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THE SECRET OF 
 MADAME DE MONLUC 
 
THE SECRET OF 
 
 MADAME DE MONLUC 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 MADEMOISELLE MORI," " THE FIDDLER OF LUGAU, 
 ' THE ATELIER DU LYS,'' ETC. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 iHctfjuen $5: eo, 
 
 1894 
 
 [.•1// Rights Reserved] 
 
THE 
 
 SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Une femme philosophe, double d'une precieuse " 
 was the definition given of the Marquise de Monluc 
 by an old and intimate acquaintance, that witty Abb^ 
 Gautier who, in the reign of Louis XVJ., was sus- 
 pected of composing memoirs almost as much to be 
 dreaded as those of the Due de Saint Simon, and 
 whose epigrams and extraordinary knowledge of 
 everybody's age, circumstances, and history, past and 
 present, made him universally courted and feared in 
 the salons of Paris — when Paris had salons. 
 
 The marquise was a woman of her century, and 
 had undoubtedly a dash of Paganism, but she would 
 on no account have neglected to show due respect to 
 Heaven and the priesthood. As she was accustomed 
 to say, " there are certain practices which no well- 
 
 A 
 
 376 
 
2 THE SECRET OF 
 
 bred person would dream of omitting," and accord- 
 ingly she had regularly attended mass on Sundays, 
 and obligatory fetes, ever since Bonaparte had restored 
 public worship. 
 
 One Sunday in the autumn of a.d. 1810, she had 
 returned from the cliurch near her hotel, where she 
 habitually went, and had as usual gone straight to 
 her room, where her maid Guillemette brought her 
 breakfast, and whence her custom was not to emerge 
 until evening. 
 
 As usual, too, her o;rand- daughter Solange had 
 accompanied her, and returned to a solitary meal, 
 seated on a high-backed chair at the end of the oaken 
 table in the dining-room, with Lhomond, the old major- 
 domo, attending upon her, and making lespectfully 
 interested replies to her connnents on wluit she had 
 seen during that hour outside the walls of the hotel, 
 which was the one event in all the week to her. The 
 room was long and gloomy — low too, for the Marquise 
 de Monluc inhabited only the entresol of l.er hotel, 
 and the wainscotted walls and massive carved furni- 
 ture were all dark and ancient together. As for tiie 
 thin, tall major-domo, with his noiseless step and 
 simple countenance, it was impossible to say what his 
 age might not be. The only thing not old was the 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 3 
 
 girl, and even she, though her fair, delicate face and 
 slender figure told of very early youth, seemed to 
 have stepped out of some picture of the last century; 
 for her muslin kerchief and close-fitting bodice, 
 pointed and long, her full skirts, and the fashion in 
 which her slightly-powdered hair was drawn back 
 and then allowed to fall in heavy curls on her neck, 
 had no more affinity with the short waists and limp 
 draperies of 1810 than had the chairs and buflfets 
 with their heavy carving to the spindly classic furni- 
 ture then in vogue. 
 
 " Mademoiselle will take nothing more ? " the old 
 servant asked, when his young lady had sat silent for 
 some minutes, her plate pushed slightly away. 
 
 She stretched up her slender arms, the lace ruffles 
 at her elbows falling back as she did so, and clasped 
 her hands behind her head, as she turned it a little to 
 look at him. 
 
 " Lhomond," she said, by way of reply, " why does 
 nothing ever happen?" 
 
 '•' Mademoiselle ? " responded Lhomond, uncompre- 
 hendingly. 
 
 " Nothing ever happens," she repeated impatiently. 
 
 " It is true that not much has happened lately," 
 Lhomond ownel apologetically; "but still we have 
 
4 THE SECRET OF . 
 
 had the Emperor's marriage with the Archduchess, 
 and the terrible fire at the Austrian Embassy, and 
 Massena is driving those insolent islanders, who have 
 always been our hereditary enemies, into the sea, and 
 Rome and Holland have been annexed, as we hear, to 
 the Empire — " 
 
 " What difference does that make— to us ? Nothing 
 ever happens inside this hotel," persisted his young 
 mistress ; " we go nowhere and see no one but the 
 Abbd Gautier and two or three more friends of my 
 grandmother's, quite as old, and much less amusing. 
 Everything stands still, and there are more and more 
 hours in every day," she concluded, with a gesture of 
 despair. 
 
 The old man looked at her aghast. Evidently this 
 outburst had let in a new and unwelcome light 
 upon him. "Mademoiselle must be growing up, I 
 suppose. Good heavens ! if my lady should perceive 
 it," he murmured, looking at hei-. " It is impossible, 
 surely ! Only the other day. . . . You do not care 
 any longer to play with your doll ? You used to be 
 so fond of it," he suggested persuasively. 
 
 " No, my poor Lhomond," she answered, with a smile. 
 
 "Nor to walk in the garden? That would be a 
 little change for you." 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. S 
 
 She shook her head, and he reflected, with an 
 anxious air. A gleam of hope brightened his face. 
 " Well, then, there are the old chests and cabinets in 
 the lumber-rooms ; how often you have asked me for 
 the keys, and what pretty things you have found ! 
 Chaplets and bonbonnieres, or a fan or a piece of 
 brocade. If it would amuse you to go up there to- 
 day—" 
 
 "Alas! my poor Lhomond, even that resource has 
 come to an end. Just think, I am seventeen years 
 old — yes, seventeen," as he made an incredulous, 
 deprecatory murmur, " and I have never been any- 
 where — anywhere, do you hear ? except to mass. I 
 have lived all my life within these walls, and never 
 seen anyone here younger than the Abbe Gautier. 
 And as far as I see, I never shall, not if I live to be as 
 old as my great, great uncle the commander on the 
 third storey. Lhomond, does my grandmother never 
 speak of marrying me ? " 
 
 " Marrying you, mademoiselle ! " repeated the old 
 man, falling back a step. 
 
 " Certainly ; what is there so startling in that ? 
 Do not all girls many, unless indeed they go into a 
 convent, which I have no vocation for, and I am glad 
 of it, for it would be too hard to renounce the world 
 
6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 without knowing anything of it. Why do you look 
 so unhappy, Lhomond ? Should you miss me so 
 much ? " 
 
 " I — I — You see, you are the only young thing 
 about the house, mademoiselle," said Lhomond, 
 moving uneasily. 
 
 "I shall not remain young long if I lead this life. 
 My mother was no older than I when she married." 
 
 Lhomond lifted his eyes to Heaven, and made no 
 other reply, though his lips nioved silently. 
 
 "Tell me, dear Lhomond, does grandmamma never 
 speak at all of establishing me ? You know all her 
 secrets ; I am not asking you to tell them, of course, 
 only if you would just say one little word. ... ? " 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, she has never named it." 
 
 " But why not, I should like to know ? " asked tiio 
 girl, with indignation. "I am not to be an old maid, 
 I suppose ? That is quite impossible, ^'ou know." 
 
 " It — it would not be easy to find a suitable 
 alliance for you, mademoiselle. You come of a great 
 family ; my lad}' is Marquise de Monluc, Comtesse de 
 Gastines, Chatelaine of Valclos and I^Iontchdvrier, 
 Dame Haute Justicicre," began the old man, wanning 
 with his subject, and totally forgetting how empty 
 were now those honours ; "and on your gramlfather's 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 7 
 
 side, think, mademoiselle, what a genealogy is yours ! 
 Your ancestor, Robert de Monluc, fell at the sie^e of 
 Antiocli, having taken the cross because he greatly 
 feared being carried off by the devil, since, being both 
 a great lord and a great sinner, he had not the same 
 chance of being overlooked as a common man. It is 
 true that his son died without glory, for a diabolical 
 pig ran between his horse's legs, and it fell, killing the 
 young baron, but in ] 35G a Monluc died at Poitiers, 
 covering the king with his body. Aymard de Monluc 
 fell at Agincourt at the age of fifteen, and his brother 
 Louis at Verneuil, aged seventeen ; in 1465 Count 
 Pierre was wounded at Montlhery, and his cousin 
 Philippe at Guingate ; Gaston covered himself with 
 distinction at the battle of Cerisolle, and was created 
 Marquis de Monluc — " 
 
 " Yes, I know, Lhomond, and it all ends in 
 me ! " 
 
 The look of exultation vanished instantly from the 
 old man's face ; he glanced round stealthily, with an 
 Olid look of shame and trouble. " It is too true, 
 mademoiselle : one son in the younger branch, M. le 
 Yicomte, and one daughter, our poor Mademoiselle 
 Renee, in the elder, and both dead now," sighed the 
 old man, who could hardlv be said to have had a life 
 
8 THE SECRET OF 
 
 of his own, so completely was it absorbed in that of 
 his lords'. 
 
 " With only Solange de Monliic as tlieir heir ! 
 What is the use of my great ancestry if it is to end so 
 shabbily, Lhoraond ? " 
 
 She looked at him as she spoke, half smiling, half 
 pouting. Lhomond only re})lied by a gesture and a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 " Have you nothing at all to say to me ? " she cried 
 impatiently, returning to her own grievance. " Do 
 yon know that to-day is my fete \ Even you liave 
 foi'gotten it ! I have been waiting and waiting for 
 you to recollect it ! " 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle ! is it possible ! And nothing 
 to offer. ... I cannot forgive myself. But stay — yes, 
 yes, there is something which you will treasure, some- 
 thing that I have only kc[)t until you were old 
 enough. . . . Only you will promise to keep it out of 
 my lady's sight ? it might — grieve her. Excuse me; 
 I will return iunnediately." 
 
 He hurried away. Solange sat in just the same 
 ])Osition, her hands behind the head, resting against the 
 tall back of her chair, her dreamy eyes downcast, their 
 sweeping lashes resting on her fair cheeks, a half 
 smile on her red and parted lips. She wondered, with 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 9 
 
 mo-Jerate interest, what Lhomond would bring her — 
 bonbons or a bird, or silks for her embroidery perhaps; 
 his little parade of mystery did not impress her much, 
 for the old man was apt to be mysterious ; whatever 
 it might be, it was the only gift she would receive ; 
 her fete was never observed by anyone but Lhomond, 
 and it was tacitly understood that the little gift wdiich 
 he yearly offered was not to come under the eye of 
 Madame de Monluc. Solange had never asked her- 
 S3lf wh}', but now the question shaped itself in her 
 mind, though she forgot it as Lhomond's soft step again 
 came down the room, and something unusual in his 
 face stirred her languid interest. 
 
 " What is that ? " she asked, looking at a small 
 volume which he carried ; " have you a book for me 
 this year, my dear old heron ? " 
 
 Ever since Lhomond, to whom she owed whatever 
 little education she possessed, had taught her as a 
 little child some of La Fontaine's fables, and she had 
 stood at his knee reciting " un jour sur ses longues 
 jambes allait je ne sais ou, un heron au long bee 
 emniauche d'un long cou," she had nicknamed him 
 M. le Heron, and, indeed, once suggested, the resem- 
 blance was comically unmistakable. He usually 
 smiled at her sauciness, but now his face was full of 
 
lo THE SECRET OF 
 
 seriousness as lie lield out the little book, an-l laid a 
 long and bony finger upon it. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, this is the ' livre d'heures' of your 
 poor young mother, my dear Mademoiselle Renee. 
 When she lay dying a few months after your birth, 
 she said to me, ' My good Lhoraond ' — that was her 
 name for me — 'you will give this to my daughtei', 
 and tell her to be happier than her mother was.' 
 The dear child ! she did not weep, but looked at me 
 with eyes that made my heart ache. Ah, good 
 heavens ! how like you are to her at this moment ! 
 I never observed it before!" he cried, with sudden 
 affright, glancing round as if afraid that someone 
 else might see the resemblance. The girl's face had 
 grown very soft and wistful ; her eyes were dewy 
 as she unfastened the silver clasps and looked at 
 the name written on the first page. 
 
 "Rent^e de Monluc — always de Monluc — since my 
 father's name was the same — she was not married 
 when she wrote that, or she would have put 
 Viconitcsse de Neuvillc. Ah, my good Lhomond, 
 how I love you ! You could have given me nothing 
 I liked better to have. And you have kept it fur 
 me all these years ? " 
 
 " Yes, surely, and now you will never k-t my lady 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. il 
 
 see it?" ho urged, with anxiety which seemed out 
 of all proportion with the suhject. 
 
 " As if my grandmother ever noticed what I do 
 or have ! Ah ! " 
 
 For as she turned the pages, a sudden little shower 
 of rose petals fell from them, dry and colourless, yet 
 retaining a faint perfume. Solange and Lhomond 
 stooped together and picked tbem up. " See, the 
 flower has stained the page crimson. I wonder how 
 it came there ? " 
 
 " I can tell yon, mademoiselle," said the major- 
 domo, sadly. " How things come back to one ! I 
 remember wlien that rose was gathered. Made- 
 moiselle Rene'e had c(jme from her convent to see 
 her uncle, Comte Louis, before he went to Kome with 
 the Embassy ; he died there of fever, and M. le 
 Vicomte, his son, was here too." 
 
 " My father ? " 
 
 " Ay, he was here too, back for a few da3's from 
 his regiment, and his mother, that dear Madame 
 Louis, and Madame la JMarquise, all walking in the 
 garden — it was not neglected as it is now — and our 
 young lady and M. le Vicomte were a little apart — 
 he looked so handsome in his blue coat with red 
 facings, and his hat with silver lace ! I saw him 
 
12 THE SECRET OF 
 
 gather a rose and kiss her fingers so galhintly as he 
 offered it to her. I never saw her look exactly as 
 she did then, before or afterwards. Never," he re- 
 peated mournfully. " She went back to her convent 
 that evening, and I did not know what became of 
 the rose, but I am sure that this is it." 
 
 Solange looked at the dead petals, and at the 
 crimson stain on the page. 
 
 " My mother loved my father very much then. 
 And he ? " 
 
 " Oh, as for that, mademoiselle, what would yow. 
 have ? The vicomte was a handsome, rich you no- 
 man, welcome in every drawing-room, and no doubt 
 Mademoiselle Rende appeared to him only a little 
 schoolgirl. They were to be married one day, that 
 had long been arranged, and he was alwa3's most 
 courteous when they met, which, of course, was but 
 rarely." 
 
 A sudden perception came to Solange of how much 
 those rare meetings had meant to the girl, how little 
 to the 3'Oung man. " But after they married ? " she 
 said. 
 
 "They — they saw nothing of one another 
 then. Our young lady would have returned home 
 when the religious houses were closed but for the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 13 
 
 long journey to Aix. In fact, I was setting out to 
 seek her and bring her to her father, who was ill, but 
 Madame Louis wrote urging that she should remain 
 under her care — she dearly loved her — and as the 
 vicorate was absent, with the army of the princes, 
 there could be no objection. Alas ! only a few raontiis 
 later he fell in a duel." 
 
 " A duel ! With whom ? " 
 
 " We never heard ; it was a time of such confusion ; 
 Madame Louis was in prison, and we at the other 
 end of France." 
 
 " But he must have returned, since he married 
 mamma." 
 
 " For so short a time ... he escaped by miracle when 
 the rest of the family were imprisoned," said the old 
 man, a faint flush rising to his sallow cheeks. 
 
 " Our demoiselle insisted on going too, though her 
 name was not on the warrant. Ah, my dear child ! 
 do not make me speak of those days ! If I Jive a 
 hundred years the remembrance of them will still 
 turn my heart sick." 
 
 He hastily dried his eyes as he spoke. 
 
 " Only tell me how mamma escaped, dear Lhomond." 
 
 " Her name was not on the warrant, mademoiselle ; 
 I told you so. All the rest — Comtesse Louis; that 
 
14 THE SECRET OF 
 
 white soul ! her brother-in-law, a boy of tit'teen ; her 
 father, a man of seventy ; her mother — all mounted the 
 scafFold." 
 
 "And mamma was left in prison alone !" 
 "As for that, all the best society of France was 
 there, mademoiselle." 
 
 " How was it that she did not accompany my 
 father after the marriage ? " 
 
 " He was hiding in another jiart of Paris ; being a 
 returned emigre, he dared not appear in the hotel, 
 except in disguise, for a short time. The arrest was 
 unexpected. But after all, we heard so little ; you 
 may suppose that she did not willingly speak of these 
 things when she came back a widow, with her baby, 
 and she not yet eighteen ! " 
 
 " Lhoinond, did grandmamma do nothing for her ? " 
 " What could she do ? The marquis was just dead, 
 and she was under surveillance at Aix, suspected of 
 being a suspicious person, as the}'^ used to say of those 
 asrainst whom no definite ciiarfje could be broui'-ht. 
 To have stirred in the nritter would have been death; 
 if Madame la Marquise had not been i)rotected by one 
 who owed her gratitude, she would certainly have 
 1)een carried to prison. He was an abominable 
 Jacol)in, that Lortal, but how I inayod that no harm 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 15 
 
 might befall him ... so long as my lady needed him, 
 I mean," added Lliomond, apologetically. " As for 
 Mademoiselle Renee, we believed her safe with her 
 aunt till I chanced to see a newspaper and read the 
 names among those guillotined." 
 
 " It is cruel to make you speak of these things, 
 my poor Lhomond, but if you knew liow I want to 
 hear more of my father and mother ! " 
 
 " There is no more to tell, mademoiselle. As socm 
 as possible my lady gathered the wreck of her for- 
 tune, and came to Paris. The prisons being open, 
 your mother joined her." 
 
 " Did grandmamma love her ? " asked Solangc, 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, all mothers love their children," 
 began Lhomond, with the air of one enforcing a doc- 
 trine which it is heresy to doubt, yet which he 
 inwardly disbelieves. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know that — just as all grandmothers 
 love their grandchildren," said Solange, shaking her 
 finger at him. " I understand perfectly. You need 
 not say any more, Lhomond. You know how much 
 she has always loved me. It is fortunate that I do 
 not love her either. How she cuuLl hurt m3 if I 
 did!" 
 
i6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Madame la Marquiric has liad great sorrows, my 
 child. Monsieur, my master, was harsh and jealous 
 — well, I must say it — as a Turk, and naturally both 
 desired an heir, and it was hard,, after so many years 
 of marriage, only to liave a girl at last, and my lady, 
 who did not like girls, too ! They sent our poor 
 Rende to a convent at two years old ; she was only a 
 gill, you see, and then as for you. . . . What was I 
 going to say ? It is high time I went about ni}' 
 own matters, if you do not need me any longer." 
 
 He held the door open for Solange to pass out, 
 and then escorted her ceremoniously to her room. 
 Fallen as the fortunes were of the house which he 
 served, Lhomond treated its members with the same 
 ceremony as when they had been great and poweiful, 
 with a train of servants at their call. 
 
 " She is, after all, but a child," he muttered to 
 himself as he went away. " So like Renee, only ten 
 times as much life and spirit and malice. Alas ! what 
 is she to do with them ! " 
 
 Lhomond sighed heavily as he went into his own 
 little room, and fell to polishing a silver cup, while lie 
 thought sadl}' over past and future. 
 
 Tlic old man was factotum in the establishment, 
 which now consisted only of himself and the maid, 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. i7 
 
 Guillemette. The two were a singular contrast — 
 Lhomond a pattern of courtesy and good breeding, 
 always daintily neat, well brushed, and trim ; Mette, 
 large-boned, gaunt, with a narrow forehead, as unlike 
 the typical lady's-maid as possible. Peasant born, a 
 peasant at heart she i-emained, with the narrow 
 horizon and obstinate prejudices of lier class. Long 
 contact with her mistress had outwardly civilised her, 
 but only outwardly. She blindly reflected the opin- 
 ions and feelings of her lady, as far as she understood 
 them, except, indeed, as regarded Lhomond, whom she 
 detested. Lhomond behaved towards her with digni- 
 fied condescension, treating her acrid remarks at his 
 expense with superb scorn, and disdainful of her 
 intense jealousy of the confidence which the marquise 
 placed in him. The only point on which the two 
 agreed was in fidelity to their mistress. There v/as, 
 however, a vast diflference in their feeling towards 
 her. Lhomond had held staunchly to his lady through 
 her misfortunes because she was a Monluc, one of the 
 family which he and his had served for generations ; 
 Mette adored her for her own sake, jealous of every 
 look and word addressed to anyone else, and ready 
 to carry out any wish of her lady's without an 
 instant's hesitation. She would have felt it the worst 
 
1 8 THE SECRET OE 
 
 of misfortunes, however, could wealth and a posse of 
 servants have been restored to Madame de Monluc ; 
 Mette's happiness was in being the only one to 
 approach her, wait on her person, cater for her in 
 the shops, mend her laco, wash her fichus. To 
 Solange she showed a sullen and captious temper, 
 with no touch of the pride and tenderness which 
 might have been expected from the woman who had 
 had charge of her from babyhood. But then the 
 marquise wasted no love on her, and Lhomond wor- 
 shipped her, so that Mette's attitude was easily 
 explained ; though, indeed, had Madame de Monluc 
 shown affection to her grandchild, Mette would have 
 been wild with jealousy. She treated Solange still 
 as a child, to be ordered about and rebuked whenever 
 Mette was out of temper, served her grudgingly, and 
 made herself as unpleasant as she could to her. Dur- 
 ing her seventeen years of life, Solange had never had 
 kind looks or words from anyone but the old major- 
 domo, who was never too busy to tliink about her, 
 though he worked harder than any two ordinary 
 servants. He was not very strong, yet he managed 
 to cook for the little household, polish the oaken 
 floors, buy whatever was wanted witli the utmost 
 economy, and do a thousand other things, besides 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 19 
 
 acting as valet to the aged commander, the great- 
 uncle of Solange, who lived on the third floor, and 
 had escaped unnoticed all through the Revolution. 
 
 There is nothing so purblind as dislike ; Mette 
 would have declared that Lhoraond was a useless old 
 man, and Solange a plain child, while the truth was 
 that the whole establishment would have stood still 
 had Lhomond been absent for half a day, and that 
 Solange was blooming into the fairest rose that ever 
 opened on the ancient stem of Monluc. 
 
THE SECKET OF 
 
 CHAPTER If. 
 
 The first impulse of Solange on reachiu^^ her room 
 was to kneel at her prie-dieu chair, with her mother's 
 prayer-book pressed to her lips, and to pray long and 
 fervently. 
 
 What she had heard from the old family servant 
 had moved her deci)ly. He had constantly talked to 
 her of the traditions and glories of her family, of 
 their alliances and estates ; but, like very many who 
 had lived through the Revolution, that time was such 
 a nightmare of horror to him that he would rarely 
 speak of anything connected with it. The period of 
 comparative security which followed rather gave time 
 to realise the terror and suffering of those years than 
 in any degree lessened the shrinking dread, the 
 passionate disgust and indignation, awakened by the 
 recollection. Solange had never heard so much of her 
 parents' story at any time as now. 
 
 She rose from her knees, and sat trying to picture 
 what this house, now so vacant, must have been when 
 peopled by tlie various branches of the Monlnc family. 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 21 
 
 It had belonofed to her orrandfather, as head of the 
 house, but other members of the family had a right 
 to rooms in it. On the ground floor had lived the 
 Mar^chal de Monluc Aulnay and his wife ; the mar- 
 quis reserv^ed the first for his own use ; on the second 
 dwelt Comte Louis, whose son was that gay and 
 handsome young soldier who married Renec, as old 
 Lhomond had said ; a storey higlier still was the 
 apartment of the aged Comraandeur de Monluc-Fon- 
 tenay, a Chevalier de Malte from his cradle, and 
 nowadays an important member of the family, since, 
 though of course he had lost his commandery and its 
 large revenues, he still had a little income from other 
 sources, which went far to keep the household afloat. 
 All the rest of the Monlucs had been swept away by 
 death or exile except Solange and her grandmother. 
 When the marquise returned to Paris after her semi- 
 imprisonment in her own chateau near Aix, she had 
 found the old man, realising little or nothing of the 
 horrible time which had passed since they last met ; 
 and there, after seventeen years, he was still, with 
 faculties much enfeebled, unable to understand that 
 his contemporaries were all dead, and imagining him- 
 self living in the reign of Louis XV., but with great 
 enjoyment of life, and a happy cheerfulness and 
 
22 THE SECRET OF 
 
 pleasure in trifles, which Solange, in her young 
 intolerance, alternately wondered at and despised. 
 
 " Oh," she said, as she sat thinking, " has so much 
 happened that there is nothing left for ine?" And a 
 kind of passion of despair at the hopeless narrowness 
 and limitations of her life fell upon her, so that she 
 started up and wrung her hands, glad at least to feel 
 a little physical pain, if nothing else. 
 
 As a child she had missed nothing, or if she did, was 
 not conscious of it. She chattered to Lhomond, played 
 in the great, silent garden, made dramas with her dolls, 
 ran up and down the corridors, avoiding only the one 
 on which her grandmother's door opened ; climbed her 
 uncle's knee, and amused the old man and herself by 
 her pranks, or called on Lhomond to explain the stories 
 depicted on the tapestry which hung on the walls of 
 her room. Naturally, Lhomond had never read 
 d'Urf^'s Astree ; but he was not a ProvenQal for 
 nothing, and found no difficulty in devising a history 
 for the distraught shepherd about to fling himself in- 
 to the bright blue river, whose waters weie already 
 splashing up beforehand, suggestive of the etlect of 
 his approaching i)lunge, unless the lady all in tears, 
 who was flying to the rescue, succeeded in stopping 
 him. Many tears had been shed in former times over 
 
MADAME DE MONLVC. 23 
 
 the Asiree, and once everybody would have known 
 what these old hangings commemorated, but the 
 world had outgrown the Chevalier d'Urfe's romance, 
 and Solange had outgrown Lhomond's version of them. 
 As he had just discovered with consternation, the 
 child had become a girl, and the girl had begun to feel 
 the impulses and longings of a woman. Solange was 
 of Provengale race and would develop early, and, 
 moreover, she belonged to a generation born amid the 
 fevered agitation, the incessant suspicions, the fierce 
 hopes and cruel terrors of the Revolution. Such 
 children could not but bear the stamp of the time to 
 which they belonged. 
 
 It suddenly seemed to Solange as if she could not 
 possibly bear her life a moment longer, though it was 
 no narrower, no duller than it had been ever since she 
 could remember. Only, Lhomond's reminiscences, the 
 faded, cherished rose, her own heart waking up, all 
 combined to open her eyes. She hated the room she 
 stood in, the deadly monotony of her days ; she was 
 filled with unreasoning, hot resentment against all 
 lier surroundings ; she envied her mother. " At least, 
 she had a life ! " the girl thought. 
 
 It is only the young who experience such passionate 
 revolt against their circumstances, and nothing is less 
 
24 THE SECRET OF 
 
 comprehensible to tlie old. Even Lhomond would have 
 been shocked and scandalised had he guessed how 
 Solange felt, although he as invariably upheld his 
 darling as his fellow-servant Mette disapproved of her. 
 By-ani.l-bye she returned to her usual self, with a kind 
 of wonder at the paroxysm through which she had 
 ])assed. She went and stood at \v^x window, and 
 looked out at the garden below, the trees beginning 
 to drop their leaves, and the formal tlower-beds and 
 the high walls. It did not tempt her. " I will go to 
 my uncle," she saiJ to herself, and went upstairs to 
 the third floor. 
 
 Want of money had diiven the reluctant marquise 
 to allow Lhomond to let the first floor to a marshal 
 who had risen from the ranks and enriched himself 
 in Napoleon's campaigns ; but he was now in Spain, 
 and his wife in attendance on the young Empress, 
 Marie Louise, so that at tliis moment there was no 
 one in this hotel, where one generation after another 
 had lived so long, and done honour to their fortune 
 and power, except the marquise and her few be- 
 longings. 
 
 Solange could come and go as slio would, while, 
 when the first floor was tenanted, and guests flocked 
 to the mardchale's rcccjitions, it was well understood 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 25 
 
 that she never left the entresol, except escorted by 
 Lhomoud or Mette. The sounds of music and dancing, 
 the roll of carriages and shouts of coachmen and valets 
 in the great court-yard, would faintly reach her if she 
 sat at her open window on the other side of the house, 
 or walked in the garden, which the marquise chose to 
 reserve for private use, though she never entered it ; but 
 such tokens of an outside life only came to her as 
 something remote and alien ; the occupants of the 
 first floor did not know of her existence, and she never 
 thought of them as belonging to any world with 
 which she could have to do. She was glad, however, 
 of their absence, as it gave her a little more liberty. 
 
 She ran up the flights of stone stairs leading to her 
 uncle's apartment. Each step was made of a single 
 wide and polished slab, and the balusters were of 
 wrought iron. No carpet had ever been laid down on 
 a staircase in the ancient hotel. Her rapid step was 
 hardly heard as she went along the coi-ridors, where 
 stood great carved chests, containing linen or brocades 
 and silks, which had been in fashion a hundred years 
 earlier. Her mood had changed, and the young life, 
 strong in her veins, sent her dancing along these silent 
 passages, and even singing under her breath an old 
 Iti'i, which Lhoraond knew. 
 
26 THE SECRET OE 
 
 " Pour cliasser de sa souvenansc 
 L'ennui secret, 
 On se donne taut de souffraiice 
 
 Pour si i)eu d'oflot ! 
 Une si douce fantaisie 
 Toujours revient : 
 En songeant qu'il faut ({u'on oublie 
 On s'en souvieut." 
 
 " On .s'en souvient I " san<^ the girl, who had nothing 
 yet to remember, and who sang the plaintive little 
 verses as gaily as a bird might warble in a bush, and 
 with as little sentiment. 
 
 The old commander lived entirely in two of the 
 rooms appropriated to him ; the third was a small closet, 
 where were cabinets and boxes filled with all kinds of 
 things, piled there in the hope that they might escape 
 notice in the troubles of 1790, as, in fact, they did; but 
 none of those who hastily filled them returned to 
 empty their contents. The room where the com- 
 mander passed his day was .small, lofty, and furnished 
 with an austere simplicity, which he liked, because it 
 recalled the camp to him. A few books, seldom 
 opened, stood on a shelf ; a trophy of swords hung 
 above the hearth — ancient weapons, heavy swords 
 which had belonged to Monlucs of old, and had been 
 used perhaps at Montlhery, or some other of those 
 battles which Lhomond was fond of talking about. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 27 
 
 The commander's own — which had done good service 
 too in the Seven Years' War — a small one, with a little 
 soiled scarf, in a case of serpent's skin, which looked 
 as if it had served in duels (the I)e Monlucs were hot- 
 headed and ready to draw on the slightest provocation). 
 In curious contrast to this warlike decoration were the 
 walls of the room, painted grey, with garlands of 
 flowers on the panels ; perhaps it had once been a 
 lady's bower. Several portraits hung against them, 
 in frames which were a marvel of exquisite carving — 
 an ecclesiastic, with a mild, subtle face ; a young officer 
 in the uniform of a colonel ; a girl, slender and pale, a 
 mournful look in her grey eyes, and a touch of haughti- 
 ness in the carriage of her head. 
 
 The commander turned his head at the sound of the 
 opening door ; he could not rise from his chair with- 
 out help, and a visit was a welcome variety, though 
 he did not find the time long, but lived in the quiet 
 contentment of a tranquil oLl age, troubled by no 
 anxiety or excitement, his thoughts floating vaguely 
 on, unless stimulated by a question from someone 
 who came to see him, his mind wonderfully clear as 
 regarded the past, but confused about the present, 
 and with some curious aberrations which it was vain 
 to combat. The Abbe Gautier, who sometimes found 
 
28 THE SECRET OF 
 
 liis way up liero, declare J that whenever he was 
 thoroughly sickened by the recollections of the last 
 twenty years, or by the tumult and greed and low- 
 inindedness of the present, he refreshed himself by 
 conversing with the old man, to whom recent events 
 were a blank, and yet who w^as such good company. 
 Solange was too young to feel this ; she wanted to 
 live in her own day. 
 
 " A't all events I am not to be one of my great- 
 aunts this morning," she said to herself, coming for- 
 ward and bending to let him kiss her forehead, as he 
 held out his hands, exclaiming, " Welcome, my little 
 
 Rene'e ! " 
 
 " Not Renee, uncle, but her daughter." 
 " No, no, child ; you should not laugh at the old 
 man," he answered, with cheery reproach. " Do you 
 think he has quite lost his memory ? Parbleu ! I 
 recollect more than you will ever forget, though I 
 am ending my days in an arm-cliaii', dressed anil 
 handled like a child, instead of falling, as I should 
 have done, lighting iox my king, like most of my 
 ancestors. I never thought to die in my bed ; I ex- 
 pected better than that. What I coveted was to fall 
 in the moment of victory, as the Duke of Berwick 
 tlid before Philipsbourg. But lie was always lucky, 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 29 
 
 tliat man," added the old soldier, with a sigh. Then, 
 returning to his starting point — " Renee's daughter 
 . . . no, that is not a pretty jest. There was no 
 marriage ; Armand fell in a duel. A bad business ! 
 A bad business ! " 
 
 Solange listened in surprise. Evidently the death 
 of the vieomte had made a profound impression on 
 the commander ; it was very seldom that he alluded 
 to any event so recent as this. 
 
 " How did you hear of it, uncle ? " she asked, eager 
 to learn more. 
 
 '' Someone came and told me ; my valet, I think — I 
 do not know where all the rest of the family were. 
 It was a bad business. How he came to condescend 
 to fight a man not of his own rank, I cannot imagine, 
 only Armand always was such a quarrelsome fellow. 
 If his equal had killed him, there would have been 
 nothing to say, but to fight a man beneath himself 
 and not run him through the body — I have never 
 understood how that could be." 
 
 He shook his head gloomily, and beat his hand on 
 his knee. " It would not have happened in my time," 
 he said. Solange could not give up the hope of hear- 
 ing more. " With whom, then, did my — did the 
 Vieomte de Neuville fight?" she asked, using the 
 
:^o THE SECRET OF 
 
 title to stimulate his recollections. He only con- 
 tinued to shake his head. " But do tell nie," she 
 pleaded. " What was the cause of the duel ? " 
 
 "The cause — the cause — how should I know? 
 Perhaps the fellow took a seat which Armand had 
 chosen ; perhaps he made love to someone whom 
 Armand had distinguished ; a duel may arise about 
 anything or nothing. When I joined my regiment 
 before Kehl, a lad of fifteen, there was a quarrel 
 between two young fellows about an Angora cat. 
 They risked their heads, for the law was strict against 
 duelling, and the marshal was not fond of his 
 officers challenging one another on the eve of an 
 assault ; but what would you have ! hot blood, hot 
 blood ! " 
 
 He had gone back to old times, and Solange knew 
 that she should not be able to bring him back to the 
 point which she desired. She sighed impatientl3% and 
 while he went on talking of Maurice de Saxe, and the 
 quarrels between the Mardchal de Noailles and 
 d'Asfeldt, and his first campaign under the Due de 
 Berwick, her eyes wandered listlessly round the room, 
 resting at last on the three portraits. Used to see 
 them there all her life, she had accepted them much 
 as she did the red hangings in the great saK>n, or the 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 3t 
 
 chairs and ottomans, covered with Gobelin tapestry, 
 without bestowing special notice upon them ; but she 
 looked attentively at them now — they suddenly 
 interested her, though she could not tell why. 
 
 " That girl was not happy," she thought, studying 
 her countenance, and then she looked at the young 
 oflScer, with his aristocratic features and the faint 
 sneer on his lip, and wondered if her father had been 
 such as he. She was roused from her musings by the 
 commander raising his voice. " Morbleu ! my child, 
 leave deafness to old age ; I have spoken twice 
 already." 
 
 "Pardon me, uncle, I was thinking of those [)or- 
 traits," said Solancje, starting, and ashamed of her ill- 
 manners. The commander's eyes travelled to them, 
 and he forgot his displeasure while trying to revive 
 slumbering memories. 
 
 " The bishop used to hang in the great reception- 
 room, and the others. ... I fancy tliey were in my 
 niece Louis' own chamber," he said slowly. "I do 
 not know why they were brought up to these rooms; 
 a great many other things seem to have been carried 
 up here ; there are chests full of them, I believe, but 
 I cannot get about now, and I fancy I grow a little 
 forgetful — is it not so ? " 
 
32 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " In the bedroom of my aunt ! . . . But then . . . 
 Cannot you recollect whose portraits they are, dear 
 uncle ? " asked Solango, eagerly. 
 
 " Why, no ; I told you I could not, child ! " 
 
 " You onl}' said you did not know why they were 
 Immglit here." 
 
 '■ One cannot I'cniember every trillc," said the com- 
 mander, testily ; for nothing annoyed him more than 
 to be obliged to own his memory in fault, as Solange 
 would have recollected had she been less eager. 
 "They are ancestors of ours, and that is all that signi- 
 fies. Do me the favour to send Lhomond liere ; he 
 forgot this morning to turn my chair so that I can 
 see across the street, thoughtless young scamp ! I 
 wonder where Jean is : he used to wait on me." 
 
 Solange knew that by some odd mental twist the 
 commander never realised, in spite of the plainest 
 ocular evidence, that those whom he had known 
 young had become old ; to him Madame de Monluc 
 was still \\\ her first prime, and Lhomond a youthful 
 scamp. She smiled, and said, " Is there anything I 
 can do for you ? Lhomond is down in tlie entresol, 
 and these flights of stairs — " 
 
 " My dear child, what is that to young legs ? And 
 as for turning this arm-chair with j-our old uncle 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. %% 
 
 inside it, you might as well try to move Notre 
 Dame." 
 
 " But let me try," said Solange, who knew that 
 toiling up to this floor was no slight effort to 
 Lhomond, although he waited unmurmuringly on his 
 master, and prided himself on the well-cared-for air 
 of the handsome old man, none the less good-looking 
 for a black patch on the left temple, covering a deep 
 scar. He used to assert that this wound had en- 
 tirely cured the severe headaches to which he had 
 been subject as a boy, and appealed to Lhomond to 
 support his advice to anyone who complained of 
 them to try the same treatment. Lhomond always 
 respectfully agreed ; he admired the commander so 
 much that he would have thought it a kind of 
 sacrilege to differ from him. 
 
 With considerable effort Solange succeeded in turn- 
 ing the chair so that its occupant could obtain a view 
 from the window, not, indeed, into the street, for it 
 was far too narrow to allow of seeing from this 
 height what passed below, but of the windows oppo- 
 site. This was the one glimpse into the outside 
 world now possible for the old officer who had led 
 such an active life in his time, and now could never 
 
 stir beyond two rooms. He enjoyed it very much, 
 
 c 
 
34 THE SECRE7 OF 
 
 and watched his neighbours over the way with un- 
 failing interest, knew almost as much about them as 
 they did themselves, and saw many little comedies 
 and tragedies go on in the opposite houses, whose 
 inhabitants were well used to see the cheer}'' old 
 figure at his window, and often gave him a smile or a 
 bow of recognition. He blessed his good fortune that 
 he did not inhabit rooms looking either into the gar- 
 den, or the courtyard, silent and empty for a great 
 part of the year, nor, still worse, upon the blank wall 
 of the convent, not long since re-opened, the tinkle 
 of whose little bell at regular intervals gave notice all 
 through the twenty -four hours when one blue-robed 
 figure rose from her devotions before the altar to be 
 immediately replaced by another. No outlook, how- 
 ever aristocratic, could have afforded him the enter- 
 tainment which he gained from his view of tliis 
 street, where shopkeepers and bourgeois lived, and 
 almost every house had several families in it, each 
 with its own little history. Some came, some went, 
 some had lived here for years ; their comings and 
 goings were a constant interest to him, while those 
 who had lived in the same rooms for any time be- 
 came, as it were, acquaintances and friends. 
 
 The old man's window was always open. Used 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 35 
 
 from childhood to a hardy, out-of-door life, he de- 
 tested to be enclosed in walls, and now that they 
 were always round him, he would at least feel the 
 free wind from without blow in upon him. Solange 
 stood by his side, rather breathless with her exertions, 
 and he surveyed the windows opposite, mostly open 
 too, for the day was oppressive, and commented on 
 those who dwelt behind them with the amused in- 
 terest of a child. 
 
36 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Sitting in his arm-chair the commander surveyed the 
 rooms not only just opposite, but those just below. 
 His intimate acquaintance with the habits and cir- 
 cumstances of his neighbours always amused and 
 surprised Solange ; she herself could not find them 
 particularly entertaining, but she took care not to 
 displease and disappoint the old man by saying so. 
 After all, she told herself, as she lingered beside him, 
 to look and listen was a degree less wearisome than 
 to return to her room with absolutely nothing to see 
 or hear. The commander talked on. " The people 
 in that furthest room are gone out," he was saying. 
 " I'll wager they are promenading their son wherever 
 there are most people to show him to. The young 
 fellow came home from his regiment yesterday, with 
 his arm in a sling, and decorated — fell into the midst 
 of them like a bomb, and you should have seen the 
 embrace, the tears ! Faith, it reminded me of my own 
 return with my father after my first campaign, when 
 my mother ran out to meet me witli my little sister, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 37 
 
 and the Abb^ Chabot hurrying behind her — my old 
 tutor he was — and all the household after him, I 
 hear their cries of joy now ! " He paused and 
 smiled, his eyes glistening at the recollection. 
 "Those are worthy people in that apartment. The 
 next room has a new tenant, an ex-capuchin, I 
 suspect, who has unfrocked himself; a merry rascal 
 the fellow is, j'^ou may believe me. 
 
 " Toutes les belles du canton, 
 Nourissaient le prophete ; 
 Petits poulets, petits pigeons, 
 Volaient vers sa retraite. ..." 
 
 sang the old commander, in a cheerful, quavering 
 voice. 
 
 The old soldier had Vhxmneiir gauloise in full 
 measure, and his songs and stories were apt to be so 
 strongly seasoned with Rabelaisien salt that Lhomond, 
 the most modest of men, would fidget and blush and 
 hem, though too respectful to protest otherwise, 
 amusing the merry old man hugely by his embarrass- 
 ment. Solange made haste to cut the song short by 
 asking who the young man was that sat writing so 
 diligently in the room immediately opposite. They 
 could only see his profile as he bent over the paper, 
 his hand moving rapidly over the manuscript. His 
 
38 THE SECRET OF 
 
 absorbed air struck Solange. " There, at all events, is 
 someone who has got something he cares to do ! " 
 she thought. 
 
 The commander had a great contempt for authors 
 and artists. " Some scribbler," he said discourteously. 
 " A notary, perhaps, or a poet. He is away until the 
 evening, except on Sundays, and he is always writing 
 when at home ; when I go to bed I see him still at it, 
 as hard as ever, and when I wake in the night there 
 he is still, reading or writing by his lamp. I do not 
 sleep as well as I used somehow \ I must tell Lhomond 
 to make up a bed in my room that I may have some- 
 body to talk to while I lie awake." 
 
 " Poor Lhomond ! " said Solange, under her 
 breath. 
 
 " I cannot understand about that j'oung man," the 
 commander continued, talking to himself. "He ap- 
 peared suddenly, and I can see that the woman who 
 is his landlady thinks a great deal of him. She is a 
 respectable bourgeoise ; probably the whole house 
 belongs to her. She has lived there for years ; a 
 widow." 
 
 " I have seen her," said Solange, with an odd little 
 feelino; of uneasiness. "Sometimes she looks across 
 at me. She has such strange, hollow eyes ; I do not 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 39 
 
 like to meet them, and I am sure she does not like us. 
 She never has a smile for you, uncle." 
 
 The commander was not listening; he was watching 
 something over the way with great interest. " Ha ! 
 ha ! see the monkey ! " he exclaimed, breaking into a 
 laugh, and pointing with his thumb to call the atten- 
 tion of Solano'e. " The rascal ! he is chained near the 
 wall where he can do no mischief — I'll warrant not 
 till he has done all there was to do, and now he wants 
 to reach the clock. See how he elongates himself and 
 extends his paw — he will do it ! No ; he cannot quite 
 reach it. Try again, my fine fellow, another inch ; it 
 must be possible. Yes — no — he has failed again,'' 
 said the commander, dejectedly. " Morbleu ! I wish I 
 could push that confounded clock nearer for him." 
 
 Solange was growing interested too. It was excit- 
 ing to watch the upshot of the monkey's proceedings 
 while his owner was unconscious of them. It seemed 
 baffler], and sat still to meditate. Solange and the 
 commander looked on, across the street ; their sym- 
 pathy was entirely with the monkey. An exclama- 
 tion broke from both as the beast suddenly turned 
 round, and stretching out a long hind leg, knocked 
 the clock off the mantel-shelf with a crash distinctly 
 heard across the way. 
 
40 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the commander, delighted. 
 
 The student lifted his head, looked round, and 
 returned to his writing unmoved. 
 
 " He takes it coolly ! " said the commander, as- 
 tonished. Solange had had a glimpse of the young 
 man's face as he lifted his head ; she liked it. 
 
 The monkey had looked at its master with the 
 oddest mixture of malice and apprehension. The 
 absolute indifference shown to its prank plainly 
 irritated it ; the looks which it cast at the bent head 
 were laden with promises of retribution. 
 
 " What is the scoundrel doing now ? " said the com- 
 mander, recovering from a hearty fit of laughter. 
 " Can you make out, child ? He is not sitting so still 
 for nothing." 
 
 For some time Solange could not make out what 
 the animal was about ; then she perceived that it was 
 doing its best to loosen its collar. This roused the 
 interest of the commander to the highest ])itch; he 
 had not been so well amused for months, and Solange 
 had (piitc forgotten her intention of only paying him 
 a short visit. They could see the monkey working at 
 its collar with little black hands and writhing its 
 neck, while it cast furtive glances towards its owner. 
 Presently it sat quite still. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 41 
 
 " He has given it up ! " " No, he has succeeded ! " 
 exclaimed Solange and the commander together. At 
 the same moment the young man sprang up. 
 
 " Eureka ! " he exclaimed, as he rolled up his manu- 
 script and waved it over his head with a gesture of 
 joyful triumph which made the commander exclaim : 
 
 " Peste ! the fellow seems as proud of himself as if 
 his roll were a marshal's baton ! " 
 
 Solange, full of eager interest, saw him lay 
 down the papers and leave the room. He had 
 not chanced to look from his window, or he 
 would have seen the two spectators opposite. As 
 he left the room, the monkey slipped its head 
 neatly out of the collar, sat glancing round for a 
 moment to make sure that its owner did not return, 
 and then, with a bound, sprang into his chair, dipped 
 a pen in the ink, and proceeded to cover a sheet of 
 paper with blots and scrawls. The commander 
 laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. 
 
 " Worth just as much as the other's scribblings, I'll 
 be sworn," he gasped, drying his eyes. " What is the 
 beast after now ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! " he shouted, seeing the 
 monkey rise, roll up the manuscript, and wave it in 
 the air. " Did you ever see the like of that. He 
 deserves a seat in the Academy ! See, he comes to 
 
42 THE SECRET OF 
 
 the window; he is on the sill — he will be off in 
 another moment." 
 
 Solange saw the little wizened face turned this way 
 and that, evidentl}' meditating how to escape. She 
 leant out, and threw the cup and ball with which she 
 had been idly playing across the street at it. It flew 
 past, and the monkey, jabbering angrily, looked over 
 the way, and then, with much better aim than her 
 own, sent the roll of papers flying at her head. She 
 started back, and it fell on the floor. Solange picked 
 it up and looked from it to her uncle, who lay back 
 in his chair, breathless and speechless with laugbter, 
 
 Solange was speechless too, but it was with conster- 
 nation. She could not imagine how she was to return 
 the papers without first a long explanation to 
 Lhomond, who would be terribly scandalised, and, 
 secondly, one to the owner. Some sound alarmed the 
 monkey, for it ceased to jabber and threaten, and 
 sprang back to its ytercli, where it was sitting with 
 a sad and resigned expression when its master re- 
 turned and went up to the table, to find instead of 
 his papers a cup and ball. Even Solange could not 
 help joining in the commander's renewed laugliter at 
 the blank astonishment of the young author and the 
 incredulous way in which he took up and examined 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 43 
 
 the toy, and, after a hurried search, went to the door 
 and called his landlady, who came and stood listening 
 to liis story, while the monkey sat still and looked 
 sorrowfully innocent. 
 
 " That is the owner of the house," said the com- 
 mander ; " see, they are looking everywhere ; it is 
 delicious!" 
 
 Solange laughed no longer. She perceived that 
 this loss was almost a matter of life and death to the 
 owner of the papers. The woman's serious face, the 
 agitation of her companion, showed this unmistakably. 
 Presently the landlady discovered that the monkey 
 was not chained, and there was a brief consultation. 
 Solange could not but smile when she saw that the cup 
 and ball was evidently one of the most impenetrable 
 parts of the mystery; but her face grew grave again 
 when she saw the young man cast himself into a 
 chair, and cover his face with his hands. 
 
 " I cannot, however, throw it back ! " she exclaimed, 
 more to herself than the commander. The landlady 
 was now gazing into the street below, hanging out of 
 the window to do so. As she drew back, she 
 looked across and saw Solange. The startled, 
 strange expression on her face held the girl spell- 
 bound for a moment : there was aversion, recognition, 
 
44 THE SECRET OF 
 
 eager observation. Solange felt an Ovdd kind of 
 shock. With an instinctive effort to free herself 
 from the gaze fixed upon her, she held up the 
 papers. 
 
 " If you will come to the courtyard I \yill give 
 them to you, madame," she said, drawing back 
 hastily. " My uncle, I must restore these ; you will 
 excuse my leaving j'ou," and she ran down the flights 
 of stairs, leaving the commander trying to understand 
 what had occasioned her hurried and unceremonious 
 departure, and went rapidly past her grandmother's 
 door, afraid that Mette might come out ; but no one 
 heard her light, flying steps. The great doors of the 
 hall were bolted and barred ; they were only opened 
 now when Madame la Marechale happened to be 
 inhabiting the first floor, and gave a reception. 
 Bonaparte required his great officers to live magnifi- 
 cently ; plunder and bribes in the countries overrun 
 by bis armies paid the cost. The receptions held in 
 tlie Hotel Monluc were gorgeous, though the old walls 
 and the family portraits might have wondered at the 
 motley crowd gathered there. Lhomond wrung his 
 hands over such desecration, but his descriptions 
 afforded a certain cold, contemptuous amusement to 
 his mistress, who, since ill-fortune obliged iior to 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 45 
 
 admit strangers into her house, rather preferred 
 plebeian tenants to one ot" her own degree. 
 
 Solange did not attempt to undo the heavy fasten- 
 ings of the main entrance, but opened a side door, 
 and stood waiting to see if the woman would fetch 
 the papers. She would have to come round the hotel 
 from the street behind it, and Solange, who had run 
 in a moment down all the flights of stairs, had to 
 wait some time. 
 
 As she stood in the doorway it struck her as a new 
 thing, which she had never observed before, how 
 silent and deserted were the quadrangle and the hotel. 
 Not a sound came from the hall behind her but the 
 chimes of a clock, wdiich, from somewhere or other, 
 dropped into the stillness, telling that an hour had 
 passed away. No porter sat in his lodge ; grass 
 grew in the cracks of the ])avement ; the eleven high 
 windows on each floor were closely curtained or 
 shuttered ; the shield bearing the arms of Monluc, 
 above the main entrance, was defaced by violence. 
 
 All around was silence and solitude, and the 
 distant hum of life, which could be faintly heard, 
 only heightened the impression of loneliness. Pre- 
 sently Solange saw the small door in the porte 
 cocheie pushed open, and the woman whom she 
 
•46 THE SECRET OF 
 
 expected crossed the court. Her look of weary dis- 
 appointment, her dark and brilliant eyes, the expres- 
 sion of her lips, shaded with dark down, made her 
 countenance not easily forgotten. Solange smiled a 
 welcome, and held out the roll. 
 
 " Your monkey threw it in at my uncle's window, 
 raadame," she ex})lained. " I am glad to be able to 
 restore it." She spoke with slight, unconscious con- 
 descension. 
 
 Tlie messenger held out her hand to take it, while 
 her eyes, hollow and glowing, were fixed on Solange. 
 
 " What do they call you ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " Solange de Monluc," answered the girl, with a 
 little haughty astonishment. 
 
 "Solange de Monluc! Ah, imrfaitement ! They 
 do well ; you are your mother all over ; nothing of 
 the father — nothing ! " she repeated, gazing at her 
 with strange attention. 
 
 " Did you know my mother ? " exclaimed Solange. 
 She had thought little about her parents until now, 
 but suddenly everything seemed to speak of them. 
 
 " Did I know her ? AVell, yes, I did. Does that 
 surprise you ? " 
 
 " I am sure that if you did, she was kind to you," 
 said Solange, with naive assum]ition thnt between a 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 47 
 
 noble demoiselle and a bourgeoise such as this there 
 could be no connection but some grace demanded or 
 favour conferred. 
 
 " Just so," said her companion, with a low laugh, 
 perfectly understanding her tliought. " What could 
 such as I do for an aristocrat ? You never heard my 
 name ? Veuve Locroy ? No, I suppose not. How 
 should you ? " 
 
 " Ah, but stay ; do not go if you can tell me any- 
 thing of my mother or my father. What did you 
 know of my father ? " cried Solange, detaining her. 
 
 " What did I know of your father ? " repeated her 
 companion, with sudden fierceness, which made 
 Solange start with a perception that she was on un- 
 known ground, full of ambushed dangers. " Ask 
 nothing, or you may hear things which would make 
 those noble ears of yours tingle. You are a Monluc, 
 and I am of the people. Farewell." 
 
 She turned and went away over the quadrangle, 
 while Solange watched her in wonder, dashed with 
 alarm. 
 
 " Who can this Veuve Locroy be ? " she murmured, 
 while her eyes followed the retreating figure. 
 
 Then it occurred to her that she should like to see 
 the papers restored, and she ran up again to the com- 
 
48 THE SECRET OF 
 
 mander's room. He seemed to have forgotten her 
 previous visit, and began telling her in a voice broken 
 with laughter of the monkey, who was now chained 
 up again, looking like a very sad and ancient little 
 man, and, no doubt, meditating future mischief. His 
 master was impatiently watching the door. Solange 
 put herself where she could see without being seen, 
 and the commander babbled on, in great spirits. She 
 saw the monkey turn his head sharply and his master 
 start up ; Veuve Locroy entered. Solange could not 
 hear what passed, but the joy of the young man's 
 face made words superfluous, and the countenance of 
 the woman who had looked so cold and alien when 
 she addressed Solange softened into tenderness, which 
 entirely changed its expression. Solange unconsci- 
 ously came a little forward, just as the two speakers 
 looked across the way ; she met such a look of ardent 
 gratitude from the young man that she drew back, 
 blushing deeply. The commander could not under- 
 stand how the papers had been restored ; his memory 
 only retained part of the scene, and Solange was glad 
 of it ; Lhomond would certainly have been scandalised, 
 and might even have declared that she must not come 
 up here while a young man lodged opposite; Lhomond 
 was so prudish ! It was certainly best he should 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 49 
 
 hear nothing about it. Ah. he was coming upstairs 
 now ! 
 
 It was the first time in her life that Solange had 
 felt impatient of the presence of the good major- 
 domo. 
 
 A rapid glance across the street reassured her ; the 
 room was empty. Lhomond might come now if he 
 liked. He had to recover breath after the long 
 ascent, and stood panting as little obtrusively as 
 possible, but the commander angrily demanded why 
 he persisted in scampering upstairs like a hair- 
 brained page. He gave Lhomond credit for a great 
 many things which for a score of years he had 
 been unable to attempt. Lhomond excused himself 
 humbly, and tried to follow his master's attempts at 
 narrating what had passed over the way. Already 
 the scene was growing confused to the old man, but 
 Lhomoud's ingrain pride in the family he served made 
 all they did admirable in his eyes. 
 
 " An astonishing man your uncle, mademoiselle," 
 he ejaculated aside to Solange, while the old man 
 talked on, " No one but a Monluc could be so gay 
 and strong at such an age. M. le Commandeur was 
 always hot-blooded, hot-tempered, but as good as 
 bread. I recollect him when I was a boy, always 
 
 D 
 
50 THE SECRET OL 
 
 gun in hand after the game, or at the chase ; always 
 ready to give and lend. The kindest heart. . . Ah, 
 Holy Virgin ! monsieur, what name did you say ? " 
 
 Lhomond had turned ashy pale ; his hands trembled 
 so that he had to put down the tray he was holding. 
 The commander stopped short, and said, angrily : 
 
 " You fool, how do you dare to interrupt your 
 betters ! I am speaking ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, monsieur, a thousand pardons — but 
 you said a name . . . wliere did you hear that 
 name, monsieur ? " 
 
 " What name ?" returned the old man testily; "you 
 interrupt me till I do not know my own. What 
 name, I say ? Morbleu ! man, answer me ! Why 
 do you stand stammering and shaking ? Speak, 
 rascal, or I knock you down ! " 
 
 "Locroy, monsieur," said Lhomond, as if the name 
 burned his lips. Solange stood watching him full of 
 wonder ; his eyes met hers ; he seemed afraid of 
 what she would say. 
 
 " Locroy ? Did I say it ? I must have heard it 
 across the street," said the comnuinder, puzzled and 
 entirely forgetting that Solange had used it. " I 
 hear a good deal that nobody suspects," he added, 
 quite restored to good humour. " You should have 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 51 
 
 seen how they searched, Lhomond, and then the 
 woman found them somewhere, and if they had been 
 the jewels of Her Majesty, Marie Therese . . ." 
 
 He went on talking, and Solange said aside, " Who 
 is this Veuve Locroy ? " 
 
 Lhomond answered by a gesture of strong aver- 
 sion. " A wicked woman, mademoiselle, whose name 
 should never be spoken here ; pray that you may 
 never meet her. I did not know that she still lived ; 
 I never dreamed of such a misfortune as her being 
 our neighbour." 
 
 "She has a strange face, but not a wicked one," 
 Solange said thoughtfully. " Lhomond, has she any- 
 thing to do —with us ? " 
 
 " Just Heaven ! mademoiselle," exclaimed the major- 
 domo, staring at her aghast, " what has put such a 
 thing into your head ? Has anyone . . . Holy 
 Virgin ! what was I going to say ? That woman is a 
 Jacobin ; she hates the nobles, she . . . Leave 
 her alone, mademoiselle ; it would, indeed, be a black 
 day if she crossed your path ! " 
 
 Had Solange had a clear conscience she would 
 have persisted, but she saw that her interview with 
 Veuve Locroy would be a very serious thing indeed 
 in Lhomond's eyes. 
 
52 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Perhaps my father did her some great wrong. 
 How strangely she looked when she said I was not 
 like him. I think I am glad of it," Solange thought, 
 with an unaccountable thrill of aversion to the un- 
 known father, who, as she suspected, had made her 
 mother unhappy. The next instant she was shocked 
 at herself, but the impression remained. 
 
 " Lhomond," she said abruptly, " is that portrait like 
 my father ? " 
 
 His eyes followed hers with a startled expression. 
 " That, mademoiselle ? Do you, then, know that it 
 is the portrait of M. le Vicomte ? " 
 
 " His portrait ! And no one ever told me ! Is the 
 other one my mother ? Lhomond ! how could you let 
 me be ignorant of it until now ? " 
 
 '• I — I — my lady might have been displeased had I 
 spoken of it." 
 
 " Displeased that I knew what my father and 
 mother were like ! " Solange said indignantly, as she 
 went and stood before the two pictures, gazing at 
 them with eyes wet with tears. "I ought to have 
 known. How strange I never asked before. But 
 they have always been there, and I was so used to 
 them. Ah, how sad she looks ! " 
 
 "They say those who will die young have that 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 53 
 
 look in their faces, mademoiselle," said Lhomoud, his 
 eyes growing dim too. The commander peremptorily- 
 recalled his attention, and Solange asked no more for 
 a few minutes, during which her eyes went from 
 one portrait to the other. 
 
 " He did not love her, and she knew it," the girl 
 said all at once, with decision. " They were betrothed 
 when that portrait was painted, for she wears an 
 affiance rinsf, but he did not love her. When were 
 those portraits brought here, Lhomond ? " 
 
 "I do not know exactly, mademoiselle; I was not 
 here ; but it would seem that Madame Louis had 
 what she valued most highly brought up to these 
 rooms before she was arrested, hoping, as proved 
 indeed the case, tliat they might be overlooked. 
 Alas ! she never returned to know it. Pardon, sir ; 
 you were saying — " 
 
 " And ray grandmother has left them here. Tliat 
 is very strange," said Solange. Lhomond was listen- 
 ing to his master, and did not seem to hear. 
 
54 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 It would have greatly astonished Solange could she 
 have known that the dulness of life in the Hotel 
 Monluc, which she had begun to find so insupport- 
 able, had long fallen with an infinitely more deadly 
 and crushing weight on her grandmother. It seemed 
 in the girl's resentful eyes that Madame de Monluc 
 had only to wdll that monotony and solitude should 
 cease, for all to alter as in the castle of the Sleeping 
 Beauty, when the spell broke, and life sprang up on 
 every side. She was too young to know that the old 
 may be as powerless to deal with circumstances as 
 the veriest child. To tlie marquise there appeared 
 no possibility of any change until death dissolved the 
 fetters which bound her, though she felt the narrow 
 limits of her existence with a keenness to which 
 Solange's girlish impatience, for all its real and vivid 
 suffering, was a slight and trivial thing. 
 
 For a woman like the ]\lartjuise de Monluc, with 
 an active brain and a narrow range of sympathies, 
 the life she led was as iron eating into her soul. 
 
MADAME DE MO 1^ LUC. 55 
 
 Although an omnivorous reader to whom few things 
 came amiss, from Plutarch's Lives to Crehillon's 
 Sopha, her mind was not a kingdom, but a desert to 
 her in the long day and longer night, when she lay- 
 wakeful, and felt its vacancy like a physical pain. 
 She knew every phase, indeed, of an ennui worse to 
 her than pain, and she had led this solitary, starved 
 existence ever since she returned, nearly eighteen 
 years since, from her chateau in Provence to find out 
 what had become of her young daughter, blown 
 away like a leaf in the whirlwind of revolution. 
 
 Before that time she had had abundance of ac- 
 quaintance wiio gathered round her both in her 
 chateau near Aix and in her hotel in Paris, a society 
 full of good taste and cultivation, with a temperate 
 interest in the arts and in public events, and a great 
 toleration for everything but dulness. Being entirely 
 a woman of her own day, she would not have re- 
 quired more of any one than to be witty and agree- 
 able ; morality was a somewhat bourgeoise virtue. 
 She had had admirers, like other handsome women, 
 but she had shown so much decorum and good breed- 
 ing with regard to them that society could not 
 admire and applaud her enough. In point of fact, 
 she had always cared much more for power than 
 
S6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 for admiration, and had lived on perfectly decorous 
 terms with her husband and the many branches of 
 the Monluc family who shared the hotel. They 
 were all scattered by the storm before she came 
 back ; only the old man whom death had forgotten 
 was left. 
 
 With such reduced fortunes as hers, it would have 
 appeared desirable to sell the house, now so sadly 
 vast for her needs, but as long as any representative 
 of the name remained, this seemed impossible to 
 the marquise. Nothing but a povertj^-, known only 
 to herself and her servants, would have driven her 
 even to allow the first floor to be let. It was a 
 constant fi-et to her pride to know that strangers 
 could come and go there, and that the carriages of 
 people whose plebeian names she had never heard, rolled 
 into her quadrangle, admitted by a porter wiio did 
 not wear her livery, and she breathed more freely 
 during such times as the marshal and his wife 
 w^ere absent. 
 
 In eighteen j^ears she had never altered her mode 
 of life, but outside of the hotel every thing had 
 changed. The heaving waves of revolution had 
 slowly subsided, and society had reconstructed itself, 
 at first very timidly ; Jacobins, trembling lest they 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 57 
 
 should be called to account for the past ; emigres 
 stealing back disguised, or under names and char- 
 acters which everybody accepted while perfectly 
 aware they were fictitious — mothers passing as the 
 aunts of their sons, wives as their husbands' sisters ; 
 here, a marquis arrived as a Swiss republican, and 
 there, a baron called himself a lawyer, or the agent 
 of his own forfeited estates. In the general j)ek 
 mele officers who had served in the army of the 
 princes conversed gaily with generals risen from the 
 ranks under the Directory, or in Bonaparte's cam- 
 paigns ; contractors, who had made a fortune, bought 
 the empty houses of the Quartier St. Germain, and 
 turned into counts, and barons, and senators as fast as 
 they could. Everywhere was change, insecurity, peril 
 and suspicion ; and yet a sense of returning order and 
 safety grew stronger daily, with an ever-increasing 
 dread of a return of revolution which made it in- 
 evitable that a few years should see Bonaparte 
 reigning supreme for the glory of France, and for 
 her misfortune. 
 
 No doubt, as the Marquise de Monluc had not emi- 
 grated, she might have recovered at least part of her 
 property, had she chosen to take proper steps, and 
 could have gathered a circle, however small, of old 
 
58 THE SECRET OF 
 
 acquaintance around her, but she did neither. Al- 
 though she had a grandchild to think of, she not only 
 made no effort to regain her lands, seized as " biens 
 d'aristocrat," but declined to allow others to move on 
 her behalf. Why she acted thus was a constant 
 perplexity to the Abb^ Gautier, who had known her 
 for many years, and was the first to discover that she 
 had survived the Revolution, and was living in the 
 hotel, which seemed so deserted. He soujjht her out 
 partly to discover how she had been affected by the 
 storm through which she had passed, partly from 
 pleasant recollections of old times, and he continued 
 to be her chief, almost her only visitor. How this 
 link with the outer world was prized by Madame de 
 Monluc he did not guess, nor how sweet it was even 
 to her cold heart to think that at least one friend was 
 faithful to her. The abbe himself took it in quite a 
 different light. He liked the conversation and caustic 
 remarks of the marquise ; Solange had been a pet of 
 his from babyhood, and, above all, he ardently de- 
 sired to know tiie explanation of Madame de Monluc's 
 conduct. That there was a mystery in it he could 
 not doubt, and a mystery had an irresistible attrac- 
 tion for him. It absolutely made him wretched to 
 know that one existed, and nut to be able to fathom 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 59 
 
 it. He stole round it, watched it, studied every faint 
 indication that might enable him to seize it, with 
 irritated and eager curiosity. Had he been a contem- 
 porary of the Man in the Iron Mask, he would pro- 
 bably either have solved the secret or gone out of his 
 mind with vexation ; but if he had learned it, pos- 
 terity would have been none the wiser — what he 
 discovered he kept absolutely to himself. Rarely had 
 anyone succeeded in baffling the Abbe Gautier's 
 acuteness and indefatigable perseverance, but as yet, 
 if Madame de Monluc really had a secret, she had 
 done so. He almost began to believe that she had no 
 secret to keep, and his spirits would sink to their 
 lowest ebb at the thought of this engrossing, tantalis- 
 ing search ending after all these years in nothing, 
 while yet he feared almost equally finding it out, and 
 losing this interest out of his life. Oddly enough, the 
 marquise never suspected his aim. Though perfectly 
 aware of his foible, it did not occur to her to suspect 
 him. Either she had no secret, as he sometimes 
 feared, or some touch of vanity blinded her to his 
 reason for his assiduous visits to tlie Hotel Monluc. 
 She was a woman who needed friends less than almost 
 anyone, yet isolation and long acquaintance, and the 
 habit of seeing him made the abbe a necessity to her 
 
6o THE SECRET OF 
 
 She regarded him with complacency, almost affection ; 
 his visits shortened the evenings, the weary evenings, 
 otherwise spent in silence, for Solange never spoke to 
 her unless directly addressed ; and her grandmother 
 rarely appeared aware of her presence, though she 
 expected her to appear in the salon. 
 
 It was the habit of the marquise to rise very late ; 
 the mirror opposite the great bed reflected her as 
 she lay wath pillows heaped high behind her, her 
 grey hair escaping from her night-cap, a puce- 
 coloured mantle round her shouldei's, and diamond 
 ear-rings in her ears. Later, she would put on rouge ; 
 but under the green silk canopy, with curtains of the 
 same shade, her complexion was startling in its pallor ; 
 and the old ivory crucifix on the wall was not more 
 bloodless. Her snuff-box and a number of books lay 
 near ; she read incessantly, rejecting nothing which 
 had wit or novelty as its passport : Pascal and 
 Montaigne, Racine and Pigault Lcbruu would be to- 
 gether on her table, and, thanks to the Abbe Gauticr 
 no new work of note appeared without her seeing it, 
 Lhoinond w^ould come before her, bowing low, and 
 present a volume with a smile of respectful congratu- 
 lation as he said, " With a thousand compliments 
 from M. I'Abbe Gautior to Madame la Marquise," well 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 6i 
 
 aware that nothing lightened the habitual cloud of 
 care on his lady's brow as such an attention. 
 
 Bethinking himself of this as he reflected uneasily 
 on Solange's burst of impatience, it struck him that 
 she too might be better content with her life if sup- 
 plied with literature, though hitherto she had had no 
 chance of developing such a taste, since her grand- 
 mother's books were forbidden to her, and there were 
 no others within reach. Acting on this hope he met 
 her as she came out of her room in the evening, on 
 her way to the salon, saying, " See, mademoiselle, you 
 say you want something new ; no doubt, you love 
 reading, like my mistress ; here are two little books 
 which I remembered were in a chest in the lumber- 
 room. It was there I found those silver cups which 
 we use, and — well, all sorts of things, under some old 
 curtains hidden away. Nobody thought of looking 
 up there for anything valuable." 
 
 " It was strange that so few things were carried 
 off." 
 
 " I have heard that a friend of Danton's wanted to 
 buy the hotel, and would not allow any damage to be 
 done to it ; and when he was sent to Cayenne, no- 
 body came forward to purchase it, and it stood empty 
 until we returned. A priest, I'Abbe Carron, dis- 
 
62 THE SECRET OF 
 
 guised himself as a valet, and saved his life by passing 
 as the servant of M. le Coramandeur, who was not 
 molested— nobody recollected that he still lived, I 
 imagine." 
 
 " Lhomond, tell me who painted the portraits in my 
 uncle's room ? " 
 
 " A famous artist, mademoiselle, Madame Lebrun. 
 She was the Court painter, and anybody who was 
 anybody wished to be painted by her. I do not 
 know what became of her, but she was a pretty 
 creature, like a girl rather than a married woman. 
 I had heard that Her Majesty the Queen was 
 very fond of her, and even once condescended to 
 pick up a pencil she* had dropped." 
 
 Lhomond seemed to wish to lead Solange away from 
 the subject of the portrait, but she returned to it. 
 "And my grandmother has never cared to have 
 mamma's likeness ! Did she ever go home in vaca- 
 tion time to Aix ? " 
 
 " The journey was too long, mademoiselle ; she 
 spent her vacations with Madame Louis, unless we 
 were in Paris. Your grandmother had a post at 
 Court, and was much at Versailles ; and, of course, 
 Madame la Marquise often was there too." 
 
 " And my great-aunt, the Conitesse Louis ? '' 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 63 
 
 " Oh, she cared only for her family and for good 
 works ; her husband and son adored her, and so did 
 your mother. No one ever was more loved by those 
 who belonged to her. But do you not want to see 
 these little books, mademoiselle ? '' 
 
 Solange looked rather listlessl,y at the titles : " Gon- 
 salve de Cordoue — Numa Pompille . . . ' " Who 
 were they ? Is it history or a romance ? " 
 
 " I do not know, mademoiselle ; but I hoped you 
 would like them." 
 
 The disappointment in Lhomond's tone smote Sol- 
 ange. She suddenly threw her arms round his 
 long neck, exclaiming, " Dear old friend ! how good 
 you have always been to me ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, you do me too much honour," 
 stammered the old man, actually blushing. " If 
 Madame la Marquise saw — " 
 
 And as he spoke, the door of Madame de Monluc's 
 room opened, and she appeared in the corridor. She 
 stood still, casting a look of profound astonishment 
 upon her grandchild and Lhomond, who stepped 
 back, covered with confusion, while Solange curtsied 
 as she was accustomed to do on first meeting the 
 marquise, and said with mingled courage and 
 timidity : 
 
64 THE SECRET OF 
 
 "Lhomond has given me a great pleasure, and I 
 was thanking him for it." 
 
 " So I saw," answered Madame de ^lonluc, drily. 
 Looking at her as she stood erect and motionless, it 
 was easy to understand the awe and submission 
 which she inspired. Although she was not tall, her 
 grand air and the stately carriage of her head made 
 her seem so ; her rouge only made the pallor of her 
 sharply-cut features more striking; the thin upper 
 lip projected slightly beyond the lower one, giving a 
 singularly cold and ironical expression to her coun- 
 tenance. There was indomitable pride in every look 
 and gesture — a pride which if broken would break 
 her with it. 
 
 "Do not be displeased, grandmamma," said Solange, 
 pleadingly. " I can only repay Lhomond by love, 
 and even if I had anything else to give, he would 
 not care half so much for it." 
 
 She could not have told whence the courage came 
 that enabled her to meet her grandmother's eyes ; 
 she seemed to have grown older, and to stand on a 
 diflferent level since that morning. Madame de 
 Monluc looked at her with surprise and, perhaps for 
 the first time in her life, with something of approval. 
 
 " If that was your motive, you did well," she said ; 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 65 
 
 " Lhomond is indeed an old and faithful servant/' and 
 with a slight sign of friendly recognition to Lhomond, 
 as he started forward to throw open the doors of the 
 salon for her, she passed on, -without caring to ask 
 what pleasure he had given Solange, who looked at 
 him with a little moue, congratulating him and her- 
 self on having escaped so easily, and followed her 
 grandmother. Her embroidery frame was set just 
 so near as to bring her within earshot of the 
 marquise, should she speak, yet far enough off to 
 seem entirely apart. Madame de Monluc had her 
 own especial chair, near the great fireplace, with its 
 carved mantelpiece rising to the ceiling, and a low 
 fire on the hearth, for the evenings were chill. Books 
 and writing materials lay on her little table, and a 
 small wooden bowl filled with golden sand to dry 
 ink. She opened a translation of an English novel 
 — English fiction was just then in fashion — and read 
 for a while, putting it down presently with a gesture 
 of fatigue and discouragement, and took up her 
 parfilage, rather because she had the habit of thus 
 employing her fingers than that it could interest her. 
 There had been a time when parfilage had been the 
 rage, and fine gentlemen were accustomed to show 
 their gallantry by offering fair ladies elegant boxes 
 
66 THE SECRET OF 
 
 full of ribbons with gold thread interwoven in the 
 silk, on purpose to be unravelled. Madame de 
 Monluc had had many such presented to her when 
 she had her salon and her admirers. Now she had 
 neither, but she still from habit unravelled, not costly 
 ribbons indeed, but pieces of silk discovered by Mette 
 among old hoards, and knitted stockings with the 
 threads. Her fingers moved mechanically; she sat 
 motionless with eyes that noted nothing around her ; 
 the look of melancholy habitual to her countenance 
 was even more marked than usual. 
 
 Solange, on the other hand, had a smile on her 
 lips: she was not ennuyee or mutinous this evening; 
 a new interest had come into her life. In the dearth 
 of any other, the one which had unexpectedly offered 
 itself assumed large proportions. She had paid her 
 uncle other visits since that Sunday, and though 
 she had not seen, and told herself she did not wish to 
 see, the student in the opposite house, she had 
 watched Veuve Locroy sweeping and dusting his 
 room, and laying his books straight, with a care 
 much beyond that of an ordinary landlady. Solange 
 began to think they must be related — aunt and 
 nephew, perhaps ; she did not like the idea, though 
 she could not tell v/hy it displeased her, and she had 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 67 
 
 asked the commander if he thought so too, aware of 
 his talent for gathering information about his neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 " He is no relation," the old man said with decision. 
 " I heard her call him M. Maxime." The street was 
 so narrow and silent that if anyone spoke near a 
 window, the words could easily be heard over the 
 way. Solange thus ascertained with tolerable cer- 
 tainty that the young author was a lodger, and that 
 his name was Maxime. His surname remained un- 
 known, but to have a Christian one to call him by 
 in her thoughts seemed to make him almost an 
 acquaintance. She wondered where he went daily ; 
 what he wrote ; whether he was what her grand- 
 mother called " born," or a bourgeois — not a bour- 
 geois, she was convinced, but a gentleman. She 
 recalled the look which he had given her as he 
 turned with the recovered manuscript in his hand 
 and blushed afresh. She could never let herself lie 
 seen at the commander's window again, but life was 
 no longer dull to her. She stitched a great man}^ 
 fancies into her embroidery before she got tired of 
 them, and began to read Gonsalve de Cordoue, 
 laying the book open on her frame, as if it were a 
 desk, and soon becoming entirely absorbed in this, 
 
68 THE SECRET OF 
 
 the first work of fiction which she had ever seen. 
 What was it to her if its pages were loaded with 
 flowery descriptions ; if the author knew nothing of 
 the times which he sought to depict, or if this " Great 
 Captain " was a French exquisite ? A new workl 
 opened before her; the romance which lay dormant 
 in her girlish heart awoke ; the passionate nature 
 inherited from her Provencal ancestors vibrated to 
 the touch laid upon it ; her own imagination filled up 
 all that was wanting to Florian's sentimental story. 
 To her it was the most beautiful, fascinating tale 
 ever written, and when Lhomond announced tlie Abbd 
 Gautier, though she rose and answered his greeting, 
 she was hardly conscious of his presence, and sat 
 down again with no other thoufjht tlian that of 
 following the fortunes of Gonsalve. The Abbe 
 Gautier assumed the privilege of old friendship, and 
 looked over her to see what she was reading. 
 
 "Happy age !" he said, with a smile wliich perhajis 
 conveyed more mockery of himself than of Solange, 
 as he returned to his usual seat b^^ Madame de 
 Monluc's table. A light of something like pleasure 
 had come over her face on seeing him enter. " Well, 
 marquise, how do you like the history of Miss Betsi 
 Tatless ?" he asked, in a musical voice which charmed 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 69 
 
 the ear. He was a remarkable looking man, almost a 
 dwarf, with a swarthy skin and black eyes alight with 
 intelligence and malice, and he wore his hair dressed 
 with powder and pigtail and oAles de iiirjeon. "I 
 would have brought you a new romance by an 
 anonymous author, which I heard read in the salon 
 of Madame de Chateauroux, but she will not part 
 with her copy, as all the others have been seized by 
 the police." 
 
 " I am sorry not to see it, if it was clever," said the 
 marquise. It did not occur either to her or the abbe 
 that there was anything singular in his having heard 
 a work seized by the police as immoral read aloud in 
 a drawiuGi'-room, or in his suggesting that she should 
 read it. Such scruples might have befitted a bour- 
 geois, or the severe decorum of the families de la 
 robe. " Describe it to me," the marquise said. 
 
 " Cloaca maxima," said the abbe, laconically ; " but 
 extremely witty." 
 
 "Ah," said the marquise, regretfully. "As for your 
 Miss Betsi, you may take her away. I find it intoler- 
 ably wearisome to read of the manners and lives 
 of these English bourgeois. These romances have 
 the fault of Moliere's comedies without their 
 talent.'' 
 
70 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Parbleu ! marquise, 3^ou do them too much honour 
 to name them together." 
 
 "Possibly; I cannot pretend to judge of the merits 
 of Moliere. He writes of a class of which I know 
 nothing, and which is perfectly uninteresting ; but I 
 have always thought that he did infinite harm by 
 his Fem/mes Savantes, for he taught society to blame 
 women as much for learning as for vice, until, 
 ashamed of cultivating their minds, they took to 
 cultivating their passions." 
 
 " If I did not know you, marquise, I slioukl say 
 that the kingdom of booivs was one over which 
 women were not fi.tted to reign. No sceptre suits a 
 woman as well as her fan," said the abb^, whose whim 
 it was to conceal much learning under an air of utter 
 frivolity. 
 
 " Pish ! " said the marcpiise ; " have you nothing 
 newer to say than this / What is going on in the 
 political woild ? " 
 
 " We arc cutting up our red caps into red ribbons," 
 said the abbe, with a malicious allusion to Bonaparte's 
 successful effort to win over the llepublican party 
 by bestowing on them the badge of the Legion of 
 Honour. " We have not had news of a victory for 
 at least a month, and there seems no hope of a fresh 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 11 
 
 revolution. We are settlincr down to peace and 
 prosperity, and shall all die of ennui." 
 
 " True ; after twenty years of breathless alterna- 
 tions of hope and fear, terror and exaltation, how 
 are people to exist when there is only the iwt om feu 
 to think of ? " 
 
 " We shall exist precisely as we do now," said the 
 abbd, flicking his ruffles delicately. " Some of us will 
 dream of the past, some of the future, and none of us 
 will be satisfied with the present, though it offers a 
 curious study. Do you know that the Du Roche- 
 faucons are marrying a daughter to General 
 Pichot ? " 
 
 " Disgusting ! " was the brief answer of Madame 
 de Monluc, with a flash of scorn in her cold, grey 
 eyes. 
 
 " But what would 3'ou have ! This Pichot is a 
 soldier of fortune, literally, for he has bound her to 
 his steps, and distinguished himself so much that the 
 Emperor is bound to reward him. He does so by 
 obliging the De Rochefaucons to give him their 
 daughter with a great dowry." 
 
 " Obliging ! You talk nonsense, abbe. What power 
 exists that obliges a family to degrade themselves ? 
 They can refuse, I imagine." 
 
72 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " My dear friend, you liavc uo experience of what 
 it means to offend the Emperor, Loss of the position 
 they have just recovered, banishment, penury, is the 
 least they could expect." 
 
 " Well ? " said the marquise, coldly. 
 
 " You would say all tliis is preferable to a mes- 
 alliance ? " 
 
 " There could not be two words as to that." 
 
 " Most people would think there were a great 
 many." 
 
 " You are mistaken, abbe. To people of our degree 
 death or poverty count for nothing where family 
 honour is at stake. A noble can starve, die, or even 
 work, as hundreds of us have done in these last years, 
 Ijut we cannot sell our name. That is a sacred trust 
 which comes to us from our ancestors, and for which 
 we are accountable to our descendants ; it is ours 
 simply to guard and to ennoble. I have read of some 
 Indian rajah who, summoned to give his daughter to 
 a low-born conqueror, poisoned her rather than sully 
 his ancient race by such an alliance — he did well. ])o 
 not talk to me of cringing and calculating where 
 family honour is concerned: it is one of the thiug.s 
 that should not so much as be named ! " 
 
 She spoke with passion, which showed how deeply 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 73 
 
 she was moved. The abbe shrugged his shoulders, 
 and made a deprecating gesture with his pahns 
 turned outwards. 
 
 " My poor marquise, your creed belongs to that old 
 world which we have seen crumble away. 'AH is 
 changed/ said Massillon, in the days of Louis Quatorze, 
 ' all will change.' How much more might he say so 
 now ! There are new actors for the great parts, new 
 intrigues, new sinners, and possibly new saints, though 
 I have not met with them. At present the democ- 
 racy count it an honour to marry into the noblesse, 
 but the time is coming when they will look down 
 on us, and say ' we are the nobles.' " 
 
 " Possibly ; but they will be none the less only the 
 people. That is an affair of birth : a man is none the 
 less a roturier because a king may have ennobled 
 him ; he is not ne because he has a title. It is exactly 
 as in Roman times : a freed man always retained the 
 taint of his original servitude,'' said Madame de 
 Monluc, who read classic authors. " You cannot in- 
 vent a noble or a court at a given moment." 
 
 "True; as we see at the Tuileries," said the abbe, 
 who, as a man of talent and good birth, was always 
 welcome there. " The Emperor thought to organise 
 a court as he would a regiment; he supposed that. 
 
74 THE SECRET OF 
 
 \i he had a De Seo-ur as Grand-Master of the Cere- 
 monies, and a Mortemart and a De Merode as cham- 
 berlains, that the thing was done." 
 
 " To have a court, and real society, there must be 
 a recognised law laid down by supreme authority," 
 said Madame de Monluc. '•' There will never be any 
 true society as long as there is no connection between 
 its leaders. You tell me of dinners, bad or good, given 
 once a week by some minister, and then people go 
 away ; or a salon wdiere persons assemble, infected 
 with party spirit, which is only another name for 
 collective selfishness. Formerly, when a subject was 
 discussed, it was with politeness and calm ; there 
 was no unnecessary enthusiasm. But Bonaparte him- 
 self is not well-bred, so how should he give a tone to 
 society ? " 
 
 " How ? A man descended from the Calomeros, 
 marquise ! " said the abbe, seriously, but with a smile 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " Nonsense, abbe ; 3'ou do not believe that fable. 
 Would anyone who had such blood in his veins make 
 the coarse remarks that he is guilty of ? My doctor, 
 who had it from Madame de Noailles herself, told 
 mc the other day, looking round on the circle of 
 ladies splendidly dressed by his command for some 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 75 
 
 fete, he said, ' How much women owe to dress I It 
 is due to me, ladies, that you look so charming.' What 
 an incredible speech ! The man who made it could 
 only be a parvenu." 
 
 " True ; yet who can lielp admiring that amazing 
 fortune which took a simple lieutenant by the hand 
 and led him upward, until he counts kings among 
 his vassals ! " said the abbe, more warmly than he 
 was often heard to speak. 
 
 " The truth is, usurpers only like those who rise 
 through them, or are dependent on them," said 
 Madame de Monluc, unheeding. 
 
 " Precisely ; an admiring, dependent, cringing air, — 
 above all, an air of being absolutely nothing except 
 through their master, — is the sole way of pleasing 
 him," said the abbe, with a wicked smile. Madame 
 de Monluc smiled too, and shook her finger at him 
 as she recognised the allusion to Louis Quatorze 
 from the memoirs of the Due de Saint Simon, 
 portions of which were gradually creeping into 
 publicity. 
 
 " My belief is that our misfortunes have come 
 from the abuse of ennobling roturiers," she said ; 
 " titles ceased to be a reward for services ; no one 
 cared any more to earn fame ; they only looked on 
 
76 THE SECRET OF 
 
 it as giving the 'pas over other people. If our 
 monarchs only had — " 
 
 " Whenever I hear anyone begin ' if they only had,' 
 I make my escape," said the abbt^, rising hastily. 
 
 " Sit down again immediately, abbe," said Madame 
 de Monluc. 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 77 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The abbe did not go, perhaps because Lhomond was 
 bringing in a salver with those little cups of delicious' 
 chocolate for which he was famous, and to whose 
 perfume and flavour Abbe Gautier was far from in- 
 different. He obeyed the peremptory order of 
 Madame de Monluc, and sat down again, sipping his 
 chocolate slowly, and signing for silence until he had 
 finished it, lest any topic should agitate his digestion ; 
 for he was a man of theories, especially as to his 
 health, and one day would live only on milk, another 
 on nothing but minced meat, and he was in the habit 
 of tearing out all the pages in his books which an- 
 noyed him, because they gave him palpitation. " Ex- 
 istence is difficult enough at the best," he would 
 say; "all we can do is to see all things through a 
 poetic medium, and preserve a tranquil indifference 
 to the annoyances and discomforts of life." 
 
 Unfortunately he was of so lively and eager a 
 nature that indifference to discomfort and annoyance 
 was totally impossible to him, and though he flattered 
 
7S THE SECRET OF 
 
 himself that he lived accordingf to the rules which he 
 laid down for himself, in point of fact he was always 
 on the alert, and unable to resist havinof a hand in 
 the affairs of others. Madame de Monluc continued 
 her parfilage, while the abbe drank his chocolate 
 daintily, with Lhoinond standing by, and Solange 
 ' forgot hers as she bent over her book, the light of a 
 wax candle falling softly on her shining hair and 
 delicately tinted cheeks. The abbe looked at her, 
 and paused between two sips. " That child is charm- 
 ing," he said, as usual forgetting to observe his rules ; 
 " when shall you let others discover it, marquise ? " 
 
 If such a breach of respect had been possible on 
 Lhomond's part, the abbe would have thought that he 
 felt a touch on his shoulder. He glanced round and 
 saw the major-domo making signs with his eyebrows, 
 which unmistakably implored silence. Abbe Gautier 
 was on the qui vive in an instant. Madame de 
 Monluc had remarked nothing; she looked across 
 the room at Solange, but there was no grandmotherly 
 pride in her young beauty. " Do you think so ?'' she 
 said indifferently, withdrawing her eyes from the 
 girl. 
 
 " Parbleu, marquise! do I tliink so?" answered 
 the abbe, impatiently, and intentionally disregarding 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 79 
 
 Lhomond's warning. " I shall not be the only one to 
 do so when you . . . My good Lbomond, what are you 
 about ? Do you not see that I have not finished my 
 chocolate ? Why are you in such a hurry ? It is 
 easy to see that you have not studied the theory of 
 long life; if you desire a serene and enjoyable old 
 age, never hurry a meal. By thus flurrying me you 
 will have shortened my life by exactly so many 
 minutes.'' 
 
 " A thousand pardons, M. I'Abbe," stammered 
 Lhomond. " I do not know what I was thinking of, 
 only, as you never converse during a meal, I ima- 
 gined — " 
 
 " Well, you need not look so perturbed, ray friend. 
 After all, as you say, the fault was mine," said the 
 abbd, appeased; and, as Lhomond withdrew with his 
 salver, he returned to the subject of Solange. 
 
 " You are happy to possess such a delicious Greuze 
 in flesh and blood, marquise. I should not have 
 known what to do with a daughter, but I have some- 
 times wLshed for a grandchild. A grandchild is a 
 being whom one may spoil as much as one will, for 
 whom one is not responsible, yet who belongs to one, 
 and through whom one has still a future. A whole 
 life separates grandchild and grandparent, yet the 
 
8o THE SECRET OF 
 
 life is one ; the child is the last link of the 
 chain." 
 
 Madame de Monluc's thin lips were compressed. 
 The speech implieil that she was old. 
 
 " This poor abbe ^rows dull," she thought. " De- 
 cidedly he is wanting in tact." 
 
 She introduced a new subject by asking what had 
 made him arrive late. "Some good action?" she 
 suggested, with a faintly contemptuous tone. She 
 would not have disdained good actions in anyone 
 who, by character or profession, was distinctly called 
 to them, but they seemed to her out of keeping with 
 Abbe Gautier. Like most people, she saw others 
 only in sections, and judged them accordingly, and 
 she was intolerant of whatever did not lit into her 
 view of them. The abbe was difficult to fit into an}- 
 given frame, being guided by all manner of unex- 
 pected impulses. This was trying to the marquise, 
 and she resented it. 
 
 "A good action !" he repeated ; "what do you take 
 me for? Do I ever so utterly waste my time as Id 
 perform one ? I harm no one, indeed, because I do 
 not wish to be disturbed by recriminations or retalia- 
 tion ; but as for performing good actions!" He was 
 genuinely indignant. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 8i 
 
 " True ; I forgot that you are an egotist who is 
 always thinking of others." 
 
 " I am inconsistent — I own it. I have not lived 
 till now without having had some confidential inter- 
 views with myself; and if I do not know my own 
 character, at least I have some suspicion of it. But 
 I assure you that I assist others merely because their 
 suffering annoys me." 
 
 " Quite so," said the marquise, ironically, though in 
 fact he was speaking exact truth ; " what then have 
 you been doing ? " 
 
 " I have been giving myself a lesson on the folly 
 of troubling oneself about transitory things, by visit- 
 ing the bare walls of the Convention. The galleries, 
 the tribune, that flag which I saw planted over the 
 Bastille, and then set in triumph in the middle of 
 the hall — all gone, the very floor demolished ! What 
 scenes I have witnessed there ! On the left of the 
 President, Mirabeau and the two Lameths, with all 
 their friends behind them, thundering against us 
 ecclesiastics ; on the right, Monave, he who voted that 
 two old women going to mass at Rome should not be 
 held to endanger the nation, and so spared the king's 
 aunts ; at the far end, Cazales, rising to speak in de- 
 fence of the king and the laws ; opposite the Presi- 
 
 F 
 
82 THE SECRET OE 
 
 dent's chair, the tribune, filled by every kind of 
 orator, — knaves, cowards, heroes ... I have heard 
 Montmorenci, Condorcet, Gregoire, declaim there ; 
 Danton and Robespierre howl in it. What tumult, 
 what u{)roar, what cabals raged within those blood- 
 smeared walls ! '' 
 
 The abbe had quite forgotten his reylme of calm ; 
 he was almost as excited as if he had been in the 
 tribune himself. 
 
 " What pleasure can you find in recalling that 
 hideous time when w^e descended from circle to circle, 
 as in Dante's Inferno?" said Madame de Monluc, 
 frowning. " Speak of something else." 
 
 " You are right," said the abb(^, recollecting himself, 
 with a start. "Good heavens! I have made my 
 heart beat furiously, imbecile that I am ! Let me 
 rather tell you of an amusing little scene at Fontanes*: 
 you lecollect that the Institute gives annual prizes ; 
 this time the subject was on the ' Theory of Society.' 
 De Fontanes had been one of the judges; I met him 
 returning to his house, and we went in together. He 
 l)egan describing those essays that had most struck 
 the judges — there were really excellent ones sent in." 
 " Uonajjarte has at least encouraged literature," said 
 the niar(|uise. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 83 
 
 Tlie abbe shook his head. " A man who cannot 
 see any merit in Merojye or MWcridate ! Besides, 
 there can be no liberty of thought under a 
 despot." 
 
 " That is true ; the first condition of despotism is 
 that it should not be discussed. But who gained the 
 prize ? '' 
 
 " You shall hear. Ah, mademoiselle, so you have 
 torn yourself from your book at last ? " as Solange 
 came to say good-night, roused by the appearance of 
 Mette with her candle. " But you, too, must hear 
 this. De Fontanes proceeded to give an outline of the 
 prize essay, — a brilliant attack on the theory of Jean 
 Jacques that sovereignty resides in the people ; a bold 
 attempt to show that it can only exist in the Govern- 
 ment, since a people can no more govern itself than a 
 recfiment can be its own colonel.'' 
 
 " That is good," said Madame de Monluc, with 
 strong approbation. " And then ? " 
 
 " Then our essay goes on to declare that the people 
 have powers, not power ; these powers being con- 
 densed, sovereignty appears, power being only organ- 
 ised force, without which the people are a chaos of 
 divergent energies which annihilate each other. I do 
 not say that I agree, but the wit and logic with 
 
84 THE SECRET OF 
 
 which the theory was developed was amazing. And 
 what is remarkable, the essay was written from a 
 strongly Christian point of view." 
 
 "And who is it that has written this essay '. " asked 
 Madame de Monluc, her interest somewhat cooled by 
 the last words. 
 
 " That is the curious thing. As De Fontanes spoke, 
 I saw one of his secretaries grow more and more 
 agitated ; at length he starts up and exclaims, ' Mon- 
 sieur, I beseech you, tell me, did the essay you speak 
 of really gain the vote of the Institute ? ' and then 
 Fontanes discovers that he has an unsuspected genius 
 in his own bureau, and that the essay about which 
 all the Institute were talking was by his secretary, 
 Maxime Laugier." 
 
 Solange had listened lather impatiently up to this 
 point ; she started now, and her eyes kindled. 
 Madame de Monluc, too, said, with something of un- 
 usual interest, " Laugier ! that is a Provencal name. 
 The Laugiers of Aix are a family whose pedigree 
 ascends to the thirteenth century. There was a 
 Laugier who was notary to the Count of rrovence in 
 1350 ; all that family are lawyers, from father to son. 
 The last of whom I know anything was called to 
 Paris by the Due dc Liancourt, and became a presi- 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 85 
 
 dent. They are an honourable family de robe. But 
 they all had a touch of Don Quixote." 
 
 " Evidently this young man is a son of that race. 
 But after all, what is a Quixote but a paladin 
 born out of time !— a St. Louis in the eighteenth 
 century ! " 
 
 " It is a fatal mistake to be out of sympathy with 
 one's own day, abbe." 
 
 " You are right ; what alienated so many from his 
 late majesty, Louis XVI., was his being more moral 
 than his time. You leave us, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Go, Solange ; yuu are keeping my good Guille- 
 mette waiting," said the marquise. 
 
 It was the first time she had addressed the girl 
 that evening. Mette had stood scowling at the delay; 
 she cast a look of affection and gratitude at her 
 mistress, and then looked again with aversion at 
 Solange, who dared not stay, though burning to 
 
 hear more. 
 
 " Good-night, grandmother," she said, curtesy ing. 
 
 As far as she could recollect, the marquise had 
 never embraced her. The abbe kissed her hand 
 gallantly, and led her by the tips of her slender 
 fingers to the door. When he returned the marquise 
 said : 
 
86 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " It would give me pleasure to see that 3'oun_cr man 
 — if anything can give one pleasure, but one seems to 
 have exhausted all emotion. Still, I think I should 
 like to see him. If he is like his family he is per- 
 fectly well-bred." 
 
 " He is a gentleman. Nothing can be easiei", if you 
 see no objection on Solange's account." 
 
 " What possible objection. . . . You cannot suppose 
 that a girl of our rank and a man of Laugier's — " began 
 the marquise, so angry a red mounting to her cheeks 
 that it glowed even throuo-h her rouge. 
 
 " I suppose nothing, dear madame, but love is a 
 terrible democrat." 
 
 " Abb^, these are ideas. ... A liaison, conducted 
 with fidelity and discretion, is pardonable, and even, 
 where there is constancy, worthy of respect ; but, as I 
 said just now, a mesalliance, never I Yet, after all, 
 everything seems possible in these days," said 
 Madame de Monluc, with a sudden louk of gloom. 
 " Still, it will do no harm, for I intend Solangc to 
 enter a convent." 
 
 " How ? the only heir of your name ! " exclaimed 
 the alibe, in unboundeil surprise. " Have 1 heard 
 rightly ? I cannot believe it." 
 
 '"Is it then so unheard (jf to deilicate a <s'\v\ to 
 
MADAME DE MO.WLUC. 87 
 
 Heaven ? We have often done so in our famil}^ It 
 is true that you, abbe, have always been more inclined 
 to please women than to convert them." 
 
 " Ah, madame, women hold not only the keys of 
 Paradise, but those of reputation and success," inter- 
 jected the abbe. 
 
 " Still, as an ecclesiastic, you will allow that the 
 religious life is our highest vocation," the marquise 
 continued, unheeding his protest. 
 
 "Ah !— bah ! Well, if there be a true vocation, or an 
 expiation to be made, I do not deny it," said the abbe, 
 in a rallying, incredulous tone, but watching keenly 
 the effect of his last words; " but I did not know that 
 these were your sentiments." 
 
 " You see they are," said Madame de Monluc. She 
 had not flinched or started, or in any way noticed the 
 slight emphasis in the abbe's words. 
 
 " And your grand-daughter — does she share them?" 
 
 " I have not yet spoken to her ; nothing is absol- 
 utely arranged, but I shall shortly do so. She will, 
 of course, obey my wishes." 
 
 The abbe fixed his vivid black eyes on the face of 
 Madame de Monluc, and wagged his head up and 
 down, as he had an odd way of doing when medi- 
 tating. 
 
88 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Yes," he murmured, " I suppose she will. Poor 
 child ! But why not make her a canoness ? 
 That is an honourable position, and pledges to 
 nothing." 
 
 "I prefer that she should take the veil." 
 " Marquise," said the abb^, with unusual gravity, 
 " where there is a true vocation, one who has em- 
 braced the religious life regrets nothing on earth. 
 But there is no wretchedness like that of a nun wlio 
 has no vocation, for she knows that there is no possi- 
 bility of release until death comes, and that every 
 tear is a sin. I speak of what I know. Being a 
 younger son, of course my destination was the Navy 
 or the Church ; I have had as much satisfaction out 
 of my life as most people. With my sister it was 
 different. Having no dowry, she entered the convent 
 of ISIotre Dame de la Mis^ricorde, founded, as you 
 know, for poor and noble girls. She lived for twenty 
 years, profoundly miserable. Would you run this 
 risk for your grand-daughter ? " 
 
 " The noviciate will give her time to become used 
 to her future life," answered the marquise. " Is she 
 the first girl who has entered a convent for family 
 reasons ? " 
 
 The abbe gave an irrepressible start. " There is a 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 89 
 
 secret," he said to himself, adding aloud : '' So your 
 ancient family ends thus, marquise ? " 
 
 " It ends thus — yes. I shall he the last of my 
 name, which will be written for the last time in a 
 dirty register ; perhaps with Fouchd's on one side 
 and some Jacobin's on the other." 
 
 " But even if 3'our grand-daughter carried it by 
 marriage into another family, it would in a certain 
 sense continue. Why not marry her ? Only the 
 other day the Comte de Foy spoke to me of his desire 
 that his eldest son should marry into a family equal 
 to their own, and hearing that there was a De Monluc. 
 . . . But I have no right to say any more, unless, 
 indeed, you authorise me to tell him. . . ." He paused 
 suggestively, and again a red flush rose to Madame de 
 Monluc's brow. 
 
 " De Foy ! " she repeated ; " a great family, illustri- 
 ous in histoiy. A princess might marry a De Foy 
 without lowering herself." 
 
 Evidently the proposal had tempted her violently. 
 
 " Then, consider what their influence might do in 
 regaining your estates," urged the abbe. " The 
 Emperor is always hankering to attach the old 
 noblesses to himself : Solange married to a De Foy, 
 they would only have to ask, and the thing is done. 
 
90 THE SECRET OF 
 
 You surely have not failed to think something of 
 this kind ! As for burying that cliild in a convent 
 instead of allowing her to shine in lier natural 
 sphere — " 
 
 He stopped because an expression of inflexible 
 resolution had hardened the features of Madame de 
 Monluc. "Speak no more of it, abbe," slic said, 
 " I never cliange my mind." 
 
 " My poor frien 1, why do you renounce the im- 
 memorial privilege of your sex ? " retorted the abbe, 
 as he rose to go, more ruffled than at all befitted a 
 man of his theories ; and he went down the stone 
 stairs, escorted by Lhomond, thinking over what had 
 passed. The sign which the old man had made him 
 flashed back on his memory, just as he was saying to 
 himself, " And I never guessed this plan was in her 
 mind. There is a mystery, . , , One moment, 
 Lhomond." He hurried back to the salon. The 
 marquise was leaning in her chair, very pale, with her 
 hands locked together ; she started at the S()und of his 
 step with a look of alarm. " My dear friend," he ex- 
 claimed, " I return to implore you to take care of 
 your health ; it struck me you looked less well than 
 your fiiends would wish." 
 
 "My friends! Well, 1 believe I have one in j-ou, 
 
MADAME DE MONLVC. 91 
 
 abbe. Good-night ; I thank you for your kind 
 thought," answered lAIadame de Monluc, giving him 
 her hand with a softened look. Its deadly cold- 
 ness made him shake his head. 
 
 " Do not forget what I say, marquise," he urged, 
 and went away again. In the hall he suddenly 
 stood still. " My good Lhomond, why did you stop 
 me when I said your young mistress was charming ?" 
 
 " Ah, sir, can you forgive me ? I know it was a 
 great liberty, but my lady . . . my lady does not 
 care to hear Mademoiselle Solange praised." 
 
 " Her own grandchild ! It is true she has never 
 shown any affection for her, nor, if I remember 
 rightly, was she over fond of her daughter." 
 
 " My lord and xwy lady both desired a son, mon- 
 sieur, and our poor Renee was a disappointment to 
 them." 
 
 " Surely her marriage was all they could wish ! 
 What would they have had more ?" 
 
 " Alas ! sir, think how it ended ! and now anotliei' 
 girl," sighed Lhomond. " My lady has had much 
 trouble." 
 
 " Trouble that overshadows her still," said the 
 abbe, suggestively. 
 
 " Monsieur ? " answered Lhomond, with blank non- 
 
92 THE SECRET OF 
 
 comprehension. There was nothing to be got out of 
 him, and the abbe was too clever to risk a future 
 chance by persevering now. 
 
 " To think I am no nearer the answer to this en- 
 igma — for there is one — than I was when first I felt 
 its existence years ago ! " he muttered. " Still, the 
 marquise is only sixty-five ; she was born in 1755, 
 and hers is a very long-lived family ; the commander 
 is ninety -six." He drew a breath of relief. " Your 
 lady is strong, is she not, Lhomond ? you have no 
 need to be anxious about her." 
 
 " Alas ! sir, she is far from strong ; her candles 
 burn down before she sleeps, and she suffers much 
 at times ; but she is so brave that no one would guess 
 it." 
 
 The abbe's face fell ; he could hardly restrain him- 
 self from going back once more to renew his en- 
 treaties that the marquise would bo careful of her 
 health. " Good heavens ! if she should die before I 
 learn her secret ! " he nuiruuired, as he went out at 
 the door where Solange had stood awaiting \'cuve 
 Locroy, and he crossed the (juadrangle in the moon- 
 light, and went home dejectedly. 
 
 Lhomond returned to light his mi.stre.ss to lier 
 room. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 93 
 
 " Lhomond," she said abruptly, as he stood before 
 her, "is the sum I am laying aside increasing." 
 
 " There is so little we can save, madam. I do what 
 I can, but . . . Would you please to see my ac- 
 counts ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, my faithful old servant ; I trust you 
 entirely. But we must find means to make up the 
 dowry; I want the thing settled. It is intolerable 
 to me to have the girl forever before my eyes." 
 
 She spoke as if something had quickened dormant 
 dislike into keen aversion. Lhomond only replied by 
 a deprecating gesture. " Do you know," she went on, 
 with deep mortification, that the Comte de Foy de- 
 sires an alliance between our families ? Could I 
 have asked anything better ? Well, I have rejected 
 the proposal." 
 
 " Ah, madame ! " said the old man, with a kind of 
 beseechino; reo-ret. 
 
 " What else could I do ? " she answered, with harsh 
 impatience. " Had I any choice ? It is as impossil)le 
 to bring disgrace into another noble family as to ex- 
 plain why I refuse. The girl must go to a convent, 
 Lhomond ; I cannot answer for myself if she stays. 
 Think how we can raise the necessary sum. The 
 Ursulines at Aix are too poor to take her without it ; 
 
94 THE SECRET OF 
 
 she cannot, as you know, be receiveil in Xotie Dame 
 de la Mist^ricorde, for there only girls . . . Enough ; 
 think how to raise it." 
 
 " If Madame la Marquise chose to withdraw the 
 pensions she allows old Lanre Fauriel, and Olivier 
 and Jacques, the under gardeners of her chateau." 
 
 "When I had one. No; while I have a farthing 
 left tho'se good servants shall share it. They stood 
 by me at the worst, and I will not desert them. 
 Besides, such a mere pittance ! " 
 
 " If Madame la Marquise would allow me to let 
 the rez-de-chaussee." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the marquise, wincing. " Well, do so^ 
 only let me hear nothing about it. I leave it all to 
 you ; find the money quickly, that is all I ask.' 
 
 Lhomond bowed respectfully, and threw open the 
 great doors for his la<ly to pass through. He looked 
 very downcast as lie retired, shaking his head. It 
 was no news to him that Madame de Monluc destined 
 Solange to a convent; he had known it ever since 
 the religious houses were re-opencd. Had pt)vcrty not 
 stood in the way she would have been brought up in 
 one until old enough to take the veil. It could not 
 be said that Lhomond forwarded the plan, but he 
 knew thiit remonstrance would have been vain, even 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 95 
 
 it' respect would liave allowed Lim to offer any. As 
 be locked himself into his own little room, he looked 
 greatly troubled. " My poor Mademoiselle Solange," 
 he soliloquised, as he daintily washed up the c-hoco- 
 late cups, " I hoped my lady was forgetting the scheme ; 
 but I ought to have known better. ' Beau chevalier 
 qui revient de la guerre,' " he hummed, as he had a 
 way of doing when perplexed or troubled. " ' Beau 
 chevalier . . . ' She never forgets what she has 
 once settled. What would our blessed young lady 
 say ! how sweet she was, my dear Mademoiselle 
 Renee ! Always, ' M3' good Lhomond, will you do 
 this ? ' or, ' I thank you, my kind Lhomond.' It was 
 well she died ; life was too hard for her. And now it 
 is her daughter who will find life hard. ' Qui re- 
 vient de la guerre . . . ' The saints know I have 
 done my best. I always seem to hear her saying, 
 ' Take care of my child ; ' I know that was what her 
 sweet eyes meant when she looked at the marquise as 
 she lay dying, and got no reply — no, no more than 
 from a stone — and then the dear child looked at me. 
 And I will ; yes, I will. It is impossible to let her 
 daughter be buried in a convent — the last of this 
 great family, for anyhow she is that, my poor So- 
 lange. ' Beau chevalier qui revient . . . '" 
 
96 THE SECRET OF 
 
 The cups were washed now, and Lhomond opened a 
 desk and began to study a little account book, solilo- 
 quising as he did so. " I can say that the roof wants 
 repairing, and that the window tax costs a great deal ; 
 it truly does, and that will be all to the good. I shall 
 have a nice little sum to invest next month, and then 
 there is Laure's pension — that helps too. So long as 
 my lady does not find out she is dead. It cuts me 
 when my mistress calls me faithful, yet what can I 
 do ! I mean no harm, the saints know that." 
 
 He cast a hasty glance around, although the door 
 was locked, and with a trembling hand drew out a key 
 which he carried fastened round his neck, and un- 
 locked a cupboard in the wall, whence he took a small 
 box, which he cautiously opened, starting and looking 
 round at every slight sound with a scared, anxious 
 expression. The light of his lamp fell dazzlingly 
 upon its contents. Lhomond bent over them for a 
 moment, and then lifted out the string of diamonds, 
 and contemplated them with a strange mixture of 
 remorse and satisfaction. " How they shine and 
 flash!" the old man muttered, holding tiicm up to 
 the light, and then weighing them in his hand before 
 replacing them in their box, and locking them up 
 again. " They must be worth a great deal — a very 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 97 
 
 great deal. I do wrong — Heaven forgive me — I do 
 wrong . , ." He wrung his hands and walked up and 
 down in great distress. " My lady so poor, not able 
 to afford herself so much as a fiacre in which to drive 
 to mass when it rains. I believe the evil one led me 
 to that chest where I found them hidden under the 
 roll of curtains ; I have often thought so, I ought to 
 have carried them to my mistress. But if I had, she 
 would surely have sold them, and used the money to 
 send Solange to a convent. I could not have that; it 
 was better to say nothing. And it is such a pleasure 
 to me to have them and look at them. Some day I 
 will get a jeweller to value them. They and m^^ little 
 savings will make a pretty little fortune some day. 
 I will just add up those accounts again." 
 
 He brought out his little book once more, and 
 whatever remorse he might have felt was soon merged 
 in satisfaction as he went over the entries in its 
 pages, representing sums, trifling in themselves, but 
 spared and saved and invested for years with an indefa- 
 tigable care, which made the total of some importance. 
 Lhomond had offered to show his accounts to the 
 marquise, but it seemed probable that he regarded 
 this particular record as his private affair. 
 
THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 Ox cominc^ from Aix to Paris, Maxinie Laugier had 
 found himself in surroundings and circumstances 
 altogether strange to him. Brought up in a devout 
 household, full of the decorum and severe morality 
 which distinguished the legal families, where the 
 tone was serious to Puritanism and the Catholic in- 
 stinct was unshaken, by parents of royalist views, it 
 was an indescribable shock to find every principle, 
 which he had been accustomed to regard as incontro- 
 vertible, regarded as out of date, absurd, a subject for 
 mockery. Bonaparte was the idol of the day, and 
 though the churches were re-opened, the only public 
 acknowledgment made that Christianity was not 
 utterly a thing of the past, was that some professor 
 would declaim against it from his chair to an acqui- 
 escent audience. 
 
 To find a professor who was not an atheist was 
 rare indeed. Youths who came from such homes as 
 Maxime Laugier, and plunged into the world of 
 Paris, might recoil and shudder, but they had to tr^' 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 99 
 
 their faith aad principles in a furnace of temptation of 
 every kind. Emphatically no man cared for their 
 souls except to ruin thein ; the few who stood the 
 test withdrew into a kind of moral solitude, and 
 plunged into hard work as their safeguard. 
 
 It had been with much reluctance that the widowed 
 mother of Maxime let him go to Paris, though she 
 knew little enough of what he would have to 
 encounter; but his brothers were already settled at 
 Aix, and he must seek fortune elsewhere. He took 
 the thought of this well-loved mother with him ; he 
 knew that she was always praying for him, thinking 
 of him ; her face rose before him like that of a 
 guardian angel in moments of danger. They had 
 been parted four years, and though he had often 
 stumbled and failed, when they met again he could 
 look in her clear eyes without shame. 
 
 Maxime had begun life under fortunate auspices. 
 He had inherited an honourable name, and a letter 
 from an old family friend had introduced him to M. 
 de Fontanes, Grand-Master of the University, who 
 gave him a secretaryship. He thus obtained a posi- 
 tion which his contemi)oraries envied, and what was 
 much more to him, he had opportunities for hearing 
 conversations and discussions among the most learned 
 
IOC THE SECRET OF 
 
 men of the day, wliicb were an education in them- 
 selves. He hstened with a keen appreciation, which 
 nobody suspected until his biilliant essay made them 
 discover that they had ah'cady noticed liim as a re- 
 markable young man. The praise and encourage- 
 ment showered upon him could not but be welcome 
 and stimulating, but dearer far was the joy of sending 
 the news to Aix, and of feeling that he was launched 
 on the career to which his genius called him. 
 
 He was young enough to think a good deal of the 
 girl who lived in the Hotel Monluc, to whom he owed 
 the restoration of his manuscript and consequently 
 his success, and of whom he had had one glimpse 
 before she drew back blushing and startled. Never 
 again had he seen her at the window, though the 
 cheery face of the old commander was constantly 
 there, and he would give Maxime a friendly sign 
 when he saw him looking out, as he got a habit of 
 doing at this time. During the few weeks that he 
 had lodged here he had been so much occupied w itli 
 his essay that he had not consciously perceived there 
 was a house opposite, much less thought to ask whose 
 it was, until the moment his manuscript was restored 
 to him. Then, indeed, his interest was strongly 
 roused, for to anyone coming from Aix, Mi)nhu' was 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. loi 
 
 a familiar name, though probably he had never 
 thought of it since he came to Paris, and he eagerly 
 questioned his landlady about the occupants of the 
 hotel, but she either could or would tell him nothing. 
 The difficulty of getting information stimulated him ; 
 his imagination became occupied with this great 
 empty building, where apparently no one went out 
 or in, and no face appeared at any window except 
 that of an old man. " It is impossible that you 
 should know nothing at all, citoyenne!" he exclaimed, 
 when Veuve Locroy professed utter ignorance — she 
 declined the title of "madame" — "you who have 
 lived here, you say these seventeen years, opposite 
 the hotel ! If I had been here six months I should 
 have learned more ! " 
 
 " It is likely," she answered, in her monotonous, 
 sad voice. 
 
 " Likely ! it is positive. How is it you can tell 
 me nothing ? " Maxime was habitually reserved, but 
 he did not seem to appreciate the quality in Veuve 
 Locroy. 
 
 " What have I to do with aristocrats ? " she 
 answered, and though she spoke in the same level 
 tones, there was now an unmistakable thrill of 
 hatred in them, and a glow came into the eyes 
 
I02 THE SECRET OF 
 
 deeply sunken under dark brows. " What liave tliey 
 ever had to do with us except for our ruin and misfor- 
 tune ? These people in the hotel are nobles ; how 
 should I know anything of them ? " 
 
 " And you cannot even tell me the name of that 
 girl to wdiom I owe such gratitude ? " 
 
 "Her name is Solange," answered Citoyenne 
 Locroy, curtly, and as if against her will. 
 
 " Solange ! " repeated Maxime, delighted. " Now 
 I have a name for my fair vision — Solange ! " 
 
 Veuve Locroy laid her hand on his arm ; it was a 
 small hand, but its grasp was emphatic. 
 
 " Monsieur," she said, " you love your mother ? 
 Yes ; you are astonished by the question ; so would 
 my son once have been had anyone ventured to })ut 
 it to him. You did not know I had had a son ? Ah, 
 yes — once. Listen, then, before it is too late, lest she 
 fare as I did. My husband and I gave up every- 
 thing to prepare a field which he onlj- should reap. 
 We brought him up in the holy luvc of liumanity 
 and virtue; we never rcproacliod him, never punished 
 hiui ; we taught him to be a patriot, and he was one 
 until he was bewitched by a girl's face. When I 
 lost my excellent husband my son was everything to 
 me, and I thought that by-aiid-bye he would recom- 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 103 
 
 pense rae by being honoured and happy. Ah ! " she 
 cried, with sudden vehemence, "why do women 
 rejoice when they bear sons ? When he was a man 
 it only meant new fears, new pain. Your ardent 
 youth and your passions carry you away : one day 
 the boy is all ours, the next he is a man, lost in a 
 world unknown to us. He wants to be his own 
 master ; we dare not even let him guess how we lie 
 awake at night, watching for his return! We are 
 always on the watch to seize any chance of advanc- 
 ing his interests, of smoothing obstacles in his way ; 
 we watch with jealous anxiety the women wliom he 
 knows, one of whom, perhaps, ho loves, and whom he 
 may suddenly tell you will be his wife — his wife, 
 mother of his children, more to him than one is 
 oneself I " She paused, overcome by strong emotion. 
 " And so he did ! " she went on. " One day he 
 brought home a girl ... he never was mine any 
 more after that. As soon as she crossed the thres- 
 hold I knew that all was over for him and me. My 
 heart die<l that hour. Did he think of that ? No, 
 truly ! all his thought was for her. Ah, Heaven ! 
 how he loved that cold, white face ! " 
 
 '■ And she — did not love him ? " 
 
 " She loathed him, monsieur ; yes, as much as I 
 
I04 THE SECRET OF 
 
 loathed her. Do you not think we were a happy- 
 household ? But all his thought was for her — all : 
 when he came near her she would shrink and look 
 like a bird in a trap; and he — how his eyes besought 
 her to be a little kind. Tlie very day he went out 
 to that fatal skirmish in which he fell, he turned 
 back to bid me be good to her. Ask me no more, 
 monsieur, I have said more than enough ; but re- 
 member, I have warned you. Forget the girl over 
 yonder — she is more out of your reach than the moon 
 in the sky; and if you let your fancy stray after her, 
 the end will be for you and your mother, whom you 
 love so much, no better than it was for my son and 
 me. I like you, monsieur, for yourself; you are 
 true, honourable ; you respect women, and you are 
 a dutiful son. I owe you gratitude, too, though 
 whether it would not have been kinder to let the 
 wheels of tliat ciuxch go over me and end everything, 
 I do not know; but, at all events, you saved me at 
 your own risk, and 1 do not forget it, and so I have 
 said this." 
 
 "And I owe you gratitude too," said Maxime, 
 warmly, "for since you made me come here and leave 
 my wretched lodging you have shown me the utmost 
 kindness. If I did anything for you, you have over- 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 105 
 
 paid it. But it is natural that I should be interested 
 in this family, whose chateau is so near my home. 
 In childhood I used to see the Marquise de Monluc ; 
 the marquis had formerly large estates in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Aix, It is absurd," he went on, as Yeuve 
 Locroy stood silent — " absurd to imagine that because 
 I am a little interested in a girl who has done me a 
 great service that I am likely to fall in love with her. 
 I shall probably never see her again. Besides she is 
 noble — a Monluc ! " 
 
 " Yes, she is noble, and she will not forget that, 
 though you may, monsieur." 
 
 " Besides, though I might have visited them from 
 time to time in their chateau, where they often re- 
 ceived country neighbours, since you tell me that 
 they go nowhere and see no one, I shall never make 
 their acquaintance, so you need not fear for me." 
 
 Citoyenne Locroy shook her head. 
 
 " I tell you, one cannot play with fire without some- 
 one being burned. You must go your way ; I was 
 foolish to speak; no one ever learned by the ex- 
 perience of another — no, not even if the lesson were 
 written in blood." 
 
 She went away, and Maxirae sat down to his 
 books, murmuring, " So her name is Solange ! 
 
io6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Sulanrje de Monluc ! " This was all that he retained 
 
 of what Veuve Locroy had said. 
 
 Having but little time to himself, Maxime had 
 acquired the habit of using every few free minutes, 
 and as soon as he returned would sit down and write, 
 with hardly a pause or erasure, the thoughts which he 
 had put in order as he walked home from his chief's 
 cabinet, so lost in them that he saw and heard httle 
 or nothing in the streets through which he went, or 
 he would plunge at once into a book, and hear and 
 see nothing else. But when Veuve Locroy left, him, 
 he did not find it easy to absorb himself in work: 
 old recollections rose up uncalled; his eyes strayed 
 to the hotel opposite. As a child he had often seen 
 the Marquis de iMonluc drive into Aix, a tall, 
 upright, wiry tigure, with a wrinkled face, grey 
 eyebrows, and a nose like an eagle's beak, a formid- 
 able-looking old man, witli his wife beside him, 
 haughty and silent, — a pair not easily forgotten. He 
 recollected, too, how, when they were at their ciiateau 
 for two or three moiitlis in the year, they e)itertained 
 their country neighbours and the leading people of 
 Aix, who all went without fail, and criticised their 
 hosts and the guests from Paris afterwards. That 
 was over twenty years ago, when he was a mere child. 
 
MADAME DE MONL UC. 107 
 
 The cliateau had stood empty fur a long wliile now. 
 Madame de Monluc had never returned to it after she 
 was set at liberty. He dimly remembered that there 
 was one daughter; he would ask his mother when 
 next he wrote. After all, he might as well write at 
 once. He pushed aside his books and drew his desk 
 towards him. 
 
 Veuv^e Locroy was a person of considerable Jiieaas, 
 and she had a servant ; but she always waited on 
 Maxime herself. She treated him rather as a son 
 than a lodger, and indeed had only received him into 
 her house from personal liking, as she had never 
 before allowed any stranger to occupy her rooms. 
 When she brought him his early cup of coffee next 
 day she observed, " It is well, monsieur, that your 
 way does not lie through the Place St. Lazare. There 
 will be a stir there to-day." 
 
 " How so ? " asked Maxime, well aware that Veuve 
 Locroy had sources of information among ret)ublican 
 friends which made her information valuable. 
 
 " It is that the cassock of a priest is always a ram- 
 part raised up against man's reason and intelligence." 
 
 Maxime smiled as he recognised a stock phrase 
 familiar to the republican tribune. 
 
 " You suiile ? Yes, you are blinded by ideas 
 
io8 THE SECRET OF 
 
 sucked in with your mother's milk. Well, then, 
 the people are angry with the clergy at St. 
 Lazaro for refusing to bury Mademoiselle Latour. 
 They took alms willingly enough from the 
 money she earned by acting, poor woman ! but 
 Christian burial — that a player must not have. It is 
 as in ancient days," added Veuve Locroy, with a 
 touch of the pedantry common among women of her 
 class and politics at that time, "we exalt art, but 
 treat the artist with ignominy. This poor actress was 
 very charitable, and everybody round here liked her." 
 
 Veuve Locroy spoke in her usual quiet voice, yet 
 with indescribable scorn and contempt. 
 
 •' A riot is not a safe or easy amusement under the 
 rule of the Emperor," said Maxime, incredulously. 
 
 " That is true, but it is said that he would not be 
 vexed to have the priests a little frightened ; they 
 have grown too independent lately. It will not be a 
 general stir, but one just round here — a local affair. 
 You know how easily a riot is got up : a man 
 standing on a chair in a wine-shop calls to anyone 
 passing whom he knows ; they drink at his expense, 
 and call others and shout together — the thin<'- is in 
 train at once. The ladies from the hotel opposite 
 would have done better to stay at home to-day." 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 109 
 
 If Maxime had stopped to reflect, he might have 
 thought it strange that Veuve Locroy, who professed 
 such ignorance of the De Monkics, should know 
 they had gone out, but he only asked hastily, 
 " What makes you think they are gone out ? " 
 
 " They would not miss an obligatory fete ; besides, 
 I saw them at the end of the street." 
 
 " Alone ? " 
 
 " They had the old man-servant with them, if that 
 counts for anything. The crowd will not pay much 
 attention to him ! " 
 
 "I must go and see what is happening," said 
 Maxime, snatching up his hat. 
 
 " Should you know the girl — Solange — if you saw 
 her, monsieur ? " 
 
 "Among a thousand," answered Maxime, without 
 weio-hinof his words, and was gone before she could 
 shake her head. She stood for some time by the 
 table, thinking deeply, and then, bending her head as 
 if in answer to something in her own mind, went 
 away to her own part of the house. 
 
 Maxime was scarcely over the threshold when he 
 perceived that, as usual, Citoyenne Locroy's informa- 
 tion was correct. People were huriying out of their 
 houses ; faces looked down, scared and anxious, from 
 
no THE SECRET OF 
 
 windows ; voices called for news to those run- 
 ning by ; <a hum of distant sound became vaiijuely 
 audible. A little further on all these scattered con- 
 tingents were swept into a stream of men, women, 
 and even children, flowing towards the Church of 
 St. Lazare des Champs, only one of many which were 
 pouring out of every street opening into the square 
 before the church, so that what had lately been an 
 open space rapidly became a dark mass of human 
 beings, brandishing over their heads axes and pikes, 
 here a smith's hammer, there a rusty poker or a 
 shovel or a laundress's iron, with threatening gestures 
 and savage ej^es, while now a single voice shouted 
 some coarse sarcasm or brutal insult. And now a 
 sudden, confused, and general shout covered all other 
 sounds with its roar. In the midst of the surmng 
 crowd a coffin appeared, tossed and shaken in a ghastly 
 fashion by the pressure and heaving of the crowd, as 
 its bearers toiled towards the church, through a lane 
 now opened for them, now closed in by the mass of 
 spectators forced together, whether they would or not, 
 by the constantly increasing numbers flocking into 
 the square, until the whole space became densely 
 packed, and cries and curses of terror and anger rose 
 above the general and blended sountls. In such a scene 
 
MADAME DE MONL UC. 1 1 1 
 
 the only single object clearly distinguished was the 
 black draped coffin, raised on the living mass, stagger- 
 ing and threatening to fall at every moment, as tlie 
 bearers struggled towards the broad steps on which 
 stood the church. The obdurate silence of the build- 
 ing, its doors closed and barred by the clerg}^ within, 
 its absolute want of response to the wild excitement 
 without, was strangely impressive. Not a sign of life 
 appeared within it, but the steps were now black with 
 swarming figures, thundering at the doors and calling 
 for axes, fire to burn tlie Calotins, the Voshiscumis. 
 Old passwords of the Revolution rang through the 
 square ; haggard faces, which had hidden themselves 
 since Robespierre's fall, were seen in the crowd. 
 '•' What is tlie police about ? " Maxime exclaimed to 
 himself, as he struggled to keep his footing and get 
 near the church, hoping to find those whom he sought 
 near it. He was too closely wedged in even to be 
 able to look around, but his question was answered, 
 even as he asked it, by a great cry of warning, fury, 
 and alarm from all parts, as down the main street 
 came a mounted regiment at a steady, moderate pace, 
 making straight for the centre of tlie square, exactly 
 as if there were no frantic, terror-struck mass of human 
 beings compressed before them, surging round them, 
 
112 THE SECRET OF 
 
 falling under their horses' feet. As they came on, 
 impassable and close together, panic seized the crowd, 
 which fled up every street, giving way on all sides ; a 
 great wave of people fled down the steps of the 
 church, in blind alarm, just as anuther rushed fur- 
 ward. Maxime had an instant's glimpse of a girl's face, 
 blanched with terror, among them. He clutched her as 
 she was flung against him, using all his strength to save 
 her from the horrible pressure of the throng, swaying 
 and staggering in its struggle to escape. He seemed to 
 have been there for a life-time, though in reality a 
 quarter of an hour sufficed to clear the square, except 
 for the soldiers, sitting motionless on their horses, 
 and the poor creatures lying maimed, crushed, and 
 groaning on the ground. Not a shot had been tired 
 by the soldiers ; no arrests were made : Bonaparte had 
 achieved the double success of showing the priests 
 that they depended on his protection, and proving 
 his i)Ower over those Parisians who, a few jears 
 earlier, had overawed their rulers. When the crowd 
 had entirely melted away, the officer in conniiand gave 
 the word, and the soldiers wheeled their horses and 
 rode away. Sudden panic had annihilated the riot as 
 no foe could have done. 
 
 The rush had carried INFaxime to the far side of the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 113 
 
 square, with Solange clinging desperately to him. 
 When there was breathing space, which momentarily 
 increased, he saw that she was deadly pale and ex- 
 hausted. She dropped on a stone bench, beneath the 
 projecting upper storey of a house, and leaned her 
 head back against the wall. It seemed to her that 
 she was dying. Presently she became aware that life 
 was coming back, that she could vaguely perceive the 
 objects around her ; a wind breathed over her ; some- 
 one was fanning her ; a great sound was in her ears — 
 shouts and cries, she thought. It was really the 
 trampling of the horses as the soldiers rode out of the 
 square. She opened her eyes and saw the church and 
 the open space — so empty now — and moaning figures, 
 lifting themselves or helped by friends who had 
 returned to seek them, and some which did not move 
 at all. Solange shuddered and closed her eyes again 
 but looked up directly in affright, becoming aware 
 that someone spoke and bent over her. She was far 
 too dazed to recognise Maxime or answer his anxious 
 questions ; but she began to perceive that someone, hat' 
 less, torn, dusty, but with the voice of a gentleman, 
 stood by her, and she instinctively murmured, " You 
 have been most kind, monsieur." 
 
 " Kind 1 It is the greatest joy to be able to render 
 
114 THE SECRET OF 
 
 you any service, mademoiselle. Besides, what do I not 
 myself owe you ! " exclaimed Maxime. The fervour of 
 his tone startled her ; she stood up, but found herself 
 obliged to lean on his arm. 
 
 " My poor grandmother ! " she said faintly. "If I 
 only knew she was safe ! All, surely I see her coming 
 down the steps of the church, and dear, good Lhomond," 
 and she moved forward, trembling still, but fast re- 
 covering. 
 
 They had the whole width of the square to cross ; 
 for a little while Maxime could feel himself her sole 
 protector. Her white cheeks flushed a little, and she 
 said, " It was too frightful. I know you saved my 
 life. But for you I should have fallen and been 
 trampled on." 
 
 •' That was what I most feared. It was as I ex- 
 pected, then ? You reached the church early, and find- 
 ing you could not enter, remained in one of the porches 
 when you saw the square fill." 
 
 " But, monsieur, do 3'ou mean that you came to 
 seek us ? How could you know — " 
 
 "My landlady, the Veuve Locroy, told mc you had 
 gone to early mass, and that there was danger." 
 
 "The Veuve Locroy?" repeated Solangc, smiling 
 and blusliing. " I know now — yon arc M. Laugier." 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 115 
 
 " You know my name, mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " The Abbe Gautier told us of your success, 
 monsieur. I felt sure it was you of whom he spoke. 
 I was so glad to hear your essay had won the prize 
 of the Institute." 
 
 " That success was worth a great deal to me. It 
 is worth far more now," said Maxime, with fervour, 
 which made the words much more than a mere 
 courteous reply. Solange's heart beat quicker; in- 
 voluntarily she moved a little faster. 
 
 " If I could tell you — if I dared hope you cared 
 to know how much depended on that essay, lost but 
 for you, mademoiselle," Maxime went on, low and 
 rapidly. " But 1 have no right to trouble you with 
 my affairs. . . . No, do not look that way," as he led 
 her quickly aside from a poor crushed heap which 
 had been a living being half-an-hour earlier, at sight 
 of which Solange shuddered and trembled. " Tell 
 me how it was you were swept from the porch where 
 your grandmother and the old servant seem to have 
 ibund refuse ? " 
 
 " I can hardly say, monsieur. We could not 
 understand why the doors were shut, and Lhoraond 
 urged us to return home, saying he was sure there 
 was danger afoot ; but my grandmother does not 
 
ii6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 know what fear is, and refused. All at once the 
 square was full of people, shouting, singing, and 
 something black carried in the midst of them : it 
 was too late to return home then. They rushed into 
 the porch and battered at the door — it was frightful. 
 My grandmother was in a corner, and Lhomond stood 
 before us, dear old man ; but someone pushed me out 
 of the porch, and then — it is all so confused. But I 
 think everyone cried out, and dropped their axes 
 and rushed back upon the people below crowding 
 up the steps, and I believe I was carried away by 
 the throng. I do not know any more, nor how I 
 came to the other end of the square, only I am sure 
 you saved my life." 
 
 Maxime only replied by a smile, so glad and tender 
 that Solange never recalled it without a thrill of shy 
 joy. They might have known each other lor years 
 and yet been strangers : this half hour had made 
 them something more than friends. 
 
 Madame de Monluc and Lhomond had descended 
 the steps by now, the man[uise drawing her dress 
 around her as they passed the poor cause of strife, — 
 the coffin, — thrown down, forgotten, shattered. Lho- 
 mond was looking all around him in great distress. 
 
 " Ah, madamc . . . all the saints be praised . . . my 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. T17 
 
 young lady is here ! " he stammered, choked with 
 emotion, as he caught sight of her. A strange, un- 
 certain look passed over the face of the marquise. 
 
 " She is safe, then," she said. There was no softening 
 eye or lip to respond to the exclamations and ques- 
 tions of Solange. " I am unhurt, yes, and so is my 
 good Lhomond. It is, then, owing to this gentleman 
 that you are so also ? " the marquise said. In spite 
 of Maxime's battered condition she saw at once that 
 he was ' born.' " May I ask to whom I am in- 
 debted for this service, monsieur ? " 
 
 " Maxime Laugier, madame," he answered, bowing. 
 The pleased and gracious look with which she heard 
 this contrasted markedly with the indifference she 
 had shown to her grand-daughter's safety. 
 
 " I am glad to owe my thanks to a family well 
 known to me, monsieur. We are neighbours in Pro- 
 vence, Your mother has brought you as a child to 
 my chateau. I congratulate her on your late success. 
 You must come to see me." 
 
 Maxime bowed with grateful eagerness. Solange 
 did not lift her eyes, but he fancied there was a look 
 of pleasure on her face. Had he looked at Lhomond, 
 he would have seen the very reverse unmistakably 
 written on his countenance. 
 
Ii8 THE SECRET OF 
 
 '■ Yuur arm, it' you please, monsieur. I begin to 
 feel that I am somewhat tired," said the marquise, 
 becoming aware of how s[)ent she was. She found 
 herself breathing with difhculty ; her knees treml^led. 
 " To be hustled in a rabble is an experience much 
 more trying than to go in excellent company to the 
 guillotine. Can you explain the meaning of this 
 mad riot ? " 
 
 Maxime gave all the information he could as they 
 walked back to the Hotel Monluc, through streets 
 quiet enough now ; but he did not think it needful 
 to say how he came to be so opportunely at hand to 
 protect her grand -daughter. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 1^9 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Although Maxime had not breakfasted, and knew 
 that he ought to hurry back to his lodgings and 
 change bis dress, if he did not mean to incur the dis- 
 pleasure of his chief for lateness — M. de Fontanes 
 was a punctual man, and rigid in exacting punctu- 
 ality from others — he went up to the very door of 
 the Hotel Monluc, and even gave his arm to the 
 marquise up to that of her entresol. He could do no 
 less, he told himself, and undoubtedly Madame de 
 Monluc would have thought him ill-bred had he done 
 otherwise. Thus he was a spectator of a little 
 domestic scene which came like farce after tragedy. 
 Mette the maidservant started out uj)on them like an 
 angry wasp, her dull eyes for once ablaze. " Madame 
 is safe ? Holy Virgin ! what a time you have given 
 me ! I went out to buy some little matters, and 
 heard that all the quarter was in revolt, and you in 
 the midst of it all ! Old imbecile ! " under her breath, 
 but venomously, to Lhomond, "could you take no 
 
I20 THE SECRET OF 
 
 better care of my mistress than this ? But what 
 better could I expect ! " 
 
 " Imbecile yourself ! " retorted Lhomond, unusually 
 upset by the attack, for his old nerves had been 
 cruelly tried that day, " You may see that I have 
 brought my ladies safely back. Madame la Marquise 
 has — has enjoyed herself ! " 
 
 " And so has Mademoiselle Solange — evidently," 
 answered Mette, with a wave of the hand towards 
 Solange's torn and spoiled dress. "Thou art an old 
 fool, my poor friend ! Madame la Marquise will 
 come to her room and breakfast," she added, turning 
 to her lady ; " and as for you, mademoiselle," in a 
 suddenly sharpened tone, " you had best do the same. 
 Mary and Joseph ! there is a ruined dress and hat ! " 
 
 " We may be thankful to escape at that price, my 
 good Mette," said her mistress, not at all disturbed by 
 the passage of arms between her domestics, which in- 
 deed was of daily occurrence. " Adieu, M. Laugier. I 
 thank you sincerely for your courtesy, and the 
 assistance you gave this child," indicating Solange, 
 with a gracious, yet cold smile. " Offer my respects 
 to your mother when you write to her. I shall ex- 
 pect you to-morrow evening." 
 
 She looked as unmoved as if she had just come 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 121 
 
 back from a pleasant promenade with friends. 
 Maxime took leave of her and Solange, who raised 
 her eyes, and said, in a voice which had a thrill in it, 
 "And I, too, thank j^ou, monsieur." She was burning 
 with indignation that what he had done, at imminent 
 risk to himself she felt sure, should be thus carelessly 
 alluded to. He answered only by a look — a conven- 
 tional reply he could not make, with the recollection 
 possessing him that he had held her in his arms, felt 
 her heart flutter against his, fought for her life at the 
 peril of his own, and saved it. Probably she did not 
 know what had passed, terror and faintness had 
 overpowered her ; but he knew it — should always 
 know it. 
 
 He returned to his rooms, conscious only of this. 
 Veuve Locroy followed him upstairs. He was hastily 
 changing his coat in the inner room ; the door was 
 ajar. " You will have time for your breakfast ; I have 
 kept your coffee hot, and you must need it. So you 
 met the ladies of the Hotel Monluc ? " she said, in- 
 differently. 
 
 Maxime came out of his room, with his toilette 
 fieshened up, and a look of glad exultation in his 
 eyes, which could not pass unnoticed for a moment 
 by such a keen observer. 
 
122 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " How shall I thank you for warning me of their 
 danger ! " he exclaimed, accepting the coffee held out 
 to him without knowing that he did so. " There, in 
 that insane mob, with no protector but that old man." 
 " They were in danger, then ? And 3'ou too." 
 " I ? yes, no doubt. That was nothing." 
 "Your mother would not say .so, monsieur." 
 " My mother ! No, that is true ; I am doubly 
 thankful all has gone well." 
 
 " Ah, you only remember her now I All sons are 
 alike, then." 
 
 " There was no time to remember anything," said 
 Maxime, far too much occupied with the scenes in 
 which he had been an actor to feel the reproach, 
 " Imagine all the Place St. Lazare one heaving mass 
 of heads, the coffin above them every moment 
 threatening to fall, the fvuemcst of the crowd alrt-ady 
 thundering at the closed dooi's of the church as I got 
 to the square, and constantly fresh parties running up 
 through eveiy street and byway. The crowd itself 
 forced one on. I was at the bottom of the steps wlien 
 a cry was raised that soldiers were riding down upon 
 the square. The suddenness of the alarm pnraly.sed 
 all resistance ; in a moment all on the outskirts tied 
 u{) the streets, those in the square threw themselves 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 123 
 
 back on all sides, those on the steps rushed down — it 
 was a horrible confusion. I saw Mademoiselle de 
 Monluc flung down among them, and then we were 
 both carried away by the mad flight of the throng. 
 There was a moment when I thought her dead." 
 
 He stopped and breathed deeply. 
 
 " You saved her, then ? You risked your life 
 for a girl whom you have seen once, for one 
 moment ? " 
 
 " If I had never seen her at all before, what else 
 could I have done ? " 
 
 " True. Yes, I suppose you would have acted in 
 the same way, but you would not have looked or 
 spoken as you do now. I have had a son of my own, 
 allez ! I know. And then . . . the square was clear 
 in a few moments, was it not ? Everyone fled. My 
 neighbour, Auguste Gilbert, told me so. We have 
 not been ruled by a despot all these years for 
 nothing. When I tliink of scenes which I have 
 witnessed. , . . Tliere was the day when twenty thou- 
 sand citizens marched on the Tuileries ; — we had 
 leaders then ! What is the use of speaking of it ? 
 Cowardly hands have rolled back the car of reform. 
 Paris made the Revolution, and Paris has spoiled it ! 
 Well, you and the girl found youi'selves on the other 
 
124 THE SECRET OF 
 
 side of the Place ? The grandmother — where was 
 
 she ? " 
 
 " We saw her descending tlie steps of St. Lazare 
 with her old servant, as calm as if she were coming 
 out of a drawing-room ! " 
 
 " I recognise them there, these aristocrats. They 
 will not condescend to show fear of the populace ; 
 they scorn the people too much for that. But she 
 had feared f(U* her grandchild ? she was grateful to 
 you ? " 
 
 " She thanked me sufficiently ; there was no need 
 to say anything." 
 
 " Wait one moment ; you need not hurry ; eat 
 something — nay, you. must ; your mother would 
 certainly say so, and I look on myself as a little in 
 her place. Then this aristocrat thought it quite 
 simple that you should risk your life to save 
 her ? " 
 
 "Not that, but I could have fancied that the 
 service did not seem an important one. It is un- 
 reasonable to imagine it, yet it seemed to me that 
 the person who rejoiced at the safety of Mademoiselle 
 de Monluc was not her grandmother, but the old 
 servant, who wept for joy." 
 
 "How ? ])o you mean tluit the other was indiflor- 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 125 
 
 ent — that she does not love the girl ? What 
 makes you think this, monsieur ? " 
 
 " Nay, I may be wrong ; it is absurd to think of it ; 
 what can I know ? Adieu, my good friend, I must 
 not linger ; M. de Fontanes is not a man to pardon 
 inexactitude." 
 
 He was gone as he s})oke, and Veuve Locroy stood 
 with knitted brows. A new light seemed to have 
 broken upon her, obliging her to alter and readjust 
 her point of view. 
 
 " I never dreamed of that, yet it may be so," she 
 muttered to herself. " Aristocrats have no hearts, 
 and it is always the innocent that suffer. If only the 
 girl had not the air of one. . . ." 
 
 Maxime found his two fellow secretaries full of the 
 reported outbreak. M. de Fontanes was absent, 
 summoned by the Emperor, who was accustomed to 
 call his motley crew of ministers together, lay a 
 measure before them, and bid them return to give a 
 mature opinion of it by a certain date. It was 
 always doubtful what Bonaparte thought of the 
 views laid before him ; he would sit in silence, listen- 
 incr to the discussion, and no one knew his decision 
 lintil it was formally announced at a later time. 
 That nothinfr in the State was done without his 
 
126 THE SECRET OF 
 
 knowledge and consent everybody knew ; lie not 
 only ruled with brilliant success, but was seen by 
 everybody to do it. In this lay much of the secret 
 of his power. The nation believed in him with the 
 unreasoning faith with which mesmerism or magic 
 inspire their devotees ; he was absolutely successful 
 till it was found he could be defeated. 
 
 The Grand-Master of the University, who was not 
 the most patient of men, used to return from these 
 cabinet councils bristling like a hedgehog, so intoler- 
 able was the rudeness and irritability of the Emperor, 
 yet he was ju.st as much under the spell of his magi- 
 cal charm as any soldier in the army. This time 
 things had gone well ; no one had been blamed 
 except a personal enemy of De Fontanes, and the 
 Emperor had read and approved of Maxime's essay, 
 and suggested that the writer deserved a higher post 
 than the one he now held. This was the opinion of 
 M. de Fontanes himself, though he regretted losing 
 his secretary. He called him to him when lie re- 
 turned, and told him with kindness what had passed, 
 which doubled the value of the news. Maxime 
 glowed with delight. His first thought was that 
 here were more welcome tidings to send his mother ; 
 his second, that this, too, he owed to Solange de 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 127 
 
 Monluc, for had she not rescued and restored liis 
 essay. . . . No reasoning could have been more clear 
 or satisfactory. 
 
 The commander, looking from his window, as he 
 slowly got on his feet that night with Lhomond's help 
 to go to bed, saw as usual a lamp burning over the 
 way, and his young neighbour bending over his 
 books, liard at work. 
 
 " He is not half so amusing as his monkey," ob- 
 served the old man, discontentedly. " I should like 
 to know what has become of the animal. Find out, 
 Lhomond. What did you tell me about that young 
 scribbler ? I was only listening with half an ear. 
 You may tell me again." 
 
 Lhomond never failed to relate any event which he 
 could learn that might entertain his master, and the 
 commander would listen, well amused, and then for- 
 get almost all about it, so that it served as a fresh 
 piece of news for a long while. He had already been 
 told several times of the riot in the Place St. Lazare, 
 and had shaken his head with great disapprobation 
 over the slackness of the Regent, whom he believed 
 to be ruling, or rather misruling, France ; and when 
 the story grew a little confused in his recollection, he 
 demanded to have it again, under pretext of not 
 
128 THE SECRET OF 
 
 havinoj listened attentively when Lliomond told it 
 before. Lhomond could think at present of nothin_^ 
 but the danger his ladies had been in, and was ready 
 to repeat the tale as often as his master desired. 
 Indeed he was always too glad to see him interested 
 to hesitate about relating a story any number of 
 times; but the sight of Maximc made what he heard 
 suddenly clearer to the commander, and Lhomond 
 was much taken aback by his observing, " I should 
 like to see that young man. I remember his family 
 at Aix, and I want to ask where his monkey is, and 
 how he got him. Give hira a polite message from 
 me, and tell him to pay me a visit." 
 
 " I will do so, sir," answered Lhomond, without the 
 least intention of obeying. He had heard the invita- 
 tion given by Madame de Monluc to Maxinie with 
 secret dismay, hardly able to refrain from plucking 
 his sleeve, and whispering to him to decline it. Ever 
 since, he had been turning over in his mind how to 
 warn him against naming Veuve Locroy in tl\o Hotel 
 Monluc. " I will do so, sir," he said, comforting 
 himself with the belief that the old man would have 
 forgotten all about it by the next day, or that by 
 that time some excuse for the non-appearance of 
 Maximc would have suggested itself to liis mind. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 129 
 
 " I am certainly getting old," Lhomond said to 
 himself, unconscious that he had passed the stage 
 of getting so years before. " Formerly I could have 
 thought of some little lie in a moment." 
 
 And he sighed over his waning powers. 
 
 Probably the hope which he based upon the com- 
 mander's forgetfulness would have been justified if 
 Maxime had not lived opposite. The sight of him 
 kept his wish alive in the old man's mind, and 
 Solange, chancing to come in next day after Lhomond 
 had brushed his master's coat and filled his snuff- 
 box, and gone downstairs to some other of his multi- 
 farious occupations, the commander gave her the 
 same charge which he had just repeated to Lhomond. 
 She, too, promised to deliver the message, and this 
 time it was not likely to be neglected. 
 
 Lhomond must have had strong reasons for avoiding 
 
 any link between the Hotel Monluc and Veuve 
 
 Locroy, since he was not pleased at anything which 
 
 gave his mistress pleasure ; but it was certain that 
 
 the prospect of Maxime's visit made him unusually 
 
 gloomy. He had been exceedingly startled to find 
 
 that Veuve Locroy lived close by, and had made some 
 
 cautious inquiries, which had somewhat reassured 
 
 him ; for since she had lived in her present house so 
 
 I 
 
I30 THE SECRET OF 
 
 long and yet made no sign, it seemed likely that she 
 meant no harm. Still, that she should be there at 
 all, should have been a neighbour for years unsus- 
 pected by him, seemed to Lhomond alarming and 
 ominous. A visitor to the hotel, who lived under her 
 roof, made a link : Lhomond did not like it at all. He 
 kept his uneasiness to himself, but he brooded over 
 it, and exasperated Llette beyond measure by not 
 hearing her when she addressed him, " taking no more 
 notice of me than if I were my lady's parrot," she 
 said, angrily, to Solange, who answered, " Less, pro- 
 bably," being absorbed in A\nna Poiwpille, which 
 she was now reading, and hearing Mette without 
 heeding. 
 
 " Only two men in the whole hotel, and neither 
 with a civil word to say," Mette went on, by no 
 means soothed. She was usually a silent woman, 
 but sometimes she had fits of loquacity, as if, having 
 begun to talk, she could not stop herself. " It used 
 to be very different formerly. Then, if one wanted 
 anything done, half-a-dozen would start forward ; I 
 had my choice of admirers. You curl your lip, 
 mademoiselle. No doubt you suppose that only young 
 ladies have suitors, but I can tell you that you are 
 very much mistaken. Ladies are courted for money 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 131 
 
 and lands, while those who are not noble are admired 
 for themselves ; that is just the difference." 
 
 Solange did not deign to bandy words with a ser- 
 vant, but the scornful amusement in her eyes was 
 reflected in the mirror before which she was sitting, 
 as Mette arranored her hair with unwillino; hands, 
 and the lady's-maid saw it plainly. Perhaps she 
 also saw the contrast between her own face and the 
 graceful image which it sent back of the girl and 
 her looks. " If I chose to tell all I know, perhaps 
 -you would not look so proud, mademoiselle," she 
 burst out, and then looked frightened, suddenly 
 aware how far her temper had led her. Had Solange 
 wished to punish her, she could not have done it 
 more effectually than slie unconsciously did by pre- 
 serving silence ; Mette held her tongue too, asking 
 herself whether her lady would hear of what she 
 had said. It did not occur to her that Solange re- 
 garded it as the mere ebullition of ill-humour. It 
 was nothing new for Mette to be rude to her ; the 
 thing which would really have startled Solange 
 would have been to find her otherwise. Besides, she 
 was thinking of something much more important 
 than Mette's temper: a visitor would come that 
 evening, not an elderly abbd or baron, but a young 
 
132 THE SECRET OF 
 
 visitor, one who ought to be her friend, not her 
 grandmother's, one between whom and herself there 
 was ah'eady a secret link, most innocent, but forming 
 a tie known only to themselves. 
 
 It was a surprise to find that Lhomond had set her 
 embroidery frame near the marquise's table. She 
 would thus be one of the party when Maxime came. 
 
 " But grandmamma will not like it," she whispered, 
 foreseeing the look of surprised displeasure on the 
 countenance of Madame de Monluc on seeing the 
 arrangement. 
 
 " We have only candles enough for my ladj^'s own 
 table; I do not know where my head was to-day," ex- 
 plained Lhomond. "And, dear mademoiselle, if this M. 
 Laugier begins to speak of that — of his landlady, 3'ou 
 will contrive to stop him ? You will drop your silk 
 or your book ? Do what you will, only prevent my 
 lady from hearing that name — you understand me ? " 
 
 " But why should it be so important that my 
 grandmother should not hear it ? " 
 
 " Alas ! mademoiselle, you are too young to know 
 what misfortunes we have endured in these years. 
 The world is upside down, I think : one finds oneself 
 forced to meet the assassin of one's nearest and 
 dearest; one must give one's hand to people soiled 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 133 
 
 with crimes, to say nothing of those who are mixed 
 up with old stories that should be forgotten. One 
 thinks they are buried so deep that they can never be 
 lieard of again, and for a while they lie still ; but 
 there is no grave deep enough to keep them safely, — 
 they rise and return when you least expect them. 
 There is no such thing as leaving the past behind ; it 
 is always running after one, and sooner or later it 
 seizes one." 
 
 The old man spoke with agitation, and Solange 
 looked at him surprised. 
 
 *' Well, Lhomond, I will do my best, but it makes 
 me curious to know what this mystery is in which 
 Madame Locroy is mixed up, and which must not be 
 named before my grandmother." 
 
 " A mystery, mademoiselle ! who spoke of any ? " 
 exclaimed Lhomond, in a tone which might mean 
 either reproof or alarm. " Cannot there be trouble in 
 a family without a mystery ? All I desire is to save 
 my lady from being reminded of things which were a 
 great sorrow to her. This Veuve Locroy, if you must 
 know, was mixed up with matters concerning the 
 imprisonment of your family; — is that enough ? " 
 
 " Was she ! That explains — I suppose. Only I can- 
 not imardne grandmamma feelinir even that so much." 
 
134 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " You do not know Madame la Marquise, my dear 
 child. Pray believe what I say, and be careful — very 
 careful." 
 
 " I am sure at least that this woman hates us," said 
 Solange, recalling the look and tone of Veuve Locroy 
 when she alluded to her kuowletlge of the Monlucs ; 
 " perhaps she denounced my aunt and the rest of our 
 family." 
 
 The tinkle of Madame de Monluc's bell summoned 
 Lhomond. He hastened to carry a light and escort 
 her to the salon, muttering : " He who would keep 
 his counsel should go and make himself a Trappist." 
 
 Probably he had explained his arrangement with 
 regard to Solange before the marquise came back with 
 him, for she made no comment on it. Had she ever 
 troubled herself to reflect on the characters of her 
 inferiors, she would have described her major-domo as 
 a faithful, simple-hearted creature, with no ideas be- 
 yond serving the family to which he belonged. 
 Perhaps she was riglit, perhaps wrong. It was at all 
 events certain that he had his own ways of serving 
 them, some of which would have greatly astonished 
 his mistress could she have known them. 
 
 Had Maxime Laugier seen Solange in her usual 
 place, isolated and apart from Madame de Monluc, 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. I35 
 
 his perplexed irapressicu that this charming girl 
 counted for little in her grandmother's eyes would 
 have been confirmed ; but as it was, when Lhomond 
 ushered him in he saw what appeared to him a de- 
 lightful picture of domestic life. The long room was 
 only lighted by the wax candle on the marquise's 
 table, and by the wood fire burning in a great hearth, 
 whose immense chimney-piece was supported on 
 either side by three slender stone columns, whose 
 delicate capitals united into a kind of garland. The 
 under-mantel, which bore traces of colour, was carved 
 in high relief into a procession of vintagers and fauns 
 and nymphs. The flickering light danced on the 
 chestnut wood of the wainscot, and the hangings of 
 Spanish leather, with its figures embossed upon it, and 
 enabled Maxirae to see that the ceiling was painted — 
 an antiquary would have known that it dated from 
 the time of Louis XI. The marquise sat near the 
 hearth in an arm-chair covered with Goblines tapestry, 
 occupied as usual with lier parfilage ; Solange bent 
 over her great frame at the other side of the table, on 
 which lay a few books, a fan, and a snuff'-box. Later, 
 Maxime discovered that the books were the Confes- 
 sions of St. Augustine, and a volume of Madame de 
 Sevignes Letters, both much studied by the mar- 
 
136 THE SECRET OF 
 
 quise, who was distantly connected with the Do 
 Chantals. 
 
 The flame leapt up on the hearth as Maxime 
 entered, and shone for a moment on the tarnished 
 gilding of the leather hangings, and the lovely line of 
 Solange's bent head, and Madame de Monluc's i)ale, 
 austere features. Both ladies looked up with a smile 
 of welcome as to an old friend. 
 
 " How good of you to allow me to come here ! " 
 Maxime exclaimed, with a warmth of sincerity which 
 gave the marquise a distinct sensation of pleasure. 
 
 It was so rarely that she could be agreeably 
 moved, so seldom she could rouse herself enough to be 
 curious about anything, that she was almost grateful 
 to Maxime for enabling her to experience a stir of 
 feeling. No one ever said a falser thing than that he 
 who has leisure for ennui is not unhappy. Madame 
 de Monluc was profoundly cnnuyee, and being the 
 woman she was, it rendered her life a greater burden 
 than any sorrow or anxiety could have done. For 
 years she had felt her mental life dying by half 
 inches ; she perceived with terror that even books, 
 her last resource, were palling on her. To encounter 
 Maxime Laugicr brought a breath of new life to 
 her. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. I37 
 
 On Maxime's part this admission into the Hotel 
 Monluc was as if Paradise had opened to hira. He 
 had felt the want of cultivated female society much 
 since he had been in Paris, returning, as he mostly 
 did, straight from his desk in the cabinet of M. de 
 Fontanes to his solitary lodgings, or spending an 
 hour with some friend as isolated as himself. Even 
 now that he had left the cheerless rooms which he 
 had first occupied for the comparative luxury of 
 Veuve Locroy's, he was not essentially better off". 
 Although personal liking for Maxime made her 
 tolerate his views, she was a bitter republican, ab- 
 horring priests and aristocrats. Like many bour- 
 geoisie of that day, she was well read, but with a 
 pedantry that was not attractive. Maxime did not 
 want to talk politics or discuss the Greeks and 
 Romans when he was at home, but to converse. And 
 conversation, in the true, charming sense, was an art 
 unknown in bourgeoisie circles. The sight of these 
 two highly-born elegant women, the very sound of 
 their voices, was enchanting to him ; to talk to 
 Madame de Monluc, with Solange as a listener, stimu- 
 lated all his powers. Solange knew that she was not 
 expected to take any part in the conversation, and 
 Maxime did not directly address her, but she felt 
 
138 THE SECRET OF 
 
 that all he said was meant for her. It seemed to her 
 that she only now discovered how delightful conver- 
 sation could be, thoiigli she had constantly heard the 
 abhe and her grandmother talk, and both belonged to 
 a century which, if it had a scanty allowance of either 
 common sense or moral sense, had more wit than all 
 the other seventeen put together. But what was that 
 to hearing Maxime, led on by the gracious interest 
 shown by the marquise, tell of his early life, his hopes 
 and plans, his prospects, and the career just opening 
 before him ! She even saw her grandmother in a 
 new and favourable light, for Madame de Monluc was 
 attached to her own province, and was much pleased 
 by thus meeting one who belonged to it, and whose 
 family was not unknown to her. Solange could be- 
 lieve now that it was not merely Lhomond's pride in 
 all who bore the name of Monluc which made him 
 boast of the admiration which his lady used to excite ; 
 it was impossible to doubt that she could be charming 
 if she chose, none the less for the coldness which lay 
 so near the surface. And on this night she did so 
 choose. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Then I gather that your father emigrated," said 
 the marquise. " I was not aware of that. He left 
 France somewhat late, apparently." 
 
 Although not quick to see the effect of her words, 
 she perceived that Maxime's olive cheek had flushed 
 red, and that his black eyebrows contracted in a 
 frown, and slie added, " Pardon me if my question is 
 indiscreet." 
 
 " Assuredly not, Madame la Marquise, but you are 
 aware how those who emigrated late were received at 
 Coblentz, and with what scorn and contempt those 
 were viewed who, like my father, risked everything 
 by refusing to escape as long as there was a hope of 
 saving their king and country. My father stayed to 
 suj)port the virtuous Malesherbes, returned from 
 Lausanne to defend his Majesty the King, and only 
 fled when a warrant was actually drawn up to arrest 
 him. He reached Coblentz through a thousand dan- 
 gers, to find himself disdained, slandered, ridiculed; 
 and when he challenged one of his calumniators, it 
 
I40 THE SECRET OF 
 
 WHS considered au absurd condescension on this 
 man's ])art to fight him, because my father was not 
 noble." 
 
 " Yes, that was a serious difficulty," said the mar- 
 quise, with evident surprise that such a barrier should 
 have been overlooked. " Your mother joined him ? " 
 
 " Leaving her children in France, and returning as 
 a widow. I must tell 3'ou, madame, that the death of 
 his adversary was a lasting regret to my father. My 
 mother never willingl}^ spoke of it — I heard some few 
 particulars from a friend of his — but she alluded to it 
 the evening before we parted when I came to Paris.'' 
 
 His voice unconsciously softened. Solange pictured 
 to herself the long, tender, confidential talk between 
 mother and son, perhaps far into the night. 
 
 " What could there be to regret if the aft'air was 
 honourably conducted, as of course was the case ? " 
 said the marquise. " Your mother no doubt parted 
 from you unwillingly, monsieur, but she must be 
 reconciled to the sacrifice ; you have already made 
 your mark, and in M. de Fontanes 3'ou have a power- 
 ful protector." 
 
 Maxime was silent, too much like his genci ation to 
 fancy the notion of succeeding by the influence of a 
 patron, while the marquise thought it the natural 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 141 
 
 position of the great to protect art and autUurs, and 
 for the author and artist to be protected. 
 
 " There is a subject I should recommend to you/" 
 she continued, touching a volume on her table ; 
 " write on Madame de Sevigne in Brittany — a noble 
 and a loyal province — describe her studies, her friends, 
 her daily life and society. My grandmother was one 
 of her correspondents, and I have letters— a priceless 
 treasure — from Madame de Sevigne, which I should be 
 willing to let you see." She spoke with the conscious- 
 ness of offering a great privilege, and was surprised 
 by Maxime's hesitation. Why he should not be pre- 
 pared to undertake such a piece of work at a 
 moment's notice would never have occurred to her ; 
 she had the vaguest ideas as to authorship, though 
 she had formerly gathered a great many literary men 
 round her. " You are afraid of the responsibility 
 of having these letters ? Reassure yourself, monsieur; 
 it is here that you would consult them." 
 
 " Here ! you are too good, madame," said Maxime, 
 suddenly feeling strongly attracted by the sug- 
 gestion. 
 
 " Of course the letters could not leave my keeping, 
 and besides, there are traditions and anecdotes which I 
 have heard, and have written down, which you would 
 
142 THE SECRET OF 
 
 find valuable ; an<l I could introduce you to the pres- 
 ent owners of Les Rocliers, where you would see 
 Mignard's portrait of IMadame de Sevigne, and those 
 of her daugliter and the Abbd ' Bien bon,' as well as 
 the Abbd Tetu's, who was so universally popular in 
 the best society. By the way, monsieur, Ijeware 
 when you treat that subject, not to confound the 
 gallant adoration of that epoch with the serious attach- 
 ments of the previous century. The worship of women 
 was then a point of good manners." 
 
 Maxime answered as she expected, and added, " I 
 may well hesitate to take charge of other people's 
 papers, since I nearly lost that essay of which you 
 have spoken so kindly." 
 
 " That of course might have been rewritten," said 
 the marquise, composedly ; " but to lose a letter of 
 Madame de Sevigne's would be an irreparable mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 Maxime smiled involuntarily, and his eyes met 
 those of Solange, smiling too. Thougli not a word 
 had passed between them, intimacy was advancing 
 with giant strides. Having thus settled the com- 
 parative unimportance of his essay, the niar(]ui.so 
 awoke to a little interest in what he had said, and 
 inquired what danger had threatened his manuscript. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 143 
 
 "For my sins I had taken charge of a friend's 
 monkey, or rather a demon in the shape of one. It 
 is necessary to live with a monkey to appreciate his 
 powers of mischief or his length of limb. The 
 mildest animal, with an air of pathetic appeal ... I 
 believed him grieving for his master, and did my 
 utmost to console him. In point of fact, he was 
 meditating what mischief he could do. Fastened up, 
 he put out his arm, and destroyed all he could reach 
 in front of him; then he put out his hind-leg, and 
 knocked down everything behind him." 
 
 Solange recalled the scene, and her face told him 
 she did, as he went on speaking. She laughed, but 
 trembled lest her grandmother should make dangerous 
 inquiries ; but she only said a few words of con- 
 ventional congratulation that the papers had been 
 restored, without asking by whom. There were other 
 things which she wanted to talk of — public affairs, in 
 which she took a certain cold interest : M. de Fontanes, 
 and the prospects of literature and education. She 
 was weary of such topics, but they gained freshness as 
 seen through the young, enthusiastic eyes of Maxime. 
 " We shall see the Abbe Gautier presently," she said. 
 " You know him, I think.'' 
 
 " Certainly, Madame la Marquise ; who does not 
 
144 THE SECRET OF 
 
 know the Abbe Gautier, at least by name ? I have 
 also seen him with M. de Foutanes." 
 
 As Maxime spoke, the abbe came in, and started 
 with surprise at the sight of him, but would not ask 
 how he came there ; indeed, he was put out by the 
 explanation offered by Madame de Monluc, as it 
 deprived him of the pleasure of gradual discovery. 
 He noticed directly that Solange was not in her 
 usual place, and moved his head up and down 
 significantly. 
 
 " Nothing makes people so imperceptive as egotism," 
 he said to himself, glancing at the marquise, and ob- 
 serving also that the eyes of Solange were full of 
 light, and her colour a deeper rose than usual. But 
 he had given his warning, and now felt free to watch 
 the drama which he foresaw. Turning to Maxime he 
 said, smiling : " I have been hearing of you to-day, 
 monsieur. Savenaay was full of your essay, while 
 Arnault, a Bonapartist grafted on a Liberal, of course 
 tore it to pieces. What could you desire more ? But 
 I do not congratulate you ; on the contrary, for you 
 have lost the immense advantage of never having 
 done anything. What may we not expect from a 
 young man of promise who as yet has done nothing ! 
 This advantage can no longer be yours," 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 145 
 
 "I have been advising M. Laugier to write on a 
 purely literary subject," said Madame de Monluc,— " on 
 Madame de Sdvigne and her friends. As you know, 
 I have letters from Les Rochers." 
 
 " You think of undertaking this work, mon- 
 sieur ?" 
 
 " It tempts me greatly, M. I'Abbd" 
 
 " Of course the letters woulJ not leave my hands," 
 said the marquise, afraid that her care for the precious 
 deposit might seem relaxed. 
 
 " Ah, just so," answered the abb^, with a smile. " I 
 understand perfectly. It would be a labour of love. 
 Naturally M. Laugier would not decline such an 
 opportunity. You are wise, my young friend, in 
 choosing a light subject ; if you desire success, do not 
 waste your time on a solid book ; give us a pleasant 
 sketch of some former time, insinuating how much 
 better governed a country is by an emperor than by a 
 mere monarch, or an unstable democracy; or else 
 write a stinging satire or a calumny which will be 
 blazoned abroad both by those who protest and those 
 who laugh ; only beware of a masterpiece ; it affronts 
 every one incapable of having produced it." 
 
 " I do not know how it may be now," said Madame 
 de Monluc, " but formerly, a man who could make a 
 
146 THE SECRET OF 
 
 witty epigram had a better chance of success than 
 interest, or even rank, could have given him." 
 
 " We have changed all that, marquise, as we have 
 everything else. People now only value what brings 
 material profit. See the change in education ; hence- 
 forward there will be no literary people, only 
 grammarians. Yes, M. Laugier, it will be so. For- 
 merly, in our colleges taste was sedulously cultivated ; 
 boys learnt to appreciate what they studied from 
 well-bred men, still young, and full of disinterested- 
 ness, with the prospect of a future of studious leisure, 
 or some dignified oflSce in the priesthood. Now, pro- 
 fessors are dull with hard work, isolated, because they 
 belong to no corporate body, with no future, no educa- 
 tion beyond their functions. We left our college with 
 the desire to learn ; now a pupil's chief wish is to for- 
 get — one speedily attained. The result of this modern 
 education will be an ignorance ignorant of itself." 
 
 Maxime smiled. He belonged to this new world 
 whose prospects seemed so gloomy to tlic abbe ; a 
 thousand avenues had opened to it which were closed 
 to earlier generations ; at that moment France seemed 
 made for the young. 
 
 " It is not only education which is revolutionised,'' 
 said the marquise, " but society. For example, I 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 147 
 
 wrote this morning to desire a person whose cock 
 awakes me at dawn to have its neck wrung — here is 
 her reply : — ' Madame, I have the honour to inform 
 you that I shall not have my cock's neck wrung.' 
 The person who wrote thus, and has not even the 
 courtesy to use my title, is my apothecaiy's daughter, 
 wife of some minister of Bonaparte's." 
 
 " Monstrous ! " said the abbe, with malicious sym- 
 pathy. " But if it is any consolation to you, marquise, 
 things cannot go on thus. No doubt public affairs 
 have a good side. . . well concealed. We all see 
 storm approaching, and are not in the least duped by 
 the comedy which Government is plaj-ing, but we are 
 so much interested in seeing such good acting that we 
 pretend to be taken in." 
 
 " Do you seriously think that Bonaparte's fortune 
 is waning, abbe, or are you only talking like an article 
 in the Journal des Debats? " 
 
 " I leave that for the future to tell you, but I am 
 often reminded of the proverb, ' I hear the noise of 
 the millstones, but I see no meal' Look at the con- 
 dition of the country, the taxes, from land to cards ; 
 every page of a ledger is taxed, every door and win- 
 dow. The forests, so carefully preserved at first, now 
 felled to build the flotilla which is to invade England; 
 
148 THE SECRET OF 
 
 all Europe reckoning up her account against us — our 
 whole country a camp — " 
 
 " But, on the other hand, see what we have gained," 
 protested Maxime ; " a matchless code of laws, all 
 careers opened, religion restored — " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I was expecting that. In 1803 Bona- 
 parte saw tliat he should need the clergy. He set 
 himself to o-ain them, and he did gain them. He 
 knew what he secured by getting every devout 
 person in France to exclaim — ' He has restored 
 religion.' But mark wdiat I sa}^ ; your emperor has 
 taken a road which will oblige him to neglect what is 
 useful ibr what is extraordinary. It is true that he 
 found the crown of France on the ground, and raised 
 it on the point of his sword, but at the price of never 
 sheathing his weapon. All avenues open. . . Yes, he 
 wants, as he says, ' a fresh people ' to govern, and, 
 therefore, he opens all doors to them. But do not you 
 think, my young friend, that any the mure you can 
 say what you think, or write what you choose. 
 Fouche has as many lettres de cachet as ever Richelieu 
 had, and the Temple and Cayenne are just as convenient 
 as tlie Bastille. Keep to your Sevigne and you are safe." 
 
 " Perhaps M. Laugier has another work already 
 begun ? " said the marquise, not quite pleased. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 149 
 
 " Planned, not begun, madarae." 
 
 " And this work ? " 
 
 " It is not sufficiently thought out to be worthy 
 of occupying your time, Madame la Marquise," said 
 Maxime, with the shy reluctance of a young author 
 to bring work which still has something of the 
 sacredness of a first love to him before critical eyes. 
 
 " Do not let my suggestion interfere with more 
 serious undertakings, monsieur." 
 
 Maxime was so visibly disturbed by this hint 
 that the marquise smiled with her former gracious- 
 ness, and said, " To-morrow evening, then. We will 
 discuss the matter again." 
 
 He felt himself dismissed, but invited to return. 
 As he bowed his farewell to Solange, she said, with 
 shy grace, as she curtsied to him, " My uncle, the 
 commander, bade me say how much pleasure it 
 would give him if you would pay him a little visit." 
 
 "What can my uncle know of M. Laugier?" de- 
 manded the marquise. 
 
 " We are opposite neighbours," said Maxime, smil- 
 ing. " I have often seen M. le Commandeur at his 
 window." 
 
 " And Lhomond described to him how you pro- 
 tected us in the Place St. Lazare, monsieur ! " 
 
I50 THE SECRET OF 
 
 "My uncle is very old ; he lives in the past, hut 
 since he desires to see you — " began Madame de 
 Monluc. 
 
 " I shall have great pleasure in profiting by his 
 invitation," said IMaxime, delighted with this new 
 link between him and the Hotel Monluc, " only 
 my time, except on Sunday, belongs until evening 
 to M. de Fontanes." 
 
 "On Sunday, then, monsieur," said Madame de 
 Monluc. " Good-night. How ! Abbe ! you are 
 going too ? " 
 
 " Alas ! I must ; I only came to assure myself 
 that you were well," said the abbe, who had a 
 great deal that he wanted to ask Maxime. " Adieu, 
 Madame la Marquise ; adieu, my sweet child ; you 
 grow more like a rose every time I come." 
 
 " Come very often, then, M. I'Abbe," laughed 
 Solange. She had spent the happiest evening of 
 her life, though no one had addressed her directly 
 until now, and she had only once spoken to 
 Maxime. But she felt as if he had talked to lier 
 all the time. The maniuise, ti>o, had ])assed an 
 hour which had been touched with the breath of 
 old times that were better than these, and she had 
 absolutely something to look forward to. " There 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 151 
 
 is something distinguished about that young Lau- 
 erier,'' she said. The remark was intended for her- 
 self ; she would have been much surprised had 
 Solange made any reply. 
 
 The abb^ and Maxime went out together ; Lhomond 
 barred the side door after them ; the abbe turned 
 in the quadrangle and looked back at the house, 
 with the cold moonlight shining on the long rows 
 of windows. " Could anything speak more elo- 
 quently of the change which has come upon us ? " 
 he said. " That hotel was populous, gay, a centre 
 of brilliant life. To-night there are exactly five 
 people in it, and the only happy one is the com- 
 mander, who is in second childhood." 
 
 They had left the quadrangle while he spoke, 
 and were in a dim quarter of deserted hotels. Be- 
 fore one only were there lights, a crowd at the 
 door, carriages rolling up. The abbe waved his 
 hand towards it. " A parvenu . . . needless to 
 say it. A millionaire contractor, who has made a 
 vast fortune, thanks to our wars. He is a senator, 
 and will soon be a baron. We were speaking of 
 the Commander de Monluc. Yes, he is the only 
 happy person in that house. That simple-looking 
 old steward has a burden on his mind — how the 
 
152 THE SECRET OF 
 
 family are to live on the smallest possible sum 
 with dignity ; as for the woman servant, you have 
 only to look at her to see that her temper keeps 
 her in purgatory, and, no doubt, all who have to 
 do with her. That charming child is a bird in a 
 cage, to whom the bars must constantly become 
 more apparent, and in the marquise — " He paused. 
 
 "In the marquise ?" Maxime repeated. 
 
 " If I were to draw her portrait a la Bruyere, 
 I should say : intolerance has always been the 
 dominant quality of Arthdnice. She never was 
 capable of enlarging her character by sympathy ; 
 she is tormented by a vain desire to live heartily, 
 to feel with energy; she only feels that slie can- 
 not feel." 
 
 " You arc severe, M. I'Abbe." 
 
 " Possibly. We do not bring up and house the 
 faults of others as we do our own ; naturally, 
 therefore, we are loss tender to them than to ours. 
 You are attracted l)y lior ? That docs not sui-prise 
 me. Madame de Monluc is a very agreeable 
 woman. And you will undertake the monograph 
 which she suggests. You will see a great deal of 
 her . . . and her grand-daugliter, until she goes to 
 her convent." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. I53 
 
 Maxime was so much taken by surprise that he 
 did not notice they were walking quite away 
 from Maison Locroy, though he had Ijeen anxious 
 to get back to his boolis. 
 
 " Yes, that is her destination. A pity, is it not ? " 
 
 " If she has a vocation — " 
 
 " That is not the question ; slie does not know of 
 the project." 
 
 " She does not know of the project ? Then 
 nothing is really fixed ? " 
 
 "My friend, what the marquise has decided on 
 is as fixed as if all the three Fates had ordained it. 
 Perhaps you will discover the motive of this sacri- 
 fice, for a sacrifice it is, an abominable one. How ! 
 bury a child like that, made to be adored, with a 
 laugh in her eyes and on her lips, in a nunnery, 
 and she the only representative of her ancient 
 house ! There is a secret underneath this ... ah, 
 if only I had your opportunities of finding it 
 out ! How I envy you ! Use them well, I be- 
 seech of you," urged the abbe, laying his white, beau- 
 tifully-shaped hand on the arm of Maxime, who 
 looked at him in wonder, which turned to ofience. 
 
 " I do not know, M. I'Abbe, what right I have 
 given you to suppose that I could use such in- 
 
154 THE SECRET OF 
 
 timacj'' as Madame de Monluc permits me, to sur- 
 prise anything which she may choose to conceal," 
 he said haughtily, 
 
 " Exactly ; you do not know, or care, but I do," 
 said the abbe with impatience. " Yes, you may, 
 perhaps, divine what underlies Madame de Monluc's 
 conduct, though I, never before baffled, have to own 
 myself entirely perplexed. I only know that there 
 must be some secret in that woman's life. . . Oh, 
 not of the ordinary kind ; all that is ancient history 
 with her ; and, besides, if she has loved, it was 
 always with the head rather than the heart ; pride 
 has been her ruling passion, but a secret there is 
 — I think so — . Yes, I am sure of it, otherwise one 
 would not feel that between her and oneself there 
 is an invisible wall, behind which she is fruardinof 
 herself. One sees her, talks to her, but never 
 touches her. Families, as well as nations, have 
 their red spectre. It is of vital importance to me 
 to learn what she has buried in silence all those 
 years." 
 
 Ho spoke with feverish anxiety. Tliere was a short 
 pause, Maxime speculating what weighty interest 
 depended on this di.scovery, and then the abbe 
 continued dejectedly: "Yet I dread to solve tiiis 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 155 
 
 mj^stery, for what equivalent interest shall I then 
 have ? You look at me, monsieur? Ah, you cannot 
 conceive the effect that it produces on me to feel there 
 is somethino^ to find out, somethincr which all the 
 powers of another are euiploj'ed in concealing from 
 me. It sets me on fire ; it stimulates all my faculties, 
 it at once torments and delights me ; I am possessed 
 by the desire to seize and unveil this secret. You 
 may have heard of men accustomed to seek for opals 
 in the mountains of Russia, with wh')m the search 
 becomes a passion, who are indiflferent to hardship, 
 danger, fatigue, if they believe that the jewel lies 
 anywhere within reach, whose life would be worth- 
 less if this fever of hope and fear were to cease. 
 That is how I feel when on the track of a mystery. 
 I need not tell you," he added in quite another tone, 
 " that my discoveries are for myself alone. You 
 would insult me if you needed any assurance of 
 this," 
 
 Maxime could only bow. He remembered hints, 
 which had not at all interested liim at the time, of 
 the extraordinary knowledge possessed by the abb^ 
 of everyone's affairs, but this speech had entirely 
 disconcerted him. Abbe Gautier spoke with a 
 warmth and enthusiasm which showed him deeply in 
 
156 THE SECRET OF 
 
 earnest. When next he spoke it was on an entirely 
 different subject. 
 
 " I saw you on Sunday cominr^ out of St. Roche," 
 he said, " and two young men with you. It is seldom 
 that one sees such a sight, but your essay made it 
 evident that you are a believer. The tone you took 
 was bold ; do you know that it risked its success ? " 
 
 " I could not write otherwise than as I think and 
 believe." 
 
 " There is nothing easier, but you are still young, 
 and have not yet learned that he who will make 
 progress along the road of life must put on thick 
 boots, and be indifferent to mud. Who were your 
 two companions ? " 
 
 " V^rillac, a young barrister ; Briseuz, who is study- 
 ing medicine." 
 
 " Verillac, an Ave3a'on name . . . Briseuz, a Breton 
 one ; naturally they have the Catholic instinct ; one 
 never loses the colour of one's soil. You have found 
 friends like yourself. But let me tell you, if you 
 would write, you must know all kinds of men ; did 
 you ever hear of a hermit who composed a truly 
 great work ? '' 
 
 "You have warned me against such an attempt, 
 M. I'Abbe." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. i57 
 
 "To satisfy my own conscience. I was not so 
 foolish as to suppose you would attend to me. The 
 lessons of experience — sold at famine price — are like 
 those tickets marked ' not transferable,' which can 
 only be used by the purchaser himself. As for 
 authorship, no matter what your line is, whether 
 philosophy or romance — you will write a romance, of 
 course; everyone is doing so; the Due de Raguse 
 has just brought one out, and I have no doubt Talley- 
 rand and Fouche are at work together on one." 
 
 Maxime could not help laughing. " No, M. I'Abbe, 
 I have no such pretension." 
 
 " You would rather live one ? At your age so 
 would I. And your heroine is ready found. But 
 seriously, what are you contemplating ? " 
 
 There was such real interest in the question that 
 Maxime was surprised and gratified. He could not 
 but know that men of fashion and men of letters 
 alike courted the Abbe Gautier; that from his literary 
 judgment there was held to be no appeal. 
 
 " You will have already told yourself. Monsieur 
 Laugier, that one success does not ensure another, 
 nay, may fatally interfere with it, and that you must 
 climb deliberately, if you would climb high and 
 securely. Young authors should not break into the 
 
158 THE SECRET OF 
 
 j^arden of literature tu handle the goMeii fruit uutil 
 they can gather it without spoiling it. Hasten 
 slowly, as Boileau said, and an older master said 
 before him. Well, your subject, if it be not an im- 
 pertinence to press you ? " 
 
 " I am honoured by your asking. I have a subject 
 in my mind," said Maxime, with a blush ; " it seems 
 presumption . . . but for months it has jiossessed 
 me ; I wish to study, and eventually to write on the 
 Natural Laws of Social Oi'der. History is not a 
 science, but an art ; it has its philosophy, but it is not 
 to be made into one. Like the city of olJ, we have 
 passed through the stages of monarchy and aris- 
 tocracy, now everything, everyone is advancing the 
 cause of democracy, those who opi)ose it, perhaps 
 even more than its su})porters. To that tide no man 
 can say. Thus far and no farther. We must then 
 educate and direct this movement. Our main danger, 
 evidently, is not that those who love freedom and 
 faith should be opposed to the party of liberty and 
 morality ; our main difficulty is that religion is en- 
 tangled in the institutions which democrac}' assails." 
 
 " Strange to find a young man, and a layman, 
 arguing thus," said the abbe, thoughtfully. Maxime 
 interested him intellectually, though he was iudifler- 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. IS9 
 
 ent to the faith so dear to the younpjer man. " I had 
 already gathered that your effort and watchword 
 would be Christianity for the people, unless chaos is 
 to come again." 
 
 "Assuredly, M.r Abbe." 
 
 " Beware in studying the past of insisting too 
 strongly on the features which harmonise with your 
 own convictions. You have then passed through 
 these times with faith unshaken ? " 
 
 " I have known a horrible agony of doubt," 
 answered Maxime, turning suddenly to his com- 
 panion, with the look of one recalling a time so full of 
 darkness and anguish that he shuddered to remember ; 
 " doubt such as causes one to drench one's pillow with 
 tears of despair. I w^as saved by a friend — a priest — 
 and I vowed that as far as I could, I would help 
 others as be helped me." 
 
 " What is the old story about a magician calling 
 up a spectre, which he was then impotent to lay ? " 
 said the abbe. " Doubt is such a magician. If you 
 have vanquished that spectre you are strong in- 
 deed. See, we are at the door of the house where I 
 live. You will always be welcome here, M. Laugier, 
 whenever you choose to come.'' 
 
^6o THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 There were two distinct men in the Grand Master of 
 the University. One of these chafed inwardly at his 
 position, perhaps at his own concessions to that posi- 
 tion, and poured his bitterness and indif^nation into 
 verses, kept a secret even from his intimate friends ; 
 the other caressed and admired Bonaparte, accepting 
 him as his master, and bowing submissively to the 
 harsh reprimands which he constantly received from 
 him. It is true that they were usually atoned for by 
 a private apology, made with the winning smile which 
 could captivate Bonaparte's sworn enemies, and that De 
 Fontanes know they were intended as a sop to the 
 Jacobins, to whom, as Royalist and Catholic, he was 
 doubly obnoxious. 
 
 A highly cultivated man, in other times he would 
 have made his mark as a writer, and he keenly re- 
 gretted that sterility of literature which became more 
 and more apparent during the last years of the 
 Empire. No one knew better than he what a pre- 
 carious tenure was that of literary men under Bona- 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. i6l 
 
 parte, or resented more seeing literature reduced to 
 a mere recreation. It was his constant effort to place 
 men of his own wa}^ of thinking in offices connected 
 with the University, and, though opposed by both the 
 Emperor and the RepubUcan party, he had not been 
 unsuccessful. If Laromiguiere triumphantly taught 
 deism, Emery and Frayssinous were there to teach 
 Christianity by life as well as doctrine. It was easy 
 to find men of this stamp and date, confessors of the 
 faith, venerated even by their opponents; the difficulty 
 was to discover young ones to be their successors. 
 Enthusiasm burned low, and faith seemed extinguished. 
 A general lassitude prevailed, translating itself into 
 the belief that the greatest of man's misfortunes was 
 ever to have been born ; the unhappy complaisance 
 which France had shown towards Louis Quatorze was 
 now displayed towards Bonaparte. France preferred 
 her rulers to lier God ; public conscience was so ver- 
 satile and so accommodating that it approved of what- 
 ever seemed good to those in power. To find anyone, 
 young, independent, and original like Maxime Laugier, 
 might well appear exceeding good fortune to M, de 
 Fontanes. His chief had early noted the aptness 
 with which he could furnish a name or date, and the 
 clearness with which his reports and abstracts 
 
i62 THE SECRET OF 
 
 were drawn up, but be was quite taken by s\irprise 
 on discovering the evidences of close study and power 
 of logical reasoning which appeared in bis essay. The 
 Emperor, always strongly interested in education, had 
 read and praised it. "If that young man could 
 marshal and use men as he does facts, he would be 
 my best general," Bonaparte had said. " Bring him 
 with you one day, and let me see what he is made of." 
 It was well for Maxime tbat natural good sense and 
 modesty saved him from being over-elated. He 
 thought too much of what he wanted to achieve, 
 either to over-value what he bad done, or the praise 
 it brought him. The best part of his success was the 
 letter he received from his mother after she learned 
 it. Sbe bad had full measure of trouble since the 
 Revolution swept over France ; she had gone out 
 full and returned empty ; a widow, ruined, with sons 
 to educate and establish ; she was old before her time, 
 and all the joy possible for her was through her 
 children. She was ambitious for them, bent on their 
 emulating their father. Maxime knew her deep and 
 silent disappointment as she was forced to perceive 
 that her tbree eldest, though sons of a distinguished 
 man, would never be distinguished, and had inwardly 
 vowed to make up to her for it. For this he had 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 163 
 
 studied ; for this stolen hours from sleep, and refused 
 himself the company and amusements natural to his 
 age. He was doubly rewarded by success and an 
 ever growing delight in his work, an opening out 
 of new fields of thought, a conscious strengthening 
 of his mental powers. He felt as if he had energy 
 and joy enough for any amount of work. His duties 
 had been greatly lightened by his chief, who was only 
 waiting for a desirable post to be vacant to offer it 
 to him, aware that he might find another secretary 
 equally valuable, but that a young author of promise 
 was becoming increasingly diflicult to discover. 
 " Study, then, monsieur, and write," M. de Fontanes 
 said, with rather a sad smile, when he had learned 
 what line Maxinie intended to take. " I would not 
 suggest any special subject, but, whatever you do, 
 recollect that where one man commands, one only 
 must speak. Beware of enthusiasm. This is for your 
 ears alone ; reflect upon it. With prudence your pen 
 may do much. Write for the Debats; I will introduce 
 you to De Felctz." Thus Maxime found himself 
 launched, and there was not a happier man of his age 
 in Paris. 
 
 Before long, however, he found the warning given 
 him more necessary than he had understood. But for 
 
I64 THE SECRET OF 
 
 the Abbe Gautier's advice he would have had more 
 than one sharp official reminder that every line in the 
 Journal des Dehats was jealously observed by the 
 censor, and that an incautious expression would not 
 only be struck out, but might cause the paper to be 
 suspended. 
 
 " My poor Maxime," he would say, with his rallying 
 smile, " you desire that this article, comparing English 
 political institutions with French ones, should be 
 printed ? Good ; then put in a neat paragraph, com- 
 paring the Emperor to Charlemagne. You will not ? 
 Let me offer you the waste paper basket." ]\laxime 
 chafed in vain ; the abb^ proceeded : " Listen to what 
 took place at the Literary Soirees to which, when 
 First Consul, Bonaparte invited some of us. The first 
 time all went well. The second, some one spoke of 
 the advantages in liberty of the press. Bonaparte's 
 face turned to stone. I have passed through many 
 bad moments, but never, I assure you, i\.\\y to equal 
 those during the dead silence which fell on every one. 
 The third evening he was sombre, absent . . . we all 
 yawned in secret, and were enchanted that he decided 
 to have no more literary evenings, as nothing was to 
 be gained from men of letters. However, read what 
 you have written ; I can, at least, criticise it." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 165 
 
 The abbe was a prince of critics, with a sure and 
 dehcate tact, and the power of entering into a subject 
 without being moved by it. " J'ai voulu tout cotoyer," 
 he would say. He liked Maxime independently of 
 literature, watching him as an interesting study, and 
 not at all affected by knowing that his gratitude was 
 mingled with a certain repulsion. On the contrary, 
 the abbe amused himself by playing on this latent 
 aversion. 
 
 " You will never be a Parisian, my poor boy," he 
 would say ; " you may have the merits of one, but 
 you will not be able to acquire his faults. It is a 
 pity ; it will hamper your career. That bad habit of 
 speaking of serious things seriously and of tender 
 ones tenderly ruins you for a Parisian. And, then, 
 your respect for women, my poor paladin ! How 
 much you have yet to learn ! " 
 
 This was a chapter in which the gallant abbe had 
 great experience, while Maxime had none, except 
 through the mother whom he honoured with all 
 his heart, and the two ladies of the Hotel Monluc, 
 one of whom he admired and one of whom he loved, 
 though he had never said as much even to himself. 
 He saw a great deal of them, and it seemed quite 
 natural to Madame de Monluc that it should be so. 
 
l66 THE SECRET OF 
 
 The Abb(^ Gautier sometimes said she was haunted 
 by the ghost of Arthdnice ; he might have added 
 that she very fairly reproduced in herself Plato's 
 ideal of a State, beincf accustomed to look on her- 
 self as the sole aim of the activities of all around 
 her, and regarded it as a matter of course that 
 every one and every thing should be sacrificed to 
 her needs ; she certainly would have held that those 
 who were of no use to her family had no reason for 
 existence, and, above all. she would have endorsed the 
 view that the welfare or happiness of the individual 
 was of no moment whatever, so long as the State, 
 otherwise the Monluc family, prospered. Bonaparte 
 himself could not have had a more entire contempt 
 for men infected with a desire for the public good. 
 
 Having suggested to Maxime Laugier that he 
 should employ his talents in a certain way, it seemed 
 to her a matter of course that he should carry out 
 the project. She invited him to iier apartment 
 exactly as she had done other men of letters when she 
 had a salon, in days wdien a brilliant society gave 
 authors the opportunity both of making themselves 
 known, and of acquiring the tone of the great world. 
 They would have known better than to suppose that 
 having the entrde of a reception room implied cither 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 167 
 
 equality or intimacy ; a great lady would as soon 
 have invited a lacquey as a mere man of letters 
 without birth to one of her little suppers, where ten 
 or a dozen guests met, and touched on every subject 
 in heaven or earth which chanced just then to interest 
 the public, with a delicate effervescing gaiety, the 
 secret of which is lost. 
 
 Maxime, who belonged to a later generation, could 
 not know this distinction ; the graciousness of 
 Madame de Monlac, her interest in his work, her 
 pleasure in seeing him, deceived him into the belief 
 that she held him as an equal. If the Monlucs were 
 of ancient family, his own, though untitled, was 
 ancient too, and distinguished in the magistracy: the 
 De Monlucs were poor ; he had a brilliant career 
 open to him ; surely he might even aspire. . . . Max- 
 ime did not define at this time to what especial 
 height he hoped to rise ; he only had a general 
 impression that he was happy, he hardly knew why ; 
 but he thought of Solange last thing at night, and 
 first, as soon as he woke in the morning. He satis- 
 fied himself that a convent was proposed to her 
 merely for want of a dower, surely to be set aside if 
 another plan approved itself to the marquise, who by 
 no means gave him the impression of a devout en- 
 
l68 THE SECRET OF 
 
 thusiast, but rather of one of those who only occupy 
 themselves with heaven when the world will no 
 longer occupy itself with them. 
 
 Perhaps the same dream flitted before the eyes of 
 Solange also, faint and far off, neither putting it into 
 words even to their own hearts ; at all events she was 
 perfectly happy, with a new bloom on her fair 
 cheek, and a new light in her eyes. As Maxima 
 gradually became a habitat of the hotel, and the 
 marquise grew more and more interested in the work 
 which he had suggested, and which began to take 
 shape, it was impossible that Solange should not 
 sometimes be drawn into the conversation, and even 
 when she was silent, she was taking part in all that 
 was said. A lifting of the eyes, a responsive smile 
 involuntarily betrayed it, and perhaps these mute 
 exchanges of sympathy were sweeter than more 
 obvious ones could have been. They were lost on the 
 marquise, to whom Solange was of no impoi'tance ; 
 they were unnoticed by Lhomond, who loved her, but 
 they were noted by Mette, who detested her. 
 Madame de Monluc would have said, and said 
 rightly, that Mette was dull and stupid, but faithful 
 to her mistress. She was slow-witted, and reflection 
 was an effort to her ; if she broke her usual silence. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 169 
 
 it was emotion which produced the flow of words, but 
 where any one she loved or hated was concerned, the 
 whole woman was on the alert. She surprised more 
 than one look between her young lady and Maxime ; 
 she was aware that Solange sung over her work as 
 she sat in her room, instead of wearily loitering at 
 her window, and that she smiled unconsciously at her 
 imaofe in the mirror. Mette divined what these 
 things meant, and bided her time ; hating Maxime 
 because he loved Solange, and already tasting the 
 sweetness of denouncing both to Madame de Monluc. 
 
 All kinds of dark suspicions fermented in the 
 narrow and malignant mind of this woman, whose 
 one strong feeling was jealous devotion to her mis- 
 tress, whose views she reflected as far as she knew 
 them, and whose desires she carried out with blind 
 obedience. It exasperated her to believe that the 
 marquise had no secrets from Lhomond, while there 
 was much of which she never spoke to Mette, not from 
 mistrust, but because to give her confidence to an 
 inferior, unless circumstances obliged her to do so, 
 would have seemed to her neither natural nor be- 
 coming. She did not even ask herself how much 
 Mette must have gathered up of the family history ; 
 she looked on her as a mere faithful drudge, and never 
 
170 THE SECRET OF 
 
 even suspected the passion of jealousy which seethed 
 in the silent woman whenever she suspected that 
 Lhomond had been called into consultation. At such 
 times Mette would willingly have killed hiin. That 
 Lhomond loved Solange was enough to fill her with 
 aversion for the girl, hut without this she would have 
 disliked her, simply because the marquise did, though, 
 had Madame de Monluc felt affection for her grand- 
 daughter, probably Mette's jealousy would have been 
 aroused. Some instinct brought her into the corridor 
 just when Lhomond conducted Maxime up to the 
 commander's apartment to pay his promised visit. 
 She stood looking after them with no expression on 
 her face, but presently she found an excuse for going 
 into Solange's room, and lingering for some time 
 there. Finding that Solange did not seem impatient 
 of her presence, or appear restless, Mette said in a 
 dull, casual way, "That young gentleman is paying 
 M. le Commandeur a visit." She looked under 
 her eyelids at Solange, who flushed up with plea- 
 sure. 
 
 " He said he would do so," she answered, though 
 she rarely held any conversation with the maid, 
 whose habitual insolence she could not check, having 
 no one to appeal to. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 171 
 
 " Mademoiselle knew, then, that he was coming ? " 
 said Mette. 
 
 " Certainly," Solange answered, haughtily, feeling 
 the offensiveness of the tone, though quite unaware of 
 what Mette insinuated, or how her reply was under- 
 stood. 
 
 " Mademoiselle goes oftener than she used to visit 
 monsieur, her uncle," Mette went on, with no apparent 
 meaning at all in her voice, yet Solange found herself 
 blushing angrily as she found the woman's dull e3^es 
 fixed upon her. 
 
 " That is no affair of yours," she answered. 
 
 Mette finished laying the fichus which she had 
 been clean starching in a drawer, and began sprink- 
 ling the linen in a chest with orris root, whose 
 peculiar scent filled the room, and Solange watched 
 her proceedings with impatience, wishing her gone. 
 The want of liking between them had fortunately 
 kept her from ever having seen much of the woman, 
 whose coarse-mindedness would have made her a 
 dangerous companion for a girl, but she found her 
 less and less endurable as she grew older. Presently 
 Mette went away, and Solange drew a long breath 
 of relief. She thought that, by-and-bye, she would 
 go and see the commander, and hear what he had 
 
172 THE SECRET OF 
 
 to say about his visitor; and then she got out 
 paper and a pencil and set herself to write, forming 
 her letters with a child's conscientious care, when 
 anxious to produce a good copy. She liad written 
 so little in her life : it had never even occurred to 
 her that she could send or receive a letter. Lhomond 
 had, indeed, taught her the art of writing when 
 she was a child, but she had almost forgotten it ; 
 so that when Maxime had remarked he should find 
 his work much easier if he had copies of Madame 
 de Monluc's notes and the Sdvigne letters, and the 
 marquise had promised to let Solange make them, 
 the girl was filled with dismay at the thought of 
 how her ill-formed characters would look in his 
 eyes. She privately begged Lhomond to give her 
 pens, and ink, and paper, and employed a great 
 deal of her time in practising caligraphy, as Mette 
 soon observed, with eager suspicion. Mette could 
 neither read nor write : she had never regretted 
 it until now, when her ignorance made it im- 
 possible to surprise the seci'et of this occupation. 
 She knew, however, that people could communicate 
 their thoughts and convey messages by these black 
 marks on paper, and watched closely to see what 
 Solange did with her sheets. She came to the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 173 
 
 conclusion that, by some means or other, they 
 were passed on to Maxime when he came to the 
 entresol of an evening, and set herself to ascer- 
 tain the fact. It seemed to her likely that Lho- 
 mond, who was besotted about mademoiselle, was 
 the medium ; if that could be proved to the mar- 
 quise . . . Mette smiled to herself at the thought. 
 Maxime's coming to the hotel had introduced a 
 stir into her life as well as that of all the other 
 inhabitants. On leaving Solange's room, she stepped 
 behind a cuitain which hung over a doorway, and 
 waited, expecting that Solange would come out 
 when she found herself alone, and join Maxime 
 upstairs. Mette was very angry when Lhomond 
 showed him down again without Solange's stirring 
 from her room : it seemed to her that her young 
 mistress had baffled and tricked her, and was 
 triumphing in it. •' So you think you can deceive 
 Guillemette Severac," she muttered to herself. " I 
 will be revenged for this some day," though she 
 could not have told in the least for what she was 
 to take revenge. 
 
174 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It was not easy to the commander to fit a new figure 
 comfortably into his reminiscences, but he had known 
 the name of Lau^ier all his life, and probably took 
 Maxime for one of an older generation. He talked to 
 him of all manner of people dead long before 
 Maxime's time, and was testy when he could not 
 recall events that he had never heard of ; but the 
 visit was so great a success that Lhomond was recon- 
 ciled to it, and even earnestly begged him to give the 
 cheery old man the pleasure of another. 
 
 " If monsieur would come on a Sunday afternoon," 
 he suggested. " The door will be open to the hall, 
 and I shall hear him coming past my room and take 
 him upstairs to M. le Comraandeur, unless, indeed, he 
 chooses to go up at once," Lhomond suggested, not 
 unwilling to spare liimself the fatigue of climbing 
 the stairs. He began to feel more and more that he 
 was not young, and it troubled him, for there was no 
 one to take his place. " Perhaps it ma}^ not be very 
 amusing for you, monsieur," he added deprecatingly, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. I75 
 
 as he accompanied Maxirne through the hall as he 
 went away, " though the commander's a wonderful 
 man ; but there is so little to amuse him with now, 
 and one must do all in one's power for the aged, is it 
 not so ? They will so soon be gone, and they are so 
 lonely, monsieur ; the young feel them so far ofl', and 
 cannot really know them, do you see, because they 
 can only see them as they are, and never knew them 
 as they used to be. I did not know that until I 
 began to feel it myself." 
 
 Lhomond spoke in his usual simple, bashful way, 
 but his words struck Maxime as both true and 
 pathetic. He readily promised to come again the 
 next Sunday. It crossed his mind that possibly 
 Solange might be with her uncle, but Lhomond would 
 have been scandalised had this occurred, and gave her 
 notice to pay her visit at an earlier time. Maxime 
 only met her coming down the stairs as he went up, 
 Lhomond preceding him, to make sure that his young 
 lady was no longer in the commander's apartment. 
 She paused to greet Maxime, and ask after his 
 mother ; he had said she was ailing the last time they 
 met. Lhomond looked proudly at Maxime, as much 
 as to say he defied him to find any one so charm- 
 ing and courteous as his young mistress. Perhaps 
 
176 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Maxime's eyes had already assented to this proposi- 
 tion even more enthusiastically than the major-domo 
 would have desired ; as Lhomond admitted to himself, 
 he was growing old, and at no time had he been very 
 quick in putting things together. Veuve Locroy 
 would have seen what that look meant in an instant. 
 Something: of it linofered still on Maxime's face when 
 he came back from the Hotel Monluc, and met her at 
 the door of her own room. Although he had not 
 observed it, she was always on the watch when he 
 came back from a visit there, and she had a way of 
 questioning him, without seeming to do so, in a tone 
 of real interest, which was very seductive, especially 
 as he had no one else to whom to talk of the Hotel 
 Monluc and its inhabitants. His mother was his 
 constant correspondent, but just then she was fully 
 engrossed in nursing a daughter-in-law, and when 
 she had time to write, her letters were filled with 
 home details, and hopes and fears for the invalid; and 
 her allusions to what he told her of the hotel were 
 discouraging and cold ; the intimacy did not please 
 her, though Maxime's statement, in a early letter, 
 that Solange was destined to take the veil, blinded 
 her to the possibility which would have most 
 alarmed her. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 177 
 
 Maxime paused as he saw Veuve Locroy. 
 
 " You have been long absent," she said. " M. 
 Verillac has been here ; he waited as long as he could 
 — how ! you forgot he was coming ? That is not like 
 you. He left a message to beg you to come to him. 
 And here is a letter from Aix, which came in your 
 absence." 
 
 Her face grew soft as she saw the tender pleasure 
 with which Maxime handled the paper that his 
 mother had touched. He opened the letter at once, 
 and she watched him as he read, and noticed that his 
 face clouded. 
 
 " The news is not good ? " she said inquiringly. 
 
 " No — I suppose it is not good," Maxime answered 
 absently. He read the letter through again. " My 
 sister-in-law is better, but cannot be left night or day. 
 My mother is very tired, I fear. I think she has not 
 had time to read my letters." 
 
 " I do not believe that. A mother has always time 
 to read her son's letters. Perhaps, however, she has 
 read more in them than you intended." 
 
 " I do not know ; it is the first time she has mis- 
 understood them," said Maxime, in the same per- 
 plexed, annoyed tone. " It is not like her." 
 
 " She does not like your friendship with the people 
 
178 THE SECRET OF 
 
 opposite ? She thinks that there may be danger 
 for her son in the society of a girl who is as 
 much out of his reach as a star ? Is that it, 
 monsieur ? " 
 
 " I do not know why you speak to me of Made- 
 moiselle de Monluc," answered Maxime hotly. " As 
 you remind me, she is absolutely out of my reach, 
 and, moreover, her grandmother intends her to take 
 the veil" 
 
 He stopped, all at once realising what it would 
 mean to him if this thing came to pass. Until now 
 he had disguised his feelings to himself ; he could 
 never do so again. In the shock of emotion he did 
 not perceive that Veuve Locroy was little less moved 
 than himself. " How ? You never told me that ! " 
 she said, in a sharp, hurried tone ; " how do you 
 know it ? Who said so ? " 
 
 " It was told me by a friend of the family, but it is 
 impertinence on m}^ part to discuss it," said Maxime, 
 passing on to his room, and closing the door. He w\as 
 not at all surprised that Veuve Locroy had seemed 
 startled, knowing as he did the passionate aversion 
 with which she regarded convents, and how deep was 
 the indignation roused in all of her party in politics 
 by their being re-opened. It was not a matter vvliich 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 179 
 
 he cared to argue with her. They were good 
 friends ; Maxime was grateful for the home he had 
 found in her house, and the unfailing kindness she 
 showed him, but he was at times annoyed by the 
 watch she kept upon his actions, and an ardent 
 Republican widow of a Jacobin deput}^ had little in 
 common with the son of President Laugier, Royalist 
 and Catholic. She knew very well how Maxime 
 regarded her, but it made no change in her feelings 
 towards him ; she loved him as she had never 
 thought to love any one again. 
 
 " A nun . . . that child a nun ! " she repeated with 
 agitation. " It is a crime ! And he loves her, there 
 is no doubt that he loves her ! What a misfortune ! 
 She will never look at him ... do I not know them, 
 these aristocrats ! all that is not noble is as clay in 
 the streets in their eyes. Am I to see her mother's 
 daughter break another heart of gold ? I will not 
 have it. His mother must come to Paris. I will 
 write to her. Mothers always understand one 
 another ; she will not be jealous that her son is dear 
 to me. Yes, she must come to Paris, and quickly. 
 Perhaps he will listen to her, though why should I, 
 of all women, imagine that a son will lend any ear to 
 a mother when a girl's face comes between them ? 
 
i8o THE SECRET OF 
 
 But she must come, and if necessary, I will tell them 
 both my whole story." 
 
 Citoyenne Locroy was a woman of decision. She 
 sat down to write at once, but as she turned her first 
 page, and paused to scatter sand on the wet ink, a 
 new thought seemed to strike her ; she hesitated a 
 moment, and a look as if she relented a little came 
 over her face. 
 
 " If— if the girl should after all love him," she 
 murmured. " I never thought of that. Bah ! is it 
 likely that a proud chit of that family should think 
 it anything but an impertinence that he ventures to 
 adore her ? Yet I wish I knew — I wish I knew ! 
 Anyhow, he is better without her. He must rise 
 high, and make a name for himself ; love would only 
 hamper him. He will be very angry, but that cannot 
 be helped. I would stop that convent scheme 
 though, if I saw my way, though, after all, what does 
 the daughter of Rende de Monluc matter to me ? " 
 
 Like most people who lay hands on the life of 
 another with only partial knowledge of what they 
 are doing. Veuve Locroy was about to set a much 
 heavier stone rolling than she guessed. 
 
 On her side, Mette had watched unremittingly for 
 Maxime's second visit, and this time she was re- 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC iSl 
 
 warded by detecting Solange speaking to him on the 
 stairs. She kept out of sight and listened, and when 
 Solange had gone by, she went into her lady's room. 
 Madame de Monluc had risen early, because it was 
 Sunday ; she had been to mass as usual in the morn- 
 ing, and now was sitting looking through old family 
 papers, as she often did. She had brought all that 
 had been in the family archives from Aix to Paris ; 
 herself a Monluc before marriage as after, they were 
 doubly precious in her eyes. Besides these, there 
 were an immense number in the Hotel Monluc. Her 
 papers and the hotel alone remained to her of all the 
 great possessions which twenty years before had 
 belonged to her family, though it was hard to say 
 upon what i)retext the lands and revenues had been 
 seized, as neither she nor her husband had emigrated. 
 Pretexts, however, were always plentiful when pro- 
 perty was to be confiscated. 
 
 Now that present and future had no interest for 
 her, she withdrew into the past, and spent hours of 
 botli day and night in reading, sorting and arranging 
 the family records, though to what end she did not 
 ask herself, since with Solange the line of Monluc was 
 extinct ; but the need of occupation and interest for 
 her mind made her employ herself in tliis, al- 
 
l82 THE SECRET OF 
 
 most the only way that really appealed to her. 
 When Mette came in the marquise had a box full of 
 writings beside her, and others spread out on a table ; 
 she was studying a packet of old letters, yellow and 
 frayed at the edges, and written in a delicate hand, 
 letters from one of those daughters of the house to 
 whom the marquise had alluded when she reminded 
 the Abbe Gautier that it was no new thing for the De 
 Monlucs to give a daughter to a convent. The 
 writer, Gabrielle de Monluc, had been abbess of a 
 great convent, exercising the power of life and death 
 over the vassals of her domain, and ruling not only 
 nuns but monks also. She had worn her veil as she 
 might have done a crown, and governed her lands and 
 dependants with the talents of a statesman. 
 
 Such an ancestress was one after Madame de 
 Monluc's own heart, and she read the letters with 
 deep interest, but as she laid the last down, and 
 thought of the tremendous change that had come 
 to the family fortunes, she sighed deeply. Recollec- 
 tions which were always gnawing at her heart were 
 aroused to new life by these letters. " We were a 
 great family, once," she said, half aloud. 
 
 Mette looked round. " Madame la Marquise 
 spoke ? " she said. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 183 
 
 " I did not speak, but you may give me that 
 casket. There are papers in it which I wish to look 
 through before M. Laugier comes this evening." 
 
 Her brow grew less clouded as she turned the 
 letters through, now glancing at one in the large 
 handwriting of Madame de Sevignd herself, now 
 another, in which some mention was made incident- 
 ally, by some correspondent, of Les Rochers. To find 
 materials for a work which sprang from her sugges- 
 tion had become so great an interest as to please and 
 surprise her. She had not known it was still in her 
 to care so much about anything, Mette's voice broke 
 in on her search. 
 
 " Madame la Marquise expects M. Laugier this 
 evening ? " 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because he is here now. I saw Mademoiselle 
 Solange talking with him." 
 
 " How ! what do you say ? You saw Solange 
 talking with M. Laugier ? Where ? " 
 
 Mette reflected that what she stated would be 
 checked by Lhomond's account. She determined only 
 to tell the truth, but then truth can be made to 
 convey so many things ! 
 
 " Mademoiselle Solange was cominof down from 
 
i84 THE SECRET OF 
 
 her uncle's room, and Lhomond was conducting M. 
 Laugier up there. She stopped to speak to him." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 " She asked after his mother's health, as if she 
 cared very much, and M. Laui^ier looked at her — 
 looked, ma foi ! how shall I say it, as I have seen 
 gentlemen look at Madame la Marquise formerly, if 
 she will allow me to say it." 
 
 Madame de Monluc smiled in spite of herself. 
 
 " You are dreaming, my poor Mette." 
 
 " Not I," said Mette, sturdily. " I have eyes, too, 
 antl I know what I say. Madame la Marquise may 
 trust me. Besides, Mademoiselle Solange writes to 
 him." 
 
 " How ! " exclaimed the marquise, her face growing 
 dark as night. " Impossible ! " 
 
 " Madame will find it as I say. Mademoiselle 
 Solange sits in her room and writes and writes ; 
 Lhomond has given her pens and ink, and wliole sheets 
 of paper. There is nothing that Lhomond would not 
 do to please her ; Madame la Marquise believes that 
 he serves her faithfully, but if she knew all ... I 
 am certain that he does not spend all he pretends to 
 do ; I do not say what he does with it, but I have 
 my own opinion, and, as I say, it is he who gives 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 185 
 
 Mademoiselle Solange paper and ink, and sometimes 
 she shows him what she has written." 
 
 Mette spoke with triumph. Madame de Monluc 
 made an impatient movement. 
 
 " You rave, Mette ; let me have no more of this 
 nonsense. Lhomond has served me for forty years 
 past. There can be nothing amiss if Solange shows 
 him what she writes." 
 
 " Madame la Marquise had better see for herself," 
 answered Mette, flushing redly, and producing a 
 sheet of paper which she had contrived to secure. 
 
 The marquise looked at it with bewilderment ; 
 then she laughed, and it was so rare a sound that 
 Mette stared in alarm, 
 
 "You are a fool, Mette," she said. "Solange has 
 been trying to improve her handwriting, that is all." 
 
 " It must be as Madame la Marquise pleases," said 
 Mette, obstinately. " But for all that, she may be 
 sure that M. Laugier finds our demoiselle charming, 
 and, after all, she is growing up." 
 
 " Yes, she is growing up, that is true, and I have 
 delayed too long. It is time to act," said Madame 
 de Monluc, speaking rather to herself than to Mette. 
 
 She put the casket away, and sat down to her 
 bureau, pausing often to think as she wrote, and 
 
iS6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 weighing each sentence as she set it down on the 
 paper. This was no easy or pleasant task that she had 
 set herself ; there was a look of anger and pain, and 
 something strangely like shame as she proceeded ; 
 her hand seemed to move reluctantly over the paper. 
 Several times she hesitated long, and once she tore 
 up a sheet after it was written, and pushed her paper 
 away, saying aloud, " I cannot do it." 
 
 Mette watched her under her eyelids, aware that 
 her mistress had forgotteii her presence. She wanted 
 exceedingly to know what her lady was writing, 
 but even had she been close enough to look over her 
 shoulder, she would have been none the wiser. In 
 former days she had only been one of several inferior 
 serving-women, waiting on the ladies' maids, and 
 altogether in the background, but her lady had 
 always been a kind of goddess in her eyes ; it was 
 her one desire to be present at her toilette, to oflfer 
 her some service, however trifling, delighted if a look 
 fell on her, or an order chanced to be given her ; and 
 when the other attendants hurried from the chateau, 
 fearing to serve an aristocrat, Mette remained and 
 waited devotedly on the marquise, accompanying her 
 later to Paris. She had served her ever since, with 
 the same doglike fidelity, and detested Lhomond 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 187 
 
 doubly because he had served the Monlucs as faith- 
 fully and much longer. She watched the signs of 
 trouble on her lady's face now until she could not 
 bear it any longer, and creeping near, stooped down 
 and took an end of the mantle which hung over the 
 shoulders of Madame de Monluc, and kissed it, look- 
 ing at her as if mutely entreating her to be com- 
 forted. 
 
 Madame de Monluc vaguely perceived her presence. 
 " You are there, Mette ? " she said, absently, with a 
 little friendly sign of the hand, and went on writing. 
 
 Mette stood looking at her with a passionate affec- 
 tion which brought tears into her eyes. 
 
 " I wish Madame la Marquise would tell me to kill 
 someone if it would give her pleasure ; I would that 
 moment ! " she said. " Madame knows that." 
 
 "We cannot do such things nowadays, my poor 
 Mette," said Madame de Monluc, going on with her 
 writing, without much attending to what the woman 
 said. 
 
 " I would, if anyone were a trouble to madame. . . 
 I used to think about it, but I was not sure that she 
 desired it, and she never would say," Mette re- 
 peated. 
 
 Her mistress looked round, starting a little, and 
 
1 88 THE SECRET OF 
 
 their eyes met. It seemed to her as if all at once she 
 had a revelation of what this woman's nature was, 
 about whom all these years she had thought so 
 little, accepting her blind and jealous devotion as 
 mere matter of course, without reflecting at all on 
 the character of the creature who offered it. 
 
 " If I had been sure, when first I had the care of 
 her," Mette went on, " but I could not tell, though I 
 knew Madame la Marquise did not love her at all." 
 
 " Mette, you must be beside yourself ; it is a crime 
 even to speak thus, as your confessor would tell yoM" 
 said the marquise, severely. Mette was very devout, 
 and confessed regularly every week. 
 
 " My confessor ! But what has he to do with 
 anything I do for Madame la Marquise ? " answered 
 Mette, bewildered. 
 
 " Never let me hear you speak in such a way 
 again, Mette. I do not know what you mean. 
 You interrupt me," said Madame de Monluc. She 
 was greatly agitated, and resumed her writing 
 hurriedly. It startled her extremely to feel tiuit 
 Mette had somehow divined the hope and desire 
 which she had never uttered, but had not attempted 
 to disguise from herself, that Solange should not live 
 to grow up. She recalled a time, far ofi" now, in her 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 189 
 
 grand-daughter's infancy, when Solange lay very ill, 
 and Lhomond stood sobbing by the bedside, and the 
 doctor, called in late and reluctantly, had declared 
 her likely to live. It had not been joy which 
 Madame de Monluc experienced as she looked at the 
 child. But she was not conscious of having ever 
 shown her feeling as to Solange, and it looked 
 strange and unnatural as reflected and exaggerated 
 by Mette. Her desire to have the girl out of her 
 sight grew stronger still. 
 
 The letter was finished at last ; Mette lighted a 
 taper unbidden, and saw her lady press the seal with 
 the arms of Monluc down upon the wax. "You 
 can carry this to the post yourself for me," Madame 
 do Monluc said, holding it out. She wished to be 
 alone ; what had passed had shaken her greatly. 
 "After all, where the honour of a noble family is 
 concerned. . ," she muttered to herself. 
 
 It was unbounded felicity to Mette to be entrusted 
 with an important errand. She put on her little 
 mantle, and went downstairs, brimful of triumph. 
 Lhomond did not know anything about this letter 
 having been written, though clearly it was an im- 
 portant one ; Lhomond had not been called into 
 council, and she, not the major-domo, was trusted 
 
I90 . THE SECRET OF 
 
 with the commission of carrying it to the post. Im- 
 possible not to mortify him by letting him know it. 
 She stopped at the kitchen door : Lhomond was 
 blowing at a little heap of charcoal before he pre- 
 pared an omelette. He heard her step and looked 
 round. 
 
 " I am carrying this to the post for my lady," said 
 Mette, displaying the letter, with her dull black eyes 
 full of gratified malice. 
 
 Lhomond cast his eyes upon the address. " Good 
 heavens ! My lady has written to the Superior of the 
 Ursulines at Aix," he exclaimed involuntarily, turning 
 pale as he fell back a step. 
 
 Mette went on her way profoundly satisfied. 
 Lhomond had been humiliated, and Madame de 
 Monluc was about to send Solange away. The 
 marquise had never talked of this plan to Mette; she 
 had no suspicion that her maid knew anything be- 
 yond what all the world might know ; Mette was so 
 silent and impassive that her mistress thought she 
 had hardly her full compliment of wits, but for 
 years the woman had noticed whatever her lady let 
 fall, had listened unseen to her consultations with 
 Lhomond, and had arrived at a very complete know- 
 ledge of Madame de Monluc's afi'airs. They were 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 191 
 
 safe with her however ; she might have been backed 
 in pieces before she betrayed a syllable that her 
 mistress chose to keep secret. 
 
 Lhomond was so much distressed that he made an 
 excuse to enter his lady's room and ask some trifling 
 question, in the hope that she would allude to the let- 
 ter. She did so, but he got little satisfaction out of it. 
 
 " Lhomond," she said, " I have written to my cousin. 
 Of course, I told her everything. If she objects to 
 receive Solanofe, she will find her another convent. 
 The necessary money must be found at once. You 
 tell me you are unable to lay it aside. Very good ; 
 it must be raised on my uncle's income. He needs so 
 little. He will sign the papers required." 
 
 She spoke in brief, imperative sentences. Lhomond 
 looked much distressed. "Ah, madame! " he expostu- 
 lated, " it — it is . . . pardon me, my dear mistress, 
 but it is as if you took the money of a child ! M. le 
 Commandeur will no doubt sign anything, but to 
 use his little income, all that remains of his great 
 revenues . . . no, you will not do that ! If it were 
 a person who could find one out, then it would be 
 different, but an old man who can understand 
 nothing about it, that would be. . . Pardon me, 
 Madame la Marquise." 
 
192 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Lhomond must have been very much moved thus 
 to oppose the marquise ; there were tears in his 
 eyes. Although for years he had systematically 
 deceived her as to the amount of her own income, 
 this plan of laying hands on the little fortune of a 
 childish old man scandalised hiin. Lhomond had his 
 own peculiar code of honour, and it was outraged. 
 
 Madame de Monlac waved her hand. " I am not 
 angry, my good Lhomond. You mean well, and it is 
 natural you should see the matter thus. I know you 
 would not cheat an old man of a farthing, nor u)}-- 
 self either, though Mette assures me I have more 
 money than you admit." 
 
 "Mette! Mette tells Madame la Marquise this!" 
 stammered Lhomond, a red flush rising to his parch- 
 ment cheeks. " What does she know of our ex- 
 penses ? That is a bad woman, madame ; I always 
 said so. It would be desirable that she kept to her 
 own department, and left mine to me." 
 
 Lhomond was so indignant with Mette's audacity that 
 he quite forgot the accusation was not without some 
 foundation. " But as for the money of M. le Com- 
 mandeur — " 
 
 " I have made up my mind on that matter, Lhomond. 
 You will beg M. Lobineau to come here at four o'clock 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 193 
 
 to-morrow to draw up the necessary papers. It' my 
 uncle were able to understand that the honour of our 
 family is concerned, he would be the first to desire 
 this sacrifice. I only act for him. You can go now." 
 
 There was no more to be said, but Lhomond groaned 
 audibly as he left the room. A new pang smote him. 
 " Pardon me, Madame la Marquise/' he said, returning, 
 " may I know when you intend to tell Mademoiselle 
 Solange ? " 
 
 "When I hear that all is arranged, very soon, 1 
 hope. The sight of the girl hurts me. Good 
 heavens ! if I were to die before she is in a convent ! " 
 The marquise put her hand to her heart as if a spasm 
 had shot through it. The possibility of such a thing 
 had never before occurred to her, " I ought not to 
 have waited so long ! Life is so uncertain." 
 
 " Madame la Marquise does not feel ill to-day ? " 
 
 " Not at all, but who can tell ... I shall have no 
 rest now until all is concluded." 
 
 She spoke with a deep uneasiness which showed 
 how near the matter lay to her heart. Lhomond 
 sighed, and did not venture to reply, but he wiped his 
 eyes several times as he went away, vainly racking 
 his brains how to delay the execution of this project. 
 
194 ^-^^ SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Solange's heart beat so fast, her feet tripped so 
 gaily as she went down the stone stairs after that 
 meeting with Maxime, that she could not shut herself 
 up in her room ; the garden invited her irresistibly, 
 for, neglected as it was, the breath of spring had 
 touched it, and called the young leaves out on the 
 trees, and filled the air with sweetness. The sun was 
 shining and the sky a tender blue. She ran through 
 the hall, and out on the wide terrace, whence a flight 
 of steps led down into the garden, with its alleys and 
 discoloured statues, and the covered walk — all silent 
 and uncared for ; even Lhomond's goodwill and cease- 
 less activity could not attempt to replace the gardeners 
 whom the marquise could no longer afford to hire, but 
 a few rose trees still flourished ; a red blossom had 
 that very morning opened upon one. Solange stopped 
 and gathered it, then drew her mother's prayer-book 
 out of her pocket and shut the flower up in it, just 
 where Rende de Monluc had laid one and crushed the 
 sweet crimson petals some nineteen years before. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 195 
 
 Perhaps it was plucked from the same tree before 
 wliich Solancfe stood now, smilins; and blushing, so 
 happy and inexperienced that she did not bethink 
 herself how little joy had come out of her mother's love 
 or how unlikely it was that anything but sorrow 
 should come of her own. 
 
 She closed the book, shut the silver clasps fast, and 
 kissed it before returning it to her pocket. " Mamma, 
 ask that he may really — really love me," she 
 whispered, as if she did not know it perfectly well 
 already. It seemed too beautiful, too wonderful to 
 be true. 
 
 She did not ask that her love might run smooth ; 
 that thought was yet to come — only that she might 
 not be mistaken. Presently she sat down on a stone 
 bench, close to a statue of Pomona, with a cornucopia 
 full of fruits and flowers ; it might have stood for an 
 image of what life appeared just then to the girl who 
 sat reflecting there, if such smiling dreams could be 
 called reflections. At all events she flattered herself 
 that she was considering the situation very sagely. 
 Maxime would consult his mother, she supposed, and 
 Madame Laugier would write to the marquise, and ask 
 her grand- daughter's hand for her son, and then 
 Madame de Monluc would send for her, and inform 
 
I9<J THE SECRET OF 
 
 her that a marriage was arranged for her . . . there 
 could be no difficulty ; the Monlucs were noble, one of 
 the most ancient families in France, as Lhomond had 
 often said, but Maxime belonged to that noblesse de 
 ruhe of which the marquise always spoke with dignified 
 esteem. Solange had heard that the daughter of the 
 Chancellor d'Aguesseau had married into the Noailles 
 family ; Maxime was not a chancellor, certainl}', but 
 his father had been a president, and she knew how 
 haughtily the presidents of the parlement of Paris 
 held themselves; she had heard her grandmother 
 speak of the indignation of the nobles during the 
 funeral of Louis Quatorze because the Grand Master 
 of the Ceremonies bowed to the representatives of the 
 imrlemient before he saluted the dukes present. 
 Maxime was the son of a member of this honoured 
 magistracy; his family had always held posts reserved 
 for the haute bourgeoisie ; Madame de Monluc had 
 said so, and she always named the Laugiers with 
 respect and aj)proN al. 
 
 The poor child could not in the least imagine what 
 a gulf yawned in the view of the marquise between a 
 Monluc and one of the family, however honourable, 
 which belonged only to the Jiaute bourgeoisie. Had 
 she been listening to the Abbe Gautier and Madame do 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 197 
 
 Monluc instead of reading " Gonsalve de Cordoue," she 
 would not have dreamed so happily — or so vainly. 
 As it was, no fears troubled her. She had indeed 
 imbibed some of the views and feelings of her class 
 from Lhomond, and from the conversation of her 
 grandmother, but she knew nothing whatever of the 
 world, and was a little tired of hearing about her 
 rank and her ancestry, which only seemed to shut her 
 oft' from youth and joy and companions. She felt 
 rather than thought, lost in rosy dreams, unconscious 
 that all the while her fate was decided for her ; the 
 time slipped by unnoticed until a church clock, strik- 
 ing somewhere far off", startled her into the perception of 
 how late the hour was. She sprang up and returned in 
 haste to the house. The hall had grown dark; even- 
 ing was coming on ; the tinkle of the little bell from 
 the convent near dropped into the silence. All the 
 golden sunset glow had gone out of the sky ; clouds 
 were veiling it, though Solange had not noticed they 
 were gathering. A cloud fell somehow upon her also ; 
 a chill little wind seemed to blow over the trees in the 
 garden and her joy at the same time, Mette came in- 
 to her room, and closed the window without askinsf 
 whether she wished it or not. " Madame la 
 Marquise will not require mademoiselle in the 
 
198 THE SECRET OF 
 
 salon this evening," she said, with satisfaction in her 
 voice. 
 
 Solango started incredulously. The routine of life 
 in the Hotel Monluc was so unvarying that she could 
 not believe she had heard arifjht. " How ! I am not 
 to go to the salon to-night ? Is my grandmother 
 ill ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Are you sure?" Solange persi.sted, surprised and 
 alarmed, for if Madame de Monluc were in her usual 
 state and condition, what could such a message 
 imply ? 
 
 Mette gave a contemptuous little snort. "Am I sure ?" 
 she repeated. Who should know better than she how 
 her lady was ? " It is only that Madame la Marquise 
 does not w^ant mademoiselle. She will bo occupied. 
 Mademoiselle will have to do without her friend, M. 
 Laugier, to-night." 
 
 Solange was so much astonished by this im- 
 pertinence that she did not change colour, but onl}'- 
 looked the woman in the face with haughty wonder. 
 Mette sneered and turned away. Theic were so 
 many cutting things that she would have liked to 
 say if she had been sharp-witted enough, but she 
 could only be insolent. Solange spent the eveniu<' 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. I99 
 
 alone, uneasy and disappointed. She hardly wished 
 to meet Maxime again — yet, but to be banished from 
 the salon where he was seemed too hard. 
 
 As it happened, Maxime was not there. Lhomond 
 had been ordered to carry liim much the same 
 message as Solange had received, only more 
 courteously put; Madame la Marquise was occupied 
 with business that evening. The delay was not un- 
 welcome to Maxime. He wanted time to consider 
 what he had done, and what he should do. He was 
 perfectly aware that for himself, and perhaps for 
 Solange, a Rubicon had been crossed, and that as an 
 honourable man it behoved him to take heed to his 
 next step. His heart leaped at the thought of what 
 he believed he had read in her eyes, but he knew the 
 world better than she did, and foresaw stormy times 
 in store for them both,, though the message from the 
 marquise did not in itself disquiet him, given as it 
 was by Lhomond, with irreproachable politeness. 
 Lhomond was nearly beside himself with anxiety, but 
 his face was not capable of betraying it. The moment 
 which he had delayed and dreaded had come upon 
 him like a bolt from blue sky. When the Abbe 
 Gautier came that evening, and he lighted him up 
 the stairs, he could not refrain from whispering, " If 
 
200 THE SECRET OF 
 
 — if my lady should speak of — of any plan for 
 Mademoiselle Solange, you will say a little word for 
 the poor child, M. I'Abbe ? My mistress thinks so 
 much of your opinion ! " 
 
 " My good Lhomond, have }' ou lived till now without 
 knowing that your lady never takes any opinion but 
 her own ? Of her one cannot say, ' Souvent femme 
 varie.'" Lhomond groaned and said no more. The 
 Abbe Gautier entered the salon, and looked round, 
 surprised to see no one there but the marquise, seated 
 in her arm-chair covered with Gobelins tapestry. He 
 had a presentiment of a catastrophe, though Madame 
 de Monluc did not look less wearily calm than usual. 
 Indeed, his acute eye detected a satisfied, relieved 
 look in her countenance. He waited to hear what 
 these things meant, but for a while she only spoke of 
 topics of the day, and of the progress which Maxime 
 was making in his study on Madame de Sdvign^, in a 
 way that showed he had nothing to do with the 
 absence of Solange. The two old friends had always 
 abundant matter for conversation ; they had passed 
 their lives in the same circle of society, and had in- 
 numerable reminiscences in common, besides which 
 the abbd was a delightful companion ; where he came 
 ennui was impossible ; he had that art of con versa- 
 
MADAME DE MONLVC. 201 
 
 tion in perfection which consists of making something 
 out of nothing, of telhng a trifling anecdote with 
 such grace that it became a little gem ; as Madame de 
 Monluc would say, he was "fin by nature, profession — 
 and the Revolution." Perfectly tolerant, he found 
 nothing worthy of a serious protest. It amused 
 him infinitely to see how earnestly Maxime Laugier 
 regarded life, and what indignation he lavished on 
 what appeared to him base or wrong. " You are the 
 product of a new generation," the abbe said to him, 
 smiling indulgently ; " we should have thought it 
 detestably bourgeois to be so moral as you are. We 
 were charming and generous and immoral. In our 
 day — gone, alas ! — it was delightful ! — vice had become 
 so entirely part of society that it was like a family 
 friend, whose presence is a matter of course, and 
 disturbs nobody. Either one was a saint, or one sinned 
 agreeably, without harassing scruples. All that is 
 changed, whether for the better I do not say. You 
 think I jest ? Not at all, but understand that I speak 
 of the noblesse, not of the bourgeoisie, nor of the 
 magistracy, which was moral by profession — excellent, 
 domestic, and insufferably dull." 
 
 Whatever else the Abbe Gautier might be, his worst 
 enemy could not have called him dull, and Maxime 
 
202 THE SECRET OF 
 
 hoped he was less indifferent to morality tlian he 
 chose to appear. 
 
 He and Madame de Monlue had talked for a long 
 while before she said, "Abbe, will you do me a 
 favour?" There was a faint hesitation in her voice. 
 She did not for an instant question her right to do 
 as she pleased with the commander's money, but 
 Lhomond's opposition, respectful as it was, had given 
 her an uncomfortable feeling that the abbe also might 
 disapprove, or, at least, be roused to curiosity. The 
 slight touch of something not quite usual in her voice 
 struck him at once. 
 
 " Command me, marquise," he said, and waited ex- 
 pectant. 
 
 " It is a mere formality," said Madame de Mouluc, 
 pausing again. 
 
 " I am at your service in all respects. You want 
 advice, perhaps, on some family matter ? " suggested 
 the abbe, with suppressed excitement. The marquise 
 so rarely spoke of her affliirs that such an oppor- 
 tunity of obtaining some knowledge of them seemed 
 a god-send to the abbe, baffled by her inq)onetrable 
 reserve for years past. 
 
 " Not advice — no," said the marquise. " It is true 
 tiiat I esteem you highly, abbe — " 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 203 
 
 " Parbleu ! marquise, I should think so." 
 
 Madame de Monluc was silent, reflecting. Her 
 mind was always slow to see things from any point of 
 view but her own, yet it suddenly struck her that 
 some explanation would appear necessary of her 
 determination to place Solange in a convent, no 
 matter what the material difficulties were. The abbe 
 had shown his surprise at it on an earlier occasion, 
 and she did not wish to rouse his suspicions or excite 
 his curiosity, of which she was well aware, though it 
 had never occurred to her that he exercised it upon 
 her affairs as well as those of everybody else. 
 
 She could not find any plausible pretext, and she 
 knew that it would have to be very plausible to 
 satisfy the abbe's acuteness. Her disquiet showed it- 
 self on her countenance. 
 
 " You know how absolutely you can depend on my 
 friendship," said the abbe, persuasively ; " and as for 
 my discretion — I, who know the secrets of all Paris, 
 have I ever breathed one even to you in all the years 
 that we have known one another intimately ? No 
 matter how I learn them — whether they are confided 
 to me, or mine through discovery, they are as safe as 
 if I had heard them under the seal of the con- 
 fessional." 
 
204 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " There is no secret in the case," said the marquise, 
 sharply and haughtily. 
 
 The abbd's face fell ; he fixed his eyes on her with 
 an expression of such deep disappointment as almost 
 moved Madame de Monluc to unwonted laughter. 
 
 " My poor abbe. I am really sorry to disappoint 
 you thus. But the service I ask has nothing to do 
 with a secret. A secret ! what can make you imagine 
 I have one ? " she added, the smile suddenly fading 
 from her face. 
 
 " But do I not know it ? " exclaimed the abbe, ex- 
 asperated. " I feel it, I am sure of it. I am never in 
 this house but I am conscious that its walls contain a 
 family secret. It is an instinct which never deceives 
 me. I know it is so." 
 
 "That must be very interesting to 3'ou who take 
 such a pleasure in tracking out mysteries in the lives 
 of others," said Madame de Monluc with irony. 
 
 " It is," said the abbd, naively. " I ain not in- 
 fected, as you know, with love for the common herd ; 
 most men are bad, and even more are dull, but from 
 the point of view that almost every one has his untold 
 story, probably hidden even from those who know 
 every thought of his heart, all become interesting." 
 
 " A i)liysician should not speak ill of his patients, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 205 
 
 abbe ; and bad men are the patients of an ecclesiastic. 
 But if it is in the hope of surprising a secret in this 
 house, I regret to tell you that you have wasted your 
 time, my poor friend. It is to this hope then that I 
 owe your visits ? " 
 
 " Madame ! " said the abb^, with his voice and bow 
 both full of expostulation. 
 
 Madame de Monluc had spoken in jest, but even as 
 she did so she knew, as if in a sudden flash of light, 
 that she had hit on the truth, and that the one con- 
 stant and assiduous friend whom she believed that 
 she could count upon had been actuated by a motive 
 which lay quite apart from either friendship or 
 admiration. She felt as if a sharp little arrow had 
 gone straight to her heart, and remained quivering 
 there, but she went on speaking directly, with no 
 perceptible change in her voice. She was a woman of 
 the world, and it was veiy far from the first time 
 that she had ignored a wound. 
 
 " What I am about to ask you to do for me is to 
 witness a paper, which my lawyer will bring here to- 
 morrow; Lhomondwill sign it also. May I countonyou?" 
 
 " Assuredly, but I must tell you that I have made 
 a vow never to sign a paper without being made 
 aware of the contents." 
 
2o6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " That is but reasonable — not to speak of the clue 
 to any secret which it might give. This, however, is 
 a very simple matter, relating to money needed im- 
 mediately. I have written to my cousin at Eoque- 
 brune Sainte Madeleine, to request her to receive 
 Solange." 
 
 " Ah ! '"' ejaculated the abbd 
 
 •' Her reply, no doubt, will arrive in a few days, and 
 Lhomond will then conduct Solange there. All this 
 naturally entails expenses, and you know I am very 
 poor." 
 
 " All well-born people are, marquise." 
 
 " To meet these expenses I shall use some of my 
 uncle's money. You are aware he has still a small 
 income, although he has lost his revenues as Com- 
 mander of his Order, just as you yourself liave lost 
 all yours." 
 
 " Yes," said the abbe, ruefully ; " my twenty-five 
 thousand livres are gone with all the rest. When I 
 think that even I, who should have known better, 
 expected a golden age with 1789 ! Ali, we all made 
 the same mistake. But the Revolution was a lottery 
 in which every one hoped to gain a prize, and almost 
 every one drew blanks." 
 
 " Just so," said the marquise, sighing. The abbt5 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 207 
 
 bad spoken gaily, but the great wave of reminiscences 
 which swept over her made it impossible to respond 
 in the same tone. 
 
 " But, marquise/' pursued the abbe, still jestingly, 
 " do you know that what you are about to do may be 
 convenient, but is perfectly illegal ? The good old 
 commander is incapable of understanding that he is 
 being despoiled of his little fortune, and, therefore, 
 cannot legally make away with it ; his consent is 
 worth nothing." 
 
 "I know that, but I act as I know he would, could 
 he comprehend tlie situatiun. Unhappily, circum- 
 stances make me head of our family, and I am bound 
 to do what is best for it." 
 
 "Admirably argued, my dear lad}', only unfor- 
 tunately we have laws. No lawyer will consent, as 
 you will find, to forward such a high-handed pro- 
 ceeding. You need only ask yours — Maitre Lobi- 
 neau, is it not ? — to learn this." 
 
 "How!" said the marquise, indignantly; "'the laws 
 interfere with what I chose to do for the honour of 
 my family ? Monstrous ! " 
 
 The words escaped her in anger. Abbe Gautier's 
 eyes sparkled. " True, it is monstrous," he answered, 
 with sympathy. 
 
2o8 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " It is infamous ! How ! I cannot use the revenues 
 of Monluc in a ease like tliis ? I tell you, abbe, I 
 must and will. Suppose I were to die before this 
 girl Solange were placed in a convent ? " She spoke 
 with agitation such as the abbe had never seen in 
 her ; and the cold and even harsh terms in which she 
 described her grandchild did not escape him. 
 
 " As 5^ou know, marquise, it would be easy to estab- 
 lish her in the world, even without a dowry." 
 
 " I have already told you it is out of the question, 
 abbd Why do you torture me ? She must take the 
 veil ; it is absolutely necessary." 
 
 Only the strongest emotion could have moved the 
 marquise to say so much. She suddenly lifted her 
 eyes, and recollected to whom she had spoken. 
 
 " It seems I had better consult Maitre Lobineau 
 before proceeding further," she said in her usual cold 
 and measured voice, " though 1 own it seems extra- 
 ordinary to me that there should be any difficulty. 
 I am my uncle's natural heir ; all he has will come to 
 me ; there is no one who could object ; no one need 
 know anything about it. My aft'airs are my own." 
 
 " Alas ! that is unfortunately what none of us can 
 say, marquise, and certainly our laws would take a 
 less simple view of the subject than you do. You 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 209 
 
 forget that your grand-daughter might call you to 
 account for using what, after yourself, should surely 
 descend to her, is it not so ? " 
 
 " Solange call me to account ! " exclaimed Madame 
 de Monluc, with unbounded amazement. " Are you 
 out of your senses, abb^ ? " 
 " Probably, dear madam e." 
 
 " This is not a subject for jesting," said the 
 marquise, with great irritation. " Say no more about 
 it. You forget also that it is for Solange I would 
 use tlie money we speak of." 
 
 The abbe shook his head and smiled. " Talk to 
 Maitre Lobineau, my dear friend," he said, and 
 when Lhomond looked anxiously in his face as he 
 showed him out, he remarked : 
 
 " Lhomond, the commander thinks we are living in 
 the time of His Majesty Louis XV. le bien-aime; but 
 your mistress goes farther back still, and imagines 
 these to be the Middle Ages. If your young lady's 
 entering a convent depends on using her great uncle's 
 money, you may be at ease. The question, too, re- 
 mains, whether she will consent to do so." 
 
 " Consent, M. I'Abbe ! " said Lhomond, standing still 
 in the hall, with a gesture of hopelessness, disregard- 
 ing the draught from the door which the abbe had 
 
210 THE SECRET OF 
 
 opened, and which threatened to blow his lamp out ; 
 " how can she help it, if my lady chooses she 
 shall ? " 
 
 "It is certainl}'' doubly a case of what woman 
 wills, heaven walls, l)ut I imaj:>inc her of other stuff 
 than her mother," said tlic abbe, whose floating 
 suspicions were crystallising into a definite form. 
 
 "Ah, she is, sir. A dear child! but Mademoiselle 
 Renee was so gentle, so yielding, a little saint ! You 
 remember her ? " 
 
 " I have seen her here once or twice. She was 
 educated in a convent in Paris, I think." 
 
 " Yes, sir, to be near her aunt, who loved her as a 
 daughter." 
 
 " True — better than some daughters are loved. I 
 saw her last during a vacation which she spent in 
 this house," said the abb^ gathering up his recol- 
 lections. " A number of young girls w^ere playing at 
 a game of forfeits, and she was condemned to say 
 whether she would save her mother or her aunt, if 
 both were drowning. She gave a charming answer. 
 ' I w^onld save my mother, and return to be drowned 
 with my aunt.' " 
 
 " That was so like the dear child, monsieur ! " 
 
 " That must have been her last vacation," con- 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 211 
 
 tinued tlie abbe, as if pursuing his reminiscences. 
 " The convents were closed soon after ; I was with 
 ray brother in Savoy at the time, and found that the 
 air of Paris would not suit me for several years." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, M. I'Abbe. Then you emigrated ? 
 What did you do during those sad years ? " 
 
 The abbe smiled. He was the only person who did 
 not give Lhomond credit for being as simple as he 
 seemed, and he suspected that this question was in- 
 tended to lead him away from the subject they were 
 discussing. He closed the door, and stejjped back 
 into the hall. 
 
 " What did I do, my friend ? I lived ; was not 
 that doing a great deal in those times ? It was more 
 than many did." 
 
 " Alas ! that is too true. Monsieur I'Abbe. And 
 how many died of them, otherwise than by the 
 guillotine ! Poverty and heartbreak and anxiety can 
 kill too." 
 
 " We liave all seen that. I have dropped my gloves, 
 I think." 
 
 There was no light in the hall, except that given 
 by the lamp which Lhomond carried — a globe of glass, 
 fixed by a stem in a candlestick, the wick within 
 curled up like a serpent in a bottle of spirits ; it took 
 
212 THE SECRET OF 
 
 a long time to find the gloves. When Lhomond had 
 at length handed them back, the abbe asked in a 
 casual tone, "By the way, Lhomond, I have never 
 heard how and where your young lady was married. 
 It was a strange time to choose." 
 
 Lhomond had just opened the door again; the 
 drauglit blew out his light just as the question 
 was asked, and left then in semi-darkness. " Ah, 
 M. I'Abbe, take care ; is there light enough for 
 you to see your way ? You were asking about 
 my dear Mademoiselle Renee ; perhaps you do not 
 know that the vicomte returned, at the risk of his 
 life, to see his family, and was in Paris, hiding in 
 another quarter, for some days before they were 
 arrested. My young lady being in prison, what could 
 he do but escape while it was possible ? " 
 
 " They were married, then, while he was here ? " 
 
 "You wonder, W. I'Abbe; and truly it was a sad 
 time for a biidal, and sad it contiiuied to be ; 
 Mademoiselle Rene'e was a widow within the 
 year." 
 
 The abbe knew of other bridals as hurritMl and 
 romantic ; there was nothing in the tale itself to call 
 forth doubt or wonder, yet he was persuaded that 
 either Lhomond was not telling the truth, or was sup- 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 213 
 
 pressing something which would change the whole 
 colour, if he but could learn it. 
 
 " Surely the marriage was not a civil one ? " he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Good heavens ! no, M. I'Abbd. My young lady 
 would not have consented to that, even to save her 
 life." 
 
 " Even to save her life ? " repeated the abbe, as if 
 something in the expression had struck him. " You 
 know, then, the particulars of the marriage ? " 
 
 " Certainly," answered Lhomond, offended. " It was 
 difficult and dangerous to find a priest, as you know, 
 M. I'Abbe, but you may be sure it was done." 
 
 " And who was the priest who risked his life 
 thus?" 
 
 " I — am not sure of his name — Madame la Marquise 
 saw him on her return . . . Yes, I recollect it," said 
 Lhomond, meeting the incredulous look of the abbe ; 
 " it was Caron, I think ; he went away, and is dead 
 now, I believe." 
 
 The abbe had gained a step ; his eyes brightened. 
 " And your young lady — she remained in prison until 
 the marquise returned to Paris ?" 
 
 " No, monsieur ; she was here when we returned — 
 she and the commander." 
 
214 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " To be sure. The prisons were opened by then. 
 Her baby was born," 
 
 " It was, M. I'Abbd." 
 
 The abbe attempted another step, cautiousl}^ " I 
 cannot comprehend why the marquise talks as if tlie 
 honour of the family were concerned in her grand- 
 child's taking the veil," he said. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, it seems to me, speaking with respect, 
 that it is a great pity she does," said Lhomond, with 
 entire conviction. He held open the side door as he 
 spoke. " But it is not for me to discuss what Madame 
 la Marquise pleases to do. Good-night, monsieur." 
 
 " I have always thought that old man a great deal 
 too candid and simple," murmured the abbe, as he 
 went away at last. " No one ever looked so honest 
 who was not a rascal. But he was piqued to-night ; 
 he let fall that name in spite of himself. I have at 
 last something to go on. Caron ! If that man is alive, 
 I will find him ! " 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Marquise," the Abbe Gautier had been known to 
 say, " you owe me a great deal ; but for me you would 
 never enjoy the stimulus of being contradicted." 
 
 It was undoubtedly a stimulus which no one else 
 ventured to offer. For the last eighteen years no one 
 had ever so much as hinted that she could be in the 
 wrong, and a naturally domineering temper had grow^n 
 absolutely despotic. The declaration of the abbe, that 
 she could not deal with the commander's money as 
 she thought good, had seemed so outrageous to her 
 that she put it aside, and on the next afternoon went 
 to visit the old man, and prepare him for the lawyer's 
 visit. She rarely sought his apartment, and wdien she 
 did so, always placed herself where she could not see 
 the portraits of Renee de Monluc and the Vicomte de 
 Neuville. 
 
 Possibly the commander was conscious both of the 
 reluctance with which she came, and of the cold con- 
 straint of her manner, for, in many ways, he was still 
 surprisingly acute. Although generally delighted to 
 
2i6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 have a visitor, and desirous to keep them as long as 
 possible, on seeing Madame de Monluc, he merely said : 
 " How ! is it you, my niece ? " and gave an impatient 
 movement as he looked at her pale, haughty face, 
 whose expression was even colder and more authori- 
 tative than usual. It would have been hard to find a 
 greater contrast than that between the handsome, 
 cheerful old man, in his irresponsible old age, and the 
 care-laden niece who stood beside him. Her inquiries 
 after his health were curtly answered, in a tone that 
 seemed to say, " Let us get it over, and then you can 
 go." Madame de Monluc walked to the window and 
 stood looking out, thinking how to introduce the 
 subject which had brought her. She perceived that 
 the commander was not in good humour. At another 
 time this would have been a matter of entire in- 
 difference to her, nor did she now anticipate his 
 making any difficulties as to her proposal, but she 
 would have been glad so far to propitiate him, as to 
 avoid troublesome explanations. 
 
 " What a dark, miserable outlook this is ! " she 
 ejaculated, without much knowing what she was 
 saying. 
 
 The commander was up in arms in an instant. 
 
 " Perhaps for fine ladies," he growled, indignant 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 217 
 
 at this aspersion on the street, from which he 
 gained so much amusement. " It is lively enough 
 for an old soldier like me. I have been used to 
 camps, not courts, and do not care for your 'peiits- 
 maitres and your rose-water abbes, and the rest of 
 them. We never courted favour ; my father found 
 his estates burdened with debt, and set to work to 
 free them against the time my brother should in- 
 herit them. That was simple enough, though fools 
 sneered at it and wondered he never came to Ver- 
 sailles to push his fortune. Later it was the fashion 
 to live in one's chateau and sulk at the Court ; but 
 in my father's day, a family living in this province 
 had about as much chance of favour as a plain girl 
 with no fortune would have had of being distin- 
 guished by the Vicomte de Xeuville there," said the 
 old man, chuckling as he waved his hand towards the 
 portrait ; one of his sudden flashes of memory had 
 given him back the name. " A young scapegrace 
 Where is he ? What did I hear of a duel ? " 
 
 Madame de Monluc did not turn round. She 
 stood looking out of the window, her eyes suddenly 
 pressed together. To her the outlook was altogether 
 dull and dismal, into a narrow street, hot in summer 
 and cold in winter. Opposite was a line of houses, 
 
2 1 8 THE SEC RE T OF 
 
 not, indeed, without a certain picturesqueness, 
 though of a kind which did not recommend itself 
 to her. Several of the most ancient, such as that 
 where Veuve Locroy lived, had a heavy beam, 
 carved at either end, crowning the rez-de-chaussSe, 
 and doors studded with large nails in intricate 
 patterns. Such shops as there were belonged to an 
 antique kind, which knew nothing of modern 
 attempts to attract custom ; their doors were divided 
 into two solid parts, clamped with iron ; the open- 
 ings which served as windows had no glass, and 
 were closed at night by wooden shutters ; a few 
 articles were set out on their wide sills ; within 
 was an abyss of gloom, where it was impossible to 
 distinguish anything clearly without a lamp. The 
 owners of these shops were, however, much richer 
 than they chose to appear. One furnished shoes 
 to the Imperial armies ; a second was a money- 
 lender ; a third provided wine for the Emperor's 
 table ; and a fourth, who had travelled about the 
 country with his wife as a pedlar during the Revo- 
 lution, had accumulated money, and was a partner 
 in one of the largest coachbuilder's lirms in Paris. 
 Retired bourgeois, well-to-do, though making no 
 show of wealth, lived in several of these d;uk aiul 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 219 
 
 silent houses. The Veuve Locroy'was one of these.. 
 As Madame de Monluc stood by the commander's 
 window looking absently across the street, a win- 
 dow opposite was opened, and a woman shook a 
 mat from it. The marquise had never seen her 
 before, but their eyes met with a kind of shock, 
 and she drew back, putting her hand to her heart. 
 As she did so she involuntarily faced the portrait 
 of her daughter. 
 
 " Who is that woman ? " she asked, unable to 
 shake off the effect of the strange look of aversion 
 cast upon her, and turning away from the picture. 
 
 " What woman ? " said the commander, forgetting 
 his ill-humour in curiosity. 
 
 " One I saw at the opposite window ; she is gone 
 now," answered Madame de Monluc, looking across 
 again with an effort. She was angry with herself 
 that she could be thus impressed. " It does not 
 matter. I have to speak to you on business, my 
 uncle ; my lawyers will be here by-and-bye with a 
 paper for you to sign." 
 
 " Sign a paper ? What for ? " demanded the com- 
 mander, resenting the authoritative tone. " Why 
 should I sign any paper ? " 
 
 " It would only fatigue you to explain." 
 
220 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Morbleu ! " exclaimed the old man, reddening 
 and rousing up, " do yoM take me for a child ? I 
 will sign no paper witliout knowing what it is. 
 A signature is enough to loosen any man's head on 
 his shoulders. How do I know what you may be 
 plotting ? I may find myself inside the Bastille 
 before I can look round." 
 
 " The Bastille ! But it is useless to tell him that 
 it exists no longer," murmured the marquise,. "This 
 is only a private matter, my uncle ; it merely con- 
 cerns a sum of money which is required." 
 
 " Required for what purpose ? I am the head of 
 the family, am I not, since the marquis, your hus- 
 band, is dead, and I have a right to be told," said 
 the commander, his voice rising as he spoke. 
 
 Madame de Monluc stared at him. She had 
 looked on herself as chief of the Monluc family so 
 long that this assertion took her as completely by 
 surprise as if a usurper had risen up to dethrone her. 
 
 " Well, are you going to tell me ? " asked the 
 commander, triumphant in the shot he had fired. 
 
 " I have already said that the money is wanted 
 for an urgent affair." 
 
 " I have always hated riddles, niece ; speak 
 plainly." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 221 
 
 " It is for a dowry," said the marquise, reluctantly, 
 and much irritated by this unexpected resistance. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! for Rente's dot. Why could you not 
 say so at once ? It is time she married ; she can- 
 not mourn that poor Armand for ever. Some one 
 said he was dead." 
 
 Madame de Monluc turned pale. These sudden, 
 incoherent reminiscences of the old man's were like 
 so many stabs. She never knew what he might 
 recollect, or how far he was informed of family 
 matters, and a new and poignant fear struck her 
 that by some word or name he might give the Abb^ 
 Gautier that hint which she knew now he was 
 seeking. She hesitated whether to leave him under 
 the delusion that it was his great niece's marriage 
 portion which he was to supply, sure that in that 
 case he would consent, but she reflected that he would 
 betray it to her lawyer, and invalidate his signature. 
 
 " It has nothing to do with — Rene'e," she said, 
 uttering the name with an efibrt. " Solange — you 
 know whom I mean ? " 
 
 " I know you and Lhomond have taken to calling 
 my little Renee Solange — heaven knows why.'' 
 
 " She is about to enter the convent of the Ursu- 
 lines at Aix, and money is wanted." 
 
222 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " What do you say? Make that chihl a nun! Send 
 away the only young thing I ever see ! " shouted the 
 commander, in a towering passion. "That was 
 what Lliomond was groaning over. I did not under- 
 stand — hear him, I mean. Let me not have another 
 word of it ; I forbid you to do anj'thing of the kind, 
 yes, if she were fifty times your daughter. How ! 
 3"ou make plans without consulting me, and then 
 ask me for money to carry out your schemes ? You 
 should not have a penny if my coramandery were 
 worth double what it is ! Only women have such 
 ideas." 
 
 He raised his voice so that heads came to the 
 windows over the way. 
 
 " There is no need to say any more," answered 
 the marquise, deeply mortified and angered. "Adieu, 
 my uncle." 
 
 " Adieu, my niece ; the old man is not sucli a 
 cipher as you seem to think." 
 
 If the commander were in a rage, Madame de 
 Monluc was in a collre hlanclie. Instead of sending 
 for Lhomond, she astoni.shed him beyond expression 
 by seeking him in his little room. 
 
 " Madame ! '' he exclaimed, staring at her as she 
 stood in the doorway ; he was so much confounded 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 223 
 
 that he held the bottle of walnut oil, which he was 
 about to pour into his lamp, upside doMm. 
 
 "Lhomond, is it possible you have allowed your- 
 self to discuss my plans with my uncle ? " 
 
 " I, Madame la Marquise ! I should not permit 
 myself to take such a liberty." 
 
 " It would seem that he had heard of my inten- 
 tions with regard to Solange." 
 
 " I may have said that we should miss the dear 
 child, but no more, I assure Madame la Marquise." 
 
 "You were indiscreet. Never let such a thing 
 happen again. We must now find out other means 
 of raising money." 
 
 Lhomond bowed. Astute under his seeming sim- 
 plicity, he had adroitly laid a train which had been 
 fired just as he wished. As far as he knew no other 
 means of obtaining money existed. 
 
 " Is there nothing we can sell ? " asked the mar- 
 quise, looking round. 
 
 " Alas ! madame, you see how little is left. One 
 thing has been sold after another, and they bring in 
 a mere nothing. The two silver soup tureens and 
 a salver, and the goblet, and those blue and grey 
 pitchers, with the arms of Monluc, are all — " 
 
 " That would bring in only a paltry sum. When 
 
224 THE SECRET OF 
 
 I go to the funeral service at the Picpus you will, 
 of course, attend me ; you can then take my diamond 
 ear-rings to Merle, and get liim to value them. 
 They are, no doubt, worth a large sum." 
 
 " Merle is honest enough, Madame la Marquise, 
 but those sort of people sell dear and buy cheap. 
 The last time I carried him a silver cup he com- 
 plained that his shop overflowed with jewelry and 
 plate brought him by returned e'migres and ruined 
 nobles. Excuse me, Madame la Marquise, I only 
 repeat his words to show how it is with him. But 
 I will do as you desire." 
 
 Lhoraond stifled a groan. He had not foreseen 
 this, and, besides, it cost him a pang whenever he 
 was forced to part with a piece of family property 
 to meet now one expense, now another, even though 
 he found a little consolation in taking tithe of tlic 
 sum produced, and adding it to that which he kept 
 under lock and key in his private cupboard. Never 
 had he undertaken such a commission so unwillingly 
 as now, but it was impossible to disobey. His mis- 
 tress turned back to give another order. 
 
 " Lhomond, for the future, whenever the Abbe 
 Gautier proposes to visit my uncle, you will find 
 some reason why he should not," she said. 
 
MADAME DE HON LUC. 225 
 
 The major-domo bowed respectfully, without even 
 venturing to look an inquiry. 
 
 Only once in the j^ear did Madame de Monluc 
 
 spend the day out of the hotel. On this solitary 
 
 occasion she attended an " office " in a distant church, 
 
 passing several hours there, and then resting fur two 
 
 or three more at the house of an aged canoness, who 
 
 had known her as a child, and who yearly left her 
 
 apartment, like Madame de Monluc herself, to be 
 
 present at the " office," which commemorated the 
 
 thirteen hundred victims who had fallen under the 
 
 axe of the guillotine at the Barriere du Trone, and 
 
 were carried thence to be flung into a common grave, 
 
 in a deserted cemetery, near a ruined monastery. 
 
 There they lay, heaped together, noble and roturler, 
 
 young and old, the veteran soldier, the child of 
 
 fourteen, duchess and shop girl, student and artisan, 
 
 priest and labourer, magistrate and carmiSlite, their 
 
 burial place long unknown or forgotten in the 
 
 unimaginable confusion and reverses of the time, 
 
 until at a later day the ground was put up to auction 
 
 and bought by a relation of one who lay there, and 
 
 a chapel was built and a cross set up above the dead. 
 
 No more could then be attempted ; the jealousy of 
 
 the Republican Government was aroused, and a 
 
 p 
 
226 THE SECRET OF 
 
 threat to seize the land and close the chapel was 
 more than once heard. Under Bonaparte there was 
 less to fear, and an annual " office " for the victims of 
 the Revolution, there and elsewhere, was celebrated, 
 attended by all relatives who yet survived. No 
 more pathetic ceremony could be conceived, but as 
 time went on, that fatal tendency, which seemed to 
 oblige the Royalists to mingle religion and politics 
 together, made itself felt even here, and it had 
 become a kind of party demonstration from which 
 no one hien jiensant could be absent. 
 
 It was this feeling, rather than any cunnected with 
 her dead relatives, which took the Marquise dc 
 Monluc thither. She felt herself under an absolute 
 obligation to attend, but she never took Solange 
 with her. On this occasion she allowed herself a 
 fiacre ; the distance was far too great to traverse on 
 foot. Lhomond was always deeply mortified that 
 his lady should appear in so plebeian a vehicle, but 
 Madame de Monluc's was a pride too lofty to be in 
 the least troubled by a matter such as this. ^Vhat 
 did it matter whether she drove in a coach with 
 painted panels and armorial bearings, and a dozen 
 lacqueys, or a fiacre with straw at the bottom and 
 a shabby coachman ? She was none the less the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 227 
 
 Marquise de Monluc. No adventitious circumstances 
 could alter that fact or lower her position. 
 
 Accompanied by Lhomond she left her hotel. She 
 always wore black, but for this occasion her mourn- 
 ing was deeper than usual. The day was gloomy 
 and the sky veiled ; a chill wind shivered in the 
 young leaves of the trees. They left the deserted 
 quarter where the Hotel Monluc stood, and passed 
 near the Tuileries. There was a reception going on ; 
 soldiers stood at the gates; carriages rolled up in- 
 cessantly ; a crowd had gathered, and shouted as 
 now one great personage, now another, was recognised. 
 The little King of Rome had been born a few weeks 
 before, and congratulations and receptions were still 
 at their height. It was one of those days when, as 
 the Abbe Gautier declared, the concierges at the 
 Tuileries used to proclaim, " Si vous netes pas roi 
 vous n'y passez pas." The marquise gave a con- 
 temptuous glance at the throng. " And people 
 pretend that vox populi is vox Dei ! " she said, as 
 her driver turned into an unfrequented bye way, avoid- 
 ing the crowd by making a long round. 
 
 Near the cemetery he drew up, and the marquise 
 alighted. Lhomond bade the driver wait, and walked 
 behind his lady, carrying her book. The open door 
 
228 THE SECRET OF 
 
 revealed the chapel already full of mourners ; only 
 the trembling flame of the candles on the altar 
 illumined it. A sad little concjrefjation was as- 
 sembling, here a little group, kneeling together, there 
 a solitary figure, or an aged couple. Each year there 
 was some one missing, as death, or absence, or even 
 forgetfulness diminished the number of those per- 
 sonally concerned in the ceremony. Madame de 
 Monluc passed in, speaking to no one, her thick veil 
 dropped over her face, and knelt down at once, erect 
 and motionless. Lhomond knelt, too, with tears in 
 his eyes, and prayed for his young mistress who was 
 dead, and her daughter who lived, with all his 
 heart, though his eyes were wandering round, noting 
 who was there that he recognised. He had seen as 
 many in former days in the Hotel Monluc. " That 
 is a De Noailles," he thought to himself, " and yonder 
 is the Marquis de la Salle ; I do not see the Baron 
 de Carnd this 3'ear ..." He could have named 
 nearly cveiy one. When the mourners rose at the 
 sound of the chanted misdrere, to follow the officiat- 
 ing priests to the spot where the wooden cross .stood 
 on its cyprus-shadcd mound, Lhomond stepped away 
 quietly, that he might execute his lady's commission, 
 and return in time to escort her to the convent where 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 229 
 
 her old friend, the canoness, bad an apartment. 
 He was so much occupied with his own thoughts 
 that he did not notice, among the foot passengers 
 whom he mingled with on his way, the figure of the 
 Abbe Gautier, though he was too remarkable-looking 
 to be easily overlooked. He was on his way to the 
 chapel which Lhomond had just quitted, very reluc- 
 tantly, for he detested moving scenes and melancholy 
 associations, and had delayed until he was disgrace- 
 fully late, though quite aware that he ought to 
 present himself there, and that his absence would be 
 considered unpardonable. Perhaps he would not 
 have gone at all but for the persuasions and re- 
 proaches of his sister and his nieces, with whom he 
 shared his apartment and everything else which he 
 possessed. It was his whim to decry family affection, 
 and talk as if he held relations a burden which no 
 one was called upon to endure, but, in point of fact, 
 he was the kindest of brothers and uncles, and 
 entirely governed by his womenkind. They had 
 succeeded in driving him out to do his duty, and 
 he was walking in the direction of the cemetery 
 when he espied Lhomond, evidently going on some 
 unusual errand, and with a troubled, absent air 
 which showed it was an unwelcome one. He actually 
 
230 THE SECRET OF 
 
 brushed by without seeing the abb^, whose curiosity 
 was instantly awakened ; he forgot everything but 
 the hope of seizing that clue wdiich w^as for ever 
 elucliner him, and turned back to see wliere Lhoraond 
 was going. With a cold chill of disappointment 
 he saw the major-domo enter a jeweller's shop' 
 where, in all probability, he w^as only taking an orna- 
 ment to be repaired, or, more likely still, bringing 
 some article to sell ; the shop was full of jewels, 
 pictures, china, fans — anything and everything which 
 Emigres or ruined aristocrats could dispose of ; the 
 abbd knew its owner well, and had transacted a 
 great deal of business with him on behalf of friends 
 to whom he had transmitted the money which he re- 
 ceived, at imminent risk to himself. No one knew 
 better than he that precious indications might be 
 gained by an unexpected and unlikely chance, and 
 he followed Lhomond into the shop, and began to 
 stud}'- a fan which dated from the era when the 
 lover of humanity came into fashion, and was decor- 
 ated with a group of little chimney sweeps, instead 
 of a scene from Wattcau, while Lhomond at the 
 counter, with his back to him, and fully believing 
 that he had the place to himself, produced a little 
 box, which the abbe perceived at a glance to con- 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 231 
 
 tain the diamond ear-rings that were so familiar to 
 him in the ears of the Marquise de Monluc. Lhomond 
 waited in visible anxiety while the jeweller examined 
 and weighed them, and the abbe muttered to him- 
 self, " Poor woman ! has it come to this ? " But 
 Lhomond's tone was by no means what he expected? 
 and he pricked up his ears in surprise when the 
 old man said, in a deprecating voice, on hearing 
 the value set upon the ornaments, " That is a great 
 deal, M. Merle; I did not think they were worth 
 that. Are you sure you do not over-value them ? " 
 
 " They are worth more, but it would not answer 
 me to give it ; you have only to look ro' -nd and 
 see how crowded my shop is with articles brought 
 me from all sides," answered the jeweller, who was 
 an honest man, and had done many good turns to 
 unfortunate aristocrats at great risk to his own 
 head. 
 
 " No, no, M. Merle, of course not. We are entirely 
 satisfied with your offer. I need not ask you to keep 
 it a secret whence these ear-rings came. No doubt, 
 some fine dame anoblie, some wife of those newly 
 baked senators, or worse still, will have them. The 
 world is upside down, I think. I will leave them 
 then. Your servant, monsieur." 
 
232 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Lliomoud withdrew, dignified as befitted the major- 
 domo of a noble house in treating with a shop- 
 keeper ; he did not notice the abbe, in a dark 
 corner. 
 
 "Is it often that your customers complain that 
 you overpay them. Merle ? " he said, emerging un- 
 expectedly. 
 
 " Monsieur ! I did not know any one was in the 
 sho})," said Merle, hastily sweeping up the ear-rings 
 out of sight. 
 
 " Do not be uneasy, my good Merle. The marquise 
 is my old friend ; I have seen and can tell nothing. 
 You are the providence of us poor ruined aristocrats, 
 you know. By the way, though I must not speak of all 
 you did for us a few years ago — you know where half 
 the priests in Paris who escaped the guillotine were 
 hidden — can you by chance tell me what became of 
 a certain Abbe Caron ? " 
 
 " Caron, M. I'Abbc ? Caron ? The name seems 
 known to me ; 1 have certainly heard it." 
 
 " Try to rccal where and how, my dear Merle. 
 You would do me an inestimable service." 
 
 " I have it, M. I'Abbe ; a priest of that name was 
 hidden in the Hotel Monluc, disguised as valet to an 
 old man who lived there — one of the family.' 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 233 
 
 " My excellent Merle ! You tell me what is invalu- 
 able to me. And then ? After Thermidor, when it 
 was no longer necessary to disguise himself, what 
 became of him ? " 
 
 The abbe's voice trembled with eagerness ; he came 
 close up to the counter and looked imploringly at 
 the jeweller. 
 
 " Ah, that I do not knov/. He left Paris apparently. 
 Yes, I recollect his coming here and asking me to 
 buy a snuff-box, which I did." 
 
 " How ! left Paris ! Merle, I must have the date of 
 this. Have you no memorandum, nothing in your 
 account books ? Try to tell me this." 
 
 " It is so long ago, M. I'Abbt^ . . . eighteen years. 
 But I may be able to find some notice of it ; I never 
 buy or sell without making a full note of the trans- 
 action, and I have kept all my books. You will 
 understand that in these times many things have 
 been sold or pledged, which families would desire later 
 to recover at almost any price ; I have found it so. 
 If you have time to wait ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my friend, certainly ; a year if you 
 require it. I have waited nearly eighteen already," 
 said the abbe, sighing deeply. 
 
 " I shall not want so long a time," answered the 
 
234 THE SECRET OF 
 
 jeweller, with justifiable pride in his exact accounts. 
 It took liim only a few moments to fetch the 
 register which he required from an inner room, 
 and to turn to the letter C. "You see, M. I'Abbe', 
 it is as I said," he observed, laying his finger on 
 an entry 
 
 " That is two days after the marquise returned 
 to the H6tel Monluc," said the abbe, his unfail- 
 ing memory at once supplying the date. " That is 
 remarkable. A man who, you say, had been the 
 constant companion of the commander, to whom, 
 certainly, tlie marquise owed some gratitude, since, 
 but for him, I cannot imagine what would have 
 become of the old man, leaves the hotel at once on 
 her return, and so poor that he has to raise a 
 trifling suu-i on a snufF-box. You do not know at 
 all where he went ? " 
 
 " The whole matter had passed from my memory, 
 M. I'Abbd, but it begins to come back to me ; I 
 recollect he asked mo if there were any employ- 
 ment, however humble, whieli I could sn£r<^est to 
 him. He seemed distressed and anxious ; but, after 
 all, he was only one of so many ! " 
 
 " Strange ! " repeated the abbe, full of thought. 
 " Merle, you must learn for me what became of 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 235 
 
 this priest. It is absolutely necessary I should 
 know." 
 
 "I fear tliat it will be impossible, M. I'Abbe. 
 Eiofhteen vears acjo ! " 
 
 " It is absolutely necessary tliat I should know," 
 repeated the abbe. " I shall have no peace till I 
 do. This Abbe Caron, you say, spent a consider- 
 able time at the Hotel Monluc. How came you to 
 know this ? " 
 
 " There are things which are safer forgotten than 
 remembered, M. I'Abbe," answered the jeweller, 
 smiling. " It is true that I passed as a good Re- 
 publican in those days, and that now nobody asks 
 what my politics really were or are, so long as I 
 do not meddle with plots against the Imperial 
 Government — which I have not the least wish to 
 do — but still a silent tongue is a safe one." 
 
 The Abbe Gautier knew how much this sheej) in 
 wolf's clothing had done during the Revolution for 
 proscribed Royalists, and made a sign of friendly 
 comprehension. 
 
 " But you will do all you can to put me on the 
 track of my priest," he said, persuasively. 
 
 " Assuredly, Monsieur I'Abbe. I have business 
 with tlie chaplain of his Grace the Archbishop this 
 
236 THE SECRET OF 
 
 evening ; it is possible that I may leain something. 
 
 If so, you shall hear at once." 
 
 The Abbe Gautier went away as absorbed as 
 Lhomond had been. " And that old villain who 
 pretended to have forgotten by whom the marriage 
 was performed ! " he murmured, " though Caron's 
 name must have been perfectly familiar to him 1 
 The commander, who has never once alluded to 
 this supposed valet. . . Stay, yes, he has spoken of 
 ' his valet Jean ; ' it is possible that he did not know 
 he was a priest. Then the marquise, who dismisses 
 the man who risked his head by performing the 
 mari'iage ceremony. . . That priest must, and shall 
 be found ! " 
 
 The abbe reached his dwelling quite worn out 
 and plaintive. He would not be spoken to by 
 sister or nieces, but waived them mutely aside, and 
 pointed to a tisane of calming properties. 
 
 Stretched in a hergere, he spent the rest of the 
 day exhausted and dtjected, making up his mind 
 that the jeweller's interest in the matter would not 
 be sufficient to overcome the obstacles in the way 
 of learning what had become of tlie priest who held 
 the clue to the secret which for so many years had 
 eluded the Abbe Gautier's far-famed acuteuess. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 237 
 
 " I have a claw in my side ; I shall not live 
 through the night," he said to his sister, as he had 
 done man}' times before when out of spirits. " Who 
 is that ? Did I not say no one was to disturb 
 me ? Begone ! Close the door ! Do you desire to 
 kill me ? " 
 
 " A letter for you, dear uncle," said his youngest 
 niece; "but do not weary yourself hy reading it." 
 
 " Good heavens ! how can I read a letter, ex- 
 hausted as I am ? From whom is it ? " 
 
 " It is signed Merle, my uncle." 
 
 " Merle ! " exclaimed the abbe, jumping up and 
 seizing the letter. " Give it to me instantly." 
 
 It took him but a moment to read it. He looked 
 up radiant ; he had come to life at once. 
 
 " Pack my valise, sister," he said, authoritatively. 
 " I am going to La Maline." 
 
 If there was any one thing which the Abbe 
 Gautier detested, it was travelling. 
 
 " But why ? and where is La Maline ? " his 
 auilitors cried with one voice. 
 
 " I do not know. Bat what does that signify ? 
 Pack — pack, I tell you. Ah, my dear brother abbe, 
 you are priest at La Maline, then ! The secret is 
 mine ! I start to-night." 
 
238 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It was with great difficulty that Lhoinond could 
 leave the Hotel Monluc for so long a time. Not 
 only did he think ruefully of all his multifarious 
 duties unfulfilled and accumulating until his return 
 — he would not condescend to entrust them to 
 Mette — but the thought of the old commander was 
 heavy on his mind, as he pictured the old man 
 sitting alone and hel])less, unable to make himself 
 heard if he wanted anything. Solange, however, 
 would spend some time with him ; she had pro- 
 mised to carry up his dinner punctually. Even if 
 Lhomond would have asked Mette to do so, the 
 commander would have refused to admit her ; he 
 had been a great admirer of pretty women, and 
 detested ugly ones ; and Mette's high cheek bouca 
 and low forehead seemed particularly displeasing to 
 his eye. On the other hand, Mette might have 
 refused to wait on him, for she had the touchy 
 vanity of a plain woman, and was quite aware of 
 the commander's bad taste with regard to her. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 239 
 
 Solange, therefore, had her old uncle in charge, 
 while Madame de Monluc and Lhomond were absent. 
 He was not in the best of humours, for he could 
 not understand what had become of Lhomond, and 
 Solange gave up as hopeless the attempt to explain 
 what was taking place to a man who could not 
 comprehend that there had been a Revolution. 
 Lhomond believed that the emotions and troubles 
 of twenty years before had brought on a slight 
 paralytic stroke, shown by some bodily weak- 
 ness and incapacity to retain new facts, but not 
 affecting early recollections. Sometimes he would 
 suddenly recal occurrences which no one had heard 
 him allude to before, or which had seemed entirely 
 effaced from his mind, but in so casual and frag- 
 mentary a way that no one who had not a clue 
 could have made out a connected story from them, 
 and a direct question always bewildered him. 
 
 Perhaps having his meal served by some one who 
 was not Lhomond revived a recollection of the time 
 when he was left solitary in the hotel with his 
 supposed valet, for he began suddenly to talk about 
 "Jean," and inquire where he was, in a puzzled, 
 uneasy way. 
 
 "I forget how I got him, or why Joseph went 
 
240 THE SECRET OF 
 
 away," he saiJ, evidently trying to piece recol- 
 lections together ; "but he was a queer animal. He 
 always wore a cap, and said it was because he had 
 something the matter with his head, but one day it 
 fell off, and though he whipped it on again, I am 
 sure the fellow had a tonsure ! And if you will 
 believe me, he used to read a breviary ; I asked 
 what the deuce he meant by it, and he said he had 
 been so much among priests in his youth that he 
 had got into the way of it. A queer animal ! " 
 repeated the commander, with his hearty laugh, 
 restored to good humour by recalling the absurd 
 habits of his valet. 
 
 Solange listened smiling, not much interested by 
 these reminiscences, but glad that the old man was 
 pleased again. 
 
 "And what became of him, my uncle ? " 
 "Of whom? Jean? Why, he went off the other 
 day, and has never returned. I have my suspicions 
 that my lady niece, the marquise, had a hand in it, 
 but if she meddled with my valet, it was monstrously 
 impertinent, and so I shall tell her." 
 
 " Was he here long ? " Solange asked, willing to 
 humour him. 
 
 "Yes — no. You might know without asking me, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 241 
 
 child," said the commander, dexterously covering his 
 inability to answer with any certainty by this at- 
 tack on his questioner. " Now I think of it, he 
 brought you back." 
 
 " Did he, uncle ? " Solange began to be interested ; 
 she knew that to the commander she was always 
 Renee, and she perceived that something was to be 
 gleaned out of this wandering talk. 
 
 " Why, yes — what a short memory you have, little 
 one ! The old uncle's is worth two of it, any day." 
 
 " It must be, for do you know, I cannot recollect at 
 all where he brought me from." 
 
 The commander was delighted. Now and then he 
 had a suspicion that his brain was not altogether 
 what it had been, and while the fear lasted, it 
 troubled him. With childish craft he kept it to 
 himself, watching to see if others • thought so too, 
 and covering any slip which he fancied he had 
 made as best he could. Solange's lapse of memory 
 reassured him, and put him into the best of spirits. 
 
 "From your convent, I suppose, child. You were 
 always a good girl, and ran up to find me the 
 moment you came to the hotel. By the way, my 
 niece Louis has not been to see me lately ; that is 
 not like her ; tell her to come. She is a charming 
 
242 THE SECRET OF 
 
 woman, Comtesse Louis ; I don't care for the marquise 
 — No, never did. Well, never mind." 
 
 " Ah, he fetched me from the convent ? " 
 
 " It is singular you do not recollect ; you are not 
 pretending to have forgotten, child ? " asked the 
 commander, with sudden suspicion, and growing 
 very red. 
 
 " No, indeed — on my word, uncle. Please remind 
 me." 
 
 " Why, he led you in, and you were in mourning 
 and crying ; you cannot have forgotten all that ? 
 Why, you knelt here and hid your face, and I could 
 not make out what it was all about, but I suppose 
 poor Armand's death was at the bottom of it." 
 
 Solange knew now that she was hearing of her 
 young mother's return to the desolate hotel where 
 there was no one but the commander left to receive 
 her. What a return ! But who was this valet whose 
 name indeed she had heard before, but never with 
 these details. " A priest ! " she said to herself, " dis- 
 guised, and hidden here. But why has Lhomond 
 never named him ? " 
 
 The mystery which surrounded all that related to 
 her mother struck her with new force. She tried to 
 make the commander continue in the same strain, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 243 
 
 but his attention was diverted by espying Maximo 
 Laugier in his room over the way, reading at a table 
 piled with books. 
 
 " He is at home ! " cried Solange, startled and sur- 
 prised; for she knew enough by this time of Maxime's 
 habits to expect that at such an hour he would be at 
 work in M. de Fontanes' cabinet. 
 
 "I told the beau chevalier to say he was to come 
 to see me," said the old man, testily. Solange called 
 Lhomond M. le Heron, and her uncle nicknamed him 
 the beau chevalier, from the tune which he was ac- 
 customed to hum when at a loss, or meditating. " He 
 forgot my message, no doubt ; I'll sharpen up his 
 memory for him ! " 
 
 " But no, my uncle ; M. Laugier came to visit you 
 last Sunday and the Sunday before that." 
 
 " Is this any reason why he should not come again 
 if I want him ? Hey ! What do you say ? Hi ! 
 M. I'Auteur ! " shouted the commander, enforc- 
 ing his words by an imperative sign to Maxime, who, 
 hearing the call, looked up, came to his window, and 
 bowed to Solange and her uncle. 
 
 " Come over here," repeated the commander ; " we 
 are perishing of dulness, my niece and I. Come and 
 visit us." 
 
244 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Maxime bowed again, and disappeared from the 
 room. 
 
 " But, my uncle ! " exclaimed Solange, laughing and 
 embarrassed, " I must leave you if ]\I. Laugier is 
 coming here ! " 
 
 " Leave me ! what for ? On the contrary, I desire 
 that you remain. Am I not here to take care of 
 you ? What nonsense is this ? You will end by 
 making me angry." 
 
 Solange did not want to go at all, though she pro- 
 tested, but she meant that Maxime should know she 
 had nothing to do with the invitation which he had 
 received. She was not grateful however to her uncle 
 for the way in which he made it clear, as soon as 
 Maxime arrived, looking very happy at this unex- 
 pected opportunity of meeting Solange — meeting her, 
 too, without being required to devote his attention to 
 the marquise. 
 
 " So here you are, monsieur ! This child is afraid 
 of you," laughed the old man ; " she was for running 
 away, but I have kept her. She often comes to visit 
 me, like a good girl, and cheer me up. I have not 
 seen any of the others lately : they are at Versailles 
 I suppose, or in the country, for they never come 
 near me." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 245 
 
 " He does not know," whispered Solange, " and 
 even if he could understand. . . ." and Maxime re- 
 turned a look of sympathetic comprehension. 
 
 " Jean has taken himself off, and I do not know 
 where Lhomond is," the commander continued ; " he 
 will be here presently. Sit down and tell me what is 
 going on," 
 
 " Lhomond has gone with grandmamma to the 
 funeral service for the victims of the Barriere du 
 Trone," Solange explained in an undertone. 
 
 " You did not accompany them, mademoiselle ! " 
 said Maxime, with some wonder. 
 
 " No ; grandmamma never takes me, and I should 
 so like to go ! " 
 
 " Would you ? " Maxime could not associate this 
 young and joyous creature with such a tragic cere- 
 mony. 
 
 " It must be so touching ; it would make my heart 
 beat, and I am so happy when my heart beats," said 
 the girl, naively. She had something of her grand- 
 mother's love of sensation, " But you, monsieur, how 
 came you to be free at this hour ? " 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, I have been longing to tell you 
 of my good fortune. In a few days I shall have an 
 excellent post in the Bibliotheque Imperiale — a post 
 
m6 the secret of 
 
 whose duties are all that I could desire, and which 
 will leave me leisure to study and to write." 
 
 Maxime's face was not more beamincc than that 
 of Solange, 
 
 " I am frlad ! " she said, holdinn^ out her hand, but 
 drawing it bac^k, blushing and reproachful, as he 
 kissed the slender fingers ardently. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, with a look which hardly 
 mitigated the offence, if offence it were. The com- 
 mander took this homage quite as a matter of course. 
 
 " That is right, young man ; you have good man- 
 ners," he said, " and good manners are a sign of good 
 birth. I always told my young fellows so in soldier 
 days ; I do not know what youths are taught now— 
 how to feed a lady's lap dog with gimblettes, I dare- 
 say, or write a copy of verses. We knew nothing of 
 all that ; we learnt to laugh at hardships, and strike 
 the word compromise, where right and wrong wore 
 concerned, out of our dictionaries ; my good father 
 set his sons the example, aiid our mother taught us 
 to think that the finest thing in tlie world was to 
 fight for one's country, be faithiul to one's prince, 
 and uphold the honour of one's nanu\ Yes, that 
 was what we learned." 
 
 " A noble lesson, monsieur." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 247^ 
 
 " I went all through the Seven Years' War," the old 
 soldier went on. " It was an excellent school. Some 
 of us grumbled when Choiseul took to reforming the 
 army, and introduced Frederic's system, but the 
 young ones knew better — they knew better. A 
 wonderful general that Frederic — our enemy, yes, 
 but there has never been one like him since." 
 
 " Except Bonaparte," IVTaxime could not help say- 
 ing, forgetting that the commander would know 
 nothing about so modern a hero. The old man was 
 not listening. 
 
 " His Majesty Louis Quatorze, did you say ? 
 No, no ; to my mind he was just the half of 
 a great man." Like most of his family the com- 
 mander was somewhat of a frondeur of royalt}^ — 
 " And as for our present king," he added with an 
 angry laugh, " lie sings more out of tune than any 
 man in his dominions, and makes war to match. 
 There was a prodigious fuss made when he went to 
 l^Ietz with the Chateauroux for chief adviser, though 
 if you had asked what his army thought . . . but 
 there ! I will say no more ; hear, see, and say no- 
 thing if you would live in peace ; " — the commander 
 was the most outspoken and imprudent of men — 
 " I have no mind to see the inside of the Bastille. 
 
248 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Look here, my child ; let us have a bottle of good 
 wine, M. Laugier and I, to drink His Majesty s health 
 our Louis le bien-aime. ' 
 
 Whatever were Lhomond's economies, they were 
 never allowed to affect his master's table, and 
 Solange knew where to find the wine which he 
 demanded. She ran gaily down to the entresol, her 
 heart brimful of happiness, so that she had a merry 
 word even for Mette, who stood at the door of her 
 lady's room watching her with an evil look. 
 
 Mette had made up her mind that Solange would 
 take advantage of this afternoon, when the marquise 
 was absent, to have an interview with Maxime, and 
 as it happened, circumstances justified her expecta- 
 tion. She had not heard Maximo pass up the stairs, 
 but some instinct told her that he had come, and 
 she stole up when Solange had returned, opened the 
 door half an inch, and heard enough to send her 
 down again satisfied. 
 
 Solange poured out the wine, touched the glass 
 with her lips, as the conunander liked her to do, 
 and gave it him. Maxime would have given a great 
 deal if she would have done as much for hi.s. Tiie 
 old man held up his glass, bowed to her with nmch 
 formality, and said : 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 249 
 
 " I drink to 3^our health and happiness, my niece." 
 Then turning to Maxime. •' Did you ever hear of 
 such an absurd idea as to put that cliild in a con- 
 vent ? I have said I will not allow it ; am I not 
 right, monsieur ? " 
 
 Solange could not but smile at the look of inquir- 
 ing alarm which Maxime cast upon her ; to her the 
 commander's words meant nothing, while to him 
 they suggested that tiie project, which he had per- 
 suaded himself was a mere vague possibility, was 
 one so fully recognised that even the commander 
 realised it. 
 
 " Assuredly," he stammered. " Assuredly, M. le 
 Commandeur." 
 
 " Another glass of wine, my child, and give me a 
 song. My niece sings like a lark, monsieur. Come, 
 strike up, or must I set you the example ? " 
 
 " No, my uncle, I will sing," said Solange in haste, 
 fearincj what the old soldier micrht choose. 
 
 He laughed heartily, very well understanding her 
 alarm. 
 
 " Well, then, but none of your doleful ditties ; no 
 Lords of Naun nor Clerks of Rohan. What is that 
 you sing : ' Pour chasser de sa souvenance . . . ? ' " 
 
 Maxime never forgot hearing Solange sing the 
 
250 THE SECRET OF 
 
 sweet little chanson, which her uncle asked for. 
 Their eyes met as she ended it. 
 
 " En songeant qu'il faut qu'on oublie 
 On s'en souvient." 
 
 He had experienced the truth of it. 
 
 " Now let us have ' Les trois princesses,' child," 
 said the commander. 
 
 There were a great many verses, but not one too 
 many, Maxime would have said. The commander 
 found them soothing ; before the end he was asleep. 
 Practically, Maxime and the girl he loved were alone, 
 yet the presence of the old man emboldened Solange, 
 and gave her a feeling of protection, while Maxime's 
 heart beat faster even while he soiiglit to guard his 
 words and looks the more, because no eye was upon 
 him. It was a new delight to see her thus, free 
 from constraint, in her simple morning dress, her 
 hair unpowdered, her gown pulled up through the 
 pocket-holes, such a Solange as slie would be in 
 daily life when ... if ... He dared not go farther, 
 even in thought. 
 
 She broke the silence, speaking low, so as not 
 to disturb the cotnmander. 
 
 " You have not yet begun your work at the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 251 
 
 Bibliotheque Iinp^riale, monsieur ? Shall you be 
 busy of an evening ? " 
 
 She was unconscious of how much her wistful 
 tone betrayed. 
 
 " Never too busy to be at the commands of your 
 grandmother," answered Maxime. 
 
 Her face brightened. " I am glad," she said. " But, 
 after all, is not this study of Madame de Sevigne 
 and her times too small a thing for you ? The Abbe 
 Gautier says you are a standard bearer," she added, 
 with conviction, which was the sweetest of flattery, 
 though Maxime shook his head, smiling. 
 
 " If you knew how I look forward to my even- 
 ings here ! I always woi'k tenfold better after them. 
 How much I owe this house ! Only a few weeks 
 ago I was one of tlie most solitary beings in Paris, 
 working indeed, but with the resolve rather than 
 the hope of succeeding, and now, thanks to you — " 
 
 " How can you say so, monsieur ? " 
 
 He did not insist. " As for the study of Madame 
 de Sevigne, even if it were less attractive — and it 
 interests me exceedingly — I should gain valuable 
 lessons from the criticisms of your grandmother and 
 the Abbe Gautier. What an instinct for style he 
 has ! Whether he talks, composes, eats, or drinks, 
 
252 THE SECRET OF 
 
 one feels that he looks at everything from the point 
 of view of the writer." 
 
 "I know nothing — but it seems to me that when he 
 and my grandmother talk, they think so much of how 
 a thing should be said tliat it is like making the 
 frame more important than the picture," said 
 Solange. 
 
 " I own the danger is a real one, but to find one- 
 self — a young writer — called on to express one's 
 thoughts in the clearest and fittest words is the best 
 possible training." 
 
 " If one has plenty of thoughts ! I am afraid, 
 monsieur, that you very much dislike being ques- 
 tioned on what you are writing, or intend to write ? 
 I mean — " as Maxime's look answered, " when grand- 
 mamma inquires as she does." 
 
 " Do I seem ungracious ? it is most unintentional," 
 said Maxime, earnestly ; " but you will understand 
 that there are things so near to one's heart, or so 
 vague that it is difficult to talk of them, especially if 
 they be of slight interest to the inquirer. It is as 
 if one's heart or mind were a besieged place, and one 
 were being summoned to give up the keys." 
 
 Solange liad long ere this divined with keen 
 sympathy how little agreeable Maxime found her 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 253 
 
 grandmother's imperious style of questioning. The 
 marquise regarded Maxime as her subject, and could 
 not conceive that he should wish to reserve any 
 corner of his mind for himself. 
 
 *' You once said you talked everything over with 
 your mother, monsieur. How you must miss her. 
 This appointment in the Bibliotheque Imperiale will 
 be fresh good news to send her," said Solange, 
 with sweet, innocent sympathy, thinking too much 
 of Maxime to be conscious or embarrassed. 
 
 " And she needs it, the dear woman ! She has 
 worn herself out with nursing a daughter-in-law ; 
 they are now at our house in the country." 
 
 "Your chateau ? " 
 
 " Nothing so grand," answered Maxime, smiling ; 
 "only a small old manor house, but it has been in 
 our family — well, perhaps, ever since those Arabs 
 were driven out who made the water wheel and the 
 deep well in the garden." 
 
 " And you have an ancient house in Aix, I know ; 
 Lhomond told me so." 
 
 She had cared enough then to question Lhomond. 
 Maxime's eyes grew very bright. 
 
 " My mother, and my two brothers with their 
 wives live there." 
 
254 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " You have no sister of your own, monsieur ? " 
 
 " One, a nun, in the convent of the Ursulines," 
 answered Maxime with tender pride, and yet a sigh. 
 He could not reconcile himself to the loss of the one 
 girl in the family, his own pair and playmate, or 
 think without a pang of her toilsome days and 
 broken nights within the bare convent walls ; yet 
 his heart glowed at the thought of the devotion 
 which had renounced family and earthly joys to 
 give herself to Heaven. " She is very happy, we 
 could not refuse to let her go, but her place is always 
 empty." 
 
 "I do not know how girls ever rise to such de- 
 tachment," said Solange, thoughtful 1}''. '' It is not 
 gay in this hotel, assuredly ; yet, when I compare it 
 with the convent yonder — you may liear the bell 
 now — I think, at least, things may alter — they are 
 not obliged to remain unchanged for ever. Ah, I 
 should die of a convent life ! " 
 
 " You have no vocation then, mademoiselle ? " said 
 Maxime, joyfully. All his conviction of the sub- 
 limity of his sister's choice could not persuade him 
 that Solange would do well to follow it. 
 
 " Alas, no ! " laughed the girl, blushing as she spoke. 
 " 1 am not good or self-sacrificing enough, monsieur." 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 255 
 
 " Your uncle spoke as if some such plan were con- 
 templated," said Maxime, uneasily, recalling the 
 abbe's assertion that Solange knew nothingf of it. 
 
 " He takes me for my mother — perhaps it was 
 spoken of for her. Ah, it does not matter ; I shall 
 certainly never take the veil." 
 
 " Heaven grant it ! " murmured Maxime, with a 
 great longing to snatch her away; and protect her 
 from anything that could bring a shadow into her 
 laughing eyes. 
 
 " You see, monsieur," she went on, with unexpected 
 seriousness ; " a girl must obey her family in almost 
 everything ; they know what is best for her in 
 worldly matters, and she has only to submit ; but as 
 for the religious life, I think no one but herself 
 knows if she is fit for it. Lhomond says that my 
 great aunts all entered convents that their brother 
 might not have to lessen his fortune ; and that girls 
 of noble birth constantly do so. Well, I do not see 
 that it is right. But I ara talking too much," she 
 broke off hastily ; " and, after all, I know nothing of 
 convents ; I never was inside one. My mother loved 
 hers, Lhomond says. You know that is her portrait, 
 do you not ? " 
 
 Maxime turned with unfeigned interest to look at 
 
256 THE SECRET OF 
 
 tlie painting. " What a sad face ! " he exclaimed, 
 involuntarily. 
 
 " Ah, you think so too ! And the other is my 
 father." 
 
 " Your mother married her cousin, I presume, 
 mademoiselle, since you bear the name of Mon- 
 luc ? " 
 
 "Yes, her cousin german, the Vicomte de Neuville." 
 
 The words died on her lips; she stood gazing at 
 Maxime, who had started up with a look of horror. 
 " I have not heard you rightly, mademoiselle ? It is 
 impossible ! You do not mean that the Vicomte de 
 Neuville was your father ? that Vicomte de Neuville 
 who emigrated — who fell in a duel at Coblentz ? 
 My God ! this is too dreadful ! " 
 
 " Was it then your father — " faltered Solange. 
 
 Maxime had no words to reply. They stood look- 
 ing at each other, with pale, horror-stricken faces, 
 across the gulf which had without a moment's warn- 
 ing opened between them. Involuntarily Solange 
 held out her hands with a little cry of anguish. 
 Maxime caught them in a passionate grasp, and 
 kissed them again and again. 
 
 "Farewell !'' she heard him mutter, as he let them 
 go, and went blindly out of the room. Solange stood 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 257 
 
 all dizzy, feeling as if a cruel hand had crushed her 
 heart. 
 
 " Maxime ! Maxime ! " she cried, to the deaf walls. 
 Her voice roused the commander ; he rubbed his eyes, 
 not sure for some time whether he was asleep or 
 awake. When he had made up his mind, he found 
 he was alone. 
 
 "I have been dreaming," he said aloud, in a 
 puzzled way. " I thought I heard some one sobbing 
 here. Why, where is Renee ? She was with me — 
 or was that a dream too ? " 
 
258 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 When the marquise and Lhomond returned home in 
 the late afternoon, the sun was shining and the 
 populace were flocking out of doors and making the 
 streets a moving picture. Here a fdite marchande 
 sat at a stall glittering with toys and trinkets ; there 
 a group gathered at a corner to drink the lemonade 
 poured out of pitchers with jingling bells, or to buy 
 cakes and soup cooked at a stove in the open air; 
 farther on, a party of excited listeners applauded a 
 popular orator, or stood round a violinist playing 
 some pathetic strain of Pleyel or Grdtry, or screamed 
 with laughter at the pranks of a gille, encouraged 
 by the police, who saw in the buffoon a means of 
 rendering the disreputables of Paris comparatively 
 harmless, by attracting respectable people among 
 them. Everywhere vehicles were passing, and foot 
 passengers came and went, laughing, listening, chatter- 
 ing as if out on a holiday. Lhomond looked about 
 him, wishing that Solangc could see the gay and 
 changing scene, and then groaned inwardly to think 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 259 
 
 of the convent walls which awaited her, and fell 
 to calculating how much he could venture to abstract 
 of the sum which the jewels had br-ought in. Madame 
 de Monluc glanced out too, wearily. " Wlio would 
 think there bad been a Revolution ? " she murmured. 
 " Ah, one sees it now ! " Her fiacre was just then 
 turning into the silent and deserted quarter where 
 stood the Hotel Monluc. As if in some way her 
 reflection were connected with Solange, she said 
 abruptly, on alighting from the fiacre, " Lhomond, I 
 shall certainly hear in these next days from my 
 cousin, the Superieure, at Aix. You will be ready to 
 set out at once." 
 
 " Madame la Marquise will inform Mademoiselle 
 Solange of her intentions ? " 
 
 " Certainly, as soon as the letter comes. I could 
 wish that from the first she had looked forward to a 
 convent ; I do not want to be annoyed by tears or 
 childish reluctance, such as I suppose she may possibly 
 show, but the convents being closed in her childhood 
 prevented my foreseeing this destination for her, and 
 as the plan involved an explanation to any Superior 
 who received her, I have hesitated." 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Marquise," acquiesced Lhomond 
 respectfully. 
 
26o THE SECRET OF 
 
 " It killed me to have to own our disgrace even to 
 my cousin," the marquise went on, with suppressed 
 vehemence, " but it had to be done." 
 
 " Yes, Madame la Marquise," said Lhomond, in a 
 perplexed tone. 
 
 " Do you not understand ? " his mistress answered 
 with impatience. " Could I deceive a Superior of the 
 convent where only girls of unblemished birth are 
 received ? No, no more than I could an ancient family 
 who might — as the de Foys did — have asked for the 
 girl in marriage ! Absolutely impossible ! " 
 
 " I understand. The poor child ! Madame la Mar- 
 quise has never thought of marrying lier . . . less 
 nobly ? " 
 
 '' What do you mean ? " asked Madame de Monluc, 
 with such boundless stern surprise that Lhomond 
 shrank into himself. " Nothing, Madame la Mar- 
 quise, nothing," he protested, very glad that they had 
 reached the entresol. " But, after all, why not ? " he 
 said to himself, as he went into his own little den, 
 and wondered that the idea had never occurred to 
 him before. 
 
 Mette received her mistress in silence, but her 
 manner conveyed volumes. Had her lady thought 
 about her at all, she must have seen that there 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 261 
 
 was weighty news to be told. She was tired how- 
 ever, and out of spirits, and hardly knew that Mette 
 was removing her bonnet and mantle. The tragic 
 ceremony at which she had been present, the drive 
 through the ill-omened Faubourg St. Antoine, and 
 the subject to which she had alluded when speak- 
 ing to Lhomond, alike contributed to her dejection, 
 and almost more did the consciousness that she had 
 been neither moved nor softened by the prayers and 
 sermon beside the grave where she had knelt: she 
 was only weary of herself and the ceremony. A 
 sense of profound ennui overwhelmed her ; life 
 stretched before her grey, monotonous, intolerable. 
 
 Mette's voice broke upon her abstraction as she 
 sat in her bedroom, passively allowing her to wait 
 upon her. It was a hard, metallic voice, which now 
 had a peculiar ring of satisfaction in it. " Madame 
 la Marquise laughed at me the other day when I 
 said that Mademoiselle Solange wrote love letters," 
 Mette said, 
 
 "How! what are you talking of?" answered 
 Madame de Monluc, startled by this sudden inter- 
 ruption to her thoughts. 
 
 " It was true, however, madame. If she did not 
 let him know that Madame la Marquise would be 
 
262 THE SECRET OF 
 
 out all day, Low was it that he came over here 
 this very day, he who never comes at such an 
 hour, and spent the afternoon here with M. le Com- 
 mandeur ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded the marquise, 
 roused. 
 
 " What I say, madame. M. Laugier came here, 
 and went straight upstairs. Lhomond had left the 
 little door open, just as if he expected him — made- 
 moiselle turns Lhomond round her fingers — and pre- 
 sently mademoiselle ran downstairs and fetched 
 wine, and then they talked for a long while, until 
 it was near the time that you should return, and 
 then M. Lausjier ran down like one demented, no 
 doubt for fear of meeting you, and out of the house. 
 I hope madame is convinced now." 
 
 The marquise was silent, pondering the informa- 
 tion poured out by Mette, who went on, angered 
 by receiving no answer, " And if I need say more, 
 it is easy to guess why Mademoiselle Solange goes 
 so often to see her uncle ; his windows look upon 
 those of M. Laugier; I found that out the other 
 day, but I am no tell-tale, and I said nothing." 
 
 " Tell Solange I desire her to come here," said 
 Madame do Monluc. " The girl must go at once," 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 263 
 
 she was thinking, while Mette joyfully obeyed. 
 " This will not do ; mischief is brewing ; who can 
 tell what base strain there may be in her ? " and a 
 dark and angry look came upon her face. 
 
 Solange had passed in the last hours through a very 
 agony of despair. Her tears were spent when Mette 
 appeared to summon her, but the woman fixed her 
 hard black eyes upon her in astonishment, with 
 curiosity excited to the highest degree, as she vainly 
 tried to guess what had convulsed the young features 
 and drowned them in grief. " I will come," Solange 
 answered, lifting her head from the couch where she 
 had flung herself. She had exhausted herself in that 
 dark hour, and seemed able to care for nothing. She 
 did not even bethink herself that this unusual 
 summons must portend something new and strange. 
 
 Madame de Monluc looked at her with stern eyes, 
 into which something of inquiry came as she too 
 noted traces of the tempest of emotion which had 
 broken on the girl. "You sent for me, grand- 
 mamma ? " Solange said ; her voice so unsteady that 
 the sound of it startled even herself. 
 
 " I sent for you — yes. You will prepare for a 
 journey, two days hence, to the Ursuline Convent, of 
 which my cousin is Superior. She will doubtless 
 
264 THE SECRET OF 
 
 permit you to begin your novitiate at once. My 
 intention is that you should take the veil." 
 
 Madame de Monluc spoke in clear, level tones ; 
 she did not deign either to explain or reprimand ; 
 it seemed to her sufficient to express her will. She 
 did not suppose that, at the utmost, Solange would 
 venture on more than a timid remonstrance, hut 
 after what Mette had told her, she was prepared for 
 some sign of agitation. To her surprise Solange only 
 bent her head. " I shall be ready," she answered. 
 
 Such acquiescence astonished the marquise, and 
 roused her suspicions. 
 
 " Very good," she said, after a moment ; " Lhomond 
 will accompany you to Aix." 
 
 " To Aix ! " repeated Solange, involuntarily. It 
 was a gleam of light in this utter darkness to hear 
 that she should go to the convent where Maxime's 
 sister was. 
 
 " To Aix. You may go now. Mette, call Lho- 
 mond." 
 
 Solange went back to her own room, spent with 
 agitation. She sat down and let her hands drop into 
 her lap, and felt as if the waves had closed over her 
 head. What did it matter now that she had thus 
 abruptly learned her destiny was tlie cloister — the 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 265 
 
 very life which so short a time ago she had declared 
 would kill her ? Had not life come utterly to an 
 end for her already, for her and for Maxime also ? 
 his look as he left her was burned upon her recollec- 
 tion. She was past thinking, almost past feeling, 
 only aware that some great pain, she hardly knew 
 whether physical or mental, had clutched her. One 
 minute, half-a-dozen words had been enough to 
 shatter her life. She had never looked on far 
 enough to ask what love between herself and 
 Maxime Laugier could end in but hopeless disappoint- 
 ment ; she had lived in the present, and had grown 
 glad and lovely in its light, anticipating storm, and 
 frost, and winter no more than a flower might have 
 done, and just as little prepared to meet them. So 
 Lhomond found her, when by and by he came, the 
 very picture of distress and consternation, to seek 
 her. " Ah, mademoiselle ! ah, mademoiselle ! " was 
 all that he could falter, standing before her, and 
 looking pitifully at her, as she sat with her hands 
 listlessly crossed in her lap, her head leaning back 
 against the jiTie dieu chair, her eyes closed. She 
 opened them when he spoke, and looked at him with 
 a wan smile. 
 
 " Yes, Lhomond," she said. 
 
266 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Ah, my darling child, do not look like this ! It 
 was so that your mother looked on her death-bed," 
 said the old man, his eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " I wish I were on mine, Lhomond," said Solange. 
 She was new to sorrow, and death seemed to her, as 
 it does to the young, the natural escape from it. 
 
 " My dear! my poor child! How can my lady have 
 the heart ? . . No doubt she is in her right, being the 
 head, so to say, of the family now. . . Alas ! what 
 would your mother say to this ? " cried the old 
 servant, in short, broken sentences. " Do not despair 
 thus, my child ; nothing is decided by your going to 
 a convent ; in a year much may change ; we shall 
 see . . . Ma foi ! if it comes to that I will find 
 means to hinder your going," he declared, pledging 
 himself to do he knew not what, as he looked at her 
 woeful face. 
 
 " What is the use ? I would rather go, since every- 
 thing is over for us." 
 
 " For us ? But when I tell you. . . Ah ! " Lhomond 
 exclaimed, with dismay, almost ludicrous, " you are 
 not then thinking of me ? Of whom then ? Good 
 heavens ! mademoiselle, is that viper Mette right ? 
 I never guessed. . . I, who adore you. . . Is it possible 
 that you have allowed yourself? . . . My poor child I " 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 267 
 
 he could not keep up his tone of astonished reproach 
 " is it possible that you love this young man ? " 
 
 Solange made a sign of assent ; 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " Lhomond said, wringing his hands. 
 
 She lifted her head at that. " Do not think that I 
 am ashamed of it, Lhomond. A queen might be 
 proud of Maxime Laugier's love." 
 
 "Alas! alas!" repeated Lhomond, "what a mis- 
 fortune ! what a misfortune ! And he loves you too 
 of course ; how could he help it ? Ah, mademoiselle, 
 how did you ever dream that my lady would allow 
 such a thing ? " 
 
 Solange might have replied that she had never 
 thought about it, but a burst of tears quenched the 
 light which had kindled in her eyes. " It is not the 
 living who stand between us," she sobbed, " it is the 
 dead." 
 
 " The dead, mademoiselle ! What can you mean ? " 
 
 " Alas, Lhomond ! his father killed mine in a 
 duel." 
 
 Had Solange not covered her face, she would have 
 seen a violent conflict of feeling on the face of the 
 old major-domo. He clenched his hands in his hair, 
 and stood before her as if he did not know what to 
 say or not say ; he began a sentence, broke it off, 
 
268 THE SECRET OF 
 
 began again, and again stopped short. His agitation 
 and incoherence appeared only natural to the girl, 
 who felt that the abyss between her and her lover 
 seemed even more deep and impassable than before, 
 now that Lhomoud knew of it. She looked so young, 
 so woeful, so desolate, that the old man's heart was 
 ready to break too. 
 
 " See, mademoiselle," he urged at last, coaxingl}'-, 
 " you do not care so very much for this young 
 man ? You have seen so little of him ; a few months 
 ago you did not even know his name ; j'ou will try 
 to forget him ? " 
 
 " If I did, what should I have left ? and what 
 would he have ? " exclaimed Solange. 
 
 " Oh, as for him, men. . . I have seen so many 
 who declared they should die if some lady would 
 not listen to them, and they are alive still. Tenez, 
 I m3'self . , . but that does not matter ; only, if this 
 is all, mademoiselle." 
 
 "Lhomond, you know nothing about it. Did yow 
 ever love anybody ? " cried Solange, indignantly. 
 
 The old man smiled and sighed. 
 
 " I have been no wiser than other people, made- 
 moiselle. But never mind that. What we have to 
 think about is your happiness." 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 269 
 
 " My happiness ! See here, Lhomoud, no one but 
 you ever loved me in all my life till now. I did 
 not know what it meant to be loved, to see some 
 one's eyes brighten because he saw one as he came 
 into the room, to be sure that every little silly 
 thing one did was right in his sight. Ah, it is 
 sweet ! I did not know that anybody could be so 
 happy. Was it wrong ? I suppose so, since I am 
 so miserable now." 
 
 " But, mademoiselle, surely this M. Laugier never 
 forgot himself so far as to tell you that he loved 
 you ? " 
 
 " No, he never told me," Solange answered, smil- 
 ing and blushing again, though the tears were hang- 
 ing thickly on her eyelashes. 
 
 " But, then, how do you know all this, made- 
 moiselle ? " 
 
 " Oh, Lhomond ! do not be so stupid. Does one 
 want words for such things? Of couise I know — ■ 
 Yes, perfectly w^ell, and he is so miserable ! " Solange 
 cried, with a sudden childish appeal, clasping her 
 hands, and looking at the old man standing before 
 her in more troubled thought than ever. 
 
 " How are we to gain time ? " he muttered ; " that 
 detestable Mette has made my lady doubly re- 
 
270 THE SECRET OF 
 
 solved ; she is a wicked woman, and always wished 
 ill to this child." 
 
 Lhomond's jealousy of his fellow-servant flamed 
 up, and strengthened his desire to help Solange in 
 this strait. " She wanted to make our lad}'' believe 
 her more watchful of the family interests than the 
 old major-domo, who has served the JMonlucs more 
 than twice as long as she. I know she tells 
 Madame la Marquise that I am growing old and 
 childish. Yes, yes, I am sure I have noticed that 
 she has spoken coldly to me of late. And this child 
 is to be sacrificed in order that that spiteful animal 
 shall get credit with my mistress. . . No, that I 
 will not have ! " And mingled jealousy and affec- 
 tion for Solange getting the upper hand of loyalty 
 to the marquise, he said aloud, in a hurried voice : 
 
 " After all, mademoiselle, things are never as bad 
 as they look. If I were you I would not despair 
 so readily. There are sometimes strange mistakes, 
 and I will venture to say that it was not by the 
 hand of M. Laugier's father that yours fell. No, 
 it certainly was not." 
 
 Solange was on her feet with a bound. 
 
 " How ! What are you saying ? How do you 
 know ? Why did you not say it at once, then ? 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 271 
 
 Lhomoud, Lhomond, are you sure ? '' She caught his 
 hands and shook them to make him speak. 
 
 The old man was alarmed by the effect of his 
 words. " Mademoiselle ... I beseech you be more 
 cautious. If Madame la Marquise heard you ; if she 
 were to guess what I have said ! '' 
 
 •' Why should she care ? She ought to be glad. 
 What can it matter now whether she is angry or 
 not? Tell me, are you sure, sure, Lhomond? My 
 dear, good Lhomond ! My old heron ! Ah, it will 
 kill me if you are only saying this to comfort me. 
 You would not be so cruel ? " 
 
 "I speak the truth, mademoiselle; but, alas ! I do 
 not know, after all, how it will help you. My lady's 
 plans will not be changed by it." 
 
 " But do you think I will take the veil now ? " 
 ciied Solange. " Oh, how shall I let him know this?" 
 
 She was beyond reasoning or arguing with ; 
 Lhomond was left to his dismay that he had said so 
 much, and a helpless sense that by doing so he had 
 let loose forces which would hurry him on whether 
 he would or not. 
 
 " But, mademoiselle," he urged, " what are you 
 going to do ? What can you do ? Did my lady 
 speak to you of this matter ? " 
 
272 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " The duel ? No ; why should she, since M. 
 Laugier had nothing to do with it ? " 
 
 " Not that, mademoiselle ; no, she would not speak 
 of that ; but of M. Maxime, of your meeting him ? 
 Ah, mademoiselle ! how w^as it possible that you 
 should condescend to give a young man rendezvous, 
 even though it was in the apartment of monsieur, 
 your uncle ? " 
 
 Lbomond hoped to regain some authority by as- 
 suming a tone of reproach ; and, indeed, he was 
 genuinely scandalised, though he had forgotten his 
 displeasure on seeing the woeful face of his darling. 
 Solange stared at him, and then threw back her 
 head with a haughty and astonished gesture. 
 
 " You forget yourself, Lhomond,'' she said. 
 
 " I — I beg your pardon, mademoiselle," stammered 
 the old man, entirely taken by surprise at this 
 turning of the tables. 
 
 " If it "were anyone but you, who have been so 
 faithful to us all, I should not tell you anything," 
 Solange went on, with the same look and tone, 
 making the major-domo feel that he had no longer 
 a child to deal with, but a woman, and his mis- 
 tress ; " as it is, I will say that we met only by 
 chance. . . . Oh, Lhomond, do you think I shall 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 273 
 
 ever see him again ? " she cried, her proud tone 
 breaking all at once into piteous appeal. Lhomond 
 was at his wit's end. He still had the inflexible 
 voice of his lady in his ears, and the stern look 
 before his eyes which she had worn when desiring 
 him to prepare for the journey in two days; he 
 had never openly thwarted her in his life, and 
 now here was Solange in rebellion, with the weapon 
 in her hand with which he had in a rash moment 
 furnished her, and whose poisoned edge she would 
 no doubt use, unconscious what she did. 
 
 "At all events, my grandmother must not ima- 
 gine me capable of thus forgetting myself," she 
 said, as Lhomond was silent. " I will go and tell 
 her. Well, why not ? " 
 
 " You would only make everything worse, my 
 dear child ; let it be ; it is only a little thing in 
 my lady's eyes not worth troubling her about." 
 
 " A little thing tliat she should believe Solange 
 de Monluc capable of giving a rendezvous ! " ex- 
 claimed the girl, with inexpressible indignation and 
 astonishment ; " in any case she thinks it deserves 
 banishment to a convent." 
 
 " Oh, no, mademoiselle ; that has nothing to do 
 with it. She has had this plan in her mind for 
 
274 THE SECRET OF 
 
 years," said Lliomond, so anxious to prevent an in- 
 terview with the marquise that he forgot what 
 vistas of inquiry he was opening up. 
 
 " My grandmother has thought of it for years, and 
 not a word to me ! And for what reason ? She 
 has never loved me, I know ; I am an embarrass- 
 ment ; I have no fortune, but I might marry, it 
 seems, for all that." 
 
 " My lady would never allow it . . . out of your 
 own rank," said Lhomond, catching himself up. " It 
 is unheard of in your family. In some letters 
 which I once had the honour of copying for 
 Madame la Marquise, there was mention that when 
 in the reign of His Majesty, Louis Quatorze, a De 
 Monluc proposed to marry into the finance, his re- 
 lations put on mourning, and rather than allow an 
 ancient family to be thus degraded, the king paid 
 his debts and gave him the hand of an heiress." 
 
 " Oh, the finance ; that is quite different," said 
 Solange. and Lhomond saw that his eloquence had 
 been wasted. " Dear Lhomond, who did fight that 
 duel ? " 
 
 " I can tell you no more, mademoiselle ; I have 
 already said too mucl), and you may be very sure 
 that if my lady learns it, she will dismiss me, yes, 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 275 
 
 old as I am, and though I have spent all my life 
 in the service of your family. And then what 
 will become of her or the commander ? " said 
 Lhomond, in great distress. 
 
 " I will say nothing of you, my dear old heron, 
 but M. Laugier must hear that his father did not 
 kill mine; that is absolutely necessary, you know. 
 You must tell him so directly, Lhomond." 
 
 " Yes, mademoiselle.'' 
 
 " Look at me, Lhomond. . . . Ah, you do not 
 mean to do it ! That is cruel when I have nobody 
 to help me but you." 
 
 " Alas ! mademoiselle, how shall I make you 
 understand ? I would lay down my life for you, 
 but I cannot play my lady false by telling family 
 matters to outsiders. I am not noble, but I have 
 my honour," said Lhomond, meaning every word he 
 said, notwithstanding that hoard in the cupboard 
 of which Madame de Monluc knew nothingr. 
 
 " I must find another way then. Two days . . . 
 suppose I refuse to go? What a pity I consented!' 
 
 " My lady would forbid your leaving your room 
 or seeing any one but Mette. No, go to Aix, my 
 dear child, and by-and-bye tell the Superior you 
 have no vocation ; she is, doubtless, a good woman, 
 
276 THE SECRET OF 
 
 and she will write and tell my lady so. I think — 
 yes, I think even my mistress would have to give 
 in then." 
 
 " But if she did not, Lhomond ? " 
 
 "Then 3'ou must stay there until you are of 
 age ; it is not so long to wait, and as for j-our 
 board, do not trouble about that." 
 
 "Lhomond, 1 do not like this plan of going as if 
 I consented, meaning all the time to refuse. I 
 must, at least, tell grandmamma that if I find I 
 have no vocation, she must have me back." 
 
 "No, no, mademoiselle, that w^ill not do. Let 
 me speak to my lady of this. There is much you 
 do not know — " 
 
 " Indeed there is," said Solange, impatiently. 
 "For one thing I cannot see in the least why 
 grandmamma considers my going to Aix so im- 
 portant. After all, it is I whom it most concerns." 
 
 " My lady had a great trouble in her life, made- 
 moiselle. Some one belonging to her did a thing 
 which she felt as a family disgrace. She has never 
 got over it. Perhaps it is to expiate this that 
 she desires you should enter a convent." 
 
 "Some one belonging to her disgraced the family!" 
 repeated Solange, much struck. " I understand 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 277 
 
 better now. Poor grandmother ! Nothing would 
 hurt her Hke that. If she had loved me, I almost 
 think I would have done this to console her. Ah, 
 what a good thing; it is she does not ! " added the 
 girl, naively. " Anyhow, I could not now ; it would 
 make M. Laugier too unhappy. Dear Lhomond, at 
 any rate you love me, though you will not do what 
 I want, and you have kept me from breaking my 
 heart to-day, for I should, Lhomond, really. Do not 
 stay ; I want to think. Poor Maxine ! " she said to 
 herself, when Lhomond was gone, with a parting 
 entreaty not to betray him to the marquise ; " he 
 must be as miserable as I was a little while ago. 
 How am I to let him know ? Even if I made 
 him understand from my uncle's window that I 
 wanted him, Mette would see him come ; and, be- 
 sides, I could not do that," she added, blushing. 
 "After all, if I go to Aix I shall see his sister, and 
 she can write and tell him, or I will beg her to 
 ask her mother to come to see me. I will go. But 
 who — " she thought, with sudden wonder, " who 
 was it that disgraced our family ? Was it — could 
 it have been — my mother?" 
 
 The thought stayed in her mind, and rankled 
 there. 
 
278 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Maxime reached the Maison Locroy so blind and 
 dizzy with the violence of the shock which he had 
 received that he hardly knew how he got there, and 
 gained his own door without seeing or hearing Veuve 
 Locroy, who had come out on the landing to speak 
 to him. Some one rose as he went into his room, 
 and came forward silently, with outstretched arms. 
 
 " Mother ! " he cried, as one in deadly peril might, 
 who sees a saving hand outstretched. He did not 
 think to ask how she came there ; it seemed the 
 most natural, inevitable thing that now when, as it 
 seemed to him, his life was going to pieces, she 
 should be there to save him. 
 
 " My poor boy ! " she whispered, as she held him 
 fast and felt the sob in his throat as he clung to 
 her. " Tell me all, mj^ son." 
 
 It seemed a very long time to Veuve Locroy, 
 waiting below, and thinking of the haggard face of 
 which she had had a startling glimpse as Maxime 
 went by, before Madame Laugier came down to her. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC 279 
 
 She was hungering to know what had sent him back 
 thus ; old pain, old resentment awoke ; she seemed 
 living the past over again ; Maxime seemed almost 
 confounded with one who had been the object of her 
 strongest affection, and a little touch of interest in 
 Solange mingled with her anxiety ; she could not 
 disguise it from herself ; though she repeated, " What 
 is the girl to me ? Her mother's daughter is a 
 Monluc, and nothing but a Monluc." 
 
 At length Madame Laugier came downstairs, very 
 pale and sad ; she had evidently wept much. 
 
 " My poor Maxime," she said, sinking into the 
 seat offered her. " I can do nothing but grieve for 
 him. You have been very kind to him, dear 
 madame, let me thank you as mother to mother." 
 
 "I love your son," said Veuve Locroy, with a 
 gesture, as if putting away all gratitude ; " he re- 
 minds me of my own. To him, naturally, I am no- 
 thing, but to me, as it happens, he is much. I 
 would have saved him this pain if I could — and you 
 also." 
 
 " 1 know it, but even if I could have come sooner, 
 it would have been quite useless. His heart was 
 given from the first moment." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Veuve Locroy, wincing as if some- 
 
28o THE SECRET OF 
 
 thing in the words had touched her personally 
 " From the first moment." 
 
 " It is no wonder, if this child is as charming as 
 he describes her. I could ahnost fall in love with 
 her myself from his picture of her," said Madame 
 Laugier, with a faint smile. 
 
 " Oh, no doubt she is a chariiieuse, ' answered 
 Veuve Locroy, with great bitterness. " There are 
 such. I knew some one who was bewitched in the 
 same way by a smile and a word. Yes, a lawyer's 
 clerk, a young man who happened to accompany 
 the notary, his master, to a house wliere papers had 
 to be carried and signed, and this girl chanced to 
 be in the salon with her uncle . . . She dropped 
 her fan as she rose to go, and the clerk restored it, 
 and got a look and a murmur of thanks in return, 
 and gave her a heart of gold as payment for them. 
 Take this comfort, madame ; had your son married 
 Solange de Monluc, you would have lost him." 
 
 " I do not think so," said Madame Laugier, with 
 surprise. " Why should I ? I should have loved 
 his wife very dearly, and I hope that she would 
 have loved me." 
 
 " How ! you would have loved the girl who stole 
 your son from you ? who replaced you in his 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 281 
 
 affection ? " exclaimed Veuve Locroy, looking at her 
 with incredulity not unmingled with contempt. 
 
 " No one could ever have done that, dear madame, 
 and they would have been one in my eyes. How 
 should the girl whom my son loved, and who was 
 his wife, not have been very near my heart ? " 
 
 " I do not understand a mother feeling thus," said 
 Veuve Locroy, gloomily. 
 
 "And I cannot understand a mother feeling other- 
 wise," replied her companion, with a sort of compas- 
 sionate surprise. 
 
 There was a moment's silence, each vainly trying 
 to comprehend her companion's point of view. No 
 contrast could liave been greater than that between 
 the two women. The sweet, dignified countenance 
 of the president's widow showed that she had known 
 much sorrow, and borne it with high-minded forti- 
 tude, while the wasted features of her companion, 
 the hollow temples, and sombre expression, told of 
 deep dissatisfaction and gnawing disappointment. 
 
 " No, I do not comprehend you. If a girl took my 
 son's heart away from me, and made him happy, she 
 would be an intruder, a usurper, and if she did not 
 love him and made him wretched, then. . . But what 
 is the use of speaking of such things ? So you 
 
282 THE SECRET OF 
 
 would be contented if your son chose with no 
 thought of you ? Is it so tliat j-our other sons have 
 found themselves wives?" Veuve Locroy asked at 
 last. 
 
 " Not absolutely. My elder sons have married as 
 men mostly do, for suitability of position and 
 fortune, not things to be overlooked, assuredly, and 
 they are happy, I hope ; their wives are good 
 women. But Maxime is different to his brothers — 
 he is like me, T think. I have always wished 
 that he should choose for liimself." 
 
 " You are then romantic, madame ? Choose, and 
 how ? By the light in a girl's eyes, or the smile on 
 her lips? How should the young know how to 
 choose ? Love ! a thing of a year — or a month, and 
 then — pouf ! " 
 
 " I do not speak of that kind of love. Our way of 
 marrying our children often answers well ; most men 
 do not ask a great deal of married life, nor give a 
 great deal, even the best of them ; they regard 
 marriage as a matter of business, and if a girl is 
 good and well brought up, she learns to love her 
 husband because he is her husband. But slie misses 
 something; her heart is not satisfied, nor his, and 
 often she must submit to see him seek his pleasures 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 283 
 
 and amusements anywhere but in bis own bome. 
 As for a man like my Maxime, to bim love comes eitber 
 as a crown of blessing or, alas ! a great calamity." 
 
 " I esteemed my busband and be respected me ; 
 we were tbe best of friends, and wben I bad a son, I 
 wanted nothing else," said Veuve Locroy. 
 
 " Your son ! " repeated Madame Laugier softly, 
 suddenly aware to whom her companion must have 
 alluded when she spoke with such vehement bitter- 
 ness of the young notary's clerk who had lost his 
 heart to a noble demoiselle. 
 
 Veuve Locroy made no reply to the inquiring tone, 
 but asked abruptly : " What has happened to-day ? 
 Why does Maxime cotne back looking — ah, I have 
 seen that kind of look on a man's face before ; I 
 hoped never to see it again. Bah ! no girl is worth 
 it — none." 
 
 " I would not say that, but it breaks one's heart to 
 see it." 
 
 " Yes, it breaks one's heart, but what does a young 
 man who loves care how those about bim suffer ? 
 Tenez ! I told you 1 had seen that look before — I 
 spoke of a young clerk ; well, it was my own son 
 who was thus bewitched. You see I have reason to 
 speak as I do." 
 
284 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " Poor mother ! " 
 
 " Ah, truly, poor mother ! I liad broufrht him up 
 to be a good patriot, to feel for the wrongs of the 
 people, to look forward to tlie day when the nobles 
 should fall crushed under the weight of their sins and 
 follies, and the righteous wrath of those on whom 
 they had trampled. I would liave seen him die in 
 that cause without a tear, thougli my heart would 
 have bled inwardly to its last drop, but to lose him 
 thus ... to know day by day that he had no longer 
 an eye for the wrongs and misfortunes of his fellows, 
 no care for their cries. To see whenever he came 
 home to me that his first thouo-ht was no lonsrer his 
 mother, but whether ho should catch a glimpse of 
 the face which had stolen his heart at some window. 
 Oh, she did not look out for his sake; she was a 
 noble demoiselle, and did not so much as remember 
 his existence. Yes, E lived to feel that I was nothing 
 to him ; that what his father and I instilled into his 
 mind from childhood was nothing. That was worst 
 — that cost me the hardest pang of all." She stopped 
 and caught her breath. " Well, let that go ; it is 
 years since I spoke of it, but it hurts as nuich as 
 ever. Let us speak of your son, not mine. What 
 has happened ? " 
 
MADAME DE AWN LUC. 285 
 
 " I cannot tell you about it, madame. An unfore- 
 seen obstacle has arisen ; his hopes are crushed. 
 But even without that, there was none — none. Any 
 one who knew the Marquise de Monluc might be 
 aware that her most profound conviction is the 
 dignity of her family. She would never have con- 
 sented." 
 
 " And you — would you then consent to allow an 
 aristocrat to enter yowx family ? Ah, I forgot ; j^ou 
 belong to the aristocracy yourself, Madame la Pre- 
 sidente," said Veuve Locroy, with her mocking laugh 
 in which there was so little mirth. " How should 
 you know what I mean ? To me the people have 
 their dignity ; an alliance with a noble is in my eyes 
 a degradation to a good patriot. Well, is it that this 
 girl scorns him ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no, slie loves him. It lills up the measure 
 of my regret to think that this poor child is rendered 
 miserable through my son — by him ; that, perhaps, 
 not only his life is spoiled, but hers. That, at least, 
 should not have been." 
 
 " Has he spoken to her ? No ? How does he 
 know she loves him ? " 
 
 " He seems very sure of it," said Madame Laugier 
 with a sigh and a smile. 
 
2S6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " And he — he loves her very much ? " 
 
 " With all his heart." 
 
 " Is it then the grandmother who has interfered ? " 
 
 " She knows notliing. I blame my son — received, 
 trusted, as he has .been in the Hotel Monluc, he 
 should have guarded himself and Mademoiselle de 
 Monluc. I do not defend him, but he knows so little 
 of the world — he thought it was possible that the 
 marquise might consent, and that a brilliant career 
 such as he may justly look forward to would count 
 against want of high birth. How little he knows ! " 
 
 " He loves the girl, then, and she loves him," re- 
 peated Veuve Locroy ; " and you would consent ? " 
 She seemed unable to believe it. 
 
 " I ? All, surely, if it depended on that." 
 
 Veuve Locroy sat thinking for a long while, and 
 Madame Laugier, tired out with her journey, and 
 with all that she had gone through, leaned back in 
 her chair and said nothing. She blamed herself 
 much for not having read between the lines of 
 Maxime's letters ; it seemed to her as if she ought 
 to have foreseen and averted this catastrophe, though 
 she knew after all that there was no moment at 
 which she could have interposed with success, and 
 she had been as little aware as was Maxime, that 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 287 
 
 the Vicomte de Neuville, who fell by her husband's 
 hand, had been the father of Solange de Monluc. 
 Among all the troubles which she had experienced, this 
 was one of the sorest. She started when Veuve Locroy 
 said, suddenly, " Suppose the grandmother consented?" 
 
 " Even then it would be impossible," answered 
 Maxime's mother, with sad decision. 
 
 " There is something which I do not know, then ? 
 If you are wise, madame, and really desire this 
 thing, you will tell me what it is. Do not refuse. 
 If I am in the dark, so are you. Why should I 
 trouble myself about it if I did not love your son ? 
 What would all this matter to me else ? What is 
 this obstacle ? Tell me frankly, I advise you, for 
 his sake, if indeed his happiness depends on having 
 this girl," Veuve Locroy added, with the irritated 
 tone of one forced to admit some fact against her 
 will. 
 
 Madame Laugier was at once attracted and re- 
 pelled by this woman, with her affection for Maxime, 
 and her violent republicanism, her authoritative 
 manner, and her urgent tones. 
 
 " You oblige me to speak of a thing I do not will- 
 ingly remember," she faltered, as if the stronger will 
 forced her to speak, whether she would or not. " My 
 
2SS THE SECRET OF 
 
 husband, promoted in 1 789 to a high post in Paris, 
 was forced three years later to save bis life b}'- emi- 
 grating. He sent rae and my children to my own 
 family in Aix until I could join him. The French 
 society at Coblentz received him with scorn ; one 
 young noble above all seemed to make it his task 
 to insult him. My husband had a profound horror 
 of duelling, yet, carried beyond his self-control, he 
 challenged him. The vicomte's friends assured him 
 that he need not condescend to notice the provoca- 
 tion, but the 3'oung man was fiery and headstrong ; 
 they met, and he fell. My husband was victor, only 
 to find himself under the ban of his fellow exiles, 
 while every one lamented and praised his adversary. 
 That young noble was the Vicomte de Neuville, and 
 the father of Mademoiselle Solange de Monluc." 
 
 If she iiad not covered her face as she ceased to 
 speak, she must have noticed and wondered at the 
 strange and mocking expression which passed over 
 the countenance of Veuve Locroy. 
 
 " Ah, he was the father of Solange de Monluc," slie 
 repeated. " Yes, that is indeed a fatal obstacle. "Who 
 told you this ? " 
 
 "My son learned it to-day from her lips, poor cliikl. 
 He knew, indeed, of tliis unhappy diu'l, but neither 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 2S9 
 
 he nor I had heard that the vicomte left a wife in 
 France, far less could we have guessed that, of all 
 the girls in the world, my poor Maxime had met 
 and loved his daughter. Alas ! love between thera 
 is unnatural, almost a sin." 
 
 " So this is what Solange de Monluc has told your 
 son. I understand now. And he cannot be satisfied 
 unless he obtains her hand ? and you, you desire it, 
 too. Aristocratic mothers must be made of other 
 paste to us of the people, that is clear. Then, madame, 
 tell him to be happy, for Solange de Monluc . . . No, 
 I will tell you later ; and if I give your son what 
 he desires, I ask only this, but mind you, it is a 
 condition that must be well understood — that neither 
 of you ever speak of me to his wife, never let her 
 hear anything I may tell you. As for me, I love 
 him . . , Yes, and once more I lose the one dearest 
 to me through a Monluc. It is a fatality. Well, let 
 it be so — what does it matter ? Return to your son, 
 madame ; he knows me well enough, though you do 
 not, to be sure that I promise nothing which I do 
 not perform. You will find this is so before long." 
 
 She spoke with the emphatic and sliglitly de* 
 clamatory tone which seemed natural to her when 
 moved, and which she had caught from those orators 
 
290 THE SECRET OF 
 
 to whom she had at an earlier time listened with 
 absorbing interest. 
 
 Madame Laugier looked at her, \yondering and 
 sad, incredulous of her power to help, and reluctant 
 to take a message that seemed so vain to her son. 
 
 " You would do all you could, I am very sure," she 
 said, gently; "but even your good- will cannot help us 
 in this. Maxime would be the first to acknowledge 
 that the blood w^hich his father shed is an impassable 
 stream ; there is nothing to do but to pray for the 
 poor Solange ; and bid him be a man, and recollect 
 that life lies before him with all its duties, if not 
 happiness." 
 
 " You think he will forget this girl ? " said Yeuve 
 Locroy, pausing, with her hand on the back of a chair, 
 and looking at Madame Laugier. " Well, why not \ 
 Surely he could learn to do that ; man finds it so 
 easy to forget." 
 
 But her face darkened before the words were said ; 
 she had never been able to teach her own son how to 
 do so. 
 
 " Some men and some women do not know how to 
 forget, but they must live their lives nevertheless," 
 said Madame Laugier, sadly. " It is hard to see all 
 spoiled for my boy at the very outset, and he has 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC 291 
 
 worked so bravely for it ! And it is hard too that 
 one can only look on and do nothing. He will not 
 speak of this trouble again ; seeing me so unex- 
 pectedly and at such a moment, he broke down and 
 poured out his heart to me, but that is not his 
 nature; he will not do it again. I shall know he 
 suffers, but I can only help him by silence. Yes, it is 
 hard ! " 
 
 " Who knows that better than I," answered Veuve 
 Locroy, putting on her cape and bonnet as she spoke ; 
 " but there is a harder thing still, and that is to see 
 your son divided from you by some one whom he 
 worships, and who has only aversion for him. That 
 will not be your case. Remember my conditions, 
 madame, and do not despair for your son." 
 
292 THE SECRET OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 When Veuve Locroy entered the quae! ran r,4e of the 
 Hotel Monlue, an unusual stir was reigning there. 
 The gates were open, a carriage was driving in, fol- 
 lowed by another ; a porter was installing himself in 
 his lodge ; piles of luggage were being carried by a 
 crowd of servants up the stairs to the first floor. 
 Evidently the marechale, who inliabited this storey, 
 was about to return. Lhomond had had notice of it, 
 and all the while that his lady and he had been 
 absent he had been imploring all the saints that the 
 arrival should either be over before Madame de 
 Monlue came home, or not until after she was safe in 
 her rooms. He trembled to think how slie would 
 feel if she saw with her eyes what she always ig- 
 nored: the fact that strangers and plebeians inhab- 
 ited her hotel. Other noble families were obliged to 
 permit the same desecration in these changed times, 
 but that did not in the least reconcile her to it. He 
 had looked anxiously around when they returned, 
 and heaved a great sigh of relief on perceiving no 
 
MADAME DE MONLLC 293 
 
 signs of the intruders. It seemed to him a special 
 mercy when not ten minutes after Madame de 
 Monluc's door was shut upon her, wheels were heard 
 rolling over the pavement of the quadrangle, and 
 the first set of servants appeared, that his lady had 
 not remained with her old acquaintance, the canoness, 
 for that cup of chocolate which had been suggested 
 Such a delay would have brought them home in the 
 very midst of the bustle. 
 
 Under cover of the going and coming, Veuve 
 Locroy entered unquestioned. She asked a servant 
 in the hall how she should find the rooms of the 
 marquise. 
 
 " What marquise ? " answered the man, inquiringly, 
 and she noted with a bitter pleasure that in her own 
 mansion the Marquise de Monluc had become of so 
 little importance that a valet had to be reminded of 
 her existence. It gave her a thrill of satisfaction 
 that a noble should count for so little, but she was 
 too thorough a Republican not to feel anger at the 
 wealth and arrogance which she perceived in the 
 surroundings of the marechale, who was taking pos- 
 session of the first floor. 
 
 She made her way up to the entresol, and stood 
 considering which door to knock at. Fortune fav- 
 oured her ; Mctte came out of her lady's room and 
 saw her, Had it been Lhomond, she would have 
 
294 THE SECRET OF 
 
 found it no easy matter to get any farther ; though^ 
 no doubt, her strong will would have conquered in 
 the end. As it was, Mette's curiosity and eagerness 
 to know anything which concerned her lady, made 
 her at once consent to carry a message to the mar- 
 quise that a stranger desired to see her on an impor- 
 tant errand. 
 
 " Admit her," said Madame de Monluc, with sur- 
 prise. She was tired after the unusual effort which 
 she had made that day, hut a sense of relief and 
 composure had filled her since the fate of Solange 
 had been decided. She felt as if a great burden 
 had been laid down. It was with some stirring of 
 uneasiness that she received the message of Veuve 
 Locroy; she could not guess who could want to see 
 her, nor on what pretext. No stranger ever came 
 to the Hotel Monluc. She looked with increasing 
 wonder and marked haughtiness at the widow, 
 whose air was unmistakably hostile, and whose 
 dress had the masculine stamp of a costume devised 
 during tlie Revolution. Happily for her, the mar- 
 quise had been absent from Paris at the time when 
 those little black hats and long straight folds were 
 in fashion, but, instinctivel}^ she recognised them as 
 unlike anything ever Nvorn by women N\ho were 
 hien pensantes. 
 
 " Bo seated, madanie. You can leave ns, Mette," 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 295 
 
 she said, seeing the visitor evidently waiting for the 
 maid's dismissal before she spoke. Mette withdrew 
 iu a silent rage. She had too often vainly tried to 
 overhear her lady's conversation with Lhomond not 
 to know that the doors and walls were too thick for 
 any sound to pass through them. 
 
 Madame de Monlue perceived that the stranger's 
 unfriendly eyes were studying her closely, and it did 
 not please her. On the other hand, Veuve Locroy 
 was secretly furious to feel herself a little embarrassed 
 by the composed hauteur of this woman whom she 
 despised and hated as an aristocrat, yet who had 
 such an unconscious air of command and superiority, 
 and who possessed the great advantage of absolute 
 security in her position, while Veuve Locroy was 
 only aggressive. 
 
 " My errand will probably surprise you, madame," 
 she said, brusquely, not in the least inclined to con- 
 ciliate, but rather to affront and move, and, if pos- 
 sible, to humble this proud woman, who was coldly 
 awaiting what she had to say, Madame de 
 Monlue merely replied by a slight bend of the 
 head. 
 
 " I come on behalf of M. Maxime Laugier." 
 
 " I know him. Well ? " 
 
 " He loves your grand-daughter, and asks her hand 
 in marriage." 
 
296 THE SECRET OE 
 
 The words were flung at Madame de Monluc like 
 a challenge. Her astonishment was such that she 
 could not believe her ears. 
 
 " I do not follow what you say, madame," she 
 answered. " It is impossible that I should have 
 rightly understood you." 
 
 " I said that IVI. Laugier asks for your grandchild's 
 hand." 
 
 "I suppose I heard you correctly then, madame. 
 But you will allow that I have some reason to be 
 astonished, both at the suggestion and the manner 
 of it. Both are incredible. I will add that when 
 M. Laugier was admitted to this house, I imagined 
 him a gentleman, and therefore incapable of presum- 
 ing on the privilege. I regret that it is not so. As 
 to my — as to Mademoiselle de Monluc, 3'ou may 
 tell him I have lately declined the proposals of M. de 
 Foy for her hand." 
 
 ''You decline the offer of M. Laugier, then?" 
 
 " It is needless to ask that question, madame." 
 
 " M. Laugier is not good enough for Solange . . . 
 de Monluc," said Veuve Locroy, with a certain incisive 
 intonation which visibly startled the marquise, " or is 
 it that Solange . . . de Monluc is not good enough 
 for him ? " 
 
 " Madame ! " 
 
 "I did not know which it might be, Madame la 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 297 
 
 Marquise ; I am not used to your world, nor to your 
 way of looking at such things." 
 
 It was impossible to throw more irony, disdain, 
 and aggressiveness into a few words. The marquise 
 looked at her with indignation, in which a certain 
 alarm began to mingle. 
 
 " I do not know you, madame, but I perceive that, 
 as you say, you are not accustomed to our world," 
 she answered, "nor is M. Laugier. It is his only 
 excuse, both for the astonishing impertinence of his 
 demand, and for his choice of a messenger." 
 
 Her hand was upon the bell which stood beside 
 her, but an imperative gesture from Veuve Locroy 
 stayed her. 
 
 " You have no curiosity to know who that mes- 
 senger is ? " 
 
 " None." 
 
 " Nor why I am here ? " 
 
 " None." Again she put her hand on the bell to 
 summon Mette, and again she paused, with an in- 
 creasing apprehension of who and what this woman 
 might be, as she recollected suddenly having seen 
 her from the commander's window. 
 
 " Wait a moment, madame. Have you ever seen 
 me before ? " 
 
 " Possibly," answered the marquise, with disdainful 
 indifference. 
 
298 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " You are wrong ; it is the first time we have met. 
 But you know my name, I think. It is Locroy." 
 
 The hand of Madame de Monluc dropped from tbe 
 bell ; she fell back in her chair as grey as asiies. 
 
 " You remember it then ? " said Veuve Locroy, 
 regarding her with pitiless eyes. " You have heard 
 it before." 
 
 Her voice seemed to come from a distance to the 
 ear of the marquise. 
 
 Madame de Monluc knew now why the sight of 
 this woman had daunted her — to whom fear was an 
 unknown thing. Out of the ]tast she had come to 
 her — that past which for the first time she had that 
 very day believed she had done with. 
 
 " Yes, I have heard it before. Your presence is 
 an insult, your name an offence ; leave the room at 
 once, and spare yourself the indignity of being driven 
 out of this house," said the marquise, rallying her 
 strenoth. " How ! You and M. Laugier have dared 
 to plot together to brave me ! What did you expect 
 when you ventured into my presence ? " 
 
 " You may be very sure that a strong motive 
 brought me, Madame la Marquise. Your name is 
 tenfold as abhorrent to my ears as mine can be to 
 yours. You may not think it, but to those of my 
 sort it seems as intolerable to have an aristocrat 
 forced upon me, as to you to have my blood mingled 
 
MADAME DE M ON LUC. 299 
 
 with yours. On your side, perhaps — only you nobles 
 have your own way of thinking — some gratitude 
 might be due to a man who gave up all his prospects, 
 who undertook the office of a turnkey in a prison 
 with the hope of saving the life of a white-faced 
 girl, who did not love him, but whom he loved so 
 well that I do believe if he could have delivered her 
 without making her his wife, he would even have 
 done that. To me there seems something fine in such 
 devotion. He could not do it, and she consented to 
 marry him. What else could she do ? " 
 
 " Die ! '' answered Madame de Monluc. " Die, as 
 others did." 
 
 " She bad not your courage, madame ; she was 
 young, and yielded. He brought her home to me in 
 a most evil hour. No need to say how she felt to him 
 — she was enough your daughter to abhor the refuge 
 she had found. He knew it, and I think he sought 
 death that he might set her free. He found it, and 
 she returned here. But there was a child." 
 
 "Aye, for our shame!" murmured the mar- 
 quise. 
 
 " A child who grew up like her. I saw that, when 
 she went by to mass. If she had had a look of 
 him. . . But for all that she is my grand-daughter as 
 well as yours, Madame la Marquise, and I claim my 
 share in disposing of her future." 
 
300 THE SECRET OF 
 
 "I defy you to prove your right," answered 
 Madame de Monluc, coldly. She was herself again, 
 " You have nothing to show for your son's marriage." 
 
 " How ! when my son in his infatuation found a 
 priest to go through all the mummer}^ without which 
 your daughter would not believe they were married — 
 a priest from this very house ! She took the certi- 
 ficate he gave her back with her." 
 
 " I know of no priest and of no certificate." 
 
 " What do you say ! Do not tell me that she 
 would have dared to face you without one. Ah, and 
 the priest himself was here when yow. returned — I 
 know it." 
 
 " I know nothing whatever about it." 
 
 " Just Heaven ! " exclaimed Veuve Locroy, gazing, 
 confounded, at the impassible face of the marquise, 
 " what do you mean me to suppose ? Would you 
 have me think ? — No, even an aristocrat could not 
 destroy the proofs of her daughter's marriage rather 
 than own she had become the wife of a man of the 
 people ! That I cannot believe ! " 
 
 " It matters not at all to me what you believe, 
 madame. I repeat that no proofs whatever exist of 
 what you insolently assert." 
 
 " Then j^ou have done it ! " said Veuve Locro}'', 
 still unable to believe this thing could be. "And 
 these nobles call themselves mothers ! " 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 301 
 
 " We act as the honour of our families demands. 
 Once more, madame, I desire you to leave my 
 house." 
 
 *' But Solange — my son's child — whom you destine 
 to a convent — I tell you I will not have it," exclaimed 
 Veuve Locroy, passionately. " Dare to send her 
 away and I will proclaim this story, which yon 
 would sacrifice your daughter's good name to hide, 
 to all the winds. I have hidden it for my own sake 
 until now — for the girl's and for Maxime Laugier's, 
 I will tell it far and wide." 
 
 " That does not concern me, madame. A story 
 without proof is a thing which troubles me not at 
 all. Mette ! " she had rung loudly and her maid 
 entered while she was s})eaking, " show this person 
 out." 
 
 " I have not said my last word, Madame la Mar- 
 quise ; you will do well to reflect before we meet 
 again," said Veuve Locroy, in a tone which made 
 Mette look from her to her mistress in the greatest 
 wonder. 
 
 Madame de Monluc answered only by a cold and 
 disdainful smile, the smile of one who has conquered 
 and humbled an opponent, as Veuve Locroy left the 
 room, burning with anger and mortification. She 
 had felt so certain of victory, she had found so keen 
 a savour in confronting and humiliating her enemy. 
 
302 THE SECRET OF 
 
 and now slie was returning home v^anquished, baffled, 
 with no good news for Maxime and liis mother, to 
 whom she had so confidently promised success. She 
 knew that Madame de Monluc had conquered ; even 
 if she told the story of Renee, as she tlireatened, it 
 would not penetrate the aristocratic world to which 
 the marquise belonged ; there was no means of 
 proving it; Solange liad always passed as the child 
 of the Vicomte de Neuville ; she would do so still. 
 Moreover, Veuve Locroy had no desire that she 
 should do otherwise. To her, as she had declared, 
 marriage into a noble house w^as unwelcome and 
 discreditable — a mesalliance, in fact, a thing unnatural 
 and unpardonable. The sentiments of the republican 
 exactly reflected those of the aristocrat, though they 
 appeared to have absolutely different standpoints. 
 
 Madame de Monluc had conquered, but there are 
 victories in which the conqueror is defeated. That 
 which the marquise had just gained was such a one. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Madame de Monluc had rallied all the strcncrth 
 that was in her to encounter the violent and unex- 
 pected attack made upon her by Veuve Locroy and 
 had gained the day, but to herself she seemed van- 
 quished. The humiliation she had undergone, the 
 shock of suddenly beholding the woman whose name 
 had been the haunting spectre of many years, the 
 knowledge that the secret which to keep she had 
 immured herself as in a prison, and renounced every 
 effort to regain lands and position, was no longei- 
 hers, but that her enemy might at any moment tlirow 
 it, as she had threatened, to all the winds, and reveal 
 the dishonour of the Monluc family — all these things 
 w^ere a death-blow to the marquise. Madame 
 Laugier had rightly judged her sense of the dignity 
 of her family to be her strongest conviction. 
 
 She had controlled herself during the interview 
 with Veuve Locroy, and it was she, not her opponent, 
 who had been victor, but the effort she had made 
 revenged itself swiftly and inexorably. When Mette 
 returned, she saw her mistress lying in her chair 
 strangely altered ; the hands which Mette seized 
 
304 THE SECRET OF 
 
 dropped ice cold and inert ; only unintelligible mur- 
 murs fell from the pale lips ; nothing seemed living 
 in her but the eyes which looked out of the drawn 
 face with a terrible misery in them. i\Iette's cries 
 brought Lhomond running to the room. 
 
 " My lady ! my lady ! " stammered the old man, 
 aghast. " Ah, mademoiselle ! look here ! " 
 
 Solange had followed him, entering her grand- 
 mother's room unbidden for the first time in her life. 
 The marquise saw her as she stood hesitating and 
 appalled ; a spasm passed over her face. 
 
 " Go ! " she cried loudly to the terrified girl. The 
 violence of her aversion had for a moment broken 
 the chains which paralj^zed her speech. It was the 
 last articulate word which any one heard her utter. 
 
 " A priest ! a priest ! " Mette shrieked. " Old im- 
 becile ! go, then ! Why do you stand there staring 
 at my lad^ ? Fetch a priest, find a doctor, while I 
 attend to her. JSo ! mademoiselle, do not approach 
 my mistress ; you heard what she said ; see hoAv she 
 is looking at you ! Go then, I tell you ; no one but 
 myself shall touch her. That is what you desire, 
 Madame la Marquise, is it not ? No one but your 
 poor Mette ? You see ! " triumphantly, as a kind of 
 assent seemed to look from the ashy features. " Be- 
 gone, both of you ; we do not want you here." 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 305 
 
 She drove Lhomond out ; Solange could only follow 
 him ; she felt as if all her life she should be haunted 
 by the look of hatred and distress in those dying 
 eyes. The old man had lost his head ; he stood 
 bewildered in the corridor. 
 
 " What a misfortune I " he repeated, helplessly. 
 " What will become of us now ? My lady, my poor 
 lady ! " 
 
 " A doctor, Lhomond, and a priest," Solange urged. 
 "Oh, make haste ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but I do not know . . . yes, surely . . 
 What an old fool I grow ! But you, my dear 
 child—" 
 
 " Oh, I ! What does it matter ? I will go to my 
 uncle, lest he should miss you. Make haste, dear, 
 good Lhomond." 
 
 As Lhomond went down he found the lower part 
 of the house still astir with the bustle of arrival and 
 preparation ; no one noticed him as he hurried 
 through the hall, nor when he returned with a doctor, 
 but later the coming of a priest, and then of a soeur 
 sent by him, attracted a little notice; a valet inquired 
 who was ill, and on hearing that the owner of the 
 hotel was dying, he added, " Well, I shall say nothing 
 to Madame la Marechale ; she receives this evening, 
 and it might displease her to know there was some- 
 one dying in the house." 
 
3o6 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Solange came back to her own room as soon as 
 she could leave her uncle ; his cheerful talk was 
 cruelly jarring at this time. She kept away from 
 the window as if it were somehow wrong even to 
 think of Maxime at such a moment. After the doctor 
 had come and gone, leaving no hope behind him, but 
 promising to return in the early morning, she sat 
 awestruck and alone, her personal interests and 
 feelings thrust into the background by this tremen- 
 dous event — tremendous to the little household, 
 though so unimportant to the outside world, except, 
 indeed, to the Maison Locroy, where nothing was 
 known of it. 
 
 All through the night Lhomond and Solange waited 
 and watched, the old man too much troubled to leave 
 the corridor, beyond which he could not go, as 
 Mette had bolted the door of her lady's room, and 
 when she came out to fetch anything, locked it be- 
 hind her, and Solange would not leave him. Lhomond 
 was furious at being thus excluded, but Mette would 
 let no one enter, not even the soeur whom the doctor 
 had sent, and who had to go away without seeing 
 the marquise. The few words which Mette consented 
 to utter, she flung like stones at Lhomond and Solange 
 as she passed them. Sounds of carriages rolling 
 over the pavement of the quadrangle, voices, music, 
 when doors opened, came faintly up to the old man 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 307 
 
 and the giil, sitting together on one of the carved 
 chests in the corridor, making Solange's eyes fill with 
 tears at the contrast between what was happening 
 up here and only one storey lower. Lhoraond got up 
 sometimes and moved restlessly about, and he 
 muttered to himself, and vituperated Mette in an 
 under voice. Solange looked very white, and he 
 begged her to go to bed and try to sleep, and when 
 she refused, he comforted himself by going to fetch 
 a shawl for her, and something to eat and drink, 
 and then tliey continued their watch through the 
 long hours, during which darkness deepened and 
 dawn looked chilly in, and all sounds gradually 
 ceased, except the chiming of a clock, marking that 
 the marquise was an hour nearer her end. 
 
 In the early morning the doctor came again, and 
 Lhomond managed to enter the sick room with him. 
 Mette looked almost as ghastly as her mistress 
 when she opened the door to them. " Go to your 
 room, my poor child," besought Lhomond, as Solange 
 stood up, very weary and stiff with her long vigil. 
 "M. le docteur, make her go. I will come and tell 
 you how things are ; you must not excite my lady 
 by coming in." 
 
 " Excite her ! " said the doctor, shaking his head ; 
 but he advised Solange to do as Lhomond urged ; and 
 then they went to the bedside of the marquise, who 
 
3o8 THE SECRET OF 
 
 la}' under her canopy, speechless, motionless, as she 
 had been the night before, but though her eyes 
 were open, they no longer moved with such restless 
 misery from face to face ; their light was quenched. 
 The doctor looked at Lhomond significantly. " How 
 long ? " he said, and the old man burst into tears. 
 
 Mette, standing at the foot of the bed, broke 
 in furiously, " What do you mean, then ? What do 
 you say ? Can you not see that my mistress is 
 better, much better ? She — she — " and then with 
 a terrible shriek she flung up her arms, crying, 
 " My lady is dead ! my lady is dead ! " 
 
 She was like some fierce, wild animal in her 
 anguish and despair. Solange heard the cry and ran 
 back, but before she was well over the threshold, 
 Mette sprang at her. " I will kill you if you come 
 here ! " she cried, snatching a knife oft' the table. 
 " My lad}' bade you go — go then ! Do you think 
 you shall disobey her because she is dead ! Ah, 
 Joseph and Mary ! My lady ! my lady ! " 
 
 The doctor took the knife out of her hand, as she 
 dropped, crouched in a heap, at the foot of the bed, 
 and wailed like an animal in mortal pain. " Take 
 Mademoiselle de Monluc away ; keep lier out of that 
 woman's reach ; the poor creature is beside herself," 
 whispered the doctor, signing to Solange, who stood 
 tremblinj; as much at the sight of the rigid form 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 309 
 
 and ivory face lying in the bed as at Mette's fury, and 
 Lhomond, in tears himself, led her out of the room. 
 The poor old man was quite bewildered ; he had no 
 one to turn to for advice or suggestions. That 
 world, whose opinion Madame de Monluc had so 
 dreaded, was such a vague and shadowy thing that 
 he could not think of a single person in it likely to 
 hold out a hand in this time of trouble. The name 
 of Maxime Laugier came into his mind. He had 
 no thought beyond asking him what he had 
 best do next, but even this meant the reversal of 
 everything which the marquise had intended and 
 planned. In its way it was as portentous a step as 
 when the Parliament of Paris reversed the will of 
 Louis Quatorze and declared it void and illegal. Of 
 course Lhomond did not contemplate anything so 
 indecorous as to bring Maxime back with him, but 
 he did not return alone ; Madame Laugier accom- 
 panied him. Affrighted by Mette's outbreak, he 
 thankfully accepted her offer to return with him, 
 and stay with the desolate girl. There had been a 
 long and anxious consultation over Veuve Locroy's 
 story on the preceding evening, but no way offered 
 itself out of the maze of difficulties. But now 
 Madame Laugier was going to the Hotel Monluc, 
 and all obstacles seemed vanishing with the life 
 of the marquise. 
 
310 THE SECRET OF 
 
 Another of the family gone ! " Lhomond said, with 
 wet eyes, as they walked together. It was as a Mon- 
 luc that he lamented his mistress. There was no 
 one to grieve for her personally but ]\Ictte, who 
 would not leave her side as long as the dead body 
 was left in the hotel, and sat by the bed, now stupe- 
 fied with grief, now breaking into fierce and desperate 
 outcries, almost as some poor dog might have done, 
 which will not leave its dead owner, and drives away 
 every one who tries to approach. 
 
 Lhomond opened the door of Solange's room. 
 " Mademoiselle," he began, " I bring you a friend." 
 
 The girl rose up, white, sad, weary, but she could 
 not lose the charm which had bewitched ]\laxime, 
 and Maxime's mother felt it at once. 
 
 " A friend ! " she repeated in an accent of wonder 
 which betrayed how few she must have. " Ah ! it 
 is Madame Laugier ! " and her face lighted up 
 beautifully as she spoke. 
 
 " You know me then, mademoiselle ? " said 
 Madame Laugier, smiling and surprised. 
 
 " Who else would have come to me ? Besides, you are 
 so like your son, madame," answered Solange, naively. 
 
 Madame Laugier took her into her arms. " ^ly 
 poor child — my daughter, if you will," ^^he said 
 tenderly, and Solange clung to her, feeling that at 
 last .she knew what a mother could be. 
 
MADAME DE MONLUC. 311 
 
 " Did — did anyone send you, madame ? " she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 "No, I came without being sent. But there was 
 someone who embraced me for the thought." 
 
 Solange hid her blushes on the kind breast on 
 which she was leaning. " Poor grandmother ! " she 
 said, remorseful that she could feel so happy. Then 
 she lifted her head, and her face grew very serious. 
 " Madame," she said, drawing back a little, " you 
 know that my father was not the Vicomte de 
 Neuville, or you would not have spoken as you do." 
 " Yes, dear child. Think no more of that." 
 « I — I would give so much to know who he really 
 was," faltered the girl, flushing crimson. The tender 
 sympathy of Madame Laugier responded at once to 
 the half- uttered doubt. 
 
 " I cannot tell 3^ou much, my child, but this I know 
 — he was below your mother in rank, yet noble in 
 heart, and saved her life by making her his wife." 
 
 Solange reflected. A flood of light was let in by 
 these words. She understood now her grandmother's 
 attitude towards her ; she divined what it had been 
 towards her mother. " Poor mamma ! " she said, and 
 then suddenly added, "He was the son of Madame 
 Locroy." 
 
 " What can make you suppose that, my dear 
 child ? " asked Madame Laugier, much startled. 
 
312 THE SECRET OF 
 
 " I am sure of it. I recollect things that Madame 
 Locroy said. Then she is my grandmother too, and 
 I am as unwelcome to her as to my other grand- 
 mamma. No one wants me." 
 
 " Are you so sure of that, mademoiselle ? " said 
 Madame Laugier, smiling, and Solange blushed again, 
 and felt desolate no longer. 
 
 A few days later the Abbd Gautier appeared in 
 the entresol. He had a ruffled and disconcerted 
 aspect, quite unlike his usual air. Lhomond on the 
 other hand looked younger than usual, and was 
 humming "Beau chevalier" in a jaunty manner, but 
 he became serious on seeing the abbe. 
 
 " Alas, sir, you have heard ? " he began, and 
 paused. 
 
 The abbe caught him up with unusual asperity. 
 " I have heard nothing : that is exactly what I 
 complain of," he said. 
 
 " You do not know the calamity which has be- 
 fallen us ? the death of my lady ? " 
 
 " It is not possible ! " exclaimed the abbe, his 
 swarthy cheeks turning pale, " the marquise ... in 
 these few days ! " 
 
 He was genuinely mo veil, and Lhomond, gratified 
 by this token of proper feeling and respect, oli'ered 
 him a chair in his own little room, and proceeded to 
 give full details of the marcpiise's deatli. 
 
MADAME DE MO N LUC. 313 
 
 " To die thus ! Who could have foreseen such a 
 misfortune ? " the abbe muttered. 
 
 " Ah yes, M. I'Abb^, an immense misfortune. So 
 few of the family left ! Only M. le Comraandeur 
 and Mademoiselle Solange." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Solange. . . Where is she ? " 
 
 " Not here, M. I'Abbe. After the funeral she went 
 to Aix." 
 
 " Not to the Ursulines ? " 
 
 " Well, no, not exactly. It seems she had no 
 vocation. She prefers to live for a time with 
 Madame Laugier, who happened to be here just when 
 our trouble occurred." 
 
 " Is it so ? " said the abbe, taking in all the bear- 
 ings of the situation at once. " There is nothing to 
 be said then. She ought to make a different match, 
 but then she has no fortune, and that young Laugier 
 will be a distinguished man. They will marry, no 
 doubt, when her mourning is over." He paused and 
 considered. He was fond of Solange in his fashion, 
 but she could not help him to solve the mystery 
 which would not let him rest. " Did that waiting 
 woman of the marquise's accompany her ? There 
 was something singular about that woman." 
 
 The abbe was thinking how often a lady's maid holds 
 the secrets of her mistress ; he had designs on Mette. 
 " No, M. I'Abbd ; she was, as you say, a very strange 
 
314 THE SECRET OF 
 
 woman. Alter the funeral she disappeared, and no 
 one knows anything of her. It is a good riddance. 
 I would not presume to criticise anything that my 
 lady thought fit to do, but she certainly spoiled 
 Mette. Mette was a very presuming kind of woman, 
 who wanted keeping in her place." 
 
 " To think tliis should have happened ! " said the 
 abbe, inconsolably. " Wliy did I leave Paris ? To 
 lose that last chance — " 
 
 " I went to seek you, M. I'Abbe, but you had gone 
 on a journey, I was told." 
 
 " So I was," answered the abbe, peevishly, " on a 
 journey during which I was starved, devoured by 
 mosquitoes, shaken to pieces in a country cart along 
 impossible roads, among savages who speak I know 
 not what dialect — French is as useless among them 
 as Hebrew — through a country desolate as if no 
 human being dwelt there, and what do I find ? In- 
 stead of the man I came to seek and endured all this 
 to meet — only his brother. The one I want is a 
 missionary in China. Why cannot people do their 
 mission work in civilised countries, where one could 
 find them if they were wanted ? I have come liome 
 a dead man, as you see. . . . And now I learn that 
 the marquise is gone, and with her, doubtless all 
 chance of discovering her secret — for she had a secret, 
 my good Lhomond, you cannot deny it." 
 
MADAME DE MONL UC. 3 1 5 
 
 " My lady did not give me her secrets to keep, M. 
 I'Abbe, and I am glad of it, for if I would have con- 
 cealed them from you I should have had to do as 
 she did, said Lhomond, with a deprecating gesture. 
 
 " What do you mean ? Explain to me, my good 
 Lhomond," said the abbe, eagerly, a ray of hope pene- 
 trating his depression. 
 
 " Taken them into the grave, for no other place 
 could keep them from you, M, I'Abbe," said Lhomond, 
 with his simple air. 
 
 " Lhomond," said the abbe, half laughing, half 
 irritated, " I am sure you are not a fool, but I am 
 far from certain you are not a knave." 
 
 " Too much honour, M, I'Abbe," answered Lhomond, 
 shrugging his shoulders and bowing respectfully. 
 
 When the abbe was gone, drooping his head and 
 in deep dejection, Lhomond locked his door, and 
 opened his private cupboard. There was no one on 
 the entresol but himself, and no visitor was in the 
 least likely to arrive, except Maxime Laugier, who 
 often came to visit the commander, but he was cau- 
 tious by nature and habit. He had received the 
 price of the diamond necklace in these last days, 
 and added it to his former hoard, and now he 
 reckoned the amount once more, with infinite con- 
 tent, yet a touch of pathos, as of one whose occupa- 
 tion is Pone. 
 
3i6 THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. 
 
 " Here is another secret to perplex the abbe," he 
 said to himself, with a chuckle. " My young lady 
 will not be exactly portionless — no, indeed ! Old 
 Lhomond has taken care of that. And she will have 
 a little more from monsieur her uncle by-and-bye too. 
 Since no one else thought about the dear child's 
 dowry, her old servant had to do it. It will be dull 
 now to have no reason for pinching and saving, and 
 no explanations to give to any one of why we had 
 so little to spend. I had got so into the way of it 
 that I shall miss it very much. My poor lady sees 
 things differently now, no doubt, and will be glad I 
 have done as I have done. It may make things 
 easier for her, and spare her something in the place 
 where she is now," said Lhomond, with satisfaction. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Cowan &" Co.. Limileti, Pert/t. 
 
A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 AND ANNOUNCEMENTS OF 
 
 METHUEN AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS : LONDON 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET 
 
 W.C. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 FORTHCOMING BOOKS, . . . . 
 
 PACK 
 
 2 
 
 fOBTRY, ..... 
 
 lO 
 
 BELLES LETTRES, .... 
 
 II 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BOOKS, .... 
 
 13 
 
 HISTORY, ...... 
 
 M 
 
 BIOGRAPHY, ... . . . 
 
 16 
 
 TRAVEL, ADVENTURE AND TOrOGRAPIIV, 
 
 iS 
 
 GEMKRAL LITERATURB, 
 
 19 
 
 SCIENCE, ..... 
 
 21 
 
 PHILOSOPHY, ..... 
 
 22 
 
 THEOLOGY, ..... 
 
 22 
 
 LEADERS OF REl IGION, 
 
 24 
 
 FICTION, ..... 
 
 25 
 
 BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, . . , . 
 
 34 
 
 THE PEACOCK LIBRARY, 
 
 35 
 
 UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES, 
 
 35 
 
 SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY, 
 
 36 
 
 CLASSICAL TRANSLATIO.SS, . 
 
 37 
 
 EDUCATIONAL BOOKS, 
 
 38 
 
 N O V E AI B E R 1897 
 
November 1897. 
 
 Messrs. Methuen's 
 
 ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 Poetry 
 
 SHAKESPEARE'S POEMS. Edited, with an Introduction and 
 Notes, by George Wyndham, M. P. Crown 8vo. Bucham. (>s. 
 This is a volume of the sonnets and lesser poems of Shakespeare, and ia prefaced 
 with an elaborate Introduction by Mr. Wyndham. 
 
 ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W. E. Heni.e v. 
 
 Cro7vn ?>vo. Buckram. 6s. 
 
 Also 15 copies on Japanese paper. Duviy S:v. ^2, 2s. net. 
 Few announcements will be more welcome to lovers of English verse than the one 
 that Mr. Henley is bringing together into one book the finest lyrics in oui 
 language. 
 
 NURSERY RHYMES. With many Coloured Pictures. By 
 F. D. Bedford. Small /[to. t^s. 
 
 This book has many beautiful designs in colour to illustrate the old rhymei. 
 
 THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER. A Translation by J. G, 
 CORDKRY. Crozv?i Svo. "js. dd. 
 
 Travel and Adventure 
 
 BRITISH CENTRAL AFRICA. By Sir H. H. Johnston, 
 K.C.B. With nearly Two Hundred Illustrations, and Si.x Maps. 
 Crown t[to. y>s. net. 
 Contents.— (i) The History of Nyasaland and British Central .Africa generally, 
 fa) A detailed description of the races and languages of British Central Africa. 
 (3) Chapters on the European settlers and missionaries; the Fauna, the Flora, 
 minerals, and scenery. (4) A chapter on the prospects of the country. 
 
 WITH THE GREEKS IN THESSALY. By W. Kinnaird 
 
 Rose, Reuter's Correspondent. Willi Plans and 23 Illustrations. 
 Crown Zvo. 6j. 
 
 A history of the operations in Thessaly by one whose brilliant despatches from the 
 seat of war attracted universal attention. 
 
 THE BENIN MASSACRE. By CaptaIxN Boisragon. 
 With Portrait and Map. Crown %vo. y. 6./. 
 This volume is written by one of the two survivors who escaped the terrible 
 massacre in Benin at the beginning of this year. The author relates in detail his 
 adventures and his extraoidiiiary cscipe, and adds a description of lh« country 
 and of the events which led up to the outbreak. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 3 
 
 FROM TONKIN TO INDIA. By Prince Henri of 
 Orleans. Translated by Hamley Bent, M.A. With So Illus- 
 trations and a Map. Crown 4/0. 255. 
 
 The travels of Prince Henri in 1895 from China to the valley of the Bramaputra 
 covered a distance of 2100 miles, of whith 1600 was through absolutely unexplored 
 country. No fewer than seventeen ranges of mountains were crossed at altitudes 
 of from 11,000 to 13,000 feet. The journey was made memorable by the discovery 
 of the sources of the Irrawaddy. To the physical difficulties of the journey were 
 added dangers from the attacks of savage tribes. The book deals with many of 
 the burning political problems of the East, and it will be found a most important 
 contribution to the literature of adventure and discovery. 
 
 THREE YEARS IN SAVAGE AFRICA. By Lionel Decle. 
 With an Introduction by H. M. Stanley, M.P. With 100 Illus- 
 trations and 5 Maps. Demy^vo. ixs. 
 
 Few Europeans have had the same opportunity of studying the barbarous parts of 
 Africa as Mr. Decle. Starting from the Cape, he visited in succession Bechuana- 
 land, the Zambesi, Matabeleland and Mashonaland, the Portuguese settlement on 
 the Zambesi, Ny.asaland, Ujiji, the headquarters of the Arabs, German East 
 Africa, Uganda (where he saw fighting in company with the late Major ' Roddy ' 
 Owen), and British East Africa. In his book he relates his experiences, his 
 minute observations of native habits and customs, and his views as to the work 
 done in Africa by the various European Governments, whose operations he was 
 able to study. The whole journey extended over 7000 miles, and occupied 
 exactly three years. 
 
 WITH THE MOUNTED INFANTRY IN MASHON.A.- 
 LAND. By Lieut. -Colonel Alderson. With numerous Illustra- 
 tions and Plans. Demy %vo. 12s. bd. 
 
 This is an account of the military operations in Mashonaland by the officer who 
 commanded the Iroops in that district during the late rebellion. Besides its 
 interest as a story of warfare, it will have a peculiar value as an account of the 
 services of mounted infantry by one of the chief authorities on the subject. 
 
 THE HILL OF THE GRACES: OR, the Great Stone 
 Temfles of Tripoli. By H. S. Cowper, F.S.A. With Maps, 
 Plans, and 75 Illustrations. Deviy Zvo. \os, 6d. 
 
 A record of two journeys through Tripoli in 1895 and 1896. The book treats of a 
 remarkable series of megalithic temples which have hitherto been uninvestigated, 
 and contains a large amount of new geographical and archseological matter. 
 
 ADVENTURE AND EXPLORATION IN AFRICA. By 
 
 Captain A. St. II. Gieboxs, F.R.G.S. With Illustrations by 
 C. Whymper, and Maps. Detny'&7<o. 2\s. 
 
 Thisis an account of travel and adventure aniotig the Marotse and contiguous tribe?, 
 with a description of their customs, characteristics, and history, together with the 
 author's experiences in hunting big game. The illustrations are by Mr. Charles 
 Whymper, and from photographs. There is a map by tha author of the hitherto 
 unexplored rp.cions Iving between the 7r.nibe?i and Kafukwi river? and from iS" 
 to IS S. lat. 
 
4 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 
 History and Biography 
 
 A HISTORY OF EGYPT, from the Earliest Times to 
 THE Present Day. Edited by W. M. Fi.iNDiiKs PrnRiE, D.C.L. , 
 LL. D., Professor of Etjyptology at University College. Fully Ilhis- 
 trated. In Six Voluincs. Croivn %vo. ds. each. 
 Vol. V. ROMAN EGYPT. ByJ. G. Miink. 
 
 THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN K.MPIRE. 
 By Edward GiBnox. A New Edition, edited witli Notes, 
 Appendices, and Maps by J. B. Bury, M.A. , l-'ellow of Trinity 
 College, Dublin. In Seven Volumes. Demy iro, git't (op. 8.f. 6-1. 
 each. Crown ?>vo. 6s. each. Vol, IV. 
 
 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO. Translated from the 
 French by F. Cf.arkr, M.A. In Two Volumes. Demy Srv. 
 \os. 6d. each. I'ol. II. 1835-72. 
 This is the second volume of one of the most interesting and important collection of 
 letters ever published in France. The correspondence dates from Victor Hugo's 
 boyhood to his death, and none of the letters have been published before. 
 
 A HISTORY OF THE GREAT NORTHERN RAILWAY, 
 1845-95. By C. n. Grini.ing. With Maps and Illustrations. 
 Demy Zvo. \os. 6J. 
 
 A record of Railway enterprise and development in Xorthern England, containing 
 much matter hitherto unpublislied. It appeals both to the general reader and to 
 those specially interested in railway construction and management. 
 
 A HISTORY OF BRITISH COLONIAL POLICY. P,y 
 II. E. Egerton, M.A. Demy 2>z<o. lis. 6d. 
 This book deals with British Colonial policy historically from the beginnings of 
 English colonisation down to the present d.iy. The subject has been treated by 
 itself, and it has thus been possible within a reasonable compass to deal with a 
 mass of authority which must otherwise be sought in the State papers. The 
 volume is divided into five p.-irts : — (i) The Period of Beginnings, 1497-1650; 
 (2) Trade Ascendancy, 1651-1830 ; (3) The Granting of Responsible Government, 
 1331-1860; (4) Laissez Aller, 1861-1385; (5) Greater Britain. 
 
 A HISTORY OF ANARCHISM. By E. V. Zenker. 
 Translated from the German. Demy Siv. js. bd. 
 .\ critical study and history, as well as a powerful and trenchant criticism, of the 
 Anarchist movement in Europe. The book has aroused considerable attention 
 on the Continent. 
 
 THE LIFE OF ERNEST RENAN By Madame Darmfs- 
 TETER. With Portrait. Croivn 8tv. 6s. 
 A biography of Renan by one of his most intimate friends. 
 
 A LIFE OF DONNE. By AUGUSTUS Jessopp, D.D. With 
 Portrait. Croivn Svo. p. 6d. 
 This is a new volume of the ' Leaders of Religion' series, from the learned and winy 
 ]>en of the Rector of Scirning, who has been able to embody the rtsults of mucn 
 research. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's x^nnouncements 5 
 
 OLD HARROW DAYS. By J. G. Cotton Minchix. Cnnvn 
 '6vo. i)S. 
 A volume of reminiscences which will be interesting to old Harroviani and to many 
 of the general public. 
 
 Theology 
 
 A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. By Prof. W. H. Bennett. 
 
 Ciown ?>vo, 25. 6d. 
 
 This Primer sketchcb the history of the books which make up the Bible, in the light 
 of recent criticism. It gives an account of their character, origin, and composi- 
 tion, _ as far as possible in chronological order, with special reference to their 
 relations to one anotherj and to the history of Israel and the Church. The 
 formation of the Canon is illustrated by chapters on the Apocrj'pha (Old and 
 New Testament); and there is a brief notice of the history of the Bible since the 
 close of the Canon. 
 
 LIGHT AND LEAVEN : Historical and Social Sermons. 
 By the Rev. H. Hensley Hensox, M.A., Fellow of All Souls', 
 Incumbent of St. Mary's Hospital, Ilford. Crovnt %vo. 65. 
 
 ^£l30tioual (Scries 
 
 THE CONFESSIONS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. Newly Trans- 
 lated, with an Introduction, by C. BiGc;, D.D. , late Student of 
 Christ Church. \Vith a Frontispiece. \'i)no. \s. 6J. 
 
 This little book is the first volume of a new Devotional Series, printed in clear tj pc, 
 
 and published at a very low price. 
 Thi-- volume contains the nine books of the ' Confessions ' which 'are suitable for 
 
 devotional purposes. _ The name of the Editor is a sufficient guarantee of the 
 
 excellence of the edition. 
 
 THE HOLY SACRIFICE. By F. Weston, M.A., Curate of 
 St. Matthew's, Westminster, l^/iio. is. 
 A small volume of devotions at the Holy Communion. 
 
 Naval and Military 
 
 A inSTORY OF THE ART OF WAR. By C. W. Oman, 
 
 M. A., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. De>ny2,7'0. Ilhistratcd. 2\s. 
 Vol. II. Medlta-al Warf.\.re. 
 
 Mr. Oman is engaged on a History of the Art of War, of which the above, though 
 covering the middle period from the fall of the Roman Empire to the gener.il me 
 of gunpowder in Western Europe, is the first instalment. The first battle dealt 
 with will be Adrianople (378) and the last Navarette (1367). There will appear 
 later a volume dealing with the Art of War among the Ancients, and another 
 covering the 15th, i6tn, and 17th centuries. 
 
 The book will deal niainjy with tactics and strategy, fortifications and siegecraft, but 
 sub; idiary chapters will give some account of the development of arms and armour, 
 and of the various forms of military organization known to the Jliddle Ages. 
 
6 Messrs. Metiiuen's Announcements 
 
 A SHORT HISTORY OF THE ROYAL NAVY, From 
 Early 'J'imes to the Present Day. By David Hannay. 
 Illustrated. 2 Vols. Demy 8z'(7. 7^. 6J. each. Vol. I. 
 This book aims at giving an account not only of the fighting we have done at s*a, 
 but of the growth of the service, of tlie part the Navj- has played in the develop- 
 ment of the Enijiire, and of its inner life. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE BRITISH ARMY. By Lieut.-Colonel 
 Cooper King, of the Staff College, Camberley. Illustrated. Dcviv 
 Zvo. 75. 6d. 
 
 This volume aims at describing the nature of the different armies that have been 
 formed in Great Britain, and how from the early and feudal levies the present 
 standing army came to be. The changes in tactics, uniform, and armament .ire 
 briefly touched upon, and the campaigns in which the army has shared have 
 been so far followed as to explain the part played by British regiments in them. 
 
 General Literature 
 
 THE OLD ENGLISH HOME. By S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 With numerous Plans and Illustrations. Cro-cn %vo. Js. 6d. 
 This book, like Mr. Baring-Gould's well-known 'Old Ccuutry Life,' describes the 
 life and environment of an old English family. 
 
 OXFORD AND ITS COLLEGES. By J. Wells, M.A., 
 Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. Illubtialcd by E. II. New. 
 Fcap. Svo. ^s. Leather, ^s. 
 This is a guide — chiefly historical — to the Colleges of Oxford. It contains numerous 
 illustrations. 
 
 VOCES ACADEMIC/E. By C. Grant RobektsOxN, M.A., 
 Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. With a Frontispiece. Fcap. %vo. 
 3^- 6«'- . . . . 
 
 This is a volume of light satirical dialogues and should be read by all who are inter- 
 ested in the life of O.xford. 
 
 A PRIMER OF WORDSWORTH. By Laurie Magnus. 
 
 Crown %vo. 2s. 6d. 
 This volume is uniform with the Primers of Tennyson and Burns, and contains a 
 concise biography of the poet, a critical appreciation of his work in detail, and a 
 
 bibliography. 
 
 NEO-MALTHUSIANISM. ByR. Ussher, M.A. Cr. Zvo. 6s. 
 
 This book deals with a very delicate but most important matter, namely, the vohin- 
 t.ary liniit.ition of the family, and how such action affects morality, the individual. 
 
 and the n:ition. 
 
 PRIMEVAL SCENES. By H. N. HUTCHINSON, B.A., F.G.S., 
 Author of 'Extinct Monsters,' 'Creatures of Other Days,' 'Pre- 
 historic Man and Beast,' etc. With numerous Illustrations drawn 
 by John Hassall and Fred. V. Burridge. ^to. 6s. 
 
 A tel of twenty drawings, with short te.\t to each, to illustrate the humorous aspects 
 of prs-historic times. They are carefully planned by the authoi so a» to be 
 5cientific;illy and archxologic.dly correct and at the 3»me time .^musine. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 7 
 
 THE WALLYPUG IN LONDON. By G. E. Farrow, 
 
 Author of 'The Wallypug of Why.' With numerous Illustration?. 
 Crown 8vo. 3^. 61/. 
 An extravaganza for children, written with great charm and vivacity. 
 
 RAILWAY NATIONALIZATION. By Clement Edwards. 
 Crown Svo. 2s, 6d, {Social Questions Series. 
 
 Sport 
 
 SPORTING AND ATHLETIC RECORDS. By H. Morgan 
 Browne. Crown 8zv. is./a/cr; 2s. cloth. 
 This book gives, in a clear and complete form, accurate records of the best perform- 
 ances in all important branches of Sport, It is an attempt, never yet made, to 
 present all-important sporting records ni a systematic way. 
 
 THE GOLFING PILGRIM. By Horace G HutchinsOxV. 
 Crown 8i'0. 6s. 
 This book, by a famous golfer, contains the following sketches lightly and humorously 
 written : — The Prologue — The Pilgrim at the Shrine — Mecca out of Season — Th'^ 
 Pilgrim at Home — The Pilgrim Abroad — The Life of the Links — A Tragedy by 
 the Way — Scraps from the Scrip — The Golfer in Art — Early Pilgrims in the West 
 — An Interesting Relic. 
 
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 EVAGRIUS. Edited by PROFESSOR Leon Parmentier cf 
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8 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 9 
 
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 A 2 
 
A LIST OF 
 
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Messrs Methuen's List ii 
 
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 G. W. Steevens. MONOLOGUES OF THE DEAD. By 
 
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12 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Victor Hugo. THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 13 
 
 Johnson. THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By 
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 Jane Barlow. THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE, 
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14 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 H. C. Beeching. A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited 
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 A collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of Christ from the Middle Ages 
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 contains by modern authors, a few of which are here printed for the first time. 
 ,'An anthology which, from its unity of aim and liigh poetic excellence, has a belter 
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 History 
 
 GiblJon. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN 
 
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 Vol. I. Prehistoric Times to XVI. Dynasty. W. M. F. 
 
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 Vol. II. The XVIIth and XVIIIth Dynasties. W. M. F. 
 Petrie. Second Edition. 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 15 
 
 Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. By 
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 H. de B. Gibbins. INDUSTRY IN ENGLAND : HISTORI- 
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 The book is lUustraied by Maps, Diagrams, and Tables. 
 
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 A history of Florence under the domination of Cosimo, Piero, and Lorenzo de 
 
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 This book is intended for the Middle and Upper Forms of Public Schools and for 
 
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i6 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
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 H.B. George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. ByH. B. 
 
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 0. Browning. A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDI/EVAL ITALY, 
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 S. Baring Gould. THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONA- 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 17 
 
 Morris Fuller. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN 
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 ' It is long since we had a biography with such delights of substance and of form. 
 Such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 C. Waldstein. JOHN RUSKIN : a Study. By Charles 
 Waldstein, M.A., Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. With a 
 Photogravure Portrait after Professor Herkomer. Post Svo. 55. 
 
 'A thoughtful, impartial, well-written criticism of Ruskin's teaching, intended li 
 separ.-ite what the author regards as valuable and permanent from what is transient 
 and erroneous in the great master's writing.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 W. H. Hutton. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By 
 W. II. IIuTTON, M.A., Author of ' William Laud.' With Fortraiis. 
 Crown %vo. '^s. 
 
 ' The book lays good claim to high rank among our biographies. It is excellently, 
 even lovingly, written.' — Scotsman. ' An excellent monograph.' — Time:,. 
 
 Clark RusselL THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COL- 
 LINGWOOD. By W. Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreck 
 of the Grosvenor.' With Illustrations by F. Brangwyn. Third 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 'A book which we should like to see in the hands of every boy in the country.' — 
 at. James i Gazette. ' A really good book.' — Saturday Review. 
 
i8 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Southey. ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, 
 Drake, Cavendisli). By Roeert Southey. Edited, with an 
 Introduction, by David Hannay. Second Edition. CrownSvo. Cc 
 
 ' Admirable and well-told stories of our naval history.' — A rmy and Navy Gazette 
 
 'A brave, inspiriting book.' — Black and White. 
 
 Travel, Adventure and Topography 
 
 R. S. S. Baden-Powell. THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. 
 
 A Diary of Life with the Native Levy in Ashanli, 1895. By Colonel 
 Baden-Powell. With 21 Illustrations and a Map. Demy Zvo. 
 \os. 6d. 
 
 ' A compact, faithful, most readable record of the campaign.' — Daily Xeivs. 
 
 ' A bluff and vigorous narrative.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 R. S. S. Baden-Powell. THE MATEBELE CAMPAIGN 1S96. 
 By Colonel K. S. S. Baden-Powell. With nearly 100 Illustrations. 
 Second Edition, DeinyZvo. 15^. 
 
 'Written in an unaffectedly light and humorous style. — The World. 
 
 'A very racy and eminently readable book.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ' As a straightforward account of a great deal of plucky work unpretentiously done, 
 this book is well worth reading. The simplicity of the narrative is all in its 
 favour, and accords in a peculiarly English fashion with the nature of the subject.' 
 Times. 
 
 Captain Hinde. THE FALL OF THE CONGO ARABS. 
 By Sidney L. Hinde. With Portraits and Plans. Demy Zvo. 
 I2s. 6d. 
 
 ' The book is full of good things, and of sustained interest.' — St. Jatiies's Gazette. 
 A graphic sketch of one of the most exciting and important episodes in the struggle 
 for supremacy in Central Africa between the Arabs and lheir_ Europcon rivals. 
 Apart from the story of the campaign. Captain Hinde's book is mainly remark- 
 able for the fulness with which he discusses the (luestion of cannibalism. It is, 
 indeed, the only connected narrative — in English, at any rate — which has been 
 published of this particular episode in African history.' — Times. 
 
 'Capt.iin Ilindc's book is one of the most interesting and valuable contributions yet 
 ni.ide to the literature of modern Africa.' — Daily Ncivs. 
 
 W. Crooke. THE NORTH-WESTERN PROVINCES OF 
 INDIA: Their Ethnology and Administration. By W. 
 Crooke. With Maps and Illustrations. DciiiySvo. los, 6d. 
 
 'A carefully and well-written account of one of the most important provinces of the 
 Empire. In seven chapters Mr. Crooke deals successively with the land in its 
 physical aspect, the province under Hindoo and Mussulman rule, the province 
 under British rule, the ethnology and sociology of the province, the religious and 
 social life of the people, the land and its settlement, and the native pca^ant in hjs 
 relation to the land. "The illustrations arc good and well selected, and the map is 
 excellent.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 19 
 
 W. B. Worsfold. SOUTH AFRICA : Its History and its Future. 
 By W. Basil Worsfold, M.A. With a Map. Second Edition. 
 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 'An intensely interesting book.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' A monumental work compressed into a very moderate compass.' — World. 
 
 General Literature 
 
 S. Baring Gould. OLD COUNTRY LIFE. By S. Baring 
 Gould, Author of ' Mehalah,' etc. With Sixty-seven Illustrations 
 by W. Parkinson, F. D. Bedford, and F. Masey. Large 
 Crown Svo. los, 6d, Fifth and Cheaper Edition. 6s, 
 
 ' "Old Country Life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and move- 
 ment, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be 
 published throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to thecore.' — World. 
 
 S. Baring Gould, HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE 
 
 EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould. Third Edition. CrownSvo. 6s. 
 
 ' A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The whole volume is delightful 
 reading. ' — Times. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. FREAKS OF FANATICISM. By S. Baring 
 Gould. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 'Mr. Baring Gould has a keen eye for colour and effect, and the subjects he has 
 chosen give ample scope to his descriptive and analytic faculties. A perfectly 
 fascinating book.' — Scottish Leader. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG : 
 
 English Folk Songs with their Traditional Melodies. Collected and 
 arranged by S. Baring Gould and H. Fleetwood Sheppard. 
 Demy \to. 6s. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional 
 Ballads and Songs of the West of England, with their Traditional 
 Melodies. Collected by S. Baring Gould, M.A. , and H.Fleet- 
 wood Sheppard, M.A. Arranged for Voice and Piano. In 4 Parts 
 (containing 25 Songs each). Parts /., //., ///. , 35. each. Part 
 IV., '^s. In one Vol., French morocco, \^s, 
 'A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.' — Saturday Review. 
 
20 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 S. Baring Gould. YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE 
 
 EVENTS. Fourth Edition. Crown %vo. 6j, 
 
 S. Baring Gould. STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPER- 
 STITIONS. With Illustrations. By S. Baring Gould. Crown 
 Sz'o. Second Edition, ds. 
 
 ' We have read Mr. Baring Gould's book from beginning to end. It is full of quaint 
 and various information, and there is not a dull page in it. ' — Notes and Queries, 
 
 S. Baring Gould. THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN 
 FRANCE. By S. Baring. Gould. With numerous Illustrations 
 by F. D. Bedford, S. Hutton, etc. 2 vols. Demy 8?'^. 32^. 
 
 'His two richly-illustrated volumes are full of matter of interest to the geologist, 
 the archaeologist, and the student of history and manners.' — Scotsman. 
 
 G, W. Steevens. NAVAL POLICY: With a Descrip- 
 tion OF English and Foreign Navies. By G. W. Steevens. 
 Demy Svo. 6s. 
 
 This book is a description of the British and other more important na\nes of the world, 
 wiih a sketch of the lines on which our naval policy might possibly be developed. 
 It describes our recent naval policy, and shows what our naval force really is. A 
 detailed but non-technical account is given of the instruments of modern warfare — 
 guns, armour, engines, and the like — with a view to determine how far we are 
 abreast of modern invention and modern requirements. An ideal policy is then 
 sketched for the building and manning of our fleet ; and the last chapter is 
 devoted to docks, coaling-stations, and especially colonial defence. 
 
 'An extremely able and interesting work.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 W. E. Gladstone. THE SPEECHES AND PUBLIC AD- 
 DRESSES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P. 
 Edited by A. W. Hutton, M.A., and H. J. Cohen, M.A. With 
 Portraits. 8w. Vols. IX, and X. \zs. 6d. each, 
 
 J. Wells. OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of 
 
 the University. Edited by J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of 
 
 Wadham College. Crown 8vo. 3^. 6d, 
 
 ' We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account 
 of Oxlord as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a 
 close acquaintance with the system and life of the University." — Athenirutn. 
 
 L. WhiWey. GREEK OLIGARCHIES : THEIR ORGANISA- 
 TION AND CHARACTER. By L. Whiulev, M.A., Fellow 
 of Pembroke College, Cambridge. Crown ^i>o. (ts. 
 
 'An exceedingly useful handbook: a careful and well-arranged study of an obscure 
 
 subject.' — Tivtcs. 
 •Mr. Whibley is never tedious or \)<ii\M\\\\:.'— Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 21 
 
 L. L. Price. ECONOMIC SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. 
 
 By L. L. Price, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Crown 
 
 ' The book is well written, giving evidence of considerable literary ability, and clear 
 mental grasp of the subject under consideration. ' — J/ 'esierii Morning News. 
 
 C. F. Andrews. CHRISTIANITY AND THE LABOUR 
 QUESTION. By C. F. Andrews, B.A. Crown %vo. 2s. 6d. 
 ' A bold and scholarly survey.' — Speaker. 
 
 J. S. Shedlock. THE PIANOFORTE SONATA : Its Origin 
 
 and Development. By J. S. Shedlock. Crown Svo. 55. 
 
 ' This work should be in the possession of every musician and amateur, for it not 
 only embodies a concise and lucid history of the origin ofoneof the most im- 
 portant forms of musical composition, but, by reason of the painstaking research 
 and accuracy of the author's statements, it is a very valuable work for reference.' 
 
 E.M. Bowden. THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quota- 
 tions from Buddhist Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled 
 by E. M. Bowden. With Preface by Sir Edwin Arnold. Third 
 Edition. 16H10. 2s. 6d. 
 
 Science 
 
 Freudenreich. DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual 
 for the Use of Students. By Dr. Ed. von Freudenreich. 
 Translated from the German by J. R. AiNSWORTH Davis, B.A., 
 F.C.P. Crown 2,vo. 2s,6d. 
 
 Chalmers MitcheU. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P. 
 
 Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., F.Z.S. Fully Illustrated. Crown 
 %vo. 6s. 
 
 A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the Royal College of 
 Physicians and Surgeons. 
 
 G.Massee. A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By 
 George Massee. With 12 Coloured Plates. Royal Zvo. \%s. ftei. 
 
 'A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this .group of 
 organisms. It is indispensable to every student of the Myxogastres. The 
 coloured plates deserve high praise for their accuracy and execution.'— -Va/ar^. 
 
22 Messrs. Metiiuen's List 
 
 Philosophy 
 
 L. T. Hobhouse. THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By 
 
 L. T. Hobhouse, Fellow and Tutor of Corpus College, Oxford. 
 Demy %vo. 21 s. 
 
 ' The most important contribution to English philosophy since the publication of Mr. 
 Bradley's " Appearance and Reality." Full of brilliant criticism and of positive 
 theories which are models of lucid statement.' — Glas^mu Herald. 
 
 ' An elaborate and often brilliantly written volume. The treatment is one of great 
 freshness, and the illustrations are particularly numerous and apt.' — Times. 
 
 W. H. Fairbrother. THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. 
 By W. II. Fairbrother, M.A., Lecturer at Lincoln College, 
 Oxford. Crown 8vo. ^s. 6d. 
 
 This volume is expository, not critical, and is intended for senior students at the 
 
 Universities and others, as a statement of Green's teaching, and an introduction to 
 
 the study of Idealist Philosophy. 
 ' In every way an admirable book. As an introduction to the writings of perhaps the 
 
 most remarkable speculative thinker whom England has produced in the present 
 
 century, nothing could be better.' — Glasgcnu Herald. 
 
 F. W. Bussell. THE SCHOOL OF PLATO : its Origin and 
 its Revival under the Roman Empire. By F. W. Bussell, M.A., 
 Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose College, Oxford. Demy 8vo. los. 6d. 
 
 ' A highly valuable contribution to the history of ancient thought.'— Glas^mu Herald. 
 ' A clever and stimulating book, provocative of thought and deserwng careful reading.' 
 — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 F. S. Granger. THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By 
 
 F. S. Granger, M.A., Litt.D., Professor of Philosophy at Univer- 
 sity College, Nottingham. Crowti %vo. 6s. 
 
 'A scholarly .-inalysis of the religious ceremonies,beliefs, and superstitions of ancient 
 Rome, conducted in the new instructive light of comparative anthropology." — 
 Titnes, 
 
 Theology 
 
 . C. S. Gibson. THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE 
 CHURCH OF ENGLAND. Edited with an Introduction by E. 
 C. S. Gibson, D.D., Vicar of Leeds, late Principal of Wells 
 Theological College. In Two Volumes. Deniy^vo. \^s 
 
 'The tone maintained throughout is not that of the partial advocate, but the faithful 
 
 exponent. ' — Scotsvtan. 
 'There are ample proofs of clearness of expression, sobriety of judgment, and bre.idth 
 
 of view. The book will be welcome to.iU students of llie subject, and its-^ound, 
 
 definite, and loyal tlicology ought to be of great service." — National Oi'^ert'cr. 
 'So far from repelling the general rc.ider, its orderly arrangement, lucid treatment, 
 
 and felicity of diction invite and encourage h'< attention.' — Yorkshire Post. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 25 
 
 R. L. Ottley. THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. 
 
 By R. L. Ottley, M.A. , late fellow of Magdalen College, Oxon., 
 
 Principal of Pusey House. In Two Volumes. Deniy%vo. 15.?, 
 ' Learned and reverent : lucid and well arranged.' — Record. 
 'Accurate, well ordered, and judicious.' — National Observer. 
 'A clear and remarkably full account of the main currents of speculation. Scholarly 
 
 precision . . . genuine tolerance . . . intense interest in his subject — are Mr. 
 
 Ottley's merits.' — Guardian. 
 
 F. B. Jevons. AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY 
 OF RELIGION. By F. B. Jevons, M.A., Litt.D., Principal of 
 Bishop Hatfield's Hall. Detny %vo, \os. 6d. 
 
 Mr. F. B. Jevons' 'Introduction to the Historj' of Religion' treats of early religion, 
 from the point of view of Anthropology and Folk-lore ; and is the first attempt 
 that has been made in any language to weave together the results of recent 
 investigations into such topics as Sympathetic Magic, Taboo, Totemism. 
 Fetishism, etc., so as to present a systematic account of the growth of primitive 
 religion and the development of early religious institutions. 
 ■ Dr. Jevons has written a notable work, and we can strongly recommend it to the 
 serious attention of theologians, anthropologists, and classical scholars.' — Man- 
 chester Guardian. 
 ' The merit of this book lies in the penetration, the singular acuteness and force of the 
 author's judgment. He is at once critical and luminous, at once just and suggestive. 
 It is but rarely that one meets with a book so comprehensive ?nd so thorough as 
 this, and it is more than an ordinary pleasure for the reviewer to welcome and 
 recommend it. Dr. Jevons is something more than an historian of primitive 
 belief — he is a philosophic thinker, who sees his subject clearly and sees it whole, 
 whose mastery of detail is no less complete than his view of the broader aspects 
 and issues of his subject is convincing.' — Birininghavi Post. 
 
 S. R. Driver. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED 
 WITH THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. R. Driver, D.D., 
 Canon of Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in the Uni- 
 versity of Oxford. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 ' A welcome companion to the author's famous ' Introduction.' No man can read these 
 discourses without feeling that Dr. Driver is fully alive to the deeper teaching of 
 the Old Testament.' — Guardian. 
 
 T. K. Cheyne. FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITI- 
 CISM : Biographical, Descriptive, and Critical Studies. By T. K. 
 Cheyne, D. D., Oriel Professor of the Interpretation of Holy Scrip- 
 ture at Oxford. Large crown %vo. 'Js, 6d. 
 This book is a historical sketch of O. T. Criticism in the form of biographical studies 
 
 from the days of Eichhorn to those of Driver and Robertson Smith. 
 'A very learned and instructive work.' — Times. 
 
 C.H.Prior. CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C.H. Prior, 
 M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Pembroke College. Croiv7i Svo. 6s. 
 A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by various 
 preachers, including the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lishop Westcott. 
 A representative collection. Bishop Westcott's is a noble sermon.' — Guardian. 
 
 E. B. Layard. RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the 
 Religious Training of Boys. With a Preface by J. R. Illing- 
 WORTH. By E. B. Layard. M.A. iZmo. is. 
 
24 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 W. Yorke Faussett. TflE DE CATECII/ZANDIS 
 
 RUDIBUS OF ST. AUGUSTINE. Edited, \vith Introduction, 
 
 Notes, etc., by W. Yorke Faussett, M.A., late Scholar of Balliol 
 
 Coll. Crown Svo. 3.?. 6J. 
 
 An edition of a Treatise on tlie Essentials of Christian Doctrine, and the best 
 
 iiietliods of impressing them on candidates for baptism. 
 'Ably and judiciously edited on the same principle as the ordinary Greek and 
 Latin texts.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 2Dcliotional BOO&0. 
 
 With Full-page Illustrations. Fcap. Zvo. Buckram. 3^. (yd. 
 Padded vwrocco, ^s. 
 
 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas a Kempis. 
 With an Introduction by Dean Farrar. Illustrated by C. M. 
 Gere, and printed in black and red. Second Edition. 
 'Amongst all the innumerable English editions of the " Imitation," there can liave 
 been few wliich were prettier than this one, printed in strong and handsome type, 
 with all the glory of red initials.' — CtasgcM Herald. 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. By John Keble. With an Intro- 
 duction and Notes by W. Lock, D.D., Warden of Keble College, 
 Ireland, Piofcssor at Oxford. Illustrated by R. Anning Bell. 
 
 'The present edition is annotated with all the care and insight to be expected from 
 Mr. Lock. The progress and circumstar.ces of its composition are detailed in the 
 Introduction. There is an interesting Appendix on the Mss. of the "Christian 
 Year," and another giving the order in which the poems were written. A "Short 
 Analysis of the Thought" is prefixed to each, and any difficulty in the text is ex- 
 plained in a note.' — Guardian. 
 
 ' The most acceptable edition of this ever-popular work.' — Globe. 
 
 Leaders of Religion 
 
 Edited by II. C. BEECIIING, M.A. With Fortraiis, crown Svo. 
 
 A series of short biographies of the most pronilnent leaders I /" 
 
 of religious life and thought of all ages and countries. "^ / (^ 
 
 The following are ready — yJi 
 
 CARDINAL NEWMAN. By R. H. HUTTON. 
 JOHN WESLEY. By J. H. Overton, M.A. 
 BISHOP WILBERFORCE. By G. W. Daniel, M.A. 
 CARDINAL MANNING. By A. W. Hutton, M.A. 
 CHARLES SIMEON. By H. C. G. Moule, M..A.. 
 JOHN KEBLE. V,y Walter Lock, D.D. 
 THOMAS CHALMERS. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 LANCELOT ANDREWES. By R. L. Ottley, M.A. 
 AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY. By E. L. Cuns, D.D. 
 WILLIAM LAUD. By W. H. Hutton, B.D. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 25 
 
 JOHN KNOX. By F. M'CUNN. 
 JOHN HOWE. By R. F. Horton, D.D. 
 BISHOP KEN. By F. A. Clarke, M.A. 
 GEORGE FOX, THE QUAKER. By T. HODGKIN, D.C.L. 
 Other volumes will be announced in due course. 
 
 Fiction 
 
 SIX SHILLING NOVELS 
 
 Marie Corelli's Novels 
 
 Crown %vo. 6s. each. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS. Sixteenth Edition. 
 
 VENDETTA. Thirteenth Edition. 
 
 THELMA. Seventeenth Edition. 
 
 ARDATH. Eleventh Edition. 
 
 THE SOUL OF LILITH Ninth Edition. 
 
 WORMWOOD. Eighth Edition. 
 
 BARABBAS : A DREAM OF THE WORLD'S TRAGEDY. 
 Thirty-first Editiott. 
 ' The tender reverence of the treatment and the imaginative beauty of the writing 
 have reconciled us to the daring of the conception, and the conviction is forced on 
 us that even so exalted a subject cannot be made too familiar to us, provided it be 
 presented in the true spirit of Christian faith. The amplifications of the Scripture 
 narrative are often conceived with high poetic insight, and this "Dream of the 
 World's Tragedy " is, despite some trifling incongruities, a lofty and not inade- 
 quate paraphrase oi the supreme climax of the inspired narrative.' — Dublin 
 Review. 
 
 THE SORROWS OF SATAN. Thirty-sixth Edition. 
 
 ' A very powerful piece of work. . . . The conception is magnificent, and is likely 
 to win an abiding place within the memory of man. . . , The author has immense 
 command of language, and a limitless audacity. . . . This interesting and re- 
 markable romance will live long after much of tlie ephemeral literature of the day 
 is forgotten. ... A literary phenomenon . . . novel, and even sublime.' — W. T. 
 Stead in the Review of Reviews. 
 
 Anthony Hope's Novels 
 
 Crown 2>vo. 6s. each. 
 THE GOD IN THE CAR. Seventh Edition. 
 
 ' A very remarkable book, deserving of critical analysis impossible within our limit ; 
 brilliant, but not superficial ; well considered, but not elaborated ; constructed 
 with the proverbial art that conceals, but yet allows itself to be enjoyed by readers 
 to whom fine literary method is a keen pleasure.'— The IVorlJ. 
 
 A CHANGE OF AIR. Fourth Edition. 
 
 'A graceful, vivacious comedy, true to human nature. The characters are traced 
 with a masterly hand." — Times. 
 
 A MAN OF MARK. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' Of all Mr. Hope's books, " A Man of Mark " is the one which best compares with 
 ' ' The Prisoner of Zenda." ' — National Observer. 
 
26 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. Third Edition. 
 
 'It is a perfectly enchanting story of love and chivalry, and pure rom.-\nce. 'Ihe 
 outlawed Count is the most constant, desperate, and withal modest and tender of 
 lovers, a peerless gentleman, an intrepid nghter, a very faithful friend, and a most 
 magnanimous foe.' — Guardian. 
 
 PHROSO. IllustratedbyH. R. Millar. Third Edition. 
 
 'The tale is thoroughly fresh, quick with vitality, stirring the blood, and humorously, 
 
 dashingly told.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 ' A story of adventure, every page of which is palpitating with action and excitement.' 
 
 — Speaker. 
 ' From cover to cover " Phroso " not only engages the attention, but carries the reader 
 
 iu little whirls of delight from adventure to adventure.' — Academy 
 
 S. Baring Gould's Novels 
 
 Crown Svo. 6s, each. 
 'To say that a book is by the author of " Mehalah" is to imply that it contains a 
 story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic possibilities, vivid and sympathetic 
 descriptions of Nature, and a wealth of ingenious imagery.' — Speaker. 
 'That whatever Mr. Baring Gould writes is well worth reading, is a conclusion that 
 may be very generally accepted. His views of life are fresh and vigorous, his 
 language pointed and characteristic, the incidents of which he makes use are 
 striking and original, his characters are life-like, and though somewhat excep- 
 tional people, are drawn and coloured with artistic force. Add to this that his 
 descriptions of scenes and scenery are painted with the loving eyes and skilled 
 bands of a master of his art, that he is always fresh and never dull, and under 
 such conditions it is no wonder that readers have gained confidence both in his 
 power of amusing and satisfying them, and that year by year his popularity 
 widens.' — Court Circular. 
 
 ARM I NELL : A Social Romance. Fourth Edition. 
 URITH : A Story of Dartmoor. Fifth Edition. 
 
 ' The author is at his best.' — Times. 
 
 IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA, Sixth Edition. 
 
 'One of the best im.igined and most enthralling stories the autlior has produced. 
 — Saturday Reriew. 
 
 MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' The swing of the narrative is splendid.' — Sussex D.tily Ne^vs. 
 
 CHEAP JACK ZITA. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' A powerful drama of human passion.' — ll^estminster Gazette. 
 'A story worthy the author.' — National Obse>x<er. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF LOVE. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' You cannot put it down until you have finished it.' — Punch. 
 
 ' Can be heartily recommended to all who care for cleanly, energetic, and interesting 
 fiction.' — Sussex Daily Nr.vs. 
 
 KITTY ALONE. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' A strong and original story, teeming with graphic description, stirring incident, 
 and, above all, with vivid and enthralling human interest. — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 NO^MI : A Romance of the Cave-Dwellers. Illustrated by 
 R. Caton Woodville. Third Edition. 
 ' " No<!mi " is as excellent a tale of fighting and adventure as one may wi^h to meet. 
 The narrative also runs clear and sharp as the Loire itself.' — Pall .Mall Gazette. 
 'Mr. Daring Gould's powerful story is full of the strong lights and shadows and 
 vivid colouring to which he has accustomed us.' — Standard. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 27 
 
 THE BROOM-SQUIRE. Illustrated by Frank Dadd. 
 
 Fourth Edition. 
 ' A strain of tenderness is woven through the web of his tragic tale, and its atmosphere 
 
 is sweetened by the nobility and sweetness of the heroine's character.' — Daily Neivs. 
 'A story of exceptional interest that seems to us to be better than anything he has 
 
 written of late.' — Speaker. 
 
 THE PENNYCOMEQUICKS. Third Edition. 
 DARTMOOR IDYLLS. 
 
 'A book to read, and keep and read again ; for the genuine fun and pathos of it will 
 not early lose their effect.' — Vanity Fair, 
 
 GUAVAS THE TINNER. Illustrated by Frank Dadd. Second 
 
 Edition. 
 * Mr. Baring Gould is a wizard who transports us into a region of visions, often lurid 
 
 and disquieting, but always full of interest and enchantment.' — Spectator. 
 ' In the weirdness of the story, in the faithfulness with which the characters are 
 
 depicted, and inforce of style, it closely resembles "Mehalah."' — Daily Telegraph. 
 ' There is a kind of flavour about this book which alone elevates it above the ordinary 
 
 novel. The story itself has a grandeur in harmony with the wild and rugged 
 
 scenery which is its setting.' — Athencfum. 
 
 Gilbert Parker's Novels 
 
 Crown Svo. 6s. each. 
 PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE. Fotirih Edition. 
 
 ' Stories happily conceived and finely executed. There is strength and genius in Mr. 
 Parker's style.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 MRS. FALCHION. Fourth Edition. 
 
 ' A splendid study of character.'— .4 theuaum. 
 
 'But little behind anything that has been done by any writer of our time ' — Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 'A very striking and admirable novel.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. 
 
 ' The plot is original and one difficult to work out ; but Mr. Parker has done it with 
 great skill and delicacy. The reader who is not interested in this original, fresh, 
 and well-told tale must be a dull person indeed.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD. Fifth Edition. 
 
 'Everybody with a soul for romance will thoroughly enjoy "The Trail of the 
 Sword." ' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ' A rousing and dramatic tale. A book like this, in which swords flash, great sur- 
 prises are undertaken, and daring deeds done, in which men and women live and 
 love in the old straightforward passionate way, is a joy inexpressible to the re- 
 viewer.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC : The Story of 
 a Lost Napoleon. Fourth Edition. 
 ' Here we find romance — real, breathing, living romance, but it runs flush with our 
 own times, level with our own feelings. The character of Valmond is drawn un- 
 erringly ; his career, brief as it is, is placed before us as convincingly as history 
 itself. 'The book must be read, we may say re-read, for any one thoroughly to 
 appreciate Mr. Parker's delicate touch and innate sympathy with humanity.' — 
 Pall Mall Gazette. 
 'The one work of genius which 1895 has as yet produced.' — New Age. 
 
 AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH : The Last Adven- 
 tures of • Pretty Pierre.' Second Editio7i. 
 'The present book is full of fine and moving stories of the great North, and It will 
 add to Mr. Parker's already high xe^nl^Uoti.'—Glasg^owJieralci. 
 
28 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY. Illustrated. Eighth Edition. 
 
 ' The best thing he has done ; one of the best things that any one has done lately.' — 
 
 St. James's Gazette. 
 'Mr. Parker seems to become stronger and easier with every serious novel that he 
 
 attempts. . . . In " The Seats of the Mighty " he shows the matured power which 
 
 his former novels have led us to expect, and has produced a really fine historical 
 
 novel. . . . Most sincerely is Mr. Parker to be congratulated on the finest 
 
 novel he has yet written.' — Athemrum. 
 'Mr. Parker's latest book places him in the front rank of living novelists. "The 
 
 Seats of the Mighty" is a great book." — Black and IVhite. 
 'One of the strongest stories of historical interest and adventure that we have read 
 
 for many a day. ... A notable and successful book.' — Speaker. 
 
 Conan Doyle. ROUND THE RED LAMP. By A. Conan 
 Doyle, Author of 'The White Company,' 'The Adventures of 
 Sherlock Holmes,' etc. Fifth Edition, Crown 2>vo. 6s. 
 'The book is, indeed, composed of leaves from life, and is far and away the best view 
 that has been vouchsafed us behind the scenes of the consulting-room. It is very 
 superior to " The Diary of a late Physician." ' — Illustrated London Neivs. 
 
 Stanley Weyman. UNDER THE RED ROBE. By Stanley 
 Weyman, Author of ' A Gentleman of France.' With Twelve Illus- 
 trations by R. Caton Woodville. TwelftJi Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 'A book of which we have read every word for the sheer pleasure of reading, and 
 which we put down with a pang that we cannot forget it all and start again.' — 
 Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' Every one who reads books at all must read this thrilling romance, from the first 
 p.ige of which to the last the breathless reader is haled along. An inspiration of 
 "manliness and courage."' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 Lucas Malet. THE WAGES OF SIN. By Lucas 
 Malet. TltirteetitJi Edition. Crown Zvo. 6s. 
 
 Lucas Malet. THE CARISSIMA. By Lucas Malet, 
 Author of ' The Wages of Sin,' etc. Tiiird Edition. Crown 8:v. 6^. 
 
 Arthur Morrison. TALES OF MEAN STREETS. By Arthur 
 Morrison. Fourth Edition. Cro-wn Sz'o, 6s. 
 
 ' Told with consumm.ate art and extraordinary detail. He tells a pl.iin, unvarnished 
 tale, and the very truth of it makes for beauty. In the true Iminanity of the book 
 lies its justification, the permanence of its interest, and its indubitable triumph.' — 
 A thenirum. 
 
 'A great book. The author's method is amazingly effective, and produces a thrilling 
 sense of reality. The writer lays upon us a m.ister band. The l>ook is simply 
 appalling and irresistible in its interest. It is humorous also ; without humour 
 it would not make the mark it is certain to maVe.' — World. 
 
 Arthur Morrison. A CHILD OF THE JAGO. By Arthur 
 
 Morrison. Third Edition. Crown Zz'O. 6s. 
 This, the first long story which Mr. Morrison has written, i^; like his remarkable 
 
 ' Tales of Mean Streets,' a realistic study of East End life. 
 ' The book is a masterpiece.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 ' Told with great vigour and powerful simplicity.' — Athencrum. 
 
 Mrs. Clifford. A FLASH OF SUMMER. By Mrs. W. K. Cuk- 
 
 FORD, Author of Aunt Anne,' etc. Second Edition. Crown Sro. 6s. 
 
 ' The story is a very sad and a very beautiful one, exquisitely told, and enriched with 
 
 many subtle touches of wise and tender insight, it will, ut.iloiiltcdly, add to its 
 
 author's reputation — already high— in the ranks of novelists.'— .S"/ca^^r. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 29 
 
 Emily Lawless. HURRISH. By the Honble. Emily Law- 
 less, Author of ' Maelcho,' etc. Fifth Editioft. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 A reissue of Miss Lawless' most popular novel, uniform with ' Maelcho.' 
 
 Emily Lawless. MAELCHO : a Sixteenth Century Romance. 
 By the Honble. Emily Lawless. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' A really great book.' — Spectator. 
 
 'There is no keener pleasure in life than the recognition of genius. Good work is 
 commoner than it used to be, but the best is as rare as ever. All the more 
 gladly, therefore, do we welcome in " Maelcho " a piece of work of the first order, 
 which we do not hesitate to describe as one of the most remarkable literary 
 achievements of this generation. Miss Lawless is possessed of the very essence 
 of historical genius.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 J. H. Findlater. THE GREEN GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE. 
 By Jane H. Findlater. Fourth Edition. Crotvn Svo. 6s. 
 
 'A powerful and vivid story.' — Standard. 
 
 ' A beautiful story, sad and strange as truth itself.' — Vanity Fair. 
 
 ' A work of remarkable interest and originality.' — National Observer. 
 
 ' A very charming and pathetic tale.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' A singularly original, clever, and beautiful story.' — Guardian. 
 
 ' " The Green Graves of Balgowrie" reveals to us a new Scotch writer of undoubted 
 
 faculty and reserve force.' — Spectator. 
 'An exquisite idyll, delicate, affecting, and beautiful.' — Black and White. 
 
 H. G. Wells. THE STOLEN BACILLUS, and other Stories. 
 By H. G. Wells, Author of ' The Time Machine.' Second Edition. 
 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' The ordinary reader of fiction may te glad to Unow that these stories are eminently 
 readable from one cover to the other, but they are more than that ; they are the 
 impressions of a very striking imagination, which, it would seem, has a great deal 
 within its reach.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 H. G. Wells. THE PLATTNER STORY and Others. By H. 
 
 G. Wells. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 'Weird and mysterious, they seem to hold the reader as by a magic spell.' — Scotsman. 
 ' Such is the fascination of this writer's skill that you unhesitatingly prophesy that 
 
 none of the many readers, however his flesh do creep, will relinquish the volume 
 
 ere he has read from first word to last.' — Black and IFhite. 
 ' No volume has appeared for a long time so likely to give equal pleasure to the 
 
 simplest reader and to the most fastidious critic' — Acadetity. 
 ' Mr. Wells is a magician skilled in wielding that most potent of all spells — the fear 
 
 of the unknown.' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 E. F. Benson. DODO : A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F. 
 
 Benson. Sixteenth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A delightfully witty sketch of society.' — Spectator. 
 ' A perpetual feast of epigram and paradox.' — Speaker. 
 
 E. F. Benson. THE RUBICON. By E. F. Benson, Author of 
 ' Dodo.' Fifth Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' An exceptional achievement ; a notable advance on his previous work.' — National 
 Observer. 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant. SIR ROBERT'S FORTUNE. By Mrs. 
 Oliphant. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 'Full of her own peculiar charm of style and simple, subtle character-painting comes 
 her new gift, the delightful story before us. The scene mostly lies in the moors, 
 and at the touch of the authoress a Scotch moor becomes a living thing, strong, 
 tender, beautiful, and changeful.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
30 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant. THE TWO MARYS. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 W. E. Norris. MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. Norris, Author 
 
 of ' Mademoiselle de Mersac,' etc. Fourth Edition. Crown %vo. ds. 
 
 "Matthew Austin " may safely be pronounced one of the most intellectually satis- 
 factory and morally bracing novels of the current year. '— ZJa/Zy Tele^ra/h. 
 
 W. E. Norris. HIS GRACE. By W. E. Norris. Third 
 Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 'Mr. Norris has drawn a really fine character in the Duke of Hurstbourne, at once 
 unconventional and very true to the conventionalities o( Vih.'—A i/tenirum. 
 
 W. E. Norris. THE DESPOTIC LADY AND OTHERS. 
 By W. E. Norris. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A budget of good fiction of which no one will iixc.'— Scotsman. 
 
 W. E. Norris. CLARISSA FURIOSA. By W. E. Norris, 
 Author of ' The Rogue,' etc. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' One of Mr. Norris's very best novels. As a story it i., admirable, as a /Vk if esprit 
 It IS capital, as a lay sermon studded with gems of wit and wisdom it is a model 
 which will not, we imagine, find an efficient imitator.'— /",*/; W'orlit. 
 
 'The best novel he has written for some time : a story which is full of admirable 
 character-drawing. '— The Standard. 
 
 Robert Barr. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Robert 
 Barr. Third Edition. Crown %vo. 6s. 
 
 I A book which has abundantly satisfied us by its capital humour.'— /7rt//y Chronicle. 
 'Mr. Barr has achieved a triumph whereof he has every reason to be proud.'— /'a// 
 -1/a// Gazette. 
 
 J. Maclaren Cobban. THE KING OF ANDAMAN : A 
 Saviour of Society. By J. Maclaren Cobban. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' An unquestionably interesting book. It would not surprise Ub if it turns out to be 
 the most interesting novel of the season, for it contains one character, at least, 
 who has in him the root of immortality, and the book itself is ever exhaling the 
 sweet savour of the unexpected. . . . Plot is forgotten and incident fades, and 
 only the really human en iurcs, and throughout this book there stands out in bold 
 and beautiful relief its hifih-soulcd and chivalric protagonist, James the Master 
 of Hutcheon, the King of Andaman h\mst\{.'—Patt ^falt Gazette. 
 
 J. Maclaren Cobban. W I LT TH OU H AVE THIS WO MAN } 
 
 By J. M. COBHAN, Author of The Kingof And-iman.' Cro^vnS'.o. 6s. 
 
 ' Mr. Cobban has the true story-teller's art. He arrests attention at the outset, an<l 
 he retains it to the end.'— BirMin£^haM Post. 
 
 H. Morrah. A SERIOUS COMEDY. By Herbert Morrah. 
 
 Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Thi.-, volume is well worthy of its title. The theme has seldom been presented with 
 more freshness or more force.' — Scotsman. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 31 
 
 H. Morrah. THE FAITHFUL CITY. By Herbert Morrah, 
 Author of ' A Serious Comedy.' Croivn Svo. 6s. 
 'Conveys a suggestion of weirdness and horror, until finally he convinces and 
 enthrals the reader with his mysterious savages, his gigantic tower, and his 
 uncompromising men and women. This is a haunting, mysterious book, not 
 without an element of stupendous grandeur.' — Athenteujn. 
 
 L. B. Walford. SUCCESSORS TO THE TITLE. By Mrs. 
 
 Walford, Author of ' Mr. Smith, 'etc. Second Edition. CrownSvo. 6s. 
 
 'The story is fresh and healthy from beginning to finish ; and our liking for the two 
 
 simple people who are the successors to the title mounts steadily, and ends almost 
 
 in respect.' — Scotsfiian. 
 
 T. L. Paton. A HOME IN INVERESK. By T. L. Paton. 
 
 Crown Svo, 6s. 
 'A pleasant and well-written story.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 John Davidson MISS ARMSTRONG'S AND OTHER CIR- 
 CUMSTANCES. By John Davidson, Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' Throughout the volume there is a strong vein of originality, and a knowledge of 
 human nature that are worthy of the highest praise.' — Scotsman. 
 
 M. M. Dowie. GALLIA. By Menie Muriel Dowie, Author 
 of 'A Girl in the Carpathians.' Third Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 •The style is generally admirable, the dialogue not seldom brilliant, the situations 
 surprising in their freshness and originality, while the subsidi.iry as well as the 
 principal characters live and move, and the story itself is readable from title-page 
 to colophon.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 J. A. Barry. IN THE GREAT DEEP : Tales of the Sea. 
 By J. A. Barry. Author of ' Steve Brown's Bunyip.' Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A collection of really admirable short stories of the sea, very simply told, and placed 
 before the reader in pithy and telling English.' — IVestminster Gazette. 
 
 J. B. Burton. IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. By J. Bloun- 
 DELLE Burton.' Second Edition. CrownSvo. 6s. 
 ' Unusually interesting and full of highly dramatic situations.' — Guardian. 
 
 J. B. Burton. DENOUNCED. By J. Bloundelle Burton. 
 Second Edition. Croivn Svo. 6s. 
 The plot is an original one, and the local colouring is laid on with a delicacy 
 and an accuracy of detail which denote the true artist.' — Broad Arrow. 
 
 W. C. Scully. THE WHITE HECATOMB. By W. C. 
 
 Scully, Author of ' Kafir Stories.' Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 ' The author is so steeped in Kaffir lore and legend, and so thoroughly well acquainted 
 with native sagas and traditional ceremonial that he is able to attract the reader 
 by the easy familiarity with which he handles his characters.' — South Africa. 
 
 ' It reveals a marvellously intimate understanding of the Kaffir mind, allied with 
 literary gifts of no mean order.' — African Critic. 
 
 H. Johnston. DR. CONGALTON'S LEGACY. By Henry 
 Johnston. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A worthy and permanent contribution to Scottish literature.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
32 Messrs. Methuen's List 
 
 J. F. Brewer. THE SPECULATORS. By J. F. Brewer. 
 
 Second Edition. Crown ^vo. 6s. 
 'A pretty bit of comedy. . . . It is undeniably a clever booK.' — Academy. 
 ' A clever and amusing story. It makes capital out of the comic aspects of culture, 
 
 and will be read with amusement by every intellectual re.->der.' — Scotstiian. 
 'A remarkably clever study.' — Vanity Fair. 
 
 Julian Oorbett. A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS. By 
 
 Julian Corbett. Croivn Zvo. ds. 
 
 ' ^Ir. Corbett writes with immense spirit, and the book is a thoroughly enjoyable 
 one in all respects. The salt of the ocean is in it, and the right neroic ring re- 
 sounds through its gallant adventures.' — Speaker. 
 
 L. Cope Cornford, CAPTAIN JACOBUS : A ROMANCE OF 
 THE ROAD. By L. Cope Cornford. Illustrated. CrownSvo. 6s. 
 
 ' An exceptionally good story of adventure and character.' — IVcrld. 
 
 C. p. WoUey. THE QUEENSBERRY CUP. A Tale of 
 Adventure. By Clive Phillu'S Wolley. Illustrated. Croivn 
 ?>vo. 6s. 
 ' A book which will delight boys: a book which upholds the healthy schoolboy code 
 of morality.' — Scotsman. 
 
 L. Daintrey. THE KING OF ALBERIA. A Romance of 
 
 the Balkans. By Laura Daintrey. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 ' Miss Daintrey seems to have an intimate acquaintance with the people and politics 
 of the Balkan countries in which the scene of her lively and picturesque romance 
 is laid.' — Gtasgow Herald. 
 
 M. A. Owen, THE DAUGHTER OF ALOUETTE. By 
 Mary A. Owen. Croivn Svo. 6s. 
 
 A story of life among the American Indians. 
 'A fascinating story.' — Literary H'or/d. 
 
 Mrs. Pinsent. CHILDREN OF THIS WORLD. By Ellen 
 ¥. I'lNSENT, Author of 'Jenny's Case.' Crown Sto. 6s. 
 ' Mrs. Pinsent's new novel has plenty of vigour, variety, and good writing. There 
 are certainty of purpose, strength of touch, and clearness of vision.' — Athenaum. 
 
 Clark Russell. MY DANISH SWEETHEART. By W. 
 Clark Russell, Author of ' The Wreclc of the Grosvenor,' etc. 
 Illustrated. Fourth Edition. Crown ^vo. 6s. 
 
 G. Manville Fenn. AN ELECTRIC SPARK. By G. Manville 
 Fenn, Author of ' The Vicar's Wife,' 'A Double Knot,' etc. Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 L. S. McChesney. UNDER SHADOW OF THE MISSION. 
 
 By L. S. McChesney. Crown ?,vo. 6s. 
 
 ' Those whose minds are open to the finer issues of life, who can appreciate graceful 
 thought and refined expression of it, from them this volume will receive a welcome 
 as enthusiastic as it will be based on critical knowledge.' — Church Times. 
 
 nonald Ross. THE SPIRIT OF STORM. By Ronald 
 
 Ross, Author of 'The Child of Ocean.' Crown ^vo. 6s. 
 
 A romance of the Sea. ' Weird, powerful, and impressive.' — Slack and lyitile. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 33 
 
 R. Pryce. TIME AND THE WOMAN. By Richard Pryce. 
 
 Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 
 Mrs. Watson. THIS MAN'S DOMINION. By the Author 
 of * A High Little World. ' Second Edition. Crown Sio. 6s. 
 
 Marriott Watson. DIOGENES OF LONDON. By 
 H. B. Marriott Watson. Crown ivo. Buckram, 6s. 
 
 M. Gilchrist. THE STONE DRAGON. By Murray Gil- 
 christ. Crown 2>vo. Buckram. 6s. 
 ' The author's faults are atoned for by certain positive and admirable merits. The 
 romances have not their counterpart in modern literature, and to read them is a 
 unique experience.' — National Observer. 
 
 E. Dickinson. A VICAR'S WIFE. By Evelyn Dickinson. 
 Crown %vo. 6s. 
 
 E. M. Gray. ELSA. By E. M'Queen Gray. Croivn %vo. 6s. 
 
 3/6 
 
 THREE-AND-SIXPENNY NOVELS 
 
 Cro'vn '6vo. 
 DERRICK VAUGHAN, NOVELIST. By Edna Lyall. 
 MARGERY OF QUETHER. By S. Baring Gould. 
 JACQUETTA. By S. Baring Gould. 
 SUBJECT TO VANITY. By Margaret BensOxN. 
 THE SIGN OF THE SPIDER. By Bertram Mitfokd. 
 THE MOVING FINGER. By Mary Gaunt. 
 JACO TRELOAR. By J. H. Pearce. 
 THE DANCE OF THE HOURS. By 'Vera.' 
 A WOMAN OF FORTY. By EsMi?: Stuart. 
 A CUMBERER OF THE GROUND. By Constance 
 
 Smith. 
 THE SIN OF ANGELS. By Evelyn Dickinson. 
 AUT DIABOLUS AUT NIHIL. By X. L. 
 THE COMING OF CUCULAIN. By Standish O'Gradv. 
 THE GODS GIVE MY DONKEY WINGS. By Angus 
 
 Evan Abbott. 
 
 THE STAR GAZERS. By G. Manville Fenn. 
 THE POISON OF ASPS. By R. Orton Prowse. 
 THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. By R. Pryce. 
 DISENCHANTMENT. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 THE SQUIRE OF WANDALES. By A. Shield. 
 A REVEREND GENTLEMAN. By J. M. Cobban. 
 
34 Messrs. IMethuen's List 
 
 A DEPLORABLE AFFAIR. By W. i:. NORRis. 
 
 A CAVALIER'S LADYE. By Mrs. Dicker. 
 
 THE PRODIGALS. By Mrs. Oliphant. 
 
 THE SUPPLANTER. By P. Neumann. 
 
 A MAN WITH BLACK EYELASHES. By H. A. Kennedy. 
 
 A HANDFUL OF EXOTICS. By S. Gordon. 
 
 AN ODD EXPERIMENT. By Hannah Lynch. 
 
 2/6 
 
 HALF-CROWN NOVELS 
 
 A Series of Novels by popular Authors. 
 
 1. HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 2. ELI'S CHILDREN. By G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 3. A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 4. DISARMED. By M. Betham Edwards. 
 
 5. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. By W. Clark Russell. 
 
 6. IN TENT AND BUNGALOW. By the Author of ' Indian 
 
 Idylls.' 
 
 7. MY STEWARDSHIP. By E. M'Queen Gray. 
 
 8. JACK'S FATHER. By W. E. NORRIS. 
 g. JIM B. 
 
 10. THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 11. MR. BUTLER'S WARD. By F. Mabel Robinson. 
 
 12. A LOST ILLUSION. By Leslie Keith. 
 
 Lynn Linton. THE TRUE HISTORY OF JOSHUA DAVID- 
 SON, Christian and Comnluni.■^t. By E. Lynn LiNlON. Eleventh 
 Edition. Post %vo. \s. 
 
 3/6 
 
 Books for Boys and Girls 
 
 A Series of Books by well-known AuthorSy well illustrated. 
 
 1. THE ICELANDER'S SWORD. By S. Baring Gould. 
 
 2. TWO LITTLE CHILDREN AND CHING. By Edith 
 
 3. TODDLEBEN'S HERO. By M. M. Blake. 
 
 4. ONLY A GUARD-ROOM DOG. By Edith E. Cuthell. 
 
 5. THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. By Harry Colling- 
 
 WOOD. 
 
 C. MASTER ROCKAFELLAR'S VOYAGE. By W. Clark 
 
 RUSSLLL. 
 
 7, SYD BELTON : Or, Tlic Boy who would not go to Sea. 
 By G. Manville I'enn. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 35 
 
 3/6 
 
 The Peacock Library 
 
 A Series of Books for Girls by well-known Authors, 
 handsomely bound in blue and silver, and well illustrated, 
 
 1. A PINCH OF EXPERIENCE. By L. B. Walford. 
 
 2. THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. Molesworth. 
 
 3. THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By the 
 
 Author of ' Mdle Mori.' 
 
 4. DUMPS. By Mrs. Parr, Author of 'Adam and Eve.' 
 
 5. OUT OF THE FASHION. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 6. A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 7. HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. Meade, zs. 6d. 
 
 8. THE HONOURABLE MISS. By L. T. Meade. 
 
 9. MY LAND OF BEULAH. By Mrs. Leith Adams. 
 
 University Extension Series 
 
 A series of books on historical, literary, and scientific subjects, suitable 
 for extension students and home-reading circles. Each volume is com- 
 plete in itself, and the subjects are treated by competent writers in a 
 broad and philosophic spirit. 
 
 Edited by J. E, SYMES, M.A., 
 
 Principal of University College, Nottingham. 
 
 Croivn Svo. Price {with some exceptions) 2s. 6d. 
 
 The following volumes are ready : — 
 
 THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By II. dk B. Gibbins, 
 D.Litt., M.A., late Scholar ofWadham College, Oxon., Cobden Prizeman. 
 Fifth Edition, Revised. With Maps and Plans. 35, 
 'A compact and clear story of our industrial development. A study of this concise 
 but luminous book cannot fall to give the reader a clear insight into the principal 
 phenomena of our industrial history. The editor and publishers are to be congrat- 
 ulated on this first volume of their venture, and we shall look with expectant 
 interest for the succeeding volumes of the series.' — University Extension Journal. 
 
 A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POLITICAL ECONOMY. By L. L. Price, 
 M. A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxon. Second Edition. 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial Conditions o\ 
 the Poor. By J. A. Hobson, M.A. Third Edition. 
 
 VICTORIAN POETS. By A. Sharp. 
 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. E. SvMEs, M.A. 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY. By F. S. Granger, M.A. 
 
36 Messrs, Methuen's List 
 
 THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT LIFE: Lover Fcrnis. By G. MASSEE. 
 
 IVt't/i Illustrations. 
 AIR AND WATER. Professor V. B. LiiWES, M.A. Illustrated. 
 THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. By C. W. Kimmins, 
 
 M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 THE MECHANICS OF DAILY LIFE. By V. P. Sells, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. H. DE B. Gibbins, D.Litt., M.A. 
 
 ENGLISH TRADE AND FINANCE IN THE SEVENTEENTH 
 CENTURY. By \V. A. S. Hewins, B.A. 
 
 THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. The Elementarv Principles of Chemistr/. 
 By M. M. P.VTTISON Muir, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 A TEXT-BOOK OF AGRICULTUR.\L BOTANY. By M. C. Pottek, 
 M.A.. F.L.S. Illustrated. 35. 6d. 
 
 THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popukir Introduction to Astronomy. 
 By R. A. Gregory. 117//? numerous Illustrations. 
 
 METEOROLOGY. The Elements of Weather and Climate. By H. N. 
 Dickson, F.R.S.E., F.R. Met. See. Illustrated. 
 
 A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By George J. BURCH, 
 M.A. With 7iumerous Illustrations. 3?. 
 
 THE EARTH. An Introduction to Physiography. By Evan Small, M A. 
 Illustrated, 
 
 INSECT LIFE. By F. W. Theobald, M.A. Illustrated. 
 
 ENCJLISH POETRY FROM BLAKE TO BROWNING. Hy W. M. 
 
 Dixon, M..\. 
 ENGLISH LOCAL GOVERNMENT. By E. Jenks, M.A., I'lofc^or of 
 
 Law at University College, Liverpool. 
 THE GREEK VIEW OF LIFE. By G. L. Dickinson. Fellow of King's 
 
 College, Cambridge. Second Edition. 
 
 Social Questions of To-day 
 
 Edited by H. DE B. GIBBINS, D.Litt., M.A. 
 Crown 2>vo. 2s. 6d. 
 
 .16 
 
 A series of volumes upon those topics of social, economic, 
 and industrial interest that are at the present moment fore- 
 most in the public mind. Each volume of tlie series is written by an 
 autlior who is an acknowledged authority upon the subject with which 
 he deals. 
 
 The following Volumes of the Series are ready : — 
 TRADE UNIONISM-NEW AND OLD. By G. Howf.t.l, Author .4" 
 ' The Conflicts of Capital and Labour.' Second Edition. 
 
 THE CO-OPERATIVE MOVEMENT TO-D.\Y. By G. J. IloLVw.SKr., 
 Author of ' The History of Co-Operation.' Second Edition. 
 
 MUTUAL •IHRIFT. By Rev. J. Fko.mi. ^\■|LKl^so.^, M.A., Auihui <^[ 
 ' Ihc Friendly .Society Movenienl.' 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 37 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY : An Inquiry into the Industrial Conditions of 
 the Poor. By J. A. HOBSON, M.A. Third Editlo);. 
 
 THE COMMERCE OF NATIONS. By C. F, B.\staple, M.A., Professor 
 of Economics at Trinity College, Dublin. 
 
 THE ALIEN INVASION. By W. H. Wilki.xs, B.A., Secretary to the 
 Society for Preventing the Immigration of Destitute Aliens. 
 
 THE RURAL EXODUS. By P. Anderson Graham. 
 
 LAND NATIONALIZATION. By HAROLD Cox, B.A. 
 
 A SHORTER WORKING DAY. By H. de B. Gibbins, D.Litt., M.A., 
 and R. A. Hadfield, of the Hecla Works, Sheffield. 
 
 BACK TO THE LAND : An Inquiry into the Cure for Rural Depopulation. 
 By H. E. Moore. 
 
 TRUSTS, POOLS AND CORNERS: As affecting Commerce and Industry. 
 By J. .Stephen Jeans, M.R.I.. F.S.S. 
 
 THE FACTORY SY.STEM. By R. Cooke Taylor. 
 
 THE STATE AND ITS CHILDREN. By Gertrude Tuckwell. 
 
 WOMEN'S WORK. By Lady Dilke, Miss Bulley, and Miss Whitley. 
 
 MUNICIPALITIES AT WORK. The Municipal Policy of Six Great 
 Towns, and its Influence on their Social Welfare. By Frederick Dolm.w. 
 
 SOCIALISM AND MODERN THOUGHT. By M. Kaufmann. 
 
 THE HOUSING OF THE WORKING CL.\SSES. By R. F. Bowmaker. 
 
 MODERN CIVILIZ.A.TION IN SOME OF ITS ECONOMIC ASPECTS. 
 By W- Cunningham, D.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 THE PROBLEM OF THE UNEMPLOYED. By J. A. Hobson, B.A., 
 Author of ' The Problems of Poverty." 
 
 LIFE IN WEST LONDON. By ArthurSherwell.M.A. Secotid Edition. 
 
 Classical Translations 
 
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