adorers from 
 her i)resence. She had ten, twenty, thirty at a time. 
 No one could boast of any preference ; to all she 
 opposed the same amiable, laughing", joyous resist- 
 ance. It was clear to all that the game amused her, 
 and that she did not for a moment take it seri( usiy. 
 Mr. Scott never felt a moment's anxiety, and he was 
 perfectly right. More, he enjoyed his wife's suc- 
 cesses ; he was happy in seeing her ha])py. He loxed 
 her dearly, a little more than she loved him. She 
 loved him very much, and that was all, Theie is a 
 great difference between "dearly " and "very much " 
 when these two adverbs are placed after the verb " to 
 love." 
 
 As to Bettina, around her was a madderiing whirl,
 
 THE ABBE COySTAXTLV. 99 
 
 an org'v of adulation ! Such fortunel such beauty ! 
 Miss Percival arrived in Paris on the 15th of April ; a 
 fortnight had not passed before the offers of marriage 
 begin to j)0ur upon her. In the course of that first 
 year she might, had she wished it. have been 
 married thirty-four times, and to what a variety of 
 suitors ! 
 
 They asked her hand for a young exile, who under 
 certain circumstances might be called to ascend a 
 throne— a very small one, it is true, but a throne 
 nevertheless. 
 
 They asked her hand for a young duke, who would 
 make a great figure at court when France — as was 
 inevitable— should recognize her errors, and bow 
 down before her legitimate masteis. 
 
 They asked her hand for a young ])rince, who would 
 have a place on the steps of the throne wiien France 
 — as was inevitable— should again knit together the 
 chain of the Napoleonic traditions. 
 
 They asked her hand for a 30ung Republican deputy, 
 who had just made a most brilliant debut in the 
 Chamber, and for whom the future reserved tlie most 
 splendid destiny, for the Republic was now established 
 in France on the most indestructible basis. 
 
 They asked her hand for a young Spaniard of the 
 purest lineage, and she was given to understand that 
 the contrat would be signed in the palace of a queen 
 who does not live far from the Arc de Triomphe. 
 Besides, one can find her address in the " Almanach 
 Bottin," for at the present day there are queens who 
 have their addresses in Bottin between an attoriiey
 
 lOO 7V//: ABBE COX ST AX TIN. 
 
 and a druggist ; it is only the kings of France who no 
 longer live in France. 
 
 They asked her hand for the son of a peer of Eng- 
 land, and for the son of a member of the highest 
 Viennese aristocracy; for the son of a Parisian banker, 
 and for the son of a Russian ambassador; for a 
 Hungarian count, and for an Italian prince; and also 
 for various excellent young men who were nothing and 
 had nothing, — neither name nor fortune, — but Bettina 
 had granted thein a waltz, and, believing themselves 
 irresistible, they hoped that they had caused a flutter 
 of that little heart. 
 
 But up to the i^resent moment nothing had touched 
 that little heait, and the reply had been the same to 
 all : " No ! no ! " again " No I " always " No ! " 
 
 Some days after that performance of '*Aida"the 
 two sisters had a rather long conversation on this 
 great, this eternal question of marriage. A certain 
 name had been pronounced by Mrs. Scott which h.ad 
 provoked on the part of Miss Percival the most decided 
 and most energetic refusal, and Suzie had laughingly 
 said to her sistei- : 
 
 " But, Bettina, you will be obliged to end bv 
 marrying." 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; but I should be so sorry to marry 
 without love. It seems to me that before I could 
 resolve to do such a thing I must be in danger of 
 dying an old maid, and I am not yet that." 
 
 " No, not yet." 
 
 " Let us wait, let us wait." 
 
 " Let us wait. But among all these lovers w^hom
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. JOI 
 
 you have been dragging after you for the last year 
 tliere have been some very nice, very amiable; and it 
 
 is really a Httle strange if none of them " 
 
 " None, my Suzie, none, absolutely none. Why 
 should I not tell you the truth? Is it their fault? 
 Have they gone unskilfully to work? Could they, in 
 managing better, have found the way to my heart, or 
 is the fault in me? Is it perhaps that the way to my 
 heart is a steep, rocky, inaccessible way, by which no 
 one will ever pass ? Am I a horrid little creature, 
 arid, cold, and condemned never to love? " 
 " I do not think so." 
 
 " Neither do I ; but up to the present time that is 
 my history. No, I have never felt anything which 
 resembled love. You are laughing, and I can guess 
 why. You are saying to yourself: 'A little giii like 
 that pretending to know what love is!' You are 
 right ; I do not know, but I have a pretty good idea. 
 To love— is it not to prefer to all in the world one 
 cei tain person ? " 
 
 " Yes ; it is really tliat." 
 
 " Is it not never to weary of seeing tliat person or 
 of hearing him ? Is it not to cease to live when he 
 is not theie, and to immediately begin to revive when 
 he reappears ? " 
 
 " Oh ! but this is romantic love." 
 " Well, that is the love of which I dream, and 
 that is the love which does not come — not at all 
 till now; and yet that person preferred by me to 
 all and everythang dees exist. Do you know who 
 it is ? "
 
 I02 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 " No, I do not know; I do not know, but I have a 
 little suspicion." 
 
 " Yes, it is you, my dearest ; and it is perhaps you, 
 naugiity sister, who make me so insensible and cruel 
 on this point. I love you too much ; you fill my 
 heart. You have occupied it entirely ; there is no 
 room for anyone else. Prefer anyone to you ! love 
 anyone more than you ! That will never, never 
 be'l " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it will." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Love differently, perhaps, but more — 
 no. He must not count upon that, this gentleman 
 whom I expect, and who does not arrive." 
 
 " Do not be afraid, my Betty ; there is room in your 
 heart for all whom you should love — for your hus- 
 band, for your children, and that without your old 
 sister losing anything. The heart is very liltle, but it 
 is also very large." 
 
 Bettina tenderly embraced her sister; then, resting 
 her head coaxingly on Suzie's shoulder, she said : " If, 
 however, you are tired of keeping me with you, if you 
 are in a hurry to get rid of me, do }ou know wliat I 
 will do } I will put the names of two of these gen- 
 tlemen in a basket, and draw lots. There are two 
 who at the last extren)ity would not be absolutely 
 disngreeable." 
 
 " Which two ? " 
 
 " Guess." 
 
 " Prince Romanelii." 
 
 " For one. And the other ? " 
 
 " M. de Montessan."
 
 n 
 
 iji/*^"' .• 
 
 ^v^ 
 
 s^ 
 
 
 
 # 
 
 '=^»4 
 
 ^^4. 
 
 '*>»». 
 
 "^ 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
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 _J
 
 THE ABBE COX SI' A XI IX. IC5 
 
 "Those are the two! It is just that. Those two 
 would be acceptal)le, but only acceptable, and that is 
 not enough." 
 
 Tiiis is why Bettina awaited with extreme impa- 
 tience the day when they should leave Paris, and take 
 up their abode in Longueval. She was a little tired of 
 so much pleasure, so much success, so many offei'S of 
 marriage. The whirl |)ool of Parisian gayety had 
 seized her on her arrival and would not let her go, not 
 for one hour of halt or rest. She felt the need of 
 being given up to herself for a few days, to herself 
 alone, to consult and question herself at her leisure, in 
 the complete solitude of the country — in a word, to> 
 belong to herself again. 
 
 Was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous when on 
 the 14th of June they took the train for Longueval ?' 
 As soon as she was alone in a coupe with her sister, 
 " Ah ! " she crit d. " how happy I am ! Let us breathe 
 a little, quite alone, you and me, for a few days. The 
 Nortons and Turners do not come till the 25th, do- 
 they ? " 
 
 " No, not till the 25th." 
 
 " We will pass our lives riding or driving in the 
 woods, in the fields. Ten days of liberty ! And dur- 
 ing those ten days no more lovers, no more lovers f 
 And all those lovers, with what are they in love, 
 with me or my money.'* That is the mystery, the 
 unfathomable mystery." 
 
 The engine whistled ; the train put itself slowly into- 
 motion. A wild idea entered Bettina's head. She 
 leaned out of the window and cried, accompanying.
 
 ^o6 THE ABBE COXSJANTIX. 
 
 her words with a little wave of the hand : "Good-by, 
 my lovers, good-by ! " 
 
 Then she threw herself suddenly into a corner of 
 the coupe \\\\\\ a iiearty burst of laughter, 
 
 " Oh, Suzie, Suzie ! " 
 
 " What is the matter ? " 
 
 " A man with a red flag in his hand ; he saw me, 
 and he looked so astonished." 
 
 " You aie so irrational ! " 
 
 "Yes, it is true, to have called cut of the window 
 like tiiat, but not to be hapjiy nt thinking that we are 
 going to live alone, e7i gar^otis." 
 
 " Alone, alone I Not exactly that. To begin with, 
 we shall have two people to dinner to-m'ght." 
 
 •' Ah ! that is true ; but those two people, I shall 
 not be at all sorry to see them again. Yes, I shall be 
 very pleased to see the old cure again, but especially 
 the young officer." 
 
 " What I especially ? " 
 
 " Ceitainly ; because what the lawyei' fiom Sou- 
 vigny told us the other day is so touching, and what 
 that great artillery-man did when he was quite little 
 was so good, so good, that this evening I shall seek 
 for an opportunity of telling him what I think of it, 
 2i\\(\ I shall find one." 
 
 Then Bettina, abruptly changing the course of the 
 •conversation, continued : " Did they send the telegram 
 yesterday to Edwards about the jionies } " 
 
 '* Yes, yesterday before dinner." 
 
 " Oh, you will let me diive them up to the house .^ 
 Jt will be such fun to go through the town, and to
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN, 109 
 
 drive up at full speed into the court in front of the 
 entrance. Tell me, will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies." 
 
 " Oh, how nice of you, Suzie ! " 
 
 Edwards was the stud groom. He had arrived at 
 Longueval three days before. He deigned to come 
 himself to meet Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival. He 
 l)ro.ight the phaeton drawn by the four black ponies. 
 He was waiting at the station. The passage of the 
 ponies through the principal street of the town had 
 made a sensation. The population rushed out of 
 their houses, and asked eagerly : " What is it "^ 
 What can it be? " 
 
 Some ventured the opinion, " It is, perhaps, a 
 travelling circus." 
 
 But exclamations arose on all sides, " You did not 
 notice the style of it — the carriage and the harness 
 sliiuiiig like gold, and the little horses with their while 
 rosettes on each side of the head," 
 
 The crowd collected around the station ; and those 
 who were curious learned that they were going to 
 witness the arrival of the new owners of Longueval. 
 They were slightly disenchanted when the two sisters 
 appeared, very pretty, but in very simple travelling- 
 costumes. These good i)eople had almost expected 
 the apparition of two princesses out of fairy-tales, 
 clad in silk and brocade, sparkling with rui)ies and 
 diamonds. But they opened wide their eyes wjieii 
 they saw Bettina walk slowly round the four ponies, 
 caressing one after the other lightly with her hand, 
 and examining all the details of the team with the air 
 of a connoisseur.
 
 no THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 Having- made lier inspection, Bettina, without the 
 least liuiiv, drew off her long Swedish gloves, and 
 replaced them by a pair of dog-skin which she look 
 fioni the pocket of the carriage apron. Then she 
 slipi)e(l upon the box in the place of Edwards, receiv- 
 ing from him the reins and whip with extreme dex- 
 terity, without allowing the alieady excited horses to 
 perceive that they had changed hands. 
 
 Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. The 
 ponies pranced, curvetted, and threatened to rear. 
 
 " Be very careful, miss," said Edwards ; " the ponies 
 are very fresh to-day." 
 
 *' Do not be afraid," replied Bettina. " I know 
 them." 
 
 Miss Pei'cival had a hand at once very firm, very 
 light, and very just. She held in the ponies for a few 
 moments, forcing them to keep their own places; 
 then, waving the long thong of her whip round the 
 leaders, she started her little team at once with incom- 
 parable skill, and left the station with an air of tri- 
 umph, in the midst of a long murmur of astonishment 
 and admiration. 
 
 The ti'ot of the black ponies rang on the little oval 
 paving-stones of Souvigny. Bettina held tiiem well 
 together until she had left the town ; but as soon as 
 she saw before her a clear nnle and a half of high- 
 road — almost on a dead level — she let them gradually 
 increase their speed till they went like the wind. 
 
 "Oh, how hapjiy I am, Suzie !" cried siie ; "and 
 we shall trot and gaih^p all alone on these roads. 
 Suzie, would you like to drive } It is such a delight
 
 THE ABBE COX Sr AN TEW IM 
 
 when one can let tliem _i;o at full speed. Thev are so 
 spirited and so gentle. Come, take the reins." 
 
 " No ; keep them. It is a greater pleasure to me to 
 see you happy." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I am perfectly h.apjn-. I do like so 
 much to drive four-in-hand with i)Ienty of space before 
 me. At Paris, even in the morning, I did not dare to 
 any longer. They looked at mt? so it annoyed me. 
 But here — no one ! no one I no one I " 
 
 At the moment when Bettina, already a little intoxi- 
 cated with the bracing air and liberty, gave forth 
 triumphantly these three exclamatioiis, " No one ! no 
 one ! no one ! " a rider ajipeared, walking his horse 
 in the direction of the carriage. It was Paul de 
 Lavardens, He had been watching for more than 
 an hour for the pleasure of seeing the Americans 
 pass. 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Suzie to Bettitia ; " there 
 is some one." 
 
 "A peasant; they don't count. They won't ask 
 me to marry them." 
 
 " It is not a peasant at all. Look ! " 
 
 Paul de La\'ardens, while passing the carriage, 
 made the two sisters a highly cori-ect bow, from which 
 one at once scented the P.irisian. 
 
 The ponies were going at such a rate that the 
 meeting was over like a flash of lightning. 
 
 Bettina cried : " Who is that gentleman who has 
 just bowed to us ? " 
 
 " I had scarcely tinie to see ; but I seemed to 
 recognize him."
 
 T- I 2 T///-: . / BJ/- COA'S '/ A X 'JhV. 
 
 " VoLi recoonizrd him ? " 
 
 " Yrs. ai!(! I would wnger tliat I have seen him at 
 our house this winter." 
 
 " Hea\ens ! if it should he one of the thirty-four! 
 Is all that going- to l)egin again ? "
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 That same day at lialf-past seven Jean went to 
 feicli the cure, and the two walked together up to the 
 house. During- the last month a peifect army of 
 workmen had taken possession of Longueval ; all 
 the inns in the village were making their fortunes. 
 Immense furniture-wagons brought caigoes of furni- 
 ture and decorations from Paris. Forty-eight hours 
 l)efore the arrival of Mrs. Scott Mile. Marbeau, the 
 postnnstress, and Mme. Lormier, the mayoress, had 
 wormed themselves into the castle ; and the account 
 iheygave of the interior turned everyone's head. The 
 old furniture had disa|)peared, banished to the attics; 
 one moved among a perfect accumulation of wonders. 
 And the stables! and the coach-houses! A special 
 
 1-3
 
 114 THE ABBE COXSTA X 77iV. 
 
 train liad brought from Paris, under tiie high superin- 
 tendence of Edwards, a dozen cairiagt-hl — and such 
 carriages ! Twenty horses ! — and such horses ! 
 
 The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew what 
 luxury was. Once a year he dined wiih his bisho]), 
 Monseigneur Faubert.a rich and amiable prehite, who 
 entertained rather largely. The cure till now had 
 thought that there was nothing in the world more 
 sumptuous than the episcopal palace of Souvigny, or 
 the castles of Lavardens and Longueval. 
 
 He began to understand, from w hat he was told of 
 the new splendors of Longueval, that the lu.xm-y of 
 the great houses of the present day must surpass to a 
 singular degree the sober and severe luxury of the 
 great houses of former times. 
 
 As soon as the cure and Jean had enteied the 
 avenue in the park, which led to the house, " Look, 
 Jean!" said the cure; "what a change! All this 
 part of the paik used to be quite neglected, and now 
 all the paths are gravelled and raked. I shall not be 
 able to feel myself at home as I used to do ; it w ill be 
 too grand. 1 shall not tind again my old brown vel- 
 vet easy-chair, in which I so often fell asleeji after 
 dinnei- ; and if I fall asleep this evening, w hat will 
 become of me? You will think of it, Jean, and if 
 you see that 1 begin to forget myself, you will come 
 behind me and jMiich my arm genii}', won't }0u } 
 You i^romise me } " 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, I promise }0u." 
 
 Jean jiaid but slight attention to the con\ersation of 
 the cure. He felt extremely impatient to see Mrs.
 
 77//: ABBE COXSl AXTLV. 115 
 
 Scott and Miss Percival again, hut this impatience 
 was mingled with very keen anxiety. Would he find 
 them in the great salon at Longueval the same as he 
 had seen them in the little dining room at the vicar- 
 age ? Perhajis, instead of those two women, so \)QX- 
 fectly simple and familiar, amusing themselves with 
 this little improvised dinner, and who the very tirst 
 day had treated him with so much grace and cordial- 
 ity, perhaps would he find two pretty dolls — worldly, 
 elegant, cold, and correct ? Woukl his first impres- 
 sion be effaced ? Would it disappear, or, on the con- 
 trary, would the impression in his heart become still 
 sweeter and deeper ? 
 
 They ascended the six steps at the entrance, and 
 were received in the hall by two tall footmen with the 
 most dignified and imposing air. This hall had for- 
 merly been a vast, frigid a|)artment, with bare stone 
 walls. These walls were now covered with admirable 
 tapL-stry, representing mythological subjects. The 
 cure dared scarcely glance at this tapestry ; i» vas 
 enough for him to perceive that the goddesses w!:o 
 wandered through these shades wore costumes of 
 antique simplicity. 
 
 One of the footmen opened wide the folding-doors 
 of the salon. It was there that one had generally 
 found the old marquise, on the right of the high 
 chimney-|)iece, and on the left had stood the brown 
 velvet easy-chair. 
 
 No brown easy-chair now ! That old relic of the 
 Empire, which was the basis of the arrangement of 
 the salon, had been replaced by a marvellous speci-
 
 I 1 6 7 IJE ABBE CO A ^SlANl IN. 
 
 men of tapestry of the end of the last century. Then 
 a crowd of little easy-chairs, and ottomans of all 
 forms and all colors, were scattered here and there 
 with an appearance of disorder which was the per- 
 fection of art. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the cure and Jean enter 
 she rose, and, going to meet them, said : 
 
 " How kind of you to come, M. le Cure, and you 
 too, M. Jean ! How pleased I am to see you, my first, 
 my only friends down here ! " 
 
 Jean breathed again. It was the same woman. 
 
 " Will you allow me," added Mrs. Scott, " to intro- 
 duce my children to you } Harry and Bella, come 
 liere. " 
 
 Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, and Bella 
 a very charming little girl of five years old. They had 
 their mother's large dark eyes, and her golden hair. 
 
 After the cure had kissed the two children, Harry, 
 who was looking with admiration at Jean's uniform, 
 said to his mother : 
 
 " And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him, 
 too?" 
 
 " If you like," replied Mrs. Scott, "and if he will 
 allow it." 
 
 A moment afier the two children were installed 
 upon Jean's knees, and overwhelming him with 
 questions. 
 
 " Are you an officer } " 
 
 " Yes, I am an officer." 
 
 " What in ?" 
 
 " In the artillery."
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAN riX. n? 
 
 " The artiller}- ! Oh, you are one of the men who 
 fire the cannons Oh, huw I should hke to be quite 
 near when they tire the cannons ! " 
 
 ** Will you take us some day when they fire the 
 cannons ? Tell me, will you ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Mis. Scoii chatted with the cure, and 
 Jean, while replying to the children's questions, looked 
 at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white muslin dress, but 
 the muslin tlisappeared under a comi)lrte avalanche 
 of little flounces of Valenciennes. The dress was cut 
 out in frorit in a large square, her arms were bare to 
 the flbow, a large bouquet of red roses was at the 
 opening of her dress, and a red rose fixed in her hair 
 with a diamoiid ^^^cr;-^?/^ —nothing more. 
 
 Mis. Scott suddenly perceived that the children had 
 taken entire possession of Jean, and exclaimed : 
 
 " (^h, I beg your pardon ! Harry, Bella !" 
 
 " Oh, pray let them stay with me ! " 
 
 " 1 am so sorry to keep you waiting for dinner. 
 My sister is not down yet. Oh, here slie is ! " 
 
 Bettina entered. The same dress of white muslin, 
 the same delicate mass of lace, tlie same red roses, 
 the same grace, the same beauty, and the same smil- 
 ing, amiable, candid manner. 
 
 *' How do you do, M. le Cure .-* I am delighted to 
 see you. Have you pardoned my dreadful intrusion 
 of the other day } " Then, turning toward Jean and 
 offering him her hand : " How do you do, M. — 
 
 M. Oh ! I cannot remember your name, and 
 
 yet we seem to be already old friends M. " 
 
 " Jean Reynaud."
 
 Ii8 THE ABBE COXSTANTIN. 
 
 ''Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you do, M. 
 Reviiaud ? I warn you faithfully that wlien we really 
 are old fiiends — that is to sa)-, in about a week — I 
 shall call you M. Jean. It is a pretty name — Jean." 
 
 Up to the moment when Bettina appeared Jeaii 
 had said to himself : " Mrs. Scott is the j^ietlier ! " 
 
 When he felt Bettina's little hand slii) into his arm, 
 and when she turned toward him her delicious face, 
 he said : " Miss Percival is the prettier ! " 
 
 But his perplexities gathered round him again when 
 he was seated between the two sisters. If he looked 
 to the right, love threatened him from that direction ; 
 and if he looked to the left, the danger removed 
 immediately, and passed to the left. 
 
 Conversation began, easy, animated, confidential. 
 The two sisters were charmed. They had already 
 walked in the i)ark : they promised themselves a long- 
 ride in the forest to-morrow. Riding was their pas- 
 sion, their madness. It was also Jean's passion ; so 
 that after a quarter of an hour they begged him to 
 join them the next day. There was no one who kiK w 
 the country round better than he did ; it was his 
 native place. He should be so hapj^y to do the 
 honoi's of it, and to show them nun'.beis of delight- 
 ful little spots which without him they would never 
 discover. 
 
 •* Do you ride every day } " asked Bettina. 
 
 "Every day, and sometimes twice. In the moining 
 I am on duty, and in the evening I lide foi" my own 
 pleasure." 
 
 *' Early in the morning } "
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. HQ 
 
 " At half-past five." 
 
 " At luilf-past five every morning ? " 
 
 " Yes, except Sunday." 
 
 "Then you get up ■'" 
 
 " At half-past four." 
 
 " And is it hght } " 
 
 " Oh, ju;st now, i)road daylight." 
 
 "To get up at half-past four is admirable ; we often 
 finish our day just when yours is beginning. And are 
 you fond of your profession ? " 
 
 " Very. It is an excellent thing to have one's life 
 plain before one, with exact and definite duties." 
 
 " And yet," said Mrs. Scott, " not to be one's own 
 master— to be always obliged to obey ! " 
 
 " That is perhaps wliat suits me best ; there is 
 nothing easier than to obey, and then to learn to obey 
 is the only way of learning to command." 
 
 " Ah ! since you say so, it must be true," 
 
 " Yes, no doubt," added the cure; "but he does 
 not tell you that he is the most distinguished officer 
 in his regiment, that " 
 
 " Oh, pray do not ! " 
 
 The cuie, in spite of the resist;ince of Jean, was 
 about lo launch into a panegyric on his godson, when 
 Bettiiia, interposing, said : 
 
 "It is unnecessary, M. le Cure ; do not say any- 
 thing. We know already all that you would tell us; 
 we have been so indiscreet as to make inquiries about 
 M. — oh ! I was just going to say M. Jean — about M. 
 Reynaud. Well, the information we received was 
 excellent."
 
 120 THE ABBE COXSTAXriN. 
 
 " I am curious to know," said Jean. 
 . " Nothing ! nothing I you shall know notliing. I 
 do not wish to make \ ou blush, and you would be 
 obliged to blush." 
 
 Then, turning toward the cure : " And about you 
 too. M. I'Abbe, we have had some infoiination. It 
 appe.iis that you are a saint." 
 
 " Oh I as :o that, it is perfectly true I " cried Jean. 
 
 It was the cuie this time who cut short tlie elo- 
 quence of Jean. Dinner was almost over. The old 
 priest had not got through this dinner without experi- 
 encing many emotions. They had repeatedly i)re- 
 Sf^nted to him complicated and scientific constructions 
 upon which he had oidy ventured with a tiembling 
 hand. He was afraid of seeing the whole crundjle 
 beneaih his touch — the trembling castles of jelly, the 
 pyramids of trufifles, the fortresses of cream, the bas- 
 tions of pastry, the rocks of ice. Olheiwise the Abbe 
 Constantin dined with an excellent appetite, and did 
 not recoil before two or three glasses of champagne. 
 He was no foe to good cheer. Perfection is not of 
 this world ; and if gormandizing were, as they say, 
 a cardinal sin, how many good priests woald be 
 damned ! 
 
 Coffee was served on the terrace in front of the 
 house; in the distance was heard the harsh voice of 
 the old village clock striking nine. Woods and fields 
 were slumbering; the avenues in the park showed 
 only as long undulating and undecided lines. 
 The moon slowly rose over the tops of the great 
 trees.
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. I2i 
 
 Bettina took the box of cigars from the table, •' Do 
 you smoke ? " said sh.e. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percivah" 
 
 " Take one, M. Jean. It can't be helped. I have 
 saiil it. Take one — but no, listen to me first." And 
 speaking in a low voice while offering him the box of 
 cigars: "It is getting dark; now you may blush at 
 VDur ease, I will tell you what I did not say at chnner. 
 An old lawyer in Souvigny, who was your guaidian, 
 came to see my sister in Paris about the payment for 
 the place ; he told us what you did after your father's 
 death, when you were only a child — what you did for 
 that poor mother, and for that j^oor young girl. Both 
 my sister and I were much touched by it." 
 
 " Yes," continued Mis. Scott, "and that is why we 
 have received you to-day with so mucii pleasure. We 
 should not have given such a reception to everyone, 
 of that you may be sure. Well, now take your cigar; 
 my sister is waiting." 
 
 Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina stood 
 there with the box of cigars in her two hands, her eyes 
 fixed frankly on the countenance of Jean, At the 
 moment, she tasted a true and keen pleasure which 
 .may be expressed by this phrase: "It seems to me 
 thai I see before me a man of honor." 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Scott, " let us sit here 
 and enjoy this delicious night ; take your coffee, 
 smoke " 
 
 " And do not let us talk, Suzie ; do not let us talk ! 
 This great silence of the country, after the great noise 
 and bustle of Paris, is delightful ! Let us sit here
 
 122 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 witliout speaking ; let us look at the sky, the moon, 
 aiid tlie stars." 
 
 All four with much pleasure carried out this little 
 programme, Suzie and Bettina, calm, reposeful, ab- 
 solutely separated from their existence of yesterday, 
 already felt a tenderness for the place which had 
 just received them and was going to keep them. 
 Jean was less tranquil ; the words of Miss Percival 
 liad caused him profound emotion ; his heart had not 
 yet quite regained its regular throb. 
 
 But the happiest of all was the Abbe Constantin. 
 This little episode which had caused Jean's modesty 
 such a rude, yet sweet, trial had brought him exquisite 
 joy, the abbe bore his godson such affection. The 
 most tender father never loved more warmly the 
 dearest of his children. When the old cure looked at 
 the young officer, he often said to himself: " Heaven 
 has been too kind ; I am a priest, and I have a son !" 
 
 The abbe sank into a very agreeable revery. He 
 felt himself at home ; he felt himself too much at 
 home. By degrees his ideas became hazy and con- 
 fused, revery became drowsiness, drowsiness became 
 slumber; the disaster was soon complete, irre])arable; 
 the cure slept, and slept profoundly. This marvellous 
 dinner and the two or three glasses of champagne may 
 have had something to do with the catastrophe. 
 
 Jean perceived nothing ; he had forgotten the 
 promise made to his godfather. And why had he 
 forgotten it ? Because Mrs. Scott and Miss Perciv^al 
 had thought proper to put their feet on the footstools 
 placed in front of their great wicker garden-chairs
 
 THE ABBE COySTANTIN. 123 
 
 filled with cushions ; tlien they Iiad tlirown tliemselves 
 lazily back in their chairs, and their musHn skirts had 
 become raised a little — a very little, but yet enough to 
 display four little feet, the lines of which showed very 
 distinctly and clearly beneath two pretty clouds of 
 white lace. Jean looked at these little feet, and asked 
 liimself this question : *' Which are the smaller ? " 
 
 While he was trying to solve this problem, Bettina 
 all at once said to him in a low voice: " M. Jean! 
 M. Jean ! " 
 
 *' Miss Percival ? " 
 
 " Look at the cure ; he is asleep ! " 
 
 " Oh ! it is my fault." 
 
 " How your fault } " asked Mrs. Scott, also in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes ; my godfather rises at daybreak and goes to 
 bed very early. He told me to be sure and prevent 
 his falling asleep. When Mme. de Longuevnl was 
 here, he very often had a nap after dinner ; you have 
 shown him so much kindness that he has fallen back 
 into his old habits." 
 
 •' And he is perfectly right," said Bettina. " Do 
 not make a noise ; do not wake him." 
 
 " You are too good, Miss Percival ; but the air is 
 getting a little fresh," 
 
 "Ah! that is true, he might catch cold. Stay, I 
 will go and fetch a wraj) for him." 
 
 " I think, Miss Percival, it would be better to try 
 and wake him skilfully, so that he should not suspect 
 that you had seen him asleep." 
 
 *• Let me do it," said Bettina. " Suzir. let us sing
 
 124 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 together, very softly at fiist, then we will raise our 
 voices little by little ; let us sing," 
 
 " Willingly, but what shall we sing ? " 
 
 "Let us sing ' Ouelque chose d'enfantin'; the 
 words are suitable." 
 
 Suzie and Bettina began to sing : 
 
 " If I had but two little wings, 
 And were a little feathery bird." 
 
 Their sweet and peneti'ating voices had an exquisite 
 sonority in that profound silence. The abbe heard 
 nothing, did not move. Charmed with this Httle con- 
 cert, Jean said to himself: "Heaven grant that my 
 godfather may not wake too soon ! " 
 
 The voices became clearer and louder : 
 
 " But in my sleep to you I fly, 
 I'm always with you in my sleep." 
 
 Yet the abbe did not stir. 
 
 "How he sleeps I " said Suzie; "it is a crime to 
 wake him." 
 
 " But we must ; louder, Suzie, louder." 
 
 Suzie and Bettina both gave free scope to the power 
 of their voices : 
 
 '' Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids ; 
 So I love to wake ere break of day." 
 
 The cure woke with a start. After a short moment 
 of anxiety he breathed again. Evidently no one had 
 noticed that he had been asleep. He collected him-
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 127 
 
 self, stretched himself prudently, slowly ; he was 
 saved ! 
 
 A quarter of an hour later the two sisters accompa- 
 nied the cure and Jean to the little gate of the park, 
 which opened into the village a few yards froin the 
 vicarage ; they had nearly reached the gate when Bet- 
 tina said all at once to Jean : " Ah ! all this time I 
 have had a question to ask you. This morning, wiien 
 we arrived, we met on the way a shght young man, 
 with a fair mustache; he was riding a black horse, 
 and bowed to us as we passed." 
 
 " It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my friends. 
 He has already had the honor of being introduced to 
 you, but rather vaguely ; and his ambition is to be 
 presented again." 
 
 " Well, you shall bring him one of these days," said 
 Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " After the 25th ! " cried Bettina. " Not before ! 
 not before ! No one till then ; till then we will see 
 no one but you, M. Jean. But you, — it is very ex- 
 traordinary, and I don't quite know how it has 
 hap[)ened,— you don't seem anybody to us. The com- 
 pliment is perhaps not very well turned ; but do not 
 make a mistake, it is a compliment. I intended to be 
 excessively amiable in speaking to you thus." 
 
 " And so you are. Miss Percival." 
 
 ** So much the better if I have been so fortunate as 
 to make myself understood. Good-by, M. Jean — till 
 to-morrow ! " 
 
 Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned slowly 
 toward the castle.
 
 128 
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TEW 
 
 " And now, Su^ie," said Bettina, " scold me well 
 J expect it, I have desei'xed it." 
 ^' Scold you! Why? " 
 
 " You are going to say, I am sure, that I have been 
 too familiar with that young man." 
 
 " No, I shall not say that. From the first day that 
 young man has made the most favorable impression 
 upon me ; he inspues me with perfect confidence." 
 
 " And so he does me."
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTLY. 1 29 
 
 " I am persuaded tliat it would be well for us both 
 to try to make a friend of him." 
 
 " With all my iieart, as far as I am concerned, so 
 much the more as I have seen many young men since 
 we have lived in France. Oh, yes, I have, indeed! 
 Well! this is the first, positively the first, in whose 
 eyes I h;'.ve not clearly read, ' Oh, how glad I should 
 be to marry tiie millions of that little person ! ' Tliat 
 was written in the eyes of all the others, but not in his 
 eyes. Now here we are, at home again ! Good-night, 
 Suzie — to-morrow." 
 
 Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping 
 children. 
 
 Bettina remained long, leaning on the balustrade of 
 her balcony. 
 
 " It seems to me," said she, " that I am going to be 
 very fond of this place."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The next morning, on returning from drill. Jean 
 found Paul de Lavardens waiting for h-m at the 
 barracks; he scarcely allowed him time to dismount, 
 and the moment he had him alone, " Quick ! " snid 
 he, "describe your dinner-party of yesterday. I saw 
 them myself in the morning; the little one was diiv- 
 ing four ponies, and with an amount of audacity. I 
 bowed to them. Did they mention me? Did they 
 recognize me ? When will you take me to Longueval ? 
 Answer me." 
 
 " Answer ? yes. But which question first ? " 
 
 " The last." 
 
 " When will I take you to Longueval ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN-. 131 
 
 " Well, in ten days ; they don't want to see anyone 
 just now." 
 
 " Then you are not going back to Longueval for 
 ten days ? '" 
 
 " Oh, I shall go back to-day at four o'clock. But 
 I don't count, you know. Jean Reynaud, the cures 
 godson — that is why I have penetrated so easily into 
 the confidence of these two charnung women. I have 
 presented myself under the patronage and witii tiie 
 guarantee of the Church. And then they have dis- 
 covered that I could render them little services. I 
 know the country very well, and they will make use of 
 me as a guide. In a word, I am nobody ; while you, 
 Comte Paul de Lavardens, you are somebody. So fear 
 nothing; your turn will come with the fetes and balls. 
 Then you will be resplendent in all your glory, and I 
 shall return very humbly into my obscurity." 
 
 " You may laugh at me as much as you like ; it is 
 none the less true that during those ten days you will 
 steal a march upon me — upon jne / " 
 
 " How upon you ? " 
 
 " Now, Jean, do you want to make me believe that 
 you are not already in love with one of these two 
 women ? Is it possible ? So much beauty, so much 
 luxury ! Luxury to that degree upsets me. Those 
 black ponies with their white rosettes ! I dreamed of 
 them last night, and that little — Bettina, is it not.^ 
 
 "Yes, Bettina." 
 
 "Bettina — Comtesse Bettina de Lavardens! 
 Doesn't that sound well enough ? and what a perfect 
 husband she would have in me ! To be the husband
 
 132 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 of a woman possessing" boundless wealth — that is 
 my destiny. It is not so easy as one may suppose. I 
 have already run through something, and if my mother 
 had not stopped me ! but I am quite ready to begin 
 again. Oh, how hap]:)y that girl would be with me ! 
 1 would cieate ai'ound iier the existence of a faii'y 
 queen. In all her luxury she would feel the taste, the 
 art, and the skill of her husband. 1 would pass my 
 Hfe in adoring her, in displaying her beauty, in petting 
 iier, in bearing her triumphant through the world. I 
 would study her beauty in order to give it the frame 
 that best suited it. ' If he were not there,' she would 
 say, ' I should not be so beautiful, so dazzling.' I 
 should know not only how to love her, but how to 
 amuse her. She would have something for her 
 money ; she would have love and pleasure. Come, 
 Jean, do a good action ; take me to Mrs. Scott's 
 to-day." 
 
 " I cannot, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, then, in ten days ; but I give you fair notice, 
 I shall install myself at Longueval, and shall not move. 
 In the first place, it would please my mother ; she is 
 still a little prejudiced against the Americans. She 
 says that she shall arrange not to see theni ; but 1 
 know my mother. Some day, when I sh.all go home 
 in the ev^ening and tell her: ' Mother, I have won the 
 heart of a charming little person who is burdened with 
 a capital of twenty millions.' — they exaggerate when 
 )hey talk of hundreds of millions ; you know these are 
 /he correct figures, and they are enough for me, — that 
 evening, then, my mother will be delighted, because in
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIM. 133 
 
 her heart wliat is it she desires for me ? What all 
 good mothers desire for tlieir sons — a good maiiiage, 
 or a discreet liaison with some one in society. At 
 Longueval I find these two essentials, and I will 
 accommodate myself very willingly to either. You 
 will have the kindness to warn me in ten tlays ; you 
 will let me know which of the two you abandon to 
 me, Mrs. Scott or Miss Percival." 
 
 " You are mad, you are quite mad ! I do not, I 
 never shall think " 
 
 " Listen, Jean. You aie wisdom personified. You 
 may say and do as you like ; but remember wliat I 
 say to you, Jean : you will fall in love in that house." 
 
 " I do not believe it," replied Jean, laughing. 
 
 " But I am absolutely sure of it. Good-by. I leave 
 you to your duties." 
 
 That morning Jean was perfectly sincere. He had 
 slept very well the previous night ; the second inter- 
 view with the two sisters had, as if by enchantment, 
 dissipated the slight trouble which iiad agitated his 
 soul after the first meeting. He prepared to meet 
 them again with much pleasure, but also with much 
 tranquillity ; there was too much money in that house 
 to permit the love of a poor devil like Jean to find 
 place honestly there. 
 
 Friendship was another affair; with all his heart he 
 wished, and with all his strength he sought, to estab- 
 lish himself peacefully in the esteem and regard of the 
 sisters. He would try not to remark too much the 
 beauty of Suzie and Bettina ; he would try not to for- 
 get himself, as he had done the previous evening, in the
 
 134 THE ABBE CON ST AN TIN. 
 
 contemplation of the four little feet resting on their 
 footstools. They had said very frankly, very cordially 
 to him : " You shall be our friend." That was all he 
 desired — to be their friend ; and that he would be. 
 
 During the ten days that followed all conduced to 
 the success of this enterprise. Suzie, Bettina, the 
 cure, and Jean led the same life in the closest and 
 most cordial intimacy. 
 
 Jean did not seek to analyze his feelings. He felt 
 for these two women an equal affection ; he was per- 
 fectly happy, perfectly tranquil. Then he was not in 
 love, for love and tranquillity seldom dwell at peace 
 in the same heart. 
 
 Jean, however, saw approach with a little anxiety 
 and sadness the day which would bring to Longueval 
 the Turners and the Nortons and the whole force of 
 the American colony. The day came too soon. 
 
 On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o'clock, Jean 
 arrived at tiie castle. Bettina received him alone^ 
 looking quite vexed. 
 
 " How annoying it is ! " said she ; " my sister is not 
 well — a little headache, nqjlhing of consequence, it 
 will be gone by to-morrow ; but I dare not ride with 
 you alone. In America I might ; but here it would 
 not do, would it } " 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Jean. 
 
 " I must send you back, and I am so sorry." 
 
 " And so am I ; I am very sorry to be obliged to 
 go, and to lose this last day, which I had hoped to 
 pass with you. However, since it must be, I will come 
 to-morrow to enquire after your sister."
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTEY. 135 
 
 '' She will see you herself to-morrow; I repeat, it is 
 nothing serious. But do not run away in such a 
 hurry, pray ; will you not spare me a little quarter of 
 an hour's conversation ? I want to speak to you ; sit 
 down there, and now listen to me well. My sister and 
 I had intended this evening aftei" dinner to blockade 
 you into a little corner of the drawing room, and tiien 
 she meant to tell you wiuit I am going to try to say 
 for us both; but I am a little nervous. Do not 
 laugh ; it is a very serious matter. We wish to thank 
 you for having been, ever since our arrival here, so 
 good to us both." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Percival ! pray, it is I who " 
 
 "Oh, do not interrupt me! you will quite confuse 
 !ne. I do not know how to get through with it. I 
 maintain, besides, that the thanks are due from us, 
 not from you. We arrived here two strangers. We 
 have been fortunate enough to immediately find 
 friends. Yes, friends. You have taken us by the 
 hand, you have led us to our farmers, to our keepers ; 
 while your godfather took us to his poor. And every- 
 where you were so much beloved that from their con- 
 fidence in you they began, on your recommendation, 
 to like us a little. You are adored about here; do 
 you know that } " 
 
 " I was born here ; all these good people have 
 known me from my infancy, and are grateful to me 
 for what my grandfather and father did for them. 
 And then I am of their race, the race of the peasants ; 
 my great-grandfather was a laborer at Bargecourt, a 
 village two miles from here."
 
 136 THE ABBE COA'STAXTEY. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! you appear very pioud of lliat ! " 
 
 " Neither proud nor ashamed." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, you made a Hide movement of 
 pride. Well, I can tell you that my mothei's great- 
 j^randfather was a farmer in Brittany. He went to 
 Canada at the end of the last century, when Canada 
 was still French. And you love very much this ])]ace 
 wheie you were born ? " 
 
 " Very much. Perhaps I shall soon be obliged to 
 leave it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " When I get promotion, I shall have to exchange 
 into another regiment, and I shall wander from garri- 
 son to garrison ; but certainly, when I am an old 
 commandant or old colonel, on half-])ay, I shall come 
 back and live and die here in the little house that was 
 my father's." 
 
 "Always quite alone? " 
 
 " Why quite alone ? I certainly hope not." 
 
 " You intend to marry ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " You are trying to get married ? " 
 
 " No ; one may think of marrying, but one ought 
 not to try to marry," 
 
 " And yet there are people who do try. Come, I 
 can answer for that, and you even ; people have 
 wished to mairy you." 
 
 " Kow do you know that ? " 
 
 " Oh, I know all your little affairs so well. You are 
 what I hey call a good match ; and, 1 repeat it, they 
 have wished to marry you."
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTIN. 139 
 
 " Who told you that ? " 
 
 " M. le Cure." 
 
 " Then he was very wrong," said Jean, with a cer- 
 tain sharpness, 
 
 "No, no; he was not wrong". If anyone has been 
 to bhiine, it is I. I soon discovered that your god- 
 father was never so liappy as when he was speaking 
 of you ; so when I was alone with hini during our 
 walks, to please hini I talked of you, and he related 
 your history to me. You are well off; you are very- 
 well off. From Government you receive every month 
 two hundred and thirteen francs and some centimes ; 
 am I correct ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jean, deciding to bear with a good 
 grace his shai'e in the cure's indiscretions. 
 
 " You have eight thousand francs income." 
 
 " Nearly, not quite." 
 
 " Add to that your house, which is worth thirty 
 thousand francs. You ai-e in an excellent position ; 
 and people have asked your hand." 
 
 " Asked my hand ! No, no." 
 
 " They have ; they have, twice. And you have 
 refused two very good marriages, two very good for- 
 tunes, if you prefer it— it is the same thing for so 
 many people. Two hundred thousand francs in the 
 one, three hundred thousand in tiie other case. It 
 appears that these fortunes are enormous for the 
 country! Yet you have refused! Tell me why." 
 
 " Well, it concerned two charming young girls." 
 
 " That is understood. One always says that." 
 
 " But whom I scarcely knew. They forced me, —
 
 C40 
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 for I did resist, — they forced me to spend two or three 
 evenings with tliem last winter." 
 
 " And then ? " 
 
 " Tlien — I don't quite know how to explain it tc 
 
 you. I did not feel the slightest toucii of embarrass- 
 ment, emotion, anxiety, or disturbance " 
 
 " In fact," said Bettina resolutely, " not the least 
 suspicion of love." 
 
 " No, not the least; and I returned quite calmly to 
 my bachelor den, for I think it is better not to marry 
 than to marry without love." 
 
 " And I lliink so, too." 
 
 She looked at him, he looked at her; and suddenly, 
 to the great surprise of both, they found nothing more 
 to say — nothing at all.
 
 THE ABBE CONSl'ANTIiV. 14^ 
 
 At this moinent Harry and Bella rushed into the 
 room with cries of joy. 
 
 " M. Jean ! Are you theie ? Come and see our 
 ponies." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Bettina, her voice a little uncertain, 
 " Edwards has just come back from Paris, and has 
 brought two microscopic ponies for the children. 
 Let us go and see them, shall we ? " 
 
 They went to see the ponies, which were indeed 
 worthy to figure in the stables of the King of Lilliput.
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Three weeks have glided by; another day and 
 Jean will be obliged to leave with his regiment for the 
 artillery practice. He will lead the life of a soldier. 
 Ten days' march on the high-road going and return- 
 ing, and ten days in the camp at Cercottes in the 
 forest of Orleans. The regiment will return to Sou- 
 vigny on the loth of August. 
 
 Jean is no longer tranquil ; Jean is no longer happy. 
 He sees approach with impatience, and at the same 
 time with terror, the moment of his departure. With 
 imi)atience, for he suffers an absolute martyrdom ; he 
 longs to escape from it. With terror, for to pass 
 twenty days without seeing her, without speaking to 
 her, — without her, in a word, — what will become of 
 him } Her ! it is Bettina : he adores her !
 
 THE ABBE CON ST AN TIN. I43 
 
 Since when ? Since the first day, since thnt meeting 
 in the month of May iii the cure's garden. That is 
 the truth ; but Jean struggles against and resists tiuit 
 truth. He beheves that he has only loved Bettina 
 since the day when the two chatted gayly, amicably, 
 in the little drawing room. She was sitting on the 
 blue couch near the window, and while talking amused 
 herself with repairing the disorder of the dress of a 
 Japanese princess, one of Bella's dolls, whicii she had 
 left on a chair, and which Bettina had meciianically 
 taken up. 
 
 Why had the fancy come to Miss Percival to talk to 
 him of those two young girls whom he might have 
 married ? The question of itself was not at all 
 embarrassing to hini. He had replied that if he had 
 not then felt aiiy taste for marriage it was because his 
 interviews with tliese two girls had not caused him 
 any emotion or any agitation. He had smiled in 
 speaking thus ; but a few minutes after he smiled no 
 more. This emotion, this agitation, he had suddenly 
 learned to kiiow them. Jean did not deceive him- 
 self ; he acknowledged the depth of the wound. It 
 had penetrated to his very heart's core. 
 
 Jean, however, did not abandon himself to this emo- 
 tion. He said to himself : " Yes, it is serious, very 
 serious, but I shall recover from it." 
 
 He sought an excuse for his madness ; he laid the 
 blame on circumstances. For ten days this delightful 
 girl had been too much with him, too much with him 
 alone ! How could he resist such a temptation ? He 
 was intoxicated with her charm, with her grace and
 
 144 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 beauty. But the next day a troop of visitors would 
 arrive at Longueval, and there would be an end of this 
 dangerous intimacy. He would have courage ; he 
 would keep at a distance ; he would lose himself in 
 the crowd, would see Bettina less often and less 
 familiarly. To see her no more was a thought he 
 could not support ! He wished to remain Bettina's 
 friend, since he could be nothing but her friend ; for 
 there was another thought which scarcely entered the 
 mind of Jean. This thought did not appear extrava- 
 gant to him ; it appeared monstrous. In the whole 
 world there was not a more honorable man than Jean, 
 and he felt for Bettina's money horror, positively 
 horror. 
 
 From the 25th of June the crowd had been in pos- 
 session of Longueval. Mrs. Norton arrived with her 
 son, Daniel Norton, and Mrs. Turner with her son, 
 Philip Turner. Both of them, the young Philip and 
 the young Daniel, formed a part of the famous 
 brotherhood of the thirty-four. They were old 
 friends ; Bettina had treated them as such, and had 
 declared to them with i)erfect frankness that they were 
 losing their time. However, they were not discour- 
 aged, and formed the centre of a little court which 
 was always very eager and assiduous around Bettina. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance on 
 this scene, and had very rapidly become everybody's 
 friend. He had received the brilliant and complicated 
 education of a young man destined for pleasure. As 
 soon as it was a question only of amusement, riding, 
 croquet, lawn tennis, polo, dancing, charades, and
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. U5 
 
 theatricals, he was read}- for everytliing, he excelled in 
 everything. His superiority was evident, unquestion- 
 able. Paul became in a short tiine by general consent 
 the director and organizer of ihe fetes at Longueval. 
 
 Bettina had not a moment of hesitation. Jean 
 introduced P;uil de Lavardens ; and the latter had 
 scarcely concluded the customary little compliment 
 when Miss Pcrcival, leaning toward her sister, whis- 
 pered in her ear : 
 
 "The thirty-tifih !" 
 
 However, she received Paul very kindly, so kindly 
 that for several days he had the weakness to misun- 
 derstand her. He believed that it was his personal 
 graces which had obtained for him this very flattering 
 and cordial reception. It was a great mistake. Paul 
 de Lavardens had been introduced by Jean ; he was 
 the friend of Jean. \\\ Bettina's eyes therein lay all 
 his merit. 
 
 Mrs. Scott's castle was open house. People were 
 not invited for one evening only, but for every even- 
 ing ; and Paul, witii enthusiasm, came every evening. 
 His dream u-as at last realized ; he had found Paris 
 at Longueval. 
 
 But Paul was neither blind nor a fool. No doubt 
 he was, on Miss Percival's part, the object of very 
 particular attention and favor. It pleased her to talk 
 long, very long, alone with him. But what was the 
 eternal, the inexhaustible subject of their conversa- 
 tions.^ Jean, again Jean, and always Jean ! 
 
 Paul was thoughtless, dissipated, frivolous ; but he 
 became in earnest when Jean was in question. He
 
 146 THE ABBE CONSTANTLY. 
 
 knew how to appreciate hini ; he knew how t(i love 
 him. Nothing to him was sweeter, nothing" was 
 easier, than to say of the friend of his childhood all the 
 good that he thought of him ; and as he saw that 
 Bettina listened with great pleasure, Paul gave fiee 
 rein to his eloquence. 
 
 Only — and he was quite right — Paul wished one 
 evening to reap the benefit of his chivalrous conduct. 
 He had just been talking for a quarter of an hour 
 with Bettina. The conversation finished, he went to 
 look for Jean at the other end of the drawing room, 
 and said to him : 
 
 " You left the field open to me, and I have made a 
 bold stroke for Miss Percival." 
 
 " Well, you have no reason to be discontented with 
 the result of the enterprise. You are the best friends 
 in the world." 
 
 "Yes, certainly; pretty well, but not quite satis- 
 factory. There is nothing more amiable or more 
 charm.ing than Miss Percival ; and really it is very 
 good of me to acknowledge it, for, between ourselves, 
 she makes me play an ungrateful and ridiculous 
 role — a role which is quite unsuited to my age. I am, 
 you will admit, of the lover's age, and not of that of 
 the confidant." '-' 
 
 '* Of the confidant } " 
 
 " Yes, my dear fellow, of the contidant ! That is 
 my occupation in this house. You were looking at 
 us just now. Oh, I have very good eyes ; you were 
 looking at us. Well, do you know what we were 
 talking about .^ Of you, my dear fellow, of you, of
 
 THE ABBE COX STAN TIN. I47 
 
 you again, of nothing' but you. And it is tlie same 
 thing every evening; there is no ^x\(\ to the questions : 
 
 " ' You were brought up together? You took les- 
 sons together from the Abbe Constantin ? Will he 
 soon be captain ? And then ? ' 
 
 " ' Commandant.' 
 
 " ' And then ? ' 
 
 " ' Colonel, etc., etc., etc' 
 
 "Ah, I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you liked, 
 5'ou might dream a very delicious dream." 
 
 Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul was much 
 astonished at this sudden attack of irritability. 
 
 "What is the matter? Have I said anything?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I was wrong. But how 
 could you take such an absurd idea into your head ?" 
 
 " Absurd ! I don't see it. I have entertained the 
 absurd idea on my own account." 
 
 " Ah ! you " 
 
 " Why ' Ah ! me ' ? If I have had it, you may have 
 it ; you are better worth it than I am." 
 
 " Paul, I entreat you ! " 
 
 Jean's discomfort was evident. 
 
 " We will not speak of it ngain ; we will not speak 
 of it again. What I wanted to say, in short, is that 
 Mis^Percival tliinks me very nice, very nice ; but as 
 to thinking of me seriously, that little person will 
 never think of me seriously. I must fall back upon 
 Mrs. Scott, but without much confidence. You see, 
 Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I shall 
 make nothing out of it." 
 
 Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. Scott,
 
 148 THE ABBE COXSTANTIN'. 
 
 but the next day was surprised to stumble upon Jean, 
 who had taken to jilaciug himself veiy regularly in 
 Mrs. Scott's particular circle, for, like Bettina, she 
 had also her little court. But what Jean sought 
 there was a protec;ion, a shelter, a refuge. 
 
 The day of that memorable conversation on mar- 
 riage without love Bettina had also, for the first time, 
 felt suddenly awake in her that necessity of loving 
 which sleeps, but not very ])rofoundly, in the henrts 
 of all young girls. The sensation had been the 
 same, a^ the same moment, in the soul of Bettina and 
 the soul of Jean. He, terrified, had cast it violeiUly 
 from him. She, on the contrary, had yielded in all 
 the simplicity of her perfect innocence to this flood of 
 emotion and of tenderness. 
 
 She had waited for love. Could this be love .'^ The 
 man who was to be her tiiought. her life, her soul — 
 could tin's be he, this Jean } Why not ? She knew 
 him better than she knew all those who during the 
 past year had haunted her for her fortune, and in 
 what she knew of him there was nothing to discour- 
 age the love of a good girl. Far from it I 
 
 Both of them did well ; both of them weie in the 
 way of duty and of truth — she in yielding, he in 
 resisting; she in not thinking for a moment of the 
 obscurity of Jean, he in recoiling before her mountain 
 of wealth as he would have recoiled befoie a crime » 
 she in thinking that she had no right to parley with 
 love, he in thinking he had no rigiU to parley with 
 honor. 
 
 This is why, in proportion as Bettina showed her-
 
 THE ABBE COySTANTIX. I49 
 
 self more tendei', and ahaiuloned lierself with more 
 frankness to the first call of love — this is why Jean 
 became day by day more gloomy and more restless. 
 He was not only afraid of loving- ; he was afraid of 
 being loved. 
 
 He ought to have remained away ; he should not 
 have come near her. He had tried ; he could not. 
 The temptation was too strong ; it carried him away, 
 so he came. She would come to him, her hands 
 extended, a sm.ile on her lips, and her heart in her 
 eyes. Everything in her said : " Let us try to love 
 each other, and if we can we will love ! " 
 
 Fear seized him. Those two hands which offei^ed 
 themselves to the pressure of his hands, he scarcely 
 dared to touch them. He tried to escape those eyes 
 which, tender and smiling, anxious and curious, tried 
 to meet his eyes. He trembled before the necessity 
 of speaking to Bettina, before the necessity of listen- 
 ing to hei-. 
 
 It was then that Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, 
 and it was then that Mrs. Scott gathered those uncer- 
 tain, agitated, troubled words which were not 
 addressed to her, and which she took for herself 
 nevertheless. It would have been difficult not to have 
 been mistaken. 
 
 For of these still vague and confused sentiments 
 which agitated her Bettina had as yet said nothing. 
 She guarded and caressed the secret of her budding 
 love as a miser guards and caresses the first coins of 
 his treasure. The day when she should see clearly 
 into her own heart, the day that she should be sure
 
 150 THE ABBE CONSrAXriN. 
 
 that she loved— ah ! she would speak tliat day, and 
 how happy she should be to tell all to Suzie ! 
 
 Mrs. Scott had tw^X^^X by attributing lo htrself this 
 melancholy of Jean, which day by day took a more 
 marked character. Siie was flattered by it — a woman 
 is never displeased at thiid<ing herself beloved — and 
 vexed at the same time. She held Jean in great 
 esteem, in great affection ; but she was gieaily 
 distressed at the thought that if he were sad and 
 unhappy it was because of her. 
 
 Suzie was, besides, conscious of her own innocence. 
 With others she had sometimes been coquettish, very 
 coquettish. To torment tht-m a little, was that such a 
 great crime? They had nothing to do; they were 
 good-for-nothing; it occupied them while it amused 
 her. It helped them to pass their lime, and it helped 
 her, too. But Suzie had not to rei)roach herself for 
 having flirted with Jean. She recognized his merit 
 and his superiority. He was worth more than the 
 others ; he was a man to suffer seriously, and that was 
 what Mrs. Scott did not wish. Already two or three 
 times she had been on the [)oint of speaking to him 
 very seriously, very affectionately, but she had reflected 
 Jean was going away for three weeks; on his return, 
 if it were still necessary, she would read him a lecture, 
 and would act in such a manner that love should not 
 come and foolishly interfere in their friendship. 
 
 So Jean was to go the next day. Beltina had 
 insisted that he should spend this last day at Longue- 
 val.and dine at the house, Jean had refused, alleging 
 that he had much to do the night before his departure.
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 151 
 
 He arrived in the evening, about half-past ten ; he 
 canie on foot. Several times on the way he had been 
 inclined to return. 
 
 " If I had courage enough," he said to himself, " I 
 would not see her again. I shall leave to-morrow, 
 and return no more to Souvigny while she is there. 
 My resolution is taken, and taken forever." 
 
 But he continued his way ; he would see her again 
 — for the last time. 
 
 As soon as he entered the drawing room Bettina 
 hastened to him. 
 
 " It is you at last ! How late you are ! " 
 
 " I have been very busy." 
 
 " And you are going to-morrow } " 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow." 
 
 "Early.?" 
 
 " At five in the morning." 
 
 " You will go by the road which runs by the wall of 
 the park, and goes through the village? " 
 
 " Yes, that is the way we shall go." 
 
 "Why so early in the morning? I would have 
 gone out on the terrace to see you pass and to wish 
 you good-by." 
 
 Bettina detained for a moment Jean's burning hand 
 in hers. He drew it mournfully away with an effort. 
 
 " I must go and speak to your sister," said he. 
 
 " Directly. She has not seen you ; there are a 
 dozen persons round her. Come and sit here a little 
 while near me." 
 
 He was obliged to seat himself beside her. 
 
 " We are going away, too," said she.
 
 152 THE ABBE CO.YSrANTIN, 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " Yes. An hour ago we received a telegram from 
 my l)rother-in-la\v whicii has caused us great joy. 
 We did not expect him for a month, l)ut he is coming 
 back in a fortnight. He will embark the day after to- 
 morrow at New York, on board the Labrador. We 
 are going to meet him at Havre. We shall also start 
 the day after to-morrow. We are going to take the 
 children ; it will do them a great deal of good to 
 spend a few days at the seaside. How pleased my 
 brother-in-law will be to know you ! He knows you 
 already; we have spoken of you in all our letters. I 
 am sure you and Mr. Scott will get on extremely well 
 together, he is so good. How long will you stay 
 away ? " 
 
 " Three weeks." 
 
 " Three weeks in a cam]-) ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Percival, in the camp of Cercottes." 
 
 " In the middle of the forest of Orleans. I made 
 your godfather explain all about it to me this morn- 
 ing. Of course I am delighted to go to meet my 
 brother-in-law, but at the same time I am a little 
 sorry to leave here, for I would have gone every morn- 
 ing to pay a little visit to M. I'Abbe. He would have 
 given me news of you. Perhaps, in about ten days, 
 you will write to my sister a little note of three or four 
 lines, — it will not take much of your time, — just to lell 
 her how you are, and that you do not forget us." 
 
 " Oh ! as to forgetting you, as to losing the remem- 
 brance of your exti'eme kindness, your goodness, 
 never. Miss Percival, never."
 
 THE ABBE CONSTAXTIX. I53 
 
 His voice trembled ; he was afraid of his own 
 emotion. He rose. 
 
 " I assure you, Miss Percival, I must go and speak 
 to your sister. She is looking- at me. She must be 
 astonished. " 
 
 He crossed the room ; Bettina followed him with 
 her eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Norton had just placed herself at the piano to 
 play a waltz for the young jieople. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens approached Miss Percival. 
 
 " Will you do me the honor, Miss Percival } " 
 
 " I believe 1 have just promised this dance to 
 M. Jean," she replied. 
 
 " Well, if not to him, will you giv'e it to me } " 
 
 " That is understood." 
 
 Bettina walked toward Jean, who had seated him- 
 self near Mrs. Scott, 
 
 " I have just told a dreadful story," said she. " M. 
 de Lavardens has asked me for this dance ; and I 
 replied that I had promised it to you. You would like 
 it, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 To hold her in his arms, to breathe the perfume of 
 her hair — Jean felt his courage could not supi)ort this 
 ordeal ; he dared not accept. 
 
 " I regret extremely I cannot ; I am not well to- 
 night. I persisted in coming because I would not 
 leave without wishing you good-by ; but dance ! no, it 
 is impossible ! " 
 
 Mrs. Norton began the prelude of the waltz. 
 
 " Well," said Paul, coming up quite joyful, " who is 
 it to be, he or I ? "
 
 154 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 " You," she said sadly, without removing her eyes 
 from Jean. 
 
 She was much disturbed, and rephed without know- 
 ing well what she said. She immediately regretted 
 having accepted ; she would have liked to stay there, 
 near him. But it was too late ; Paul took her hand 
 and led her away. 
 
 Jean rose. He looked at the two, Bettina and 
 Paul ; a haze floated before his eyes ; he suffered 
 cruelly. 
 
 •'There is only one thing I can do," thought he — 
 " profit by this waltz, and go. To-morrow I will 
 write a few lines to Mrs, Scott to excuse myself." 
 
 He gained the door. He looked no more at 
 Bettina; had he looked, he would have stayed. 
 
 But Bettina looked at him ; and all at once she said 
 to Paul : 
 
 " Thank you very much, but I am a little tired ; let 
 us stop, please. You will excuse me, will you not } " 
 
 Paul offered his arm. 
 
 " No, thank you," said she. 
 
 The door was just closing; Jean was no longer 
 there. Bettina ran across the room. Paul remained 
 alone, much surprised, understanding nothing of what 
 had passed. 
 
 Jean was already at the hall-door, when he heard 
 someone call, " M. Jean ! M. Jean ! " 
 
 He stopped and turned. She was near him. 
 
 " You are going without wishing me good-by .'* " 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I am very tired." 
 
 "Then you must not walk home; the weather is
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIiY. 157 
 
 threatening," she extended her liand out of doors — 
 •' it is raining ah'eady ! " 
 
 " Come and have a cup of tea in tiie little drawing 
 room, and I will tell them to drive you home," and, 
 turning toward one of the footmen : " Tell them ta 
 send a carriage round directly." 
 
 " No, Miss Percival, pray ! the open air will revive 
 nie. I must walk ; let me go." 
 
 " Go, then. But you have no great-coat ; take 
 something to wrap yourself in." 
 
 " I shall not be cold, while you with that open 
 dress — I shall go to oblige you to go in," And with- 
 out even offering his hand he ran quickly down the 
 steps. 
 
 " If I touch her hand," he thought, " I am lost ; my 
 secret will escape me." 
 
 His secret ! He did not know that Bettina read his 
 heart like an open book. 
 
 When Jean had descended the steps, he hesitated 
 one short moment ; these words were upon his 
 lips : 
 
 " I love you, I adore you, and that is why I will see 
 you no more I " 
 
 But he did not utter these words ; he fled away and 
 was soon lost in the darkness. 
 
 Bettina remained there against the brilliant back- 
 ground made by the light from the hall. Great drops 
 of rain driven by the wind swept across her bare 
 shoulders and made her shiver. She took no notice; 
 she distinctly heard her heart beat. 
 
 " I knew very well that he loved me," she thought :
 
 158 THE ABBE CON STAN ITN, 
 
 *' but now I am very sure that I too — oh, yes ! I 
 too " 
 
 All at once in one of the great minors in the hall- 
 door she saw the reflection of the two footmen who 
 stood there motionless near the oak table in the hall. 
 Bettina heard bursts of laughter and the strains of the 
 waltz; she stopped. She wished to be alone, com- 
 pletely alone ; and, addressing one of the servants, she 
 said : 
 
 "Go and tell your mistress that I am very tired^ 
 and have gone to my own room/' 
 
 Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep in an easy-chair. 
 She sent her away. She would undress herself. She 
 let herself sink on a couch ; she was oppressed with 
 delicious emotion. 
 
 The door of her room opened : it was Mrs. Scott. 
 
 " You are not well, Bettina } " 
 
 " Oh, Suzie ! is it you, my Suzie ? how nice of you 
 to come! Sit here, close to me, quite close to me." 
 
 She hid herself like a child in the arms of her sis- 
 ter, caressing with her burning brow Suzie's fresh 
 shoulders. Then she suddenly burst into sobs, great 
 sobs, which stifled, suffocated her. 
 
 " Bettina, my darling, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing ! it is nothing ; it is joy — joy ! " 
 
 "Joy?" 
 
 " Yes, yes; wait ; let me cry a little, it will do me 
 so much good. But do not be frightened ; do not be 
 frightened." 
 
 Beneath her sister's caress Bettina grew calm, 
 soothed.
 
 THE ABBE COXSTAXTEV. I59 
 
 " It is over ; I am better now, and I can talk to 
 you. It is about Jean." 
 
 " Jean ! You call him Jean ? " 
 
 " Yes, I call him Jean, Have you not noticed 
 for some time that he was dull and looked quite 
 melancholy ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have." 
 
 " When he came, he went and posted himself near 
 you, and stayed there, silent, absorbed, to such a 
 degree that for several days I asked myself, — pardon 
 me for speaking to you with such frankness; it is my 
 way, you know, — I asked myself if it were not you 
 whom he loved, Suzie ; you are so charming, it would 
 have been so natural ! But no, it was not you, it 
 was I ! " 
 
 " You ! " 
 
 " Yes, I. Listen : he scarcely dared to look at me ; 
 he avoided me ; he fled from me ; he was afraid of 
 me, evidently afraid. Now, in justice, am I a person 
 to inspire fear? I am sure I am not I " 
 
 " Certainly not ! " 
 
 " Ah! it was not I of whom he was afraid, it was 
 my money, rjT/ horrid money ! This money, which 
 attracts all the others and tempts them so much — 
 this money terrifies him, drives him desperate because 
 he is not like the others, because he " 
 
 " My child, take care ; perhaps you are mistaken." 
 
 " Oh, no, I am not mistaken. Just now, at the 
 door, when he was going away, he said some words 
 to me. These words were nothing. But if you had 
 seen his distress in spite of all his efforts to control
 
 i6o THE ABBE COXSTANTIN. 
 
 it ! Suzie. dear Suzie, by the affection whicli I bear 
 you (and God knows how great is that affection), this 
 is my conviction, my absolute conviction : if instead 
 of being Miss Percival I had been a poor httle girl 
 without a penny, Jean would then have taken my 
 hand, and have told me that he loved me ; and if he 
 had spoken to me thus, do you know what I should 
 have replied ? " 
 
 " That you loved him, too ?" 
 
 "Yes; and that is why I am so happy. With me 
 it is a tixed idea that I must adore the man who will 
 be my husband. Well ! I don't say that I adore 
 Jean — no, not yet ; but still it is beginning, Suzie, and 
 it is beginning so sweetly." 
 
 " Bettina, it really makes me uneasy to see you in 
 this state of excitement. 1 do not deny that M. Rey- 
 naud is much attached to you " 
 
 " Oh ! more than that, more than that !" 
 
 " Loves you, if you like ; yes, you are right, you are 
 quite right. He loves you ; and are you not worthy, 
 my darling, of all the love that one can bear you ? As 
 to Jean, — it is progressing decidedly ; here am I also 
 calling him Jean, — well ! you know what I think of 
 him. I rank him very, very high. But, in spite of 
 that, is he really a suitable husband for you } " 
 
 •' Yes, if I love him." 
 
 " I am trying to talk sensibly to you, and you, on the 
 contrary Understand me, Bettina; I have an ex- 
 perience of the world which you cannot have. Since 
 our arrival in Paris we have been launched into a very 
 brilliant, very animated, very aristocratic society.
 
 <^5^!i:^- V' 
 
 (
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 163 
 
 You might have been ah-eady, if you had liked, 
 marchioness or princess." 
 
 " Yes, but I (X\([ not hke." 
 
 " It would not matter to you to be called Mme. 
 R.eynaud ? " 
 
 "Not in the least, if I love him." 
 
 " Ah ! you return always to " 
 
 " Because that is the true question. There is no 
 other. Now, I will be sensible in my turn.. This 
 question — 1 grant that this is not quite settled, and 
 that I have perhaps allowed myself to be too easily 
 persuaded. You see how sensible I am. Jean is 
 going away to-morrow ; I shall not see him again 
 for three weeks. During these three weeks I shall 
 have ample time to question myself, to examine 
 myself — in a word, to know my own mind. Under 
 my giddy manner I am serious and thoughtful ; you 
 know that ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I know it." 
 
 " Well, I will make this petition to you, as I would 
 have addressed it to our mother had she been here. 
 If in three weeks I say to you : ' Suzie, I am certain 
 that I love him,' will you allow me to go to him my- 
 self, quite alone, and ask him if he will have me for 
 his wife ? That is what you did with Richard. Tell 
 me, Suzie, will you allow me } " 
 
 " Yes, I will allow you." 
 
 Bettina embraced her sister, and murmured these 
 words in her ear : 
 
 " Thank you, mamma." 
 
 " Mamma, mamma ! It was thus that you used to
 
 1 64 THE ABBE COXSTANTIX. 
 
 call me when you were a child, when we were alone 
 in the world together, when I used to undress you in 
 our poor room in New York, when I held you in my 
 arms, when I laid you in your little bed, when I 
 sang- you to sleep. And since then, Bettina, I have 
 liad only one desire in the world— yoiu' happiness. 
 Tliat is why I beg you to reflect well. Do not answer 
 me ; do not let us talk any more of that. I wish to 
 leave you very calm, very tranquil. You have sent 
 away Annie ; would you like me to be your little 
 mamma again to-night, to undress you, and put you 
 to bed as I used to do } " 
 
 " Yes, I should like it very much." 
 
 " And when you are in bed, you promise me to be 
 very good ? " 
 
 " As good as an angel." 
 
 " You will do your best to go to sleep ? " 
 
 " My very best." 
 
 " Very quietly, without thinking of anything ? " 
 
 •' Very quietly, without thinking of anything." 
 
 " Very well, then." 
 
 Ten minutes after Beltina's pretty head rested 
 gently amid embroideries and lace. Suzie said to her 
 sister : 
 
 " I am going down to those people, who bore me 
 dreadfully this evening. Before going to my own 
 room I shall come back and see if you are asleep. 
 Do not speak. Go to sleep." 
 
 She went away. Bettina remained alone. She 
 tried to keep her word ; she endeavoi'ed to go to sleep, 
 but only half succeeded. She fell into a half slumber,
 
 7 HE ABBE COXSTANTEV. 165 
 
 which left her floating between dream and reality. 
 She had pronnsed to think of nothing, and yet she 
 thought of hini, — always of him, of nothing but him, — 
 vaguely, confusedly. 
 
 How long a time passed thus she could not tell. 
 
 All at once it seemed to her that someone was 
 walking in her room ; she half opened her eyes, and 
 thought she recognized her sister. In a very sleepy 
 voice she said to her : " You know I love him." 
 
 " Hush ! Go to sleep." 
 
 " I am asleep ! I am asleep ! " 
 
 At last she did fall sound asleep, less profoundly, 
 however, than usual, for about four o'clock in the 
 morning siie was suddenly awoke by a noise which 
 tile night before would not have disturbed her slumber. 
 The rain fell in torrents, and beat against her window. 
 
 "Oh, it is raining!" she thought; "he will get 
 wet I " 
 
 That was her flrst thought. She rose, crossed the 
 room barefooted, half opened the shutters. The day 
 had broken, gray and lowering; the clouds were 
 heavy with rain, the wind blew tempestuously, and 
 drove the rain in gusts before it. 
 
 Bettina did not go back to bed ; she felt it would be 
 quite impossil)le to sleep again. She put on a dress- 
 ing-gown and remained at the window ; she watched 
 the falling rain. Since he positively must go, she 
 would have liked the weather to be fine ; she would 
 have liked bright sunshine to have cheered his first 
 day's march. 
 
 When she came to Lonoueval a month ag-o, Bettina
 
 1 66 THE ABBE CONSTANTiy. 
 
 did not know what this meant ; but she knew it now. 
 A day's marcii for the artillery is twenty or thirty 
 miles, with an hour's halt for luncheon. It was the 
 Abbe Constantin who had taught her that. When 
 going their rounds in the morning among the poor, 
 Bettina overwhelmed the cui-e witii questions on 
 military affairs, and particularly on the artillery. 
 
 Twenty or thirty miles under this pouring rain! 
 Poor Jean ! Bettina thought of young Turner, young 
 Norton, of Paul de Lavardens, who would sleep calmly 
 till ten in the morning, while Jean was exposed to this 
 deluge. 
 
 Paul de Lavardens ! 
 
 This name awoke in her a painful memory — the 
 memory of that waltz the evening before. To have 
 danced like that while Jean was so obviously in 
 trouble! That waltz took the proportions of a crime 
 in her eyes ; it was a horriljle thing that she had 
 done. 
 
 And then had she not been wanting in courage 
 and frankness in that last interview with Jean } He 
 neither could nor dared say anything ; but she might 
 have shown more tenderness, more expansiveness. 
 Sad and suffering as he was, she should never have 
 allowed him to go back on foot. She ought to have 
 detained him at any price. Her imagination tor- 
 mented and excited her ; Jean must have carried 
 away with him the impression that she was a bad 
 little creature, heaitless and pitiless. And in half an 
 hour he was going away, away for thi'ee weeks ! Ah, 
 if she could by any means — but there was a way!
 
 THE ABBE C0XSTAX7IX. 169 
 
 The regiment must pass along the wall of the park, 
 under the terrace. 
 
 Bettina was seized with a wild desire to see Jean 
 l^ass ; he would understand well if he saw her at 
 such an hour that she had come to beg his pardon for 
 her cruelty of the previous evening. Yes, she would 
 go ! But she had promised to Suzie to be as good as 
 an angel ; and to do w hat she was going to do, was that 
 being as good as an angel ? She would make up for 
 it by acknowledging all to Suzie when she came in 
 again ; and Suzie would forgive her. 
 
 She would go I She had made up her mind. Only 
 how should she dress herself.^ She had nothing at 
 hand but a muslin dressing-gown, little liigh-heeled 
 mules, ar>d blue satin shoes. She mit^ht wake her 
 maid. Oh ! never would she dare to do that, and 
 time pressed. A quarter to five! the regiment would 
 start at five o'clock. 
 
 She might perhaps manage with the muslin dress- 
 ing-gown and the satin slippers ; in the hall she 
 might find her hat, her little sabots which she wore in 
 the garden, and the large tartan clonk for driving in 
 wet weather. She half opened her door with infinite 
 precautions. Everything slept in the house. She 
 crept along the corridor ; she descended the staircase. 
 
 if only the little sabots are tliere in their place ; that 
 is her great anxiety. There they are I She slips 
 them on over her thin satin shoes; she wraps herself 
 in her great mantle. 
 
 She hears that the rain has redoubled in violence. 
 She notices one of those large umbrellas which the
 
 lyo THE ABBE CON STAN TIN, 
 
 footmen use on the box in wet weather ; she seizes it; 
 she is ready. But when she is ready to go, she sees 
 that the hall-door is fastened by a great iron bar. 
 She tries to raise it ; but the bolt holds fast, resists all 
 her efforts, and the great clock in the hall slowly 
 strikes five. He is starting at that moment. 
 
 She will see him ! she will see him ! Her will is 
 excited by these obstacles. She makes a great effort ; 
 the bar yields, shps back in the groove. But Bettina 
 lias made a long scratch on her hand, from which 
 issues a slender stream of blood. Bettina twists her 
 handkerchief round her hand, takes her great um- 
 brella, turns the key in the lock, and opens the door. 
 
 At last she is out of the house ! 
 
 The weather is frightful ; the wind and the rain 
 rage together. It takes five or six minutes to reach 
 the terrace which looks over the road. Bettina darts 
 forward courageously ; her head bent, hidden under 
 iier immense umbrella, she has taken a few steps. 
 All at once, furious, mad, blinding, a sudden squall 
 bursts upon Bettina, buries her in her mantle, drives 
 her along, lifts her almost from the ground, turns the 
 umbrella violently inside out. That is nothing ; the 
 disaster is not yet complete. 
 
 Bettina has lost one of her little sabots. They were 
 not practical sabots; they were only pretty little things 
 for fine weather. And at this moment, when Bettina 
 struggles against the tempest with her blue satin 
 shoe half buried in the w^et gravel, at this moment the 
 wind bears to her the distant echo of a blast of 
 trimipets. It is the regiinent starling.
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTLY. Ij^ 
 
 Bettina makes a desperate effort, abandons her um- 
 brella, finds her little sabot, fastens it on as well as 
 she can, and starts off running, with a deluge descend- 
 ing on her head. 
 
 At last she is in the woods; the trees protect her 
 a little. Another blast, nearer this time. Bettina 
 fancies she hears the rolling of the gun-carriages. 
 She makes a last effort. There is the terrace ; she is 
 there just in time. 
 
 Twenty yards off she perceived the white horses of 
 the trumpeters ; and along the road she caught 
 glimpses, vaguely appearing through the fog, of the 
 long line of guns and wagons. 
 
 She sheltered herself under one of the old limes 
 which bordered the terrace. She watched ; she 
 waited. He is there among that confused mass of 
 riders. Will she be able to recognize liim ? And he, 
 will he see her? Will any chance make him turn his 
 head that way ? 
 
 Bettina knows that he is lieutenant in the second 
 battery of his regiment ; she knows that a battery is 
 composed of six guns and six ammunition-wagons. 
 Of course it is the Abbe Constantin who has taught 
 her that. Thus she must allow the tirst battery to 
 pass (that is to say, count six guns, six wagons), and 
 then— he will be there. 
 
 There he is at last, wi'apped in his great cloak ; 
 and it is he who sees, who recognizes her first. A 
 few moments before he had recalled to his mind a 
 long walk which he had taken with her one e\'ening, 
 when night was falling, on that terrace. He raised
 
 172 Till': ABBE COX STAN TIN. 
 
 Iiis e\"fs, and the very spot wlieie he reiiieniberecl 
 havini; S"eii her was the sj'jot wheie he found her 
 iiuain. He liowed ; and, bareheaded in t!-,e rain, turn- 
 
 
 c^^-^ 
 
 \\vg round in his sadcUe, as Ioul;" as he could see her, 
 he looked at her. Pie said again to himself what lie 
 had said the [)re\icus evening : " It is for the last 
 tinit^." 
 
 W'lih a charming gestui'e of both hands she re-
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIX. 173, 
 
 turned his farewell ; and this gesture, repeated ninny 
 times, brought her hands so near, so near her lips, 
 
 that one might have fancied "Ah !" she thought, 
 
 " if after that he does not understand that I love him, 
 and does not forgive me my money ! "
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was the loth of August, the clay which should 
 bring Jean back to Longueval. 
 
 Bettina woke very early, rose, and ran immediately 
 to the window. The evening before the sky liad 
 looked threatening, heavy with clouds. Bettina slept 
 but little, and all night prayed that it might not rain 
 the next day. 
 
 In the early morning a dense fog enveloped the 
 park of Longueval, the trees of which weie hidden 
 fiom view as by a curtain. But gradually the rays of 
 the sun dissipated the mist ; the trees became vaguely 
 discernible through the vapor. Then, suddenly, the 
 sun shone brilliantly, flooding with light the park and 
 the tields beyond ; and the lake where the black 
 174
 
 THE ABBE CO lY ST AN TIN. ill 
 
 swans were disporting themselves in the radiant light 
 appeared as bright as a sheet of polished metal. 
 
 The weather was going to be beautiful. Bettina is 
 a little superstitious. The sunshine gives her good 
 hope and good courage. " The day begins well, so it 
 will finish well." 
 
 Mr. Scott came home some days ago. Suzie, 
 Bettina, and the children waited on the quay at Havre 
 for the arrival of his steamer. 
 
 They exchanged many tender enibraces ; then Rich- 
 ard, addressing his sister-in-law, said laughingly: 
 
 " Well, when is the wedding to be } " 
 
 " What wedding ? " 
 
 " Yours." 
 
 " My wedding ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " And to whom am I going to be married ? " 
 
 " To M. Jean Reynaud." 
 
 " Ah ! Suzie has written to you ?" 
 
 " Suzie ? Not at all. Suzie has not said a word. 
 It is you, Bettina, who have written to me. For the 
 last two months all your letters have been occupied 
 with this young officer." 
 
 " All my letters ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and you have written to me oftener and 
 more at length than usual. I do not complain of 
 that ; but I do ask when you are going to present me 
 with a brother-in-law ? " 
 
 He spoke jestingly, but Bettina replied : 
 
 " Soon, I hope." 
 
 Mr. Scott perceives that the affair is serious. When
 
 178 THE ABBE C0NSTAX7V.V. 
 
 returning in the carriage, Bettina asks Mr. Scott if he 
 has kept her letters. 
 
 "Certainly," he replies. 
 
 She reads them again. It is indeed only with 
 "Jean" that all these letters have been tilled. She 
 finds therein related, down to the most trifling details, 
 their first meeting. There is the portrait of Jean in 
 the vicarage garden, with his straw hat and his earthen- 
 ware salad-dish ; and then it is again M. Jean, always 
 M. Jean. 
 
 She discovers that she has loved him much longer 
 than she had suspected. 
 
 Now it is the loth of August. Luncheon is just 
 over, and Harry and Bella are impatient. They know^ 
 that between one and two o'clock the regiment must 
 go through the village. They have been piomised 
 that they shall be taken to see the soldiers pass, and 
 for them as well as for Bettina the return of the 
 Ninth Artillery is a great event. 
 
 " Aunt Betty," said Bella, "Aunt Betty, come with 
 us." 
 
 " Yes, do come," said Harry, " do come ; we shall 
 see our friend Jean, on his big gray horse." 
 
 Bettina resisted, refused ; and yet how great was 
 the temptation ! 
 
 But no, she would not go ; she would not see Jean 
 again till the evening, when she would give him that 
 decisive explanation for which she had been prepaiing 
 herself for the last three weeks. 
 
 The children went away with their governesses. 
 Bettina, Suzie, and Richard went to sit in the park,
 
 /\ THE ABBE CON ST AN TEW 179 
 
 quite close to the castle, and as soon as they were 
 establisiied there, " Suzie," said Bettina, " I am going to 
 remind you to-day of your promise. You remember 
 what passed between us the night of his departure : 
 we settleil that if on tiie day of his return I could say 
 to you : ' Suzie, I am sure that I love him ' — we settled 
 that you would allow me to speak frankly to him, and 
 ask him if lie would have me for his wife." 
 
 •' Yes, I did promise you. But are you very sure ? " 
 " Absolutely ; and now the time has come to redeem 
 your promise. I warn you that I intend to bring him 
 to this very place," she added, smiling, " to this seat; 
 and to use almost the same language to him that 
 you formerly used to Richaid. You were successful, 
 Suzie ; you are perfectly happy, and 1 — that is what I 
 wish to be." 
 
 " Richard, Suzie has told you about M. Reynaud ? " 
 " Yes, and she has told me that there is no man of 
 
 whom she has a higher opinion, but " 
 
 " But she has told you that for me it would be a 
 rather quiet, ratiier commonplace marriage. Oh, 
 naughty sister ! Will you believe it, Richard, that I 
 cannot get this fear out of her head ? She does not 
 understand that before everything I wish to love and 
 be loved. Will you believe it, Richard, that only last 
 week she laid a horrible trap i"or me ? You know^ 
 that there exists a certain Prince Romanelli ? " 
 " Yes, I know you might have been a princess." 
 " That would not have been immensely difficult, I 
 believe. Well, one day I was so foolish as to say to 
 
 Suzie that in extremitv I might accept the Prince 
 
 \
 
 l8o THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 Romanelli. Now, just imagine wliat she did ? The 
 Turners were at Trouville ; Suzie had arranged a little 
 plot. We lunched with the prince, but the result was 
 disastrous. Accept him ! The two hours that I passed 
 with him I passed in asking myself liow I could liave 
 said such a thing. No, Richard ; no, Suzie. I will 
 he neither princess nor marchioness nor countess. 
 My wish is to be Mme. Jean Reynaud — if, how- 
 ever, M. Jean Reynaud will agree to it, and that is by 
 no means certain." 
 
 The regiment entered the village, and suddenly 
 military music burst martial and joyous across the 
 space. All three remained silent. It was the regi- 
 ment, it was Jean who passed. The sound became 
 fainter, died away ; and Bettina continued : 
 
 " No, that is not certain. He loves me, however, 
 and much, but without knowing well what I am ; I 
 think that I deserve to be loved differently. I think 
 that I should not cause him so much terror, so much 
 fear, if he knew me better; and that is why I ask you 
 to permit me to speak to him this evening, freely, fi'om 
 my heart." 
 
 " We will allow you," rej^lied Richard ; " you shall 
 speak to him freely, for we know, both of us, Bettina, 
 that you will never do anything but what is noble and 
 generous." 
 
 " At least I will try." 
 
 The children ran up to them. They had seen Jean ; 
 he was quite white with dust ; he said good-morning 
 to them. 
 
 " Only," added Bella, "he is not very nice; he did
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. iSi 
 
 not stop to talk to us. Generally he stops, and this 
 time he wouldn't." 
 
 "Yes, he would," replied Harry; "for at first he 
 seemed as if he were going to. And then he would 
 not ; he went away." 
 
 "Well, he didn't stop, and it is so nice to talk to a 
 soldier, especially when he is on horseback." 
 
 " It is not that only, it is that we are very fond of 
 M. Jean ; if you knew, papa, how kind he is, and how 
 nicely he j)lays with us I " 
 
 " And what beautiful drawings he makes ! Harry, 
 you remember that great Punch who was so funny, 
 with his stick, you know.^ " 
 
 " And the dog, there was the little dog, too, as in 
 the show." 
 
 The two children went away talking of their friend 
 Jean. 
 
 " Decidedly," said Mr. Scott, " everyone likes him 
 in this house." 
 
 " And you will be like everyone else when you 
 know him," replied Bettina. 
 
 The regiment broke into a trot along the high- 
 road after leaving the village. There was the ter- 
 race where Bettina had been the other morning. 
 Jean said to himself : " Supposing she should be 
 here." 
 
 He dreads and hopes it at the same time. He raises 
 his head ; he looks. She is not there. 
 
 He has not seen her again, he will not see her again, 
 for a long time at least. He will start that very even- 
 ing at six o'clock for Paris. One of the personages in
 
 I«2 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 the War Office is interested in him ; he will try to 
 get exchanged into another regiment. 
 
 Alone at Cercottes Jean has had time to reflect 
 deei)ly, and this is the result of his reflections: he 
 cannot, he must not, be Bettina Percival's husband. 
 
 The men dismount at the barracks; Jean takes 
 leave of his colonel, his comrades ; all is over. He is 
 free : he can go. 
 
 But he does not go yet ; he looks around him. 
 How happy he was three months ago, when he rode 
 out of that great yard amid the noise of the cannon 
 rolling over the pavement of Souvigny ; but how sadly 
 he would ride away to-day ! Formerly his life was 
 there; where would it be now ? 
 
 He returns : he goes to his own room. He writes 
 to Mrs. Scott; he tells her that his duties oblige him 
 to leave immediately ; he cannot dine at the castle, 
 and begs Mrs. Scott to remember him to Miss Bettina. 
 Bettina— ah. what trouble it cost him to write that 
 name ! He closes his letter; he will send it directly. 
 
 He makes his preparations for departure ; then he 
 will go to wish his godfather farewell. That is what 
 cost him most ; he will only speak to him of a short 
 absence. 
 
 He opens one of the drawers of his bureau to take 
 out some money. The first thing that meets his eyes 
 is a little note on bluish paper ; it is the only note 
 which he has ever received from her. 
 
 " Will }-ou have tlie kindness to give to the servant 
 the book of which you s[)oke yesterday evening.^
 
 THE ABBE CO^VSTANTIiY. 1S3 
 
 Perhaps it will be a little serious for me, but yet I 
 should like to try to read it. We shall see you to- 
 night ; come as early as possible. 
 
 " Bettina." 
 
 Jean read and re-read these few lines, but soon he 
 could read them no longer ; his eyes were dim. 
 
 " It is all that is left me of her," he thought. 
 
 At the same moment the Abbe Constantin was 
 tete-a-tete with old Pauline ; they were making uj) 
 their accounts. The financial situation is admirable 
 — more than two thousand francs in hand ! And the 
 wishes of Suzie and Bettina are accomplished; there are 
 no more poor in the neighborhood. His old servant, 
 Pauline, has even occasioPial scruples of conscience. 
 
 " You see, M. le Cure," said she, " perhaps we give 
 them a little too much. Then it will be spread about 
 in other j^arishes that here they can always find 
 charity. And do you know what will happen then 
 one of these days ? Poor people will come and settle 
 at Longueval." 
 
 The cure gave fifty francs to Pauline. She went 
 away to take them to a poor man who had broken his 
 arm a few days before by falling from the top of a 
 hay-cart. 
 
 The Abbe Constantin remained aloiie in the 
 vicarage. He is rather anxious. He has watched for 
 the passing of the regiment. But Jean only stopped 
 for a moment ; he looked sad. For some time the 
 abbe had noticed that Jean had no longer the flow of 
 good-humor and gayety he once possessed.
 
 I.S4 THE ABBE C0NSTAN7VN. 
 
 Tiie cure did not disturb himself too much about it, 
 believing it to be one of those little youthful troubles 
 which did not concern n poor old priest. But on this 
 occasion Jean's disturbance was very perceptible. 
 
 " I will come back ch'rectly," he said to the cure ; 
 " I want to speak to you." 
 
 He turned abruptly away. The Abbe Constantin 
 bad not even had time to give Loulou his piece of 
 sugar, or rather his pieces of sugar, for he had put 
 five or six in his ])ocket, consideiing that Loulou had 
 well deserved this feast by ten long days' march, and 
 a score of nights passed under the o\)tv\ sky. 
 
 Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at Longueval 
 Loulou had very often had several j:)ieces of sugar ; 
 the Abbe Constantin had become extravagant, prodi- 
 gal. He felt himself a millionnaire ; the sugar for 
 Loulou was one of his follies. One day even he had 
 been on the point of addicssing to Loulou his everlast- 
 ing little speech : 
 
 " This comes from the new mistresses of Longue- 
 val ; pray for them to-night." 
 
 It was three o'clock when Jean arrived at the vicar- 
 age ; and the cure said immediately : 
 
 " You told me that you wanted to speak to me ; 
 what is it about } " 
 
 " About something, my dear godfather, which will 
 surprise you. will grieve you " 
 
 " Grieve me ! " 
 
 "Yes. and which grieves me, too, I have come to 
 bid you farewell,"
 
 7- HE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 185 
 
 " Yes, I am going away." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 "To-day, in two hours." 
 
 " In two hours ? But, my dear boy, we are going 
 to dine at the castle to-night." 
 
 " I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse me. I 
 am positively obliged to go." 
 
 " Directly.^ " 
 
 " Directly." 
 
 " And where are you going ? " 
 
 " To Paris." 
 
 " To Paris ! Why this sudden determination } " 
 
 " Not so very sudden ! I have thought about it for 
 a long time." 
 
 " And you have said nothing about it to me ! Jean, 
 something has happened ! You are a man, and I 
 have no longer the right to treat you as a child ; but 
 you know how much I love you. If you have vexa- 
 tions, troubles, why not tell them to me ? I could 
 perhaps advise you. Jean, why go to Paris ? " 
 
 " I did not wish to tell you, it will give you pain ; 
 but you have the right to know. I am going to Paris 
 to ask to be exchanged into another regiment." 
 
 " Into another regiment ! To leave Souvigny ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is just it ; I must leave Souvigny for 
 a short time, for a little while only ; but to leave 
 Souvigny is necessary — it is what I wish above all 
 things." 
 
 " And what about me, Jean, do you not think of 
 me ? A little while ! A little while ! But that is all 
 that remains to me of life— a little while. And
 
 1 86 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 during these last clays, that I owe to the grace of 
 God, it was my happiness — yes, Jean, my happi- 
 ness — to feel you here near me ; and now you are 
 going away ! Jean, wait a little patiently ; it cannot 
 be for very long now. Wait until the good God has 
 called me to himself; wait till I shall be gone, to meet 
 there at his side your father and your mother. Do 
 not go, Jean ; do not go." 
 
 " If you love me, I love you, too, and you know it 
 well." 
 
 " Yes, I know it." 
 
 " I have just the same affection for you now that I 
 had when I was quite little, when you took me to 
 yourself, when you brought me up. iMy heart has not 
 changed, will never change. But if duty, if honor 
 oblige me to go ? " 
 
 " Ah ! if it is duty, if it is honor, I say nothing 
 more. Jean, that stands before all ! — all ! — all I I 
 have always known you a good judge of your duty, 
 your honor. Go, my boy ; go ! I ask you nothing 
 more ; I wish to know no more." 
 
 " But I wish to tell you all," cried Jean, vanquished 
 by his emotion, " and it is better that you should 
 know all. You will stay here ; you will return to the 
 castle ; you will see her again — her ! " 
 
 " See her ! Who .-* " 
 
 " Bettina ! " 
 
 " Bettina ? " 
 
 " I adore her I I adore her ! " 
 
 " Oh, my poor boy ! " 
 
 " Pardon me for speaking to you of these things ;
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 187 
 
 but I tell you as I would have told my father. And 
 then I have not been able to speak of it to anyone, 
 and it stifled me ; yes, it is a madness which has 
 seized me, which has grown upon me little by little 
 
 against my will, for you know very well My 
 
 God ! It was here that I began to love her. You know, 
 when she came here with her sister — the little I'ou- 
 leatix of a thousand francs — her hair fell down — and 
 then the evening, the month of Mary. Then I was 
 permitted to see her freely, familiarly, and you your- 
 self spoke to me constantly of her. You praised her 
 sweetness, her goodness. How often have you told 
 me that there was no one in the world better than 
 she is ! " 
 
 " And I thought it, and I think it still. And no one 
 here knows her better than I do, for it is I alone who 
 have seen her with the poor. If you only knew how 
 tender and how good she is! Neither wretchedness 
 nor suffering repulses her. But, my dear boy, I am 
 wrong to tell you all this." 
 
 " No, no, I will see her no more, I promise you ; 
 but I like to hear you speak of her." 
 
 " In your whole life, Jean, \-ou will never meet a 
 better woman, nor one who has more deviated senti- 
 ments; to such a point that one day — she had taken 
 me with her in an open carriage full of toys — she was 
 taking these toys to a poor little sick girl, and when 
 she gave them to her, to make the poor little thing 
 laugh, to amuse her, she talked so prettily to her that 
 I thought of you, and I said to myself — I remember it 
 now ; ' Ah, if she were poor ! ' "
 
 1 88 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 " Ah ! if she were poor, but she is not." 
 
 "Oh, no! But what can you do, my poor child? 
 If it gives you pain to see her, to live near her, — above 
 all, if it will prevent you from suffering, — go, go ; and 
 yet, and yet- " 
 
 The old priest became thoughtful, let his head fall 
 between his hands, and remained silent for some 
 moments; then he continued: 
 
 " And yet, Jean, do you know what I think ? I 
 have seen a great deal of Mile. Bettina since she came 
 to Longueval. Well, when I reflect, it did not aston- 
 ish me then that anyone should be interested in you, 
 for it seemed so natural ; but she talked always, yes, 
 always of you." 
 
 *' Of me } " 
 
 " Yes, of you, and of your father and mother ; she 
 was curious to know how you lived. She begged me 
 to explain to her what a soldier's life was, the life of a 
 true soldier who loved his profession, and performed 
 his duties conscientiously. 
 
 " It is extraordinary ; since you have told me this, 
 recollections crowd upon me, a thousand little things 
 collect and group themselves together. They re- 
 turned from Havre yesterday at three o'clock. Well ! 
 an hour after their arrival she was here ; and it was 
 of you of whom she spoke directly. She asked if you 
 had written to me, if you had not been ill, when you 
 would arrive, at what hour, if the regiment would pass 
 through the village." 
 
 " It is useless at this moment, my dear godfather," 
 said Jean, " to recall all these memop'^s."
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 189 
 
 ** No, it is not useless. She seemed so pleased, so 
 happy even, that she should see you again ! She 
 would make quite a fete of the dinner this evening. 
 She would introduce you to her brother-in-law, who 
 has come back. There is no one else in the house at 
 this moment, not a single visitor. She insisted strongly 
 on this point, and I remember her last words — she 
 was there, on the threshold of the door : 
 
 "'There will be only five of us,' she said — 'you 
 and M. Jean, my sister, my brother-in-law, and 
 myself,' 
 
 "And then she added, laughing: 'Quite a family 
 party.' 
 
 "With these words she went, she almost ran away. 
 'Quite a family party! ' Do you know what I tiiink, 
 Jean } Do you know ? " 
 
 " You must not think that ; you must not." 
 
 " Jean, I believe that she loves you ! " 
 
 " And I believe it, too." 
 
 " You too ! " 
 
 " When I left her, three weeks ago, she was so 
 agitated, so moved ! She saw me sad and unhappy ; 
 she would not let me go. It was at the door of the 
 castle. I was obliged to tear myself — yes, literally 
 tear myself — away. I should have spoken, burst out, 
 told her all. After having gone a few steps I stopped 
 and turned. She could no longer see me, I was lost 
 in the darkness ; but I could see her. She stood there 
 motionless, her shoulders and arms bare, in tlie rain, 
 her eyes fixed on the way by which I had gone. Per- 
 haps I am mad to think that ; perhaps it was only a
 
 190 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 feeling of pity. But no, it was something more than 
 pity, for do you know what she did the next morning? 
 She came at five o'clock in the most frightful weather 
 to see me pass with the regiment ; and then — the 
 way she bade me adieu — oh, my friend, my dear old 
 friend ! " 
 
 " But then," said the poor cure, completely bewil- 
 dered, completely at a loss — " but tiien I do not under- 
 stand you at all. If you love her, Jean, and if she 
 loves you " 
 
 " But that is, above all, the reason why 1 must go. 
 If it were only I, — if I were certain that she has not 
 perceived my love, certain that she has not been 
 touched by it, — I would stay, I would stay, for nothing 
 but for the sweet joy of seeing her ; and I would love 
 her from afar, without any hope, for nothing but the 
 happiness of loving her. But no, she has understood 
 too well, and far from discouraging me — that is what 
 forces me to go." 
 
 " No. I do not understand it ! I know well, my 
 poor boy, we are speaking of things in which I am no 
 great scholar; but you are both good, young, and 
 charming. You love her, she would love you ; and 
 you will not ! " 
 
 " And her money ! her money ! " 
 
 " What matters her money .^ If it is^only that, is it 
 because of her money that you have loved her? It is 
 rather in spite of her money. Your conscience, my 
 son, would be quite at peace with regard to that, and 
 that would suffice." 
 
 " No, that would not suffice. To have a good
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 191 
 
 opinion of one's self is not enough ; that opinion must 
 be shared by others." 
 
 " Oh, Jean ! Among all who know you, who can 
 doubt you ? " 
 
 " Who knows ? And then there is another thing 
 besides this question of money, another thing more 
 serious and more grave. I am not the husband 
 suited to her." 
 
 " And who could be more worthy than you ? " 
 
 " The question to be considered is not my worth ; 
 we have to consider what she is and w^hat I am, to 
 ask what ought to be her life, and what ought to be 
 my life. 
 
 " One day Paul — you know he has rather a blunt 
 way of saying things ; but that very bluntness often 
 places thoughts much more clearly before us — we 
 were speaking of her, Paul did not suspect anything; 
 if he had, he is good-natured, he would not have 
 spoken thus. Well ! he said to me : 
 
 " ' What she needs is a husband who w^ould be 
 entn-ely devoted to her, to her alone — a husband who 
 would have no other care than to make her existence 
 a perpetual holiday ; a husband who would give him- 
 self, his whole life, in return for her money.' 
 
 " You know me ; such a husband I cannot, I Jiuist 
 not be. I am a soldier, and will remain one. If the 
 chances of my career sent me some day to a garrison 
 in the depths of the Alps, or in some almost unknown 
 village in Algeria, could I ask her to follow me } 
 Could I condemn her to the life of a soldier's wife, 
 which is in some desfree the life of a soldier himself?
 
 192 THE ABBE COXSTAiYTIX. 
 
 Think of the hfe which she leads now, of all that 
 luxury, of all those pleasures ! " 
 
 " Yes," said the abbe ; " that is more serious than 
 the question of money." 
 
 " So serious that there is no hesitation possible. 
 During the three weeks that I passed alone in the 
 camp I have well considered all that. I have thought 
 of nothing else ; and, loving her as I do love, the reason 
 must indeed be strong which shows me clearly my 
 duty. I must go. I must go far, very far away, as 
 far as possible. I shall suffer much ; but I must not 
 see her again ! I must not see her again ! " 
 
 Jean sank on a chair near the fireplace. He 
 remained there quite overpowered with his emotion. 
 The old priest looked at him. 
 
 " To see you suffer, my poor boy ! That such suf- 
 fering should fall upon you ! It is too cruel, too 
 unjust ! " 
 
 At that moment someone knocked gently at the 
 door. 
 
 "Ah!" said the cure, " do not be afraid, Jean. I 
 will send them away." 
 
 The abbe went to the door, opened it, and recoiled 
 as if before an unexpected apparition. 
 
 It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen Jean, 
 and going directly to him, " You ! " cried she. " Oh, 
 
 am 
 
 how glad I 
 
 He rose. She took his hands, and, addressing the 
 cure, she said : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, M. le Cure, for going to him 
 first. You I saw yesterday, and him not for three
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN'. 193 
 
 whole weeks— not since a certain night when he left 
 our house, sad and suffering." 
 
 She still held Jean's hands. He had neither power 
 to make a movement nor to utter a souiid. 
 
 " And now," continued Bettina, " are you better ? 
 No, not yet, I can see — still sad. Ah, I have done 
 well to come ! It was an inspiration ! However, it 
 embarrasses me a little, it embarrasses me a great 
 deal, to find you here. You will understand why 
 when you know what I have come to ask of your 
 godfather." 
 
 She relinquished his hands, and, turning toward the 
 abbe, said : 
 
 " I have come to beg you to listen to my confession, 
 — yes, my confession. But do not go away, M. Jean; 
 I will make my confession publicly. I am cjuite will- 
 ing to speak before you ; and now I think of it, it 
 will be better thus. Let us sit down, shall we?" 
 
 Slie felt herself full of confidence and daring. She 
 burned with fever, but with that fever which, on the 
 field of battle, gives to a soldier ardor, heroism, and 
 disdain of danger. The emotion which made Bet- 
 tina's heart beat quicker than usual was a high and 
 generous emotion. She said to herself : 
 
 " I will be loved ! I will love ! 1 will be happy ! 
 I will make him happy ! And since he cannot have 
 the courage to do it, I must have it for both. I must 
 march alone, my head high, and my heart at ease, to 
 the conquest of our love, to the conquest of our 
 happiness ! " 
 
 From her first words Bettina had grained over the
 
 194 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 
 
 abbe and Jean a complete ascendancy. They let her 
 say what she liked ; they let her do as she liked. 
 They felt that the hour was supreme; they under- 
 stood that what was happening would be decisive, 
 irrevocable, but neither was in a position to foresee. 
 
 They sat down obediently, almost automatically ; 
 they waited ; they listened. Alone of the three Bet- 
 tina retained her composure. It was in a calm and 
 even voice that she began : 
 
 " I must tell you first, M, le Cure, to set your con- 
 science quite at rest — I must tell you that I am here 
 with the consent of my sister and my brother-in-law. 
 They know why I have come ; they know what I am 
 going to do. They not only know, but they approve. 
 That is settled, is it not } Well, what brings me here 
 is your letter, M. Jean — that letter in which you tell 
 my sister that you cannot diite with us this evening, 
 and that you are positively obhged to leave here. This 
 letter has unsettled all my plans. I had intended this 
 evening,— of course with the permission of my sister 
 and brother-in-law, — I had intended after dinner to 
 take you into the park ; to seat myself with you on a 
 bench. I was ciiildish enough to choose the place 
 beforehand. There I should have delivered a little 
 speech, well prepared, well studied, almost learned by 
 heart, for since your departure I have scarcely thought 
 of anything else; I repeat it to myself from morning 
 to night. That is what I had proposed to do ; and 
 you understand that your letter caused me much 
 embarrassment. I refiected a little, and thought that 
 if I addressed my little speech to your godfather it
 
 THE ABBE COiVSTANTIiV. 195 
 
 would be almost the same as if I addressed it to 
 you. So I have come, M. le Cure, to beg you to 
 listen to me." 
 
 " I will listen to you, xMiss Percival," stammered 
 the abbe. 
 
 " I am rich, AI. le Cure, I am very rich ; and to 
 speak frankly I love my wealth very much — yes, very 
 much. To it I owe the luxury which surrounds me — 
 luxury which, I acknowledge (it is a confession), is by 
 no means disagreeable to me. My excuse is that I 
 am still very young ; it will perhaps pass as I grow 
 older, but of that I am not very sure. I have another 
 excuse ; it is tiiat if I love money a little for the 
 pleasure that it procures me, I love it still more for 
 the good which it allows me to do. I love it — self- 
 ishly, if you like — for the joy of giving ; but I think 
 that my fortune is not very badly placed in my hands. 
 Well, M. le Cure, in the same way that you have the 
 care of souls it seems that I have the care of money. 
 I have always thought : ' I wish, above all things, 
 that my husband should be worthy of sliaring this 
 great fortune. I wish to be very sure that he will 
 make a good use of it with me while I am here, and 
 after me if I must leave this world first.' I thought 
 of another thing ; I thought : ' He who will be my 
 husband must be some one I can love ! ' And now, 
 M. le Cure, this is where mv confession really begins. 
 There is a man who for the last two months has clone 
 all he can to conceal from me that he loves me ; but 
 I do not doubt that this man loves me. You do love 
 me, Jean ? "
 
 196 THE ABBE CO. V STAN TIN. 
 
 " Yes," said Jean in a low voice, his eyes cast 
 down, looking like a criminal, " I do love you ! " 
 
 " I know it very well, but I wanted to hear you say 
 it ; and now, I entreat you, do not utter a single word. 
 Any words of yours would be useless, would disturb 
 me, would prevent me from going straight to my aim, 
 and telling you what I positively intend to say. 
 Promise me to stay there, sitting still, without moving, 
 without speaking. You promise me ? " 
 
 " I promise you." 
 
 Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to lose a 
 little of her confidence; her voice trembled slightly. 
 She continued, however, with a gayety that was a 
 little forced. 
 
 " M. le Cure, I do not blame you for what has hap- 
 pened, yet all this is a little your fault." 
 
 " My fault ! " 
 
 " Ah ! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I repeat it, 
 your fault. I am certain that you have spoken well 
 of me to Jean, much too well. Perhaps without that 
 
 he would not have thought And at the same time 
 
 you have spoken very well of him to me. Not too 
 well,— no, no! — but yet very well! Then I had so 
 much confidence in you that I began to look at him and 
 examine him with a little more attention. I began to 
 compare him with those who during the last year had 
 asked my hand. It seemed to me that he was in 
 every respect superior to them. 
 
 " At last it happened on a certain day, or rather on 
 a certain evening — three weeks ago, the evening before 
 you left here, Jean — I discovered that I loved you.
 
 THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 197 
 
 Yes, Jean, I love you ! I entreat you, do not speak. 
 Stay where you are ; do not come near me. 
 
 " Before I came here I thought I had su'pphed my- 
 self with a good stock of courage, but you see I have 
 no longer my fine composure of a minute ago. But I 
 have still something to tell you, and the most impor- 
 tant of all. Jean, listen to me well : I do not wish for 
 a reply torn from your emotion ; I know that you love 
 me. If you marry me, I do not wish it to be only for 
 love ; I wish it to be also for reason. During the 
 fortnight before you left here you took so much pains 
 to avoid me, to escape any conversation, that I have 
 not been able to show myself to you as I am. Per- 
 haps there are in me certain qualities which you do 
 not suspect. 
 
 "Jean, I know what you are, I know to what I 
 should bind myself in marrying you ; and I would be 
 for you not only the loving and tender woman, but the 
 courageous and constant wife. I know your entire life : 
 your godfather has related it to me. I know why you 
 became a soldier ; I know what duties, what sacrifices, 
 the future may demand from you. Jean, do not sup- 
 pose that I will turn you from any of these duties, 
 from any of these sacrifices. If I could be disap- 
 pointed with you for anything, it would be perhaps 
 for this thought, — oh ! you must have had it, — that I 
 should wish you free and quite my own, that I should 
 ask you to abandon your career. Never ! never ! 
 Understand well, I will never ask such a thing of you. 
 
 " A young girl whom I know did that when she 
 married, and she did wrong. I love you, and I wish
 
 198 THE ABBE CON STAN TIN. 
 
 you to be just what you are. It is because you live 
 differently from, and better than, those who have 
 before desired me for a wife that I desire you for a 
 husband. I should love you less — perhaps I should 
 not love you at all, though that would be very difficult 
 — if you were to begin to live as all those live whom I 
 would not have. When I can follow you, I will follow 
 you. Wherever you are will be my duty ; wherever 
 you are will be my happiness. And if the day comes 
 when you cannot take me, the day when you must go 
 alone, well, Jean, on that day I promise you to be 
 brave, and not take your courage from you. 
 
 "And now, ]\I. le Cure, it is not to him, it is to 
 you, tiiat I am speaking; I want j(?/if to answer me, 
 not him. Tell me, if he loves me, and feels me worthy 
 of his love, would it be just to make me expiate so 
 severely the fortune that I possess .'' Tell me, should 
 he not agree to be my husband.^ " 
 
 "Jean," said the old priest gravely, "marry her. 
 It is your duty and it will be your happiness ! " 
 
 Jean approached Bettina, took her in his arms, and 
 pressed upon her brow the first kiss. 
 
 Bettina gently freed herself, and, addressing the 
 abbe, said : 
 
 " And now, M. I'Abbe, I have still one thing to ask 
 you. I wish — I wish " 
 
 " You wish ? " 
 
 " Pray, M. le Cure, embrace me, too." 
 
 The old priest kissed her paternally on both cheeks, 
 and then Bettina continued : 
 
 " You have often told me, M. le Cure, that Jean
 
 THE ABBE CON STAN TIiV. 
 
 201 
 
 was almost like your own son ; and I shall be almost 
 like your own daughter, shall I not ? So you will 
 have two children, that is all." 
 
 A month after, on the 12th of September, at mid-day, 
 
 Bettina, in the simplest of wedding-dresses, entered 
 the church of Longueval, while, placed behind the 
 altar, the trumpets of the Ninth Artillery rang joy- 
 ously through the arches of the old church.
 
 202 THE ABBE COiX STAN TEW 
 
 Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of playing 
 the organ on this solemn occasion, for the poor little 
 harmonium had disappeared. An organ with resplen- 
 dent pipes rose in the gallery of the church ; it was 
 Miss Percival's wedding present to the Abbe Con- 
 stantin. 
 
 Tiie old cure said mass ; Jean and Bettina knelt 
 before him. He pronounced the benediction and then 
 remained for some moments in prayer, his aims ex- 
 tended, calling down with his whole soul the blessings 
 of Heaven on his two children. 
 
 Then floated from the organ the same revery of 
 Chopin's which Bettina had played the first time that 
 she had entered that little village church where was to 
 be consecrated the happiness of her life. 
 
 And this lime it was Bettina who wept. 
 
 THE END.
 
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