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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-

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,

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

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-

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

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

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

fOBTRY, .....

BELLES LETTRES, ....

ILLUSTRATED BOOKS, ....

HISTORY, ......

BIOGRAPHY, ... . . .

TRAVEL, ADVENTURE AND TOrOGRAPIIV,

GEMKRAL LITERATURB,

SCIENCE, .....

PHILOSOPHY, .....

THEOLOGY, .....

LEADERS OF REl IGION,

FICTION, .....

BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS, . . , .

THE PEACOCK LIBRARY,

UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES,

SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY,

CLASSICAL TRANSLATIO.SS, .

EDUCATIONAL BOOKS,

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.

Educational

EVAGRIUS. Edited by PROFESSOR Leon Parmentier cf
Liege and M. BiDEZ of Gand. Dewy 8vo. "js. 6d.

\Byeantine Texts.

THE ODES AND EPODES OF HORACE, Translated by
A. D. GODLEY, M.A., Fellow of Magdalen College, Oxford.
Cro7vn Svo. buckram. 2s.

ORNAMENTAL DESIGN FOR WOVEN FABRICS, By
C. Stephenson, of The Technical College, Bradford, and
F, SuDDARDS, of The Yorkshire College, Leeds, With 65 full-page
plates, and numerous designs and diagrams in the text. Demy 8vo.
js. 6d.

The aim of this book is to supply, in a systematic and practical form, information on
the subject of Decorative Design as applied to Woven Fabrics, and is primarily
intended to meet the requirements of students in Textile and Art Schools, or of
designers actively engaged in the weaving industry Its wealth of illustration is
a marked feature of the book.

ESSENTIALS OF COMMERCIAL EDUCATION. By

E. E, Whitfield, M. A, Crown Svo. is. 6d.

A guide to Conmnciil Education and Examinations.

8 Messrs. Methuen's Announcements

passages for unseen translation. i5y e. c.

Marchant, M.A., Fellow of Pclcrhouic, Cambridi^e ; and A. M.
Cook, M.A., late Scholar of Wadham College, Oxford: Assistant
Masters at St. Paul's School. Crown Svo. 35. 6J,

This book contains Two Hundred Latin and Two Hundred Greek Passages, and
}ias been very carefully compiled to meet the wants of V. and \l. Form Uoys at
Public Schools. It is *lso well adaptad for the use of Honour men at the
Universities.

EXERCISES IN LATIN ACCIDENCE. By S. E. Win-
holt, Assistant Master in Christ's Hospital. Crown Zvo. \s. 6d.
An elementary book adapted for Lower Forms to accompany the shorter Latin primer

NOTES ON GREEK AND LATIN SYNTAX. By G.
BucKLAND Green, M.A., Assistant Master at the Edinlnirgh
Academy, late Fellow of St. John's College, Oxon. Cr, %vo, 3.?. 61/.

Notes and explanations on the chief difficulties of Greek and Latin Syntax, with
numerous passages for exercise.

A DIGEST OF DEDUCTIVE LOGIC. By Johnson
Barker, B.A. Crozvn 8to. 2s. 6d.

A short introduction to logic for students preparing for exaniiiialions.

TEST CARDS IN EUCLID AND ALGEBR.'V By D. S.
Calderwood, Headmaster of the Normal School, Edinburgh. In
a Packet of 40, with Answers. 15.
.\ set of cards for advanced pupils in elementary schools.

HOW TO MAKE A DRESS. By J. A. E. Woon. Illustrated.
Crotvn %vo. \s. 6d.

A text-book for students preparing for the City and Guilds examination, based on
the syllabus. The diagrams are numerous.

Fiction

LOCHINVAR. By S. R. Crockett, Author of 'Tlie R.niders'
etc. Illustrated by Frank Richarps. Croivn 8r'<\ <>-.

BYEWAYS. By RoRF.RT HicHENS. Author of ' Flames,' etc.
Crown %vo. 6i.

THE MUTABLE MANY. By Rohfrt Barr, Author of ' In

the Midst of Alarms,' ' A Woman Intervenes,' etc. Cro7rn^z-o. bs.

THE LADY'S WALK. By Mrs. Olii'IL\nt. Cnncn ^vo. 6s.

a new book by this lamented author, somewhat in llie style of her ' llelcagiired City."

Messrs. Methuen's Announcements 9

TRAITS AND CONFIDENCES. By The Hon. Emily Law-
less, Author of ' Hurrish,' * Maelcho,' etc. Crown Svo. 6s.

BLADYS. By S. Baring Gould, Author of 'The Broom
Squire,' etc. Illustrated by F. H. TowNSEND. Croivn Svo. 6s.
A Romance of the last century.

THE POMP OF THE LAVILETTES. By Gilbert Parker,
Author of ' The Seats of the Mighty,' etc. Crown %vo. 31. 6d.

A DAUGHTER OF STRIFE. By Jane Helen Findlater,
Author of ' The Green Graves of Balgowrie.' Crown %vo. 6s.
A story of 1710.

OVER THE HILLS. By Mary Findlater. Crotvnlvo. 6s.

A novel by a sister of J. H. Findlater, the author of ' The Green Graves of Balgowrie.'

A CREEL OF IRISH STORIES. By Jane Barlow, Author
of ' Irish Idylls. ' Crown 8vo. 6s.

THE CLASH OF ARMS. By J. Bloundelle Burton,
Author of ' In the Day of Adversity. ' Crown ?,vo. 6s.

A PASSIONATE PILGRIM. By Percy White, Author of
'Mr. Bailey- Martin.' Crown 2>vo. 6s.

SECRETARY TO BAYNE, M.P. By W. Pett RidgE.

Crown ivo. 6s.

THE BUILDERS. By J. S. Fletcher, Author of 'Wheri
Charles I. was King.' Crown 8z'o. 6s.

JOSIAH'S WIFE. By Norma Lorimer. CrownZvo. 6s.

BY STROKE OF SWORD. By Andrew Balfour. Illus-
trated by W. CuBiTT Cooke. Crown Svo. 6s.

A romance of the time of Elizabeth

THE SINGER OF MARLY. By I. HoOPER. Illustrated

by W. CuBiTT CoOKE. Crown Svo. 6s.
A romance of adventure.

KIRKHAM'S FIND. By Mary Gaunt, Author of 'The

Moving Finger. ' Crown Svo. 6s.

THE FALL OF THE SPARROW. By M. C. Balfour.
Crown Svo. 6s.

SCOTTISH BORDER LIFE. By James C. Dibdin. Crown

Svo. '^s. 6d.

A 2

A LIST OF

Messrs. Methuen's

PUBLICATIONS

Poetry

RUDYARD KIPLING'S NEW POEMS

Rudyard Kipling. THE SEVEN SEAS. By Rudyard
Kipling. Third Edition. CroivnZvo. Buckram, gilt top. 6s.

' The new poems of Mr. Rudyard Kipling have all the spirit and swing of their pre-
decessors. Patriotism is the solid concrete foundation on which Mr. Kipling has
built the whole of his work.' — Times.

' Full of passionate patriotism and the Imperial spirit.' — ^'orkshire Post.

' The Empire has found a singer ; it is no depreciation of the songs to say that states-
men may have, one way or other, to take account of them.' — Manchester
Guardian,

' Animated through and through with indubitable genius. "^ — Daily Telegraph.

' Packed with inspiration, with humour, with pathos.' — Daily Chronicle.

' All the pride of empire, all the intoxication of power, all the ardour, the energy,
the masterful strength and the wonderful endurance and death-scorning pluck
which are the very bone and fibre and marrow of the British character are here.'
— Daily Mail.

Rudyard Kipling. BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS; And
Other Verses. By Rudyard Kipling. Twelfth Edition. Crown
2>i<o. 6s,

'Mr. Kipling's verse is strong, vivid, full of character. . . . Unmistakable genius
rings in every line.' — limes.

The ballads teem with im.igiiiatinn, they palpitate with emotion. We read them
with laughter and tears ; the metres throb in our pulses, the runningly ordered
words tingle with life ; and if this be not poetry, what is?' — Pall Mall Gazette.

'Q." POEMS AND BALLADS. By "Q.," Author of ' Green
Bays,' etc. Crown St'O. Buckram, "^s. 6d.
' This work has just the faint, ineffable touch and glow that make poetry ' Q. ' has
the true romantic spirit.' — S/>ea/cer,

"Q." GREEN BAYS : Verses and Parodies. By "O.," Author
of 'Dead Man's Rock,' etc. .Second Edition. Crown ScV. y.6d.
'The verses display a rare and versatile gift of parody, great command of metre, and
a very pretty turn of humour.' — Times.

E. Mackay. A SONG OF THE SEA. By Eric Mackav,
Author of 'The Love Letters of a Violinist.' Second Edition.
Fcap. %7>o. ^s.
' Everywhere Mr. Mackay displays himself the master of a style n-arked by all the
characteristics of the best rlu'tnrir. He has a keen sense of rhythm and of general
balance ; his verse is excellently sotiorous.' — Cloie.

Messrs Methuen's List ii

Ibsen. BRAND. A Drama by Henrik Ibsen. Translated by

William Wilson. Second Edition. Crown %vo. 3^. M.

'The greatest world-poem of the nineteenth century next to "Faust." It 15 in
the same set with "Agamemnon," with "Lear," with the literature that we now
instinctively regard as high and holy.' — Daily Chronicle.

"A.G." VERSES TO ORDER. By "A. G." Cr.lvo. 2s. 6d.

net.

A small volume of verse by a writer whose initials are well known to Oxford men.
'A capit.il specimen of light academic poetry. These verses are very bright and
engaging, easy and sufiiciently witty. — St. James's Gazette.

Belles Lettres, Anthologies, etc.

E.L.Stevenson. VAILIMA LETTERS. By Robert Louis

Stevenson. With an Etched Portrait by William Strang, and

other Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown Svo. Buckram, ys. 6d.

' Few publications have in our time been more eagerly awaited than these " Vailima
Letters," giving the first fruits of the correspondence of Robert Louis Stevenson.
But, high as the tide of expectation has run, no reader can possibly be disappointed
in the result.' — St. Jameses Gazette.

Henley and Whibley. A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE.
CollectedbyW.E. Henley and Charles Whibley. CrownSvo. 6s.

'A unique volume of extracts — an art gallery of early prose.' — Birminghatit Pott.
'An admirable companion to Mr. Henley's "Lyra Heroici."' — Saturday Reine-v.
' Quite delightful. A greater treat for those not well acquainted with pre-Restoration
prose could not be imagined.' — Athcnctum.

H. C. Beeching. LYRA SACRA : An Anthology of Sacred Verse.

Edited by II. C. Beeching, M.A. Crown %vo. Buckram. 6s.
' A charming selection, which maintains a lofty standard of excellence.' — Times.

"Q." THE GOLDEN POMP : A Procession of English Lyrics
from Surrey to Shirley, arranged by A. T. QuiLLER CouCH. Crown
Svo. Buckram. 6s.
' A delightful volume : a really golden "Pomp." ' — Spectator.

W. B. Yeats. AN ANTHOLOGY OF IRISH VERSE.
Edited by W. B. Yeats. Crown Svo. 35. 6d.
' An attractive and catholic selection.' — Times.

G. W. Steevens. MONOLOGUES OF THE DEAD. By

G. W. Steevens. Foolscap Svo. p. 6d.

A series of Soliloquies in which famous men of antiquity — Julius Cssar, Nero,
Alcibiades, etc., attempt to express themselves in the modes of thought and
language of to-day.
The effect is soinelinies splendid, sometimes bizarre, but always amazingly clever
—Fall Mall Gazette.

12 Messrs. Methuen's List

Victor Hugo. THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO

Translated from ihc French by F. Ci.ARKE, M.A. In Two Volumes.
Demy ?)V0. los. 6J. each. Vol. T. 1S15-35.

This is the first 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. The
r.rr.mgement is chiefly chronological, but where there is an interesting set of
letters to one person these are arranged together. The first volume contains,
among others, (i) Letters to his father ; (2) to his young wife ; (2) to his confessor,
Lamennais ; a very important set of about fifty letters to Sainte-Beauve ; (5)
letters about his early books and plays.

' \ charming and vivid picture of a man whose egotism never marred his natural
kindness, and whose vanity did not impair his greatness.' — Standard.

C. H. Pearson, ESSAYS AND CRITICAL REVIEWS. By
C. H. Pearson, M.A., Author of ' National Life and Character.'
Edited, with a Biographical Sketch, by H. A. Strong, M.A.,
LL.D. With a Portrait. Demy ^vo. lOs. 6d.

' Remarkable for careful handling, breadth of view, and knowledge.' — Scotsman.

'Charming essays.' — SJ>ectator.

W. M. Dixon. A PRIMER OF TENNYSON. IJy W. M.
Dixon, M.A., Professor of English Literature at Mason College.
Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.
' Much sound and well-expressed criticism and acute literary judgments. The biblio
graphy is a boon.' — Speaker.

W. A. Craigie. A PRIMER OF BURNS. By W. A. Craigij;.
Crown Svo. 2s. dd.

This book is planned on a method similar to the ' Primer of Tennyson.' It has also

a glossary.
' \ valuable addition to the literature of the poet. ' — Times.
' .\n excellent short account.' — Pall Mall Gazette.
'An admirable introduction.' — Globe.

Sterne. THE LIFE AND OPINIONS OF TRISTRAM

SHANDY. By Lawrence Sterne. With an Introduction by
Charles Whibley, and a Portrait. 2 vols. "js.
'Very dainty Tolumes are these; the paper, type, and light-green binding are all
very agreeable to the eye. SimJ>lex mundiiiis is the phrase that might be applied
to them.' — Globe.

Congreve. THE COMEDIES OF WILLIAM CONGREVE.

With an Introduction by G. S. Street, and a Portrait. 2 vols. "js.
'The volumes are strongly bound in green buckram, are of a convenient size, and
pleasant to look upon, so that whether on the shelf, or on the table, or in the band
the possessor is thoroughly content with them.' — Guardian.

Morier. THE ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA OF
ISPAHAN. By James Morier. With an Introduction by E. G.
Browne, M.A., and a Portrait. 2 zvls. "js.

Walton. THE LIVES OF DONNE, WOTTON, HOOKER,
IIKRBKUT, AND SANDERSON. By Izaak Walton. With
an Introduction by Vernon Blackburn, and a Portrait. 3^. 6d.

Messrs. Methuen's List 13

Johnson. THE LIVES OF THE ENGLISH POETS. By
Samuel Johnson, LL.D. With an Introduction by J. II. Millar,
and a Portrait. 3 vols. \os. 6d.

Burns. THE POEMS OF ROBERT BURNS. Edited b>
Andrew Lang and W. A. Craigie. With Portrait. Demy Svo,
gilt top. 6j.

This edition contains a carefully collated Text, numerous Notes, critical and textual,

a critical and biographical Introduction, and a Glossary.
' Among the editions in one volume, Mr. Andrew Lang's will take the place of

authority.' — Times.

F. Langbridge. BALLADS OF THE BRAVE: Poems of
Chivalry, Enterprise, Courage, and Constancy. Edited, with Notes,
by Rev. F. Langbridge. Crown %vo. Buckram, y. 6J, School
Edition. 2s. 6d.
' A very happy conception happily carried out. These "Ballads of the Brave" are
intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit the tasteof the great majority.'
— Spectator. 'The book is full of splendid things.' — World.

Illustrated Books

Jane Barlow. THE BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE,
translated by Jane Barlow, Author of ' Irish Idylls,' and pictured
by F. D. Bedford. Small ^to. 6s. net.

S. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF FAIRY TALES retold by S.
Baring Gould. With numerous illustrations and initial letters by
Arthur J. Gaskin. Second Edition. Crown 2>vo. Buckram. 6s.

'Mr. Baring Gould is deserving of gratitude, in re-writing in honest, simple style the
old stories that delighted the childhood of " our fathers and grandfathers." As to
the form of the book, and the printing, which is by Me.,srs. Constable, it were
difficult to commend overmuch. — Saturday Review.

S. Baring Gould. OLD ENGLISH FAIRY TALES. Col-
lected and edited by S. Baring Gould. With Numerous Illustra-
tions by F. D. Bedford. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. Buckram. 6s.
'A charming volume, which children will be sure to appreciate. The stories have
been selected with great ingenuity from various old ballads and folk-tales, and,
having been somewhat altered and readjusted, now stand forth, clothed in Mr.
Baring Gould's delightful English, to enchant youthful readers.' — Guardian.

B. Baring Gould. A BOOK OF NURSERY SONGS AND
RHYMES. Edited by S. Baring Gould, and Illustrated by the
Birmingham Art School. Buckram, gilt top. Crown %vo. 6s.
' The volume is very complete in its way, as it contains nursery songs to the number
of 77, game-rhymes, and jingles. To the student we commend the sensible intro-
duction, and the explanatory notes. The volume is superbly printed on soft,
thick paper, which it is a pleasure to touch ; and the borders and pictures are
among the very best specimens we have seen of the Gaskin school.' — Birvzing-
havi Gazette.

14 Messrs. Methuen's List

H. C. Beeching. A BOOK OF CHRISTMAS VERSE. Edited
by II. C. Beechino, M.A., and Illustrated by Walter Crank.
Crown Svo, gilt top. ^s.
A collection of the best verse inspired by the birth of Christ from the Middle Ages
to the present day. A distinction of the book is the large number of poems it
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
right to exist than most of its i^\\Q\';%.'— Guardian.

History

GiblJon. THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN

EMPIRE. By Edward Gibbon. A New Edition, Edited with
Notes, Appendices, and Maps, by J. B. Bury, M.A., Fellow of
Trinity College, Dublin. In Seven Volumes. Demy 8w. Gilt top.
%s. 6d. each. Also crown 2>vo. 6s. each. Vols. I., II. , and III.

'The time has certainly arrived for a new edition of Gibbon's great work. . . . Pro-
fessor Bury is the right man to undertake this task. His learning is amazing,
both in extent and accuracy. The book is issued in a bandy form, and at a
moderate price, and it is admirably printed.' — Tinies.

' The edition is edited as a classic should be edited, removing nothing, yet indicating
the value of the text, and bringing it up to date. It promises to be of the utmost
value, and will be a welcome addition to many \\.hxM\es.'—Scoisman.

'This edition, so far as one may judge from the first instalment, is a marvel of
erudition and critical skill, and it is the very minimum of praise to predict that the
seven volumes of it will supersede Dean Milman's as the standard edition of our
great historical c\a.?.?\c.'—G/as^07u Herald.

' The beau-ideal Gibbon has arrived at X^'^X..' —Sketch.

'.\t last there is an adequate modern edition of Gibbon. . . . The best edition the
nineteenth century could produce.' — Manchester Guardian.

Flinders Petrie. A HISTORY OF EGYPT,fromtiii- Earliest

Times to the Present Day. Edited by W. M. Flinders

Petrie, D.C.L., LL.D., Professor of Egyptology at University

College. Ftilly Illustrated. In Six Volumes. Crown 8vo. 6s. each.

Vol. I. Prehistoric Times to XVI. Dynasty. W. M. F.

Petrie. Third Edition.
Vol. II. The XVIIth and XVIIIth Dynasties. W. M. F.
Petrie. Second Edition.

' A history written In the spirit of scientific precision so worthily represented by Dr.
Petrie and his school cannot but promote sound and accurate study, and
supply a vacant place in the English literature of Egyptology.'— r/wM.

Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN TALES. Edited by W. M.

I'LiNDERS Petrie. Illustrated by Tristram Elms. /;; Two

Volumes, Crown Svo. ^s. 6d. each.
'A valuable addition to the literature of comparative folk-lore. 1 he dr.iwings are

really illustrations in the literal sense of the word.' — (,7<'/'C.
'It has a scientific value to the student of history and archaeology.'— ."TftJ/jwan.
' Invaluable as a picture of life in Talestiiie and V.?.y\n.—Vaity Aewt.

Messrs. Methuen's List 15

Flinders Petrie. EGYPTIAN DECORATIVE ART. By
W. M. Flinders Petrie, D.C.L. With 120 Illustrations. Crown
8vo. 3J. 6d.

' Professor Flinders Petrie is not only a profound Egyptologist, but an accomplished
student of comparative archscology. In these lectures, delivered at the_ Royal
Institution, he displays both qualifications with rare skill in elucidating the
development of decorative art in Egypt, and in tracing its influence on the
art of other countries.' — Times.

S. Baring Gould. THE TRAGEDY OF THE C^SARS.

The Emperors of the Julian and Claudian Lines. With numerous
Illustrations from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. By S. Baring Gould,
Author of 'Mehalah,' etc. Fourth Edition. Royal %vo. 15^.

' A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying interest. The great
feature of the book is the use the author has made of the existing portraits of the
Caesars, and the admirable critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing with this
line of research. It is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are supplied on a
scale of profuse magnificence.' — Daily Chronicle.

' The volumes will in no sense disappoint the general reader. Indeed, in their way,
there is nothing in any sense so good in English. . . . Mr. Baring Gould has
presented his narrative in such away as not to make one dull page.' — AtJienc^um.

H. de B. Gibbins. INDUSTRY IN ENGLAND : HISTORI-
CAL OUTLINES. By H. PE B. Gibbins, M.A., D.Litt. Wiih
5 Maps. Second Edition. Demy%vo. los. 6d,

This book is written with the view of affording a clear view of the main facts of
English Social and Industrial History placed in due perspective. Beginning
with prehistoric times, it passes in review the growth and advance of industry
up to the nineteenth century, showing its gradual development and progress.
The book is lUustraied by Maps, Diagrams, and Tables.

A. Clark. THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD : Their History

and their Traditions. By Members of the University. Edited by A.

Clark, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Lincoln College. Svo. 12s. 6.f.

' A work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the standard book on

the Colleges of Oxford.' — Athenaum.

Perrens. THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM 1434
TO 1492. By F, T. Perrens. Translated by Hannah Lynch.
Zvo. i2s. 6d.

A history of Florence under the domination of Cosimo, Piero, and Lorenzo de

Medicis.
' This is a standard book by an honest and intelligent historian, who has deserved

well of all who are interested in Italian history.' — Manchester Guardian.

J. Wells. A SHORT HISTORY OF ROME. By J. Wells,
M. A. , Fellow and Tutor of Wadham Coll., Oxford. With 4 Maps.
Crown 8w. 3^. 6d,

This book is intended for the Middle and Upper Forms of Public Schools and for

Pass Students at the LTniversities. It contains copious Tables, etc.
'An original work written on an original plan, and with uncommon freshness and
vigour.' — Speaker,

i6 Messrs. Methuen's List

E. L. S. Horsburgh. THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO.

By E. L. S. Horsburgh, B.A. IVith Plans. Crown Zvo. t^s.

'A brilliant essay — simple, sound, and thorough.' — Daily Chronicle.
' A study, the most concise, the most lucid, the most critical that has been produced.
— Birtningham Mercury,

H.B. George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. ByH. B.

George, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. With numerous

Plans. Third Edition. Crown 2>vo. 6s.

'Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task — that of making military affairs in-
telligible and instructive to non-military readers — and has executed it with laud-
able intelligence and industry, and with a large measure of success.' — Times.

0. Browning. A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDI/EVAL ITALY,
A.D. 1250-1530. By Oscar Browning, Fellow and Tutor of Kings
College, Cambridge. Second Edition. In Two J'olumes. Crown
Svo. 5J-. each.

Vol. I. 1250-1409. — Guelphs and Ghibellines.
Vol. II. 1409-1530. — The Age of the Condottierl.

'A vivid picture of mediaeval Italy.' — Standard.

'Mr. Browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense
labour and learning.' — iVesttninster Gazette.

O'Grady. THE STORY OF IRELAND. By Standish

O'Grady, Author of ' Finn and his Companions.' Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d.

' Most delightful, most stimulating. Its racy humour, its original imaginings,
make it one of the freshest, breeziest volumes.' — .Methodist Times.

Biography

S. Baring Gould. THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONA-
PARTE. By S. Baring Gould. With over 450 Illustrations in
the Text and 12 Photogravure Plates. Large quarto. Gilt top. 365.

' The best biography of Napoleon in our tongue, nor have the French as good a
biographer of their hero. A book very nearly as good as Southey's " Life of
Nelson." ' — Manchester Guardian.

'The main feature of this gorgeous volume is its great wealth of be.iuliful photo-
gra\aires and finely-executed wood engravings, constituting a complete pictorial
chronicle of Napokon l.'s personal history from the d.iys of bis early childhood
at Ajaccio to the d.ite of his second interment under the dome of the Invalides in
Paris.'— /J^/Vy 7>/<i'?vr///.

'The most elaborate account of Napoleon ever produced by an English writer.' —
Daily Chronicle.

'A brilliant and attractive volume. Never before have so many pictures r«lating
to Napoleon been brought within the limits of an ICnglish book.' — Globe.

' Particular notice is dua to the vast collection of contemporary illustrations.' —
Guardian.

' Nearly all the illustrations are re.1l contriliutions tohisfory.' — K'estminster Gazette.

'The illustrations are of supreme \n\.enf.\..' —Standa>d.

Messrs. Methuen's List 17

Morris Fuller. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN
DAVENANT, D.D. {1571-1641), President of Queen's College,
Lady Margaret Professor of Divinity, Bishop of Salisbury. By
Morris Fuller, B.D. Demy Zvo. \os. 6d.

' A valuable contribution to ecclesiastical history.' — Birininghain Gazette.

J. M. Eigg. ST. ANSELM OF CANTERBURY: A Chapter
IN THE History of Religion. By J. M. Rigg. DemySvo. ys. 6</.

'Mr. Rigg has told the story of the great Primate's life with scholarly ability, and
has thereby contributed an interesting chapter to the history of the Norman period.'
— Daily Chronicle.

F. W. Joyce. THE LIFE OF SIR FREDERICK GORE
OUSELEV. By F. W. Joyce, M.A. With Portraits and Illustra-
tions. Cjowit 2>vo. Js. 6d.

' Tliis book has been undertaken in quite the right spirit, and written with sympathy
insight, and considerable literarj' skill.' — Tivies.

W. G. CoUingwood. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By
W. G. CoLLiNGWOOD, M.A., Editor of Mr. Ruskin's Poems. Wuh
numerous Portraits, and 13 Drawings by Mr. Ruskin. Second
Edition. 2 vols. Svo. 32J.

' No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time.' — Times.
' 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.
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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
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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.
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H. G. Wells. THE STOLEN BACILLUS, and other Stories.
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G. Wells. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 6s.
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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.
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30 Messrs. Methuen's List

Mrs. Oliphant. THE TWO MARYS. By Mrs. Oliphant.
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W. E. Norris. MATTHEW AUSTIN. By W. E. Norris, Author

of ' Mademoiselle de Mersac,' etc. Fourth Edition. Crown %vo. ds.

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' One of Mr. Norris's very best novels. As a story it i., admirable, as a /Vk if esprit
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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
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Robert Barr. IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS. By Robert
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I A book which has abundantly satisfied us by its capital humour.'— /7rt//y Chronicle.
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J. Maclaren Cobban. THE KING OF ANDAMAN : A
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' An unquestionably interesting book. It would not surprise Ub if it turns out to be
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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.

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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
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L. B. Walford. SUCCESSORS TO THE TITLE. By Mrs.

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'The story is fresh and healthy from beginning to finish ; and our liking for the two

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in respect.' — Scotsfiian.

T. L. Paton. A HOME IN INVERESK. By T. L. Paton.

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John Davidson MISS ARMSTRONG'S AND OTHER CIR-
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M. M. Dowie. GALLIA. By Menie Muriel Dowie, Author
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•The style is generally admirable, the dialogue not seldom brilliant, the situations
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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.
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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
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W. C. Scully. THE WHITE HECATOMB. By W. C.

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H. Johnston. DR. CONGALTON'S LEGACY. By Henry
Johnston. Crown Svo. 6s.
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32 Messrs. Methuen's List

J. F. Brewer. THE SPECULATORS. By J. F. Brewer.

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Julian Oorbett. A BUSINESS IN GREAT WATERS. By

Julian Corbett. Croivn Zvo. ds.

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THE ROAD. By L. Cope Cornford. Illustrated. CrownSvo. 6s.

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?>vo. 6s.
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the Balkans. By Laura Daintrey. Crown 8vo. 6s.

' Miss Daintrey seems to have an intimate acquaintance with the people and politics
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M. A. Owen, THE DAUGHTER OF ALOUETTE. By
Mary A. Owen. Croivn Svo. 6s.

A story of life among the American Indians.
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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
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nonald Ross. THE SPIRIT OF STORM. By Ronald

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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
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Marriott Watson. DIOGENES OF LONDON. By
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3/6

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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

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A Series of Novels by popular Authors.

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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-
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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

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A Series of Books for Girls by well-known Authors,
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3. THE SECRET OF MADAME DE MONLUC. By the

Author of ' Mdle Mori.'

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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

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for extension students and home-reading circles. Each volume is com-
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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,
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THE VAULT OF HEAVEN. A Popukir Introduction to Astronomy.
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METEOROLOGY. The Elements of Weather and Climate. By H. N.
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A MANUAL OF ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By George J. BURCH,
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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,
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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

EditedbyH. F. FOX, M. A., Fellow and Tutor of Brasenose College, Oxford.

Messrs. Methuen are issuing a New Series of Translations from the
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/ESCHYLUS — Agamemnon, Choephoroe, Eumenides. Translated by Lewis
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CICERO— De Oratore I. Translated by E. N. P. Moor, M.A. ^s. (,d.

CICERO — Select Orations (Pro Miione, Pro Murena, Philippic IL, In
Catilinam). Translated by H. E. D. Rlakiston, M.A,, Fellow and
Tutor of Trinity College, Oxford. 51.

38 Messrs. Methuen's List

CICERO— De Natura Deoriim. Translated by F. Brooks, M.A., hte
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LUCIAN — Six Dialogues (Nigrinus.Icaro-Menippus, The Cock, TheShip, The
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SOPHOCLES— Electra and Ajax. Translated by E. D. A. MoRSHEAn,
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TACITI GERMANIA. By the same Editor. Crown Bvo. 2r.

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SELECTIONS FROM THE ODYSSEY. By E. D. .Stone, M. A., late
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PLAUTUS : THE CAPTIVE Adapted for Lower Forms by J. H. Frksse,
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DEMOSTHENES AGAIN.ST CONON AND CALLICI.ES. Edited with
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GERMAN PASSAGES FOR UNSEEN TR.\NSI,.\TION. By E.
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THE WORLD OF SCIENCE. Including Chemistry, Heat, Liglit, Sound,
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ELEMENTARY LIGHT. By R. E. STnEi.. With numerous Illustration^.
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Messrs. Methuen's List 39

ENGLISH

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